by Mary Yarde
“I am your only way out of here,” Bastian warned as he handed the axes to the monk and crossed to where Alden sat. “It wasn’t my idea to do this to him.”
“No, it was your King’s, and you always obey orders,” Budic said with sarcasm.
“If you’d of been a better one then I would not have yielded to Philippe’s yoke. The army was on the brink of mutiny. I did what I thought was best for the country.”
“That was not your decision to make,” Alden replied softly.
“What other choice did I have? It was the better of the two evils.”
“You should have come to me,” Alden said.
“Because I would have been more than willing to hand my throne over to you?” Budic yelled in outrage.
“We did come to you. Five years ago,” Bastian reminded Alden, ignoring Budic’s rant.
“John came to me. You didn’t. You advised me against such a course of action.”
“I am surrounded by traitors,” Budic muttered to himself. “Please, carry on, pretend I am not here, you are both giving me the greatest of educations.” He glared at Alden. “I gave you my troops,” he said, wishing now that he had not.
“And then you presented me with a bill,” Alden reminded him.
“I needed the money,” Budic mumbled his defence.
Despite everything, Alden felt the briefest of smiles tug on his lips. Budic would never change, in that he was dependable. He was incapable of stepping into another’s shoes and seeing things from their perspective. He would never be any different.
Alden could see the indecision on Bastian’s face as he contemplated whether to let him help.
“I am not going to do anything stupid,” Alden reassured. “I swear on my honour that I will not kill you…today.”
Budic snorted, but neither Alden or Bastian took any notice of him.
“All right,” Bastian finally said. He took the torch off Alden and leant it against the wall. He grabbed hold of Alden’s hands and slipped his blade between Alden’s raw wrists and the rope.
Alden hissed in a breath of pain as the cold blade touched his broken skin and then his hands were free, and he felt pain again as the blood rushed back into them.
“He is getting weaker, we don’t have much time,” Sampson reminded them. Alden took the torch back and rose stiffly to his feet. He delicately touched the back of his head as he staggered forward, and when he pulled his hand away, it was sticky with blood. He stumbled and Bastian reached out to steady him, but he shrugged off the help. They were all here because of Bastian’s disloyalty. It wasn’t something he was ever going to forget, let alone forgive.
“Hold this to the flame,” Sampson ordered, handing one of the axes to Alden.
Alden sat down next to his brother and took the axe and held it against the flame of the torch. He had once had an arrow wound sealed closed with a hot iron blade. He could not help but tense as if he were going to experience the pain anew and not his
brother.
“Don’t look at him,” Sampson advised, “concentrate on what you are doing. General, I need you to hold him down, just in case he wakes up. But be gentle, he has many wounds.”
Bastian took up position, opposite Alden, and gingerly reached out to hold Merton’s shoulders, pinning him to the floor, but Merton gave no indication that he was conscious.
The pain was all consuming. It was all he could think of. It was all he knew. Everything else — the sound of Alden’s desperate voice willing him to live, the hardness of the floor and the coldness of his body — was nothing compared to the pain. Every breath he took, he willed it to be his last. He longed for death, the same way an orphan child longed for a mother. He just wanted the pain to end. “But you are a demon,” the voice of his late wife mocked him. “This is only the beginning of your suffering.”
“He is conscious,” Sampson said, looking at Alden in alarmed surprise. Merton still appeared to be unconscious, but as he placed the blade on Merton’s arm, Sampson had felt him flinch.
“Merton?” Alden looked at his brother and almost gagged. Merton was unrecognisable. His face had swollen, his eyes puffy and there was blood everywhere. Cautiously he leant over his brother. He refrained from touching him because he feared if he did, he would hurt him more. “Merton, can you hear me?”
There was no response and Alden looked back at Sampson. “You must have imagined it. Now hurry up and take his arm.”
They were taking his arm? Oh, why not, they had taken everything else. The sound of the blade slicing through his skin was almost as bad as the pain. The blade was hot, burning hot, against his already burning skin. Merton gritted his teeth and held his breath.
