“I cannot tell how much time passes,” he said slowly. “I thought we had not gone far today.”
“I do not think we did, either. Once we crossed the road we went slowly, for the way by the creek was narrow and rooty.” I glanced over to the tiny stream of water. “The creek is growing very small, Gyric.”
“We have had rare Fortune to follow it so far. Still, we should not want for water, for all courses run at their full now.”
I finished my hemming and stood and came over to him. He sat up, and raised his face to me. I knelt by him, hoping I would say the right things. “Gyric,” I began, “I have a clean wrap for your wound. It will be less bulky and heavy to wear.”
I stopped, for he had stiffened. “Is that what you were working on?” he asked.
“Yes. I think it will give more comfort, and the one you are wearing is now quite soiled.”
He put his hand out, and then said, “Thank you. I will use it in the morning.”
I did not place it in his hand but went on gently, “Will you not let me look at your wound, Gyric? I would like to know that the flesh is healing.”
He put his hand down and pulled his head back. “It is all right,” he answered in a short voice.
I sighed, and started again. “I would like to know that it is all right. Please let me check.”
He lowered his head, but spoke not.
“You do not have to hide your wound from me,” I told him. “I have seen it many times. I was the one who wrapped it first.”
His lips parted, and I thought he would at last speak, but he was quiet. He reached up and slowly untied the wrap. It fell into his lap, the barrier gone. He sat with his hands limp at his sides.
“I thank you,” I breathed. “I am going to touch your face.” I placed my hand on his cheek and gently turned his face towards me. The light was still strong enough for the wound to reveal itself fully to my gaze. I was biting my lip so hard that I feared it would bleed, but I made no sound as I looked upon his empty eyes. The blackened recesses of the sockets were flaking, showing a dark red tissue beneath. Web-like strands of dark matter now shrouded the waxy areas I had first seen. The wound had no odour, nor did it ooze in any place. There was no maggot or louse amongst the scabbing tissue. The burn mark upon his right temple had seared up, and its colour was changing from the black of burnt flesh to that of a flat reddened scar.
I looked long upon his face, and upon that wound, and felt a great steadiness within me as I did. It did not take courage to look upon it, for my fear of it was gone. I saw only his own courage looking back at me as he sat with his unwrapped face lifted to mine.
“The flesh heals well,” I finally said. “It does not pain you?”
For reply he shook his head. I took up the new wrap and held it over the wound, tying it in back. When I had done he reached up and re-tied it.
I sat back on my heels. It was not an ordinary wound, which would heal and leave the bearer scarred but no less able. I could not comment that the mass of raw and nameless tissue in the empty sockets was beginning to knit itself together, tho’ it was; for what had been the most precious of the senses was now fated to be only a pit of scarred flesh. But still, the wound healed, in its way; and that was solace, at least to me.
“It heals well,” I said again. I added, in an uncertain way, “Thank you.”
“Why do you thank me?”
“Only because you did not wish to let me see, yet you did.”
His voice was so low I could scarce hear him. “How could you bear to look at me?”
This surprised me, for it was so different from my own thoughts. “I look at you all the time. This time, I looked also at your wound. You are not your wound.”
He was silent, but a movement of his shoulders told me he listened.
“I will get our supper now,” I said, making my voice light.
Chapter the Fifty-fifth: Thick Woods and Little Comfort
THE next two days were a great challenge, for our little creek dove underground and did not come up again where I could find it. This meant that it no longer served as our pathway through the forest, and we needs must walk slowly, zigzagging through the birches and alders. The forest was thick in places, with much undergrowth, and our horses could not make their way; and we must circle round to find spots of thinner growth where they could walk through.
Gyric had to spend much of this time on his horse, being slapped by branches as they brushed by him. As for me, my stockings were in tatters, and my hands and wrists covered with scratches from trying to forge a way before us. The russet gown I wore these two days was pulled and snagged so that it aged two years in that time. My head-wrap was pulled off so many times that I at last went bare-headed, with my hair trailing in a braid down my back, rather than let it be torn to shreds by the twigs and brambles that clutched at us from all sides. And my Moonflow came as well, and tho’ I was not crampy I felt tired and dull. Burginde had packed for me several wool-filled linen pads and a pair of short drawers, and her foresight in caring for me made me weepy in missing her.
To add to this, to keep close to a southwesterly course was hard for me, for I could scarce see the Sun glinting through the heavy growth of trees. I feared at times that I was leading us in circles, knowing at best that our progress was slow and uneven due to the roughness of the way. I began to yearn to get out of the thick forest.
The following day the ground rose up beneath us, and the fir trees thinned to larches, and there was more Sun and open glades with grass for our horses to graze upon. We stopped for a long time at midday that they might eat. This break refreshed all of us, for Gyric and I sat in the warm Sun as our horses grazed. After we had eaten Gyric lay down in the grass, and I think, even slept.
For the rest of that day the ground rose steadily, as if we were climbing a long, low hill. The welcome Sun was hot upon us, and we rode without our mantles for the first time. A stream, noisy with its Spring fullness, rushed by us as we climbed, so we had much water for our thirsty horses.
