Witt

 

Witt

A Novel

By

Gerry Chadwick

 

 

 

 

Part One: The River

1

Flopping down on the riverbank he shook off his backpack and sighed. He could just make out the ferry he’d missed in the distance, it was just over halfway across. Snatching up a small stone he threw it after the fading ferry. As the ripples were swallowed up by the passing water he lay back and put his hands behind is head.

Looking up at the darkening sky he realised that he would have to find somewhere to eat and sleep nearby, then be back here at first light to catch the morning ferry across the wide river. He wondered what was happening back home, they must’ve missed him by now, could no longer put the time he’d been away down to one of his “Dream walks” as his Grandfather called it when he went off to explore or just think about things.

Casting these thoughts aside he sat up and looked around, no point staying by the river, he would be out under the stars tonight and didn’t want to end up covered in dew and dampness if he could help it and that was guaranteed if he stayed near the river. Standing, he gazed out over the water again, the ferry was no longer in sight as it had rounded the small island on the south side and by now would be pulling into its moorings there for the night.

Bending to pick up his pack he noticed a glimmer of light in the distance, peering more closely he focused on the source. The old tower on the south bank was catching the rays of the setting sun, red and orange light reflected off its high beams, some of the ancient metal lines criss-crossed its rusty surface giving the aged towers a webbed look.

Witt had seen the north tower up close; it had taken him a while to make that trip and he’d suffered his Grandfather’s anger for being away so long, but it had been worth it. He smiled and wondered how angry his Grandfather would be this time.

The old tower had been an incredible sight. He didn’t get too close because debris fell from the old construction all the time, some said that one day they would collapse completely. They also said that they had once held up a mighty bridge that spanned the whole river, others that they were the remains of lookout towers that were built to guard the river from invaders.

Witt could see the merits of both arguments, amazing as they were, he didn’t see how either feat could be achieved though. Then again, the old world engineers could do many things that would seem almost miraculous today. With a sigh he tore his eyes from the tower and shouldered his pack. Setting off back down the path he had run down to get there he moved away from the river and set off in search of a suitable, and hopefully dry, place to spend the night.

Heading back up the lane he remembered that there was a small barn or some sort of out building just off to his right, that would do for the night. Plus, it was close enough to get back for the ferry in the morning.

 

2

The sun had almost gone by the time Witt got to the barn, inside it was dark, but it was good enough for one night especially as a cool breeze was now blowing from the river. He found a couple of old hay bales in one corner of the building; this would make a reasonable bed and his pack would serve as a pillow. Pleased with the situation he removed his shoes and socks and began to inspect his feet.

“Always look after your feet lad” his father had told him “you can’t enjoy a good walk with sore feet” he added, “It’ll always end up a bad walk.”

It was his father who had introduced Witt to the idea of walking for pleasure, he would use the excuse of inspecting the family farm, but he and Witt both knew it was really to spend quiet, reflective time. To see the countryside and think.

Witt couldn’t remember exactly how old he was when he started to follow his father, but eventually one day his dad had turned and said.

“Come on then, you can walk with me not behind. You’ve got to keep up mind and be quiet too. We’re looking and thinking and that doesn’t need words.”

So, from then on Witt had walked with his father and he had continued to do it after his dad had died.

Laying back in his temporary bed Witt closed his eyes and thought about home again, they would be starting to wonder where he was, after all, it had been two days now.

 

3

Witt dreamed that night, of the home he’d left two days before, creeping downstairs in the darkness just before dawn. The family farm had become too small for him, too ordinary, too dull. He wanted to travel and see other places, other people. He had to leave or he would go crazy.

He dreamed of the walk he had taken after his father died, he had gone a lot further than ever before and taken a lot longer about it too. Grandfather and the rest of his family had given him a lot of slack, even though he must have tried their patience. He heard his grandfather explain to his brothers once.

“He’s still young and that’s a tough time to lose your father, you are both older and can cope better, you’re adults, he needs time. Don’t worry, he’ll grow out of it.”

But Witt knew different, he wasn’t growing out of it, he was growing into it. By the time he was sixteen he was staying away overnight, making journeys that lasted two or three days. That was how he’d learned about the river, the ferry and the towers. And that was how he had found the picture card!

