I made my way through the dark hall and past the sleeping men, quaking as one of them snored loud or tossed on his pallet. I groped through the passageway, and pushed open the worn door out into the kitchen yard. By the large cooking pit, illumined by its embers, sat the hunched form of Eomer, who rose to greet me. He had a stout length of hempen rope coiled about one shoulder, and two large packs and my satchel were at his feet.
“He be deep in his cups, and near dead to this world,” he whispered, jerking his thumb in the direction of the Dane in the cellar opening.
“We will need a torch,” I whispered back, and tried to steady my voice so that Eomer would not hear my fear. He picked up a short bundle of oiled rushes, and cast it into the coals to light it. I took it from him and gestured, Come.
We gained the opening, and walked down the ramp to where the Dane lay. He did not stir, but breathed in a shallow, gasping hiss of a snore. A cup, near filled with ale, was beside him, as was an ewer, and I could only hope he had drunk enough. At his side lay a long dagger, sheathed, and along the wall, his spear.
We went down the few steps and into the first passage. As we reached the low wooden door my heart pounded so that my hand trembled, causing the torch flame to dance and flicker as if we stood in open wind. Eomer moved in front of me, and slid open the iron bar and pulled open the door. I moved into the cell, and saw Gyric lying much as I had left him.
I could not find voice to speak his name, and was terrified to touch him lest he be dead. But I moved closer, and knelt down by his head, holding the torch above him. Eomer came into the space and looked down upon us. “Ah,” he cried out as he saw Gyric’s face. “Those cursed gits! What they have done to him.”
Gyric moaned, and moved one of his hands as if he would cover his face, and by this told us he lived still.
“Gyric,” I whispered. “We are friends, come to take you out of this place.” He did not answer, or seem to hear me, but I went on, “We have horses waiting, and now we must go to them.”
For answer he had only a moan. Eomer stooped down and half-dragged, half-carried Gyric out through the door. In the passageway he lifted him upon his shoulders, and I shut the door and set the iron bar that served as bolt.
Gyric spoke not, and lay as a dead man across Eomer’s shoulders, and tho’ the old man bent under his burden, his step was firm as he followed me out of the passage and past the unknowing guard.
We walked as rapidly as we could across the yard to the place where the kitchen stream flowed out. Eomer dropped down upon his knees and lowered Gyric to the ground. Gyric said nothing, and moved not, but I knew he breathed.
Eomer returned and pressed himself against the base of the palisade wall, and with all the force in his body strained against a panel there. It slid back upon itself and the opening where the stream flowed out was doubled and more than doubled in size.
“‘Tis for the Spring flood time. The stream grew large each Spring before the Danes took it underground, and this way ‘twould flow out without flooding the yard,” he explained to me, and uncoiled the rope from his shoulder. “You go first, Lady, holding onto this rope as you go, and then I will lower the bags to you, and finally the man.”
I took firm hold of the knotted end he passed to me, and stepped into the stream and knelt in its cold waters. I crawled backwards through the opening. I could not see where I was going, the stones were sharp through my gown and thin boots, and the water soaked me through. The stream fell away beneath me, and I clambered and groped my way down a wet and slippery rock face, nearly falling. I stood at the bottom, and Eomer’s face appeared through the palisade.
“Now the packs,” he hissed, and he drew up the rope, and lowered them one by one. I untied them and carried each out of the stream bed, and stood waiting, trembling with wet and fear.
It seemed many minutes passed, and I heard much splashing and movement above me. I saw the legs of a man as Gyric was lowered feet first by Eomer. He let him down slowly, by a rope tied criss-cross around his chest, but still Gyric bumped against the sharp rock as he came.
When he reached the bottom I worked to untie the wet knot. I tried to keep Gyric leaning against the rock face, but he crumpled into the few inches of water we stood in. I dragged him from it, and tugged upon the freed rope. Eomer pulled it up, and in a moment stood by my side.
He spoke not a word, but lifted Gyric once again. I gathered up the three packs, straining under their weight, and followed Eomer in the darkness. We both stumbled, and once I had to lower the packs and take them up again to better carry them. My gown was dripping and bound against my legs and made my walking harder.
