Chapter 7 — The Road to Griffin City

Chapter 7: Chapter 7 — The Road to Griffin City

Chapter 7 — The Road to Griffin City

Christopher chose their campsite after the midday halt: the map showed a meadow beside an old stone bridge, eight miles farther along the road. Walter knew the place—it had water, open ground for the wagons, and enough grass for the animals.

"How long will it take the convoy to reach the meadow?" Christopher asked.

Walter looked back at the convoy. "Four hours. Maybe more." Christopher checked the sun; even after allowing five hours, they should arrive before dark.

"Then we will stop there for the night."

Godfrey folded his copy of the route map without comment. For the first two miles, Christopher’s estimate held: the wagons kept a steady pace, the families walked in their assigned groups, and Ivo prevented the rear from stretching too far behind. When the road passed through a village, only two children broke formation to stare at a baker’s window before their parents dragged them back. Then one of the cattle refused to cross a narrow wooden culvert.

The animal planted its feet and pulled against the rope until three men joined the boy leading it. Moving the cattle around the culvert required opening a fence and finding the landowner, who wanted payment for crossing his field; Bennet spent ten minutes arguing over the amount, and they lost nearly half an hour for it. An hour later, a strap snapped on the seventh wagon. Nothing fell, but the load had to be shifted while one of the carpenters cut a replacement from spare leather.

The convoy moved again, and the sun had dropped close to the western hills by the time Walter rode back from the lead.

"The bridge is still three miles ahead," he said.

Christopher looked behind them. The wagons followed a curve in the road and disappeared among the trees, and he could not see the rear guard.

"We still have light."

"The lead wagons do," Walter said.

Christopher turned to Godfrey. The Silver Knight waited.

"Can we stop here?" Christopher asked.

Walter studied the sloping ground beside the road. "Not with all the wagons. There is a clearing about a mile ahead, but no proper stream. The bridge is still the better camp."

"Then we continue."

Walter nodded and rode forward. Godfrey remained beside Christopher.

"You disagree," Christopher said.

"The decision has been made."

"That was not what I asked."

Godfrey shifted in the saddle and eyed the red light between the trees. "The bridge is the safest place nearby. We should still use it."

"But?"

"We should have decided to use it two hours earlier and moved differently."

Christopher waited for the rest, but Godfrey did not provide it. The final mile took longer than the previous two, the light fading beneath the trees first while families began pulling cloaks from their bundles. One of the smaller carts drifted toward the ditch when its driver failed to see a rut. Christopher sent Thomas Reed ahead to tell Martha Cole that her kitchen wagon should move toward the front, and Thomas returned several minutes later.

"It cannot pass, Young Master. The road is too narrow."

"Then it moves first when we reach the meadow."

Thomas hesitated. "It is behind fourteen wagons." Christopher’s attention went to Godfrey again.

"What should I have done?"

"Sent riders ahead before noon," Godfrey said. "One to inspect the field, one to return with the answer. Then place the wagons in the order you want them to stop."

"The kitchen wagon should have been near the front."

"Kitchen near the water, livestock downwind, baggage toward the center. Families need to know their places before they arrive."

"Walter already knew the meadow."

"Walter knew the ground. He did not know how you wanted two hundred people arranged on it."

Christopher looked back at the crowded road.

"I didn’t know either."

"Now you know to ask."

They reached the stone bridge after sunset, the lead wagons rolling into the meadow while the rear remained beneath the trees. Walter and three apprentices carried lanterns from one driver to another, directing each wagon away from the entrance, and the first families stopped wherever they found open ground and began unloading. By the time Christopher rode into the field, two wagons blocked the direct path to the river, sheep had been penned beside the place where Martha wanted to build her fires, and someone had tied six horses to a young tree that bent whenever they pulled at their reins.

Children cried in the dark, adults called names across the meadow, and oxen answered with low, irritated bellows. Martha reached Christopher before he dismounted.

"Young Master, my wagon is still somewhere on the road."

"I know. We’re clearing the entrance now."

"The flour is in my wagon. The pots are in the wagon behind it, and the firewood is three wagons ahead."

Christopher climbed down. "What can you prepare without them?"

"Bread and cheese, if anyone can find the bread."

