MORNING SERIAL

BULL screamed with pain. He began to whimper. But Ieuan knew no mercy. He pummelled him with both fists, raining blow after blow on his face and arms.

Bull’s cries brought a crowd racing in from the steel shop. They stood by to watch the fight, while Abraham, distracted by the uproar, tried vainly to persuade one of them to interfere.

Bull crouched against the iron shelf. He covered his face with both hands, but there was no relief from the wild attack. Ieuan struck him again and again. The bully’s face was streaked with blood and tears. He cried like a child, imploring to be spared from the savage onslaught.

No one stepped forward to help him. Reg and Charlie once made a half-hearted attempt to step in, but Ieuan swung round on them, his eyes blazing. He gripped a heavy iron rammer.

“Keep back!” he shouted. “Keep back, or I’ll brain you!” His whole body trembled violently. He jumped at Bull and grasped him by the collar.

“Say you’re sorry!” he shouted. “Sorry! D’you hear me …you dirty-minded … blackguard.” Bull stumbled blindly through the crowd. He groped for the water bosh and thrust his bloody face into it. Sobbing loudly, his head buried in his arms, he lumbered into the compo shed.

Ieuan waited until he had disappeared. Still trembling, he turned to face the crowd. No one spoke a word. There was a heavy silence. Then Abraham slid open the stove door.

“A fine how-de- do,” he mumbled. “A fight first thing in the morning. Haven’t I got enough to worry about already, without this — this quarrelling and fighting? That Bull Jackson deserves a packet. He’s asked for it plenty, and now he’s had it.” He beckoned the crowd to move away. He looked at Ieuan.

“Better go wash your hands,” he said.

Ieuan stepped across to the wall and took his coat off the nail. His anger was gone. He felt sorry for what had happened. Sorry for Bull. The blood seemed to flow easier through his veins. But within him burned the same desperate, savage hatred of the foundry.