“His majesty bid you attend him. He’s sick with something his own physician can’t cure and would have outside help.” The messenger handed over a tattered piece of parchment.
“How shall I refer to you?” She unfurled the parchment, pretending she didn’t see the look of hope on the youth’s face.
“My name’s Ali. I’m a boy, you see.”
“Very well, Ali, so it shall be.” The king’s handwriting was little more than a scrawl, almost as if he was ill-practised with his letters. He bid she attend him at once and it was finished with a fancy wax seal that must have meant something in other circles. Lacerta raised an eyebrow ridge.
“Very well then. Let me fetch my healer’s tricks and we can call upon his majesty.”
Ali was very open and chatty once he’d gotten beyond Lacerta’s forward manner and odd appearance. The page skipped down the track, nimble as a goat, always a few steps ahead of the wisewoman. Lacerta let the boy rattle on, remembering a time when she had been as light-hearted. Ali showed more caution as they reached the edge of the wood. It was not unpleasant in the sun-dappled wood, with patches of bluebells and an overlaying chorus of bird song. Only the shadowed nooks amongst the trunks lurked with a sinister purpose.
“Come on, she’s just being melodramatic. Didn’t you leave an offering on the way up?” Lacerta ploughed on, taking the lead.
“No? Was I supposed to?” Ali took hold of the woman’s elbow, helping her over patches of ferns.
“Let go of me, silly boy. No, you don’t have to leave an offering to the lady but she prefers it. Do you not do this in your village?”
“I’m a city boy, ma’am.” Lacerta nodded as if the mystery of the universe had been revealed to her. They marched on through the woods in a respectful quiet, although Ali was bursting with questions. He nearly stepped into an ant’s nest and Lacerta stopped.
“Ask it,” she snapped, but not unkindly.
“What happened to your tongue?” Lacerta frowned, drawing her eyebrow ridges down towards the bridge of her nose. She slowly poked her tongue out, extending it to its full length, until it hung nearly down to her hips. She flicked it in the air, tasting a little of Ali’s fear and excitement. Then she rolled it up with a flick and grinned.
“I was born with it.”
“Nobody is born with a lizard’s tongue, ma’am.” Lacerta laughed and continued the march on through wildflower beds.
“If you say so.”
The King’s Progress was always an event of pomp and circumstance. For all the grumblings about taxes and long winters, being stuck on the outskirts of the kingdom and prone to raiding parties from their less than hospitable neighbours, the villagers in the mountains did enjoy having a good look at all of the finery attached to such a retinue.
Twenty-five wagons were pulled up in a circle on the valley floor, horses checked for thrown shoes, small children running around screaming and daring each other to approach the fringe of the woods. Ali led Lacerta amongst a small throng of dusty children who whispered behind their hands. She raised an eyebrow ridge at them, curling the corners of her mouth into a smile as they screamed and ran away, laughing.
The pair made their way to the largest wagon, painted black and embellished with the king’s crest. It was drawn by a team of four, stamping and snorting in gleaming harness. Ali stopped short of the door, straightened his surcoat and smoothed his hair back under his little cap. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and rapped on the door twice. It exploded outwards as an older man in black robes breezed out. He was muttering under his breath, but stopped short as he caught sight of Lacerta. He barked and shook his head.
“Now they’ve summoned a wisewoman? What good will that do?”
“Stop your whining, doctor.” Ali waved him off.
“Mark my words, girl, I have done everything possible.”
“Not a girl.” Ali turned his back on the doctor and walked up the three short steps into the wagon. Lacerta watched the doctor walk away. Her face screwed up as if she’d sucked on something bitter.
“That was just plain rude,” she muttered and followed Ali up the steps. “Do you get that a lot?” she whispered.
“He does it deliberately. Thinks that people can’t change, you know? His majesty tries, with my pronouns and name I mean, and that gives me hope.” Ali cleared his throat and took a small breath. “Your majesty, announcing Lacerta, wisewoman and healer from the local village.” Ali bowed deeply at the waist.