“He is awake, for God’s sake, hurry up,” Bastian stammered. He took the torch and the blade out of Alden’s hands. “You hold him down. He won’t want me doing it.”
Alden took Bastian’s place and pressed down gently on Merton’s shoulders, keeping him pinned to the floor. “Merton, it’s Alden, you are going to be all right. Just hang on. You are going to be fine.”
Merton’s eyelashes fluttered, but he could only open his eyes a little way because of the swelling and when he did they were sore and bloodshot. “Amandine? Amandine?”
“Don’t try to speak. Conserve your energy,” Alden advised, his throat thick with unshed tears.
“Amandine…It was Mordred...Mordred…I was right…I saw him. Amandine? He’s here…He’s here…Alden…Where is she?”
“Sshh. It’s all right. It’s all right,” Alden soothed.
“Where is she? Where is my Amandine?” Then his words became jumbled and incomprehensible.
“It’s going to be all right,” Alden said again. “I am with you. I am not going anywhere.”
“I’m sorry…sorry…”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Alden reassured. “You have to hold on. You can do this. Just breathe. That is all you have to do. I will take care of the rest. Just breathe.”
“Give me the axe. Give me the axe,” Sampson commanded sharply. “Hurry.”
“It is almost over,” Alden said, pressing down harder on to Merton’s shoulder with one hand, while he sought Merton’s left hand with the other. “Hold my hand. Grip it hard. You can scream if you want.”
“Amandine…Where is she? Where?”
Sampson held the axe to Merton’s flesh. The first axe had sealed a good proportion of the wound already, but this one would finish the job. A sound like that of a tortured beast tore its way out of Merton’s throat. The smell of roasting flesh mingled with the smell of despair. The skin began to blister immediately, but at least the bleeding had stopped.
Sampson dropped the blade and sat back. He was shaking, and beads of sweat were upon his brow. “I need to…” he broke off and began a frantic search in the basket. “Here,” he handed a small vessel to Alden. “A few drops will take the edge off the pain.”
Alden carefully tipped a couple of drops into Merton’s mouth.
Within moments Merton sighed his relief. “That’s strong. It tastes like mead. Keep it away from Annis. You know how she likes to drink.”
“My wife doesn’t have a drinking problem,” Alden stated, taking Merton’s hand back into his. He saw the ghost of a smile in an unrecognisable face and for a moment Merton was coherent.
“Amandine?” Merton muttered. He fought to keep his eyes open as the pain and the medicine took its toll on a spirit that was crushed and a body that was broken.
“We will find her,” Alden promised. “You need to rest. Go to sleep.”
“We need to hurry,” Bastian said. He was stood at the cell door, desperate to leave this sorry place. “The window of escape is very small.”
“Go. Go,” Merton muttered.
“This isn’t the end. I am not going to leave you here,” Alden said, as a single tear escaped from his eyes.
“Mordred, I saw him. I saw. I saw…” Merton’s eyes rolled, and his head lolled to one side.
&
nbsp; “Merton? Merton…” Alden looked at Sampson in fear.
“We are losing him,” Sampson stated as he pushed Alden out of the way. “Merton, look at me. Open your eyes. Look at me.”
Merton could hear the desperation in their voices, but it didn’t matter. His world was one dark tunnel, no light, no hope and no pain. Just blessed nothingness. Peace. He had finally found peace.
“He’s not breathing,” Sampson stated, despair in his voice.
“What do we do? There has to be something you can do? Please, DO SOMETHING,” Alden begged Sampson.
“I am not Jesus. I cannot raise the dead,” Sampson sighed dejectedly. “He’s gone. He is with God. I am truly sorry for your loss.” There was a catch in the boy’s voice as he spoke.
“No. No. NO,” Alden screamed. “No. Not like this. Not like this.”
