Page 24 of The Dragon Ring
I looked back down at the blood encrusted bandage, racking my brains as to what I should do.
On the far side of the table, Cei sat down with a thud. A big hand went up to push his mane of thick red hair out of his eyes, and he fixed me with a hard stare. Unnerved, I turned my attention back to Arthur.
“How did you get this wound?” I asked, to fill the silence that had fallen in the Hall.
Arthur pulled a face, and for a moment I had a glimpse of the boy he might have been not so long ago. “Fighting, of course. It’s a knife cut, that’s all. It’s nothing.”
“We’ll see about that.” I began to work at the tight knot Bedwyr had made of the ends of the bandage. It was matted with dried blood and determined not to be undone.
Silently, Cei drew out a long, sharp knife and laid it on the table. The blade glimmered in the torchlight as he shunted it across the table toward me. I picked it up and slipped it under the knot. It sliced through the rough material like a Samurai sword through silk. Hurriedly, I laid it down again.
“So, you’re the woman with the dragon ring,” Arthur said. “The woman Merlin wants me to marry.”
I stopped picking at the bandage and looked up at him. “I suppose so.” How to tell him without offense that I had no intention of becoming anyone’s wife?
“To fulfill some old prophecy.” His tone was sardonic.
He didn’t sound like he believed in prophecies any more than I did. My hopes, which had hit rock bottom as soon as I’d seen him and his men ride through the fortress gates, began to rise at last. “That’s what he told me.”
He looked troubled, as though wrestling with some inner torment. However, I didn’t get to find out what, because just then Merlin came back in with a bowl of hot water and the clean cloths I’d asked for. He was closely followed by Cottia carrying an earthenware bottle and a jar.
Arthur stiffened, and a frown of annoyance furrowed his brow.
Cottia, bustling like a mother hen, set the bottle down on the table and approached Arthur as though ready to clutch him to her ample bosom. He held up his good hand to stop her.
“Ye’re hurt.” Her voice was accusing, as though he’d injured himself on purpose.
He shook his head. I could feel his annoyance. “It’s nothing.”
Her face contorted as though she wanted to say more but didn’t dare.
Instead, she turned on me. “What’re ye doing? D’ye have the skills of an ’ealer?” She looked at Merlin for support. “Send for Tinwaun. Don’t let ’er touch ’im. Tis best to use our own ’ealer. None of us know what she might do. None of us do know ’er.” She was into her stride. “Corwyn from Ynys Witrin thought she were a Yellow ’air spy and what’d be better for ’em than if she were to poison our Prince? Or she may ’ave been sent by Prince Cadwy. That’s more like to be the truth of it.”
So much for her wanting me to be “her Arthur’s” bride.
The last bit was addressed to Arthur, who gave an impatient sigh and pointed an angry finger at her. “Be quiet, woman. Why will no one listen to me? It’s just a scratch, that’s all. Bedwyr already treated it.”
Cottia looked very much as though the last thing she wanted to be was quiet. She set her hands on her wide hips and glared at Arthur and Merlin. They both ignored her.
Cei, also ignoring her, had uncorked the bottle, so I picked it up and took a sniff. It smelled like whisky, which I didn’t like, but I needed Dutch courage, so I took a swig of it to make sure it was strong enough. I swilled it round my teeth and swallowed. A fiery path burnt its way down to my stomach. It was definitely strong enough, plus it calmed my nerves. After all, it wasn’t as if I dealt with battle wounds on a regular basis in the library.
Taking Arthur’s hand, I put it into the bowl of warm water to soak.
“Tell me if it hurts.” I worked at the softening bandages, peeling them off as gently as possible. The water darkened with blood. “What happened?”
“A Saxon warrior. He came off worse than I did, though.” He reached for where his sword belt lay and drew a vicious looking short-bladed knife from a tooled leather scabbard. “I have his knife here. He has no more use for it.”
A dead man’s knife. Could that make this any more real? No, it was still like a bad dream.
The softened bandages came away in the water with a mess of bloody sage leaves, revealing a nasty gash across the back of his hand. With a fresh cloth, I dabbed away the congealed blood until I could see the wound properly. The edges looked clean and infection-free, but it was gaping and needed stitching.
“When did you get this?”
“Yesterday. We followed sightings of Saxon raiders along the coast from Caer Durnac. They didn’t attack the town because they only had the two keels. Eighty men at most. Less than half that now.”
“Forty less south coast raiders is forty less to fight against in the East,” Merlin said.
I lifted Arthur’s hand out of the water and laid it on a clean cloth to dry, gently dabbing at it with a corner. “You see how wide this cut is. It needs stitching to hold it together or it’ll never heal properly. We’ll need another bowl and a needle and strong thread.” And scissors. Would they have scissors, or even know what they were? I had no idea. I’d have to use Cei’s knife, still lying on the table beside me.
