The Last Guardian

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

'I see you have two Bibles,' said the Parson, sitting by Shannow's bedside and holding the leather-covered books. 'Surely one is enough?'

Shannow, his head bandaged, his left eye swollen and blue, reached out and took the first. 'I carried this with me for many years. But last year a woman gave me the second; the language is more simple. It lacks the majesty, but it makes many passages easier to understand.'

'I have no trouble in understanding it,' said the Parson. 'Throughout it makes one point — God's law is absolute. Live by it and you prosper, both here and in the Afterlife. Defy it and you die.'

Shannow eased himself back into the pillows. He was always wary of men who claimed to understand the Almighty, yet the Parson was good company, by turns witty and philosophical; he had an active mind and was strong on debate.

His presence made Shannow's enforced rest less galling.

'How goes the church building?' Shannow asked.

'My son,' said the Parson, grinning, 'it is no less than a miracle. Every day scores of the brethren hurl themselves into work with gusto. You have never seen such spirit.'

'Could it have anything to do with the Committee, Parson? Beth tells me that miscreants are now sentenced to work on the church or hang.'

The Parson chuckled. 'Faith without works is dead. These lucky… miscreants… are finding God through their labours. And only three were offered the ultimate choice. One proved to be a fine carpenter and the others are developing like skills, but most of the workers are townspeople.

When you are well enough you must come along and hear one of my sermons. Though I say it myself, the Spirit moves me powerfully at such times.'

Shannow smiled. 'Humility, Parson?'

'I am exceptionally proud of my humility, Shannow,' the Parson replied.

Shannow chuckled. 'I do not know what to make of you, but I am glad of your company.'

'I do not understand your confusion,' said the Parson seriously. 'I am as you see me, a servant of the Almighty. I wish to see His plan fulfilled.'

'His plan? Which one?'

'The new Jerusalem, Shannow, coming down from Heaven in glory. And the secret is here, in the southlands. Look at the world we see. It is still beautiful, but there is no cohesion. We search for God in a hundred different ways in a thousand different places. We must gather together, work together, build together. We must have laws that hold like iron from ocean to ocean. But first we must see Revelation fulfilled.'

Shannow's unease grew. 'I thought it had been. Does it not speak of terrible catastrophes, cataclysms that will destroy most of Mankind?'

'I am talking of the Sword of God, Shannow. The Lord sent it to scythe the land like a sickle — yet it has not. And why? Because it is over an unholy place, peopled by the beasts of Satan and the Whore of Babylon.'

'I think I am ahead of you, Parson,' said Shannow wearily. 'You seek to destroy the beasts, bring down the Whore? Yes?'

'What else should a God-fearing man do, Shannow? Do you not wish to see the work of the Lord fulfilled?' 'I do not believe it to be fulfilled by slaughter.' The Parson shook his head, eyes wide with disbelief. 'How can you, of all men, say that? Your guns are legendary, and corpses mark the road of your life. I thought you were well read, Shannow. Recall you not the Cities of Ai, and the curse of God upon the heathen? Not one man or woman or child was to be left alive among the worshippers of Molech.'

'I have heard this argument before,' said Shannow, 'from a Hellborn king who worshipped Satan.

Where is the talk of love, Parson?'

'Love is for those of the Chosen People, created in the image of Almighty God. He made Men and he made the beasts of the earth. Only Lucifer would have the brazen gall to mould beasts into men.'

'You are swift to judge. Perhaps you are swift to misjudge.'

The Parson rose. 'You may be right, for I appear to have misjudged you. I thought you a warrior for God — but there is a weakness in you, Shannow, a doubt.'

The door opened and Beth entered, carrying a tray on which was some sliced dark bread and cheese and a jug of water. The Parson eased his way past her with a friendly smile, but left without farewells. Beth set the tray down and sat at the bedside.

'Do I sense angry words?' she asked.

Shannow shrugged. 'He is a man touched by a dream I do not share.' He reached out and took her hand. 'You have been kind to me, Beth McAdam, and I am grateful. I understand it was you who went to the Parson and got him to form the Committee which came to my aid.'

'It was nothing, Shannow. The town needed cleaning, and men like Broome would have spent a year debating the ethics of direct action.'

'Yet he was there, I recall.'

'The man doesn't lack courage — just common sense. How's your head?'

'Better. There is little pain. Would you do something for me? Would you fetch me razor and soap?'

‘I’ll do better than that, Jerusalem Man. I'll shave you myself. I'm longing to see what kind of a face you have hidden under that beard.'

She returned with a stiff badger-fur brush and a razor, borrowed from Mason, plus a cake of soap and a bowl of hot water. Shannow lay back with his eyes closed as she softened his beard with lather. The razor was cool on his cheek as she expertly scraped away the bristle and hair. At last she wiped his face clean of soap and handed him a towel. He smiled at her.