There was a tiny light ahead of him, and Merton strained his eyes to see it better. He felt the strongest compulsion to head towards it and the closer he got, the bigger and brighter it became, and his frozen body was suddenly filled with the most radiant warmth and he felt as if he were floating. He was free of his body. He was free from everything mortal. There was no need to fight anymore.
“If you won’t fight for me, then fight for Amandine,” Alden yelled desperately. “Fight Merton, fight for her. She needs you. Open your eyes. Please, open your eyes.”
Amandine? The light was blinding him now in its glory. Amandine? He could hear Alden’s voice saying his beloved’s name, and he strained to listen.
“I will never forgive you if you die and neither will she,” Alden mumbled, as tears ran down his cheeks. “Merton, I can’t do this without you.”
The light was a promise. Merton could sense happiness beyond the brightness. All he had to do was float towards it, and he would have an eternity of joy. There were no demons here, no fiery pits or vicious pitchforks. Beyond the light he could make out the shadowy images of people. They were walking towards him, their arms outstretched in welcome. And he realised that he had finally found his way home. But there was one thing missing from this utopia of perfection. Amandine. Deep down in some dark hidden recess of his soul came the knowledge that she wasn’t here. Panic replaced the feeling of joy. Where was she? Why couldn’t he see her? If she wasn’t here, then he didn’t want to be here either. He tried to turn around. He tried to swim against the current. But the tide was too strong, and it was sucking him towards the blinding light. Gone was the feeling of peace and in its place was heartbreak. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to be with her. He closed his eyes, so he did not have to look at the light and its promise of salvation.
43
Alden looked at his brother’s face, but there was no hint of life.
“I’m sorry,” Bastian said, placing his hand on Alden’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
Alden shrugged him off. “You killed him,” he accused, anger penetrating his words. He let go of his brother’s hand and rose swiftly to his feet. He grabbed hold of Bastian’s tunic and shook him. “You killed him. You killed him,” Alden’s grip loosened and he pushed Bastian away and fell back to his knees beside his brother. He took Merton’s hand in his and kissed the back of it. “I failed you. I am so sorry, Merton. I promised father I would look after you and look where that promise led,” Alden sobbed.
“Amandine? Amandine?” Merton mumbled her name aloud and then he gasped a breath and opened his eyes.
“Merton?” Alden studied his brother’s face intently, and he squeezed his hand hard, his heart missing a beat when Merton squeezed it back.
“Amandine,” Merton sighed her name on another breath.
“It’s a miracle,” Sampson stated in awe, he had seen some things in his short life but never anything that came close to resembling a resurrection. He knew there was something special about Merton du Lac, and now God had confirmed it. “Praise God. It is a miracle.”
“Merton, you died,” Alden said, sobbing with relief. “Don’t you dare do that again. I swear I will kill you if you do.”
Beside him, Sampson performed the sign of the cross. “Thank you, God, you are truly merciful. Sire, let me talk to him.”
Alden kept his hold of Merton’s hand as he made way for the monk.
“Merton, I know it hurts, but you have to breathe. Don’t you dare give up. I want you to hold on to your brother’s hand as tight as you can, and I want you to fight.” Sampson looked at Alden briefly. “Listen, Merton, where I am, God is, so he is here, with us, now, and he is going to help you. He has not abandoned you. He believes in you. Believe in him.”
“Amandine?”
“Keep hold of his hand,” Sampson spoke to Alden. “And try to keep him talking. Don’t let him go to sleep. God has spared him. It is our duty to make sure he lives.” Sampson moved back and continued to work on what was left of Merton’s arm.
“Merton. You listen to me. You are not going to die,” Alden said. “I won’t allow that.”
“Actually, he is,” Bastian announced.
“Perhaps you want to tell God that,” Sampson snorted, glaring at Bastian briefly before quickly going back to his work.
“I won’t let you kill him,” Alden said, rising to his feet. “You’ll have to kill me first.”
“I didn’t mean literally. I haven’t got time to explain. I won’t be long. Do the best you can with him. He has to be ready to be moved when I get back. You all have to be ready.”
