Buzzards, Hawks and Ravens

(Account of Six Friend’s Life in the “Dark” Age)

by

Ruwen Rouhs

Chapter 1

A new life found

Ruwen dragged his tired horse on its bridle through the narrow gate in the ring wall surrounding the scattered village.

“Hey, Blacky come on, don’t be so stubborn! You already had your fair share of food today; but me ... I am hungry and tired and I can hardly move my legs anymore! Come on, you black devil. I promise you a feed bag full of grains later.”

After five frightening days in a dark and desolated forest, Ruwen had finally spotted the village from the pass high on top of the mountain ridge. Two weary figures were strapped on the bare back of the black stallion, his mother and his small sister. His seriously injured mother had not been able to keep upright, as she had lost too much of her blood from her torn up abdomen. His worn out sister Eileen was clutching to her back, sleeping. With a last, ultimate effort he managed to pull the horse through the small gate and up the gravel road towards the church overlooking the farmsteads on both sides.

The village seemed to be deserted; nobody seemed to be present. The houses, cow sheds and barns seemed to be abandonned, but he did smell the stench of cows and pigs. In his back he felt the stares of the people peering out of their doors to find out what sort of strangers had arrived, and whether they would have to double bar their doors that night! With tired legs he scrambled up the rampant road to the church. Suddenly the whole world went black…...

Ruwen awoke from his unconsciousness on a dusky, dusty barn floor. Faint flares of light flickered through the cracks in the doors. He heard a whimpering noise to the left, a fearful sniffing. He immediately recognized it as his sister’s. He tried to sit up, but was too tired.

Suddenly the high pitched voice of a boy came out of the dark “Father, father look, his eyelids are quivering. He is opening his eyes, he is alive!”

A small, chubby face came into view, a wet cloth wiped Ruwen’s forehead and small arms tried to prop him up. In front of Ruwen was a sturdy boy, slightly older than he, with freckles all over his face and a mop of light hair. The boy looked into his face, smiled and asked, “Are you alright? I was afraid you were dead like the woman over there! I am so glad you are alive!” A streak of dried tears trailed down the cheeks of the strange boy.

“Don’t frighten the boy, just pet him” the raspy voice of an old woman came.

The deep voice of a man added “Be careful Bastian, he is still feeble and not fully aware of the situation.”

Bastian, for that was the name of the blue eyed boy, propped Ruwen up, put a wisp of straw under his back and offered him some water.

Ruwen started to look around. His sister was sitting behind and to his left, on a blanket, chewing some bread. But where was his mother? At first he did not see her, but then he recognized something familiar to the left of the barn door. There he saw a limp bundle, on a wisp of straw, clothed in his mother’s dress, the formerly shiny hair dull, unkempt, and lifeless. Ruwen realized the situation in the blink of an eye. His mother was dead, irrevocably dead, lost for ever. He had seen too many dead bodies during the last few weeks; dead children, torn up women, slaughtered men. Ruwen turned around and covered his eyes with his arms. He wanted to extinguish himself like a candle, to vanish from the earth. He could not cry. His eye stayed dry. Ruwen retreated into an inner world. Faintly he perceived the voices of arguing men, arguing women; talking about taking care of him and his sister, talking about …. He lost consciousness again.

Later in the evening Ruwen woke to find himself seated on a bench, muffled in a heavy blanket. The warm arm of somebody was draped over his shoulders. In the scarcely lit room someone was holding him tightly. It was Bastian, all smiles, with a clean face now and chewing some bread.

On the other side of the table two big lads towered. Fright rushed over Ruwen, but the two blond giants smiled at him. Then one asked “Hi Bastian, did you find a new toy? A boy as a toy?” and then to Ruwen “I am Bendrich and that’s my twin brother Geroldt! Welcome to our family!”

And Geroldt added “Be careful! Bastian can be quite a pest. If you need help call us.”

The next thing Ruwen remembered was the drink Bastian offered him proudly, a big cup of foaming milk. However, as soon the milk entered Ruwen’s stomach he got sick. His stomach revolted and he puked the white stuff all over the table and the floor. He felt humiliated, but the big boys started to laugh. “Hey Basti, did you poison your new toy already on the first day? Be careful tonight, maybe you got yourself a bed-wetter. Swaddle him tightly, you have to share the bed with him, not us.”

Ruwen woke up in a pitch-dark room. Everything smelled strange, the shirt he was wearing, the bedding, the room itself. Somebody was clasping him very tightly, was spooning him. The arm around his belly felt strange but soothing and something hard was propped in the cleft of his bum.

An unfamiliar snoring came from the other end of the room. Ruwen had to pee! He urgently needed to get to an outhouse. But where was he; where was the outhouse? He started to turn and toss around anxiously; he didn’t want to wet the bed.

Suddenly someone came stumbling toward him in the dark ... “What’s the matter boy, are you sick?” “No, I just have to pee, urgently!!” Then this someone picked him up and carried him down the stairs like a baby. The someone was Bendrich. Side by side the big boy and the small boy relieved themselves onto the muckheap. “Tomorrow, you have to find your way downstairs without my help,” was Bendrich’s remark while he carried Ruwen back up to the bedroom.

*.*.*

Ruwen was roused by ear-splitting and agitated discussions downstairs. His name was mentioned as often as his little sister’s. He got an uneasy feeling and started to become afraid. Anxiously he slipped back under the bed cover; shut his ears with the hands; curled up like a fetus. After a while his curiosity won and, even more, his responsibility for his smaller sister. Quietly he tiptoed downstairs wearing only a wide shirt, probably belonging to one of the twins.

