Whatever comes...........

Rough draft of Chapter 1

2009-10-21T11:14:00.002+01:00

This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.

OKAY.
Here's the first draft of chapter 1 for 'Emma' (really have to think of a proper title soon).

Comments always welcome.

Thinking back I should have beaten her, that’s where I went wrong with Emma.
Emma was enchanting, that’s why I stole her from Mephistopheles. I confess that my acquisition of her services was not based solely on prospects of financial gain. She had unearthly looks rather than beauty but it was hard to take your eyes off her. She looked ethereal but her character was that of a scheming minx. I found that combination of fragility and deviance irresistible and fell in love with her.
Having told you that my emotions were involved you may understand why my later judgement in regard to Emma Butcher was flawed.

I saw her for the first time on stage at the Alhambra. She made a brief appearance each night as a Fairy captured by that incompetent illusionist Mephistopheles, such an arrogant stage name. He would lure her across the stage place her in a box and make a vast bother with chains and padlocks, even throwing the keys away. then he would perform some other small illusion with flowers before her cries from captivity softened his heart and he ‘magically’ freed her.
It was a tedious act with a poor climax and the public’s applause was directed at the pretty assistant rather than the Conjurer.

I sat through this performance on three consecutive nights before I confirmed my first impression; that he had no right to the girl and that I owed it to her to rescue her and make her a central part of my own much superior act.

I’d learnt that she was not his daughter as I’d thought; back stage gossip said that he’d fetched her home with him one night to the great annoyance of his wife. Apparently Emma had attempted to pick his pocket and instead of beating her he chose to make her his new assistant. He told Flossie his wife that the girl was very agile, she’d wriggled like a worm on a hook when he caught hold of her. He never mentioned that she was eager to do whatever he asked.

Emma’s supple body was obvious but her sensuality was not. Most people were held by Emma’s large eyes and silvery hair and failed to see that her waif like appearance was assumed.
Flossie had reluctantly agreed that the girl could squirm into the small compartments used in Mephistopheles stage paraphernalia where Flossie no longer could because of pregnancy and so Emma had been a part of the act for several weeks.
I went to visit Flossie. We’d had an interesting conversation that had run along these lines;
‘ I wanted to visit you Madam to offer my praise for your husband’s act. He is a master of illusion. I have seen him often in years past and always admired his skill, together with your graceful assistance. You have both been an inspiration but I am concerned. May I ask is he quite well?’
Flossie looked puzzled and I went on.
‘It’s only that I feel his assistant may be failing him; she does prance about a lot more than she ought and her shrieks from the box are really quite irritating. He almost dropped the magic curtain too soon last night. I was right side in the wings and she was still clambering up on the box. She is clumsy too.....’
The lady was looking discomfited now.
‘ Please don’t think Madam that this is a criticism of your husband I only fear that he may be too close to the girl to see her faults. Perhaps his attention has been diverted by worry or maybe he is sickening for something?’
‘Yes Sir you may well be right in your estimation of my husband’s mind.Thank you for your kind words. I shall speak with him.’

I made my goodbyes and left feeling quite smug. The very next day Emma was thrown out and was dodging her way down the street pursued by a furious Flossie. I stepped out from an alley and pulled Emma back into a doorway.

‘Hush keep still. If the old girl catches you she’ll knock you senseless.’

Emma struggled in my arms, but I had the measure of her.

‘ Well what has gone wrong? You’re back on the streets my girl and that’s not the place for you.’

She tossed her head and pulled back from me ‘ And you’d be knowing where I should be do you? If you want a personal whore you’ve got the wrong girl here.’

‘Emma, dear girl. I am offering you a good position. You will be on a stage alone with all eyes on you.’

‘ On stage, you have an act? You think that’s where I ought to be ?’ She’d relaxed a little.

‘I have and I do and so do you. Come with me and I’ll explain over some pie and mash.’

That did the trick, Emma admitted to being ravenous. Flossie had half starved her while she’d lived with them.

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I moved Emma into a room in my lodging house. She possessed only what she stood in so I dug into my purse and got her a new dress. Never before or since have I seen someone enraptured by a dress. Emma buried her face in the little velvet collar and continually stroked the skirt murmuring about it’s colour, it was blue, saying how it made her think of Heaven. She was so pleased. It made me feel I’d done something praiseworthy and noble in getting it for her, even though it was second-hand.

I’d explained my idea to her carefully. She was to become a mind-reader. She would stand blindfolded alone on a stage and tell members of the audience what was in their pocket or handbag. I would stroll among the audience and hold objects for her to ‘read’. We’d develop a code in which I could tell her what I had in my hand. We would make a mint of money.

Emma was immediately enthusiastic and wanted to start work on the code straight away. We practiced for days until our opening. I had been so confident about obtaining Emma that I’d booked a slot in the next week’s variety show at the Hippodrome on that first day; I’d decided it would not be politic to start at the Alhambra.

Emma didn’t disappoint me, she was marvellous.
Her hair was brushed till it shone, it cascaded over her shoulders and I’d cut it to a neat line that ended at breast height.
She wore the blue dress and stood hands folded, demure and sweet while I opened the spiel.

‘ Tonight ladies and Gentlemen you are priviledged to witness evidence of the astounding bond between two souls. I have long been a student of the Occult For many years I’ve known that I had powers but I was alone. No one else understood or felt the spirits that stirred within me.................. My searching took me to Russia where I found this child in a convent. The Mother Superior told me of the girl’s ability to see with her mind’s eye what was happening in the world outside the convent walls. Mother said she believed the girl’s piety was so great that Our Lady had granted her a special talent. I spoke to her charge and immediately knew that this little nun was an advanced soul
The young nun’s name is Sophia Natalia Ouspenskaya and through my persuasion she has been allowed to leave the convent and travel Europe with me in order that we may show the miracle of our conjoined talent to all who seek proof of God’s power.’

We had chosen the russian name because Emma had a strange speaking voice, sometimes she mispronounced words. I think she must have come from an immigrant family. This speech oddity was beneficial and Emma worked on her voice to give herself an accent that might have come from anywhere East of Dover. I’d also decided on the ‘nun’ bit which wasn’t usual in a stage artist, but I thought it gave Emma class and made me a virtuous scholar!

At this point in the act the spotlight moved to Emma who remained unmoving, silent but who opened her eyes. I’ve said already that her eyes were large; they were also of a brilliant blue that sparkled in the spotlight’s beam. I had instructed Emma to look towards the light rather than the crowd and not to blink until I told her to close her lids again.

‘Sophia, whose name means Wisdom in the ancient language of the Greeks, is now moving into a trance state which I have induced so that we may give you a small demonstration of our powers.’

I then instructed Emma to close her eyes.

A stage hand came out from the wings carrying a small box. Placing the box on a table near me he opened the box and wthdrew three items; an egg, a cup and a child’s shoe.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen I must beg you to be silent for a few minutes. I shall hold each of these things up in turn and you must tell me. By show of hands only, no words at all, which object you wish Sophia to tell us about.’

Having reminded them again of the need for absolute silence, I then produced each thing in turn to the audience and they raised their hands to vote.
Once something was chosen the other two objects went back in the box and I would then move ten feet away from Emma and turn to the audience again.

‘I shall now use the power of my mind to convey an image of this object to Sophia’s mind and ask her what I am holding.’

With a flourish I would raise both hands above my head and look up to the ceiling.

Emma, on the first night, said softly.

‘ You hold in your hand something that tells us about our Saviour’s sacrifice.’ There were murmurs from the crowd.
She then moved her head slowly from side to side. The audience hung on her in silence.
‘You hold a cup which serves to remind us of that cup which Our Lord passed among his Disciples at the Last Supper asking them to Drink from it in remembrance of him. Hallelujah.’

I was indeed holding the cup. Emma knew this because I counted the steps away from her aloud and ten meant the cup.

The audience were pleased but not completely won over. I walked back to Emma
smiled and said ‘Sophia. Your powers are strong tonight, can we do greater wonders?’
Slowly she nodded. I produced a blindfold mask and tied it around her head.
Then I waved my hands closely in front of her, but Emma didn’t flinch.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen. May I crave your assistance? I will walk among you and you shall see these gifts more widely displayed.’

