Falk slept uneasily with much on his mind.
Gyrfalon and Annis slept deeply and peacefully in each other’s arms; and if Annis worried about how she might bring her husband and his brother together, at least she no longer worried about their unborn child.
She had every faith that she could work on Falk, given a chance to do so, until he capitulated and realised that he and Gyrfalon should return to an old love such as brothers should share.
And she thought scorn on Alys for a coward that would not let Gyrfalon know that she had feelings for his brother and who was so devious as to get an upright type like Falk to agree to a marriage before letting the older brother know how things stood!
The last determined revellers also slept the sleep of the just – and in the case of some, the sleep of the intoxicated – while those without shivered and dozed the doze of the cold, wet and miserable.
Chapter 14
Annis rose next morning searching for a nettle and St John’s wort salve to ease the itching from insect bites she had sustained travelling through the marsh.
“Wretched mosquitoes ought to have died off in the cold,” she grumbled, as she slapped the cooling salve unto her swollen wrists “It must be sheltered down there that enough survive the frosts to still be biting.”
“Aren’t they your God’s creatures with a right to life?” Teased Gyrfalon. She grunted.
“All things have their season. Most insects die in the winter. It’s nature; and nature is a part of God’s law,” she said, a trifle waspishly. Unlike her usual sunny self, Annis felt bad tempered; her head ached and everything seemed too much trouble.
Gyrfalon remarked on his wife’s lethargy at their customary sword practice; where she did little to defend herself even.
“You are not concentrating,” he chided gently. Annis sat down on the edge of the horse trough and her midnight eyes filled with tears.
“I can’t,” she said, bewildered. Gyrfalon looked at her sharply. Her eyes were bright with tears – and more; and there was a hectic flush to her normally pale cheeks. He laid a hand on her forehead. Its heat was a shock.
“You have the fever from that fool trip through the marsh,” he said harshly. “You should be in bed.”
Annis raised her face wearily to him.
“I’m not sure I can even get there,” she said dully “My legs hurt so and I don’t think they’ll hold me.”
Gyrfalon picked her up tenderly. Indeed she seemed to have worsened in the last few minutes; and by the time he had carried her to their bed and undressed her she was scarcely conscious. Fragmentary, disjointed phrases came to her lips, including an oft repeated concern that a herb Gyrfalon had no knowledge of should not be used to ease the fever as it was an abortifacient. Gyrfalon gazed down at her helplessly. He knew not what herbs to use, not how to prepare them; for Annis always made fresh doses for the men who had a touch of the ague. And the man Kai who helped her out had not learned enough; and was like enough to panic without the gentle guidance of his mentor.
Annis tossed fretfully and Gyrfalon clenched his fists in frustration. He could see that she was really very ill – maybe ill enough to die. And he did not know what to do.
There was a tug on his cloak. He swung round to the scared face of Lukat.
“Oh my lord, can I help?” said the child.
Gyrfalon was about to deny curtly when he recalled something else Annis recommended for the fevered.
“Yes lad; shalt draw cold water and bathe her face with it to take out the heat in her head,” he told the child “I think that be what is correct.”
“Oh yes my lord, that I can!” said the child, joyful to be able to help. “She will get better, won’t she, lord?”
Gyrfalon looked at him seriously.
“I don’t know, boy,” he said gruffly, “but if there be anything on earth I may do to make her well, I will do it.”
It was hesitantly that Gyrfalon entered the castle chapel, much surprising Father Michael, who was engaged in trimming candles to make them last as economically as possible with a good steady flame. The warlord spoke first.
“I need to speak with your Principal,” he said, peremptorily, “but I’m not sure how to set about it. Annis is ill.”
The little priest was seized by a variety of emotions, primarily shock – at the surprise that Gyrfalon should wish to pray to God and at this sudden illness of the gentle yet iron willed young girl who had wrought so many changes. He crossed himself over the fear for her; and said,
“It’s quite simple, my lord. If you kneel before the altar and just say – or even think – what you want to say to Him, God will hear you; and he will hear all you want to say even an you cannot formulate it in words,” he added kindly.
