Beyond the Fire Page 16

  “All right,” Thomas said. “To begin with, where has Samoth been all this time? He left over two weeks ago with a special weapons shipment to Gaff. Gaff is stationed this side of Great Bend. The round trip could not possibly take more than four days.”

  James smiled. “Thomas, you are too suspicious of Samoth. He didn’t take just Gaff’s shipment with him; he took others. He was gone longer than he told us he would be, but you have to admit, we have curtailed his shipments lately.”

  “Look, I don’t trust Samoth. I think …” Thomas paused. “I think he has been lying to us about what he’s hauling for freight and where he is taking it. I’d like to inspect some of his loads and just see what is really in those boxes.”

  “We can’t start meddling in civilian business transactions!”

  “All right, maybe we can’t inspect his freight, but can we stop his use of slaves?”

  “Are you referring to the crews that are cutting granite for the fortress?”

  “Yes. I think they are slaves.”

  “Do you have any proof, or are you simply making an accusation?”

  “I’ve known for some time that the men working for Samoth were foreigners. I’ve tried to talk to some of them, and they can’t understand me.”

  “Have you been bothering Samoth’s men again? Aren’t you busy enough here?”

  “The other day I rode alongside that caravan headed back to town carrying the granite stone—and James, some of the men were bleeding.”

  “A fall perhaps.” James waved him off. “Thomas, what are you trying to make of this?”

  “If it had been just one man, you might be right, but I rode the entire length of that caravan, and it was the rule, not the exception. I think those men have been beaten.”

  “Stone quarries are dangerous places to work. I don’t find it inconceivable that a number of men could be hurt working there. Besides, it isn’t any of my business.”

  “James, the men are so tired they sleep while driving their wagons. I think they cut stone all day, drive home and unload it, and then lay that stone all night—only to turn around and do it all again. The work proceeds at a furious rate.”

  James pounded his desk in frustration. “What is your point, Thomas? What do you want me to do?”

  “Shouldn’t Samoth be confronted about using slave labor?”

  “Number one, we don’t know he is using slave labor; and number two, it isn’t any of my business.”

  “It’s wrong to benefit from the unwilling sweat of another man’s labor,” Thomas countered.

  “We don’t know it is unwilling labor!” James shouted. “Those men may be working night and day for a very handsome price. They may be wealthy men when this project is complete. Truthfully, Thomas, aren’t you just angry that Devia kicked us out of his warehouse so he could turn it into a fortress? You know he has every right to do whatever he wants with his own property.”

  “Of course he can build a fortress,” Thomas snapped. “Yes, sometimes I am angry about being evicted. Not only has it made life harder for the men but it seems to have been designed to create bad feelings between us and the community more than to open up space for incoming goods. Look, I really don’t care what Samoth does with his property, but he shouldn’t misuse people.”

  “What do you want me to do?” James growled. “Stick my nose in everyone’s business? Am I to set standards for everyone else to live up to?”

  Thomas thought about that for a moment. “No, it isn’t right to set standards for others, but neither can we ignore the standards of common decency. I’m going to get to know those men if I can, and help them if at all possible.”

  James swept a weary hand over his forehead. “Thomas, don’t you have enough to do?” He spoke with exasperation, not anger, for he knew Thomas had made up his mind.

  Thomas smiled. “I still want to see Samoth about this.”

  “Watch yourself, Thomas. Samoth can be pure poison if you get him upset.”

  “Thank you,” Thomas smiled. He realized James had just given his permission to proceed with Samoth, because he had not received an order to refrain. He saluted smartly and turned to leave.

  “Thomas,” James called, “be careful.”

  Thomas grinned. “I will.”

  The flickering light from several bonfires cast ominous shadows upon the work. Jaroth straightened and groaned. His fingers were cracked and bleeding. Every muscle in his body ached. He was so weary he didn’t know if he could lift another stone into place.

  “You! Get back to work, you scurvy dog!” the guard shouted.