"Serve bread and cheese tonight. The children should not wait another hour."

Martha looked across the dark field. "The children need something hot."

"How long once your wagon arrives?"

"An hour for porridge, if my people can reach the water."

Christopher turned to Godfrey. "Who can clear the river path?"

"Ivo and the rear apprentices."

"And the wagons at the entrance?"

"Walter."

Christopher called both knights over and gave them the work in plain terms, leaving the details to them. Walter took four apprentices and began moving the stopped wagons deeper into the meadow, while Ivo rode back to the road, where the last families were arriving in darkness. Godfrey pointed toward the sheep. "They need to move." Christopher found Bennet beside a stack of bedding.

"Which family owns the sheep?"

Bennet checked his board by lantern light. "Several families, Young Master."

"Find them. Move the animals beyond the kitchen area."

"Where should they move the animals?"

Christopher almost chose another empty patch of ground, then stopped himself.

"Ask Godfrey where they should go."

Bennet hurried away. The kitchen wagon arrived while Walter was clearing the entrance, and Martha climbed onto its step before it stopped, directing the driver toward the river. Her family unloaded pots, sacks, and a bundle of dry kindling. Christopher carried one of the pots until Martha hurried over.

"Young Master, please hold it beneath the base. The lid will bend under that weight."

Christopher looked down; the pot hung crooked beneath his hand. Martha carefully took it and passed him a sack of onions instead. "This would be safer, if you still wish to help." Christopher carried the onions. The last wagon entered the meadow well after dark, Ivo following it with two apprentices and a lantern hanging from his saddle. Mud covered one side of his boot, and his polished appearance from the castle yard had not survived the day.

"Everyone is here," he reported. "One family claims they lost a goat."

"Did they?" Christopher asked.

"They began with nine and now have eight."

Bennet appeared behind him. "They began with eight. The ninth belongs to the Cooper family." Ivo stared at the clerk.

"So no goat is missing?" Christopher asked.

"Not unless another family has ten," Bennet said.

Christopher told him to count them in the morning. Porridge was ready before the camp was orderly, and families came with bowls and stood in a line that twisted between two wagons; Martha’s helpers served children first. Some adults complained until Walter stepped near the fire, after which the complaints became quieter. Christopher ate standing beside the baggage wagon, the porridge thin and tasting mostly of smoke. Godfrey joined him, carrying his own bowl.

"How early should we choose tomorrow’s camp?" Christopher asked.

"Before we leave this camp tomorrow."

"When should we settle tomorrow’s wagon order?"

"Decide it tonight. Changing order on the road wastes time."

Christopher set his bowl on the wagon step and pulled Bennet’s inventory from beneath the driver’s seat. The pages listed every wagon and most of what each carried.

"Should Martha’s wagon travel first?"

"Not first. Walter needs room for the lead riders and road tools. Put the kitchen among the first five."

"Where should we place the livestock?"

"Near the middle, where they can be watched. Keep them away from the food wagons when camped."

"What about the families with young children?"

"Ask Martha and Bennet. They know which wagons have space."

Christopher found a blank page.

"Who chooses the next campsite?"

"You choose it, after hearing the scouts and wagon masters."

"That went well today."

Godfrey scraped the bottom of his bowl with the spoon. "The place was good."

"We reached it in darkness."

"Then tomorrow, choose sooner."

Christopher wrote while Godfrey spoke, the knight answering each question and waiting while Christopher struggled toward the next one. Walter joined them after setting the first watch; he corrected the position of the tool wagons and recommended keeping an empty cart near the rear for anyone unable to continue walking. Martha wanted the firewood placed with the kitchen supplies instead of wherever space remained.

Bennet objected that the change would overload one wagon, and the three of them argued over it while Christopher tried to follow; they eventually split the firewood between two carts. The new order filled most of the blank page. Around them, the camp settled by degrees: lanterns went out, the sheep had been moved beyond the wagons though their smell remained, and a baby cried near the river until someone began singing softly. Christopher returned the inventory beneath the driver’s seat.

"Wake me for the middle watch," he told Godfrey.

"No. You need sleep more than another man on watch."

"I should take a watch."

"You should sleep. Tomorrow you make decisions for people who will have slept badly because of today’s decisions."

