by Hume, M. K.
The hubbub of voices and the demands for entry made little impression on Arthur, who instructed the guard to stand directly outside the door.
‘You will let no one enter the room, do you hear? If you do not obey these instructions to the letter, you will answer to the Sae Dene king and the Last Dragon. There are only five exceptions! The first of these men is our new king, Lord Frodhi. In addition, I’ve requested a healer who will attend on the witch-woman when she arrives. Finally, the three Britons who are part of my staff. No one else – regardless of their birth or their reputations – will be permitted entry on pain of your life. Do you understand?’
‘Aye, lord!’ the guard responded, gripping his sword hilt determinedly, his face serious.
‘Fasten the bar once we are inside, then open this door only if I give you a direct personal instruction.’
‘Aye, master!’
Then Arthur vanished back into the king’s bedchamber. Those closest to the sentry heard the sound of the heavy bar falling into position, leaving the horrors inside the room hidden from view.
‘It is certain that Hrolf Kraki was nervous of everyone and everything inside his house,’ Arthur said to himself, and then turned his attention to the abomination lying on the bed. ‘But he seemed to have no fear of Aednetta Fridasdottar.’
‘. . . phirshy!’ A voice like the rasp of iron against a whetstone made Snorri jump with fright. The voice had lost all its sexuality, even its humanity, as if a mummified larynx spoke from its sarcophagus. The mouth that framed each sound so carefully was broken and barely recognisable, for its lips were torn and bloodied from smashed teeth and the savage blows that had split and bruised tender flesh.
Arthur moved swiftly to tear a long strip of cloth from a night robe lying in a puddle at the foot of the bed. Rather than move the woman’s body with its terrible patterns of bruising all over the torso, Arthur soaked the cloth in a bowl of water that had been left on one of the larger tables. He gently placed one end of the dampened cloth in that terrible mouth and the woman sucked and slobbered at it in desperation.
How long had this poor woman lain in her own faeces, urine and blood, barely able to breathe and pallid with thirst, as her lifeblood slowly and inexorably dripped away.
When she could suck at the cloth no longer, Arthur removed the fabric and laid it to one side. The woman’s eyes, huge and blank, followed him with a mute appeal. For his part, Stormbringer gazed across at Aednetta Fridasdottar, appalled at the ruination of her beauty.
Someone powerful had obviously attacked the witch-woman with his fists. It had been a man, because of the size of the contusions that had smashed the woman’s delicate cheekbones and the eggshell-thin bones around the eye sockets. A huge knot of swelling had deformed the jaw and her nose was split and spread to one side of her face. Even the bones of her head seemed to be misshapen.
‘She must have known him, or she’d have alerted the guard. Surely!’ Stormbringer kept his eyes riveted on Aednetta’s face.
Not content with smashing away her beauty, the unknown assailant had pummelled the slender body. One arm flopped unnaturally from a dislocated shoulder and a broken forearm, while her half-naked body was covered with black and purple contusions. Arthur could clearly see that several fingers on the bound hand had been snapped like twigs. Even if she managed to survive, Aednetta Fridasdottar would never be beautiful and seductive again.
As Arthur eased open her white robe, the full nature of her suffering was made clear. Even the perpetrator must have been ashamed of his actions, because he had re-tied her robe over her injuries so that only the bloodstains warned of injuries far beyond the damage caused by the perpetrator’s fists.
Someone had kneeled on her small body, for bruising was evident on her naked thighs, he belly and her upper arms. Not only was all her skin marked by bruising, bite-marks or scratches, but her attacker had also carved slices from her flesh.
‘He’s cut away her nipples!’ Stormbringer gasped. ‘How could anyone who calls himself a man and a warrior do such a despicable thing?’
‘Shut up, Stormbringer! She can hear you and she understands.’ The ruined voice tried to cry and the eyes opened wide with the nightmare realisation of how much she had been disfigured.
