“Is it not so, my lords? We fought today for the glory of Caledon. Long will men remember!”
“Rodrigo ...” Anavar, in a whisper.
I brushed away his insistent fingers.
“Pardon, my lord.” Groenfil turned back to the wagons.
Why should Groenfil care about captured pikes and swords, at this wonderful hour? I followed him past our tired soldiers. “Rejoice with me, my lord! After this, Hriskil won’t dare—”
Not weapons, but men were piled on the flatbed carts. “It was a glorious victory,” I insisted, wishing he could understand. “Across Caledon men will be heartened. It will give us—”
I slipped on a damp rock, and fell on my rump. Instantly my leggings were smeared with foul effluvia.
Disgusted, I jumped to my feet, wiping my flanks, but stinking ooze soiled my hands. “Get this muck off me!” I swept at the revolting mess. “Anavar, a cloth!”
As I wiped my stained leggings I became aware that all had fallen silent. Men stared at me, with expressions that I could barely fathom ... once, when I’d truly offended Rustin, he’d looked at me so.
But only once.
I swallowed.
What had I done?
I glanced at Anavar, but he retreated as if I had the plague.
I looked down at my rust-stained, bloodied hands.
At the ooze of blood that dripped constantly from the bed of the wagons.
Muck, I’d called it. In the presence of my dead, wounded, mutilated men. They and their comrades fixed me now with insolent, unforgiving stares.
Please, Mother Earth, swallow me. Imps and demons, take me now. I’ll go gladly.
I put reddened hands to my face, sank to my knees.
After a time I whispered, “Anavar ... take me to my tent.”
Eighteen
I WEPT, I THINK, along the road, but I wasn’t sure. I was in a daze, as if Hriskil again wielded the Rood.
I tethered Ebon, stumbled into my tent, yanked shut the flap. I should peel off my filthy clothes. No, I didn’t dare; it would show disrespect.
Why hadn’t I apologized? I ought have, but I’d felt it would make things worse. Now I was skulking in my tent, afraid to be seen.
I wiped my eyes, got to my feet.
Near Pardos, Anavar waited in the clearing, holding Edmund. His very presence was a kindness. Absently, I patted his shoulder. “Tend to the horses, would you?”
“Where will you be?”
“There.” I strode to the surgeons’ tent.
Wafting from inside, a foul stench. I took sharp breath, fighting an urge to bolt.
Blood, swarms of flies, and outside the canopy, a horrid pile of sawn-off limbs. Wails and cries. Half a dozen physickers, all our army had, tried to tend far too many stretchers of men awaiting dismemberment or sewing. Aides milled about, moving men, helping hold down those treated. Pardos a step behind, I sought out the surgeon Darios, whom I knew.
He snapped, “No time for talk, sire. Men are dying.”
“I came to help.”
“You’ve no place here.” He turned away.
“Where else is my place?” I stood dumbly, hoping Darios would answer, but he was far too occupied. A surgeon straightened, beckoned the men to take away a stretcher.
I was ready, and had one end of the next litter. With a grunt, I helped raise it to the table. The wounded youth twisted and cried, thrashing his lacerated arm.
“Hold him steady.” With callous unconcern an aide seized the boy’s wrist, pinned it to the table. Gingerly, I applied my weight to his shoulder. He wailed and begged all the time he was sewn. After, I helped carry him outside. The aide dumped him unceremoniously in the grass.
I was incredulous. “You can’t just leave him here!”
“Where else?” He gestured; the environs of the tent were crowded with writhing wounded.
“Have they water? Anyone to tend them?”
“Not my task.” He dragged the litter to an overburdened wagon creaking to a stop.
“Then it’s mine! ANAVAR!” The boy was nowhere in sight. “Pardos! A bucket of water, and be quick.”
“I can’t leave you.”
I gripped his arm. “This instant!”
He hesitated. “I see no bucket.”
“My ewer, in my tent. The silver one. Hurry.”
Moments later, he was back. In a twinkling, thirsty soldiers had emptied the ewer.
I snapped, “A barrel of water!”
“Sir, there’s no barrel; let the surgeons handle their own—”
“I’ll get it.” Elryc, softly, behind me.