Christopher started to argue, then looked across the meadow, where several families still had no tents raised and others had simply spread blankets beneath their wagons.

"Where am I sleeping?"

Godfrey pointed toward a small tent near the baggage wagon—Agnes had apparently arranged it before Christopher found time to ask. Christopher walked through the camp first. A lantern still burned beneath one of the wagons, where a farmer was binding a blistered foot, and farther down the line, two carpenter families shared a pot because one had been unable to find theirs in the dark. Three children slept on folded grain sacks while their parents struggled with a tent rope.

Christopher helped lift the tent pole, remembering the father’s face from the eastern field but not his name.

"Thank you, Young Master," the man said.

Christopher nodded and moved on before he had to answer with a name he did not know. Near the river, Martha’s eldest son was still washing bowls, and Bennet sat on an overturned bucket correcting the day’s count by lantern light. Walter’s watchmen occupied four points around the meadow, though one position had a clear view of nothing except the bridge wall; Christopher called Thomas over and had that guard moved to the road. This one, at least, he noticed himself.

He walked toward it, then stopped.

"Godfrey, walk with me."

The knight looked over.

"I want your evaluation of today."

Godfrey glanced toward the nearby wagons. "Here?" Christopher understood. "Walk with me." They moved beyond the nearest tents, stopping where the river covered their voices.

"How badly did I do?" Christopher asked.

"No one died. Nothing broke that cannot be repaired."

"That’s a low standard."

"It is the first one." Godfrey looked back at the camp. "You measured the journey by the lead wagon. You didn’t consider when the last wagon would arrive or how long the families needed afterward. You also decided the wagon order after we were already on a narrow road."

Christopher waited.

"When it failed," Godfrey continued, "you asked for help. You gave Walter and Ivo work they understood, and you did not blame the farmers for following your order."

"Walter warned me."

"He gave you an estimate. You chose to risk it."

"You knew it would go wrong."

"I knew it might."

Christopher rubbed dried mud from his sleeve. "Next time, say so before I give the order."

"Next time, ask before you give it."

That stung, mostly because Godfrey was right.

"Fine. Tomorrow’s camp—before we leave."

"Yes. Choose the camp before we leave this one."

Christopher entered the tent. Outside, Walter called the names of the first watch, and the kitchen pots continued knocking together near the river.

Christopher woke to the sound of an argument outside his tent.

"That’s my cart."

"It is also in the wrong place."

"I put it where your man told me."

Christopher pushed aside the blanket and sat up, his back sore from the ground despite the bedroll beneath him. For a moment he saw the pale wall of a room that no longer existed. Then somebody outside accused somebody else of stealing a harness, and the old life slipped away.

He dressed and went out.

The meadow looked worse in daylight. Wagons stood at every angle, flattened grass marked the paths people had made in the dark, and the missing goat was tied beside the Cooper family’s cart. The animal had never been missing at all.

Walter stood between two farmers near the bridge: one wanted to leave immediately, the other refused to move until his eldest son returned from filling water barrels.

Godfrey was beside the cold fire, drinking from a wooden cup.

"You let me sleep too long," Christopher said.

"You slept six hours."

"The camp is already awake."

"The camp contains children and livestock. It was awake before either of us."

Christopher accepted the second cup Martha handed him. The water was warm and tasted faintly of the smoke that clung to everything she owned.

The wagon order they had prepared during the night existed only on paper. To put it into practice, half the camp needed to move past the other half through the narrow entrance by the bridge.

Christopher checked his list, then the wagons.

"If we try to arrange all of them here, how much time do we lose?" he asked Walter.

The Bronze Knight considered it. "An hour if everyone listens. Two if they do what they did last night."

"Can we arrange them after they cross the bridge?"

"The road widens beyond the hill. We could send them out by groups and hold them there."

Christopher folded the list. "Do that."

Walter called four apprentices over and began sending the wagons across in their new order. There was still shouting. A chicken escaped from a basket, two carts tried to take the bridge together, and Martha stopped the entire line because her smallest pot had been left beside the fire.

They lost less than an hour.

Christopher counted that as an improvement.

Before mounting, he showed Godfrey the place he had chosen for that night’s camp: it was marked on the map beside a roadside shrine.

