They had found the little donkey snuffling around the undergrowth, looking for something to eat. Bethany had leaned down, snagged the lead, and tied it to Éimhin’s saddle. As much as she wanted to save the warhorse, she sensed the knight just might need to lean on her before too long. The wound was still weeping, and he had already lost too much blood.
“I can last a little longer. The sun is setting. We’ll have to stop soon anyway. Just a little farther.”
Bethany didn’t argue. There was too much turmoil in her own mind to think of an argument. She had run. He had saved her, and now he was hurt. What had she been thinking? This was all her fault.
“Sir Caldry,” she said as they rode on. If she waited until she was facing him, she’d never get the words out.
“Yes,” he sighed.
“I’m sorry I ran. I’m sorry I got you hurt.” She paused. “And thank you for coming to find me.”
“You’re welcome.”
They lapsed back into silence, but for the first time it didn’t feel strained or awkward. They rode on at a steady pace until the sun dipped behind the tall trees. Finally, Bethany felt she had to speak up again.
“We need to stop, Sir Caldry. I need to see to that leg.”
She felt, rather than saw, him nod weakly. Finally, he took up the reins that had slipped from his fingers and pulled Éimhin to a stop in a small clearing. As the day had worn on, Bethany had noticed a change in the scenery. Not only were the piles of un-melted snow growing smaller and less frequent, the trees were also thinning, while the undergrowth was growing thicker; dense swaths of wild berry bushes and ferns blocked their way on both sides of the clearing. They were now traveling on what must have been a game trail.
Bethany slipped off the tall horse, bracing herself for the jarring her feet would take. She was surprised by the softness of her landing and looked down to see that her feet were clad in leather boots. She could still feel the cloth bindings wrapped around her feet, providing extra warmth and making her small feet large enough to keep the boots on. It was a little awkward to walk in the boots, but she quickly admitted to herself that this was a far cry better than cloth and burlap.
The princess placed a hand on the knight’s back as he climb off the horse, grunting at the impact. Then, without invitation, she slipped under his arm and helped support him to the nearest tree trunk, where he slid to the ground. She knelt beside him and began pulling the soiled cloth away from the wound. The light was quickly fading and she squinted to see the wound.
“We shouldn’t have waited so long to stop,” she grumbled.
“I’ll be fine. Tend to the animals first.”
“No! I can barely see as it is. I wait any longer and I won’t be able to see what I’m doing at all,” she said in her healer voice.
Bethany worried the command in her voice would put the knight on edge, but when she glanced up at his face, she spotted the corners of his mouth tweaking upwards, as though he was fighting the effects of a smile.
“A fire will help,” he murmured.
“That I’ll do. Keep the pressure on it.”
Bethany did her best to be fast, but it took her a number of minutes to find enough dry wood, pile it just right, and get the wood lit. When it was finally lit, the distant sun was nearing the horizon. Between the glowing sunset and the fire, she could see well enough to tend his wound. It was a shallow cut, but long enough to be reopened every time he moved.
“I’m going to search for the right plants while I still have the light.”
“Don’t go far.”
She rooted around in the thick vegetation, receiving a number of scrapes and cuts from the numerous blackberry bushes she discovered. Finally, she stumbled upon a plant that looked similar to something her mother had taught her about; she had never used it herself. Her mother described it as something used by soldiers and travelers as bandages when linen wasn’t available. Bethany felt a tinge of disquiet. What if this was the wrong plant? What if it was poisonous?
She bruised the leaf and touched it to her tongue. To her amazement, her tongue went numb. She gathered up a few more of the large, green leaves. If it was poisonous she would know about it by the time she got back to the camp.
Nearly a half an hour later she stumbled back on the camp, still alive, her tongue feeling normal again.
“Where have you been?” the knight demanded.
“Took me longer than I expected to find the right leaves.”
Bethany knelt beside him and began packing the leaves into the slit in his trousers, allowing the tight leather of his pants to act as the pressure dressing. She couldn’t help but smile as the knight sighed with relief. She had gathered up a large supply of the leaves, knowing they would be beneficial in the days and miles ahead.
With a sigh of utter exhaustion, she climbed back to her feet and began taking care of the horse and donkey. By the time that task was finished, the sun had set. She slumped back to the ground next to the knight, covering their legs with the blanket and fishing out their meager supplies.
“What’s this?” she asked, pulling a leather pouch out of the saddle bag.
“Barley gruel. Tastes like horse shit, but it’ll keep you going.”
Bethany sniffed it experimentally and cringed before taking a small sip. “I hope it’s worth it,” she said once she could talk again.
“It will be.”
They lapsed back into silence for a few minutes, Sir Caldry gnawing slowly on the last piece of jerked beef while Bethany stared down at the leather pouch.
“I…” she began. A sudden lump formed in her throat, making it impossible to talk.
The knight glanced at her blotchy face before returning his focus on his food. Bethany felt a wave of gratitude toward the silent man. He wasn’t going to force her to say anything she didn’t want to say. Bethany swallowed the lump, tightened her gut until the butterflies were smothered, and forced herself to say the words.
“I was raped.”
The very words hurt her throat, as though they were made of acid and bile.