  Jaroth heard the guard’s words, but decided to ignore them a moment longer. He had cut stone blocks in the quarry all day and had hauled them to the top of the fortress wall all night. With only a brief interlude for stale bread and sour beer about midnight, Jaroth didn’t really care what that foreman did to him.

  A whip snapped viciously behind his shoulders. “I’m talking to you, swine. Get back to work, or I’ll assign you to the quarry again today.”

  Jaroth bent over his pile of stone. He might endure a beating, but not another day in the quarry without sleep. He breathed a sigh of relief when the slave driver moved on down the line. Much as he feared the foreman, it was Samoth that sent chills down his spine.

  “Did you visit with James Stafford today?” Master Devia asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What did he want?”

  “To order supplies,” Samoth responded.

  “Was that all?”

  “Mostly.”

  “What else?”

  “He voiced an interest in our labor crew.”

  “What did you tell him?” asked the old man.

  “That it was none of his business.”

  “Good! How is the project proceeding?” Devia asked.

  “The catwalks, battlements, and corner towers are complete, Father.”

  “What about my tower?”

  “I have too few men.”

  “Why didn’t you take more?” Master Devia demanded.

  “I’ve had no time to go back for more.”

  “Let this be a lesson to you! When you reach out to grasp a thing, take all you can get, for the opportunity may never again present itself to you.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Things are happening quickly,” Devia said. “The Lord of Endor moves. He calculates that the time is ripe. We must be ready, or we shall be swallowed up like the rest.”

  “Our defenses are ready. It is only your tower that remains.”

  “My tower of vision.” The old man smiled warmly. “Samoth, you are a fool. You should have built the tower first. Protection from the Power on High surpasses that of walls and barred gates.”

  “Make up your mind! Do you want to keep armies out or get in touch with some unseen power? I, for one, fear the sword of James Stafford more than any unseen God.”

  “Silence!” the old man roared. “You talk like a madman. There is unspeakable power in Endor. Watch that it does not consume you!”

  “Ha! All that awaits me in Endor is a soft bed and a warm body. I do not fear the unseen powers you bow and scrape the floor to please.”

  “I will pray that the powers on high forgive me for raising a fool. Get back to work! My tower must be completed this week. Amity awaits my wisdom. This is my hour. I pray your incompetence does not block my way!”

  Samoth turned without a word and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. He stomped out of the palace and made two complete circuits around the temple he was supposed to complete. As he finished his second lap, he noticed several things they could do to speed the building process. Feeling a little better about the deadline, he went to tell the foreman that no one could stop working.

  Samoth’s foreman was not a popular man, but when he
told everyone they had to go back to the quarry without a rest, there was nearly a riot. Things settled down quickly when the guards began cracking their whips, but one man stood his ground.

  “I’m not going back until I get some rest!” Jaroth demanded.

  The foreman ordered six guards to take the big black man down, and it might have been a fair fight if they had all been empty-handed like Jaroth. The guards had clubs, whips, and ropes, and it wasn’t long before they had their troublemaker trussed up tight and tied to a post in the middle of the compound.

  The foreman wasn’t going to lay a finger on Jaroth; he’d give Samoth that pleasure. He found Samoth in his office and held out the whip in his hand. “We have a man that needs a little persuasion, boss.”

  “Who is it?”

  “The big black one.”

  “I’ve been waiting for him,” Samoth said as he removed his jacket and took the whip from his foreman. “Just let me at him.”

  There was not a sound in the compound except the dull thump of leather striking flesh. Jaroth would not satisfy Samoth with a single cry of pain. Time and again the leather thongs ripped into his flesh and cut bloody trails across his abdomen, but Jaroth remained silent.

  Samoth had long wanted to subdue this man, to make him cringe and cower, but the black man refused to give him any satisfaction.

