Page 3 of The Splendor of Fire
Snapping her fingers, she motioned to the rush mat. Father nodded. “I’ll take legs, you take arms. On three. One, two. Three.”
Tightening her stomach muscles, she bent at her knees and lifted the man upward by his arms a few inches. A raw scream rent the air and echoed the man’s agony and imprisonment around the tiny stone cell. Her heart broke against her chest, and she wished with all her heart that they were safely at Father’s cottage where she could provide him some comfort.
Nestling him against the mat, she knelt and examined him, unable to stop herself from running a hand over his noble brow, his tangled hair, his solid neck. He had a tear to the scalp. Her fingers probed his face. Bruises yellowed along his jaw and purpled under his eye, but they were healing, and nothing felt broken. His bottom lip was split, his nose caked with blood. Her fingers worked the ties of his cuirass and tunic, but the leather would not budge.
Father tsked. “You’ll have to cut it.” She nodded, already searching through her basket for her sharpest blade. Regretting the damage to the expensive armor and fine linen, she ripped upwards, slicing open the luxurious cloth and leather straps. Her hands moved under the armor, traveling up the bare muscles of his stomach, and over his broad shoulders, pulling it free where it stuck to his thick arm. He whimpered, the double crease above his right eyebrow drawing down in concern.
“I’ll take it.” Father held out his hands and received the heavy leather armor. “We’ll take it home and restore it.”
The mass of dried blood concentrated at the prisoner’s left shoulder trickled afresh where the scab had been ripped away. The wound wasthe size of a gold coin, and the skin surrounding it was swollen and hot. Sweat beaded at his forehead, but he shivered.
Moira gestured in toward her body and shook her hand back and forth.
Father repeated the word she was trying to communicate. “Fever.”
She nodded. Her hands felt along his body but found no other wounds. What happened to him?
“Unnnnnngh.”
Returning to the shoulder wound, she tilted him on his side. The wound went clean through but was blocked at the front and back. Propping the man on his good shoulder, she motioned Father down to him. Without saying a word, he held the man still.
After passing her knife through the fire as Maw had taught her, she poised it over the red mass. Her fingers felt along the hardened red flesh, purulent white shooting beneath the skin before growing red again.An abscess.
Hands steady, she plunged the blade down into the center of the wound. His body jerked and he cried out, but Father held him steady. Catching a river of sickness from the wound with fresh linen, she moved her fingers gently back and forth over the area until everything had drained from the front of his shoulder.
Tight as a bowstring, he jumped as she moved to his back. Sorry to cause him further discomfort, but certain it must be done, she sank her blade into the back of the wound. He howled in pain, sickness rushing out from where it had been trapped.Always better out than in, as Maw said.
Groaning in agony, he shuddered, but Father held him still. “I ken, lad. It’s a horrible wound.”
When it ceased draining, she searched in Maw’s basket finding a cake of soap and the jar. Father brought forth the bucket of water that rested in the corner. Lathering the soap in her hands, she glided them over his shoulder, then rinsed it. Satisfied, she unwrapped a length of clean linen and eased him down on it.
Inclining her head toward the bandage, Father got her message and stepped over him, taking the ends of the linen strip and holding them away from the dirty floor. The man groaned again as sherepeated the cleansing process over the front of the wound. When it dried, she upended the jar over it, sending her maggot friends into the open wound. The man squirmed and his hand came to his shoulder to swipe them away.
Grabbing his large hands, she tightened her grip, wishing she could give him audible instructions. He struggled against her for several seconds, but when the last maggot disappeared inside the wound, he stilled, his arms relaxing at his sides. She took a steadying breath and washed her hands in the bucket before taking the cloth from Father, tightly wrapping the wound.
Father waved her away. “I’ll wash the lower half, then you can finish the upper half.” She nodded and turned away from him, setting the cauldron in the flame and emptying a jar of broth into its dark bowl. The man groaned and she could hear the sounds of splashing behind her.
A smile tilted her mouth.Poor man.Father always had been the more stringent bather between her two parents, scrubbing her hair down to her brain with enthusiasm. Always saying,“Got tae scrub the wee beasties away.” Father grunted his oft-repeated phrase as if he could hear her thoughts. The man groaned in response. After a few minutes of scrubbing and movement, Father spoke. “All right, he’s decent.”
A soundless laugh shook her as she caught sight of the battered, but now clean, prisoner. The man was at least a foot taller than Father, and the borrowed hose only covered to the man’s calves, still pink from scrubbing. Father pulled a blanket from his bag and covered the man’s lower half, tucking it around his feet. “Poor soul. He looks like Finn McCool?1 stuffed inside leprechaun hose.”
They looked at each other, then burst into chortles. No doubt the man would rather be dead than wear such a thing in his everyday life, but at least the hose were clean and fresh.
Father picked up the man’s soiled clothes and knocked on the door. A panel slid over in the door and the guard’s two green eyes looked back at him from the other side. “Can you take these clothes and armor and throw them in our skiff at the boat slip? They’re making the room reek.”
The guard’s eyes rolled. “I’m nae touchin’ that. Do it yourself.”
The door opened and Father hesitated, looking at her and theunconscious man at her feet. “I suppose I’ll be right back. Will you be all right here for a few minutes, Birdy-lass?”
Moira nodded, certain even if the man was awake and threatening her, she could easily overpower him in his current condition.
Father motioned to the guard. “Could you keep the slat open and an ear out for my daughter?”
The guard grunted but did as Father asked, leaving the slat open as the door pulled shut.
Beside Moira the man lay senseless.
Kneeling, she continued her task, cupping handfuls of water and wetting his chest, arms, and neck. He whimpered as the cold water splashed over his skin. She warmed lather between her hands before she touched him again, then glided them over his firm chest, arms, and hands.Come on, stubborn man…relax. I’ll not harm you.
