Page 59 of Circle of Days
Pia did as she was told.
She carried her bag down to the river. As she was filling it, a voice said: “What’s this?”
She turned to see Shen, right-hand man to Troon. She disliked him. He was a thin man with a long bent nose—bent from sticking it where he shouldn’t, people said. He reported everything to Troon, they said. He looked at her with arrogant dark eyes. “On your own?” he said.
Pia saw no point in answering stupid questions.
“Where are your parents?”
“House,” she said, then hoisted her bag to her shoulder.
Shen turned and surveyed the fields, then spotted the house and headed for it.
Pia decided she needed to be present at the meeting. Shen was sly and malicious, and any visit from him meant trouble. She put down her bag and followed him. She had to hurry to keep up with his long strides.
When he entered the house she was right behind him.
Shen said: “What’s happening on this farm? Two people in the house and all the work being done by one little girl?”
Yana said: “My man’s unwell. A minor thing. He’ll be better shortly.”
Pia said: “And I’m not a little girl. I’m a woman, and I can carry a bag as well as anyone.”
Shen ignored her. “You can’t just stop work, Yana,” he said. “You can’t afford it in this drought. You know Troon doesn’t like anyone to slack off.”
“I’m not slacking off!” Yana said indignantly. “I’m tending to a sick man and I’ll be back at work in no time. And so will he, and then he will want to talk to you about barging into his house and trying to bully his womenfolk.”
“I’ll inform Troon. What you say had better be true.” Shen left, ducking his head to pass through the doorway.
Pia said: “I hate that man.”
“He is vile. But a servant generally does what he’s told. His master, Troon, is the one you should hate.”
Pia thought about that as she returned to her drudgery.
She worked on until it got too dark, then returned to the house with her bag. Her father was asleep. Her mother had put together a meager supper. There was porridge made with last year’s grains, some cheese, and a bowl of mixed leaves: mallow, chickweed, and bracken fronds.
They lay down, and Pia, exhausted physically and emotionally, fell asleep immediately.
She was awakened by her mother sobbing.
She sat up. The cool light of early day came in through the open top half of the doorway. Yana was lying beside Alno, half on top of him, her arm thrown across his chest, her knee on hisleg. Her sobs seemed wrenched from the heart. Pia said: “What’s happened?” Yana did not reply, but Pia knew the answer. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” she cried. She thumped the floor rhythmically with her fist. “He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.”
Her distress penetrated Yana’s misery. She stopped crying, wiped her face with her hands, and stood up. Her sudden transformation calmed Pia, who realized it was stupid to bang the floor. She got up, and mother and daughter hugged for a long time. At least I’ve still got Mamma, Pia thought, and she felt grateful.
Eventually Yana broke the hug and said: “We have duties to perform.”
They washed the body using a piece of soft leather, then dressed him again, ready for his funeral. They went outside to look for a suitable place by the river, and agreed on a spot in the shade of an oak tree. As they stood thinking that this would be the last place where he would lie down, Shen appeared.
“What are you doing?” he said, then he answered his own question. “Deciding where to cremate him. I’m not surprised. When I saw him yesterday, I knew it wouldn’t be long. You’ll be busy today, but get back to work tomorrow, without fail.”
Yana said: “You’d better tell Katch. She’s his sister, and she’ll tell the other relatives.” Katch was Troon’s woman. That was how Pia came to be cousin to the unpleasant Stam. Katch herself was likable, though under Troon’s thumb. Yana continued: “That will save me time, and I might even be able to return to watering this afternoon. I expect Troon would like that, wouldn’t he, Shen?”
Shen did not like to be told what to do. “I’ll tell her if I see her,” he said, and he went off.
Yana and Pia went to the wood and picked up armfuls of dry twigs for the pyre. They carried them down to the oak tree, but they needed more. Next time they arrived at the tree two other people were there. One was Katch. The other was a boy a few years older than Pia called Duff, who said: “My deepest sympathy, Pia and Yana.”
“And mine,” said Katch.
