The show was over. Seeing the city so near I was tempted to go inside myself, but I wasn’t sure whether I should. There was only Victoria to see, and she would be occupied with her work. Besides, Malchuskin had told me to stay with the men, and I thought I ought not disobey him.
As I was walking back towards the hut, a man came over to me from the direction of the city.
“Are you Apprentice Mann?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Jaime Collings, from the Barter guild. Track Malchuskin said there were some hired men here who were to be paid off.”
“That’s right.”
“How many?” said Collings.
“In our crew, fifteen. But there are several more.”
“Any complaints?”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Complaints… any trouble, refusal to work.”
“They were a bit slow, and Malchuskin was always shouting at them.”
“Did they ever refuse to work?”
“No.”
“O.K. Do you know who their squad leader was?”
“There was one called Rafael, who spoke English.”
“He’ll do.”
Together we walked over to the huts, and we found the men. At the sight of Collings, silence fell abruptly.
I pointed out Rafael. Collings and he spoke together in Rafael’s language, and almost at once one of the others shouted back angrily. Rafael ignored him, and spoke to Collings, but it was clear that there was a lot of animosity. Once again someone shouted, and soon many of the others had joined in. A crowd gathered around Collings and Rafael, some of the men reaching through the packed bodies and jabbing at Collings.
“Do you need any help?” I shouted over the row at him, but he didn’t hear. I moved closer and shouted the question again.
“Get four of the Militia,” he called out in English. “Tell them to keep it low.”
I stared at the arguing men for a moment, then hurried away. There was still a small group of the Militia in the area of the cable-stays, and I went in that direction. They had evidently heard the noise of the argument, and were already looking towards the crowd of men. When they saw me running over to them, six of the men started out.
“He wants four militiamen!” I said, gasping from my running.
“Not enough. Leave that to me, sonny.”
The man who had spoken, who was evidently in charge, whistled loudly and beckoned towards some more of his men. Four more militiamen left their position near the city and ran over. The group of ten soldiers now ran towards the scene of the argument, with me trailing in the rear.
Without waiting to consult Collings, who was still in the centre of the mêlée, the militiamen charged into the group of men, swinging their drawn crossbows as clubs. Collings turned round suddenly, shouted at the militiamen, but was seized from behind by one of the men. He was dragged to the ground and the men moved in, kicking at him.
The militiamen were obviously trained for this kind of fighting, for they moved expertly and quickly, swinging their improvised clubs with great precision and accuracy. I watched for a moment, then struggled into the mass of men, trying to reach Collings. One of the hired men grabbed at my face, his fingers closing over my eyes. I tried to snatch my head away, but another man helped him. Suddenly I was free… and saw the two men who had attacked me fall to the floor. The militiamen who had rescued me made no sign of recognition, but carried on with their brutal clubbing.
The crowd was swelling now, as the other local men came to give assistance. I paid no heed to this and turned back into the thick of it, still trying to reach Collings. A narrow back was directly in front of me, clad in a thin white shirt sticking wetly to the skin. Unthinkingly, I slammed my arm around the man’s throat, pulled his head back, and punched him roughly in the ear. He fell to the ground. Another man was beyond him, and I tried the same tactic, but this time before I could land a blow I was kicked roughly by another man and I fell to the floor.
Through the mass of legs I saw Collings’s body on the ground, still being kicked. He was lying face-down, his arms defensively over his head. I tried to push my way across to him, but then I too was being kicked. Another foot slammed against the side of my head, and for a moment I blacked out. A second later I was conscious again, and fully aware of the vicious kicks being hurled at my body. Like Collings, I covered my head with my arms but pushed myself forward in the direction I had last seen him.
Everything around me seemed to be a surging forest of legs and bodies, and everywhere there was the roar of raised voices. Lifting my head for a moment I saw that I was only a few inches from Collings, and I pushed my way through until I was crouched on the ground beside him. I tried to stand, but was immediately felled by another kick.
Much to my surprise I realized Collings was still conscious. As I fell against him I felt his arm go over my shoulders.
“When I say,” he bawled in my ear, “stand up!”
A moment passed, and I felt his arm grip my shoulder more tightly.
“Now!”
With a massive effort we pushed ourselves upwards and at once he released me, swinging his fist round and catching one of the men full in the face. I did not have his same height, and the best I could manage was an elbow jab into someone’s stomach. For my trouble I was punched in the neck, and once more I fell to the ground. Someone grabbed me, and hauled me to my feet. It was Collings.
“Hold it!” He put both his arms around me, and pulled me against his chest. I held him myself, more weakly. “It’s O.K.,” he said. “Hold it.”
Gradually the jostling around us eased, then stopped. The men moved back and I slumped in Collings’s arms.
I was very dazed, and as I saw a red mist building up in my sight I caught a glimpse of a circle of militiamen, their armed crossbows raised and aimed. The hired men were moving away. I passed out.
I came round about a minute later. I was lying on the ground, and one of the militiamen was standing over me.
“He’s O.K.,” he shouted, and moved away.
I rolled painfully on to my side and saw that a short distance away Collings and the leader of the Militia were arguing angrily. About fifty yards away, the hired men were standing in a group, surrounded by the militiamen.
I tried to stand up, and managed it on my second attempt. Dazedly, I stood and watched while Collings continued to argue. In a moment the Militia officer walked away towards the group of prisoners, and Collings came over to me.
“How do you feel?” he said.
I tried to grin, but my face was swollen and painful. All I could do was stare at him. He had a huge red bruise up one side of his face, and his eye was beginning to close. I noticed that he held one arm around his waist.
“I’m O.K.,” I said.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Where?” I raised my hand to my neck — which was hurting abominably — and felt warm liquid. Collings moved over and looked at it.
“It’s just a bad graze,” he said. “Do you want to go back to the city and have treatment?”
“No,” I said. “What the hell happened?”
“The Militia over-reacted. I thought I told you to bring four.”
“They wouldn’t listen.”
“No, they’re like that.”
“But what was it all about?” I said. “I’ve worked with those men for a long time and they’ve never attacked us before.”
“There’s a lot of built-up resentment,” said Collings. “Specifically, it was that three of the men have wives in the city. They weren’t going to leave without them.”