'What do you see?'

'You are not unhandsome, Shannow, but you'll win no prizes. Now eat your lunch. I'll see you this evening.'

'Don't go, Beth. Not just yet.' His hand reached up and took her arm.

'I have to work, Shannow.'

'Yes. Yes, of course. Forgive me.'

She stood and backed away, forced a smile and left. Outside in the corridor she stopped and pictured again the look in his eyes as he asked her to stay.

'Don't be a fool, Beth,' she told herself.

Why not? There's an hour before you are expected back. Swinging on her heel, she opened the door once more and stepped inside. Her hand moved to the buttons of her blouse.

'Don't you read too much into this, Shannow,' she whispered as she dropped her skirt to the floor and slid into bed beside him.

For Beth McAdam it was a revelation. Afterwards she lay beside the sleeping Shannow, her body warm and wonderfully relaxed. Yet the surprise of his love-making had been in the inexperience he showed; in the passive, grateful manner in which he had received her. Beth was no stranger to the ways of men and she had enjoyed lovers long before she met and seduced Scan McAdam.

She had learned that there was a great similarity about the actions of the aroused male. He fumbled, he groped, and then he drove himself into a rhythmic frenzy. Not so with Shannow…

He had opened his arms to her and stroked her shoulders and back. It was she who had made all the moves. For all his awesome powers in dealing with situations of peril, the Jerusalem Man was untutored and surprisingly gentle in the arms of a woman.

Beth slid from the bed and Shannow awoke instantly.

'You are going?' he asked.

'Yes. Did you sleep well?'

'Wonderfully. Will you come back this evening?'

'No,' she said firmly. 'I must see to my children.'

'Thank you, Beth.'

'Don't thank me,' she snapped. She dressed swiftly and pushed her fingers through her blonde hair, roughly combing it. At the door she paused. 'How many women have you slept with, Shannow?'

'Two,' he answered, without trace of embarrassment.

She walked across the street to the Jolly Pilgrim where Broome was waiting, his face red with anger.

'You said an hour, Frey McAdam, and it has been two. I have lost customers — and you will lose coin.'

'Whatever you decide, Meneer,' she said, moving past him to where the dishes waited for cleaning. There were only two customers and both were finishing their meals. Bern carried the plates to the rear of the eating-house and scrubbed them clean with water from the deep well.

When she returned the Pilgrim was empty.

Broome approached her. 'I am sorry for losing my temper,' he said. 'I know he is wounded and needs attention. You will keep the coin. I was wondering… if you would join me at my house this evening?'

'For what purpose, Meneer?'

'To talk… have a little meal… get to know one another. It is important for people who work together to understand each other.'

She looked into his thin face and saw arousal in his eyes. 'I am afraid not, Meneer. I am seeing Meneer Scayse this evening to discuss a business matter.'

'A lease of land, I know,' he said and her eyes darkened. 'Do not misunderstand, Frey McAdam.

Meneer Scayse spoke to me because I know you. He wishes to be sure of your… integrity. I told him I felt you were honest and hard-working. But do you really want the lonely life of a farm widow?'

'I want a home, Meneer.'

'Yes, yes.' She could see him building towards a proposal and headed him off. 'I must get on with my work,' she told him, easing past him to the rear of the building.

That evening she was welcomed to Scayse's permanent rooms at the Traveller's Rest by a servant, who led her through to a long room where a log fire blazed in a wide hearth. Scayse rose from a deep, comfortable chair and took her hand, lifting it to his lips.

'Welcome, madam. Might I offer you some wine?'

A handsome man, he was even more striking in the light from the fire — his swept-back hair gleaming, his sharp powerful features almost savage. 'No, thank you,' she said. He led her to a chair, waited as she sat and then returned to his own.

'The land you wish to lease is of little use to me. But tell me, Frey McAdam, why you approached me? You will know that no one has tide to land. A man takes what he can hold. You could merely have driven your wagon to a spot of your choosing and built a home.'

'Were I rich, Meneer, with fifty riders, I would have done just that. But I am not. It remains your land — and if I am troubled I will come to you for assistance. You have men riding the high pastures, and it is known that brigands rarely trouble you. I hope the same will be true of me.'

'You have learned a great deal in your short time here. You are obviously a woman of great intelligence. I find it rare that a woman should combine beauty with wit.'

'How curious, I find exactly the same thing with men.'

He chuckled. 'Will you dine with me?'

'I don't think so. Is the price agreed?'

'I will waive the price — in return for dinner.'

'Let us be clear, sir. This is a business arrangement.' She opened the small bag she carried and counted out thirty silver coins. 'That is for the first year. And now I must be leaving.'

