by Mary Yarde
“Well, that makes my life all the more easier, sweetheart,” he said as he bent and picked her up, carrying her like a lover would. “Let’s see how far the two of us can get. Dear God, if you are listening, please save us from this desperate situation.”
9
The snow had bypassed this strange land, although the air had a freezing bite to it and the ground was hard. Alden stumbled through the forest, with Annis in his arms, like a blind man. He knew not where he was, or in which direction he needed to be heading. He could only concentrate on putting one foot laboriously in front of another. Overhead he could hear the sound of gulls calling to each other, and it reminded him of Cerniw and Benwick, too. He had lived his whole life by the sea. And it seemed he was going to die by it as well.
He stumbled, falling on to one knee. He groaned in pain and slowly stood again and continued walking.
A dog barked, and he stopped, his heart pounding. Maybe he had imagined it. He shook his head, trying to clear it from a great fatigue that blurred his vision and made everything so much harder. He was not a fool; he knew how the body reacted when it had been exposed to the cold, for he had seen it enough times. He knew he did not have long before he, like Annis, was summoned to unconsciousness. At least Annis was still breathing for now. He battled with himself, knowing that if he gave into his body’s demands, then neither of them would wake up again. But he was so tired.
He tried to focus on the horizon, but the land in front of him seemed hazy, like a fog had fallen over his eyes. There was something coming towards them, coming at speed. He stopped and waited, for there was nowhere to run. Horses. Knights. They did not carry a banner; he knew not who they were. He fell to his knees and held Annis tighter, trying to protect her with his body. He could not outrun them.
He was glad Annis was unconscious so she would not feel the pain as charging hooves rode over them. He kissed the top of her hair and waited as the horses bore down upon them. He was a coward after all, for he closed his eyes to the sight of the warriors with their swords raised.
The horses thundered past them and then a battle cry rang out, loud and clear. Swords met swords, men shouted and horses screamed as Oeric’s warriors met Wessex’s.
“Alden du Lac?” One of the horsemen had pulled his beast to a halt. The stallion champed on his bit, white froth spilling from his mouth. “God, I almost did not recognise you. What in heaven did he do to you?”
Alden opened his eyes as the man dismounted.
“I heard you had been taken. Alden, you are bleeding, you are covered in blood.” The warrior took off his own cloak and laid it roughly on to Alden’s shoulders.
“Octa?” Alden questioned, trying to rise to his feet. “Octa of Kent?” Octa was King Oeric’s only surviving son. “Tell me you are real and not imagined.”
Octa nodded. “I am real. You are safe now.” His dark blue eyes and his red hair glistened in the weak evening sun; his face was covered in a very fine fuzz of hair. He had been trying to grow a beard since his teen years and still he had not managed it.
Octa cast an eye to where his warriors were successfully driving off Cerdic’s bastards.
“There’s a village over the rise. They have a healer; she has a reputation for being very good. I will make sure she sees to both of your needs. Who is the woman?”
“My wife,” Alden just about managed to say. “She is my wife.” And then his knees gave way and he collapsed heavily upon the ground with Annis still in his arms.
Alden awoke to the sound of chanting. The air was thick with the smell of herbs and wood smoke. There was a woman above him; her hair grey and matted. Her eyes were small and black. There was a wart on the end of her very large nose and one on her chin where several long hairs grew. She was saying something to him, smiling at him, and he could see what few teeth remained in her mouth were black with rot.
Where the hell was he? He tried to move, he tried to get up, but the covers were wrapped so tightly around him that he could not move. The woman forced a smooth wooden spoon into his mouth, and he almost choked on the liquid. He coughed, which caused his back to spasm, and he cried out in pain. He closed his eyes and refused to open his mouth as the spoon was pushed against it again. He tried to clear his mind, tried to get the fog to lift from his brain. Annis. Where was she? What had happened? Where were they? He heard himself speak her name, but he did not recognise his own voice and then the coughing started. He couldn’t stop; he could not draw breath. The witch looked down upon him critically and said something in her strange tongue. She moved away, leaving him to die, Alden guessed. “Annis.” He said her name on a breath. The pain from his wounds was unbearable and he could not breathe.
“Alden.”
He felt a cool cloth placed upon his brow as he continued to wheeze.
“Annis?” Alden opened his eyes. He saw the concern on her face and the worry in her eyes.
“Sshh. Do not try to speak. Save your breath. Here, try and drink this, it will ease your cough and open your lungs. It tastes as bad as it smells, but it does the trick, I promise.”
Alden took the medicine, forcing himself to swallow, only for the herbs to come back up a moment later as he was sick all over the furs. Annis wiped his mouth for him and offered him a drink of cool water.
“Annis, you must reach Brittany. Go to my brother,” he gasped, it took all of his effort to speak, but he had to give her these final instructions before he died. “Tell him, you and I were…” He started coughing again. “Married,” he managed to say. “He will protect you from your father.”
Annis shook her head.
“Annis, you must.”
“No. If you want me to go to Brittany then you can take me. I did not save you so you could lie down and die. Fight this, Alden.”