There were murmurs in the crowd as I climbed down from the stage and walked the aisles until I saw the smiling face of a young lady with an equally happy man sat beside her.
‘Madam’. she nodded ‘and Sir’.
‘Would you retrieve something from your person and lend it to me for a moment.....
Please don’t say anything,but pass the item to me.’
The eager lady scrabbled in her handbag for a moment and produced an ornate mirror.
I thanked her and held the mirror up for the audience to see.

‘Sophia, can you hear me speaking ?’ again the nod.’Can you see what I have in my hand?’ She shook her head.

‘Tell us what I have here please.’

Emma raised her hands in a supplicant gesture and spoke.

‘You hold something that shows the Lady her image; but she may see her real self in the eyes of others. You hold a mirror.’ There were gratifying gasps from the Lady and many others in the audience.

We then repeated this performance with several other persons and different objects until Emma suddenly dropped her head forward and swayed a little.

‘We have exhausted her. She must stop now. Thank you.’
I returned to the stage and removed Emma’s blindfold. Then putting my arm about her shoulders I helped her forward. She curtsied and I bowed.

Then Emma made a gesture that I’d not taught her. She blew a kiss to the audience and smiled. They applauded vigorously and we left the stage.

We performed that act with variations on the theme for several months. The theatre had full houses every night and as the Manager admitted, much of that was due to my appearances, so we were paid more money.

Success was an aphrodisiac and Emma and I became lovers.
I’d arrived at her door dressed to go out and eat breakfast but Emma was washing her hair. While I waited for her I helped her dry her hair while we chose new key words for pocket watches and hankies , far the commonest things produced by audience members.
I was behind her rubbing the back of her neck when she reached up her hand to take the towel from me.
I looked down ,her face was so appealing in the morning sun and I leant forward and kissed her hand.
‘Ernest. You Silly.’ she laughed and I knew that I had to have her and to Hell with the consequences.
We never had breakfast that day, but I found I’d been starved for something more than food.
Until I took Emma to bed I’d never been interested in a woman after the first few times, but this was different. The more I had Emma the more I needed to have her again.
She was excited by my desire. She would laugh as we caressed and her passion would increase as mine did. We would tear the clothes from each other. We made love at any time and in any place that was available.

I found it difficult to maintain the fiction that I was her Guardian and she the little nun. Emma however, was the complete actress. She could break free of my arms , tidy her hair, wash her face and become composed and serious in a trice.
Not only was lust making me hollow-eyed; avarice was eating at my innards.
We were making a good wage, but only a wage.
I’d calculated what we were worth to the Hippodrome and knew that I’d not be content until all that money went into my pocket. Scheming to achieve this kept me awake at night.

It was at this time that I heard about mediums like Maslyn, who were gaining some notoriety. I began to think that we mightchange direction in our employment.
I couldn’t see where great money could be made in talking to dead people and instead tried to see performances by magicians and escape artists. I had an idea of using Emma as an escapologist. This proved to be an entertaining notion. There was a lot of excitement to be had from tying Emma up and then watching her struggle when I’d tied the wrong knots. Naturally I apologised each time for my mistakes.
Unfortunately it became sensible to give up these games after Emma bit me.
Eventually I decided to bring in a little illusion to enhance the act and to focus attention more directly on myself, Emma was getting a disproportionate share of the stage door attention....
We opened with a section where I performed a few levitations with small items like vases and small tables and then we closed the act with a levitation of Emma just to show that I was the stronger mind.

After the evening show I sometimes treated Emma to supper in a swankier part of town. She loved this. It gave her an opportunity to dress up and paint her face. I think she also started to long for a better life. As we watched the Nobs chatting to each other I could see Emma’s face go soft and dreamy and knew that she imagined herself mixing with them. All I wanted was money, enough to quit this country and go to America. I saw myself as the owner of a fancy saloon out West; a high quality place with showgirls. A place where I need not work any more aside from counting the takings. I had no desire to join ‘society’. They seemed bored and useless like sheep grazing aimlessly.

I took pride in my act. It was capable of capturing the attention of a crowd without need of elaborate stage machinery that was prone to go wrong at critical points. I had an able assistant in Emma who was quick to absorb the changes that I made in our patter. She worked well with me and was keen to put forward her ideas which were sometimes worth using.
I was a skilled man living by the exercise of my wits not a drone existing on inherited wealth. It was a great pleasure for me to take money from such people. After supper Emma and I might stay at our table drinking coffee and I would demonstrate a little card trick to her. More often than not this resulted in somebody wandering over to tell me how easy it was to fool a woman but that he could see through it. When the Gull accepted an invitation to sit with us I knew I had him. Every time a foolish man took my bait I could be sure of taking enough to pay for our supper and a hansom home.

Emma decided to make friends on one occasion. Accordingly on visiting the powder room that evening Emma spoke to a young lady from the group of Nobs across from us. The girl was looking in a mirror and adjusting a hat pin.
‘I told her I thought her hat was the most charming hat I’d ever seen.She put the mirror in her bag, snapped the bag shut and said. ‘’Well I don’t take that as a compliment coming from the likes of you.’’ I was struck dumb Ernest. There was no reason for being so nasty after I’d complimented her stupid hat.’
Emma was close to tears.

‘ You should stop trying to be liked by those people. They’ll always despise you because they don’t know where you come from and they are afraid you’ll be a thief or worse.’
‘They’re afraid of me?’
‘Yes, afraid of you and me or of anybody who’s a bit different.’
Emma suddenly smiled across the room; one of the women was looking in our direction. Then Emma raised her hand and pointed the gypsy curse at her all the while smiling broadly. I saw the woman start in her chair and clutch at the arm of her companion. He listened to her, looked across at me ,then shook her off and resumed chatting to his cronies.
‘You see? He was thinking that if he had come across I might pull a knife on him. So he turned away. They are afraid Em, remember that.’

After a year there was enough cash to move to a rented house. Now that I had enough to need a strongbox I found the desire to live in a safer area.
The house was in Hackney, actually in lower Clapton near the Pond. A genteel area not ruffian ridden like the Mile End. Emma pronounced it suitable as soon as she saw the frontage. The entrance was reached by a flight of stone steps guarded by a pair of battered gargoyles. She thought they looked grand and that they were the thing people would notice rather than the paint flaking off the front door.
Emma was often right about appearances so the gargoyles stayed and I paid a lad a shilling to repaint the door.
We hired a maid of all work named Kat and Emma insisted she have a ‘best’ apron hanging always close to the front door so that both servant and house would look ‘respectable’. Kat was also to sleep in Emma’s dressing room. I was not totally displeased by this change of circumstances. Emma was still highly desirable but change adds spice to life. I’d become heavily involved with one of the chorus girls and she was wearing me out. Emma hadn’t noticed because she usually climbed into my bed in the mornings when my strength had revived.
We might have stayed as we were indefinitely but for the theatre burning down.

On a Wednesday evening in May one of the limelights flared and caught the curtains at the close of the singer’s act that was before ours. As the dancing girls left the stage I winked at Polly, the pretty creature and she giggled.
Emma and I were waiting ready to step forward and begin when the right side curtain in front of us became a sheet of flame. We could hear screams from the auditorium but the flames were headed back-stage. I pushed Emma and told her to get out of the stage door on the left side of the building as I grabbed a fire bucket. I wasn’t intentionally brave that night; everything happened so quickly that there was no time to think about what I was doing; several of the stagehands joined me to try and stop the fire. We managed to drop the flaming curtain to the floor and beat out the flames but behind it the wooden flats had already caught. It didn’t take long for us to realise that this fire was too fast for us. There was little confusion back stage because most of us had experienced fires before. We were out on the street before the fire engine arrived. I don’t know why I led the firemen back inside, I may have been fuddled by the smoke, but I hadn’t seen Polly come out and guessed she might be waiting in my dressing room for me. The silly chit would never have had the sense to look out the door at the ruckus.
So I had to go back in. All I did was lead the way through the passages towards the stage and show them the blaze. Once the firemen had got busy I hurried to the dressing room, opened my door and sure enough Polly was lying on my couch disrobed and now unconscious. I threw her over my shoulder and headed out. As I turned past the wings. I heard creaking over my head and felt sparks igniting my hair and skin . As I picked my way through falling debris I looked up and saw a gantry (terminology?) lurching downwards. I yelled ‘Look Out above’ at the top of my voice; fortunately the firemen heard me and in some sort of huddle we forced our way out as the roof timbers crashed into the building.
In the morning newspapers I was a hero.
It must have been the manager who decided to milk the fire for publicity. He’d been in the pub across the way when it all happened, but claimed that he was an eye-witness to me ‘rescuing’ three firemen from certain death. The article on the front page was illustrated by a drawing of the handsome ‘’Ernesto Mystic Maestro’’ dragging a semi conscious fireman through lurid flames with a swooning yet fully clothed damsel around my neck. Emma was much displeased about Polly when she guessed why the girl had been late to leave the theatre,but our little house was besieged by the curious and she wasn’t one to disappoint them.