“Be quick, brother. And my wine, all you can carry. Find Tanner to help.”
His head touched my shoulder. “Take comfort, Roddy.”
“Would that I could.”
When Elryc returned, I helped him serve water and set him to dispensing wine to those in most pain. Wiping my scarred cheek with a bloody hand, I hurried back to the tent.
“You, boy, hold his legs!”
I did. The perspiring veteran kicked and bucked. I glanced upward, saw furrowed brow, sweaty forehead, terrified eyes, the relentless saw that ground through flesh, muscle, tendon, the white bone of his mutilated arm. I gagged. My blood pounded. The surgeons’ tent receded into some distant mist. I hung on, resting my sweaty forehead on the patient’s bony knee.
A long while passed.
“Move, boy!” Roughly, the surgeon shook me. I blinked. The soldier’s eyes were shut. He was dead, or unconscious.
As I’d like to be. Wearily, I got him on a litter.
Outside, the day was darkening. I searched for somewhere to put down my burden. We had to trudge a long way from the tent. I spied Pardos. “These men need shelter.”
His tone was belligerent. “And where shall we find that?”
I cast about. Someone should have organized ...
Yes, someone. Someone in charge.
“My tent. It’s huge; you can put twenty—”
“A drop in the—”
“And Elryc’s. Anavar’s.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“Under a wagon! It matters not!”
In my absence Anavar and Bollert had commandeered a donkey cart. They drove up with a fresh barrel of water. Eagerly I took a ladle. “Thank you.” I turned back to the carnage.
“Sir,” asked Anavar, “are you well?”
“Yes. I gave away your tent. You may have my blanket.”
I felt his stare as I retreated.
Hours passed. I learned to sew. I got the knack of thrusting a leather thong between a frightened man’s teeth, urging him to clamp down. I fetched water, tore rags as bandages, held terrified men while they shuddered and died.
After an eon, a soft hand on my shoulder. “Come.” Anavar’s voice was gentle.
“They need—I have to—”
“They’re caught up. There’s no more wagons.”
I looked about. No more than a dozen men still writhed and moaned, waiting for the surgeons’ mercies.
Outside, I recoiled at the wounded scattered about the field. “I ordered ... in my tent ...”
“Full. And mine, and Elryc’s. Groenfil’s staking canopies. There’s no rain tonight.”
“I can’t leave.”
“Look, sir, Genard’s bringing a stewpot. Groenfil said hot broth would—I’ve organized the boys. Tanner, Genard, Elryc and I ... we’re doing what can be done.”
My eyes brimmed. “How can I repay you?”
“We’ll not speak of that.”
I walked awkwardly, my clothes stiff with dried blood.
Pardos and his squad fell in behind us.
As we passed campfires, men stared. Some turned away. One man spat in the dirt.
We neared my tent. I stopped abruptly. By my own command, I’d been dispossessed. “I don’t want to ...” Face them. “Water, and a cloth, I beg you. And whatever clothes are in the trunk. And my coronet, wrapped in that soft cloth.”<
br />
After a moment Anavar emerged with loincloth, breeches and a tunic. Surrounded by tents and campfires I stripped to the skin, washed myself as best I could, gratefully donned fresh clothes. A cloth-wrapped bundle under my arm, I crossed to a campfire, rubbed my chilled fingers.
All talk stopped. Hostile eyes fixed on mine. “Muck,” someone muttered.
I’d not been forgiven.
Hadn’t I wallowed in gore for their sake? I endured the horrible stinking tent, carried them, gave them drink, lent them my very bed, all to show my contrition; could they not see?
Yes. They saw the sham of my remorse.
By this time I ought have use of the Still. Mother would know what to do. If ever an emergency demanded I seek the cave, it was now.
No. I needed the Still to fight the Rood. At all costs, I must preserve it I stepped back from the light, out of the pitiless gaze of my troops. “Find Tursel,” I told a bodyguard. “Call an assembly.”
“A what?”
“Assembly. Of the troops.”
He looked doubtful. “First you issue orders to your captains, then they—”
I sighed. “Bring me Tursel.”