Witt stirred slightly in his sleep, murmuring quietly to himself. What he said wasn’t clear but it was something to do with the picture on the card and how he had found it.

 

4

He had started out that morning with the intention of making this a long trip, his backpack contained plenty of food and water and a bedroll because he knew he would be sleeping outside for the next couple of nights. However, his grandfather had said that they were in for fair weather for the next few days and he was never wrong.

Travelling across country he avoided other locals, the last thing he wanted was a long, drawn out conversation about the weather, or crops, or sheep, the main topics of conversation in these parts. He was on a mission that day, to get as close to the northern tower as he could, he didn’t want any delays.

A few hours later he had stopped to rest and munch on an apple whilst taking in his surroundings, he was getting nearer to the road that headed south and this was his next aim because he knew that it would lead him to the tower. Taking a long drink and adjusting his pack he set off once more.

Crossing the field, under the gaze of some wary sheep, he climbed over the fence and joined the south road as it swept through the countryside in a great bend from the east

Looking down at his shadow he realised it was already past noon so he increased his pace, he wanted to get near to the tower at sunset and see the river as the setting sun coloured its surface

He made good time on the road; its level surface made walking easy. A couple of carts passed him heading north to the larger village where the market would be held tomorrow and Witt waved at the drivers as their horses steadily pulled the load. After a while traffic ceased and he knew he must be nearing his goal. Finally, the main route turned off to the right, to end at the river where a ferry took passengers and carts alike across to the south side of the river

This part of the old disused road was more overgrown, but he strode on, hardly slowing at all. His excitement grew as he approached the ruin of a building to the left, it must have been a large building at one time, but now little of it remained. More than most old abandoned buildings though, most had either burned down or had their building material scavenged and reused, Witt knew that very little was left of the city that had once stood on the riverside to the east of where he was, he had tried to get there once but had given up after his path was blocked by a an impenetrable blockade of rubble and undergrowth. Here and there a few ruins had been visible, but he had decided not to proceed, it was too dangerous.

This building held some interest though and he decided that after viewing the tower he would explore it more closely. Witt moved on a little more slowly now, the overgrown road surface was full of holes and newly sprouting trees and bushes, it would eventually come to a dead end at the river, his destination.

Witt awoke and was initially confused by his surroundings; he rubbed sleep from his eyes. It was still early, although the birds were beginning to stir outside, but he needed an early start to get back to the ferry for its first southern crossing of the day.

After a simple breakfast he set off back down the previous evening’s route, the sun was climbing into a perfect blue sky and the birds were reaching the crescendo of their dawn chorus. As he reached the boarding point for the ferry, he could see it approaching, about two thirds of its journey was complete. Sitting on the low wall to wait, his thoughts drifted back to his dream of the previous night and he began to remember when he had followed the overgrown road to its end near the tower.

 

5

Witt had fought his way through the overgrown end of the road and then he suddenly broke through into an open area. Huge, grooved monoliths broke through the ground and pointed skywards, a few weeds and some sparse grass grew underfoot but he could easily make out the black, smooth surface of the road.

Just ahead the road ended, crumbling and falling into the river below. Witt stood as near to the edge as he dared, below he could see the river and its northern bank, then his eyes were drawn towards the huge stone and metal construction standing in front of him just offshore. This was the north tower.

The impressive structure rose from its base in the river, rust scarring its surface; the slowly setting summer sun reddened it further. One of its cross beams had begun to break loose from the upright and remnants of cables hung about it like a veil, a wavering shadow rippled on the water. In the distance the south tower cut an equally imposing image against the country backdrop of the distant riverbank.

Witt gaped, a seagull floated above the scene before wheeling away towards the river’s estuary and the sea, it was astonishing. He knew so many tales about the towers told by his father, grandfather and other members of the community, but whatever the truth about these constructions the stories could not compare with the reality he was experiencing.

After a while he realised, he was starting to lose the light so, reluctantly, he turned and headed back to the ruin he had discovered earlier that day. If he stayed there overnight, he could come back in the morning and view the towers at dawn, wouldn’t that be something to share with his friends later in the week.