Indoors I was bandaged, coughing and wretching; out on the doorstep Emma,wearing her best satin wrapper with hair hanging around her head like silk, gave interviews.
She told the reporters how brave I’d been which was music to my ears and true in a manner of speaking.
I waved from the window but the press were hanging on Emma’s words.She went on to tell them that I was her servant, majordomo was her exact choice of wording. It was my duty to protect her because she was a russian princess who had only been allowed to come to England once it was ‘guaranteed’ that she would be safe in my care. The reporters smirked when she said this. Emma blushed,I didn’t know that she could blush until then.
Naturally rescuing her- Princess Sophia- had been my first duty and only then had I returned to the flames. As I was now incapacitated Emma was moving to an Hotel where she would remain if I couldn’t resume my duties.

Emma came back into the house after this announcement and I heard her tell Kat to pack. Then she entered the front room.
‘ You bitch. How dare you suggest that I’m a Gelding to those reporters. That was unforgivable.
‘That’s good. You won’t mind that I’m leaving.’
‘You’re not really going. You can’t, we are a class act and I’ll sue you if you go.’
‘ We don’t have a contract Ernest, you never even given me that as security.I am going because you are an unfaithful dog. I knew you had your eyes on that little red-head bitch, but I hadn’t guessed that you were bedding her yet.
‘I have been your devoted lover and your hard-working assistant and all this time you’ve been working your way through the entire chorus line. Well this is the last straw. You and that Floosie sprawled across the front pages of the gutter press.
I will not be ruined by your behaviour. I can manage my own life and I should have left a long time ago.’
She spun around and left slamming the door as hard as she could.

I decided not to worry. Emma would come back. She needed me; who else could manipulate an audience for her? Who else would give her the spotlight and ten percent of his earnings to squander? She’d be crying and crawling back in days and in the meantime Polly would soothe my burns.
I knew that I wasn’t heartless, I had been good to Emma; both generous and affectionate. This was just like those times when she stamped her foot and broke crockery. Making up was always an exciting process, rather like making love to a tigress who might scratch deeper than warranted. I was looking forward to that and decided that Polly was no substitute. I showed Polly the door and pondered a while. That remark about me had been viscious but understandable I supposed but
what did she mean about going to ‘an hotel’. Unless she’d been picking pockets in the lobby Emma had never set foot in anything grander than a lodging house. I’d not asked where she was going because it was probable that she’d sleep on a park bench, but when she didn’t come home after the first night I surmised that she’d gone somewhere with Kat.

It was not until three days after she left that I had real cause for concern.
I’d been trying to shaved when the doctor arrived to check my burns and for payment. When I went to my cash box it wasn tucked far back beneath the bed as usual.
Taking the key from my pocket I raised the lid and reached in and felt nothing.
Dragging the box clear of the bedding I threw the lid back and saw that it was empty.
Immediately I knew that Emma had cleaned me out. There had been almost thirty pounds in the box along with my gold cufflinks. The jewellery box on her nightstand looked as it always did, overflowing with Emma’s geegaws,but I’d recently bought her some pearl earrings and they were gone too.

‘She planned this. The bitch, the ungrateful little bitch. I’ll beat her black and blue when I get hold of her.’

I stormed down the staircase before I was reminded that I’d no way of laying hands on her and the doctor was frowning at me as if I’d gone insane.

I think I nearly did end up in the madhouse in the weeks and months after Emma’s betrayal. I drank as I searched for her and cursed her as I drank.
My father told me that women and dogs were better for beating and he always treated my mother no better than one of his hounds.
‘A man goes out and works hard. My dogs earn my money for me so I feed them, but I don’t fuss them. They might get uppity and not work so well if I did. An’ women are the same. Feed them and work them and take the stick to them because they’ll get bothersome if you don’t.’
My mother ran away when I was twelve and a few months later one of the dogs attacked my father and chewed his arm badly so I decided he was wrong about both of them.
I never had a dog myself but I had a lot of women and they aren’t all the same.Some of them did behave better if you bossed them, but even there I always found threats more effective than sticks. If a woman isn’t sure what’ll happen next she’ll be cautious; but if she knows you’re going to hit her she’ll turn one day just like that dog.
Most of my women did fine just from me telling them that I cared about them. They were an easy handle if you just said the right words sometimes.

Emma had never been straightforward. I treated her kindly when I first took her up and she very quickly started misbehaving. So I let her know that I was no fool and came down hard on her, but then she’d love me right back into place. I let it go in those early months. She was young, only a kid really and she couldn’t have been that wised up about men. But maybe Emma was born to play with a person’s heart and mind because she was good at it.

After she left I tried to work out her ways. Sitting with a bottle in my hand I’d bring her back to mind. I’d be sitting with my account book and Emma would kneel on the floor close by; she’d say nothing and she’d sit perfectly still looking at the fire or the pattern on the carpet. I’d work on but I couldn’t ignore her.

‘What are you doing?’ I’d look at her and she’d look at me with those eyes half shielded by her lashes.
‘I’m dreaming.’
‘What are you dreaming about?’
‘You Ernest. I’m dreaming that you’ll touch my hair and kiss me.’

Then I’d be on the floor next to her and I’d run my hand over her hair and she’d lift her face to me and I’d kiss her. The accounts would wait until the next day.

Another time we’d be leaving the theatre and walking the street. Emma would be looking in every doorway and at every carriage that passed. I’d ask her what she was doing and she wouldn’t answer. If I asked again she’d smile but still say nothing. If I grew annoyed Emma would cross the street or turn and go back the way we’d come . I was always afraid she’d get into trouble because she looked so vulnerable and so I’d go after her. Then just as soon as she’d begun teasing me she would stop and rush into my arms.
Once I stood my ground and waited for her to stop playing with me. She didn’t come back. She vanished and I didn’t see her again until she arrived, on time, for the next evening’s performance. She rain into the dressing room crying and trembling and I comforted her and never asked where she’d been.

I know now that Emma was in charge of me and not the other way around. The tantrums, the frenzied delicious love-making, her sudden appearances and disappearances all confused and dazzled me.

I couldn’t believe that she’d gone for good this time, that’s why I kept hunting for her. I didn’t try to get into another theatre because I had no act. I just played cards for money and did some street magic. I lost the house when I defaulted on the rent. I didn’t care about that but it made me more desperate because now there was nowhere for Emma to come back to and I imagined her returning only to find strangers living there. She must have found work and the only work she knew was theatre so Stage doors became my focus. I moved round from one to another convinced tht Emma would walk out the door and into my arms sooner or later.

I was sleeping rough by this time. I got rolled a few times and in this way I lost my muffler and shoes. When I found a corner to sleep I dreamt of Emma walking past and calling for me but not seeing Ernest in the wretch I’d become.
I didn’t sleep much because the nights were colder so I started seeing Emma everywhere I looked. I was almost run down several times from running into the road chasing my vision. In the end I must have just collapsed but I have no memory of that.

The room I woke in was large but it was crammed to overflowing with crates and bales.I lay on a small campaign bed and somebody stood over me with a steaming mug. There was a wonderful smell coming from the mug.

