by M. K. Hume
“Aye, sister, I believe there’s a treacherous plan in that wicked head of Aednetta Fridasdottar, and it has already been put into motion. The game has begun, whether we like it or not. We live, or we die, by what happens in Skania, so we must set sail as soon as I can raise a force that will put a stop to the machinations of the Gothlander.”
“I’ll send out runners immediately, Valdar. Meanwhile you can take whatever you need from The Holding. Be about your work, Valdar, and I’ll see to your guests.”
Valdar Bjornsen kissed his sister’s rosy cheek and swung his daughters back onto his shoulders. “Stay with my sister, Arthur, and she’ll see to your lodgings. This struggle has naught to do with you, and I apologize for dragging you into the domestic troubles of the Dene people. For now, you can rest and enjoy the hospitality of my sister and her friends.”
“I’m coming with you, Stormbringer,” Arthur insisted. “We brought trouble to you and yours, so we are obliged to repay our debt to you. We’d be lying dead in a cesspit in Heorot if it were not for the assistance you gave us. All that Eamonn and I will require is that our sisters be allowed to remain here in safety.”
Stormbringer glanced quickly in Alfridda’s direction and she smiled secretively.
Is that the way the wind blows? My sister is only a child and Stormbringer is a grown man, Arthur thought. Does the Sae Dene captain hold more than admiration for her?
But Arthur decided not to voice his suspicions. Time was short; their enemy controlled territory that was visible across a narrow strip of water from Stormbringer’s spacious lands. He could understand Alfridda’s nervousness!
“If you are fated to perish in any future battle, Valdar Bjornsen, I’d prefer that it’s not through any fault of mine.” Arthur’s chin jutted forward with determination. “Until our debt to you is repaid, I am obligated to shield your back from all harm or treason, and I’ll not shirk my duty. In fact, I will enjoy the prospect of conflict. Come rack or ruin, I and mine will always keep our word.”
“Very well then, Arthur, but don’t say I didn’t warn you of what could lie ahead of us,” Stormbringer snapped, before setting off at a trot towards the warriors’ hall.
Cursing under his breath, Arthur followed.
The afternoon had barely begun and their safe harbor had become a perilous place of shoals in the blinking of an eye. Fortuna had once again turned her wheel.
The Journey of the Trine through Austrasia
Plan of the Farm in Austrasia
Chapter XVII
PLAGUE
Be happy, drink, think each day your own as you live it, and leave the rest to fortune.
—EURIPIDES, AS RECORDED BY PLATO IN Phaedo
The barn was warm but, most important, it was watertight. As they rode through the storm, the three travelers were subjected to the worst extremes of nature before they reached its dim protection. Germanus was sagging in the saddle when they reached their haven and was only partly conscious. It required the combined efforts of both Lorcan and Gareth to lift him from his horse and lay him down on a nest of straw as far from the open doorway as was possible. Germanus almost woke for a moment, because any pressure under his arms appeared to cause unbearable pain, although Lorcan checked under the Frank’s clothes and found no indication of wounds.
Several indignant chickens looked down on the interlopers from their roosts in the rafters, while an old plow horse munched incuriously on newly cut grass in one of the primitive stalls.
Gareth left Lorcan to fuss over Germanus in order to strip the packs and saddles from their five horses. The beasts shivered in the cold draft from the doorway, so Gareth led them into the rear of the barn to pens that were obviously used in winter to protect the farm animals from deep snowfalls. Once the horses were penned, Gareth used hobbles to restrict their movements so he could fill their drinking troughs with fresh water from a well near the farmhouse, drenching himself once more in the process. Finding an open bag of stored grain, he made a mental promise to pay the elderly couple for anything he took, and then filled a number of pails of food for their precious horseflesh. The beasts snuffled companionably and their hobbles tinkled musically from the small bells that Lorcan had tied to them.
Gareth smiled at the bucolic scene and its familiar sounds and smells. A sense of peace flooded him with half memories of early childhood. Then he returned to where he had left Lorcan and Germanus, and his pleasant mood cracked open like a smashed egg.
