by M. K. Hume
Gareth forced himself to remain silent so he could consider Lorcan’s words. Perhaps dissembling was acceptable if men used it to discover what they needed to know?
• • •
“WORD OF THESE men will be worth a gold piece or two from the king’s officers,” Priscus told his downtrodden woman later in the evening as she hurried to place a hot brick wrapped in lamb’s wool at the foot of his sumptuous bed. The guests might sleep on flaxen pallets of clean straw, but Priscus enjoyed the comfort of a large and ornate Roman divan piled high with wool-stuffed cushions.
She nodded in her master’s direction to indicate she was listening alertly to his every word.
“Yes, Delia. I think our king will pay for these skilled warriors, now that he’s so eager to put down any insurrection in Thuringia. He is a man bedeviled by two women, so he looks to a war beyond his borders as a means of bringing some peace into his life.” Priscus snickered with amusement at the cleverness of his own joke. “I have a small task for the horse master tomorrow, woman, so make sure he’s here first thing in the morning. Now, get into bed and warm my blanket—and try to make your face more cheerful.”
Delia eased herself under the covers obediently and starfished her body to cover as large an area as possible. If she thought of anything other than the need for her own sleep, her concern dwelled on an ulcer that she had found under her tongue. Anything Delia’s master had said to her was washed away by her weariness and her desire to stay, snug and warm, in this thoroughly comfortable bed.
All too soon, her master kicked her out of his bed and left her to lie on the flat pallet on the floor. She fell asleep to the chorus of snores that resonated from Priscus’s aquiline nose.
• • •
THE THREE TRAVELERS spent three days in Gesoriacum. Gareth slept for much of that time. In the many weeks that had elapsed since Arthur had entered captivity, Gareth had spent the bulk of his days traveling constantly to deliver bad news, robbed of rest so regularly that he scarcely realized how exhausted he’d become. So, for now, he was happy to catch up on his long-lost sleep, waking only to eat and drink or to discuss possible changes of plans with Lorcan and Germanus. Fortunately, Priscus was otherwise occupied, so the travelers rarely saw him.
On the morning of the fourth day, Gareth arose before sunrise. He’d been tossing and turning restlessly for some hours. As quietly as possible, he rose and struggled into his trews in the thick darkness.
His companions were deeply asleep, and Lorcan’s steady buzz of snoring suggested that he had enjoyed a little too much beer or mead during the preceding night. A dark mound close to the door revealed Germanus who, although he was fast asleep, had positioned himself so that any interloper would fall over his sleeping body. As Gareth pulled on his boots, he realized that his movements could wake his companions. Holding his breath, he crept towards a shuttered window. Then, with extreme care and praying that the catches of the shutters had been recently oiled, he pushed them open and allowed the fresh early-morning breeze to enter the small room.
A barn owl shrieked shrilly in the darkness, and Gareth almost cursed aloud from fright. Beating wings and a tiny cry told Gareth that something small had perished, impaled on cruel, curved claws, and now the large bird was tearing its prey to pieces.
Death is a part of life, Gareth mused. Young men died before their time; other hale young men and women were killed because of the greed of kings or nobles; chance brought accident or illness to knock at the doors of both adults and children, rich and poor, while some infants never even took their first breath. Even the most gifted philosophers were unable to explain why some good people were taken, while some less-worthy souls prospered into old age.
Gareth looked out into the night and saw a line of white fire along the hills to the east.
“The sun is rising to announce the day of our departure. Oh, God, please let everything go well.”
The young man had seen that Gesoriacum was an ugly town by day, and the docks were even more grimy and dilapidated than the residential areas. But now the parts of town that lay on the higher ground were invested with an otherworldly beauty as the sun sent out tendrils of light that moved upwards through thick cloud or mist to reveal low towers, the grace of ruined temples, and the edges of houses that clung to the high ground like limpets.
As the first strong light reached the window, Lorcan opened one eye and stirred on his straw pallet, but Gareth remained transfixed by the changing landscape revealed by the emerging dawn.