The interior of the wagon had been split out into quarters using tapestries and throws. The skylight in the roof had been thrown open to let in the air. The king was tucked up in a large bed, a cold compress across his brow, his breathing slow and ragged. For a king, he looked small and frail, not the regal, proud image stamped on the odd coin that came Lacerta’s way. His black skin was covered in a thin film of sweat and his baby dreads had been tied back out of his face. He opened his eyes, looked confused for a moment like he wasn’t where he expected to be.
“Ali?” he sighed, a cough hacking its way up from his lungs as the compress fell from his brow. The page knelt down by the bed, held the compress until the king’s coughing had lessened and replaced it.
“Yes, my king. I’m sorry that we woke you.” Ali looked up at Lacerta, still hovering in the doorway, beseeching her to help. The wisewoman puffed up her chest with a big breath, got on her knees next to Ali and took the king’s hand. She wasn’t usually one for using titles and pleasantries, but this was a delicate matter and she decided to tread carefully.
“Your majesty-”
“Darius,” he whispered.
“Your majesty, I need to ask you some questions about your illness and then, with your permission, I would like to examine you.”
“My physician-”
“Is rude and lazy. I can’t help you with second-hand information, majesty.” Ali’s eyes widened at Lacerta’s bluntness, but Darius began to chuckle.
“Very well, examine me, ask me your questions.”
Lacerta’s examination took as long as it needed to take, listening to the king’s breathing, measuring his pulse, examining his eyes and tongue. She only asked him the occasional question, to save his coughing and to reduce the discomfort.
“It’s not life threatening,” she concluded, helping Darius to lie back down. “I have a remedy to ease your discomfort and to help you sleep, but your body needs to fight this which means lots of rest, lots of sleep.”
It also meant that the Progress would be hanging around for maybe a week, eating up the village’s food and their other resources. The locals weren’t going to appreciate their hard work and graft going to line somebody else’s stomach, especially with the light dying a little more each day as the summer crept on.
But that was a conversation for later and she set about rummaging through her healer’s kit for ingredients, filling the wagon with the smell of herbs with just an edge of garlic and precious lemon peel, bright and refreshing. She mixed it up with watered down wine and helped the king to sit up again to drink.
“Please stay. Ali can find you a place to sleep,” he whispered as his eyes fluttered close. Lacerta shared a look with Ali, quiet all through the examination, waiting for the king’s breathing to deepen. Lacerta packed up her kit, placed a finger on her lips, and cracked the wagon door open an inch to look out before slipping out with the page behind her. They closed the door with the softest click and descended the three little steps to the grass.
“Will he be okay?” Ali whispered.
“If he can get the rest he needs, yes. It’s just bad flu at the moment, but if he doesn’t let his body heal itself, it’ll get worse.” Ali nodded and bit his lip, worried. There was a rumble like thunder from across the ring of wagons, a rolling, whispering thunder that died out with the sound of cheers and clapping.
“Ser Jasper and the other knights. He holds the command while his majesty recovers,” Ali explained.
“And he spends his time
doing what exactly?” Lacerta listened to another roll of thunder, a great splintering of horse-backed lances and could taste sweat on the air.
“Ser Jasper is the king’s champion.”
“And yet he does not come to defend our mountain passes when our neighbours come raiding in the spring.” Lacerta shook her head, rubbed the fine scales around her eyes - a tic she had not quite shaken - and hoisted up her healer’s bag. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. Show me where I will be sleeping.”
Lacerta spent three days in the Progress camp. Its presence nearly destroyed the tiny village’s livelihood. The wood was nearly depleted of the deer and boar; the wild mountain goats milked dry; farm spouses bothered for eggs and chickens and fleece. The king’s knights would get rowdy in the public house. Whispers abounded amongst the village folk that anybody found on the road home after dark would come to mischief, so people kept to themselves behind locked doors.