Lorcan had stripped his friend down to his shirt, and Germanus now looked frail and elderly with his long white legs exposed. For the first time, Gareth noticed that Germanus’s skin was creped and loose at the eyelids, the belly, and under his chin. Carefully, Lorcan was engaged in inspecting the entire length of his friend’s body as he sought for signs that would explain the fever causing Germanus to shiver with something other than cold.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Lorcan complained. “Shite, his lungs are clear, so it’s not the coughing disease. There are no spots—except for a couple of bites, courtesy of the bedbugs provided by Priscus’s establishment. And it’s not the scarlet fever or one of the other illnesses involving a rash. The only symptoms are an overwarm body, a crippling headache, and some swelling in the neck and under the arms.”
Gareth was surprised at Lorcan’s anxious face. Up until this moment, he had known that Germanus was sick, but had failed to recognize any specific symptoms that could harm the large Frank warrior. He’d always seemed invincible during their short acquaintance.
Suddenly, their journey into the land of the Dene had come under threat. Gareth prepared himself for what could become a long sojourn in the barn until such time as the illness had run its course.
Surprisingly, given how ill the Frank was, Gareth wasn’t terribly perturbed, partially because Lorcan claimed some skills in healing, but mostly because Germanus was like the mountains. He was indestructible. During the night, Gareth awoke to the quiet of the countryside, a silence that made him nervous after the earlier noise of thunder and lightning. The fierce storm had passed and left the landscape battered, wind-torn, and glistening in the moonlight. The wildly scudding clouds had blown westward towards the sea to leave behind the familiar stars that had comforted Gareth for most of his life. Curled in the fresh straw close to his stallion’s stall, Gareth listened to Lorcan’s exhausted snores and the companionable whicker of his horse standing behind him.
The young man’s reverie was broken by a moan from the indistinct shape of Germanus as he lay under a pile of cloaks used to warm his shivering flesh. Lorcan had fought against his own weariness for many hours, while urging his comatose friend to take in water and a little of the hot soup provided by the farmer’s wife. Germanus had struggled to eat, but he was sliding in and out of consciousness.
As he gazed out at the stars through the open door of the barn, Gareth considered their plight if Germanus should die. The prospect was so fraught with potential disaster that he refused to dwell on the possibility. Grunting impatiently with himself, Gareth rolled over and fell into a deep sleep.
In the morning, the sky had that fresh blueness that comes after spring rains. Lorcan was still dozing in the straw, while Germanus had thrown off the restrictive cloaks. Gareth could see that the Frank’s flesh remained hot and feverish, so he carefully pulled the disturbed cloaks back to cover Germanus’s partial nakedness.
At the door of the small stone farmhouse, Gareth spoke to the elderly couple in his halting Frank, although he was unsure if his words were fully understood. The farmer was called Tominoe, an odd name that the grey-haired man told them was Breton in origin. His wife, Eleana, was a plump little creature with raisin-brown eyes and ruddy cheeks. The elderly couple happily accepted two silver coins for the use of the stables and the grain while Eleana brewed a tisane that she swore was an excellent medication for fevers. She also added a generous helping of a medicinal concoc
tion that her mother used to draw out poisons. Gareth thanked her effusively and made the old woman blush when he gave her a courteous bow.
These farmers were excellent hosts. But Gareth could see that the farm was too large and too time-consuming for the elderly Tominoe to manage alone. The fields lay fallow while plowing and planting were long overdue. Similarly, the stone walls along several fields were in urgent need of repair so Gareth offered to take their old horse out to plow the nearest fields if the elderly couple were prepared to carry out the planting. They agreed readily, and Mistress Eleana gave him a battered jug of fresh milk for the invalid. When they discovered that their other guest was a priest, their plain and honest faces shone with pleasure.
“Would the priest hear our confessions? We’ve not been shrived for near a whole season since our old priest died.” Gareth wondered aloud why no one had been sent to take the dead priest’s place.
