Evan looked up and saw the Salt House off their starboard bow, then returned to hauling the last of the oysters into the boat. That he could see the coast so clearly meant they were returning early, but it would be a short visit. The wind hummed in the rigging as he and the skipper poured the last buckets of oysters into the wagon and set it rolling up the beach for market. “Two hours, Evan,” the skipper said, as he trudged through the shingle. “Don’t be late.” “Have I ever been late for anything, Sam?” The skipper chuckled. “First time for everything.” “Six o’clock,” Evan said, waving. “Unless I fall asleep in front of the fire.”
He walked quickly up the hill through the village and dropped his boots at the door of a small cottage. “It’s just me, Mom,” he called. She was usually in the kitchen, but it was deserted. He called her again, anxiously. “I’m in here, Evan,” she said. “And I’ve got a lovely surprise.” “I like surprises,” he said and pushed open the sitting room door. And stopped. Tom was standing with his back to the log fire as if he’d never left.
“I’m the surprise,” he said. “Back for a visit.” Evan forced a smile for his mother’s sake. “Five years without a word and now you just turn up. Do you want something?” “Do I have to want something to visit my mother and brother and see how they fare?” “Your sudden concern is touching, but after years without a word, it makes me wonder.” “That was always your trouble, you think too much.”
Tom’s smile had been replaced by a familiar scowl. He saw his mother’s worried look and put the smile back. “Let’s not bicker. How are you? What are you doing?” Evan went along with it. “I’m well and working for Sam Evans.” “Sam? Dredging oysters?” Evan saw the sour expression skip across his face. “It’s what honest people do on the Gower.” “But you always wanted to be a proper sailor. Watching the ships and saying that was your future. You gave that up to work on an oyster boat?”
Evan looked at his mother sitting in the big old chair, her eyes shining with happiness he hadn’t seen in years. “I decided to stay.” He was going to add “one of us had to”, but didn’t. Tom heard it anyway. “It was a good thing.” Evan felt a kick of anger. “Why is staying here while you gallivant around Swansea a good thing?” “I’m not in Swansea any more. I’ve been promoted to London.” He puffed out his chest. “One city’s like another.” “Spoken by somebody who’s never seen London.”
Tom stepped closer. “But no matter. It was a good thing it was me went away and not you.” “Why’s that?” “If you’d run off to join the navy, then you’d be dead.” “How do you get to that?” “You haven’t heard?” Tom raised a hand. “No, of course not. Not down here. There was a big naval battle.” Evan felt his heart quicken. “Where? Who won?” “We won. But Lord Nelson was killed.” “Lord Nelson is dead?” “Three months ago. Along with a few hundred fools who manned his ships.” “If he won, then those fools saved us from speaking French.” Tom shrugged. “Somebody had to do it.” “Meaning?” “Meaning neither of us are in the navy, so Mother has her two sons still alive.” “One who’s been missing for five years.” “I’ve been busy.” “Doing what?”
Tom looked away quickly, then turned to his mother. “Is it time to eat?” She got up slowly and walked unsteadily to the kitchen door. “We have fish. Will that be right for you?” “You know I hate fish,” Tom said, then forced a smile again. “But that’s London fish. I remember the fish here is good.” “What do you really want?” Evan said after the door closed. “And don’t say you’re visiting. I know you too well.” “You were just a kid when I left.” “Well, that kid grew up. I had to. With Dad gone—” “And that’s why I got out of here. The sea kills everybody sooner or later.” “With Dad gone,” Evan continued, “one of us had to find a way to put food on the table.” “Oyster dredging?” Tom shook his head. “That’s no way to live.” “It’s my way. Now.” “It’ll kill you just like all the others.”
Evan was silent for a moment. “Then you’ll have to come home to look after Mom, won’t you?” “In London there’s good food, music. And women.” He shook his head. “And you think I’d give that up to come back to this place?” “Then I’d better not die. Like the fools.” Evan turned and headed for the door. “Where are you going? What about your fish?” Evan ignored him, went out and closed the door quietly.
Sam was already on the beach and raised the lantern so Evan could see him. “Didn’t fall asleep, then?” Sam said as Evan waded out and climbed aboard. “Tom’s back.” “That’ll be why you’re all bristling and angry. Nothing changed, then?” “No, he’s just the same as he was before. Selfish. Arrogant. Full of his own importance. He’s in London now, he says. Big promotion. You ask me—” “Are we going with the lads or staying here to rant?” Evan looked out to sea at the three boats with their sails already billowing in the stiff wind. “Might as well go with them.”
Tom pulled his coat tight and crouched behind the rocks. “You see them?” he shouted against the roaring wind. “Aye, coming in just as you said.” The speaker pointed west. “Should I fetch the others?” “No, let’s see where they come ashore.” Tom stood again and stepped closer to the cliff edge, where he could see the three boats approaching the point. They looked like they were heading for the beach, so his job was going to be easy. Then he saw a half dozen boats rowing out to meet them.
The cold wind streamed his eyes and he wiped his sleeve across his face as he watched the boats come around into Overton Mere, where burly men were waiting to offload the brandy kegs and carry them up the rocks beyond the point, one under each arm as if they weighed nothing. He bent and patted the man on his shoulder. “Fetch them.”
He made his way down from the cliffs and headed for the inn. Even on horseback, it was going to take Roberts the rest of the night to reach the city and return with the revenue men. So it would be morning when they’d visit Culver Hole and see what surprises it might have. And he knew it would be more than pigeons.