Sir Caldry didn’t look at her, keeping his focus on his food. He did nod though, and she took it as encouragement to continue.
“And it almost happened again.”
The memory of the men pulling her toward the cover of the undergrowth brought the butterflies back, bouncing around her empty stomach.
“I… I don’t want to be in that situation again.”
That statement brought a guarded look from the knight.
“I can’t promise you that we won’t run into more men like that.”
“I know,” she said, her heart in her throat. “But I don’t want to be helpless the next time it happens.”
“Meaning?”
“Will you teach me to defend myself?”
The knight hesitated, and Bethany held her breath. Words rose up to her mouth, but she bit her tongue. She had said her wish and more words wouldn’t help her case. She knew the knight was a man of little words, and her letting her mouth run away without her wouldn’t help the situation.
“We’ll have to get more meat on your bones,” he finally said, running a knowing eye over her skeletal frame and the sweater that hung from her shoulders.
Their week in the freezing mountains had cost her precious weight. Bethany felt a smile pull her lips upward. She knew this was his way of saying “yes.”
“And it won’t be easy. You think you’re tired now? Add training each evening and you’ll be dog tired.”
“I can do it,” she said, forcing the words out pass the lump in her throat.
“I’ll agree to this under one condition.”
Bethany stared him straight in the eye, determined not to be frightened by the man who had been scaring her for the last seven months.
“I tell you what to do, and you do it. Even if you don’t understand it. Rule number one to being a good soldier…”
“Follow orders,” she said, finishing his sentence. “My f
a…my father used to say that to my brothers.”
“Smart man,” murmured the knight before leaning his head back against the tree.
Bethany pulled the blanket up over the knight’s body and looked out over their little camp. It was time to pull her weight, and it was time to stop complaining. If today taught her nothing else, it taught her just what a mess they were in. Hundreds of miles left to go, no food, nearly no money, and a wounded knight. She had to be strong now if she was ever going to make it back to her mother.
I can be strong, she told herself.
Cal sat against a tree, his injured leg stretched out in front of him, watching the princess work. It had been two days since the attack and he had already seen a change in her. She no longer complained about her work, even going so far as to doing things before he asked. Was this all due to the scare she took, or did she hope to impress him?
He hadn’t started training her yet. She wasn’t eating enough at present to do more than survive. Once they got more food and she gained a little weight, they would begin. Would she start complaining then? Something in her change made him think she would work hard, harder than she had thus far.
The princess also seemed more sure of herself, as though the attack had given her a resolve. Not only a resolve to learn to defend herself, but also a resolve to not let the rape define her. Her hands and fingers were more stable as she saddled Éimhin; her mind better able to focus.
“Time to get moving?” he asked as she piled the last of their meager supplies into the saddle bags.
She just nodded as she came to his side and offered her hand to him. He waved it off.
“I’d just pull you down with me,” he grunted as he carefully climbed to his feet without assistance.
Cal felt old as he used a downed log to mount his horse, much like Bethany had done after the attack. She insisted he go easy on his leg, giving it time to heal properly. They had had a long argument about it the morning after the attack, but she had won. The idea of her fired up, her hands on her bony hips, brought a smile to his face.
“In the area of healing, I’m the teacher. You do as I say!” she had said, and he had conceded her point.
Cal forced his lips down into his habitual glower as he mounted his horse. It wouldn’t do to have her seeing him smile. She was his squire now, in a sense, and masters don’t smile at their squires.
Without complaint, the princess mounted her ridiculous little donkey and followed him. He could only imagine how sore her bony backside was, riding on the backbone of an animal that had no real gate to speak of it. Every step was a bounce or a jostle.
They had camped outside a small village, the first since descending from the mountain region of Tolad. Here, with their meager coin, he hoped to buy a few more provisions. He would sell the weapons they had gotten off the men, saving one short sword for the princess for when she was ready.
“We need to go into the village,” he announced a few minutes after they had left their camp behind.
“We-e-e?” she asked from her place on her donkey, the animal’s gate jarring the words from her lips.
“Yes.”
“Bu-u-ut yo-o-o…”
“That’s the trick of it. What do you suggest?”
“Mu-u-ud?”
“Could do.”
“The-e hoo-od of yo-o-our cloa-ak.”
Cal tried to keep a smile from his lips, but was only half successful.
“We’ll do a little bit of everything. I’m not too worried. We’re nearly into Domhain lands. Even if posters have been spread, the people here won’t be quick to give us over, unless the reward is steep. I doubt Wolfric has resorted to giving up good gold for us.”
They rode on for another hour before he directed them into a small coppice, heavily shrouded by blackberry bushes growing up the trunks of the trees. Cal dismounted, ignoring the princess’ glower as the movement pulled on his healing wound. He pulled out his dagger and began hacking away at the blackberry bushes, receiving more cuts and scrapes for his effort. Finally, he had cleared a narrow space. He backed Éimhin into the little space and loosely tied the lead to a nearby tree.
“Off that beast,” he ordered as he began to remove his leather tabard.
The princess obeyed, tying the donkey to a tree and coming to his side.
“I’ll need your help with the chainmail. Pull it up over my head,” he added as he leaned down.
