by James White
"Are you wounded?" said Declan, continuing his thrust into empty darkness and drawing back to make another. "Where, and how badly?"
"No," said Brian, swearing again. He went on quickly, "I stuck one of them, in the face or arm, I think, because I felt no armor. But he grabbed my pike and took it when he went over the side. What the hell do I do now I've lost my bloody weapon?"
"Reach out your arm to me," said Declan, changing to a one-handed grip on his axe shaft and reaching out toward the voice until he encountered Brian's arm. He gripped it loosely, slid his hand down to the wrist of the other's hand then moved it to the handle of his gladius.
"Use that." he said. "Jab, don't swing it. You'll have to fight closer, it's shorter than a pike but does more damage. If you lose it over the side I'll kill you myself."
"Go ro mait agat…" the other began, but his thanks in Gaelic were interrupted by the sound of heavy feet jumping onto the deck all around them, and suddenly Brian was speaking Latin.
"Careful, fool!" he growled in an angry undertone.
"Strike to your left, soldier, you all but killed your own officer!"
"I'm sorry, sir," another voice began in Latin, but it ended with the soft, soggy thump of a blade driving into flesh, a high-pitched grunt of pain and the sound of a body falling to the deck followed by the voice of Brian again speaking in Gaelic.
"I'm sorry," he muttered in a voice devoid of sorrow, "that pretense was most dishonorable. But then, I'm a diplomat, not a warrior. My tongue is supposed to be my strongest weapon."
"Utterly dishonorable, and effective," said Declan, laughing softly. "But be careful in its use lest you be mistakenly slain as a Roman…"
He broke off because more feet were landing on the deck in front and to one side of him. Brian and the helmsman were still softly speaking their names out of the darkness. He moved backward a pace to a distance where he could swing rather than jab with his long-axe without endangering his friends. He went down on one knee, the better to avoid the attackers' body-level stabs and slashes, as he made the first wide, circular swing.
Declan felt a double shock run up the handle to his wrists and heard a scream as the heavy blade took someone's legs from under them, but the next swing met only empty air. Still keeping low, he moved forward and swung again. This time the handle was nearly jarred loose in his grasp as the outer point of the blade tore through leather and underlying flesh and bone of a head or chest, and that man crashed to the deck without making a sound. He was twisting the axehead free, a small part of his mind trying not to think about the terrible wound it had made, when suddenly he was able to see everything that was happening.
The wind had cleared a small area of sky that contained a few stars and a thin sliver of crescent moon. There was just enough light to show Brian frantically waving his gla-dius two-handed at an attacker while he tried desperately to fend off the thrusts of the other's spear, while beyond them the helmsman, Tomas, who was limping and at times hopping on one leg, was engaging another Roman with a shortened pike the first few inches of whose point had presumably been left in someone else. Declan shifted his grip and raised his weapon high before swinging it down to strike with the flat of the blade like a massive club onto the top of the first Roman's helmet. The man dropped to the deck as if he had no bones in his legs. Brian laughed his thanks and turned to attack the helmsman's opponent in the flank, and a moment later the Roman went down.
Declan saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see two heads, separated from each other by about three paces, appearing above the stern rail. He swung the axe in a wide circle and struck hard at the first one. There was the sound of a body splashing into the sea, although he could not be sure if the head was still attached to it. When the second boarder saw what had happened to his companion, he threw his sword awkwardly at Declan and pushed himself backward to fall into his boat. For the moment the deck was clear of attackers, at least living ones. Tomas pointed at the fallen bodies.
"Over the side," he said. "We don't want to trip over them in the dark. I can't help you. A leg wound."
Quickly Brian retrieved the attackers' weapons, passed a spear to Tomas, and returned Declan's gladius because he now had one of his own. Together they lifted the bodies by their legs and shoulders and swung them high over the rail, hearing two splashes and then a splintering sound of one of them crashing down onto a boat. As he paused a moment to look around, from amidships came the loud twang and thump of the arbalest which now had moonlit targets at which to aim.