The large main room of the homestead was crowded with about two dozen villagers ... bearded men, heavy women and a few young people. He recognized his sister, Bastian, the twins and Bastian’s four sisters. All others were strangers to him. But who was the strong, dominating man governing the meeting? Was it Bastian’s father? And who was the frail, white haired woman with the walking-stick sitting in the center, on a winged chair? The voices of these two sounded faintly familiar. Ruwen stopped at the bottom of the staircase and tried to hide himself behind a sturdy man’s back.

However Bastian spotted him immediately and exclaimed happily, “Father look, it’s Ruwen! He is finally awake!” and then he pulled Ruwen into the circle.

A fierce debate was on about the fate of Ruwen and little Eileen. Their mother was dead. Who was to accept the responsibility for the two orphans now? Was it in the responsibility of Bastian’s father, as the provost of the village? Should the kids stay in the village in care of a family or given into the custody of a nearby monastery?

The case of Eileen was settled in a rush. Eileen was already sitting in the lap of a cheerful, middle-aged woman with a gigantic, soft bosom and wide hips. She was cuddling the little girl, patting her constantly to make her feel at home. The women beamed proudly into the crowd.

“That’s my girl now. I won’t let her be moved to those cruel nuns. I have wanted a girl my entire life. I have born only two sons, nice sons ... look at them, and now the Lord has bestowed me with a beautiful girl. Eileen is ours, forever.”

The two boys, one about nine and the other twelve, drew closer to her mother, embraced her and started hugging the little girl.

Then a man rose; a strong man, strong like a bull, with his hair covered with flour and he simply stated, “That’s our Eileen now! We tried for years to have more children, but never succeeded. The girl is a godsend. She’s ours!”

Everyone smiled; but some of the lads smirked knowing of the noisy attempts the couple had made to father a girl.

That’s how Eileen became the miller’s daughter.

Ruwen was trembling despite the heat radiating from the crowd. He felt even uneasier than he had upstairs. His mind almost panicked. He knew that the next minutes would be of vital importance for his future.

Bastian’s father rose... “One problem is solved, but now to the bigger one. Who volunteers to take care of the boy? Not me! I have eight mouths to feed every day; my dear wife, three strong sons and four daughters. There is never enough food on the table; there is no bed for one more boy. I don’t want a boy as small and weak as this one! He will not be able to earn his living on my farm. I do not need a toy! No! I can’t offer him a home.”

Everyone was taken aback by this harsh statement. He was the richest farmer in the village, he had plenty of cattle and sheep and sows. Who besides him, the provost, could afford to care for that poor lad?

There was an uneasy silence. Then something happened that no one was expecting. Bastian seized Ruwen’s arm, pulled him towards his father, and stomped with his left foot.

“I found him father! He is mine! He is my friend! He is small but strong, he is no toy! Look at his muscles. And, I need him! He does not need an extra bed; he can sleep with me! He does not need an extra bowl; he can use mine! He does not need extra food; I will split mine with him! If you send him away to the monastery, I will leave too!”

Bastian’s father turned red with anger. His smallest son had confronted him in front of the most important villagers. He growled, “Get out of here, immediately! This is not your business, you blockhead!”

But there was more to come.

The twins stepped forward pleading in one voice. ”Father, please doesn’t be harsh to that poor child. He has lost his mother; he has suffered so much! Listen to Bastian; he needs our help. And, Bastian needs Ruwen, like we both need one another.”

The ensuing silence was broken by the sharp knocking of a cane on the tiles of the floor. The brittle voice of the white haired women rose loudly ...

“Klas, son of my only brother, I gave you all the land I inherited for farming because I don’t have children, but I didn’t hand it down to you for ever! I may as well give it to this small boy instead of you, because you have to know I had a dream last night…… I saw this boy in front of a large crowd of sick people. He took the hands of the sick and invalid and they were healed. The hobbling went away straight, the blind ones seeing, the deaf ones hearing!...... You have to care of him Klas, till he is old enough to meet his destiny!”

At that very moment the silence was broken by the neighing of a stallion, Ruwen’s black stallion, the loud and triumphant neighing of a stallion having impregnated a mare, Klas’ mare.

Klas remained in thought with downcast eyes. Then his wife Muriel put an arm around his shoulders ... “Take him Klas as your fourth son. Remember, yesterday you praised him: ‘Such a small boy and already this strong. I doubt that I would have been strong enough as this boy to haul a fatally injured woman, together with a little weak girl through the Dark Wood to safety.’ Forget all your sorrows and thank God you get another good son!”

Still, years later, Ruwen was unable to resolve exactly which of those advocates turned his fate, his foster brothers Bastian, Geroldt and Bendrich or Aliah the wise woman, Muriel, or the neighing stallion - probably all of them together.

*.*.*.

AUTHOR NOTE

I would like to express a special thank to Anthony and Paul for doing a great job by correcting all the wrong expressions and especially to B. who revised the language of a non native English writer.

Comments, reviews, questions and complaints are welcomed. Please send them to ruwenrouhs@hotmail.de or use the feedback form. And I would like to add, thanks for reading.

Copyright Notice - Copyright © April 2007

The author copyrights this story and retains all rights. This work may not be duplicated in any form – physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise – without the author's expressed permission. All applicable copyright laws apply.

Ruwen Rouhs