Speculation about this new body was interrupted by a shout from the forests edge.
Weve found them, milord!
Everyone looked up from contemplation of this new corpse, to see Fergus waving from the edge of the wood.
Them, indeed. Two men, this time. Sprawled on the ground within the shadow of the trees, found not together, but not far apart, only a short distance from the house. And both, so far as I could tell, probably dead of mushroom poisoning.
Thats no Dutchman, Sinclair said, for probably the fourth time, shaking his head over one body.
He might be, said Fergus dubiously. He scratched his nose with the tip of the hook he wore in replacement of his left hand. From the Indies, non?
One of the unknown bodies was in fact that of a black man. The
other was white, and both wore nondescript clothes of worn homespunshirts and breeches; no jackets, despite the cold weather. And both were barefoot.
No. Jamie shook his head, rubbing one hand unconsciously on his own breeches, as though to rid himself of the touch of the dead. The Dutch keep slaves on Barbuda, ayebut these are better fed than the folk from the cabin. He lifted his chin toward the silent row of women and children. They didna live here. Besides I saw his eyes fix on the dead mens feet.
The feet were grubby about the ankles and heavily callused, but basically clean. The soles of the black mans feet showed yellowish pink, with no smears of mud or random leaves stuck between the toes. These men hadnt been walking through the muddy forest barefoot, that much was sure.
So there were perhaps more men? And when these died, their companions took their shoesand anything else of valueFergus added practically, gesturing from the burned cabin to the stripped bodiesand fled.
Aye, maybe. Jamie pursed his lips, his gaze traveling slowly over the earth of the yardbut the ground was churned with footsteps, clumps of grass uprooted and the whole of the yard dusted with ash and bits of charred wood. It looked as though the place had been ravaged by rampaging hippopotami.
I could wish that Young Ian was here. Hes the best of the trackers; he could maybe tell what happened there, at least. He nodded into the wood, where the men had been found. How many there were, maybe, and which way theyve gone.
Jamie himself was no mean tracker. But the light was going fast now; even in the clearing where the burned cabin stood, the dark was rising, pooling under the trees, creeping like oil across the shattered earth.
His eyes went to the horizon, where streamers of cloud were beginning to blaze with gold and pink as the sun set behind them, and he shook his head.
Bury them. Then well go.
One more grim discovery remained. Alone among the dead, the burned man had not died of fire or poison. When they lifted the charred corpse from the ashes to bear him to his grave, something fell free of the body, landing with a small, heavy thunk on the ground. Brianna picked it up, and rubbed at it with the corner of her apron.
I guess they overlooked this, she said a little bleakly, holding it out. It was a knife, or the blade of one. The wooden hilt had burned entirely away, and the blade itself was warped with heat.
Steeling myself against the thick, acrid stench of burned fat and flesh, I bent over the corpse, poking gingerly at the midsection. Fire destroys a great deal, but preserves the strangest things. The triangular wound was quite clear, seared in the hollow beneath his ribs.
They stabbed him, I said, and wiped my sweating hands on my own apron.
They killed him, Bree said, watching my face. And then his wife She glanced at the young woman on the ground, the concealing apron over her head. She made a stew with the mushrooms, and they all ate it. The children, too.
The clearing was silent, save for the distant calls of birds on the mountain. I could hear my own heart, beating painfully in my chest. Vengeance? Or simple despair?
Aye, maybe, Jamie said quietly. He stooped to pick up an end of the sheet of canvas they had placed the dead man on. Well call it accident.
The Dutchman and his family were laid in one grave, the two strangers in another.
A cold wind had sprung up as the sun went down; the apron fluttered away from the womans face as they lifted her. Sinclair gave a strangled cry of shock, and nearly dropped her.
She had neither face nor hair anymore; the slender waist narrowed abruptly into charred ruin. The flesh of her head had burned away completely, leaving an oddly tiny, blackened skull, from which her teeth grinned in disconcerting levity.
They lowered her hastily into the shallow grave, her children and mother beside her, and left Brianna and me to build a small cairn over them, in the ancient Scottish way, to mark the place and provide protection from wild beasts, while a more rudimentary resting place was dug for the two barefoot men.
The work finally done, everyone gathered, white-faced and silent, around the new-made mounds. I saw Roger stand close beside Brianna, his arm protectively about her waist. A small shudder went through her, which I thought had nothing to do with the cold. Their child, Jemmy, was a year or so younger than the smallest girl.