By the time he reached the ruined building the sun had all but gone, however, it being early summer, the sky clear and a virtual full moon already in the sky, Witt’s eyes became accustomed to the gloom quickly and he could move around with relative ease.

Approaching from the road he was able to see that one entire wall was still standing along with part of the back of the building and some of the roof. Witt’s brown eyes narrowed and a slight smile touched his young face, for its age the building had lasted well, again, he told himself, because it was well off the beaten track. The rusty remains of a stairway led up to what was left of the roof and noticed that there were no windows in the wall, but there was a door.

Witt knew from experience exploring other buildings that the door was most likely blocked or jammed up by now, but no matter, he would skirt around the front of the building and gain entry through the hole where the wall had collapsed. Finding no great challenge in this he made his way into the ruin itself, inside it was pretty gloomy but the floor in the area with a roof was fairly clear of debris and it was here that Witt unpacked his bedroll, ate some of the food he had brought and drank some water before he lay down and quickly fell into a deep sleep brought on by the days activity.

 

6

“Oy!”

Witt was startled from his reverie by a voice from the ferry.

“Catch this then!” the voice continued and a coiled rope was thrown towards him. He jumped up and clumsily caught the damp coil.

“Right, now pull” the voice from the ferry came again “while I cut the engine”

Witt got a good grip on the rope and leaned back, getting a good footing he held fast as the ferryman busily moved to the back of the craft to silence the sputtering engine and the ran to the front again to lower a ramp onto the bank to connect with the road there, the ferry bottom scraped gently against the shore. As the ramp touched shore he nimbly ran down it with another rope.

“Hitch the rope around that bollard lad, quick as you can so we can unload” he called whilst leaping off the ferry to attach the other rope to a twin bollard on the opposite side of the ramp. Witt spotted the post he referred to and coiled the rope around it a couple of times before pulling it tight and tying it off, the rope slipped snugly into the worn grooves on the posts well-used surface. The ferryman trotted over and inspected his work.

“Aye” he admitted “Not bad, you done this before?”

“Not with a ferry” Witt replied, “But plenty of times with a horse and cart” the ferryman nodded approvingly.

“Best get out the way now though, else you’ll be under a horse and cart” he pointed to the flat bed of the ferry where two carts were poised to disembark.

Witt moved to one side and retrieved his pack as the two carts and a couple of foot passengers left the boat, a new voice called from the bank.

“Hey! Wait up!” Witt turned and saw that another cart was approaching along the riverside road from the west

“No worry” called the ferryman, “Only just got ‘ere meself, you’ve got time” The carts driver waved and slowed his horse to allow the two disembarking drivers to pass

“Looks like you’re the only foot passenger lad” the ferryman said to Witt “Tell you what, dump your bag at the back and give us a hand with the ropes and stuff and I’ll cut your fare to a two pennies instead of three, ‘ow’s that sound?”

“Great!” Witt replied, he had little money as it was so any saving was a boon. He ran up the ramp as the ferryman walked over to the waiting cart and its driver, dropped his pack and ran back again.

“Righto!” called the ferryman, “let’s get her on then.”

Gradually the horse and cart moved along the ramp and onto the ferry, the horse was a little unsure as its hooves hit the wood of the ramp and the deck of the ferry but with encouragement from the driver it was soon in place on the flat centre deck.

“Now lad,” the ferryman pointed at the post Witt had tied off to, “I’ll take your fare now, then you man your rope again. When I’ve loosened mine and run up the ramp, you do yours and get up the ramp sharpish like. Got it?” Witt nodded eagerly and handed over his two pennies.

“When yer on” he continued, “help the cart driver pull the ramp up, I’ll have the engine going by then and we’ll be off. No one else to pick up here” he gestured towards the now empty road “But I do know that there’s at least at least two more carts and a foot passenger waiting over the other side so let’s get over there and get ‘em” With that he turned and walked to the post, then he unfastened his rope and coiled it as he ran up the ramp.