‘Good morning and welcome. You’ve slept long and I think you must be hungry now.’ He moved the mug towards me and I clasped it and gulped the burning soup down as fast as I could.
‘You’ve not been well for several days. A fever had you in it’s grip, but you look better now.’ he smiled.
When I tried to ask for more soup, no words,no voice only a sound like a crow came from me. My benefactor smiled again and said.
‘I think I can guess what you mean. Come with me and you shall have more in your belly.’

I tried to stand up on my own but my legs gave way. The man was prepared for this and caught me before I went down.
‘You’re still sick and must go slowly.’ He steered me with an arm around my waist and we went out of the room into an office. He sat me in a chair and turned to a side table where there was more soup on a gas ring and bread in chunks on a plate.
He passed the plate to me while He refilled my mug.
Then he pulled up another chair and began to talk.

Simon was his name. Simon Peter he laughed; he said his mother had wanted him to go into the church and had given him a good name, but he’d gone into the family business which was in cargo shipments. This was one of their warehouses and this was his office. He liked to be alone so that he could concentrate but his father’s office was just across the courtyard.
Simon had arrived at work one morning to find me rolled up in his doorway. He’d not been able to wake me and had seen that I was sweating and moaning he’d had a couple of the warehousemen carry me inside; and there I’d lain for three days and nights. There were always several watchmen on duty in the warehouses and they’d had instructions to call Simon from his house if I woke in the night.

‘Why did you take me in?’ I managed to croak when he drew breath.

‘It’s possible that some of my mother’s kindness rubbed off on me. I really couldn’t let you die on my doorstep it wouldn’t have looked good would it?’

He moved on to tell me that one of his interests was prison visiting and through talking to men in the city gaols Simon had come to realise how priviledged his own situation was.
‘I hope I don’t sound like the pious do-gooder. I have employed some of these men when they were released and most of them reward me with hard work, so it’s more a case of enlightened self-interest.’

A messenger boy came in then and after Simon had read the note he said.
‘My father needs me to go down to one of our ships. You ought to stay here and rest, but I’ll understand if you’re gone when I get back.’
When I’d eaten more of the bread I went back in the warehouse to put on my boots. I fully intended to leave but looking at the cot I was overcome with the desire for sleep and lay down intending to nap, but it was growing dark when I woke again.

This time I felt stronger and got my jacket and boots on before I went back to the office to get out of the building.
Simon was at his desk.
‘Hullo. Would you like a wash and shave? there’s a lavatory and a sink in there and a razor and soap.’ He pointed at another door I’d not noticed before then bent his head to his figures again.
I washed and came back as he put down his pen.
‘Thank you.’ I said ‘I don’t deserve your kindness, but I’m grateful for it.’ as I headed for the door Simon said.

‘Maybe you have a home to go to, but if not you’re welcome to stay in there a while. When you feel up to it you can help out with loading the carts. I always have work and wages for a willing man.’ Again the smile.

All at once his suggestion seemed the sensible choice to make;perhaps because I was desperate and starving, although I like to think it was more that I could see how good a man I’d met.
At any rate I said that was very good of him and he gave me half a crown to get some food. Then he took me out into the courtyard and I met Arthur Brown, the night watchman. Simon told him to let me in when I came back. Then he bade us both goodnight and went home.

‘Another stray. Gawd Almighty this place‘ll be turned into a home for the feeble-minded soon.’ said Arthur Brown. He looked me over and sighed.
‘Don’t you be out drinking or I’ll bar the door on you, see if I don’t.’
Then I was back on the street and scratching my head over the strange twists of Fate.

I went into the first tavern down the street. It was busy and cheerful and after I’d had pie and mash and a glass of porter I began to take stock. I needed money and a roof over my head and it seemed that luck was giving me that. If I could start a new life for a time it might help me to stop craving Emma once I was back on my feet I could resume my search. There was still money in my pocket so I ate another pie, drank another porter and went back to Marshall’s.
That evening I thought it was just Fate that had me pass out at Marshall’s Yard. I soon learned it was more than that. God was offering me a second chance through Simon Marshall.

Mother had been a regular church attender before she ran off and I learnt to read at Sunday school. When she went I made up my mind that I’d succeed in life despite my troubles. I kept reading and taught myself letters. Later I learnt how to tot up money from working on a market stall, that’s also when I learnt that you can sell anything if you pitch it right. The man who gave me a start was called
Enry, just Enry, I never knew if it was his first or last name. He knew my dad and owed him money so he took me on to pay the old man back. Then he told me I was useful and kept me as his assistant. He sold tea, flour, sugar cheaper than in a shop. It wasn’t good quality I found out but there were those who couldn’t afford any better. Enry always swore that he never put anything harmful in the stuff he sold. Only a little chalk or dust maybe.
Anyway I learnt how to sell whatever we had. I always gave the old ladies a pinch more; that way they thought they had one over on Enry and we never got any complaints.
I didn’t go home except to sleep but hung around in the pubs because the people inside were sometimes free with their cash. There were the drunks who dropped coins, they’d drop three and I ‘d give them back two.The whores’d sometimes slip me a coin to find them a customer, the bookie who needed a runner might catch my eye as did the gamblers who needed a distraction while they slipped cards to the bottom of the deck.
That’s where the magic started. It was too tempting to trick the foolish. I taught myself a couple of coin moves and then a few card tricks and I’d entertain at the tables.
I never thought of it as sinful or wicked. It was surviving and slowly it grew to be decent money. Where was the harm? God didn’t have a presence in the public houses of the East end, nor in the theatres when I got that far. My life was on course for success until Emma.

But never mind that, now I had a place; very different from what I’d expected or wanted, but a place to start again.

Openers

2009-09-07T10:22:00.002+01:00

This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.

Okay, this is the 1st draft of the 1st page of 'Emma'.

It's taken a few efforts to find the right place to start from.
I've decided to start not at the very beginning but still early on, where Emma meets Ernest.I chose this point mainly because he is a largely hostile witness to her story.

Any comments are most welcome

Emma was enchanting, that is why I stole her from Mephistopheles. I confess that my acquisition of her services was not based solely on the prospect of financial gain. She had unearthly looks, not great beauty but it was hard to take your eyes off her. She looked ethereal but her character was that of a scheming minx. I found that combination of fragility and deviance irresistible and fell in love with her.
Having told you that my emotions were involved you may understand why my later judgement in regard to Emma Butcher was flawed.

I saw her for the first time on stage at the Alhambra. She made a brief appearance each night as a Fairy captured by that incompetent illusionist.
Mephistopheles, such an arrogant stage name, placed the girl in a box and made a vast bother with chains and padlocks, even throwing the keys away before her cries from captivity softened his heart and he ‘magically’ freed her.
It was a tedious climax and the applause was directed to the pretty assistant rather than the Conjurer.

I sat through this performance on three consecutive nights before I confirmed my first impression; that he had no right to the girl and that I owed it to her to rescue her and make her a central part of my own superior act.

I had learnt that she was not his daughter; back stage gossip said that he’d fetched her home with him one night to the great annoyance of his wife. Apparently Emma had attempted to pick his pocket and instead of beating her he chose to make her his new assistant. He told Flossie his wife that the girl was very agile, she’d wriggled like a worm on a hook when he caught hold of her.

This wiriness was not obvious because people tended to be held by Emma’s large eyes and silvery hair and failed to see that her thin body was muscular and lithe.
Flossie had reluctantly agreed that the girl could squirm into the small compartments used in Mephistopheles stage paraphernalia and so Emma had been a part of the act for several weeks.
I went to visit Flossie.
The conversation had run along these lines;
‘ I wanted to visit you Madam to offer my praise for your husband’s act. He is a master of illusion. I have seen him often in years past and always admired his skill, but I am concerned. May I ask is he quite well?’
Flossie looked puzzled and I went on.
‘It’s only that I feel his assistant may be failing him; she does prance about a lot and her shrieks from the box are really quite irritating. He almost dropped the magic curtain too soon last night. I was right side in the wings and she was still clambering up on the box, she is clumsy I fear.....’
The lady was looking discomfited now.
‘ Please don’t think Madam that this is a criticism of your husband I only fear that he may be too close to the girl to see her faults and that perhaps he is sickening for something?’
‘Yes Sir you may well be right.Thank you for your kind words. I shall speak with him.’