Godfrey asked, "Who told you there is water?"

"The map shows a stream."

"The map is twelve years old."

Christopher called Walter back.

Walter had passed the shrine during his return from the north; the stream was still there, though the nearby ground became mud after rain. The sky was clear and had been for several days.

"Will the ground hold the wagons?" Christopher asked.

"It should, my lord. I saw no standing water when we passed it."

"Send someone ahead after midday to make certain."

Walter chose Thomas Reed. Christopher nearly told him which route to take, then remembered that Thomas had travelled this road more often than he had.

The convoy left the bridge meadow with Martha’s kitchen wagon near the front and the livestock in the middle, an empty cart travelling just ahead of Ivo and the rear guard.

For most of the morning, the convoy held together without real trouble.

Christopher rode from the lead to the middle and back again, learning that a convoy could appear orderly from the front while arguments travelled through it like fire through dry grass. One family accused another of tying bedding to the wrong wagon; a child threw up after being allowed to ride backward in a cart; three sheep found a gap between the drovers and wandered into a field of young barley.

The farmer who owned the field came running from his house with a fork in his hand.

Bennet settled the damage with four copper coins and an apology from the family that owned the sheep. Christopher kept out of it until they were moving again.

"Was four copper fair, or did we pay him simply to stop shouting?" he asked afterward.

"It was more than the sheep ate and less than the farmer first wanted," Bennet said.

"Then I suppose that was fair enough."

"Fair enough for the road," Bennet said.

Christopher decided that was probably the answer clerks gave when they did not want a lord reopening a finished argument.

Near noon, a sharp crack came from behind them, and the line stopped wagon by wagon. Christopher turned his horse and followed Walter toward the sound.

The left rear wheel of a grain wagon leaned outward, a split running along the hub where one spoke had broken close to the rim. The driver stood beside it with both hands on his head.

"It struck a stone," he said. "I heard it, but the wheel kept turning."

Christopher dismounted. "Can we replace it?"

Walter crouched beside the hub. "Not here. The spare wheels are the wrong size."

"Then unload the grain and divide it among the other wagons."

Bennet, who had arrived on foot, made a sound behind him.

Christopher looked over. "What?"

"The other wagons are already carrying their listed loads."

"They can take more for a day."

"Some can. I don’t know which without checking."

Christopher looked down the road, where the stopped convoy disappeared around the bend; they had begun well, and now every minute seemed to be collecting in a pile at his feet.

"How long will you need to check them properly?"

"If the drivers tell the truth about what they added this morning, half an hour."

Christopher almost ordered the sacks moved anyway. He could hear Godfrey’s answer from the night before.

"Check," he said. "Walter, can the wheel be kept together long enough to clear the road?"

Walter examined the split again, and one of the carpenter settlers, Odo Ward, knelt beside him and pressed his thumb against the hub.

"Bind it with the spare iron straps," Odo said. "Take half the load off and it may reach the shrine. No farther."

Walter looked at Christopher. "That’s what I would try."

"Bind it and move half the grain. We only need it to reach the shrine."

Bennet went through his boards and chose four wagons that could accept grain without risking their axles. Christopher helped lift the first sack, mostly because standing aside felt worse; by the third, his arms were shaking.

Martha arrived carrying bread, onions, and a jug of watered ale.

"People can eat while they wait," she said.

Christopher wiped grain dust from his hands. "I didn’t send for you."

"No. That’s why the food arrived before night."

She gave the jug to the driver and began cutting bread.

The repair took longer than Walter expected but less time than Christopher feared, and the damaged wagon returned to the road with its wheel wrapped in two iron straps, Odo walking beside it and listening to every turn.

Thomas met them in the afternoon. The shrine field was dry, the stream was running, and there was enough room for the convoy; he had also spoken to two charcoal burners who warned him that a smaller bridge on the next day’s road had lost part of its railing.

Christopher asked Walter whether the bridge could bear their wagons.

"The railing does not hold the bridge up."

"That wasn’t my question."

Walter smiled. "I will look at it in the morning."

