by Martin Owton
“Yes, just.” She looked at Celaine’s pale tear-streaked face in the lantern light. “You go upstairs, Celaine.” she said firmly. “We’ll take care of him.”
“But Mama -.”
“Now, Celaine! And send the porter out here on your way up.”
Celaine stood for a moment under her mother’s gaze then turned for the door.
“How long has he been like this?” asked Lady Alice.
“I don’t know,” said Edith. “He was unconscious when we found him.”
“Milady.” The porter appeared in the doorway, almost filling it. Lady Alice turned to him.
“Ah good. This young man needs to be taken up to our rooms and we shall need another bed made up for him.”
“Very good, my Lady.”
He stepped forward, picked up Aron in his arms and carried him inside. Edith and Lady Alice followed him up the stairs to the Nandor suite where the porter laid Aron gently on the rug before the fire in the sitting room. Lady Alice bent to examine Aron more closely, and attempted to unroll the curtain that wrapped him. Her hand came away sticky with blood.
“I’ll send a maid up directly, my Lady,” said the porter.” Will there be anything else?”
“I think we’ll need a bathtub and plenty of warm water,” said Lady Alice.
“Very good, my Lady,” said the porter. He left the room, closing the door behind him.
“What are we going to do?” asked Edith.
“This cloth has to come off him and he needs cleaning, but you are going to bed, young lady.”
“But Mama, I can help.”
“You’ve done quite enough for one night and, if I’m any judge, Celaine needs you more than I do. Make up a sleeping draught for both of you, and then go to bed. The maid can help me.”
Edith stood defiant for a moment, but a knock at the door forestalled what she had to say.
“Enter,” called Lady Alice.
The door opened and a sleepy-eyed maid came in carrying bedding. There was another knock at the door, and a moment later the porter was placing a copper bathtub beside Aron. A second maid arrived carrying a large steaming jug of hot water followed by another with cold water. They mixed the bath to a comfortable temperature and then gently lowered Aron, still wrapped in the bloody curtain, into the water. Edith stepped forward to assist but her mother stopped her.
“Make up the sleeping draught and go to bed, Edith.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Edith took a last look at Aron and felt the tears begin again. She turned to her mother’s medicine chest and began to mix the sleeping draught.
***
It was still early morning when Celaine and Edith hurried down to the sitting room as if seeking reassurance that they hadn’t dreamed the night’s events. Despite the draught Edith had barely slept, her head ached and every time she had tried to relax the same questions tumbled over in her mind again. How badly was Aron hurt? What had he been doing there? Why was his face painted? Beside her Celaine had slept peacefully.
Lady Alice sat dozing in a chair beside the bed where Aron lay face down, his back bare. Her head jerked up as she awoke to the sound of her daughters.
“How is he?” asked Celaine.
“Still unconscious,” said Lady Alice, rubbing her red-rimmed eyes.
“Did you stay up all night?” asked Edith.
Lady Alice nodded. “I had to soak that curtain off him then clean his wounds.” She glanced at Aron and shivered. “It’s just as well he’s unconscious. He’d be in agony otherwise. Who did this to him?”
Edith looked uncomfortably at Celaine. There was a moment’s silence before Celaine spoke.
“It was Petter,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. “Petter and Cristoff.”
“Perhaps you’d better start at the beginning,” said Lady Alice gently. “Where did you go last night?”
“We went to ask Petter to be our champion,” said Celaine. “I thought….”
She stopped and choked on her tears. Lady Alice reached out and took Celaine in her arms letting her cry herself out. Edith stood awkwardly, not wanting to watch, her eyes pricking at Celaine’s distress and the sight of Aron’s wounds.
“You went to see Lord Tirellan,” said Lady Alice gently. “And you found Aron there?”
“There wasn’t anyone around when we got there first,” said Edith. “No servants or guards or anyone.”
“Go on,” said Lady Alice. Celaine sat on the floor beside her, wiping her eyes and nodded in agreement.
“So we went into the house and found this little room and they had him there, tied up and naked and they’d been whipping him, but they were dead when we got there, weren’t they, Celaine?” Celaine nodded again.
“Dead! Lord Tirellan is dead,” said Lady Alice. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, and Cristoff too,” said Celaine with a sniff and a gulp.
“How?” said Lady Alice. “Did they have any wounds?”
“No,” said Edith. “There wasn’t a mark on them.”
“And where was Aron?” said Lady Alice.
“He was tied to a frame on the wall,” said Edith. “And he’d been whipped all down his back.”
“So you untied Aron and brought him back here. Did anyone see you?”
“We met a group of Watchmen and two of them brought us back,” said Celaine.
“But we were a long way from Lord Tirellan’s when we met them,” said Edith. “No-one saw us near the house.”
Lady Alice nodded, but said nothing. After a long moment’s silence Edith said. “What do we do now?”
“We wait,” said Lady Alice. “I’ve sent the maid to find a wise woman for Aron. And we have to decide what to tell your father.”
Edith looked over her shoulder. “Where is he?”
“Still in bed,” said Lady Alice, her face expressionless. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about before the wise woman arrives.”
Edith and Celaine heard the edge of uncertainty in her voice and looked at each other, but said nothing.