‘Lie still and try to rest, Aednetta. When the healer comes, she will know how to make you comfortable. I hope we can make you well and beautiful again.’
Aednetta obediently closed her eyes. Arthur eased away the fabric from her loins and Stormbringer saw a deep narrow knife wound in her abdomen where her womb should be. The symbolism of this wounding was unmistakable.
Arthur carefully covered her again. The wounds were scarcely bleeding, an ominous sign for her belly was distended, which meant she must be bleeding internally. There would be no saving Aednetta Fridasdottar.
Pity prompted him to lift a long hank of white-gold hair from across her face where it had been glued to her skin with dried mucus and blood. Gently, he straightened her twisted body into what he considered a more comfortable position. She sighed in appreciation without opening her eyes.
Then Arthur left the ruined woman and prowled the four corners of the room in search of evidence; all was quiet except for the sounds of breathing.
Aednetta’s eyes suddenly snapped open – those strange, pale eyes that were now cloudy with agony and fear. She blinked rapidly as she tried to focus, and screamed.
At least she tried to.
Sickened, Arthur closed his eyes for a moment to block out the hideous sight. Her attacker had attempted to cut out her tongue at the root but, as the awful wound attested, she had struggled with all her might. Fully half of her tongue had been sheared way, which explained her difficulty in speaking. Her attempts to curl her tongue to scream had set the gross wound to bleeding once again.
Quickly, too quickly, her mouth began to fill with blood and Arthur was forced to raise her, causing fresh agonies, while Snorri attempted to wipe away blood and mucus. Once again, Arthur offered her the damp cloth and she suckled at it greedily.
‘I . . . I . . . I . . .’
‘You’re hurting? Yes, I know, Aednetta, I know. I’ll try to make it better for you as soon as the healer arrives. There’s a good girl.’
Arthur realised the girl was lapsing into unconsciousness.
‘The bastard tried to make sure she’d never speak.’ Stormbringer’s eyes were sick and glassy at the thought. ‘He’d have had to smash her vocal cords to do that! But by the gods, he tried.’
‘I don’t know how she has managed to stay alive,’ Arthur murmured, overcome by the urgency of the situation. ‘And I’ve no idea what’s happened to that fucking healer.’
The sounds she was making now were guttural grunts like those of a wounded and dying animal. In her short periods of consciousness, her pale eyes seemed to be glazed with agony.
‘Your lover did this to you, didn’t he?’ Arthur continued. ‘I know you can’t speak easily, but just nod if what I say is correct. While you and I have had our differences, I promise that I’ll find who harmed you and I’ll do my best to make him pay!’
Two large tears escaped from her bruised eyes and, for some inexplicable reason, Arthur forgot the hurts that Aednetta had tried to inflict upon him or the harm she had brought to so many other innocents. She had loved a man who had played upon her hatreds. In return, he had used her links with the Hundings to assist him to walk the crooked paths of treason; he had revelled in her fair flesh and had asked her to seduce the king; and then, when she had obeyed him in all things and imperilled her immortal soul, he had beaten her and knifed her to the very edge of death. The final stab wound to her womb had been more than an obscene gesture of his scorn. It had been symbolic of a twisted mind.
Arthur could see in her eyes that she still had difficulty accepting that her lover had inflicted these terri
ble injuries on her body.
‘Did you kill Hrolf Kraki – even if it was on the orders of your lover?’ Arthur’s lips were hovering close to her ear, so he felt her shake her head.
‘Did your lover kill Hrolf Kraki, and do this to you?’
She responded with the slightest nod.
Arthur decided to whisper the one name that had teased his mind for months, praying that he was wrong, even as he asked.
She nodded her head, so he sighed despairingly while he tried to gather his thoughts; the sound of Aednetta’s breathing was the only noise that could be heard in that charnel house.
So much time had passed! Who would believe him if he blurted out the name of Heorot’s traitor? Arthur closed his eyes and his heart broke for Maeve. How could he leave her in a land where deceit and violence ran even deeper than in Britain?