We came to a crest on this hill, and after seeing so little of what lay ahead it was a pleasure indeed to stand next my mare and look out. Because I was looking for both of us, I spoke at once, and described to Gyric all that I saw as my eye fell upon it. “There is a plain below, which rolls, with many trees edging it, but not as thick a forest as that we have just passed through.”
“What happens to the hill we are on?” Gyric wanted to know.
“It ends. When we ride down to the plain it will be much flatter.”
“And the stream?”
I craned my neck to see if I could follow its path. As I looked, a movement far below caught my eye. I caught my breath and quickly turned our horses a few paces back into the shelter of the trees.
Gyric was still mounted, and asked, “What is it?”
I walked back to my vantage point and squatted down upon the ground. “Riders. A whole group of them, on a road I did not see before.” I stopped and counted them. “Fifteen, sixteen. Sixteen of them. They are moving away from us, across the plain.”
“Danes?”
I strained my eyes, but could learn nothing; they were too far off. “I cannot say... they carry no banner.” I scanned them again, trying to find some clue. “Now there is a waggon - no, two waggons - just coming into view, behind them.”
As I squinted at the waggons, trying to learn more, Gyric asked, “Where is the Sun?”
“To your right.”
“And the riders?”
I looked at them as they grew smaller. “They go South,” I answered.
Gyric’s voice was flat. “Danes.”
I stood looking out, watching the mounted figures weaving over the plain on the road below. At times they vanished from view behind trees, to reappear, smaller still, in the distance. The waggons were the last I saw of them. The light tarpaulins shone in the afternoon light for a long time. Two things only were going through my min
d: that we had been that close to discovery and death, if they were Danes, or that close to real help, if they had been Saxons.
Gyric did not seem to be thinking of this; or if so, he had dismissed it already and gone on. “There is a road below; now we know that much. We must be wary. Others will be travelling upon it.”
I did not like the idea of drawing close to the road, but knew we must. And we would near it at the safest time, for by then others upon it might be stopping for the night. Fortune had been with us to make the riders pass when they did, and warn us of their presence.
We headed down, keeping well within cover of the trees. We were able to stay mounted the whole time, which heartened me, for if anything should happen, I wanted us both to be on horseback so we might flee as quickly as possible. Still, our mood was very different than when we had climbed the hill enjoying the warm Sun on our faces. Gyric rode with his hand upon his seax hilt, and I too could not keep my hand from touching the knife strapped to my own waist.
“We are at the bottom now, Gyric, but I do not know which way lies the road.” I said this in a quiet tone, afraid even then we might be near new horsemen.
“Head West. We will cross the road at some point; it does not matter where.” His own voice was low, and it had a confidence I welcomed.
The Sun was well behind the trees when I saw a clearing. “It is the road,” I told Gyric. “It is not a Cæsar’s Road, for it is only of dirt. We will disappear quickly on the other side.”
“Be certain we leave no prints,” he cautioned. “Drag a leafy branch behind us to be sure.”
“I will take you and the horses over first. That way I can do a good job.”
We crossed the road and passed into the trees. I slipped off my horse and tied her reins to a bough and cut a small oak branch. I ran over to where we had crossed, and dusted the leaves upon the slight track we had left in the hard clay.
I felt a great sense of relief when I returned to Gyric. The act of finding and crossing the road freed me from some of my fear. One look at Gyric’s face told me he did not share my relief. His white brow was furrowed, and his hand still rested upon his sheathed seax.
“It is all right now,” I told him, and tried to make cheerful my voice. “We have crossed safely and have left no track.”
The tone of his voice told me he was of a sudden sunk in despair. “I am worse than useless,” he said.
“Do not say that,” I protested, recalling how I relied on his counsel. “It is you who are doing so much of our thinking. You said to head West and we would find the road. We did, and we are across it and safer. And I would not have thought to hide our tracks.”
“I am like a piece of baggage,” was his reply.
“You are not,” I answered, feeling impatient. “You are no more baggage than I.”
“You are doing everything.”
“I am doing what I can, just as you are.”
He did not answer, but turned his face away. I did not know what more I could say. I felt relief at crossing the road, but he felt only grief at what he could no longer do. At that moment I was so unhappy that I nearly began to cry. I did not, for I knew my tears would bring no release, but only make me feel more alone.
We rode on, but did not go far, for the Sun was almost set. I could find no water, but our horses had drunk much during the day, and we had filled both our crockery jugs. We camped where there was much new grass for our horses, but we did not eat as well as they, for I did not build a fire, fearing we were too close to the road.
Chapter the Fifty-sixth: Danger Met, and Boldness Shown
IN the morning a bird awoke me, calling loudly from a tree above us. I sat up, and heard the bird again, and then looked over to where Gyric lay. The second call was he himself, for he whistled back to the bird, mimicking its cry perfectly. The bird called again, and then fluttered off.
“Very good,” I said, and felt truly glad to see him thus. “You whistled just like him.”
“That is the problem,” he answered. “He would not have flown away if I sounded more like his mate.”
So the morning started, and started well, for Gyric and I spoke of suchlike things as we broke our fast and readied our horses. Our progress was good in setting out, for the trees made it possible for us to ride.