Too many targets by far.
Declan swore as he glimpsed upward of twenty craft, three of them large and loaded down with men and the rest small dugouts or skin-covered curraghs bearing three or four each. Now that they could see their quarry, the men in the boats were cheering, and those in the bows were whirling grappling hooks on long hemp lines around their heads to launch them slingshot-fashion at the ship. A few of the hooks clattered on board and found purchase on deck projections, but most of them became entangled in the antiboarding nets, tearing and pulling them down as the lines were pulled in. The boarders from the few craft that had been able to find them in the dark must have been repelled, although a few of them still hung from the nets like fat, black flies caught in a spider web. Suddenly the commanding voice of Captain Nolan rose above the enemy shouting, speaking aloud the very thought that was in De-clan's mind.
"Seamus," he called, "they are too many for us and we'll be over-run within moments. Raise the anchor and set the foresail. All portside oarsmen who can get blades in the water, pull and bring her around. Helmsman, head for the open sea and let the wind take her…"
His words were interrupted by the twang of another arbalest bolt being fired, followed by a small outcry from the target boat as it struck, and the rest of his words were spoken to someone close by him and too quietly for Declan to hear them. Not so the words of Tomas.
'Something is fouling the bloody rudder," he said. "Declan, see if you can clear it. Brian, help me here."
While Tomas and Brian put their shoulder to the tiller and pushed with no effect, Declan moved quickly to bend double over the rail where he looked along the length of the rudder. The dim moonlight was shadowed by the stern overhang so that he could sense movement but saw only a large, indistinct mass that was probably a boat, and a thin line of lighter material joining the rudder with the ship's stern timbers. He jabbed at it with the head of his axe and heard the clink of metal. It might be a short sword with the hilt removed, he thought, that was being used to wedge the rudder immobile. He gripped the shaft of his axe in both hands and jabbed downward even harder and felt the metal obstruction bend and fall away. The rudder was moving freely again.
Declan was about to straighten up when he felt two things happening in the same moment: hands grasping at the shaft of his axe and a sudden, glancing blow striking the side of his leather helmet, delivered by what felt like a spear or sword point and all but knocking it from his head. He jerked the long-axe free, the only clear thought in his mind the saving of his best weapon, and staggered back with lights that were in his mind rather than in front of his eyes bursting all around him. Still dazed, he leaned against the tiller to steady himself.
"There's no need to do that, Declan," said Tomas, "it's working well again. But standing out to sea in this storm beyond the shelter of the bay is risky. Perhaps the captain is hoping that the small craft trailing astern will founder in the high waves before we do, but I very much doubt that."
"I do like an optimist," said Brian dryly, then, "Declan, are you all right?"
He shook his head vigorously in an attempt to clear it rather than as an answer, and said, "Yes."
The combination of oars and rudder were bringing the ship around so that the wind was striking the foresail edge-on, making it flap loudly and ripple like a flag in a gale, then suddenly it began to fill. Underfoot the deck motion was changing as the vessel began to surge forward, but slowly because of the cluster
of smaller craft that had attached or were still attaching themselves to her with thrown grappling hooks. With their shallow draft the high wind behind the foresail should have been taking them over the waves at speed, but instead they were moving as sluggishly as an overloaded barge. Suddenly, above the ringing in his ears he heard the high, clear voice of Sinead and the quieter and somehow clearer one of Ma'el calling out to the captain, but the wind shredded the words of their meaning.
A grappling hook clattered onto the deck at Declan's feet. Before it could find a hold on the deck structure he stooped quickly and threw it back into the sea. The effort made him so dizzy that he had to use the shaft of his axe to steady himself. On the rail to his right two pairs of hands were visible, then they disappeared into total darkness as a cloud blew across the sickle moon. Through the persistent buzzing in his ears he heard the sound of feet landing on the deck. Tomas and Brian began saying their names again to give their positions and identities in the blackness.