“She’s more than a healer. She is a priestess of Iduna, the goddess I have followed in my heart all my life. We will pray to Iduna, for her help in healing Aron. Your father does not know about this and would not, I think, understand or approve. I have waited for a time that seemed right to tell you of this, but fate has chosen for me. I would be very glad if you would join us in the prayers.”
Edith and Celaine looked at each other again with smiles on their faces. “Mama, we’ve known about this for ages,” said Celaine. “And of course we’ll pray with you.”
Lady Alice’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “How did you find out?”
“Lots of little things,” said Edith with a grin.
“Those prayers you used to say over us when you thought we were asleep,” said Celaine. “And things you and Glynis said when you thought we couldn’t hear.”
“Does Maldwyn know about this?” said Lady Alice suddenly concerned.
“I don’t think so,” said Celaine. “He doesn’t really notice things like that.”
Lady Alice relaxed. “Well, I’m glad you know about it. The priestess should be here soon.”
“Will she be able to help him?” asked Edith.
“Who can say? We can only hope.”
“But he will live, won’t he, Mama?” said Celaine, her smile suddenly gone.
“I don’t know. I’ve seen men die of what seemed the slightest thing, yet others have survived what I thought would certainly kill them. He’s strong; he survived being poisoned with brown bonnets.”
“But there must be something we can do,” said Edith.
“Yes, dear,” said Lady Alice. “We can pray.”
The silence that followed was broken by a discreet knock at the door.
“Enter,” called Lady Alice.
The door opened and a maid stepped in. “Begging your pardon, my L
ady, but the wise woman is here,” she said.
“Very good, show her in,” said Lady Alice rising from her chair.
A stout, red-cheeked, plainly dressed woman walked in, laid down her satchel and bowed fractionally to Lady Alice.
“You were asking for me, my Lady,” she said, a hint of questioning in her voice
“May the light of summer shine on you always,” said Lady Alice.
The wise woman smiled at her words. “And the Goddess keep you in her heart. I am Lorai.”
Lady Alice turned to where Aron lay still unconscious on the bed.
“He has taken a grievous hurt and will not wake.”
Lorai knelt by the bedside and examined Aron.
“The wounds are clean and there’s no fever. That is good, but he should be awake.” She lifted up an eyelid, frowned and then touched his lips lightly with her tongue. “Drugged, and with a powerful one too. Someone didn’t want him to wake.”
“What can you do?” asked Lady Alice.
“I’ll dress his wounds with comfrey and honey then we’ll pray to the Goddess. He’s wandering in the spirit world with this drug, we may be able to guide him to her. This would be better done at the temple.”
“I agree,” said Lady Alice. “We cannot keep him here.”
Lorai went to her satchel and brought out a pouch and a brown jar sealed with waxed cloth. From the pouch she scattered chopped comfrey leaves onto Aron’s back and then poured the contents of the jar over the leaves. With a spatula she spread the honey evenly across his wounds covering every bit of raw flesh. Then she produced two candles from the satchel and, taking a light from the hearth, placed them on either side of Aron’s bed.
“Now we pray,” she said.
CHAPTER 34
Aron awoke to birdsong and the scent of summer flowers; the surface beneath him was soft and the sun was warm on his back. Eyes still closed, he cautiously tested his wounded body; his arm and shoulder the dogs had mauled, his torn and bruised feet. There was no pain; everything worked as it should.
Soft as a butterfly’s wing, something brushed his forehead. He opened his eyes. Iduna sat over him, her hand poised above his face.
“Awake at last,” she said, her voice as soft as a dove’s call. “Come and drink; you must be thirsty.”
She held out a white metal cup. Aron sat up and drank, as he drank he felt the tiredness wash out of his body. He stretched out his arm and looked at where Tirellan’s hound had torn his flesh. There was no scar, no sign that anything amiss had happened.
“All is healed,” Iduna said and bent to kiss him, her lips as sweet as a ripe pear.
They lingered long over the kiss before they parted.
“I am in your debt again, my Lady,” said Aron. “How will I repay you this time?”
“Just the same way as you did before.” Iduna smiled. “By keeping your promise to me.”
Aron gazed up into her eyes which were as green as summer leaves.
“What happened to Tirellan?” he asked and her eyes seemed to turn to grey before she answered.
“He will stay here with me.”
“You knew him before?” Aron asked cautiously. “He said you loved him once.”
There was a long pause before she answered and the warmth of the sunlight seemed to fade.
“I misread his heart. The world has changed and I am diminished. This would not have happened before.”
“Before?”
“When I had many followers. When your world was younger.” There was an edge of sadness in her voice and her eyes seemed very dark and glistened with unshed tears. “He learned something of the ways of this world, but the knowledge festered in his heart and he sought only dominance. There are others here. He found one and they aided him.”
“So that’s how he possessed the horses and hounds.”
“Certainly,” said Iduna bleakly. “There will have been a price for them.”
“A price?”
“In blood. They prize youth and innocence; no doubt he found it for them. They crave a foothold in your world, and for that they would grant anything. Now that the foothold is established they will not relinquish it. They will wait; there is always another fool seeking power and dominion to open the way for them.”
