Crispin's Army
Chapter 15

“Hello,” Josie smiled. She exuded warmth and delight at seeing her man returned home. And she suddenly felt that what she wanted more than anything was for him to make love to her.

Crispin gently laid Karl back into his cradle. “Hello,” he smiled in return.

They hugged with a desperate fervour, Josie’s lips seeking out Crispin’s through the tangle of his moustache, teeth pressed against teeth, tongues wrestling until they ached, arms clamped across backs and encircling waists, rotating, gravitating towards the bed chamber as they did so.

“Wait!” cried Crispin. “Is it not too soon?”

“Too soon?” Josie echoed, amused. “It’s been much too long.”

“I mean, after the baby.”

“I know what you mean,” Josie grinned, drawing him down onto the bed. “It’s been three months. It will be all right.”

And then it was fingers, coaxing knotted laces and unyielding buckles, hands, stroking thighs and tugging at recalcitrant sleeves, a wild tangle of limbs, hair mingling with hair on the pillow, and Crispin and Josie merged to become the beast with two backs. Many months of enforced celibacy came to an abrupt end as they plunged and bucked together like wild things, rapturously entwined in each other.

As their passion soared to its climax, they did not hear the latch lifted, then, after the merest instant, during which Gus’s ear told him that Josie was temporarily preoccupied, dropped back into place.

Then, when it was all over, Josie lay in her accustomed place, her head on Crispin’s shoulder, her thigh across his stomach, and felt the contentment of having her hunter home from the hill.

“How was the hunting?” she inquired.

“Difficult,” said Crispin. “More difficult than it need have been.”

“How so?”

“We trailed a fine herd of mammoth for a week through the high moors to the north, and then just when we were ready for the kill, the whole herd took off, panicked by a mob of city folk, making all the noise you like, and coming at them from straight upwind. I couldn’t believe it. We had to follow the herd for another four days before we got another crack at them.”

“So, success?”

“Yes, in the end. But for how much longer? The land simply can’t support the burden of so many extra people. Something has to change, and change soon, or we’ll all starve, city folk and village folk alike.”

“Are there any better ways of growing food?” said Josie.

“I don’t know,” snorted Crispin. “They’d have to be a hundred times better. Like your hydroponics plants.”

Josie propped herself up on an elbow. “So, you admit the city’s not all bad.” She smiled artfully at him.

He grinned. “I thought this was coming. Yes, I admit the city’s not all bad. I don’t think I ever said it was. But it could be a lot better. We both know that.”

“And we could help to make it better, Crispin.”

Crispin started. She so seldom addressed him by name that he had come to recognise that when she did there was something pretty serious in the wind.

Josie felt his chest heave under her. “On a hunt there is a lot of time for thinking,” he said. “And I have been thinking hard. It would be good to go back to the city and see the business there through to its end. I also believe we may be able to make a useful contribution there.”

“How so?” said Josie.

“Well,” said Crispin, “I have spoken to a few people on my journey. Many of the city people are keen to return, regardless of the state of Urbis, and I think most of them approve of the rightness of the Underground cause, even though some disapprove of our methods. What’s more, I’ve found there are quite a few village lads who are curious about this strange place they’ve heard so much about, and fancy a bit of an adventure. All in all, quite a pack of folk keen to cross the mountains.”

“Well, well,” said Josie with a wry smile. She had guessed herself that there might be a considerable groundswell of desire among the refugees for a return to the city, but it had not occurred to her that there might also be a sizeable number of country-dwellers keen to spread their wings a little. She wondered if some of the latter group might change their minds if it became clear to them that what they were going to was a war, where there was a strong likelihood of them being killed, but then she reflected that these were young men, full of bluster and swagger, for whom the prospect of a fight was an attraction rather than a deterrent.

“The only thing that disturbs me about going back,” said Crispin, breaking into her train of thought, “is what to do about Karl. I don’t want to take him with us, because it would still be an arduous and dangerous journey into an even more dangerous place, but at the same time I don’t want to leave him behind.”

“You might feel better about taking him with us, though,” Josie responded cautiously, “if the city held the possibility of a complete cure for him, and untold benefits for the rest of the population.”

“Explain,” said Crispin, as Josie dangled the carrot of hope for his son’s rehabilitation in front of him.

“I can explain a little,” said Josie, “but there’s someone here in the village who can explain it all much, much better. The man who might be able to save Karl, if we can get him back to Urbis in one piece, and if his lab is still in one piece when we get there.”

“Where is this man?” said Crispin. He was already reaching for his clothes.

Crispin made a final inspection of his horse’s cinch strap, put his foot into the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle. Against his leg rested a mammoth hide holster tailored to hold an Urbian laser-powered zapper, while a sidearm of a similar nature hung from his belt.

Waiting close beside him, similarly armed and mounted, were Charlie, Nick, Mina, Arne and Nold, the last two having been carefully trained in the use of their weapons after Arne’s first use of a blaster, which had set fire to the village longhouse.

Also waiting patiently were three pack ponies, heavily laden with supplies for a lengthy trip. The travellers might reasonably expect, under more normal circumstances, that the villages they called at would give them sustenance, but these were not normal times, and provender was scarce.

It was a cold, wet October morning, and the horses’ breath was steaming in the early light. Both the riders and the onlookers gathered to see them off were swathed in heavy oiled cloaks and hoods. Only Josie had bared her head, mindless of the steady rain coursing through her hair, into her eyes, and over the fine contours of her cheekbones, lips and chin. She clutched the bridle of Crispin’s horse, reluctant to let go. A few short days had passed since his return from hunting, and now here he was setting off on another long trip, but she knew that it was necessary to leave now, to get it done with before the onset of winter.