Declan did the same as he moved a safe distance away from them and took a double grip on the lower end of his axe shaft. Then slowly at first but picking up speed he began spinning around on his heels and toes with the long-axe held at full extension. He still felt dizzy but in the darkness he could not know if or when he was falling, and somehow he was able to remain erect. His idea was that if he could see nothing then he would try to hit everything that came within range, and hit it hard. Three times he felt the axehead catch and tear against something, probably clothing or leather armor, and move on. He judged them to be wounding rather than lethal blows.
Brian and Tomas were still alive because he could hear them saying their names, but suddenly two things happened at once. Declan overbalanced and fell heavily onto his side and the other two's voices were drowned out by the stentorian tones of the captain.
"Men, hear and believe my words!" he shouted. "One of our passengers is a great wizard. He is about to conjure up a creature monstrous and terrible beyond belief to aid us in our time of need. But fear not, for he promises you that it will do no harm to any member of our crew…"
Behind Declan a light like that of a great, blue sun had come into being, a light that he had seen once before during the robber attack in the clearing. So Ma'el had broken the solemn promise he had made to himself and had decided to help slay their attackers. Declan was too relieved to feel disappointment, but he doubted that the old man's terrible and magical beast would come soon enough to save his own life.
There were five or six Romans around him, none of them further than three paces distant, and two with weapons raised to strike. Declan tried to bring up his heavy axe, knowing that he could not do so in time. But the expected blows did not come. Instead the men were looking past him, their mouths wide open. One of them dropped his weapon to the deck, cried out in fear, turned and jumped over the stern into the sea. The others followed, including those who had been attacking Brian and Tomas. He heard them shouting to the other craft as they jumped back into their own boats or the water alongside. By the time he had climbed to his feet, Ma'el's bright blue light had died, but the darkness was not complete because the moon had cleared the clouds again.
It gave enough light for him to see that the ship was clear of boarders, the ropes attached to the grappling hooks had been released so that they trailed loose in the water, and the attacking craft were being rowed hurriedly back toward the beach while their frightened crews shouted fearfully to each other.
"What the…" said Declan, searching his aching brain for an oath colorful enough to suit the occasion without finding it, "What happened?"
"Like you," said Brian, laughing, "we were too busy looking aft to see…"
"That was well done, men, all of you," the voice of the captain broke in. "It was a close-fought thing even with the magical intervention. Seamus! Lower the foresail. All men able to row, man the oars. Helmsman, steer us back to the weather shelter of the bay and drop anchor."
He broke off to laugh loudly and long before going on, "Set a double watch to keep an eye on the Romans, but I very much doubt that they will trouble us again this night."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
From Ma'el Report. Day 112,455…
It was not necessary to slay any Earth person. On the ship their survival was due to the intervention of minor and nonviolent Taelon science in conjunction with human ingenuity. It begins to concern me that such a high level of intuitive intelligence is available to a species with only the rudiments of technical education or support.
'This incident illustrates my difficulty in continuing to treat these people merely as subjects for investigation…"
–
By first light the storm had abated to a stiff breeze and they had resumed the voyage because Ma'el, in his clear if partly incomprehensible words, had informed the captain that the troublesome low had moved north into Skandia and was being replaced by a high-pressure system that was deepening over the continental land mass, and that this would ensure favorable winds and weather over the ensuing four or five days. But the emotional weather in and around the shelters of Declan and Sinead continued rough, and its far from calm storm center was the healer.
Sinead had been tending the previous night's wounded without pause during the hours of daylight, so that she was both tired and short-tempered. She insisted, and her words were backed up gently by Ma'el, that Declan remain in his shelter instead of stumbling about the deck like a drunken man and perhaps falling over the side, that he rest as much as possible but not fall asleep in case he went into a coma and did not wake again, and that the compress she had given him for the enormous lump on his head must be kept wetted even if the cold water did run down his neck.