Late in the day we came upon another road, or track, really, for it was so narrow that a large waggon would have a hard time of it. It was old, and deeply rutted, as tho’ wains had been pulled over it for years and years without repair. I described this all to Gyric, and since it looked deserted we decided to ride upon it for awhile, and spare ourselves and horses the trouble of always going amongst the forest trees.
We had ridden on some good distance and had rounded a bend when two figures suddenly stood up in the road ahead of us.
I reined my mare in at once and turned her slightly so that the gelding would not walk into her. Gyric knew I was startled; he had his hand on the instant upon his seax and bent his head towards me.
“Gyric, there are two men ahead, cottars perhaps. They are very ragged. They stood up in the road when they saw us.”
I tried to keep the fear from my voice as I said this, but my fear was real. The men stood staring at us with unblinking eyes. They were in rags, but young, I thought, and able-bodied. At their bare feet lay lumpy sacks the contents of which I could not guess. They might be poor cottars, about to beg food of us; but the way they eyed us and our horses told me they were prepared to take and not to ask.
His voice was low as he asked, “How far away are they?”
I gauged the distance as best I could, not wanting to meet the challenging gaze of the two. “Fifty or sixty paces only. They are staring at us, but not moving.”
“Have they weapons of any sort?”
“One has a staff,” I breathed back to him.
His words were quick and urgent. “You must pass them so that they are on our right. Do what ever you must, including trampling them, to make certain you pass them on our right. Ride at a fast canter. Do not stop or rein your mare in for any reason. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I whispered, feeling nearly frozen with fear.
“On our right,” he repeated. “Now.”
I turned the head of my mare back to face the ragged men, shortened her reins in my hand and kicked her sides with both my heels as hard as I had ever done. She took off, and I turned my head for one instant to look back at Gyric. His gelding was nearly over-running my mare, and I caught a glimpse of the unsheathed seax as it gleamed in Gyric’s hand, held low and straight out.
Then we were upon the men. They stood to face us squarely in the road, trying to block the way, and both gave a grinning yell as I bore down upon them. I held my mare as well as I could to the far left of the track. The one with the staff was raising it in the air as the other lunged at my mare’s bridle. I saw a flash of hands and teeth and then heard a cry and curses; and we were past them, galloping down the track. I turned and saw one of the men on his knees, holding his arm where Gyric had slashed it with his seax. The other stood, shaking his staff at us and uttering oaths, but we galloped on until they were out of sight.
I slowed my mare, and then stopped her, and my chest was heaving in an echo of her own hard breathing. I turned to Gyric as he sat upon his black gelding, his left hand twisted hard into the depths of that glossy mane, his right clutching the bared seax.
I was trembling and light-headed and unable to speak. My throat was choked and bone-dry. A smear of blood filmed the edge of the shining blade of Gyric’s seax, and my eyes rested upon it.
“Take us into the woods,” he ordered.
“Yes,” I answered, scarcely able to form the word. I guided our horses into the trees, and went on a little way until we came to a place large enough to dismount. I slid off my mare. Gyric swung down from his horse and stood, resting one hand on his saddle for balance. The other still held the seax, and I saw his own hand was
shaking.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No; one put his hand on my bridle, but then let go.”
“That was the one I got.”
“Yes, the one that grabbed my bridle; you cut him in the arm or shoulder.” Tears started to fill my eyes as I went on, “There is blood on your seax.”
He bent to the ground and wiped the blade clean, then stood and slid the seax back into its sheath.
“You are not hurt?” I asked.
He shook his head. “We took a risk riding on the road. It was stupid to take it. I am sorry for it.”
I had never heard any man speak like this before. “Do not be sorry,” I countered. “I wanted to take the road, too. You kept us from falling into trouble.”
“You did your part. You did not flinch or hesitate. Did you almost run them down?”
“Yes, I almost did. They would not move, and then at the last moment they tried to grab the bridle.”
“Good. You were very steady.”
“I am just thankful my mare did not shy or rear.”
“She is steady, too.”
I pulled out one of our crockery jugs and pulled the stopper. “Here is water, if you like to drink,” I offered.
He took it from my hands and lifted it to his lips. I watched him, remembering his words of praise for my actions, and remembering too his own shaking hand. How difficult and fearful it must be to try to fight an enemy you could not see.
“We are a good team,” he said, and handed the jug back. His words were light, but hearing them gave me a great and sudden gladness. I drank some water, and poured a bit of it over my wrists and shook my hands hard to free myself of the last of my fear. Now that the fright was behind us, and we had faced and overcome danger, I felt safe again, and even a bit reckless.
“We are a very good team,” I echoed, and almost laughed.
We went on our way picking our path through the trees for what remained of the afternoon. Before the Sun dropped too low we camped where we had both pasturage and plenty of water, for we came upon a little dell with a free flowing stream running through the bottom of it. There was a wealth of dead-wood about, and I collected a huge pile of it, for I wished to take advantage of the warm weather by washing as many of our dirty clothes as I could.
The Circle of Ceridwen: Book One of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga Page 42