Page 27 of The Bear's Heart

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But right now, I could do something for the children here.

I turned to Arthur. “We have to feed them.” I put my hand on his arm. “We have to help these children. They’ve got no one. If we don’t help them, they’ll die.”

There was a long silence. All the men were watching and listening.

“Please,” I held his gaze. “For me.”

There were no gains to be made with helping orphan children. No lands to win, no riches. Could I persuade him toward altruism in a time when it might never have existed? I held my breath.

Arthur gave a shrug. “The Queen is softened in her heart by her present condition, and wishes to help this child and any others that might be hiding here. Children with no parents and no one to look after them. I will grant her wish, and we will feed these children.”

There was a general murmur amongst his men, but it was hard to tell if it was in agreement or dissent. Charity, I’d discovered, was not a common trait in the fifth century. The child looked round at them from under her unkempt, and without doubt verminous, thatch of hair, the whites of her eyes showing bright in her grimy face. Had she even understood?

I smiled at her. “Where are your friends? If you have friends, you need to call them because we’re going to feed you. They can come, and we’ll feed them, as well.”

Her lips came together in a thin line of defiance.

I bent down to her level. “Do you understand, Nola? We’re going to feed you all.”

She shook her head. “I dursn’t trust ’ee.” Her voice emerged in a whisper. “I seen soldiers ’ere afore. Them yeller ’airs took me big sister an’ kilt some of us. Thass wot these soldiers’re goin’ ter do ter me.”

“We’re not Yellow Hairs.” I kept my voice gentle and unthreatening. “This is the king. Your king. His soldiers are not like the Yellow Hairs. They don’t kill children.”

Seemingly determined not to believe me, she just shook her head again.

I turned to Arthur. “We need to show her we’re different. We must feed her.”

I put out a hand. “Here, come with me, and I’ll show you we mean you no harm.”

She looked at my hand for a long moment, then with great diffidence, put her own filthy little paw into it. I led her to the fire where some of the smaller lumps of masonry made seats, and we sat down together.

Merlin brought us food, and I gave the little girl a hunk of bread. She set about it like the starving waif she was. Merlin cut her some cold meat and she stuffed that down, too, then took the wineskin of cider I passed her and swallowed a big gulp. Perhaps she’d decided that even if we intended to kill her or kidnap her for a slave, she might as well take advantage of the offered food before fate overtook her.

Arthur came and sat down at the fire, keeping his distance, because she really smelled bad and was probably crawling with lice. He watched her eat. All around us, the camp was springing back into life as the men breakfasted and brushed off their horses, ready to leave. Above the ruins of the city, the rising sun had chased the night away.

Everything we put in front of the girl she ate, until she couldn’t possibly have any room left. And then she ate some more. Beneath her tiny ribcage, her stomach bulged. At last, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and belched in loud appreciation.

I laughed, and she jerked her head up sharply, as though laughter was a sound she’d never heard before. “Better?” I asked. “Do you want to deny your friends the same luxury you’ve had? Go and get them, Nola, and we’ll feed them all.”

She looked across at Arthur, eyes wary, instinctively knowing he was the leader and the one with the final say. He was just finishing his own breakfast, and gave her a friendly nod. “Go on, there’s food enough for all of you. You can come and go as you wish. No one will stop you. But I do suggest you come back. My wife has a mind to help you.”

Nola got to her feet and stood looking at me and Arthur, as though in two minds what to do. No one made a move to hold her. She took a few steps away from us, as if wary that when she moved someone would grab her. The warriors kept on doing their morning chores, most of them ignoring her. She walked through them, stepping with delicate care over their belongings. At the edge of our camp, she broke into a run and disappeared down a dark alley between the remains of the nearest buildings.

“She won’t come back,” Arthur said, getting to his feet. “She’s had a meal and she doesn’t trust us. We won’t see her again. We’d better get our horses saddled.”

I looked around at the ruined city. What sort of place was this for children to live? How could they scratch a living here? And what had brought them to such a fate? I wiped a tear away from the corner of my eye and went to saddle my horse.

But Arthur was wrong. Just as we were preparing to mount up, with dirt kicked over our fire to put it out, Nola returned. And with her came four more scrawny children. The oldest couldn’t have been more than twelve and the youngest barely five. They emerged from behind the columns of the basilica, thin and wan, like dirty little ghosts.

Leaving Alezan, I approached them slowly, aware that any sudden move might make them all turn and run. And if they did that, death could only be around the corner.

“Nola.” I smiled at her in what I hoped was friendly reassurance. “You brought your friends. I’m so glad. We’ve food for all of you. Come.” Turning away from her, I walked back to the dying fire without looking to see if they followed. They did. We found them bread and cold meat and more cider and each one of them ate ravenously, standing near the still hot embers, their pinched little faces beginning to glow from the heat.

It was fully light by the time they’d all finished, and the warriors were growing impatient to be off.

Arthur came to my side and put a hand on my shoulder. “We have to go.”

I looked at the five children, who were holding their thin hands out to the fire to warm them. “We can’t just leave them.”