“Times are hard, young master. The king has no liking for the Roman church, preferring to use the Aryan priests. Rumor says there’s been trouble in the church hierarchy, but we poor worshippers are the sufferers from any disagreements between the great ones. Our sons went off with the army near to three years ago, and we’ve heard naught of them in all that time. My wife feels it deep, can you understand? A few prayers from your priest would ease her heart, and we’d be grateful for any time he can give us.”
Gareth promised that he would ask Lorcan to minister to the spiritual needs of the old couple, once Germanus’s condition had improved. Taking his leave, he returned to the barn to give the herbal simples to the priest, along with the fresh milk that might nourish Germanus if he could be induced to drink it.
In his absence, Lorcan had woken, checked on the health of his friend and then collected the eggs laid in the straw during the previous night. Lorcan accepted the milk with a little crow of pleasure.
“Fresh eggs beaten into milk will help Germanus to fight any infections, even those I can’t see on my friend’s body. I tell you truly, boy, that I’ve no idea what illness is devouring my friend, and I’m deathly afraid of it! Germanus would have caught the lung disease for sure if you hadn’t found this pleasant little farm when you did—and then nothing would have saved him. Tell the mistress I thank her for the simples and I’ll visit with them at nightfall.”
Lorcan immediately went to work, mixing the drawing potion and spreading it onto two pads of cloth that looked suspiciously like the old priest’s spare shirt. Then he made two more pads, placed them into Germanus’s armpits, and lashed them into place with more strips of rag.
“He complains of pain there when he’s partly conscious, so I’ll see if this drawing ointment brings out any of the infection,” Lorcan explained. “And the raw eggs and milk will help to ease his gut and provide him with some sustenance.”
Lorcan’s mood had been lifted by the simple fact that he now had tools to use in his battle against this mysterious disease. Whether they worked or not was less important than the fact that Father Lorcan was able to make a real attempt to heal his friend.
Meanwhile, Gareth prepared himself for some heavy farm work. He had done his fair share of farm labor during his youth, so he was comfortable with the prospect of physical exertion.
“I’ll take their horse and start plowing their fields while you take care of Germanus,” Gareth explained to the priest. “I’ll feel less beholden if I’m doing something useful. If we can’t continue our journey, I see no fault in keeping myself occupied here. Incidentally, I don’t think much of a ruler who takes all the sons of such an elderly couple who can’t care for themselves. Surely their king must realize that there’ll be a famine if the land and crops aren’t tended.”
“Some rulers don’t care about their lands or their tenants,” Lorcan replied briskly. “They only bother with their prestige and the gold that can be squeezed out of the peasants who rely on them for protection.” Gareth nodded and turned to go, but Lorcan called him back and presented him with a number of large, speckled eggs, which were transferred into a pouch made from the front of Gareth’s shirt. “Please thank the mistress in advance, boy, for the few eggs I have already taken,” he added.
The grey-muzzled farm horse was huge when compared with Gareth’s stallion or the pack animals. She was broad in the beam and her fetlocks were hidden under long hair that was light in color, much like her uncombed mane and tail. Gareth untangled her mane and promised her a good brushing at the end of her working day, if she was compliant. The animal snickered gently through soft black lips. Her eyes were large, brown, and long-lashed like a girl’s, and her reddish coat made the young man think of strawberries. Gareth decided to call her Berry.
Gareth could read the old man’s mind as soon as Tominoe saw the quality and beauty of Gareth’s stallion. The old farmer could visualize the foals that Berry would throw if she was covered by such an animal. He could only live in hope.
Well, if that’s what our host wants, I see no harm in it, Gareth thought with a wry grin. And you’ll not complain, will you, my lad? Gareth thumped the stallion’s side and raised dust from his strong black coat. The horse whickered encouragingly.
Throughout the morning, and in the heat of the noonday sun, man and mare labored under the spring sunshine. The plowshare carved its way through the turf with more ease than Gareth had expected, given that the plow’s blade needed sharpening. Gareth promised himself that he’d find out if Tominoe possessed a whetstone.