I made my goodbyes and left feeling quite smug. The very next day Emma was thrown out and was running down the street pursued by a furious Flossie when I stepped out from an alley and pulled Emma into a doorway.

‘Hush keep still. If the old girl catches you she’ll knock you senseless.’

Emma struggled in my arms, but I had the measure of her.

‘ You are back on the streets my girl and that’s not the place for you.’

She tossed her head ‘ And you’d be knowing where I should be do you? If you want a personal whore you’ve got the wrong girl here.’

‘Emma, dear girl. I am offering you a good position. You will be on a stage alone with all eyes on you.’

‘You think that’s where I ought to be ?’ She’d relaxed a little.

‘I do and so do you. Come with me and I’ll explain over some pie and mash.’

That did the trick, Emma admitted to being ravenous. Flossie had half starved her while she’d lived with them.

----------

Next section Ernest explains act and they start out on life tog.

The Hunnish Princess

2009-08-30T10:44:00.003+01:00

This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.

I had this notion for a collection of Traveller's Tales told in a medieval caravanserai. This is the first and so far only one.
The idea for this one came from a bit in Bruce Chatwin's 'Songlines' where he briefly relates seeing a grave excavated in Eastern Europe, the grave contained female bones with an eagle's corpse on her breast.

Tales from the Han: number one

The Hunnish Princess

A great many years ago in the wild lands between Istanbul and Novgorod there once lived a beautiful girl. She had no fine jewels, but she had rich furs to keep her warm on horseback. She had no solid house but she had gaudy silks to decorate her tent.
She was a Hun, a girl who had sat her own saddle since she was four years old and whose hunting skills filled the bellies of family and friends.
Her name was Salska and it was her curse to be loved by two men.

The man who first loved her was called Hunye. He stayed always close by her and so he had saved her from a fire that killed her sister. Afterwards he took Salska and her mother under his protection.
Despite his love Hunye never asked Salska to marry him although her mother begged it. He said someone so lovely deserved a young and virile partner not an ageing horse-master with burns that scarred his face. But he always cared for Salska and dreamed of her at night.

The other man in Salska's life was called Uman and he was a handsome youth.
He watched the black hair fall across Salska's face when she skinned rabbits. He sighed when the sun shone in her eyes as she strung her bow. In short he adored her.
Uman was an elder son and likely to inherit the leadership of his clan. This made him a worthy suitor; so when he came to ask for Salska her mother sighed and agreed the dowry. There were no flaws in Uman's nature, other than those of all young men and Salska was not in love with Hunye or anyone else therefore when at last he summoned his courage and told her to marry him she accepted the decision.

But her dead sister didn't.

Maykor, when living, had made all the decisions. She was older than Salska by an entire morning, having been born as Dawn rose while her twin hadn't struggled free of the womb until after Noon. Maykor had never let Salska forget this or do anything without reference to her. Salska being easy in her nature had never objected to this state of affairs and when Maykor died Salska simply waited for someone else to tell her what to do. Sometimes at night Salska had strange dreams. She dreamt of flying far up in the sky to where the blue turned black, but her days were bound up with the tasks of women. When she had free time she played with the dogs and the babies. When her husband demanded her attention she gave it to him.

Maykor was unable to prevent the wedding, her spirit now was constrained in the body of a Golden Eagle, but she began to haunt Salska. At every opportunity Maykor came to Salska and called her name. She flew past low and fast when Salska rode, she sat on the poles of her sister's tent, she hopped after her sister when the girl collected berries. It didn't take long until Salska recognised the voice of her sister in the eagle's cry.

"You must kill Uman. He must die and you will get his gold. Then you can marry Hunye and be happy for my sake." As Salska rode Maykor repeated this message day after day. Her sister stopped her ears. Maykor grew ever more frustrated and ever more angry. Whenever the clan made camp the Eagle would pester Salska and the other women began to mutter that she was bewitched.

To gain peace Salska eventually spoke to the bird. " I do not want to kill Uman. He is a good husband to me. He loves me as he should: men sing of his deeds. He gets much ransom and he brings me silken trophies. Why should I kill a good man?"

"You must kill him in order that you can marry Hunye. Uman is too strong to die of a fever or a fight."

"But why do you want me to marry Hunye? He is kind and always thoughtful, but he is old and spends too much time with horses."

" Because I love him, stupid girl. On the night of the fire I asked Hunye to come to our tent. I wanted to give myself to him. He is wise and gentle and I longed for soft hands on my skin; the likes of Uman are always rough men."

"I still don't understand." said Salska "How could my marriage to Hunye help you, it would surely make you jealous to see me in his arms."

Maykor's voice had laughter in it " Once you are married to Hunye we can exchange places. You have lived three summers since the fire. I want my turn."

Salska paled and could no longer bear the Eagle's fierce gaze.

" You must agree that it is only fair. You have a good man. Life as an Eagle has it's compensations, but I have longed for Hunye every day. I will give you only a short time to think, I have had too much brooding. Meet me tomorrow and I will instruct you how best to take Uman's life."
The Eagle slipped sideways from it's perch and soared into the clouds above.

That night Salska could not find sleep. She lay in Uman's arms while the tears rolled into her hair. Finally understanding came into Salska's mind; she cared for Uman, she wanted to give him sons, she loved her life and it was not her fault that Maykor was dead. She didn't want to do as Maykor ordered, she wanted to fight her sister.

Eventually Salska fell into an uneasy sleep, in which she dreamt of the Eagle's eyes boring into her and stealing her spirit. She cried out and reached for Uman, who covered her face with kisses. Salska rubbed her breasts and moaned. He grunted and pulled her to him.

Before daylight Salska was awake again. In her sleep she had dreamt of going to seek Hunye. As she crept through the tent-flap Uman woke. He said nothing but feigned sleep. He watched his wife steal away and collecting his bow he chose to follow .

"Hunye. Hunye." Salska walked around the ring of horses calling for him. A figure pushed through the steaming flanks.

"Why are you here." He asked soft and smiling.

"My sister wants me to kill Uman. Come with me please and speak with her. I fear her reason has gone. You can talk with horses, perhaps you can talk sense to an Eagle." Salska hurried off towards the rock where she had last seen the Eagle.

Hunye followed, he'd heard the women's talk. He dropped back as he saw the great bird swoop, then settle on the rock. It's voice, the voice of Maykor came clear to him.

" Ah sister, you are prompt. Look at the ground and you'll see a mound of berries, poisonous but kind. Mix these in Uman's beer and he'll not notice. He will sleep deep enough so you can smother him."

"What then, what happens next?" Salska asked loud enough for Hunye to hear.

"Then you raise the alarm. I do not want you blamed for this. Cry bitter tears, rend your clothes and when Uman is cold go to Hunye and declare your love. At that point you and I will change places. I shall have Hunye and you shall soar above my wedding feast ."

Hunye had heard enough, he left his hide at a run and shouted. "No. You cannot do this Maykor. I have never loved you. I love Salska. You shan't harm her."

The Eagle screamed when she saw Hunye.
"Treacherous bitch!" Maykor flew direct at Salska's face with talons spread.
Hunye leapt in and grappled with the bird, stabbing at it with his knife.

The shrill shrieking and shouting ended abruptly as an arrow sang its way into the melee.
All movement was caught in a heart's beat.
Then the bird fell to the ground, Hunye's knife sticking in it's breast. Hunye held Salska on her feet as blood ran from the arrow in her back.

Uman ran to her and sobbed. "My lovely Bride. How could she plot my death with you Horsemaster?"
He pulled Salska into his embrace." I loved you always Salska and pity me I still do."

The girl's eyes focussed and she whispered.
" I never loved you till last night. Forgive me. But I never loved Hunye at all.."

Hunye said "She speaks the truth as we all must at point of death. It's true I loved her, but Salska never looked my way. Maykor did offer herself to me, but she had no value in my eyes. I rejected her and it soured even her new life." He touched the feathers caught in Salska's hair.

The men stood a long while over the grave. Salska was lain in the ground wearing her wedding gown. Her mother placed evergreens all around her. Uman laid gold leaf on her breast, then Hunye spread the Eagle's body over Salska with it's wings stretched protectively.