Gyrfalon nodded; and strode on. Kneeling went against the grain, but he feared so for Annis, too for the loss of the happiness he had just found; knew that he could not bear to lose her.
Long he knelt, trying to bring some coherence to his thoughts; then rose in one fluid movement and strode out, a muttered word of thanks to Father Michael as he went.
That he managed such a courtesy in his distress made Michael smile in pleasure at the warlord’s increased courtesy to his underlings of late.
Annis would be sadly missed an she did not survive.
Michael also knelt and prayed, for his lady and for her lord.
Gyrfalon knew what he had to do; it had come to him as he knelt, and whether it was because of a divine suggestion or whether it was because his thoughts calmed in the quiet chapel Gyrfalon did not know; and he was not prepared to speculate.
He strode to the battlements and jumped up on them, contemptuous of the danger, scornfully knocking aside an almost spent arrow fired by and opportunistic archer.
“FALK!” he bellowed.
Falk was quick to respond; fearing that a flood of vituperation would be the herald that Lady Annis lay dead from Gyrfalon’s wrath over her visit to him.
“What do you want?” demanded Falk suspiciously “Where is the Lady Annis? Did you lose your temper with her, damn you?”
Gyrfalon gave him a pitying look.
“My worthy, but tedious brother. How well my Annis described you thus. I do not intend to bandy words with you like this before all the world. I want to talk to you, my brother – alone. Here in the castle.”
“You must think me stupid if you think I would come within and trust any guarantees of safety that you give,” said Falk in scorn.
Gyrfalon sighed wearily.
“No Falk; stupid is one thing I have never thought you. I am….asking ….. you to come into the castle. It is…. A family matter. I can send out my page, the boy Lukat, as a hostage if you will; into the care of Sir Lyall,” he added. “If Sir Lyall can manage him.”
Falk was more puzzled than ever before. This was not the manner – save the last sharp remark – that he expected of Gyrfalon. There was something almost akin to defeat about his brother; and his tone was diplomatic, almost unwillingly so, the reluctance seeming to argue against it being some trick.
Then something struck Falk.
Gyrfalon had forgotten to put on the helm he rarely wore within the castle to address him; and Falk blinked in amazement as he realised that he was seeing his brother’s face whole and un-maimed! He could not contain an ejaculation of surprise.
“Gyrfalon – your face!”
The warlord’s hand went to the side of his face. He pulled a wry grimace.
“Ah. Yes. It seems I forgot to don mine helmet,” he said dryly. “Well, no matter that you know; I care not. Will you come?”
Falk pursed his lips. There were mutters around him at Gyrfalon’s colossal cheek in so asking, hostage or no; for they had no doubt that the warlord would care little of any hostage. But Falk came to a decision.
“I require no hostage in exchange; open the sally-port. I come.”
Gyrfalon nodded briefly and sprang from the wall lightly; and as Falk walked towards the ca
stle the smaller drawbridge dropped and the little gate in the great iron bound main gate opened.
Gyrfalon greeted Falk tersely.
“Annis is ill,” he said without preamble.
“Ill?” it was almost an accusation, as though Falk thought ‘ill’ to be a euphemism for harm inflicted; as indeed the younger man was half inclined to wonder. Gyrfalon ignored the imputation.
“Marsh fever,” he explained laconically. “Through too well developed a sense of responsibility that she must needs visit you … she is feared in her delirium that one of the herbs she uses commonly is also an abortifacient; that matter not on my men or yours since none of them need fear such effects. But in any case, I do not know enough to medic her,” he stopped and caught Falk’s gaze with two good but anguished eyes. “I need your help,” he said simply.
“And you think that I will give it?”
“To whom does a man in desperation turn if not to his brother? Besides, it is not for me, it is for her. She is the reason, or at least she is the excuse, for your presence here, that without her you had not been. What do you want me to do? Beg? I can do that if I have to. What is pride next to her life?”