Arthur recalled a tale related by Bedwyr whereby Artor, High King of the Britons, had exacted justice on his own warriors for the torture, rape and murder of a pregnant woman. His own mother, Elayne, had also confirmed that the High King had never regretted this decision. In old Britannia, at least, such extreme crimes were anathema.
Just as he began to despair, Gareth burst into the grisly room. He was followed by Frodhi, the old woman herbalist and a healer with dark, oily hair and a supercilious expression. Behind them Lorcan and Germanus pushed their way through the throng. The priest was carrying his worn satchel.
Aednetta made a terrible sound and her eyes almost started out of her head in her fear. Arthur took her shaking body gently into his arms; he could feel her reaction when her brazen attacker entered the room.
‘You shouldn’t move her, Arthur. You know better than that, boy,’ Father Lorcan chided, as his hands began to ease her back onto her pillow. ‘There, there, darling girl! I know it hurts, but I’ll have you feeling better in a trice. All you have to do is obey old Father Lorcan.’
She whimpered. ‘Don’t be afraid, lass! I’ll not let anybody hurt you.’
Lorcan’s hands were busy, as he measured some powder out of a small glass bottle he had taken from his satchel. ‘I want wine,’ he demanded in a voice that had no trace of kindness in it. Nor did he bother to look at the men who clustered at the foot of the sumptuous bed like black crows of ill omen.
Snorri thrust a crude mug into Lorcan’s hands, but the priest treated it like purest gold. The powder was dropped into the wine after Lorcan had drunk almost half the liquid in one careful swallow.
‘Don’t fear to drink this medication, lass, because it isn’t poisoned. Not only have I tasted it myself, but I’d already be dying if the wine was bad. This powder will make you sleepy, and it will take away the pain so I can put you to rights.’
Arthur opened his mouth to protest that even God would baulk at healing such terrible wounds, but Lorcan shook his head to silence his charge.
Then, with infinite gentleness, he helped the girl to sip at the wine. The process took a long time but Lorcan was very patient. Eventually, Aednetta’s head was beginning to loll. Arthur imagined that the white powder was a powerful narcotic taken from the poppy flower.
Lorcan barked for hot water and Snorri braved the melee in the corridor to fetch some from the kitchens while Stormbringer and Frodhi remained, essentially useless, at the entrance to the room. The Roman-trained healer had left in a huff, having been dismissed by Germanus. The herb woman would have fled as well, for every line of her body suggested panic. Gareth, however, quickly barred her exit with one brawny arm after a curtly worded order from Arthur.
The man who was exercising command in the small and sumptuous room was the Last Dragon. The Dene King and the Sae Dene ruler held no control over the loyalties of the three travellers and even Snorri would obey Arthur, unless he was ordered to cause harm to Stormbringer. Arthur could feel power settling over him like a heavy cloak of duty, while the voice in his head continued to purr and warn him by turn.
‘Do what must be done,’ the voice instructed. ‘Expose the traitor! But you must first make certain that there’s no doubt about his guilt.’
As Lorcan carefully straightened the broken limbs and began the heart-breaking task of cleaning the savaged face, he clucked his tongue and his eyes grew darker.
‘She has three nasty body wounds,’ Arthur said to Lorcan, with so much mingled pity and disgust in his voice that the priest raised one grey and bushy brow.
‘I don’t know the rights or the wrongs of this poor girl’s sins, but treason would surely earn a clean execution rather than bringing her to a filthy end on a bloodstained bed. Someone is determined that this girl mustn’t speak to anyone, so he mutilated her tongue. She tried to fight him off, but far too late, so she must have known her attacker. It seems our murderer is a cool customer, just the type of man to play the lover and the loyal servant, while plotting the Crow King’s downfall. I’ll even wager that he thoroughly enjoyed his game.’
