Page 89 of The Quest for Excalibur
A pregnant silence ensued.
I could see his point. This was an age when the strongest man ruled. He didn’t want to appear weakened in any way. But I could also see Bedwyr’s. The arrow might have come away cleanly and missed anything vital, but that was nonetheless a nasty wound. I licked my lips.
I was saved from having to speak by Cei’s hasty arrival.
“I’ve had the men set up camp in the beechwood here on the brow,” Cei said, gesturing to the woodland behind us. “It’s a bit drier. A few have ridden back to bring what we left behind at the fort. Custennin’s organizing his men to do the same. The prisoners we’ve taken will keep– they’re securely under guard. The survivors have fled, but not that far. Onto the far hill where they can see us, and we can see them. We’ve got both their leaders here in chains, and they don’t look like they want to leave without them.”
Arthur nodded, then winced. “I need to speak with Aelle and whatever their other general… king… commander is called.”
“Octha,” Llacheu said. “Cerdic told me.”
“Not today,” Bedwyr snapped.
Cei nodded. “They can stew overnight. We’ve enough guards to keep them safe. Their runaways won’t dare attack for fear we’ll kill their leaders. I’ve posted lookouts in all directions.”
Arthur grimaced. “As you say.” He glanced at Bedwyr. “Best go and attend to our other wounded. But before you go, do you have any poppy syrup? This burns like a red-hot poker in my shoulder.” He managed an unconvincing chuckle. “Didn’t hurt a bit when it happened.”
Bedwyr took a vial from his bag.
Arthur stretched out his hand, but Bedwyr handed it to me. “Half now, half to get him some sleep tonight. It’s strong stuff. Easy to overdose. You keep it.”
He passed me a cup. “That’s the right size dose for someone his size. No more.”
I measured out the liquid and Arthur swallowed it down greedily, grimacing at the bitterness. I stowed the empty cup and the vial in the small bag that hung from my belt.
“Now,” Cei said, “let’s get you to the woods.”
“On my horse and in clothes,” Arthur said.
Bedwyr heaved a sigh. “On your horse, then. You’re going to regret putting clothes on, though.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Someone had lita fire. Well, quite a few someones had lit fires, taking advantage of the amount of fallen wood within the sheltering trees. And to my relief it had at last stopped raining. The damp woodland twinkled as though a handful of flaming stars had fallen from the now crisp, clear sky, and columns of smoke curled up between the silvery tree trunks to twist between the sweeping branches.
Those men who weren’t on guard duty watching over the prisoners, or on watch around the outskirts of our camp, had gathered around the fires, and an air of conviviality adhered to everyone: the conviviality and relief of still being alive after such a battle; the awareness of life coursing through their veins; the buoyancy of stress departing.
Skins of cider passed from hand to hand, and actual hot food, even if it was just dried meat and onions boiled up in cider, filled the holes in every belly. Fresh meat from any of the dead horses could have made a tasty stew, but that would have been like eating one of their friends. One ofourfriends.
Whether it was forced conviviality, I couldn’t be sure. Perhaps just the determination of warriors not to allow the loss of brothers and comrades to spoil their victory. In the morning they’d be digging graves for our dead and burning the corpses of our lost horses, but tonight they were refusing to think of that.
Arthur had already declared that we’d be leaving the enemy dead for them to deal with themselves.
I sat with my front toasty warm, and my back chilly, as is normal around a fire at the end of autumn, dipping my hard bread into the hot, meaty broth to soften it, then sucking on the soggy pulp. Delicious.
Whatever would my friends say about my diet? They’d wonder how I got by without salad vegetables and fruit in winter. Without potatoes, tomatoes, pumpkins, aubergines, tea, coffee, oranges… the list of things I sometimes missed, and they’d be horrified to do without, had no end. Chocolate. Maybe that most of all. Now I tried to bring that memory to life, I couldn’t remember what it had tasted like. Oh well…
Arthur sat beside me, in a clean undershirt and tunic and with his thick cloak wrapped close around his shoulders. His left arm rested in the sling Bedwyr had insisted he wore.
He’d taken a dish of the stew Gwalchmei had cooked, but most of it still sat in the bowl untouched, and he’d not taken a bite from his bread. Unsurprisingly. Even with the help of the poppy syrup, which I could see was making him sleepy already, he’d have no appetite when in so much pain.
He caught me looking at him and managed a smile. “Not hungry.”
I took the bowl from where he had it cupped awkwardly in his left hand. “Want some help?”
He shook his head. “I’ll have some more of what Bedwyr has in that flask, though.” The strong spirit Bedwyr had given him so he could take the arrow out, distilled from our cider. Like the BretonEau de Vie.
I glanced across at Bedwyr, who shook his head. “Not if you want poppy syrup before you sleep. The two don’t mix well.”