Now the ground rose up beneath us, and again I stopped, my arms aching, to rearrange the packs I carried. Eomer went on, and beyond him I saw the clumps of trees, just coming into full leaf, which I hoped hid our horses.
As if to answer my hope we heard a horse nicker, and Eomer went straight to it. It was my bay mare, saddled and bridled, and tied by a neck rope to a young tree. As we approached her we heard rustlings, and found another horse, dark in colour, tied not far away. This one too was both saddled and bridled, and I spoke aloud my thanks to the bravery of Mul and his father.
I dropped the packs and brought the second horse over. It was a good sized animal, larger than my bay, and Eomer said, “This one for the young man; the mare for you.”
I stood at the horse’s head, stroking its neck and trying to keep it calm. “We will have to tie him on,” pronounced Eomer, “‘tis clear he cannot ride without it.”
I moved to one side of the horse, and Eomer came to the other, and heaved Gyric on to the saddle. I braced his leg as it came over and tried to steady him, and Eomer fitted Gyric’s feet into the stirrups and then pulled his arms about the horse’s neck.
“Give me strips of cloth of some kind, that I might tie his hands and feet without hurt to him,” whispered Eomer. I dropped to my knees and sorted through my satchel, and found a sash and a head wrap. Eomer tied the stirrups and Gyric’s ankles under the horse’s belly with the long sash, and then his wrists loosely around the horse’s neck with the wrap. Gyric’s face rested against the animal’s mane, and I moved his head to the other side so that he could breath more freely. He moaned, and seemed almost to whisper, but scarcely moved, and allowed us to position him as best we could.
I stood at the horse’s head, and Eomer tied one pack onto its saddle rings, and then tied my satchel and the second pack to the saddle of my mare.
“‘Tis ready, Lady,” he said, and he took up the reins of the horse that bore Gyric. I went to my mare and pulled myself up on her, and Eomer handed me the reins and neck rope of Gyric’s horse. Then he thrust his roughened old hand into mine and said, “God speed you, Lady.”
I took his hand, and pressed it hard as I looked down into his weathered face. “I will never forget you, Eomer,” was all I could say.
I touched my mare’s flanks with my heels, and she moved off, the head of Gyric’s horse just even with my saddle. I turned once to look, and saw Eomer making haste back to the palisade wall. I was out of sight of the wall, but not, I thought, out of earshot, and I did not want either of the horses to neigh loudly. We moved on, past the place of Offering, and the pit littered with weapons and the bones of sacrificed animals; and the beech bough across the clearing soughed in the gentle wind and I saw the silver chain glitter upon it.
Beyond that was grassland, and the ground fairly smooth, and I knew I should quicken our pace. I moved my mare into a canter, and the second horse tossed its head and whinnied in irritation at the feel of Gyric’s weight against its neck. I slowed, and drew the second horse closer, and spoke to Gyric, but he answered not. I placed my hand on his back, and felt him breathe, and so resolved I must go on at a canter and so make distance between us and Four Stones.
We gained the pond, which looked a dark well now that the Moon had set. I slowed our pace as we circled around it, for the ground was so
ft and our horses liable to stumble. I found the stream that Meryth spoke of, and we picked our way along it. Open land lay on either side, and I moved away from the stream bed to gain firmer ground. We went on, and whenever it seemed safe I urged the horses into a canter.
I must believe, I told myself, that Eomer would get back safe, and that the Dane that guarded the cellar would not wake until morning, and that no one would check on Gyric until sometime after that. But as I repeated these thoughts to myself, I saw that any one of them might not be true; that Eomer might at that moment be forced, under pain of death, to tell how and where he had left us; and that Danes now were saddling their horses to ride after us. Sidroc and Yrling would not be leading them; what would happen to me when they found us? I knew the answer too well, and did not think that Sidroc’s claim to me would carry weight with such men at that moment, for to them I would be a renegade and a thief, guilty of treason. This thought chilled me so that I stopped our horses, and with trembling fingers opened my satchel and searched until I found my seax, and tied it firm about my waist. Not that I thought I could in any way repel the Danes, armed with their spears and swords, but that I might thrust it in my own breast before they caught me. Then I thought: What further torment might they put Gyric to? Or would they end his life at once?