  Finally exhausted, Samoth laid the whip aside. “Untie him and get him in his wagon,” Samoth told the guards. “He will go to the quarry, and he will load stone!” Jaroth never said a word, but his eyes were filled with defiance as he was led away.

  Samoth’s anger flashed, but he was too tired to respond. He just wanted to be alone. Panting, he staggered toward the one place he was sure to find solitude: the fortress towers. He found the stairs and began a slow climb to the observation deck. At the top, Samoth was chagrined to find the sneering face of his foreman. “I need some air,” he snapped. “I’ll take your post for an hour.”

  Without a word, the foreman turned and disappeared down the staircase.

  I don’t like that man, Samoth thought. He knows too much. Samoth stepped to the railing and watched the foreman shuffle across the courtyard below. He’ll get some beer and bread, he thought. Oh well. Let him!

  Samoth began to pace back and forth, growing angrier with each step. He’d beaten that slave until he should not have been able to move, but the man had still been defiant when he walked away.

  Striking his fist into his palm, Samoth seethed. “How dare one man slow down the work! I won’t let this slave, or Stafford—or even God in heaven—stand in my way. Anyone who does is going to pay dearly.”

  Thomas quietly sat astride his mount at the bottom of a deep ravine. The morning light was dim, but he could hear the creaking wheels of a caravan upon the stony trail. If only I could get someone to talk to me, he thought.

  Wagons slowly crept down the slope, out of Devia’s sight. This was where Thomas liked to meet them. He watched their descent, wondering which drover he should try to speak to today. He spied one man slumped forward on his seat. Riding forward to investigate, he saw a large red stain upon the man’s shirt and breeches. Drawing alongside the wagon, he called, “Are you hurt?”

  A dark face turned toward him. The man’s eyes were clouded with pain, and he winced when his wagon wheel dropped into a hole and jarred the entire wagon.

  “Hold up!” Thomas shouted, but the caravan never altered its pace. Thomas swung from his saddle to the dirty, rock-gouged floor of the wagon bed. Finding a hole in the sideboard, he tied off his horse and scrambled onto the seat. Half expecting the man to resist him, he was surprised when the man handed him the reins. Even as he hesitated over what to do next, he received another shock.

  The man turned to Thomas and asked weakly, “Whisky?”

  Stunned that the man spoke his language, Thomas stammered, “N-no! Why do you need whiskey?”

  “Kill … pain,” the man whispered.

  Thomas tied the team’s reins to the wagon’s hand brake. It was apparent that the caravan was not going to stop, nor were the nags pulling this wagon going to stray. They merely plodded along, following the wagon in front of them.

  With his hands free, Thomas helped the man clamber over the seat into the wagon bed where he could lie flat. Stripping off the man’s cloak, Thomas folded it into a pillow for him to rest his head upon.

  Trying to find comfort, the man drew his knees toward his chest, wincing every time the wagon hit another bump.

  Thomas quickly searched through his saddlebag and withdrew a small flask of ointment. Then he carefully opened the man’s shirt. The sight made him sick. The man’s abdomen was ripped and bloody, and muscles twitched in the open air.

  Thomas struggled to keep from gagging as he opened his flask and daubed ointment on the wounds. A pungent aroma drifted away upon the breeze. Drooping heads perked up on the wagons nearby, and the injured man opened his eyes in surprise. Recognizing Thomas, he whispered, “Go!”

  “I want to help.” Thomas gestured with the flask.

  “No!” came the reply, and the man feebly pulled his shirt back over his wounds. The wagon suddenly lurched and threw the man into the sideboard. He rolled back on the floor with a groan.

  “Just take it easy,” Thomas said softly. “Let me help you.”

  Reluctantly Jaroth allowed Thomas to reopen his shirt. Thomas spread a small amount of ointment upon the raw wounds. Almost immediately he could sense the man relaxing as his eyes closed and he breathed deeply.

  “Thank you,” Jaroth managed to croak, forcing a weak smile.