Hunye cut his beard and the mane from his mare and dropped these offerings onto the corpses. He said " In the next life may they both be always happy. I look forward to our next meeting" and turned his face away.
Uman slashed his arm and let copious blood drip on the ground. "This woman shall be mourned without tears, but with my blood in token of our reunion."

He gave the order for the grave to be filled. Then Hunye fetched the horses and the clan rode away.
==================

A Dark Night

2009-08-30T10:41:00.002+01:00

This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.

A piece of flash fiction, inspired by wondering what flash fiction was and entered for a Guardian competition with a Late Night theme. I think my story didn't quite fit the bill.......

It was late. You could tell that even in this place without time. There were subtle changes: pearls of moisture on a wall, a hazing of heat near the entrance, indistinct bird chirrups outside. Dawn would come, they would arrive and it would be too late.
This must happen under the secrecy of dark; rich, intense, all covering blackness. When the story got out there must be no witnesses. There must be mystery or it was all for nothing.
However there were several eyes watching.
A spider swung on her line. She saw the matted hair; this could be a great spot to anchor her web.She observed the head thoughtfully but noted no life breath so she spun her silver. She hurried to secure her snare and only glanced at the man. She was concerned to finish before Day brought the flies
Wandering across the sandy slab a beetle bumped into cold flesh and dislodged a flake of dried blood.The beetle skittered but his collision disturbed no-one.The beetle was hungry but wanted no accidents. He maneouvred his smooth cased back between the corpse and the blood. He felt afraid but started to move his feast to a secure place.
They worked hard but Spider snd Beetle both felt it immediately, their bodies jerked as particles of air trembled. If there’d been time they might have believed it was an earhquake, but time ran out. Searing blue light transfixed the creatures while immense power surged through them. For long seconds both of them expected to die. Then it was over. The beetle staggered and fell on his back because body and bloodfleck had disappeared. The spider swung loose in the charged air, her knots tying nothing in place.
The man was gone, only a sweet smell remained.

In the Tub

2009-08-30T10:38:00.001+01:00

This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.

Here is the first of my short stories. This is one of a tiny collection of stories featuring Archimedes and Mrs Archimedes. The other stories aren't yet fit to be seen

In the Tub

Archimedes best ideas came in his bath. This, he told Ariadne, was the sole reason he resorted to the bathhouse so often. Tonight playing with his sponge, he mused.

“Of course the sponge doesn’t displace much water in this large volume of suds. I myself dislodge considerably more.”

Wifely curses and hammering echoed through the night and ruffled the surface of the water. Archimedes sighed as the waterlogged sponge sank.
Moments later Ariadne bustled in. She proffered wine. Her other hand grasped a crucible of molten copper.

“Something new for dinner. Pizza. I’m baking it in the ore furnace. Don’t be long or I’ll give it to the dog.”

She disappeared. The hammering resumed.
Archimedes frowned. True, Ariadne’s talent for invention extended to the kitchen, but she was fonder of the dog than of him.Slurping wine he lounged, staring through the rushes at itinerant stars; the constellations invariably soothed his discord .Supine and buoyant it occurred to him that stars might also float.

” A liquid sky; such volume of stars would need a considerable sea.
Well, that would stop Helios’ chariot setting Heaven afire wouldn’t it?”

He drank deep and filed that thought. Ariadne returned carrying skeins of wet yarn.

“ What do you think of this colour? I used those weeds above the shit-tank.”

“Will we ever hear the last of your drains, Ariadne?

He glanced at the dripping mess.

“Yes it’s a nice blue, like a Summer’s sky.”

Archimedes reached for the flagon.

“Blue sky. Why not pink sky do you suppose? Why choose that colour?”

Ariadne shook her head and departed.
Archimedes sat up abruptly.

“Eureka. It’s because the sea is blue. Such universal harmony, such design ! The sky another ocean with stars instead of islands.”

He liked this phrase so much he repeated it.

“Stars instead of islands.”

Water dripped onto the dog. Archimedes, inspired now, shouted.

“If there is water, perhaps there are also fish in the sky.”

Ariadne’s voice interrupted this revelation.

“ You’ll rot like stinking fish in that tub someday. My mother’s arriving tomorrow. She thinks you’re insane, so no bathing allowed while she’s here. Use the shower I built last month, it saves water too.

“More to the point, dinner’s ready”.

“Coming my love.”

Archimedes squelched free of the bath. Starry reflections shimmered briefly on the water, then spiralled down the wastepipe and were gone.

It might kill several birds with the same stone

2009-01-13T15:14:00.003Z

This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.

Well I've signed up for a 2yr novel course now. I'm intending to write another story set in the same period as 'Lizzie' but a different character who has a different life, although the two of them will meet.

It might kill several birds with the same stone

Offline work is going slowly with 'Lizzie'. I'm currently working out her timeline and thinking about what outside events I want to set in to her story; I think that's what got me started on the other novel idea.

I really enjoy researching and I'm enjoying playing around with this material more than anything else I've attempted.

A little general info about 'Lizzie'

2009-01-05T09:58:00.003Z

This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.

The novel that will be taking shape here is set in the mid 19th century. It takes place in England, Greece and France. The heroine is Lizzie and that's the working title too.
I shall be attempting to write something that has realism, drama, romance (just for starters).
It may be a woman's story but I want my male characters to be interesting too so I'll be particularly glad of comments on them.
The first draft, unedited, chapter of Lizzie is below.

Best of luck to all of us!

2008-11-27T17:03:00.000Z

Having just finished NaNoWriMo today I am too whacked to consider editing it now.
BUT I shall edit my masterwork after Christmas and post it here.

Still here then

2008-09-08T08:31:00.001+01:00

I was really chuffed to find the old place is still here.
I need to do some dusting, but there'll be some new furniture arriving before long.

On the Rocks

2007-01-08T07:29:00.000Z

Still on the rocks theme we had lots of fun; or at least I did, exploring ruins.
You were consistent in damning 'piles of old rocks' whenever I mentioned the charms of a proposed trip, but I must have been convincing because you always came along.
In fact the last successful outing we made was that January visit to the Roman remains over the mountains. We both enjoyed wandering among those fallen columns and we still had hope for the future. There was a wistful note to that day because you were about to start chemo, but we planned to return in the Autumn when you would have more strength.

I'd rather think about the time we found the US army fort.
Southern Utah is big. We'd been in search of dinosaurs and found their footprints. I still have photos of you measuring the beast's shoe size. It had taken a couple of hours to find the tracks, they weren't well sign-posted and when all's said they were mementos of a few minutes activity a very long time ago.

We found the fort afterwards. It was set on a bend of a dry river. The buildings were above the Spring flood line and still solid to waist height. They were scanty and mean sized and I doubted there was any comfort to be had inside.
We talked over what a dreadful life the soldiers must've led. Months longing for any kind of traveller to break the monotony. No trees, no women only dust and wind.

We were a lot in love that day, so the isolation made us feel exhilerated and lucky to be together.
Nothing else living passed by us all day; no rabbits, no snakes, no flies, no vehicles, no dust clouds, no con-trails in the sky.That fort was the closest I've ever come to the Middle of Nowhere but I remember it for you, kissing me under that empty sky.

If I could have those moments back.

2007-01-06T00:17:00.000Z

I'd have the moments when I said 'I'll be there in a while' as I finished a row or two of my knitting.

I'd want those moments when you'd annoyed me and I was sulking, purposely delaying the 'kiss and make-up' time.

Give me the moments when I took so long in the bathroom getting 'beautiful' when you'd already told me I was lovely enough.

All those moments and many more I wish I'd just spent hugging you. If I could have them back now they'd probably add up to several days and I could really use those days now!

We kissed and hugged plenty , but there were never enough kisses stored away to last me through these long nights. There were'nt enough hugs kept safe to keep me warm now.

The love we shared then ; well I squandered it.

I gloried in our happiness and thought the days of plenty would always be here. I should have put some in the bank, but I never expected a time to come when there'd be a shortfall. Is that how all spendthrifts are?