'I am disappointed,' he said, rising with her. 'I had great hopes.'

'Hold on to them, Meneer. They are all any of us have.'

After Beth had gone, Shannow sat up. He could still smell the perfume of her body on the sheets, and feel the after-warmth of her presence. Never before had he experienced a phenomenon like her. Donna Taybard had been soft, gentle and passive, deeply loving and wonderfully comforting.

But Beth… there had been with her a power, an almost primordial hunger that had both drained him physically and elevated him emotionally.

He eased himself from the bed and stood. For a moment he swayed, and the room spun; but he held on, breathing deeply until it passed. He had wanted to dress and walk out into the air, but he knew he was too weak. A child with a short stick could lay him low in this condition. Reluctantly he returned to his bed. The bread and cheese were still on the tray nearby and he ate them, discovering to his surprise that he was ravenous. He slept for several hours and awoke refreshed.

A light knock came at the door. He hoped it was Beth. 'Come in!' he called.

Clem Steiner stepped into view.

'Now there's a sight,' said Steiner, grinning. 'The Jerusalem Man laid up and shaved. You don't look half as formidable without that silver-forked beard, Shannow.' The young man reversed a chair and sat facing the Jerusalem Man. Shannow looked into the other's eyes.

'What is it you want, Steiner?'

'I want something you can't give me. It's something I shall have to take from you — and that's a shame, because I like you, Shannow.'

'You make more noise than a pig with wind. And you are too damned young to understand it.

What I have — whatever it is — is beyond you, boy. It always will be. You only get it when you don't want it. Never when you do.'

'Easy for you to say, Shannow. Look at you, the most famous man I've ever seen. And who's heard of me?'

'You want to see the price of fame, Steiner? Look in my saddlebags. Two worn-out shirts, two Bibles and four pistols. You see a wife anywhere, Steiner? A family? A home? Fame? I wasn't looking for fame. And I wouldn't care a jot if it all left me — and it will, Steiner. Because I'll keep travelling, and I'll find a place where they've never heard of the Jerusalem Man.'

'You could have been rich,' said Steiner. 'You could have been like some king of olden times. But you threw it away, Shannow. On you fame has been wasted. But I know what to do with it.'

'You know nothing, boy.'

'I haven't been called "boy" in a long time. And I don't like it.'

'I don't like the rain, boy, but there's not much I can do about it.'

Steiner pushed himself to his feet. 'You really know how to push a man, don't you, Shannow?

You really know how to goad?'

'Hungry to kill me, Steiner? Your fame would be sky-high. Meet the man who shot Shannow in his bed.'

Steiner relaxed and returned to his seat. 'I'm learning. I won't shoot you down in the dark, Shannow, or in the back. I'll give it to you straight. Out on the street.'

'Where everyone can see?'

'Exactly.'

'And then what will you do?'

'I'll see you get a great funeral, with tall black horses and a fine stone to mark your grave. Then I'll travel, and maybe I'll become a king. Tell me, why did you pull that stunt with Maddox? You could have blown each other apart.'

'But we didn't, did we?'

'No. He almost killed you. Bad misjudgement, Shannow. It's not like what I've heard of you. Has the speed gone? Are you getting old?'

'Yes to both questions,' answered Shannow. Easing himself up on the pillow he turned his gaze to the window, ignoring the young man. But Steiner chuckled and reached out to pat Shannow's arm.

‘Time to retire, Shannow — if only they'd let you.'

'The thought has occurred to me.'

'But not for long, I'll bet. What would you do? Grub around on the land, waiting for someone who recognises you? Waiting for the bullet, or the knife? Always staring at the distant hills, wondering if Jerusalem was just beyond the horizon? No. You'll go out with guns blazing on some street, or plain, or valley.'

'Like they all do?' put in Shannow softly.

'Like we all do,' Steiner agreed. 'But the names live on. History remembers.'

'Sometimes. You ever hear of Pendarric?'

'No. Was he a shootist?'

'He was one of the greatest kings who ever lived. He changed the world, Steiner; he conquered it, and he destroyed it. He brought about the First Fall.'

'What of it?'

'You'd never heard of him. That's how well history remembers. Tell me a name you do remember.'

'Gory Tyler.'

‘The brigand who built himself a small empire in the north — shot through the head by a woman he'd spurned. Describe him, Steiner. Tell what he dreamed of. Tell me where he came from.'

'I never saw him.'

‘Then what difference does his name make? It is just a sound, whispered into the air. In years to come, some other foolish boy may wish to be like Clement Steiner. He will not know either whether you were tall or short, fat or thin, young or old, but he will chant the name like a talisman.'

Steiner smiled and rose. 'Maybe so. But I will kill you, Shannow. I'll make my own tracks.'