As Gareth guided the horse and plow through the turf and into the chocolate-brown soil, pushing with all his strength to assist the mare in her efforts, Tominoe and Eleana followed in Gareth’s wake to clean out the furrows with hoes. Once the furrows were clean, they began to plant their precious seed before covering it lightly with soil to defeat the depredations of the blackbirds. For these poor farmers, it was vital that everyone worked hard to ensure a good harvest.
A row of the untidy birds sat on the paddock wall and watched the three humans with bright, cruel eyes. When Gareth pelted them with stones, they flapped away briefly before returning to preen their feathers on the unmortared stones like ragged scraps of black cloth.
Gareth picked up a particularly large rock and tossed it hard into the row of birds. They squawked indignantly and flapped away, but this time they waited for their chance in an apple tree beyond the reach of Gareth’s stones.
At noon, the provident housewife brought more milk, fried bacon, slabs of coarse bread, and a soft white cheese. For all that the cheese was unfamiliar, Gareth ate with gusto. He felt alive and at peace for the first time in months, despite being mud-blackened from head to toe.
Eleana fetched a tin platter with more food and another jug of milk for Lorcan and Germanus, so Gareth left the traces with Tominoe and trotted to the barn to deliver their noontime meal. Lorcan, distracted, absently nodded his thanks and turned to heating the tisane over a small fire pit he had constructed outside the open barn doorway.
Gareth took the hint and returned to the plowing.
As the sun began to sink through the heavens, Tominoe showed Gareth the way to a small stream that cut through the farm. There, Gareth frolicked in the shallows as he scrubbed his skin and hair free of clinging dirt before washing his clothes, then sunned himself in a small clearing beside the waterway.
The young man watched while butterflies of various colors danced about in the afternoon light. Weeds had flowered in great, white heads that would soon seed and all too soon become pests, but on that particular afternoon, Gareth’s heart was touched by their loveliness.
But Gareth’s pleasure quickly evaporated when he returned to the barn, for Germanus was worse. The Frank moaned and mumbled in his unnatural sleep, while Lorcan pointed to small swellings growing under his arms where the drawing ointment had been placed. The priest told Gareth that these lumps felt hard and hot, as if burning pebbles had been inserted under the skin, causing Germanus
to suffer from a degree of pain much greater than the size of the swelling seemed to warrant.
Lorcan began to prepare another pair of pads containing the drawing ointment.
“It’s all I can think of to do, boy. At least I’m forcing the infection to come to the surface. Could it be that the other nodes in the neck, groin, and belly are also at risk of infection?”
Helplessly, Lorcan and Gareth could only watch in amazement at the agonies suffered by their friend. At dusk, Lorcan went up to the farmhouse to minister to the spiritual welfare of the farmer and his wife, while Gareth watched Germanus in his stead and used damp cloths to bathe the Frank from head to foot. The water seemed to ease Germanus’s pain, so Gareth collected more cold water from the stream and continued to gently lave Germanus’s sweating form.
And so the next two days passed, as Germanus sank deeper into a torpor from which his companions believed he would never awaken.
Germanus’s temperature remained dangerously high. Pain racked his inert body, and all movement of his joints seemed to cause him pain.
In the darkest hour in the early morning, when the soul’s hold on life is at its weakest, Gareth became deathly frightened. Without Germanus, they would lose a fluent Frankish speaker and the local knowledge so important to their journey. Whether Germanus lived or died, Gareth fully intended to go on into the north in search of Arthur and his companions, but his heart quailed at the idea of setting off into a hostile landscape without Germanus’s comforting counsel to protect his back.
Now that the huge Frank was in such peril, Gareth could finally admit that he needed Germanus and, of even more importance, he actually liked and admired the sword master. “Don’t die, Germanus,” Gareth whispered into the darkness. But the night wind continued to moan, while the young man felt tears begin to well at the corners of his eyes.