“Right lad!” he called. Witt untied his rope and copied the ferryman’s actions. At the top of the ramp he threw the coil of rope aside and joined the cart driver in pulling up the ramp.

As he did this, he became aware of a noise at the end of the ferry, then, after he had tied of the ramp rope, he turned to look at the rear of the craft where the ferryman now stood. He was holding a long handle which he had pushed over to the left; this entered the water just behind the boat. As the craft slowly moved away from the bank he reached back and twisted a hand grip sticking up from the rear of the ferry, then he pushed the handle to the right. A rumbling noise increased slightly in volume and the ferry slowly moved forward and turned slowly and gracefully away from the bank, after a few seconds the craft was travelling slowly towards the other side of the river. Witt stared in amazement at the rumbling smoking object behind the ferryman’s legs, it was an engine, he had never seen one before and it held him transfixed. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes son” chuckled the cart driver, “I felt like you did a while ago when I started using this route” he pointed to the machine “that thing gets this ferry across the river in less than half the time rowing or hauling would, it’s amazing” Witt was still open mouthed as the cart driver continued. “Anyroad, it still takes the best part of an hour to cross so you might as well make yourself comfy, no doubt we’ll be lowering the ramp on the other side.”

He moved to the shady side of the vessel into the shadow created by his cart and sat on the deck leaning against the wheel, he closed his eyes and dropped his head to his chest, crossing his hands on his fairly copious stomach.

Witt positioned himself on the outside edge of the craft where he could see the retreating bank but also where he would be able to see both towers as they travelled across the slowly moving water. Later he thought he would also see if the ferryman would let him have a closer look at the all too fascinating engine, he hoped so.

As he gazed back at the northern bank Witt sighed, would he ever come back here again?

He shrugged to himself, who knew? What he did know was that he had to go south and the drive to leave had come to him that morning near the tower when he had found the prized possession now carefully hidden in his pack.

7

He had woken early that morning, the coming dawn just a faint lightening of the horizon. He grabbed an apple and some water from his bag and found his way back through the overgrown path to the end of the road.

Gazing out at the river he could make out the nearest tower, but it was still too dark for him to see the distant second tower, he would have to wait for that. He sat down on the road and waited.

At first there was no real change in the scene the sky to his left gradually brightened and slowly, more distant objects revealed themselves to his keen eyes, a gentle breeze blew a few strands of dark brown hair across his face, Witt brushed them away and watched closely as the sun began to creep over the horizon.

Suddenly, shafts of sunlight swept over the land, the river shone with reflected gold and the near tower was bathed in dazzling sun. The rusty cords hung on its surface like the strands of hair blowing across Witt’s face, he felt a connection with the structure and looking further he saw the second tower, distant, smaller, but illuminated in the same way as the near one.

He moved slowly to the centre of the road and a realisation struck him. Where he stood, the near tower and the far tower were in line with each other, he had seen that pattern before. Back on the farm there was a path leading down to the brook which crossed his families land, a wooden bridge crossed that stream and Witt saw that just as the path on the farm was in line with two stumps that were driven into the riverbed to support the planks that created that bridge, so these towers lined up with the roadway he stood upon and, presumably, with a matching roadway on the other side. His eyes widened at the thought and a thin smile touched his lips, the stories of the ancient bridge were true, there had been people in the past with the knowledge and capability to build an enormous bridge over this wide river. Witt could only shake his head in amazement and wonder, what had happened to them.

Later that morning he had returned to the ruined building to collect his belongings, his mind teemed with unanswerable questions. He repacked his things and finally stood to throw his pack on his shoulders and spotted a door. He hadn’t noticed it in the gloom of the previous evening but there was a door in the far wall, Witt decided to see if it led outside, maybe to the rusty staircase he had seen on the outside wall. Looping his pack over one shoulder he went over to the door and turned the handle, surprisingly it turned and, with a little persuasion from his shoulder, the door opened.

On the other side was another door, this one was wider and metal. There was a bar holding it closed and a sign above it, but Witt could not read it because of the dirt and rust covering it. He quickly realised that if he pushed the bar the door would probably open, this should lead to the outside world and he hoped that by letting in the daylight he would be able to see his new surroundings better.