‘Aye, he must have enjoyed the subterfuge,’ Arthur added, and a single pair of eyes in the room sharpened at his deliberate choice of words. Danger made the air in the bedchamber vibrate and the herb-woman, an obvious sensitive, began to weep with a peasant’s lack of inhibition.
‘This girl was patently guilty of treason and she caused the deaths of many men, women and children. But I would never wish such unnecessary suffering upon any human being. Whoever tortured her is as freezing inside as your northern winter skies. He won’t be diverted until he achieves his ambitions, and should be hunted down like the beast he is. But beware! This man can kill a lover as if she was a crude and unwanted toy.’
‘But how did the assailant enter this room, master?’ Snorri asked. ‘The guard is alert and I checked the room very carefully to see how he entered once I found the— her.’ Snorri stumbled when he realised he was speaking of Aednetta as if she was already dead, flushing hotly with embarrassment.
‘The next room has a common doorway but it’s barred on this side. So is the exterior door. There’s no way an intruder can get into that room except through the king’s bedchamber. Aednetta always uses it when the king is tired of her presence,’ Stormbringer explained.
‘Let’s keep these doors barred then, shall we?’ Arthur added enigmatically.
‘Bring the guard in, Snorri. He’s not guilty of anything, so let him know he’s not in any danger. I want to question him in a safe place where we can control the comings and goings of everyone who might have been responsible for this crime.’
Snorri tried to open the door, but fumbled a little with the heavy oak bar before Gareth helped him. Ultimately, Gareth was the first man through the door, and then the guard was convinced to enter the room for questioning. Outside, the crowd was still milling and the jarls were particularly strident in their demands for information but Gareth ignored them. When he finally entered, the terrified sentry took one look at Father Lorcan and his blood-spattered patient, and paled visibly.
Arthur beckoned him forward. His eyes searched for Frodhi and Stormbringer, familiar faces in a room filled with frightening strangers. But any appeal was futile and the guard knew it. An influential prisoner in his charge had been attacked; both Arthur and he knew that the woman must have screamed or made some sounds of distress, and begged for mercy from her assailant. But the guard was adamant that he had heard nothing untoward.
Arthur’s next question threw the man off balance.
‘When did you come on duty?’
The guard had been prepared to swear that no one had entered the rooms while he was on watch, so the question surprised him. ‘Er . . . Just after midnight, master. I was supposed to have been replaced two hours ago, but King Frodhi asked me to remain at my post.’
‘I want to know everything that happened! Who did you replace? Could the girl have been unconscious for your entire shift? She was tied to the bed, and her tongue was gone. No blame can
be laid on your shoulders if she was attacked before you arrived.’
Presented with an opportunity to pass on the blame, the guard was tempted but his basic honesty prevailed.
‘No, master! Karl, the man I replaced, is a good man and unlikely to have even closed his eyes for a moment, least of all the length of time needed to wreak havoc like this. It’s not possible! Karl was very tired when I came and he was eager to go to his bed. He can’t have slept during his watch. I know him well and if he’d even heard something untoward, he would have mentioned it to me.’
‘Very well, you may go.’ Arthur nodded towards the guard with a measure of respect for his good character.
‘Snorri, find this guard called Karl. Again, he is not guilty of any crime of which we are aware, so be diplomatic with him.’
Snorri trotted away, although he was unable to resist darting a look of triumph in Gareth’s direction. As far as he was concerned, tasks such as these errands should be his prerogative.
Arthur caught Gareth’s expression and sighed with irritation.
‘Gareth, Snorri knows exactly where this man is likely to be found and he speaks the language far better than you – so stop sulking.’
Somehow, most of those present knew that Arthur was the only man in the room who would dare to address Gareth in that tone of voice and live to speak of it.
Lorcan’s commanding voice dissipated the last of the tension that remained in the room.
‘Stop bickering, you two, and hand me my holy oils and the packet in my satchel that contains my crucifix and a folded piece of black cloth. This child is gravely ill, and she has need of my ministrations.’