As he stretched carefully, Lorcan felt a twinge of pity for the boy who was sitting so still and so serene at the window. The boy’s hair became a nimbus of intense and blazing fire in the chiaroscuro light. While most of his face was hidden by darkness, his profile was thrown into sharp focus; Lorcan was amazed at the delicacy and cleanliness of line that dominated the boy’s features. As Lorcan knew to his cost, such beauty was dangerous.
Gareth had a sad face, far too old for a lad who wasn’t yet twenty, but the slight furrowing of the boy’s brow seemed to symbolize his emerging development of self. For the first time, Gareth was rejecting the thinking of his father and, in the process, was casting off the unnatural burdens laid on him so unfairly.
Lorcan remembered his time in Rome and a fresco he had seen, painted by an anonymous genius. On one side of the painting, angels with great, flaming swords rose triumphant to the feet of God while black-clad, armored angels fell towards a desolate plain on the other side. One angel in particular had caught Lorcan’s attention, a beautiful creature with such a fair face that his heart was touched by such outward loveliness.
But Lorcan’s heart had been torn by the expression on that distant, inhuman face. Such loss and such sorrow could only be felt when a creature of might was separated forever from the love of God.
So Lorcan looked at the profile of Gareth and saw the ruined angel anew, while he began to pray for the boy in silence and in true repentance.
At that moment, a sound must have reached Gareth, and he turned away from his reverie at the window.
“How goes the day?” Lorcan asked, after clearing his throat to cover his lapse and warn Gareth that another soul was awake and watchful.
“Have you ever noticed how darkness creates beauty where none usually exists? I’ve seen so many dawns since this quest began, and I’m beginning to view them differently now to the way I saw the dawns of Aquae Sulis. This place is still a shithole, but even an ugly and vile place like Gesoriacum can have its moments of loveliness for us to enjoy. The trick is to avoid being seduced by beauty at the expense of reality.”
“It seems there might be a poet under all that hair, boyo,” Lorcan replied as a lump began to form in his throat. He had last wept when his wife was killed, so until now he had believed he had used all the tears that were allotted to his body.
The boy is growing up at last, Lorcan thought, but the realization came with a pang of regret. He has so little to sustain him that I can admire his determination even while he infuriates me with his single-mindedness. He’ll become a fine man once he learns to bend a little with the ebb and flow of life.
Then Germanus woke with a rush, thrust into wakefulness by a half-remembered night horror. He scratched vaguely at an insect bite on his left arm and cursed when he moved suddenly and felt the sharp stab of a headache on the side of his head.
Lorcan felt the pangs of an overfull bladder and stumbled off to find the latrines, while Germanus slowly grumbled his way into his clothing. From his perch beside the window, Gareth felt the day continue to stir and waken.
The three travelers had made their farewells to Priscus before full light. They had packed their saddlebags, eaten a hearty breakfast served by Priscus’s nervous woman, paid for their room, and then ridden off into a new day where anything seemed possible.
The roadway that the three men traveled was broad and flat, and
had obviously been constructed by Roman engineers at the height of the empire. Despite the damage caused by a century of neglect, heavy carts, and the pillaging of stone trim, the travelers found themselves well into the countryside before they took their noontime meal.
Farms carved the landscape into a patchwork of agriculture. Like scraps of precious cloth that had been stitched together by a provident housewife, much of the productive land seemed to be green with young cabbages or the fronds of carrots. Still more fields were golden with growing pasture where cows grazed in the new spring grasses, while sheep nibbled delicately at juicy thistles on the sloping ground behind the low walls of fieldstone.
Gareth felt his heart lift at this bucolic landscape, one which he understood and loved.
“You look almost happy, boy!” Germanus grumbled. His thudding headache had refused to budge, even after he had eaten a full meal to break his night fast and had placed several wet, cooling cloths on his brow. Like most men who enjoy rude good health, he was impatient and bad-tempered when he was unwell. Now, slumped low in the saddle, he was still sufficiently familiar with these lands to advance the small group in the direction they needed to follow.