But it was Groenfil who appeared, the guard tagging at his heels. “Roddy, leave the men alone.”
“I would speak to them.”
“All, at once? It’s not done.” He dropped his voice. “They’re sore and exhausted. You can’t make them stand at summons half the night.”
“I don’t intend—”
He spoke even more quietly. “You can’t call armed men before you except under discipline, and only when their captains are alert. A stray word, a flurry of anger: weapons are drawn. Royal houses fall over such clumsiness. Think of Halkir of the Ukra.”
“I only—”
“You’ve goaded them enough for one day. Sheer stupidity it was, liege or no.”
I reddened. “Agreed. But, my lord Earl, in this I will be obeyed.”
He glowered, until he realized I would hold his eye. “Set your bodyguards before you; stand at least twenty paces—”
“To preserve my crown? The cost’s too high. Call the men. Everyone. Strip the wall.”
“You’re mad.”
“This is the one night I’m certain Hriskil won’t attack.”
Groenfil went about gathering our troops.
Anavar and Elryc stood vigil with me. Once, when I sighed, my brother said, “You meant no offense. They don’t understand.”
“I never mean offense, Elryc.”
“What will you do?”
“What I must.” With a gesture, I stayed his speech.
As the hour passed, knots of soldiers appeared among the royal tents, their numbers growing until they filled the meadow. They muttered among themselves, a low, uneasy murmur. I’d dispensed my bodyguards to fetch a sturdy wagon; the best they found was Danzik’s; I stood on the flatbed, in the light of pitch torches lashed to the sideboards. “To your regiments,” I told Kadar and Pardos.
“It’s our duty to—”
“Not this night.” I added, before Pardos could object, “Seek Tantroth’s approval if you must. But tell him if he consents not, I’ll abdicate.”
As if by unspoken agreement, the gathering men stood back ten or twelve paces from the wagon.
As the assembly grew ever more packed I leaned over the sideboard. My voice was low. “Anavar, escort Elryc to the edge of camp. I charge you, see he survives the night.”
“Sir!” He paled.
“Be quick.”
“My place is with—”
I clutched his hand, in embrace or farewell. “Do as I bid you.” Hurriedly, I turned away. When I risked a glance, he had a grip on Elryc’s arm and was edging through the mass of troops. Unobtrusively, Genard followed, tucking a blanket across Elryc’s frail shoulders.
Alone, I took a step or two, to unknot my calves.
“Get on with it, King!” A voice from the dark.
“Tell us of your glorious victory!”
Groenfil’s mount thrust through the milling mass. The earl roared, “BE SILENT!”
I shot back, “No, let them speak!”
Groenfil glared.
Someone shouted, “Washed off the muck, did you?”
Mother, have you inspiration? Now is when I could use it. I should have sought the Still, regardless of the cost.
I held up a hand for silence, but the throng grew ever more restive. A burly fellow stooped, tore out a clod of turf. He hefted it, taking aim.
Desperately I shouted, “Come closer, all of you!” Urgently I beckoned them in. “I want you to hear!”
Groenfil slammed his fist into his pommel, startling his horse.
Taken by surprise, the men surged close. I could smell their sweat, their sullen fury.
I raised my voice, hoping even those most distant might hear. “I called assembly of the army of Caledon, because you’ve a problem, and must decide our course.” Still, mutters of discontent. I pressed on. “What say you? Shall we go home?”
That brought silence.
“You fought bravely and well, but the Norlanders remain in Eiber. You learned today two things. That you can defeat Hriskil, despite the Rood. And that your king is a fool.”
A sudden buzz, that quieted instantly. I had every eye, every ear. I paced my wagon. “You’ve all heard how I prattled about a glorious victory while our wagons of dead and dying creaked past. How I slipped in the blood of my vassals and called it muck. Hriskil wielded the Rood today, but it wasn’t his Power that befuddled me. I’m thoughtless and callow. It’s my nature.”
“Enough, Rodrigo.” Groenfil’s voice was low, but it carried.
“Oh, not nearly enough. I’ll tell you more. I passed my evening in the surgeon’s tent. I gave drink to our wounded, helped hold men in agony, carried litters. And I’ll tell you the truth of it: I loathed every instant of it, and only remained as a show of virtue, to earn your forgiveness. But you’re wiser than that. Thank Lord of Nature some of us are.”