These thoughts were pure anguish, and I forced myself to turn from them. I drew forth the bell Meryth had given me, and gently let the clapper fall against the bronze wall of it. It made only the slightest tinkle, and I held it and with good force shook it, and its metal voice rang out, bright and loud.
I rang it again, and again, and then urged my mare into a canter. We went so fast that no one on foot could catch us, but if Gwenyth and her son heard it, they might call out to us, and stop us that way.
We made our way through the grasslands, skirting the marsh, and keeping within easy distance of the stream. I stopped many times to speak to Gyric, calling his name and placing my hand on his back or brow to see if he still lived.
I went as fast as I thought safe for him, for to carry him out alive and deliver him to some safety was the whole goal of my leaving, so nothing would be accomplished if I killed him by hard usage upon the road. We went on and on, walking and cantering as we could, and with me ringing the bell often as we went.
The sky above grew darker, and the stars were obscured by a thin haze of cloud, and we must only walk for fear of our horses stumbling. Then the first birds sang out, and the sky paled from its inky darkness, and I knew that dawn was come.
It came fast, and the grey of first light gave way to yellow and then pink streaks in the heavens. Gyric’s horse grew clearer to me; it was a big black gelding. I looked around us and for the first time saw the stream, still dark in its grassy path, and the bold dark line of thick trees across the plain from us.
I was tired, and clammy, and growing cold from my wet clothes, which had dried but little; and Gyric was soaked through. Yet as I turned back to look along the stream bed I felt we must not stop so soon, but try to add to the miles between us and Four Stones. I came up even to Gyric’s head, and placed my hand upon his back, and said, “Gyric, we must go on, for one hour more. Then we will find shelter and rest.”
And I spoke thus as much to hear my own voice as to tell him this, for he answered not. I urged our horses into a canter, ringing the bell the whole time. The Sun was shining down on us now, and on the grasslands dry and wide between stream and forest. We would be easy to see if anyone, friend or foe, searched for us.
“We will stop now, Gyric,” I said, and tied the bell to my sash. I swung down from my mare and nearly fell, so wobbly were my legs. I led both horses to the stream, and with my hands braced Gyric upon his saddle, and the horses bent their necks and drank long. I remounted, and turned our horses across the grass to the forest.
The trees stood up thickly, all come into the freshness of their first leaf; but for the dense growth there was no good place for horses to enter. We went along, and I saw a narrow path, like a deer track, leading into the trees. I knew that wherever we stopped we might be there a long time, for I could not think how I might get Gyric upon his horse again until he was well enough to mount alone.
I tied the horses to a low hanging bough, and slipped amongst the undergrowth along the track. It came into a small clearing, where an ash tree grew alone, as is their wont, upon a mossy ground.
I looked about the space, and thought it safe from view, and so turned and made my way back. I tied the reins of Gyric’s horse to the saddle rings of my mare, and then took her bridle at the cheekpiece and coaxed her in. She did not like it, but she came, and with her the gelding.
“Gyric, I am going to take you off your horse now,” I said, and tied the gelding’s neck rope to the trunk of the ash. The knots Eomer had made had grown tight around the stirrup irons, but at last I picked them apart. When his feet were free I loosed his hands from the silk scarf which bound them about the gelding’s neck. I reached up, and put my arms around Gyric’s waist, and pulled so that he tumbled off the saddle and onto the packs I had piled to break his fall.
He groaned, the loudest I had heard him make, and lay in a heap at my feet. I made haste to spread the deer hide, and then threw the sheep skin over it, and rolled him upon it, face up. There was fresh blood upon his face, and I saw his lip had split from hitting against the neck of his horse as we rode.