“I put no trust in kings!” he declared. “It has been my experience that they’ll even impress young boys and toothless old men into their armies if they need the manpower. Give an old man a pike, sharp or not, and the killing of him takes time and eliminates the need for one more able-bodied warrior on the defensive line. Of course, the untrained men will be killed because they have no martial skills. So ordinary folk, and even the most valued warriors, exist as fodder to fill the battle lines of the ruler’s armies. I know that Master Bedwyr is different to most rulers but, then again, Bedwyr isn’t a true king.”
Lorcan felt concern for the man whom he had known so well for more than a decade.
“I’m worried about your health, Germanus, regardless of these untrustworthy kings who seem to be causing you so many bad dreams and an even worse bad temper,” Lorcan said softly to his friend. “Your skin is pale and clammy, so you’ll need to rest before we go much farther.”
“We’ll rest once we’ve passed through Reims,” Germanus snapped back. “There are at least three rivers to cross between us and Reims and, if my memory serves me rightly, they run strong and deep. The hills where the tributaries rise will slow us down a little, but the Romans built good roads and the local kings have kept them in good repair. I can’t remember whether they’re bridged or not.”
Germanus might have been in some pain, but his mind was still working efficiently. He managed to grit his teeth and drive his large horse onward. Lorcan pushed away his reservations and followed in the big Frank’s wake, while Gareth scanned the view ahead to assess the line of distant hills which must be crossed before they could reach the ancient city.
Uncharacteristically, Germanus barely ate during the evening that followed, and his two worried companions began to eye him with genuine concern. Lorcan examined his friend closely and realized that Germanus’s forehead was hot and the man was sweating profusely within his armor.
“You’ll find some rags from an old shirt in my saddlebags, Gareth. Can you fetch them for me? I’ll also need fresh water from the stream so we can cool our friend’s body.”
As Gareth moved off with alacrity to obey Lorcan’s instructions, he felt a few scattered raindrops fall through the large alder tree which was providing shelter for the weary travelers. More raindrops, fat and heavy, began to fall on his forearm and he shook his head with concern as he returned with the rags.
“We need to find some shelter for Germanus. The sky is even darker than usual and no stars are visible. I can smell heavy rain coming, which will make him worse, given the severity of his temperature.”
Lorcan nodded absently as he soaked the rags, and then helped Germanus out of his mailed shirt. Gareth stowed the vest away in his friend’s pack, knowing that the Frank would fret if his precious armor was allowed to rust.
Concerned over the whole situation, Gareth went to find his hobbled horse. Once the stallion was saddled, he rode back into the clearing where Lorcan was bathing Germanus’s head and shoulders beside the warmth of the fire.
“Where are you going, boy? I need your help to undress this big lump. He’s far too heavy for me to do it myself.”
“I can undress myself,” Germanus retorted tetchily, but fell back on his folded saddle blanket when he tried to sit upright. He panted a little from the pain, and then closed his eyes against a stab of agony that passed through his temples.
“See!” Lorcan hissed at Gareth. The priest’s face was flushed with worry and exertion. Gareth patted his shoulder in sympathy.
“I thought I saw some cultivation from the top of the hill when we first decided to set up camp under this copse. If there’s a farm yonder, I’ll try to locate a barn or some kind of cover where we can care for Germanus. It could rain for a week or more at this time of the year, and a man of Germanus’s age would have difficulty surviving seven days of illness if he’s wet and unprotected. The local peasants might be frightened of us, but one of the farmers might accept payment for shelter and some of our basic needs.”
“But you don’t know the terrain,” Lorcan grumbled.
“Why do you think I’m so weak that I’ll die from a little rain?” Germanus added shakily from his makeshift bed.
Gareth waved away their arguments and kneed his horse into movement. The sounds of its hooves were quickly lost in the thick darkness.