When he objected she said that last night's blow to the head might have permanently addled his brain, and that rest and the reduction of the swelling was the only treatment she knew short of opening his head, a procedure which she had never attempted before. She asked Brian to relieve Declan's boredom and to ensure that he remained awake.
But Brian wanted only to talk about the fearsome monster conjured by Ma'el. He was being eaten alive by his own curiosity, he said, but the healer and everyone he had asked about the magical beast would not talk about it. With the crew numbers reduced by wounded, they had said that they were too busy with other duties and that Seamus would have hard words or even harder fists for them if they stopped for idle chatter. Declan had replied truthfully that he, too, had seen nothing. In the end Brian changed the subject to that of Ma'el himself, seeking out scraps of information about the old man which, because of Declan's possibly addled wits, he might be able to pry loose. In the event he was unsuccessful because Declan had no new information to give him. But Brian at least made the hours pass quickly until Sinead arrived to say that it was time to join the captain.
It was a quiet and hurried meal because there was only one subject that Captain Nolan and Seamus wanted to discuss, but good manners forbade them from bringing it up over food. When the platters were cleared away, the captain said, "Healer, what of our wounded?"
"Apart from general bruising and scrapes that are of little consequence," Sinead replied in a voice self-assured beyond her tender years, "there are seven of which I shall speak in the reverse order of their severity. First there is Declan, who sustained a heavy blow to his head which could well have led to a coma and death or at least to seriously addled wits. Fortunately he is able to converse, has not fallen asleep and his wits do not seem to be addled, at least…" she smiled "… no more than is usual with him. If or when required, he is able to take an oar…"
"Thank you, healer," said Declan in an angry undertone.
"… There are four others, each of whom have taken two or three shallow cuts or stabs," she went on, ignoring him. "All of the wounds are clean and, if the men are rested, should heal in a few days. The injury to the sixth one, Tomas the helmsman, is more serious."
"He took a deep stab wound to the calf muscle of the left leg," she went o
n, "which is not clean. In spite of applying a poultice to draw out impure substances, by the end of the day the lower leg and foot had become swollen and inflamed. Until now I've never seen a wound turn bad so quickly."
"I have," said the captain, his voice quiet but very, very angry. "It is caused by the weapon of a cowardly and vindictive enemy who has dipped the point in cow or pig dung so that the smallest of wounds will lead to poisoning and death. What are you doing for Tomas, and can you save him?"
"A very tight cord has been tied just above the knee," she replied, "which should cut off the flow of poisoned blood into his upper leg and body for a time. This has also stopped the flow of blood to the lower leg, so that the early stages of corruption are already taking place. The affected limb will have to be removed as soon as possible from about a hand's width above the knee. I have no experience of cutting. My healing is concerned mostly with the use of medicines and poultices, but I watched when my father had to cut off a limb…"
The captain held up a hand. "Then you know more about it than we do," he said. "What instruments will you need?"
Declan watched Sinead hesitate for a moment before visibly coming to a decision. She tapped the table with a small fist and said, "I'll need this table, at least two more lanterns to light it, enough rope, and the help of three strong men. They should include you, Captain, as his superior officer to help him steady his mind, and Brian and Declan to hold Wm motionless and help me when needed. For the patient's sake he should be rendered as insensible as possible while we are working."
"That means two or three flagons of my best wine," said Brian softly. "Don't worry, healer, he'll have them. But I'm not sure I can help you. I abhor the sight of blood and may sicken."
"For the wine, thank you," she said, then went on impatiently, "but it will not be your blood that is flowing so try to control your feelings. I will need many jugs of water. They must be clean salt water taken from the sea rather than the drinking casks which sometimes have mites swimming in them. Also tools from the ship's carpenter, a few of his keenest knives and a handsaw that is sharp. The blades, and our hands, must be thoroughly cleansed with water and then alcohol that is stronger than wine if we have it-"