And the noise and smell of the camp caused Lacerta great discomfort. She was a woman of peace and reflection, enjoyed her own company over the petty intrigues and games that came with the royal court. She shuddered to think what life in the capital was like. She yearned to return to her cave and finally get her laundry done. It was before dawn on the fourth day in camp. Even the birds were still asleep, the only awake souls, Lacerta and the guards, huddled in their cloaks against the chill. Lacerta passed between tents and covered-wagons in silence, her feet silent against what little grass remained of the field. She was thirsty, but needed to make water badly as well. Coming up to the latrine trench, she paused. There was a large bundle in the mud, a bundle that rocked a little and snuffled. Lacerta’s boot scuffed against the earth and the bundle froze, silent, before making an effort to sit up.
“Ali!” Lacerta’s heart lurched in her chest at the sight of the child, face streaked with dirt and blood, his eye swollen shut and lip split. Ali’s face crumbled into tears and Lacerta wrapped her arms around him, pulled him to her in a tight embrace.
“Who did this?” Lacerta growled. She held him at arm’s length to take stock of his injuries, bit her tongue against the rage rising in her belly, chest, throat at the sight of the child, beaten, stripped and forced into a dress.
“They said that I needed to start acting like a girl my age, that this phase had gone on long enough. They took my clothes, beat me.” Ali’s croak opened up into sobs again. He put his face in his hands, flinched at the rawness of his wounds.
“Ali, tell me who did this. We must report this otherwise they’ll win. How dare they tell you you’re a girl? That isn’t their decision to make.” She took her crumpled handkerchief from her sleeve, patted away Ali’s tears with a feather’s touch, let the boy blow his nose. He took a deep shuddering breath, bigger than Lacerta believed his lungs could hold. And then, heavy like a death peal of a bell, Ali whispered, “his majesty’s knights. Four of them; Ser Jasper and his friends.” Lacerta’s eye ridges came together in a frown and she flicked her tongue out twice, three times. She could taste the stench of the latrine trench, Ali’s blood, sweat and tears, taste her own sweat from a lack of bathing.
“Okay, Ali, okay. We’ll get this sorted. But first, I need a piss.”
The walk through the camp towards the wood and mountain was quiet. Nobody hailed them as they slipped beyond the camp boundary and melted into the wood, Lacerta letting her feet take the lead. The knot in Lacerta’s chest loosened and she was surprised by the relief, hadn’t really realised she’d been holding onto so much tension. She guided Ali towards the deer track that was steep, but secret. By the time they had reached the plateau outside Lacerta’s cave, they were blowing hard and had to stand for a few minutes to catch their breath, heads thrown back as they watched the stars slip away into the coming dawn.
Her cave was a welcome sight. The fire had died with nobody to tend it, but her herbs and food stores were where they’d been left; her cave was still her safe space. She found clean, comfortable clothes for Ali.
“I’ve no shoes’ll fit you, but it’s not too rocky here abouts with the grass. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Lacerta guided Ali around the shoulder of the mountain as the first rose-peach rays of the dawn peeked over the horizon. The shoulder of the mountain hid a narrow, steep gully that was carpeted in soft grasses, wild flowers and wild oats. Twisting around a corner, they came upon the wide creek shaded by weeping willows and birches, a peaceful place that only the animals and Lacerta knew about. Ali stripped out of the dress and ran into the centre of the water, finding a pool to crouch in, covering his bruised body up to his neck in the chilly water. Lacerta let the boy have some space, stacked their clean clothes and towels on a natural shelf made by tree roots.
Keeping one eye on Ali in his pool, Lacerta stretched her arms up, shut her eyes and just breathed in fresh, clean air, filling her lungs up as much as possible before letting it all go. And then she began to think.
Lacerta considered the effects of the Progress’s upheaval on the village, and worried over the coming winter months: would they recover enough food and hides for the snows, or would this be a year where people starved to death? An anger bloomed in her chest. It was nobody’s fault that the king was so sick, but his Progression couldn’t just stop where it pleased. Notice had to be given, preparations made, there must have been somewhere else for them to stop. Not her village. She smiled at that. For all her wanting to keep them at arm’s length, she had let them in after all.