I need to write down memories of you and us. I can't lose them a second time. They'll have some extra life here and I can look and read whenever I want. Other people can too, I don't mind. I'm happy for our love to be known; that keeps it real.

So sometimes I'll use this page to put down the good stuff, the funny stuff. There really wasn't any bad stuff before the end.

Rocks of All Sizes
A memory came to me yesterday in the pet shop. Wandering around killing time I was pricing the fish tanks till I noticed some decorative rocks.

Remember we had lots of pretty rocks in the cafe aquarium. You remember those goldfish and how the kids liked to watch them?

You knew I liked rocks because I was always bringing home selections from the beach and our flat was full of them.

After we retired you even helped me fetch rocks back in the car to decorate our new garden. One day I found a lump of something volcanic that I lusted after. It was big and mostly yellow with lumpy pink streaks, maybe it wouldn't be to everyone's taste but I wanted it.

I tried to excavate around it and for half an hour I struggled to free it from the sand.You and the dogs were off walking somewhere. By the time you returned I was reduced to tears of disappointment; this was one big heavy lump and it wouldn't budge.

We went home with some pebbles.

A few days later you went out alone in the car.When you came back the dogs were bouncing everywhere as you staggered in through the gate lugging my prized rock.

The thing weighed at least 10 kilos and you'd carried it uphill from the beach and fetched it home for me. That rock sat on our living room floor for two years and was my prized possession.

But I'm sorry I had to leave it behind when I left, it was too big to pack.

I have another 'rocky' memory.

One time we'd driven down to London on a winter Sunday to trawl the street markets. We arrived very early and enjoyed breakfast in someone else's cafe. Then we passed some 'arty' shops and in a window I saw some work I thought was really good.

The artist had taken pieces of stone and had bored holes large enough to take one or more tealights, around these holes he'd set tiny metal figures.
Little ape-men who warmed themselves at the candle flames. The shop was shut and 'though I really loved one particular piece I knew I couldn't get it because we rarely came to London.

Christmas came that year and among my presents was a small heavy bundle. It was my little ape-man at his fire.

You'd phoned the shop and arranged to buy the piece.
I still have that little man and I often warm his cold body with candles.

If i didn't say it at the time I was more thrilled with those two rocks than any of the other lovely things you gave me.

Stuff

2006-12-28T08:01:00.000Z

I have written nothing, zilch, nada at all since completing Nanowrimo in November '05.

I shall be writing again in '07.

There'll be some bits of long stuff and probably some short stuff too; I really have no idea what I'll do but whatever comes out will show up here.

2005-12-02T05:48:00.000Z

I DID IT

2005-11-29T18:24:00.000Z

I really did. Here it is the 29th of November and
I've logged up 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo.

I'm amazed,now I think I am a writer at last.

43,327 and staggering

2005-11-28T05:30:00.000Z

That was my word count at the end of yesterday.
I'm racing to the deadline.

No I lie I'm staggering towards it. I'm starting to hate this bloody book. Once it's done ,and it will be. I shall throw it in a corner and forget the Roman Empire for at least six months.

Over The Hump

2005-11-20T15:57:00.000Z

Running total 26,152 words. I'm past the halfway mark with 10 days to go.

Squeaked past

2005-11-19T03:54:00.000Z

Squeaked past the 20,000 mark last night. Still way behind, but I can get there.

I need some meaty drama. Time for a battle methinks.

NaNo Plodo

2005-11-17T04:11:00.000Z

Just over the 17,000 word mark now. This is not great, but I am getting to enjoy it now.
I'm making enough progress to keep me working and that's good enough for me.

There's another excerpt below if anyone can bear the deathless prose.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Unusually it was Luci who was silent and unresponsive this morning. Drusilla was skipping through the ripples on the sands. Her mind still full of the dream she’d have the night before. A dream where Guto had ridden up to the Legate’s house and demanded that Drusilla be given up as a hostage. Julius and her mother had handed Drusilla over to the warrior Briton with tears in their eyes. Drusilla had laughed in the dream at the sight of them crying over her.
Guto had reached down from his sturdy pony and she’d clasped his hand. He’d swung her up behind him and they’d galloped off into the hills. Drusilla had felt his body hard and warm under her hands. She’d smelt that musky honey aroma from his skin and she’d wriggled in anticipation of the kisses he would give her when they reached his stronghold.
The dream had ended before the ride, but Drusilla had cuddled down under the blanket and continued to imagine the arrival at a beautiful hall . A hall made from living trees with branches full of birds overhead. Guto had ridden the pony straight into the hall. Then he’d lifted her down, set her on her feet and pulled her close. His lips were just about to press hers when Kalliope’s hand shook her shoulder.
“Get up Miss lazybones . I need you to do chores for me. Hurry the tide is on the turn and I want you at the beach before the seaweed dries too much.”

Now Drusilla picked up strands of the green hair-like weed and waved them in the air as she danced along. She was in love. The world was a wonderful place. The sun was shining and the water glistened in shallow mirrors, each reflecting her happy face. The little crabs scuttled around her feet and she smiled as she skipped to avoid them. The sky had a blue-ness unlike any she’d seen before. This was the realm of gods surely. Venus must have been born on a day like this.

“Come on Luci. You’ll get a chill sitting on that damp rock. Come here and dabble your toes in the water. It’s warm and there are lots of little creatures to see.”

Lucilla looked thoroughly miserable. Her shoulders were rounded, her head was down and her hands played with each other in a restless manner. Drusilla became concerned. She stopped jumping about and walked up the beach to her sister’s perch.

“ What is the matter? Have you lost something? Are your menses paining you today? Please cheer up Luci. I’m feeling so happy that I may just burst unless I can share it with someone.”
Luci looked up but said nothing.
“Come on. Last night you wanted to know where I’d been and all about Guto. I didn’t want to tell you then, but I do now. Give me a smile and I’ll tell you why he is so wonderful. I’ll tell you all about the dream I had last night too.”

“You had a dream?”

“Yes. It was wonderful. Guto was so powerful. So masterly. I wanted to give myself to him right in front of mother, but he took me to his palace.”

“ Oh you had a love dream about your tame Briton. I have the same dreams about Quintus you know.”

“I don’t care about Quintus. You can have all the dreams you want about him. You can marry him if you want. In fact I shall tell mother what a good idea it would be for you to marry Quintus instead of me.
For one thing he likes you better. Julius likes you too. Everyone would be happy. Then I could have Guto.”

“ If Guto’s people accepted you, which is unlikely.”
Drusilla stuck her tongue out.
“Why wouldn’t they want me? I am rich and I am strong. “

“You are silly too.They’d probably want to sacrifice you. Those Druids are supposed to be fond of human sacrifice.”

“Guto would protect me.” Drusilla’s voice wavered because she was less sure of this than she wished to be.

“I had a dream too.” Luci’s voice interrupted this uncomfortable thought.
“Yes you said so already. What was it about?”

“I dreamt about a battle. I was in the middle of it. I was in a chariot. The chariot was a small one, the kind they use in the Coliseum. It was small and cramped because you were in it too. I was crouched in the well of it keeping my head down because there were arrows zinging through the air and flames all around. I was wearing a shift and I had a stabbing sword in my hand. The sword was sticky and my tunic was sticky. It was blood. I was covered in blood. It was all over the sword and my clothes and my arm was red to the elbow. I had a shield in the other hand. You were standing up and holding the reins of the horses. You were like a great warrior. Your legs were braced in the straps and your hair was streaming from your head like the fires around us. You had on a black robe. Your arms were bare ,but you had great bracelets of gold on them and a huge gold torc around your throat. I was afraid of you. You looked at me and I didn’t recognise you at first. You had tattoos on your forehead and your face was so fierce and cruel. I thought you’d gone mad. You were screaming and grinning. It was horrible.”

“Where was this battle and who were we fighting?”

“I don’t know where it was. There was smoke and lots of fires. I think there were firepits. It was some big open space, no trees, but there was a stream. I remember that because some men were lying in the stream and their blood had turned the water red. There were bodies all over the field. Some of them were naked, but painted with blue markings. Some had leather and furs. There were women’s bodies too. They wore black tunics like yours.