He was damp and filthy and his little clothing hung half off him, but I could see nothing but the ghastly maiming to his eyes. The morning light fell upon him, dappled as it was by the trees that overarched us, and revealed the full horror of what he had suffered. His brow was smooth and perfect, and the pale cheeks beneath bore no scar; but the burning poker had been driven into each eye socket, searing off the eyelids, leaving aught but empty pits. These were blackened from char, and there was glimpses of white, such as bone, and glimpses too of a waxy substance like onto tallow. On one temple, extending from the socket to the ear, was a deep burn mark, and I thought of the fiery poker missing its mark as he struggled against it.
I looked long upon the brand his temple bore from that struggle. I looked upon him, lying before me in exhaustion and pain, having known such torture; and looked upon the nobility of his face, so horribly scarred; and saw the gentle movement of his parted lips as he breathed. I looked upon him, and tears of a grief such as I had never known fell upon his face from my own wide green eyes. I wept for what he had been, and who had loved him, and what Life, if it did not desert him now, would hold for him, maimed as he was.
The horses moved, and I rose and went to them, tying them with neck ropes where they could browse on the young growth of the forest floor. I went back to where Gyric lay, and pulled open the kit bag, and took out the warm mantle that Ælfwyn had packed. I covered him with it, and then thought he must surely take some nourishment or die from hunger. I opened the food pack, and on the very top found a black leathern weapon-belt, dressed all about with silver bosses. I drew it out, and found hanging from it a long seax in a black wooden sheath.
“Ah, Ælfwyn,” I said aloud, “why did you do this? Yrling will surely punish you when he finds it is gone.”
Nonetheless I held the belt and its precious knife to my breast as my tears fell. I set it aside, and searched around in the pack. There were two jugs, sealed with wooden stoppers. I opened the first and found it held ale. I pulled the stopper on the second, and held it to my nose. It was broth, and must have been poured in very hot, for the pottery in my hand still held some warmth. I shook it to mix the fat in it, and tasted it.
I went to Gyric, and knelt by him, and took his head in my lap, and bent over him and held the mouth of the jug to his lips. “Try to drink this broth, Gyric,” I whispered. “I will go slow.”
I poured a little into his mouth and he swallowed it, or seemed to try. I lifted his head more, and braced it with my arm, and poured more of the broth past his lips. He swallowed, and I drew the jug back, not wanting
to make him retch with too much.
He moved his head, and I again gave him more broth, which he swallowed. I set the jug down, and wiped his face. His hair was tangled and matted with straw and filth. I sat back looking at him. I drew a linen head wrap out of my satchel, and folded it and lay it gently over his empty eyes.
I pulled the mantle up around him, and said, “Sleep now, Gyric, and when you awake I will give you more broth.”
I almost thought he tried to answer; his lips moved, and I brought my ear close to his face, but could make out nothing.
I found roast fowl and boiled eggs and bread and cheeses in the food pack, and ate a bit of cheese and bread. I looked again at the seax. It had a hilt embossed with silver, and a grip of horn, and into the blade was carved spiralling designs. It was a fine piece; the seax of a thegn of wealth.
I looked at Gyric, lying sightless and still, his hands and wrists bare of rings or bracelets, his gold pins and necklets wrenched from him, his spear and sword taken, his swift horse branded by another. I took the seax and lay it by his side. It was meant for Gyric, and tho’ he knew not it was there, he should have it still.
Then my own weariness overcame me. I pulled a wool coverlet from my bag and wrapped it around myself and slept.
I woke to the sound of our horses as they tore at the leaves and tender branches within their reach. It was still bright, but the Sun had passed its highest point, and it was now afternoon.
I felt stiff and achy as I sat up, and took a long drink from the ale jug to lessen my thirst. Gyric lay as before, and I went to him. He lay very still, and there was no way for me to know if he slept or not. I touched his arm and asked, “Gyric, will you try to drink?”
I lifted his head and held the broth to his lips, and he again drank a few swallows of it. He turned his face away, as if he would take no more.
I sat back on my heels and looked about me. The horses would be growing thirsty soon, and would need to be taken to the stream to drink. Also they must be allowed to graze on the grass during the night; the leaves of the forest could never sustain them. I feared too that in the woods they might eat something poisonous to them.
The Circle of Ceridwen: Book One of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga Page 34