She decided that after the Progress’s departure she would speak to the village leaders to see about taking a stock of the materials left, to start thinking about the winter months now, even before the main harvest had been brought in. But right now, in this instance, she turned her attentions back to Ali, still submerged in the chill of the pool.
“Has this happened before?” she asked, breaking the cool of the water and the birdsong. Ali shook his head.
“People have been nasty before, but through words or by refusing me food. It’s the first time anybody’s hit me. I thought people would have left me alone if I dressed and acted like a boy, that they wouldn’t care what was in my breeches.” Ali looked down at his body and frowned.
“People have their own minds made up about how things should be and sometimes if something doesn’t fit their way of thinking, they panic. And this happens.” Lacerta waved her hand at Ali, taking in his injuries. “And that’s wrong. People are lazy and won’t try and learn, listen to you. They want everything laid out in front of them.”
“I won’t let it stop me being me, though. My name is Ali and I am a boy!” He thrust his fists into the air, shut his eyes and tilted his head back into the sun’s first strong rays of the day.
Lacerta had a quick scrub herself in the creek, watching the water’s surface turn grey and oily from three days of wood smoke, sweat and dirt. She rinsed off a little further upstream, felt how clean and refreshed she was not only in her body, but also her soul. She stood up and ran her hands over her body to brush off the excess water, smoothed down her eyebrow ridges, looked down at her thighs, at the crooked lines of scars faint against her midnight-dark skin. She shut those memories down, refused to let them ruin the peace of mind and body in this exact moment. She slipped up the bank and took clean clothes from Ali who had shut his eyes and gone bright red.
“Your back is stripy like a tiger. Were your born with that too. I mean beside your tongue?” He peeked to see if Lacerta was dressed.
“No, those scars were given to me a while ago now. People fear what they don’t understand or think they can control it.” She slipped into her clothes, twisted her hair into a small knot and tucked it under her headscarf, clean and plain. For a moment she shut her eyes and breathed in deep, breathed in until she felt her chest would burst and then let it all out in one long burst.
“Let’s get your wounds clean, and I want to check your teeth too. Then we’ll see about going back. I need to check on Darius.” Ali nodded and, nimble as a mounta
in goat, skipped and ran back down the hidden track to Lacerta’s cave. Lacerta followed at a slower pace, mulling over their next steps.
It was clear that the Progress would have to move on, otherwise the village was not going to recover their losses before the growing season was over. She made a mental note to check her herb harvest sites in the wood, to make sure she’d have cures enough for coughs and colds. But what about the boy? She could not patch him up and send him back to people who wished him harm. Her heart squeezed in her chest: they might kill him. She shook her head to banish these thoughts. At the end of the gully, the mountain’s shoulder dropped away and she could see out over the valley, the edge of the wood and on the plain, the camp. It was busy with people and fires and livestock being led to pasture. And the tiny village clustered amongst all this, up to the edge of the wood, down to the plain, almost split in half by this new camp, a wedge between their way of life and the outside world, a world of intrigue and games.
Ali was already pottering about the cave, setting a new fire and fetching a pot for water.
“There’s water in that butt in the corner. Ali, what do you want to do in life? If you could do anything?” She began to pick dry herbs from their bundles, putting some in the pot for boiling, looking for her mortar and pestle to pulp the others for Ali’s wounds.
“I want to be a knight.” Lacerta paused and looked at Ali with a frown.
“Really?”
“Yes! Ser Jasper and his friends aren’t real knights, even with their spurs and horses and their finery. They have no honour. Knights are supposed to help and protect people, not sneak about and beat up little boys.” He hooked the pot over the fire and stood with his back to Lacerta. She let him have a little snuffle and cry - not from sadness or fear, but from frustration - while she pounded herbs and a little precious oil. The cave was cozy with the fire casting a strong light over the shelves holding Lacerta’s healing materials.
The Duck Pond Incident Page 6