It took a couple of shoves to break through the rust on the bar but eventually the door opened, groaning and shrieking as he pushed it wide. As he’d thought it opened to the outside world, light flooded in and Witt could now see that he was in a small room connecting the two doors, he also noticed that to his right was a third door, this too opened with a little persuasion and Witt entered.

Beyond was another small room, dust motes twinkled in the air as the light from outside spilled through the doorway. As his eyes grew more accustomed to the dim room, he noticed that there was a row of doors, he counted eight, they were like the wardrobes back home but thinner. Touching the surface of one of them he realised they were made of metal, their surface was pitted with rust in places, but elsewhere a smooth surface remained. Each door had three small vents towards the top.

Witt opened the first door; its hinges squeaked with age; he saw the space inside was empty. Doors two and three proved to be the same, doors four and five were locked, six was empty. The seventh door was so loose and damaged that it came away it his hand, he leaned it against the wall. Door eight revealed nothing either. Reaching into his pocket he produced a sheathed knife and, opening the blade, he inserted it in the gap between door and frame of the first locked door. Almost immediately it sprang open, the lock too weakened by age to resist, inside Witt saw the remains of what seemed to be a coat hanging from a metal hook. It was black and very musty with age, he lifted one sleeve, and with a slight ripping sound, it came away in his hand. The musty smell grew stronger and so he threw the sleeve back and closed the door, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Forcing the next door, he thought that it too held nothing, however looking more closely he spotted a box on the shelf at the top. Reaching in he removed the box and set it on the floor for later investigation, on the floor was a mass of old material and Witt wondered if it too had been clothing which had rotted away like the coat. Gazing around the rest of the room he saw nothing else of interest, there was a broom in one corner but the handle broke as he tried to lift it, the wood rotted with age. So, retrieving his find from the floor he stepped out into the daylight to study the box, collecting his pack and bedroll on the way.

Outside the noon sun shone brightly overhead and Witt put down his bag and took a closer look at his discovery. He could now see that the box was blue in colour but totally unadorned. At first he thought it was locked and he was about to retrieve his knife to force the catch when he saw there was a small button within the lock mechanism and when he pressed this, with a pleasing click, the lid moved slightly and the box was open.

Slowly lifting the lid Witt found that the blue box did not contain much, but what it did hold was pure treasure to a young man like him. Two dull discs caught his eye; he knew at once that this was money, old money. He removed one and set down the box. Each dirty, dulled surface had a design on it, on one side was a man’s head and on the reverse was an emblem of some sort that he did not recognise. He could, however, make out a name on the head side it was George. There were other letters on that side too, but he could not tell what they said or their meaning. Witt could read and write and his basic mathematics was fairly good from the few years of schooling you got in the community, but these letters just didn’t make any sense to him.

He looked at the emblem side again and rubbed its surface, there were words and numbers here too.

“One pound” he said out loud, “Two, zero…” here he paused, was the third number an eight or a nine, he peered more closely, probably an eight. The fourth number he could hardly see at all, it could’ve been a five or a six, or maybe even another eight or a nine, he just couldn’t tell.

Picking up the box again he tried the other coin. This was similar in size and shape to the first one but was so tarnished and corroded that he couldn’t make out much on either side, just the vague outline of the man’s head again. Putting the two coins back in the box he looked at the third item, it looked like a piece of card, there had been writing on the back but that was now so faded and old that he could not read it. However, when he turned the card over, he got the surprise of his young life.

On the other side of the card was a picture, Witt had seen pictures before in books, but this was special, it had to be because it was a picture on its own without a book. It was also special because it was a picture of the most magnificent building he had ever seen. It must’ve been huge as the few people you could make out where small in comparison; it appeared to have hundreds of windows and a huge gate with a fenced wall. In front of it there was an enormous statue, he couldn’t tell if it was of a man or a woman but, again, it must’ve been big.

He flipped the card over again and peered at the back, looking for any clue to the name of the place shown. At the bottom of the card was a small area which had not turned quite as brown or faded as the rest. It also appeared also appeared to be printed, not handwritten like the faded letters above. He turned slightly to get more light on the card.