Lucilla swallowed and reached out to grab Drusilla’s arm

“And there were Roman bodies. Men with their throats slit. Men screaming with their stomachs open. Breastplates and spears and shields in heaps.

“We were with the Romans?”

“No Drusilla. We were with the Britons. You and I were leading the Britons in battle against the Roman army.”

Fatal procrastination!

2005-11-07T10:51:00.000Z

Only another 3,500 words since my first posting.
I changed my mind about the plot and dithered for a day or two.

However I am getting to like my characters, so maybe I can get into their story as it staggers along.

First Chunk

2005-11-01T08:15:00.000Z

I'm publishing some of my efforts just as they come out.
This is un-edited first draft. It may never get beyond this stage anyway, but it's how I write!
This is a 'Young Adult' novel.

NANWRIMO 2005

The Speaking Tree

……………At first it was hard to see, but slowly her eyes adjusted. The light came from torches tied to spears and the central fire flared as fat from the bones thrown on it caught. The room was large but it was full. Dogs squabbled in the gloom. Slaves moved around the walls. They carried glistening sacks from which came sweet smelling drink. She could smell sweat and urine; she could feel the heat. There seemed to be no women present. The space around the fire was packed with men. Their eyes glittered and their teeth shone when they laughed. There was a lot of laughter, there was plenty of talk too, but she couldn’t make out what they said. She realised that some of the words were slurred anyway. Some men were propped against pillars; they gazed blurrily at their friends and waved their hands in the gestures drunks use instead of speech. She watched as one man pushed himself upright and vomited towards the fire while at the same time, he held his cup out for more drink. His neighbours laughed as the nearest slave refilled the man’s cup. The smell of sour milk carried to her.

She’d decided by now that no woman would be safe here. These were dangerous men. They all looked alike. Their eyes were hard. Their hair was black and curled tightly. They all wore beards and their arms were sinewy and scarred. She didn’t like what she saw.

Surely this vision would fade soon! But the smells grew sickly strong, the heat was oppressive and the hubbub rose ever louder.

Then one voice came through the din, not loud but clear and strong. All the faces turned in one direction. She hadn’t seem this area of the room before but now she could see that there was a clear space behind one man sat upright on a fur-draped chair. There were slaves standing at either side of him.

He was big, not a giant but a man of great height. His chest was broad and his shoulders far apart. His clothes were the same as the other men; his hair and beard were as dark as the others, but he had an aura of command. That voice; she didn’t know what he was saying but the sound held her attention.
The man held a dagger in one huge hand. He had paused to speak in the act of spearing a chunk of meat.

She saw now that his eyes were clear and that he was looking straight across the fire in her direction. ………….

Chapter One

Lucilla yawned as she walked towards the boats. Her mother was still inside the port master’s house so Lucilla didn’t bother to cover her mouth. It was that kind of morning; lazy and stretchy. She could feel warm sun on her back although ahead the sea’s edge was grey and there was mist rolling across the water.

It had rained yesterday and the sun brought out the smell of damp earth. Lucilla sniffed and smiled. She loved days like this, but they seemed rare in this land.
Lucilla was a native of Rome and had spent little time outside the city before her mother had married Julius. In the last year she’d come to love fresh air and open spaces. It was so different here, maybe it was better than Rome? Lucilla pushed this treacherous thought aside. If her step-father felt that Lucilla was becoming a tom-boy like Drusilla he would send her back to Italy immediately.

Julius had said that Drusilla would never get a husband because she was far too independent. He’d criticised Kalliste for bringing her eldest daughter up as if she were a boy. However Julius Agrippa approved of Lucilla. He was sure she would catch the attention of a suitable young officer in the Legion or better still in the regional capital at Sulis.

Sulis had proved a disappointment to Lucilla. She’d been told how fast the city was growing, due in large measure to the patronage of Roman citizens from all over the southern part of this land. The waters from the springs were sacred and health giving, or so it was said. Lucilla thought they stank and her health needed no supplements anyway. It was true that there’d been plenty of people in Sulis but most of them had been fat merchants.

Lucilla was interested in thin men. She was thirteen years old and had decided that she could afford to wait a year or two if the men of Sulis were typical of the available males in Brittania.
Lucilla had asked Drusilla’s opinion, but Drusilla had muttered something about the fine Arab mares that she’d seen at the horse fair and Lucilla realised that her sister hadn’t even noticed the lack of suitable men.

Lucilla sighed. She loved Drusilla and thought she was brave and clever, but she could be extremely boring.

By now Lucilla had reached the beach. On close inspection the beach turned out to be a mud bank and Lucilla teetered on the grass. She had no wish to get mud on her slippers, but she did want to see the ships better. She liked ships. Her father had been Commander of a fighting galley and she liked to imagine that he wasn’t dead, but instead was sailing the wild oceans. One day he would come back and take Lucilla away to an exotic land where Fauns played and Nymphs made music. Lucilla would find her True Love there and everything would be right with the World.

“Lucilla. Lucilla Come here at once.”
Kalliope her nurse was yelling and waving from the portmaster’s verandah.

“We’ll be leaving shortly and your mother doesn’t want you looking like a ragamuffin. Come quickly Lucilla”.

For a slave Kalliope had a domineering manner. She had been bought as a child companion for Kalliste nearly thirty years earlier. She’d stayed on as a personal maid. Then she’d nursed Drusilla when she was a baby and Lucilla after her. Kalliope was given great control over the daily lives of Kalliste’s daughters and Kalliope was the final arbiter on all matters of appearance and manners.

Lucilla waved and started to walk back to the house.

--

Drusilla heard Kalliope yelling at Lucilla. It was a relief to find that she was not the target for the little woman’s wrath, at least not yet.

Drusilla had also snuck out of their quarters. She had been eager to see the sun rise this morning.
She settled herself on a wall and hugged her shawl closer to her.

For the first time in weeks Drusilla felt excited. She wanted to get to the fortress. Drusilla wasn’t anxious to see her stepfather. She knew Julius’ opinion of her too well. She wanted to see the local tribes.
Drusilla had been asking about the Silures ever since she’d arrived at Isca in the Spring. There were plenty of native Britons to be seen near the great fortress at Isca Dumnoniorum and Drusilla had been intrigued to meet people so different with their tempestuous history and uncivilised behaviour.

The Dumnonii were interesting. Drusilla liked the confident way the women walked around the settlement with small children scampering behind them. These people were easy in their manner. They carried their heads high and looked straight through Drusilla. The men of the tribe had been harder to see, they spent a lot of time hanging around in groups that were always at the edge of the town. Whenever a roman patrol came by these little knots of men would fade further into the background. The women would tease the soldiers and the men always seemed to disappear.

The salacious stories she’d heard from Kalliope of naked fighting men had not interested her, but Drusilla had been captivated by talk of the Druids. In the lands of the Dumnonii she’d seen no Druids, but she fully expected her hopes would be fulfilled here in this wilder land.

Drusilla knew she wasn’t a typical Roman girl, nor would she ever be. Her mother was Greek, the daughter of a wealthy merchant, which was a handicap to marriage in the higher circles of Roman life. Her father had died when Drusilla was a baby. He’d been a sickly man and although he had been of good family he’d never been strong enough to join the army or spend time in Rome making friends with the powerful. He’d lived on his country estates and Kalliste had been fetched sight unseen to marry him after reports of her beauty had encouraged Drusus Magnus to get himself an heir.

After his death Kalliste had been assigned a guardian because she’d inherited Drusus’ lands. With her beauty and her wealth Kalliste had soon been married off again, to the man who had fathered Lucilla before he’d been lost at sea.

Drusilla had been brought up as if she had been the male heir her father had demanded of Kalliste. Drusilla had learnt to read and write. She kept her mother’s correspondence for her. She knew about horses because Drusus had kept a fine stable. She had learnt the history of Rome and it’s conquests. She’d learnt the laws of Rome and all the skills that a son would need so that her mother could ask any fact of Drusilla and her daughter could fill the lack in her mother’s education.

Drusilla knew that her mother had fallen in love with Lucilla’s father and Lucilla was her mother’s delight, but she knew that she was the one Kalliste relied on and this gave her some comfort................