  Thomas returned the smile and then noticed that the wagon had stopped. Several faces peered at him over the sideboard. The ointment’s aroma had finally caught the attention of the entire caravan.

  There was an angry shout from the head drover. He was making his way back along the wagons, shouting in his foreign tongue and shaking his fists. The men cowered and ran for their wagons.

  “What is he saying?” Thomas asked.

  “Just go!” Jaroth whispered fiercely. “If we are late to the quarry, there will be more beatings!”

  Thomas nodded and helped the man to his feet.

  Jaroth studied Thomas for a moment and then smiled. “Thank you!”

  Thomas untied his mount and leaped into his saddle, raising his hand in salute. As the caravan slowly creaked down the path, Thomas thought, I still don’t know if these men are slaves, but they are being abused. This has to stop!

  The air was heavy inside the command center as the brothers eyed each other. “Look, James,” Thomas shouted, “we have to make Samoth stop abusing his own people!”

  “Thomas, it isn’t my place to tell Samoth how to run his business!”

  “We have to do something,” Thomas countered. “That man was in terrible shape!”

  “Don’t we have enough suffering among our own men? Why must we worry about his?”

  “Of course we have suffering in our camp, but not because you or I have beaten any of the men!”

  James sighed heavily and sat down on his crate. He ran his fingers through his thick mop of hair. “I wish I could just be a commander of a military unit and not worry about the morality of my neighbors. I know you are right, brother. I spoke to Samoth yesterday of your concern, and now you report this incident. It seems to me our concern may actually be making their situation worse. And now you want me to confront Samoth again?”

  Thomas bowed his head. He knew the burden of the camp was heavy enough for any man. The coolness of the community had not made life any easier. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had spoken to anyone about this.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” James blurted. “I was in town getting supplies yesterday and saw Samoth, so I mentioned your concerns. He became defensive and told me to mind my own business. I meant to tell you when I got back, bu
t other things crowded it out of my mind.”

  Thomas knew that James dealt with much more than just camp matters. Civilians and soldiers alike came to James for a decision or favor. Some came with complaints, just as he was doing right now. “I’m sorry, brother. I have only made your burdens heavier. Let me talk to Samoth myself about this matter, and you need no longer worry about it.”

  “No!” James spoke with alarm. “No, I don’t think you should do that, Thomas. You don’t get along well with Samoth. You never have!”

  “We’ve had our differences, but I’ll be polite. I’m sure things will go all right between us.”

  James frowned. “You have duties here, Thomas. The spearmen need practice on frontline defense again. I rely heavily upon you to work with the men. You have a better way with them than I do.” James lowered his head. “Sometimes I think you would be a better commander than I.”

  Thomas knew that pride drove James to excellence. Of the two of them, James was the better swordsman, scholar, marksman, and fighter. He had always felt the need to prove himself to others. Under the current stress, pride was taking its toll. The cracks of humanity were beginning to show.

  “James, I don’t want your responsibilities,” Thomas said quietly. “I’ll go work with the men. If you don’t want me to pursue this with Samoth, I won’t.”

  “Good!” James said, relaxing. “I will address this. Just, please, stay away from Samoth.”

  “Yes, sir!” Thomas saluted smartly.

  James’s shoulders drooped. “Thomas, I don’t like it when we squabble. I’ll take care of this, I promise.”

  “All right,” Thomas said, turning to go.

  “Thomas,” James said, “thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

  Thomas nodded and stepped through the tent flap.

  James marveled at the tapestries that lined the hallway leading to Samoth’s office, but when the chamberlain opened the office door, he caught his breath. Light spilled into the room from the cathedral windows lining one wall, while tapestries lined the others. Samoth sat behind a large, ornately carved mahogany desk with two large captain’s chairs facing him. A huge circular rug covered the stone floor beneath the desk and chairs. Samoth rose, displaying an impeccable suit, clean-shaven, handsome face, and outstretched hand. There was a slight tightening of Samoth’s jaw.