“Ingham” he said out loud “Ingham, pal…. Palace” he finally worked out the word. He flipped the card again, that’s why the building looked so grand, it was a palace. Quickly he snatched up the clearer of the two coins again, kings lived in palaces, he knew that and they also appeared on coins. Is that why these things had been kept together in the box because this “George” was the king who lived in Ingham Palace. Thrilled with his discovery Witt put the coins and card back in the box, removed the food container from his bag, but the box in and replaced the container. He would hide the box under the board in his room at home. He had a couple of other things under there, another small coin and a weird looking piece of machinery but nothing as fabulous as this.

So, picking up his other belongings, he set off back along the road north, leaving the building and the towers behind to continue their lonely vigil by the slowly flowing river.

 

8

Witt gazed out at that river again now, but this time from the surface of the water on the ferry as it slowly made its way across. Turning away from the view he looked to the rear of the vessel and studied the ferryman as he held the long smooth pole that he used to steer the craft. The pole ran back from the hands of its pilot above the sputtering engine, as it chugged like an iron heart behind the ferryman’s legs.

“What’s up lad?” said the ferryman looking his way “Never seen an engine before?”

“No sir,” replied Witt politely “We don’t have them where I grew up.”

“Oh aye,” said the ferryman looking into the distance again, from one of them old fashioned farms up north eh?” he continued “All horse drawn ploughs and such, well that thing” he pointed to the smoking machine “Dates back to older times too.”

“Of course, old Tom there has probably had to replace so many parts on it that its almost new again by now” said the cart driver rising slowly from the shadow he had been resting in, he let out a wheezy chuckle at his own humour, “He says he runs it on veg oil and alcohol” he jerked a thumb towards the ferryman “The way it smokes I think he uses his old socks!” he laughed again.

“Long as it gets you across the river what do you care what I use” said the ferryman smiling. By now the ferry was approaching the other bank.

“Up you get lad” said the cart driver “It’s nearly time for you to earn your discounted fare” Witt bounced up and looked towards the front of the boat, sure enough they were nearing the bank and some people were waiting on the shore.

The ferries engine was cut to idle and ropes were thrown by Witt and the cart driver to waiting passengers on shore, as the vessel was tied up the two passengers on board lowered the ramp. Witt walked over to get his belongings and the cart driver climbed up onto his seat.

“Where are you heading for lad?” he called out.

“Nowhere special” Witt replied, “Just south.”

“Well, I’m on my way to Lincoln, is that far enough south for you?” the man asked.

“How far is that?” asked Witt walking up beside the cart.

“Takes me about two days, beats walking, hop up if you want to” he indicated the empty place to his left “The company would be grand too” he added.

“Are you gettin’ off or what!” yelled someone from the shore, “Haven’t got all day.”

“Right!” Witt scrambled up beside the driver.

“Put your pack behind you” said the cart driver.

Witt saw that just behind the seat was a small storage compartment filled with cooking equipment and a bedroll; he placed his bag carefully on top so it wouldn’t fall. The cart driver shook the reigns.

“Hey!” he called out “Get on, you’ve had your rest” The horses pulled and the cart slowly began to roll towards the ramp, eventually the wheels began to crunch on stone and gravel of the pathway and they were on their way south.

“Names John by the way” said the driver holing out a hand.

“Oh…er…Witt” said Witt.

“So why are you heading south?” asked John “Seeking your fortune?” he laughed.

“No, just wanted to see what it’s like somewhere else” said Witt and look for Ingham Palace, he added to himself.

“Well, Lincoln’s a good place to start lad” John went on “There’s plenty to see and do there.”

John started to describe a few places in Lincoln, but Witt had become distracted by some of the passengers boarding the ferry now they had vacated it. In particular two men in what looked like military uniform, he also noticed that they were armed with crossbows. John’s eyes followed his glances and he stopped his description.

“Earl’s men” he said in a low voice “Never seen ‘em this this far north before, wonder what that’s all about.”

Witt wondered too, he had never seen soldiers before except in books and was puzzled as to why anyone would send armed men to such a peaceful community like the one he had grown up in. His brow furrowed.