“You’re not fit to be king!” A thickset soldier, red hair turning gray, who’d brought along short sword and shield.
“I wish I were.” I swallowed. “You don’t know how I wish I were!”
It earned me a moment.
“I knew an old soldier once, of Stryx and Verein. Fostrow. Anyone remember him?” I searched for a nod of recognition, found one at last. “First he was my guard, then my pledged man. I drove him to distraction. I was rude, disrespectful of his years, heedless of his comfort. And still he served me, to death.”
Their gaze fixed me, a butterfly on a pin.
“The last thing he said, as I held him while he died ...” My voice dropped. “ ‘It’s wars kill us, Roddy. Fight just wars.’ ”
“I can’t say I’m worth your lives, but I do believe we fight a just war. Hriskil came unbidden to our land. Has he respect for our laws, our ways, our lives? Under his rule, we’d be less than naught. Ask Danzik; to a Norlander we’re savages! You know their cruelty; it far surpasses mine.
“And so.” A deep breath. I unwrapped my bundle, held up the coronet for their inspection. “I was crowned by the nobility of Caledon. By our laws their assent sufficed; as proof of it, I wield the Still, and next battle I’ll use it to ward against the Rood.
“But in truth, the nobles’ assent is not enough. I cannot be king without your approval. What I said today was callous and stupid. Were Lord Rustin alive he would beat me. Yet I meant you no ill.” I paused, seeking some words of conclusion. I found none.
“Here.” I tossed the coronet into the crowd; eager hands caught it. “I’ll be in my tent. Bring me my crown, or your justice. I only ask that ...” I swallowed. “If you’d have another king, give me a fast end. I’m not brave enough to ...”
I gestured vaguely, gathering my composure. “And if you’d have me as king, be warned: I’ll do it again. Even Rust couldn’t control my thoughtless speech. But I give you leave to chide me when I earn it. That
much, you deserve.” I swung over the sideboard, hesitated. I raised my voice as high as I could. “Lord of Nature, bless these men, lead them to victory. Free our beloved Caledon!” I made a sign, as might a ritemaster.
It took all my effort to direct my steps to the tent. My legs were trembling so I thought I might fall.
With each stride, they opened a path before me. Here and there, as I passed, a man reached out, touched my arm, my tunic, my hair.
“Rodrigo.” A low murmur.
A dozen more steps, no further. That much I had in me.
“RODRIGO!”
Only a few more paces.
“Rodrigo!” A chant, taken up by a hundred voices. A thousand. “Rodrigo!”
Rough, grizzled men barred my way to the tent.
I halted, bracing for the stab that would end my misery. “I’m sorry.” No one heard me. “I’m sorry for who I’ve been.”
One by one, they began to fall to their knees.
“RODRIGO!”
Fingers reached up, clutched mine. Dark eyes glistened, searching my gaze. The coronet glinted, passed from hand to hand.
A kneeling guardsman held it up to me.
“RODRIGO!”
I bowed my head. He slipped it on.
The breeze whispered softly, Ah, my prince.
It was more than I could bear.
The men had offered me my tent; I’d forbidden that a single patient be moved. Another tent, then; their rage had turned to fierce adulation.
Cynically aware of the theater of it, I’d chosen the underside of a wagon. Anavar and Elryc had joined me of their own volition. My bodyguards made a campfire and sat nearby, guarding me in shifts; nothing I said could induce them to go.
I tried not to wake my companions, burying my sobs in a blanket. Perhaps Elryc heard; it was his hand that stole across my cover, lay protectively over me in the night.
By morn, I was wept out. I sat up slowly, so as not to slam my head on the underside of Danzik’s cart. Behind me, Elryc stirred; to my front, Anavar was rubbing his eyes.
I sniffed. What was it? Hot porridge, with honey! I salivated. In a moment the bowl appeared, and then the rest of Genard. He handed it to me. “Gotta get the others, m’lor’.” He disappeared.
I took a taste. “Now there,” I said approvingly, “is a vassal.”
The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2) Page 26
