Page 98 of The Road to Avalon
He shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do for a chest injury like this.”
Panic seized me. “But you haven’t even bloody well looked at it.”
“I don’t need to– the blood tells me how he’s been injured, and I can feel the ribs moving. And this break on his leg is bleeding. Infection will get in and I’ll have no way of stopping it.”
An icy hand closed around my heart. “No,” I said. “That can’t be. He can’tdiefrom broken ribs and a broken leg. Hecan’t.”
Bedwyr sucked in his lips. “Many die from lesser injuries than these.”
I shook my head. “No. They don’t. Not where I come from.” I wouldn’t let him die. I couldn’t. I had to do something. But what? I stared about myself in panic for a few moments, desperately trying to order my thoughts.
There was only one thing left that I could try.
But before I did anything, I had to look at his broken leg. I had to sort it out or he could lose it. I’d seen enough hospital soap operas to know that losing circulation with a bad break like this could cost the patient his leg. Years ago, I’d done an extensive first aid course with the library, but nothing had prepared me for this.
I grabbed Bedwyr’s hand. “Cut his braccae open and let me see the leg.”
He gave me an odd look.
“Now,” I said. “Or I’ll do it. And someone get his boot off.”
Theodoric eased the boot off. Arthur made no response, but at least his chest still rose and fell, albeit scarcely, as he breathed. I could see why Bedwyr had hesitated with the poppy syrup.
Bedwyr didn’t need telling twice. There on the battlefield, with the dead all around us and the buzzards settling on the bodies, he slit Arthur’s braccae from hip to heel. He’d been right in his assumption. The ends of bone stuck out of the flesh of Arthur’s lower leg, and his thigh was twisted as though that were broken as well. The flesh was already coloring with angry bruising.
Wasn’t that a bad thing too? Weren’t there a lot of blood vessels in the thigh? I’d worry about that later. I had other more pressing injuries to cope with.
“We have to straighten his leg,” I said. “Get the bones back into position.”
Bedwyr’s eyes widened. “Why? We can’t save him.”
“Yes, we can,” I retorted. “You watch me.” I’d seen this done on TV a good few times– why not try it myself? What had I got to lose? Bedwyr said he was going to die anyway. “You hold his hips still.”
With Bedwyr steadying his torso, and a circle of anxious faces watching, I took hold of Arthur’s foot, and pulled. Not hard enough. I needed more power. I tried again, terrified I was hurting him, but his eyes remained closed. The tip of the bone moved. I pulled harder still. It slid back inside the jaggedly torn flesh. At least his braccae had kept the visible dirt out.
“Splints,” I shouted at my audience. “Fetch me some of those spear shafts. I have to make sure the bones don’t shift again when we move him.” I glared up at Bedwyr. “Send someone for a wagon and a stretcher to lay him on. Something solid that won’t move. We should jolt him as little as possible. And blankets. Lots of blankets. And send someone to the Lake Village for a guide who can show us the track through the marshes. I’m taking the wagon to Ynys Witrin.”
“To the abbey?” Cei asked. “Do they have a good healer at Ynys Witrin?”
I nodded, determination giving me strength. “An excellent one.”If only.
Chapter Forty
On the plainbelow Din Cadan, surrounded by a sea of death, I knelt beside my semi-conscious husband and tried to steady my nerves with a few deep breaths.
I’d told him he couldn’t die. He couldn’t. He had to live.
I raised my eyes and fixed them on Cei, where he sat by Arthur’s head. His face had gone as ashy pale as his brother’s. With deliberate determination, I blocked out all but his strained face, the crowd around us melting into blurred obscurity.
Cei returned my gaze, his blue eyes brim full of pain.
My fingers touched Arthur’s cheek. Clammy with icy perspiration.
Keep breathing. Don’t die.
After an eternity, someone brought the spear shafts I’d asked for. My hands shook too much to take them.
Bedwyr saw. Without being asked, he tore Arthur’s leather braccae into strips and bound the spears to his mangled leg with steady, practiced fingers.