“I can’t,” he wheezed, and then he began to cough violently again, fighting for breath.
“Then I will fight it for you,” Annis stated, removing the soiled fur and replacing it with another. She sat down next to him again and smoothed his sweat-soaked hair away from his face. “You will live. I am not going to let you die.”
He saw the steely determination in her eyes before closing his own. If she wanted to fight for him, then right now, at this moment, he would let her for he had nothing left to give.
For another three days and nights, Annis sat by his bedside and battled the illness with him. Old Jen, the healer, was a strange old woman who gave Annis the creeps, although she certainly knew her trade well, for under Old Jen’s tailor-made prescriptions and Annis’s constant nursing, Alden’s cough subsided and on the fourth day, when Old Jen lifted her ear away from his chest, she smiled a crooked smile and nodded her head encouragingly.
“Is he getting better?” Annis dared to ask.
Old Jen squinted at Annis’s Latin tongue and walked back to her table and her herbs. Annis watched the old woman as she bent over her pestle, grinding, grinding, grinding. There was something odd about her. Something that was not right. Annis was sure that Old Jen could understand everything she was saying to her, although how a peasant woman in an obscure village on the edge of the Kentish Kingdom could understand Latin was a mystery. And that mystery made her feel uneasy for their safety. Perhaps it was nothing, perhaps it was only her vivid imagination running away with her, but she had the distinct impression that they were being watched, and not just because Alden was ill. She frowned and chewed her lip. She would be glad when they were well away from this place and this woman.
Alden was still too weak to be moved, so there was nothing she could do about the situation until he had recovered some strength. She turned her attention back to him. He was breathing easier now and his skin was cool to the touch. He had turned a corner, thank the Gods above.
He opened his eyes, taking a moment to focus on her face. “I am not much of a protector, am I?” he said wearily. He wasn’t much of anythi
ng, he thought, but did not say.
Annis felt a weight lift from her shoulders, and she smiled down on him. “Don’t try to talk, save your energy. You are through the worst of it.”
“Are you all right?” He raised his hand weakly to her face and stroked the softness of her cheek. “I thought I had lost you in that river. I would have never forgiven myself if you’d died.”
“I am not dead; you saved my life.”
“And you mine,” Alden said.
“It is becoming a habit,” Annis said, smiling.
“Yes.” He sighed, closing his eyes, for the conversation was taking too much effort and he wanted to sleep. “You are certainly becoming a habit.”
Annis stood outside the roundhouse, with a borrowed, threadbare shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and watched the sun sink into the sea. The days had merged into one, and she had no idea how long they had been guests of the small fishing village they had woken up in after their ordeal in the river. With a sigh, she rubbed her tired eyes. Alden was improving; if he had not been, she would never have left his side, and for that, she felt a tremendous relief. She had never worried over another’s life like she had done these past few weeks with him. She felt emotionally exhausted and she sank down on to the cold, damp grass. At least the snow had cleared. It had gone almost as quickly as it had come, although she had not seen it, for she had spent all her time in the sick hut tending to Alden. He had become the most important person in her life, ever.
She wrapped her arms around her knees and sat for a moment, watching the sky become darker as another day ended. A moment later Old Jen sat beside her. Annis jumped, for she had not heard the woman approach.
“It is dangerous to become attached to a du Lac.”
Annis whipped her head around to look at the old woman. “You speak Latin?”
The old lady did not answer. She did not even look at Annis, but stared straight in front of her. “He will break your heart and you will not recover.”
Annis felt her skin crawl at the prophecy and she stood up. “You know not what you speak of.”
“Do I not?” The old lady cackled and looked at Annis critically. “I wasn’t born old, you know, and I didn’t used to look like this,” she stated, amused. “I knew Alden’s father.” She looked at Annis sharply. “I can see a shadow of Lancelot in him. You are Annis of Wessex. Cerdic’s daughter. I knew him as well.”
Annis paled and took a step back. This woman could see things. She knew things that others did not. She had heard of witches and sorcerers, never thinking she would ever be in the company of one. “How do you know them?” she stammered. She heard herself stumble over her words.
Old Jen shrugged her shoulders. “I am not a spy for your father, if that is what you think. I am a healer, Annis, a good one. I was a healer in Arthur’s court; and that’s how I knew Lancelot.” She tittered as she remembered. Lancelot had been an awful patient. He always thought the world was going to come to an end if he was not on his feet. So he would push himself until he collapsed and then moan all the time he was recovering. He told her once that he was convinced that she was trying to poison him. He took to turning around and walking hurriedly away if he saw her approaching, cheeky beggar. “As for Cerdic.” The smile fell from her face and her eyes hardened. “You are not like him.”
“I am grateful for that.”
“You are in love with him…Alden du Lac. You love him.” Old Jen said.
“Why do you say that?”
Old Jen cackled again. “You look at him as if you had never seen the sun before. It makes me feel very old.”
“You are right. I do love him.” Annis confessed.