“Sure there’ll be some good reason” John seemed to sense his concern “Probably just the Earl trying to widen his trade areas, that’ll be it I bet” he continued “He has a pretty wide influence on this side of the river already, so maybe he’s looking further north, always been an ambitious man the Earl”

The cart was on the firmer ground of the south road now and John encouraged his horses to go a little faster. A breeze blew through Witt’s hair and he relaxed a little, this was an easier way to travel. As John had said, beats walking.

 

9

They travelled for the rest of the morning, shared a plain lunch of bread, cheese and fruit, then continued the journey south in the afternoon sun. John talked some more about the Earl, about how he had taken over Lincoln from a band of six men who wanted the rebuild the city.

“Earl was the youngest,” he went on “He could see that there would come a time when he could take full control on his own. When that day came, the first thing he did was rebuild the castle. For five years he had every spare person in the city scavenge for suitable building materials, those best suited and loyal were given the lead role in the rebuild. When it was finished these same men became his advisors or captains in his army.”

“He has an army?” said Witt.

“Oh aye!” Said John “The two we saw at the ferry, they were his men like I said, probably a couple of his Sergeant at arms” John smiled “You should see the city now lad, well you will, day after tomorrow” At this point he turned and looked Witt in the eye.

“And if you’ve got any sense you’ll stay too, Lincolns the place to be lad. The Earl and his army are going to carry on building, you mark my words the Earl is going to be one powerful man soon” He nodded his head as though Witt was in agreement even though the young man had said nothing. Then he turned his concentration back to driving the cart.

For a short while Witt pretended to doze so he could have a few thoughts of his own. Should he stay in Lincoln? Maybe, see what was happening, maybe get work and maybe find out more about Ingham Palace. Finally, he did doze and again his thoughts went back to when he had found the picture.

 

10

He had kept the box with its coins and picture safe in his hiding place in his small attic room, taking them out occasionally to marvel at the grandeur of the palace. He didn’t feel he could ask anyone about Ingham, not directly anyway, he had once taken the opportunity to ask about palaces during a mealtime.

“What you want to know about palaces for lad?” his Grandfather had asked.

“I just heard someone at the market use the word” Witt said innocently whilst reaching for bread, “Wondered what they are.”

“Aye, well” his Grandfather said “I shouldn’t bother too much with that kind of stuff, you won’t find any round here anyway” he went on “Gone like the big cities, way back before my father and probably his too’ he stabbed a potato with venom “bloody good riddance too, if you ask me.”

‘Now dad” his mother had said “not at mealtimes.”

“Humph!” His Grandfather snorted and set about his meal with gusto.

Witt stayed silent, a frown on his face, later that night though he thought about what had been said. It seemed that every time the past was mentioned in the local community it was frowned upon. Extraordinarily little real history had been available to Witt growing up; all they really learned at school was reading, writing, mathematics and farming. There were very few history books, and they were all stories, no real facts and very few pictures.

Witt had mentioned it to his close friends, Daniel and Gabriel. Danny, of course, thought he knew the answer, but he always was a bit of a know all.

“Important folk live in them” he’d said “like a community leader, or somebody like that, bet there’s none up here though. You’d have to go down south, there’ll be loads there I reckon.”

“I’ll see ‘em then” said Gabriel; the other two boys stared at him, puzzled. Gabe didn’t say much so when he did you paid attention. His round ruddy face looked almost dreamlike as he continued.

“I’m gonna go south one day” Witt and Daniel rolled their eyes at each other; they’d heard this one before and they knew it was never going to happen.

Witt snapped back to the present and the gentle, jolting of the cart. How wrong he and Daniel had been, Gabe had just disappeared one night, months ago. He wondered what Danny would be thinking too, both of his best friends gone now, gone south.

“Anyway lad” John broke into his reverie, “I reckon it’s time we thought about stopping for the

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Texte: Gerry Chadwick
Cover: Gerry Chadwick
Lektorat: Gerry Chadwick
Satz: Gerry Chadwick
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 01.10.2020
ISBN: 978-3-7487-5928-7

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