Falk stared.
“You have changed, brother,” he said slowly. Gyrfalon shook his head.
“No, not substantially. It is merely that I have put aside much of mine anger and taken up the concept that life be something to be enjoyed, not endured. Freedom from pain has a marvellous effect on a man’s capacity for good humour,” he gave a brief, harsh, mirthless laugh.
“I can scarcely believe it,” marvelled Falk, staring at his brother’s face. “I take it that the Lady Annis has wrought this miracle with her healing arts; yet I understood it were incurable.”
“Not solely her healing arts,” Gyrfalon’s voice was low, intense. “The wound was cursed. It was her love that set me free of the last of the pain, brother, and gave me back mine eye; and perchance her prayers. She has a remarkably good communication with the Almighty. I ... do not. That is why I ask you – beg you – to take her to the nuns. They understand herb lore. And they too must surely be able to invoke your God with prayers that have more effect than mine.”
Falk stared, open mouthed, momentarily lost for words. Then he said,
“Let me see her”.
Gyrfalon nodded; and presently Falk gazed down on the restless, delirious little lady. The assiduous Lukat, who was refusing to cede his place to a hovering Elissa, pulled a face at him and Gyrfalon absently tweaked his ear in admonition.
“Gyrfalon – Gyrfalon!” Annis called; and he was at her side, holding her hand, smoothing the pale hair from her hot brow.
“I am here,” he said softly.
Her hot little hand clung to him, aware of his presence vaguely through the fever dreams.
“Don’t go away,” she begged.
“Not for a little while” he promised “But I must see to our people; you must not fret. And I must send you away to be healed.”
There was a storm of crying at this; and he shushed her gently.
“You will go with Falk; he will take care of you.” he assured her. She pulled a face.
“Don’t want to go with Falk,” she sounded childishly petulant. “Falk doesn’t like you. He’s silly.”
“It’s not important whether he likes me or not,” Gyrfalon said; but the monetary lucidity had gone, and she started tossing again.
Lukat pulled on his cloak.
“Do you trust this Falk fellow?” He asked in a loud whisper.
Gyrfalon knelt and took his shoulders.
“Falk and I have quarrelled over something a long time ago,” he said, “that, both feeling wronged, we have been unable to agree about because neither of us wants to say sorry for something we not think our own fault; for we cannot talk about whose fault it might be without fighting. But he is a man of honour and I trust him utterly to care for Lady Annis as carefully as if she were his own sister, not just his sister-in-law. As I would trust him to care for you if anything were to happen to me; that he is one you might always go to, my boy, even though I tease you that I make you his page as punishment. That were for the cold and wet outside.”
Lukat considered.
“When Lady Annis is better, I will med’y’ate between you until you’ve found out whose fault it really was. Granpa says, most things are six of one and half a dozen of the other in the village.”
Gyrfalon pulled a wry face at Falk.
“Much wisdom from the mouth of a child,” he said dryly. “His grandfather is my reeve and reckoned wise at settling disputes.”
There was a tap at the door.
“Come” called Gyrfalon with some impatience. Father Michael entered hesitantly.
“Lord Gyrfalon, I thought to say a Mass for the recovery of the Lady Annis,” he said. Gyrfalon nodded.
“I will attend presently. She will be going to the Abbey for healing. Perchance you would care to add prayers for a safe journey?”
Father Michael nodded. Falk said quietly,
“I have not said I would take her”.
Gyrfalon’s eyes blazed.
“Then if you will not, I will, and be damned to you. And if your damned troops kill me and hence her, it will be on your head and I hope you will be able to live with yourself!”
“Coward,” said Lukat. “Bet the quarrel was all your fault an’ you too cowardly to say sorry.”
“My Lord Falk!” said Father Michael, shocked.
