Chapter 2

Another week of dawn to dusk days, pulling the barge to take the travelers across the Upper Remark River. A ferryman's hands were the first casualty of the trade. After three years, mine were still in fair shape, but the ropes had already left their mark on them. In the beginning, I'd had to soak them in brine to toughen them. Now, I used animal fat to soften them enough so that the pumice would work to reduce my calluses. It was a slow time on the river, and I had just finished working on my hands with the pumice stone. The trick was to take enough callus off so that the fingers were flexible, while still leaving enough callus on that new blisters wouldn't form.

I had watched for the lady everyday, hoping to see her out here again on yet another ride. This time, it was later in the day when she rode up on her black stallion. Instead of getting on the barge for a transit across the river, she pulled her horse to a stop twenty feet away from the bank, and tied him to a hanging branch of a tree. I watched her approaching me, trying to mask the excitement I felt at seeing her again.

"Well, Stuart, still here I see."

"Yes, Milady." She kept coming forward until she stood close, both feet planted on the barge. She took my hand and placed a copper into my palm.

"Take me halfway across, and then tell me once again of how my husband met his end. Leave nothing out to spare my sensibilities. I want to know it all."

"There's nothing more to tell. You already have the whole of it."

"Then tell it to me again. Slowly now, in order that I might once again savor it's full flavor." I felt, once again, how strange and inappropriate were the things she said to me. I wanted to give voice to those feelings, but knew not a way to do so without giving her grave offense. Instead, I pushed off from the shore and then pulled us out to near halfway.

"Your husband's death was not of my wishing, Milady. In truth, I'd sooner he still lived. Recounting the how of it to you stirs memories in me that I'd just as leave forget."

"Do you think ill of me that I can't lay aside my need for dwelling on every aspect of his departure? Is it so hard for you to countenance the relief and pleasure that your telling of it provides me?"

"Is it not enough that he is dead and can do no one further harm?"

"If I were you, perhaps. And how I wish it had been my hand, instead of yours, that stayed his heart forevermore. It wasn't for lack of wishing. Please, withhold your rancor at my need, and indulge me this one last time."

"He came aboard the barge, and dropped two coppers in my palm. I told him that only paid for the horse and not it's rider. He accused me of being trying to him and brought his crop to bear hard upon my face, whilst I stood near him, unawares of his intent to do me any harm. Forewarned after the first, I moved backwards to avoid another blow. His horse, perhaps from nerves at the smell of my blood, moved about in such a manner as to dislodge the barge from its purchase on the bank. I pulled on my rope to send us out further in the river, thinking that he would then unhorse himself, to try to steady his skittish mount. Instead, he lunged the horse forward at me, trying to force me into the water. I eluded his charge and tried to move behind the horse. When next he lunged the horse, I struck out with my fist, desperate to avoid being pushed off into the river. The horse, perhaps surprised, or from his pain at being punched, withdrew backwards, and stumbled of his footing, plunging sideways into the water. Your husband kept his seat, and rode into the water as well. It happened so quickly. One minute he and the horse were upon me, the next, swimming for their lives."

"Did he say anything? Did he curse you, or beg for your assistance?"

"No, he looked back, as if at me, I know not whether he saw more than the distance he'd traveled from the barge. He said nothing which I could hear."

"I see in your eyes the distaste you feel at revealing this again to me. Stuart, I too bear the marks of his displeasure. He didn't discriminate when it came to demonstrating his ire. I'm reliably informed that he once struck a stable boy with a shoeing mallet so hard that it resulted in the boy's death. Of course, nothing was ever done to punish him for that either."

"Why would he do something like that?"

"A horse of his pulled up lame after a race. The boy had been in charge of the exercise program for the horse. Charles needed no justification for his actions, other than his own desire to do something to someone. You need not feel even a moment of guilt for ridding the world of him. Were it generally known that you had helped him into the water, many would applaud your act."