She grabbed the collar of his chainmail and heaved with all her might. It slipped off him, the momentum sending her to the ground. Cal pulled the chainmail off her and dumped it into saddle bag, followed by his leather tabard and the padded gambeson which protected his flesh from the chainmail.
In nothing but his trousers and tunic, he felt the damp cold. It wasn’t as bad as in the mountain. Domhain held a different kind of cold. It was all wet and mud, but it was familiar to him. He had grown up less than fifty miles from where they now stood.
But that was the past.
“Off with the sweater and the jerkin. And the boots I think. Sorry, but a poor farmer stuck with an unmarried sister wouldn’t spend money on her for such luxuries as boots.”
To his intense relief, she didn’t argue, but pulled off the garments and stored them in the other saddle bag.
“Now it’s time to roll in the mud.”
“What?” she asked.
Cal thought it was more out of surprise than rebellion.
“We have to look as bedraggled as that donkey.”
The princess made a face, her eyes flicking to where the donkey stood trying to gnaw on the dead leaves of the blackberry bush, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she knelt down and began smearing mud on her face and tunic. Cal followed his own advice and began to cover himself in mud. They finished their disguises, making sure neither of them looked too muddy. They needed to look travel-warn, not as though they were living, eating, and sleeping in the muck.
Cal even went so far as to have her “clean” her face. He dribbled the tiniest bit of water into her hands, which she used to try to remove the mud she had just smeared across her features. The result was almost comical. The mud was moved around into streaks, most of it shifted toward her ears and chin.
“Now, little princess, today, you are my sister.”
Her eyes grew wide.
“Would you rather be my wife?”
“Sister will do, thank you very much.”
“Don’t forget, poor, uneducated sister.”
“I went undetected as a slave for five months,” Bethany said flatly.
Cal nodded once before transferring the bundle of weapons to the donkey’s back and the coins to the small satchel on his belt. Finally, he took the lead to the donkey and led them out of their hiding place.
“What about Éimhin?” she asked as they wound their way through the underbrush toward the road.
“I doubt anyone will find him, but if they do, he won’t go without a fight.”
They walked in silence for a number of miles, finally reaching the main road. By this time, the princess was limping from stubbed toes and bruised soles, but she didn’t complain. The road was just as muddy as the forest, but with fewer stones and sticks for her to step on.
By the time the little village came into view, Cal was feeling the pull on his wounded leg and limping himself. They were a pathetic pair as they entered the village. Even the donkey, flecked with fresh mud from their feet, looked tired and cranky.
The village was of decent size, with three main avenues lined with houses and businesses. Surrounding the village lay a number of small sheep farms. Sheep were the primary resource of the Domhain people. Water from the recent rains dripped off the eves of the buildings and formed large puddles in the road. Women picked up their skirts and used the large stones placed along the buildings to keep their feet out of the mud. It seemed a little late for him and the princess to take such precautions.
On the third street they found an arms dealer.
“Sta
y ‘ere,” Cal barked, tossing the lead to the princess and grabbing the bundle off the donkey’s back.
He trudged into the little shop, leaving a trail of mud behind him.
“What can I be doin’ for you?” asked the shop keeper.
The store was lined with small bits of worn armor and weapons, mostly left over from the war with Tolad. Cal glanced around, quickly realizing there was nothing better than the sword he had left with Éimhin, though he did spot one old long bow and a quiver half full of arrows.
“Got a few swords, here,” he dumped the bundle on the counter. “Wantin’ to sell ‘em.”
“Where’d you get them?” asked the plump shop keeper.
“Mah da left ‘em to me. Don’t know why he thought I’d need ‘em. But I finally want rid of ‘em.”
“Let me see…”
They haggled over prices, finally shaking hands on a deal. Cal walked away, bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, grumbling under his breath as he fingered the leftover coins. He hadn’t gotten as much as he had wanted, but more than he had expected. Still, he would rather the shop keeper think he’d gotten a good deal out of the bargain. Cal had spotted the other man’s eyes flicker to his scar a number of times. He wasn’t sure if it was curiosity or a warrant that motivated his interest.
Cal found the princess standing by the donkey, the rain falling once again. She looked even more pathetic as her hair pressed against her face and back, weighted by the water, and her wet shirt revealed just how skinny she was.
“C’mon, then,” he barked, turning down the street and leaving her to lead the donkey.
They weaved back through the town, finding a disheveled shop on a side street. He had seen a more reputable one on their way into the village, but this one was less likely to ask questions. In all likelihood, they would sell him anything so long as he had gold in his pocket.
“Can I come in?” the princess asked as she tied the donkey to the leaning post which held up the leaking awning, her eyes cast down like an out-of-favor sister should.
“Yah,” he grunted as he stepped into the little shop.
The light was low, making it hard to see the goods the shop had to offer. Cal waited in the entry way for his eyes to adjust, leaving the princess out in the cold. It was what an older brother would do. When his eyes had grown accustomed to the low light, he marched forward. From the ceiling hung a side of beef, nearing its turning point. It made the whole shop smell. Then again, the smell could have been coming from many of the other older items.
The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy Page 40