“Poltroon,” said Elissa. “So much for your fancy words about how the Lady Annis was all your care; that prove a lie then I see. I’ll ride out with you my lord. And so would any of us make sally and die holding up the attackers that you get her to safety.”
Falk stared.
He had always found the loyalty to his brother was such that feared to cross him; but the tone of this woman was such that was assured of the troops’ genuine loyalty, even love, for Gyrfalon! And the boy – that he should be so partisan towards Gyrfalon was astounding!
“I had not,” said Falk, “said that I would not take her; I merely resented the assumption that I would.”
“It is not a time in which I can think in courtesy and save your tender feelings, my brother,” snapped Gyrfalon “Will you take her?”
“Yes; I will. And first I would attend this Mass if I may.”
Gyrfalon shrugged.
“Certainly. It will make a pleasant change for you, after all, you only have Bishops with you who know only how to pray to the god of Wealth and his angels Bribery, Corruption and Self-Righteousness.”
Falk ignored the insult; it was, after all, too much of a wonder to find his brother ready to attend Mass to quibble over what he feared were at lest half-accurate jibes.
Father Michael’s service was simple and moving; and Falk, surprised enough at the number of rough soldiers of the sort that looked as though they would torture their mothers to death, laughing, that attended, was even more surprised at the number openly and unashamedly crying over their little lady’s sickness. A big simple-looking man approached Gyrfalon after the mass, twisting his hands together in an agony of distress.
“Lord, were it my fault?” he asked.
Gyrfalon laid a hand on the big man’s shoulder.
“Nay, Caleb, ‘twas none of your doing. You kept her safe from other dangers. She insisted on going and gave you your orders; and can any of us deny her anything when she’s a mind to it, hmm? Have not my harshest words and threats to her – until I learned to give in gracefully – been ignored when she’s a mind to it? You cannot deny your Lady when she orders you. You have done no wrong. Do not worry; my brother will take her to the nuns; they will care for her.”
The big man gave him a shy half smile and a nod; and left reassured; and Gyrfalon strode away so that the tears held back through the Mass could flow unchecked in private.
“I never thought to see you weep,” Falk touched his brother’s arm.
“It does not do
to let the men see, to let them know how much I fear for her; if I show an optimistic face they will worry less,” said Gyrfalon. “She would not want me to let them down.”
Falk marvelled.
“I wish to go to make arrangements to be away for a few days,” he said, “and reassure my people that I am not dead and dismembered. I will return for the Lady Annis. Though I would wish not to expose her to the curious gaze of all.”
Gyrfalon turned to face his brother.
“Caleb shall bring her by water to your tent, the way she came last night,” he said. “He and I will prove sufficient. Then you can ride with her under darkness. And take my helm; I have had the eye-covering I added removed, the helm is elven and magical, it is the part of the legacy our father forgot.”
“I did not know it was elven, but the workmanship ….”
“It gives the power of Eyes of the Hawk on command; which was useless to me, for I could but feel it pulling at the useless eye, it was agony.” He gave a wry smile. “Who knows but that the elven magic might have had some positive effect on the curse; but it gave me too much pain to think of that. However, it also warns you of sneak attacks from behind, which has saved my life more than once, and may save yours.”
Falk nodded.
“I thank you, and I will be glad if Caleb will bring it. But come not yourself,” he advised. “And advise Caleb that I am also expecting an assassin sent by Marfey with poisoned blade lest he run into him. But it were not well if you too caught the fever, for it would bode ill for your people without your direction to them.”
“Are you not supposed to wish for such?” asked Gyrfalon ironically. Falk shrugged.
“Perchance I should; but it is mine advice anyway as brother to brother; for what it is worth.”
Automatically, Gyrfalon reached out a hand to put on his brother’s shoulder.
“And, my brother, you must see that it is not to scorn you – for I do not – that I must refuse your advice,” he said. “But ‘tis for the love of Annis; she is confused and delirious; my presence may calm her and prevent accident or discovery in the marsh.”
Falconburg Divided (The Falconburg Series Book 1) Page 19