“Where are you going?” Alden asked as Bastian opened the cell door.
“We need a corpse,” Bastian replied.
“A corpse? Of course…” Budic rolled his eyes. “Just slit Merton’s throat and you’ll have one.”
Bastian did not reply, for he was already out the door.
“Merton, you have a nasty gash on your face, I am going to put a couple of stitches in to close the wound,” Sampson spoke softly. He already had a needle and thread.
“Burning his flesh is one thing, but stitching him up in here, amongst all this filth…you might as well stick a knife in his heart and be done with it,” Budic stated.
“Are you an expert on healing now?” Alden asked, but he did not turn his attention away from Merton. “Stay with me, Merton. Keep your eyes open.”
“I am just saying, I don’t think it is a good idea.”
“Maybe he is right,” Sampson said, unsure. Merton’s injuries were stretching his healing skills to the limit. “He has lost a lot of blood already. He cannot afford to lose anymore. But if I seal it shut then…”
“Do what you have to do,” Alden’s voice was quiet. He could not stand the thought of his brother having to endure any more pain, but the boy was right. “You seem to know what you are doing.”
“And when you have finished with him,” Budic said as he slumped back against the cold, damp wall, “you can come put that blade on me as well. Come to think of it maybe you should do me first…I have been bleeding longer than he has.”
“Did you really just say that?” Alden asked, glaring at Budic briefly.
“Alden,” Merton muttered his name. “Find Amandine. I love her.”
“I know you do. I will find her. But first, we need to concentrate on you. The pain is going to get worse before it gets better. But I am going to be with you. I won’t leave your side.”
“I need you to hold his head,” Sampson said, the red-hot blade was in his hands. “I will be as quick as I can…ready?”
44
Sampson approached Budic apprehensively. He held the heated blade in shaking hands. Sealing Merton’s wounds shut was one thing, but doing the same to Budic, was an entirely different story altogether. Merton might be the demon, but it was Budic he was afraid of.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Budic demanded, his patience stretched to the limit.
“I…I am…” The boy stammered.
“I’ll do it,” Alden said, rising unsteadily to his feet and taking the blade from the young monk. Sampson breathed out a v
ery loud sigh of relief.
“Look after him,” Alden tilted his head in Merton’s direction, then wished he had not as his nausea returned tenfold.
“You are going to enjoy this, aren’t you?” Budic mocked as Alden fell onto his knees next to him and lifted Budic’s tunic out of the way so he could see the wound.
“Every minute,” Alden said. “This is nasty.”
“Of course it is. Why do you think I-” Budic yelled out in pain as the blade touched his skin. “You bastard, what the hell are you doing?” Budic demanded, trying to move away from the heat of the blade.
“Saving your life. Now stay still and stop acting like a child,” Alden said as he returned the blade to Budic’s skin. Budic’s curses rained down on Alden and for the scantest of seconds, Alden had the uncharacteristic urge to hold the blade on Budic’s skin for longer than it was needed. But humanity won. Alden was many things, but a torturer he was not.
Bastian walked back into the cell, but this time, he was not alone. Two men, dressed in the uniform of the army of Brittany accompanied him and between them, they carried a sack. The sack turned out to be concealing a body, which was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor, and then both men crossed to where Merton was.
“Merton?” Yrre took off his helmet, knelt amongst the blood and the filth, and reached for Merton’s hand.
“By the Gods…” Vernon gasped, his gaze resting on what was left of Merton’s arm.
“I am going to kill him. I swear I will.” Yrre made to rise — there was no way he was going to let Philippe breathe another minute.
Merton reached up weakly and stopped him, opening one eye, for the other was now swollen shut. “Amandine?”
“He is delirious,” Alden explained in Cerniw. “He just keeps asking for her. How did you know we were here?”
“We are mercenaries Alden, brothers-in-arms, we look out for each other. When Wann didn’t come back, I sent men to look for him, not that we have found him. My men came back with news of this… We met Bastian on the way in.” Yrre cleared his throat.