Aron shivered at the memory of Tirellan’s hounds, and wondered what innocent had purchased them with their lifeblood.
“You must purge your heart of the hunger for vengeance,” said Iduna, suddenly grave. “It would consume you as he was consumed.”
She slid an arm around his shoulders.
“But let us talk no more of such things,” she whispered as her lips sought his.
***
They laid Aron in a small room that looked out into the garden of the temple face down on the bed they had brought from the inn. The temple itself was small and hemmed in by larger buildings, accessible only down an alleyway.
“I somehow expected it to be larger,” said Lady Alice to Lorai. “As this is the largest city in the kingdom so it should have the largest temple”
“Our lady is a goddess of woods and fields,” Lorai laughed. “Look around you, my Lady. Do you see many trees?”
Lady Alice looked around; true, there was a grove of trees in the temple precinct, but beyond all was brick and stone.
“Then where is the mother temple?” she asked.
“There isn’t one,” said Lorai. “Not any longer at least. But some of the old scrolls we have suggest that there was one, deep in the country, halfway to Sarazan.”
“What became of it?”
“Destroyed in one or other of the wars, no-one remembers. There never was any central control or great hierarchy of priests. We’ve just gone our own way. I think our lady prefers that.”
Two other women carrying candles and bundles of herbs freshly cut from the temple’s garden joined them. Lorai took two candles and placed them either side of Aron’s head and then scattered the herbs all around him.
“What are those for?” asked Edith.
“We must ensure that his wounds don’t fester,” said Lorai, wiping her hands on her apron.
Celaine picked up a handful and sniffed at it.
“Tansy and Elder. They’ll keep the flies and evil vapours away. But there’s something else too.”
“Well taught I see, my Lady,” said Lorai with an approving smile. “We have added rue to the mixture, which perhaps is what you do not recognise.”
Then they prayed, although to the girls it seemed that they simply sang. They recognised some of the songs as ones that Glynis had sung to them, though some of the words were different. Edith also noticed that her mother stumbled over some of the words as if the songs were unfamiliar.
The song finished and Lorai took a taper and lit the candles beside Aron. Then she lifted up her arms and spoke in a clear voice.
“Iduna, Lady of our Hearts, hear us as we call to you. Reach out to our lost brother and draw him to you. Heal him, nurture him and send him back to those who love him and wait for him.” She lowered her arms and turned to Lady Alice. “It is done. We can only wait and see if she answers. He’ll be thirsty when he wakes; be sure he drinks plenty.”
“What do we do now, Mama?” asked Celaine as Lorai and the other women left the room.
“As she said, we wait,” said Lady Alice. “There must always be two of us here. The first thing he sees when he wakes must be one of us.”
“Of course, Mama,” said Edith. “But why?”
“He is our only realistic chance,” said Lady Alice. “He must be our champion, so we must bind him to us.”
“I don’t understand,” said Celaine. “Why wouldn’t he fight for us anyway?”
“Perhaps he will, we can’t be sure,” said Lady Alice. “We have no idea where he’s been. The last we knew of him was in Sarazan. Where’s he been since?” She looked down at the prone figure, her lips pursed. “How did he come to be
in Lord Tirellan’s house with his face painted and his hair curled?”
She looked at her daughters inviting them to answer.
“Don’t you trust him?” said Celaine, her lower lip trembled and her eyes glistened. “But I thought….”
“I’m just saying that we have to be careful,” said Lady Alice more softly. “If he wakes to find us tending to him then it is far more likely that he will repay our care. Then perhaps we may find some answers.”
“But what will Papa say?” said Edith.
“You leave your father to me,” said Lady Alice with a smile. “He’ll agree when I remind him of the cost of the alternatives.” Somewhere nearby a bell struck the hour. “I had best do that immediately.” She turned to the archway. “You stay here with our patient and I’ll return later. Send for me immediately if he wakes.”
She walked out into the sunlit morning.
“We’ll need chairs,” said Edith looking around the bare little room.
“And water for when he wakes,” said Celaine. “The priestess said he must drink.”
“And something to eat. Do you have any money?”
“No. Do you?”
Edith shook her head.
“Oh well, I’m not hungry anyway,” said Celaine. “I couldn’t eat. Not with him lying there like that.”
“I’ll get us something to sit on. I won’t be long.” Edith walked out into the sunlight.
When Edith returned carrying two stools, the sun had slipped behind a large cloud and the little room was quite dark. Inside Celaine was curled up weeping beside Aron. Edith put down the stools and went to her. Saying nothing she put her arms around her sister and hugged her.
“I just can’t forget that room, and the smell,” sobbed Celaine. “It was so horrible.” She looked at Aron. “And his poor back.” She turned to Edith with wide frightened eyes. “What are we going to do if he dies?”
“He’s not going to die,” said Edith fiercely.
***
Aron awoke in Iduna’s arms, his head pillowed on her chest, her fingers tangled in his hair, the sweet hay scent of her in his nose. He sighed contentedly.
“I hear prayers for you,” she whispered. “My priestesses cry your name to me, women weep by your bedside, and one of them carries your child.”