He still had his first glass of ale in front of him when Evan and the other late night sailors arrived, noisy and excited by their adventure. He got up from his corner table and joined them at the bar. Uninvited. One by one they made their excuses and either left the inn or joined friends. Away from the man who knew everything about everything.
The pigeon brought word of the revenue men riding towards the coast shortly after dawn. Nobody made a fuss. They’d seen this many times. The villagers watched the four customs men ride down past the church to the shore, where they dismounted and made their way carefully over the rocky mere past the Salt House and around the point. It was clear they knew where they were going.
Tom was sitting on the low wall outside his mother’s cottage as the revenue men returned and rode slowly up the hill. They stopped and the man he’d sent to Swansea spoke without looking at him. “There’s nothing there.” Tom pointed up the hill as if giving directions. “How can there be nothing? We saw the kegs being taken to the hole.” “Nothing but pigeon shit,” the man said, and rode up the hill after the thwarted customs men. Tom fought the temptation to go and check for himself and hung around the village until his brother returned at dusk.
They sat together in silence at the big scrubbed wood table and ate the sea bass their mother had prepared. “Something bothering you?” Evan said. “Nothing much. I’ve been reliving old times today.” “That was nice for you. I’ve been working.” “Then you’ll need an ale. I’m buying.” Evan finished his dinner slowly, collected the plates and took them to the kitchen to wash them. Tom sat at the table, brooding. This would look bad for him. They would think him incompetent or, worse, in league with the smugglers. Either way, his promotion was gone.
The brothers didn’t speak as they walked down the steep hill to the inn and took their beer to a table by the window. “You remember those stories we heard as children about the smugglers?” Tom said at last. Evan shrugged. “I walked up to the Salt House today and was thinking.” Evan was silent. “They say John Lucas had a tunnel dug under the point between the Salt House and Culver Hole. You remember that?” “Of course, everybody has heard those daft stories.” “So you don’t believe them?” Tom said, lifting his glass and putting it down again untouched. “Lots of people have searched for a tunnel, both at the house and in the hole. Never found anything except rock.” Tom nodded slowly without taking his eyes off him. “No tunnel?” “No tunnel.”
Evan watched him steadily for several seconds. “Why the sudden interest in tunnels and smugglers?” Tom sat up and forced a smile. “The revenue men got me thinking, I suppose. Forget it.” Evan waved a hand. “Forgotten.” He put down his glass and pushed it closer to Tom. “You’re buying, remember?” Tom drained his beer, crossed to the bar and returned a few minutes later with a refill for Evan. “You haven’t got one.” Tom remained standing. “I thought I’d go back home for a minute just to make sure Mom’s not struggling.” “Struggling? With what?” Tom turned to go. “Clearing up and things. She’s not a young woman.” “You just noticed?” Evan said, and watched his brother leave. Something was wrong. He took a sip of his beer and waited for a few minutes, then got up and followed.
He saw the flickering lamplight on the church window and stepped through the gate and into the shadow of the high stone wall surrounding the churchyard. There was no sign of Tom at first, but then he saw him standing on a fallen gravestone and looking through the high window. He stepped down and moved silently back towards the gate. “Are you thinking of offering a prayer for your sins?” Evan said, and stepped out onto the path. Tom jumped guiltily. “I was just seeing who was in the church. You never know these days.” “And who was?” Tom was silent for several seconds. “You know who.” “I do. Sam, Edmund and a few strong boys.” He gave Tom a moment to respond, but got nothing. “Strong arms to move the kegs into the altar and out of sight.” He stepped closer to his brother. “But it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” “I don’t understand what y—” “There’s nobody here but us, so you can stop pretending.
This new job you have in the city. It’s with the revenue, isn’t it?” Tom took a little step back and looked around quickly. “And now what?” Evan said. “Are you going to inform on them? On your friends?” “They’re not my friends, never were.” “That was your fault.” Evan put his hand on his brother’s arm. “If you do this, if you inform on them, they will be thrown in prison for years.” Tom shrugged. “It’s the law.” “What do you think will happen to their families?” “They should’ve thought of that.” “You’re an arrogant fool, Tom.” Evan let go of his arm. “You always were. And to feed your arrogance you’re going to put a dozen men in prison and let their children starve.” Tom pushed past him. “I have no choice. I am an officer of the court. It is my duty.”
Evan had to stop him. He snatched up a small stone cross and hit him once. He’d intended to knock him out. To stop him long enough for the men to dispose of the evidence. But long years on the heavy boats had given him strength that belied his slight stature. Tom was dead; he knew it the moment he hit him. He dropped the cross and knelt beside his brother. “You would have sent all these families to hell,” he said quietly. He had to do something. He would take his brother’s body out past the point and let the sea wash it onto the rocks; it would be an accident. But the weight of the grief would kill his mother.
He looked around desperately, saw a freshly dug grave near the wall and dragged his brother to it and lowered him in. He covered his body with just enough soil to ensure it wouldn’t be discovered when the grave’s true occupant was laid to rest. The moon lit the grave and the realization of what he’d done settled on him like the weight of the ocean. He was transfixed by the blackness of the grave edged in ghostly blue moonlight. Tom should be guided to heaven. The Lord’s Prayer would ease his way, but he couldn’t think and his ears roared with pain and guilt. From nowhere old words filled his mind. And now you are cursed from the ground, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. He turned to get away, saw the cross on the path and snatched it up and pushed it into the earth in front of an old headstone. And ran. Many years would pass before the cross was discovered. Worn and lost in time it was placed beside the church entrance as a casual curiosity. Where it would keep its terrible secret for eternity. The mark of Cain.
Author: Leigh Barker