Page 66 of Warrior Queen
Thank you for that.
I strained my eyes. What post? Oh, that tiny matchstick on the far side of the furthest marshy bits on the other side of something resembling the mouth of the River Amazon in spate. Easy.Not.
Little waves, caused by current and the wind, rippled the surface of the murky water stretching away in front of me. Alezan skittered sideways, not liking the slippery weed under her unshod feet, and I tightened my reins, my heart thudding, which only made her skitter more, tossing her head and snorting.
Maybe I could ride on Arthur’s horse, my arms wrapped tightly around his waist, my eyes just as tightly shut. Or maybe not. How would that look to the men? I was their luck. I couldn’t show my fear… my absolute terror. If they could be brave in the face of hordes of savage Saxons, then surely, I could be brave in the face of an expanse of water…
The causeway rose a good two feet higher than the surrounding marshes, on a typical Roman agger, and no doubt was the same all the way across. If Alezan were to shy sideways when we were in the water, and fall off it, mid-stream, I’d be washed away. As our horses splashed into the river, I edged her up beside Arthur, pressing close for comfort and security. No shame in being afraid. I just had to make a huge effort not to show it to the men.
Arthur glanced at me, his face suddenly sympathetic, much more the Arthur I loved than he had been for days. “I know you don’t like it, but it’s far better than the alternative. Days fighting our way through marshland. Mosquitoes, mud, impassable tracks.”
I forced myself to smile and nod, although the lure of some mud and a plague of mosquitoes seemed undeniably attractive right at that moment. Far better than a mile of water that might be deeper than we thought.
Back in my old world, I’d once ridden a horse that hated getting its feet wet and refused point blank to enter water, even puddles. Alezan had no such reservations. Half of me wished she had, then I’d have had to go the other way, or ride clinging onto Arthur. But she must have been well used to water by now. For myself, I was heartily fed up with all the precarious river crossings we had to make to get about Britain. Tarmacked roads and nice solid bridges had never looked so appealing.
Trying to breathe more slowly, I ploughed on into the river.
The tide must be about to turn by now, with that few minutes of slack water just before it happens stilling the small waves. We were about a quarter of the way across, splashing up a storm behind ourselves, the water now nearly reaching my feet. Could it get deeper? The impulse to turn Alezan and head back to the shore and the nice safe marshlands grew ever stronger.
Arthur reached out a hand and covered mine, as though he’d read my mind. “It’s safe. I’ve been this way before with my father, when I was a boy. Stop worrying.”
His touch did a little to steady my heart rate, but nothing to lessen the sweat springing out all over me. “I know,” I managed, between gritted teeth. “I can’t help imagining the worst.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you. Stay this side of me.” He looked over his shoulder at Merlin. “Can you come up here and ride on the other side of Gwen? We need to keep her safe.”
Merlin urged his horse forward, splashing my legs as it came, and pulled in so I was jammed between them in a comforting horse sandwich. That did make me feel a little safer, but my anxiety transferred itself to them, primarily to Arthur, riding on my left, the most dangerous side. Now I needed to worry about him riding off the edge of the causeway by mistake, instead of me. Not helped by being unable to see the bottom thanks to the murky water, and only having that tiny and very distant post to aim for.
We splashed onward. No going back now, as the tide began to flow upriver, lapping at the tops of our horses’ legs disquietingly.
“We’ll be across soon,” Arthur said, one hand still on mine, the other keeping his horse pressed up against grumpy Alezan’s side. The bad-tempered baggage wasn’t enjoying being the filling in their sandwich.
Arthur jerked his chin toward the far side. “Once the Romans had a harbor here, but I don’t know what goods passed through it. You can see the remains at low tide, poking through the silt.”
I tried to concentrate on his touch and what he was saying as the water lapped over my booted feet. Alezan, however, seemed unmoved by being asked to virtually go to sea.
“Ships used to come in here from the Middle Sea,” Arthur went on, clearly determined to distract me as best he could. “I never saw them, of course, and neither did my father. He wasn’t brought up here in Britain. Over the sea in Armorica. I believe they still have Roman ports over there. Unlike up here. Too many Saxon pirates roaming the waves this far north.” He laughed, but it was forced, as though he thought that if he sounded happy, I might be convinced this was a safe undertaking. I wasn’t.
I’d been staring steadfastly ahead, eyes fixed on that tiny post, but now I dared a quick glance to my left, over Arthur and his horse, at the vast stretch of the River Humber heading out to sea, small wavelets rolling toward us as the salty tide came in. Bad idea. I whipped my head around, back to that still faraway wooden post, mouth and lips paper dry.
Slowly, oh so slowly, the post drew nearer. At last, the paved causeway appeared, leading out of the water and across the mudflats on the south shore of the estuary. Beyond the flats, tall marshland grasses waved their feathery heads in mocking welcome. The water depth lessened. Alezan was now only knee deep in the brackish water, and it was possible to spot the paving stones under her feet, large and flat, that long-ago legionaries had somehow laid.
At last, we emerged on the south side of the river, without having had a single man washed away, and followed the roadway up a gentle slope into the marshes.
Where the land became drier, we came to a cluster of low, weed-infested stone ruins surrounded by a grassy bank. Small brown sheep grazing there scattered as we approached, and a young boy ran after them with a shaggy dog at his heels.
“My father told me this was once the town the harbor served,” Arthur said, with a grin, possibly of relief that we’d all made it across unscathed. “We’ll make camp here, as I did in my boyhood, and set lookouts to watch the river, in case some foolish Saxon dares to set his sail in this direction.” It sounded as though he hoped they would. Maybe he was itching for another fight. Maybe all those losses only made men yearn for revenge.
I dismounted, glad to have my feet on dry land, and Alezan rubbed her head against me. Maybe she felt the same way, despite her bravado and annoying skittishness.
Arthur jumped down from his new horse and threw an arm around my shoulders. “My brave warrior queen.”
Now I was on dry land, the terrors of the river crossing had receded. I chuckled. “I’m never doing that again, warrior queen or not. If you want to come this way in the future, you’ll be coming on your own.”
He pulled me into a clumsy one-armed embrace. “That’s the idea. You’re supposed to stay at home, not come trailing after me like some camp follower.”
What a good thing I loved him, because that remark deserved a slap. Instead, I took my revenge by pressing myself against him and sliding my hand down to his braccae in the most provocative way I could, hidden from the view of anyone else because of the way he was holding me.
He caught his breath, as well he might, and looked down at me with a quizzical frown on his face. I grinned back up at him, and gave him another squeeze. That’d teach him to call me a camp follower– and leave him frustrated.
