The Dead Men Stood Together Read Online Free Page A

It was the pain of not feeling the pain I knew I should.
    I wished I could have loved him as the mourners at his funeral had loved him, but I had never seen what they had seen. He’d never shown that to me. He had taught me all I knew about the sea, but the man himself was a mystery to me.
    My mother was sure it was providence that I had been spared my father’s fate and refused to let me sail again. She had her own business as a basket maker, selling baskets and crabbing pots to the fisherfolk, and she made me learn the skills of their making and help her in the selling.
    Inside, I felt that this was no work for a man – and certainly not a sailing man – but I couldn’t bear to give my mother any further sadness, so I kept my complaints to myself and helped her as best I could. In time, I came to enjoy my days with her and miss the sea as something I’d known once but would not know again.
    Now my uncle was here, home from wandering and ready for more, and I was once again filled with a terrible yearning to see the world.

V
    When the sun’s rays began to light my room, I got dressed, crept past my mother’s room and went stealthily into the barn, where my uncle still slept. He looked like a dead man. He barely made a sound with his breathing and he made no movement at all. He lay on his back, hands clasped together across his chest.
    He was fully dressed, the purse and dagger still round his waist. The crossbow was leaning up against a wooden post. My mother would never let him teach me to fire it, I knew it. I looked at my uncle and then reached for the crossbow.
    As soon as my hands touched it, I felt myself dragged sideways and something sharp pressed against my neck. Looking up, I saw my uncle leaning over me, his dagger pointed at my windpipe. He shook his head and let me go.
    I scrabbled backwards through the dirt until I reached the wall and then sat staring at him. He was putting his dagger back in his scabbard.
    ‘You’ll get yourself killed, creeping up on a man like that,’ he said.
    ‘Sorry,’ was all I could think to say.
    He turned and smiled.
    ‘No – it’s me who should be sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve lived my life among thieves and scoundrels. I’m not fit for decent people.’
    My heart was still leaping about like a rabbit in a sack.
    ‘You really do have a look of your father about you,’ said my uncle, stretching and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
    ‘Did you know him well?’ I asked.
    ‘Know him?’ He said with a laugh. ‘Of course I knew him. he was my brother! He was a good man. He was a tough man too, despite his gentle ways. I liked him. He never had too much time for me though.’
    ‘Why?’ I asked, calming a little.
    ‘We were different animals,’ said my uncle. ‘He thought I was reckless and a dreamer. And he was right. We can’t help how we’re made. I always wanted to know what was over the horizon. He was a fine sailor, your father, but I could never understand why he never wanted to sail on and explore. But then he had you and your mother to come home to.’
    My uncle’s smile faded and he looked away.
    ‘Were you never married, Uncle?’ I asked.
    ‘Me?’ he said. ‘No. Well, almost – once. A long time ago. But I’d have made a poor husband and an even poorer father.’
    He turned to me and peered at me intently.
    ‘And what about you? Do you dream of distant shores?’
    ‘I used to,’ I said, lowering my voice a little in case my mother walked by. ‘But I don’t sail any more. I help my mother now. Ever since my father died . . .’
    My uncle nodded.
    ‘She’s lucky to have a good son.’
    ‘She wants me safe,’ I said.
    ‘Safe?’ said my uncle, as though he had never used the word in his entire life. ‘And is that what you want? To be safe?’
    ‘I have porridge ready on the stove,’ said a voice behind him. It was my mother, standing in the doorway. I jumped to my feet. I saw the look in her eyes and knew she had been listening. She