In a Dark Wood by Michael Cadnum Page B

will organize an archery contest. With a gold mark for the winner.”
    This was well within Henry’s talents. He hurried off, breathless with enthusiasm for publicizing the contest into the farthest reaches of the shire, into the forest even, to draw those yeomen rarely seen in the city. Archery contests were not uncommon; Geoffrey asked Henry to hold one from time to time to keep the men in condition and to amuse them, although Geoffrey was always slightly bored with such events.
    Geoffrey stepped through the water that had flowed from the wash-pot. “My dear,” he said softly.
    â€œOh!” gasped the girl. “You frightened me, my lord!”
    Geoffrey gave her his best smile, the smile that was his greatest gift. “You have a beautiful voice,” he said.
    Blushes. Downcast eyes. Her knuckles were harsh red from her work, and her forearms were beefy. Her eyes, however, were dark, and her lips were red. “We can always use a beautiful voice about the hall. Meet me in the East Tower tonight, after the first watch. I’d like to talk with you further.”
    The brush was as black as the iron it scrubbed, with thick, sharp bristles. Geoffrey touched the brush, as if to say, “You do not deserve such crude labor; you deserve a place of special honor.”
    She would be there, she said, her eyes downcast.
    â€œDon’t be afraid if it is dark,” he said. “I will be there, waiting for you.”

10
    Hugh tried to read the sheriff’s mood, but as so often, Geoffrey’s expression told nothing. Hugh ached to learn more about the meeting with the king’s steward, but he could not bring himself to ask.
    Boys chased hoops, driving them ahead with sticks, and another strode ahead on a pair of stilts. Geoffrey’s horse tossed its mane at the sight of the children, and Geoffrey looked back to say to Hugh, “Ivo tells me your swordplay is improving.”
    The young man colored. “Ivo is a good teacher.”
    Geoffrey nearly said, You make me proud. But some inner reserve held him back. His own father had been a stern man who had once made a pilgrimage to Rome and felt that praise fed a young man’s pride. If I had a son, Geoffrey found himself musing, I would want him to be like Hugh. It was the serious look in his eye that had captured the sheriff from the first. Geoffrey had never regretted taking on a greaver’s son, an orphan, as a squire. But to care for someone left one open to possible pain. What if something should happen to Hugh? Geoffrey didn’t think he could bear it.
    Two rough timbers, three times a man’s height, were topped with a cross-beam. Four studs supported the angles: two at the top, two at the bottom. The gibbet stood on a knoll, an announcement of the law’s power. In the distance a stream turned a mill wheel as a small white figure stood in a doorway. A magpie, black and white, perched on the cross-beam, looking towards the city, peaked buildings and a spire of chimney smoke that rose into the smoke-colored sky.
    The thief would hang here tomorrow, until he rotted. The magpie would be replaced by a flock of carrion crows, black as numbers on a page. They would circle as the body was cut down and gradually turn to other duties.
    â€œBirds teach us what lesson, Hugh?”
    â€œCheerfulness, sire, and acceptance of our duties.”
    â€œGood.” And yet there were often shadow lessons, lessons you were never taught but guessed at yourself. A blackbird consuming a man called happily as it worked. “It’s important to be cheerful as much as possible. Not too cheerful. Only as cheerful as is proper.”
    A peasant in a black cap the shape of his skull struck a tree with a stick, and acorns fell to the ground. Pigs ate them, and a dog watched the pigs, sitting alertly as the man worked. The dog was well fed, although a fly tasted a sore on its backbone. Pigs wandered, snouts to the ground, into the