They reached the shrine with sunlight still on the road, and the wagons entered by groups. Martha’s cart stopped close to the stream, the livestock continued to the far side of the field, and families found their marked places with only a few disputes. The damaged grain wagon remained near Odo’s cart so he could work on it.

Christopher stood beside the old shrine and watched smoke rise from three cooking fires. It was better than the previous night—not good, perhaps, but better.

Ivo arrived with the last wagon while the sun was touching the trees, swung down from his horse, and immediately checked the empty cart, where an old woman and two sleeping children lay inside.

"The woman twisted her ankle," Ivo reported. "The children walked until the second halt. Their father is driving their wagon."

There was no mud on Ivo’s face today, but dust covered him from his boots to his hair. He had stopped polishing his buckles.

"Any missing animals?" Christopher asked.

"Eleven goats at departure. Eleven goats here."

Bennet glanced at his board. "Eleven is correct."

Ivo gave him a satisfied nod, every inch a man who had personally defeated the goats.

The following morning, the damaged wagon remained at the shrine: Odo and his sons would replace the hub, then catch up with Walter and two apprentices as escort. Christopher disliked leaving people behind, but Walter said forcing the wheel onward would destroy it completely.

The third day brought a different problem.

One of the oxen pulling the tool wagon slowed after the midday halt, its head hanging low, white foam gathering around the bit. The driver struck its flank with a switch, and the animal lurched forward, then slowed again.

"Stop," Christopher called.

The driver lowered the switch.

Christopher approached the ox but did not touch it. "Is it sick?"

"Tired, Young Master. It will walk."

"How much farther can it pull before it gives out?"

The man looked uncertain.

Walter checked the animal’s mouth and ran a hand along its neck. Martha came forward from the kitchen wagon and considered the load instead.

"That wagon was lighter when we left," she said.

Bennet checked his inventory: three crates of horseshoes had been transferred onto it during the wheel repair, a transfer Christopher had approved himself.

"Move the crates," he said.

"Not all at once," Walter said. "Let the animal drink first. If you drive it immediately, a lighter wagon will not matter."

Christopher nodded. "How long?"

"Half an hour. Longer if it will not drink."

They halted beside a stand of trees. Martha mixed a little salt into a bucket of water and had the driver offer it slowly, while Bennet found space for the horseshoes across two carts and Godfrey sent riders ahead and behind so the stopped convoy would not be surprised on the road.

Christopher watched each of them solve a different part of the same problem. He had seen the ox slowing, had even known something was wrong, but that had not told him what to do.

"You knew the animal needed salt?" he asked Martha.

"My husband kept oxen, Young Master. I learned enough to keep them on their feet."

"Then why did the driver keep striking it instead of stopping?"

"Perhaps he did. Perhaps he was afraid to stop your wagon without permission."

Christopher noted the switch still hanging from the driver’s hand.

Before they resumed, he called Walter, Ivo, Bennet, Martha, and the wagon drivers together.

"If an animal is failing, a wheel is breaking, or a person cannot keep walking, stop and report it. You don’t need to wait until the damage is worse."

One of the drivers shifted uneasily. "Even if it delays the column, my lord?"

"A broken wagon delays it more."

Godfrey gave the driver a final look, then returned to his horse. Christopher took the silence as permission to keep moving.

The ox drank, and after the load was reduced, it returned to the road at a slower pace. Christopher placed the tool wagon near the rear, where Ivo could watch it.

That evening, Ivo reported before Christopher had to ask.

"The ox finished the journey. The old woman’s ankle is swollen but she can stand. Two children rode in the empty cart, and Thomas caught one boy trying to climb beneath a moving wagon."

"What did Thomas do with the boy?"

"Returned him to his mother."

"I suppose his mother was less gentle."

Ivo winced. "More than Thomas was permitted to."

Christopher looked past him. Campfires burned in two straight lines, and Odo’s repaired grain wagon had caught up before dusk, its new hub pale against the older wood.

"Good work," Christopher said.

Ivo stood a little straighter. "Thank you, my lord."

After he left, Christopher unfolded the route map beside Godfrey.

"Tomorrow’s camp," he said, pointing to a village marked near the road. "What am I forgetting?"

Godfrey studied the map.

"You’re asking before giving the order."

"That’s not an answer."

"No," Godfrey said. "But it is an improvement."