The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [123]
Jonathan had never been whipped before. Most boys were, from time to time, by parents or schoolmasters but, perhaps because of his nature and the muted atmosphere that his mother’s illness had brought to the house, he had escaped this normal punishment. ‘I don’t care,’ he said. ‘But you can go back if you want, Willie.’
‘And leave you alone?’
‘It’s all right. You go on. You’ve got time.’
Willie sighed. ‘No. I’ll stay.’
Jonathan gave his friend a smile and realized for the first time that he himself was capable of being ruthless.
‘What if there isn’t a dragon any more, Jonathan?’
‘Then we won’t see it.’
But what if there was? They waited an hour. The sun was sinking across the valley now. A faint mist rose from the distant water-meadows. The heath that swept down to the north of them a burnished, orange tint. But the line of Burley Beacon, catching the sun’s full rays, was gleaming gold as though it might ignite.
‘Watch the Beacon, Willie,’ Jonathan said and ran off down the slope.
It was only two hundred yards to the edge of the field. For some reason the bracken had been cut there and raked into heaps by the hedgerow, yet never carted away. It was easy enough to build a compact little shelter with a good, thick bed of bracken to lie on. If bracken made bedding for animals, he reasoned, it would for humans too. When he was done he went back to Willie.
‘We won’t get home tonight. It’s too late.’
‘I guessed that.’
‘I’ve made us a shelter.’
‘All right.’
‘Did you see anything?’
‘No.’
Sunset came and Burley Beacon turned fiery red, and it was easy to imagine a dragon, like a phoenix, arising from its embers into the evening sky. Then the sun sank and the western sky turned crimson, and the fire on Burley Beacon went out. Above, the first stars appeared.
‘I think it may come now,’ said Jonathan. He had quite a clear picture of what it would be like: about the size of a cow, he supposed, with a large wingspan. It would be green and scaly. The wings would sound like a huge swan when they beat and there would be a hissing noise from the fire coming out of its mouth. That was the main thing you’d see in the dark. He estimated it would fly across about a mile in front of them on its way down to Bisterne.
The sun was gone. The stars were brightening in the sapphire sky. The line of Burley Beacon looked dark and dangerous as the boys both waited, their eyes fixed upon it.
When, at dusk, there was still no sign of Jonathan, Henry Totton had reluctantly walked down to the quay and approached the disreputable dwelling of Alan Seagull. Had he seen his son? No, the mariner replied, a little perplexed; both boys had been missing since dawn and he had no idea where they were.
At first Totton had been afraid they might have gone out in a boat, but Seagull was soon able to discover that no boat was missing. Could they have fallen into the river somewhere?
‘My boy’s a strong swimmer,’ Seagull said. ‘What about yours?’
And Totton realized to his shame that he did not know.
Then word came that someone had seen them leave the top end of the town in the early morning. Could they have encountered danger in the Forest? It seemed unlikely. There had been no wolves reported for years. It was early for snakes.
‘I suppose’, said Alan Seagull glumly, ‘they could have fallen in a mill-race.’
By curfew time the mayor and bailiff had been consulted, and two search parties had been equipped with torches. One had gone to the mills of Old Lymington; the other through the woods above the town. They were prepared to search, if necessary, all night.
The shelter was quite effective. By packing