When Gareth returned about two hours later, Lorcan was attempting to feed his large friend. The priest looked up as Gareth dismounted and tied his reins to a nearby bush. His face was strained and pale in the firelight.
“I found a farm about a mile away. The old couple who live there can’t do much to keep their acres cultivated. We couldn’t really understand each other, but I gathered that their four sons have been taken from them by officers from Theudebert’s army. They are very angry at their king, but they’ll allow us to use their barn if we’re prepared to pay for the privilege. Rain is falling heavily down the road and it’ll be here quickly, so we must hurry or we’ll be caught in the open.”
Lorcan was naturally suspicious. “Are they likely to rob us when we’re asleep? Are you sure their kin weren’t in hiding and a son or two won’t reappear as soon as we lower our guard?”
“No! I’m not sure! But the old man seemed genuine and he was keen to have my assistance with their planting. I had to promise to help with his spring plowing, or anything else that needs doing. Anyway, what choice do we have? Germanus needs to be kept warm and dry, and he needs to sleep in a comfortable bed if one can be found for him.”
Lorcan’s gaze moved from Gareth’s irritated face to the taut, pain-filled countenance of his friend. He was certain that Germanus was suffering from something far more dangerous than a headache. The heat rising from Germanus’s skin was unusual and, despite his vast experience, Lorcan was totally unfamiliar with this type of illness.
“Very well then, young man. We’ll go to your farmhouse and its barn, but you’ll be doing the planting for the farmer, not me! I have to look after Germanus.”
Lorcan rose to his feet, creaking a little at the knees, and threw the last of the water onto the fire, which hissed like a broken snake as the flames died in a cloud of steam.
“Lead the way, lad,” he croaked to Gareth. “And if your plan goes wrong, I’ll be the first to remind you that Germanus will pay for your mistake.”
Without further argument, Lorcan packed away their few possessions and Germanus’s remaining armor while Gareth prepared the horses and pack animals for the short journey and loaded the important bags of food and trade goods purchased in Gesoriacum. Within ten minutes, Germanus was lying over the neck of his horse and they were ready to move. Gareth took the reins of both horses—the pack animal and Germanus’s spare hor
se. With Lorcan bringing up the rear on his mule and holding the reins of the remaining pack animals, the small party picked their way through the darkness to rejoin the Roman road.
How can everything go so wrong so quickly? Gareth thought. Germanus had only a headache when we set out from Gesoriacum. He’s really ill now, and we’re miles from a healer or even an herbwoman. Fortuna has turned her face away from us!
In a silence broken only by the noise of their stolid, patient beasts and the stillness of a night that was hovering on the brink of a storm, Lorcan found himself praying wordlessly to God. Germanus had pushed himself to reach the shelter of the alder tree, but then his pain had doubled once he was able to rest. Spent now, he was as weak as a child. Lorcan knew that only God could provide salvation, and his heart quailed at the chance that the Almighty might find his prayers to be unworthy. After all, he had fought, whored, and blasphemed his way around Gaul for years, with only scant respect for his Maker.
“I swear I’ll do your works until I die if you decide to save my friend,” Lorcan swore to God as lightning began to split the sky with the beginnings of an unseasonal storm. “I swear it, Lord, and Lorcan always keeps his word.”
Thunder rumbled and the horses neighed in fright and skittered on the gravel surface of the roadway. Germanus was almost unseated, but Gareth stopped his fall with a steadying hand.
Another flash of lightning lit the landscape with an unearthly, incandescent blue. Only in the return to darkness after the flash were the travelers able to see their destination, a light that glowed in the blackness through the curtains of rain. With shoulders bowed by the weight of the sudden deluge, the small party plodded towards their goal and its promise of dry beds, warm hay, and, hopefully, the warmth and comfort of a fire.
Around them, the pyrotechnics of the storm continued. It was almost as if God was venting his anger on foolish humans who called on Him only when their needs were greatest.