“Then I am sorry for it. You seem like a nice person.” Old Jen glanced back at the sick hut. “He cannot marry you. You understand that, don’t you? He cannot unite himself with the daughter of his enemy. I fear he might be using you. Don’t let him break your heart.” She saw Annis’s face fall at her words and she immediately felt guilty at being so abrupt. “But I am old; what do I know?” She added hastily.
The fates were cruel. She had always known that. Annis did not turn to watch as the old woman shuffled onward towards the village square. She stayed outside, staring at the sky so that only the gods would see the tears form in her eyes.
She remembered saying to Alden that she would be content to be away from the influence of her father, that she would be content to find a man whom she could marry, and whose children she would bear, but she was deluding herself.
She had found the man she wanted to marry. There could be no other. Old Jen’s warning rang in her ears, but Old Jen did not understand. Alden could not break a heart that was already broken. She knew he would leave her, she had known that from the first. Perhaps it would be easier if she left him. Maybe she could survive the heartbreak then.
Reluctantly, she turned away from the sky and entered the roundhouse. The roundhouse was of a reasonable size; there were herbs hanging from the rafters, as well as a rather large broomstick, which Annis assumed had been placed there to ward off evil spirits. Perhaps there was something wrong with this village, for Annis had noticed a fair amount of rowan trees planted around the perimeter as well. She gave an involuntary shiver and sat down by the fire.
“I remember seeing Octa, King Oeric’s son, before I passed out,” Alden said.
Annis poked the fire with a stick. “I think he bought us both here and then he disappeared. I cannot remember.”
“I told him you were my wife.”
“For protection?” Annis asked, still playing with the fire.
“For protection,” he confirmed. “Annis?”
She put the stick down and slowly rose. “Can I get you anything?” she asked, reaching for the ale and looking anywhere but at him.
“You can tell me what is wrong.”
“Why would you say there was anything wrong?” she asked, as she poured some ale from a clay pitcher into a cup and bought it to her mouth.
“You are trying not to cry and you are refusing to look at me. So either you have poisoned that old bat with your cooking, and want me to help you conceal the body, or I’ve done something to upset you.”
She put the cup carefully back down and rested her hands upon the table, her back still to him.
“Did you want me to make it real? Is that what this is about?” he said slowly.
“Make what real?”
“Marriage. Do you want to be my wife?”
She turned swiftly at that, knocking the pitcher on to the floor. She could not believe what she had just heard. She wanted this one thing more than anything else. But it was a dream and dreams do not have substance; she had learnt that at an early age. “You do not want me as your wife,” she contradicted.
“The world says we don’t belong with each other. It would be a political disaster for me if we wed, but I am not against the idea.” He spoke honestly, because he could be nothing else around her.
“A disaster?” She said the words weakly.
“Politically. I would probably forfeit Cerniw forever. On an emotional level, maybe not so.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Love. It means love,” he answered, as he slowly rose from the bed. He stood still for a moment as the room spun, and then admitting defeat, he sank back down on the bed. Dear God, he was weak.
“You could love me?” Annis asked, her voice was barely audible, but he heard it.
“Could?” He raised his head and looked at her.
She saw something in his eyes which she had never seen before in anyone’s. Was it love? “Alden.” She said his name in a whisper and when he held out his hand, she crossed the space between them and took it, lowering herself on to her knees so she was at eye level with him.
“Do not say anything now. Think about it. But if anyone asks, then we are man and wi
fe. The only thing I possess that I can use in order to protect you, to protect us both, is my name. The du Lac name is a powerful one; it will open doors.”
“Or close them,” Annis whispered back.
Forever the pessimist. Alden almost smiled. “I have to get to Brittany. I have to ask my brother for sanctuary.”
“You were going to ask for his help when we started this journey together, and now you will ask for sanctuary?”
“Things change,” he answered and the look he gave scorched her with the heat. She swallowed nervously and unconsciously her tongue wet dry lips.
“You are so beautiful,” Alden murmured, raising his hand to her head, forking his fingers through her hair. “Do you have any idea what you are doing to me?”
Annis could not form an answer. She watched as his face lowered towards her, his eyes never leaving hers. She closed her eyes; a tiny whimper escaped her lips when his lips brushed against hers in the lightest of touches. He drew back and studied her face. Her lips were parted, her eyes closed. And he knew for certain that the devil had been wrong to tempt Jesus with the world; he should have used a woman instead. This woman. He wanted to pull her into his arms, kiss her properly, thoroughly, but if he did that, he knew where it would lead. He sighed deeply and leant his forehead against hers.
They stayed like that for a long time, until he raised his head from hers and then groaned as a wave of dizziness overcame him. “I need to lie down,” he said, breaking the contact and lowering himself back down on the bed. “I feel awful,” he stated, half smiling. “No, don’t fuss.” He stopped her busy hands as she tried to cover him with the furs. “Where are you sleeping?” he asked instead, as he tried to make himself comfortable.
“By the fire.” Annis stated, glancing at the spot where she rested her head. She briefly wondered if she would every get used to sleeping on a floor. The ground was hard and unforgiving; and when she woke, she ached with stiffness.