She shuddered at the memory of the previous winter: the thick drifts of snow, the ice to be broken before water could be drawn from the stream ( the defensive grill placed across it, trapping weed and small sticks, served to impede the current if it was not cleared regularly ), the days spent huddled before the fire in either the cottage or the longhouse, draped in capes and blankets, sewing or weaving in poor light, with no books, no T.V., no music that she could relate to, the folk music of the village people seeming primitive and curiously discordant. She would have to resign herself to the tedium and privation of another such winter, hoping only that Crispin and the others would be back before it got bad.

“We’d better be going, Josie,” Crispin told her.

She started at the sound of his voice, suddenly aware that she had been daydreaming. “Yes,” she said softly. “I suppose you had. Well, I hope it all goes well. I expect you’ll have some stories to tell when you get back. I wish they had phones out here.”

Crispin leant forward in the saddle and planted a kiss on her upturned lips.

“Take care,” she murmured. “And good luck.”

“You take care too,” said Crispin softly.

He straightened, and gave his horse a gentle prod in the ribs to set him into a walk towards the village gates, which were swung open as he approached, leading the little caravan out into the valley beyond, their hooves slopping mournfully through the mud of the track. The gates closed again behind the last pack horse, and the onlookers returned to their homes to get warm.

Crispin tugged again at the rim of his hood, attempting to shield his eyes still further from the soft cold rain which the occasional gust of wind blew straight into his face. He allowed himself to settle into the easy rhythm of his horse’s unhurried gait, just every now and then slapping his feet against the animal’s sides and clucking quietly to him to keep him from slowing down too much. The horse snorted and plodded on, and Crispin watched the rise and fall of the land over the wet mane and the twitching ears.

Charlie brought his mount level with Crispin’s. Crispin turned and smiled at the novice horseman. “How are you?”

Charlie winced. “My legs ache, and my backside’s as sore as buggery. Otherwise, I’m fine. It’s a weird feeling, though.”

“How do you mean?” said Crispin.

“Well, with a machine, like a car, you know it’s not going to do anything you don’t want it to, but with an animal you can’t be sure. It might take it into its head to go galloping off somewhere, and all you can do is hang on. Going through that stream back there, I thought: if this animal decides it doesn’t like me, all it’s got to do is throw me off.”

Crispin smiled. Horses had been a regular means of transport for him since he had been a small boy, but he could still recall something of the trepidation he had felt when he had first started riding. It was unnerving until one began to trust the horse.

“You don’t need to worry,” Crispin reassured Charlie. “They’re very placid. And very sure-footed.”

“I think they’d have to be a bit stupid, myself,” Charlie observed.

“They’re not the most intelligent creatures,” Crispin agreed, “but what in particular makes you say that?”

“Well,” said Charlie, “any animal that lets another ride on its back has to be a bit stupid. Like us, letting the Presidium and the upper crust ride on our backs for so long.”

Crispin laughed. “You may have a point there.”

Presently they began climbing into hills, and Charlie’s horse dropped back into line behind Crispin’s. This wasn’t entirely Charlie’s doing. The horses seemed to have their own hierarchy which they stuck to quite rigidly, with the most `senior’ at the front and the more `junior’ at the rear. Crispin led, followed by Charlie, then Arne, Nold, and Nick, with Mina bringing up the rear, leading the pack horses.

The track they were following showed signs of regular use, being heavily eroded by hoofprints. At one point on a steep climb, where the track almost doubled back on itself, a large patch of ground had been churned to mud. Crispin’s horse picked its way carefully through it and got up onto firm ground. Charlie’s horse, close behind, lost its footing and fell sideways, unseating him.

Crispin dismounted and helped the horse get to its feet again. He held the reins while Charlie wiped his muddy hands on his trousers.

“Thanks,” said Charlie. “What was that you said about them being sure footed?”

Even as he spoke, Charlie’s eyes flicked up to see a movement on the hillside.

“Down!” he yelled, flinging himself at Crispin and bowling him over into the mud. At almost the same instant, Crispin heard blaster fire from close at hand, but was unable to turn his head to see who was firing.

“Nold!” Arne cried. “Come with me!”

There was a whinnying, and eight hooves pounded the earth uncomfortably close to Crispin’s head. The horses scrambled away up the slope, and then, from a distance, blaster fire could be heard.

Charlie and Crispin got to their feet, caked in mud. Mina and Nick were gazing at the horizon ahead, blasters in their hands.

Charlie bent down and picked up a crossbow bolt that had embedded itself in the turf close to where he and Crispin had been standing.

“Thanks,” said Crispin quietly. He glanced up at Nick and Mina. “And thanks to the two of you for being so quick on the draw.”

Mina shrugged. “I saw them the same moment Charlie did.”

Charlie moved further away from the horses, bent double, staring at the ground. He picked up out of the grass a rusted crossbow bolt, and then a second and a third.

“I’d say this is a pretty regular occurrence,” he concluded. “A natural spot for an ambush.”

Presently Arne and Nold returned, and confirmed Charlie’s suspicions. “They got away,” Arne declared as he reined in his horse. “There’s a warren of little valleys over there, and no end of places where they could hide and pick us off. We found a camp, with a little shack that showed signs of recent occupation.” He pointed to where a thin trail of smoke could be seen drifting on the wind. “We torched it with the blasters.”

“But what would they want to ambush us for?” queried Nick.

“The food and the horses, and probably these weapons,” Arne replied.

“Come on,” said Charlie. “Let’s get moving before they decide to come back and have another go at us. Weapons primed, everyone.”

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