“Warrior, I fear you misplace your faith where it will find no shelter. No kin of mine ever boasted of such skills, and no one suspected me of them. Even Steffa, who saw my warrior’s soul, never mentioned such skills as these.”
“Then leave it to me alone to believe in them, young comrade. I’ll never say you made any such boast. As soon as this fever leaves me, we’ll set off towards those eastern hills, where all talk has it Querig has her lair, and I’ll follow in your footsteps at each fork.”
It was then the deception had begun. He had never planned it, nor welcomed it when, like a pixie stepping out from its dark corner, it had entered their presence. His mother had continued to call. “Find the strength for me, Edwin. You’re almost grown. Find the strength and come rescue me.” And it was as much the wish to appease her as his eagerness to redeem himself in the warrior’s eyes that had made him say:
“It’s curious, warrior. Now you speak of it, I feel already this she-dragon’s pull. More a taste in the wind than a scent. We should go without delay, for who knows how long I’ll feel it.”
Even as he said this, the scenes were rapidly filling his mind: how he would enter their camp, startling them as they sat silently in their semi-circle to watch his mother trying to free herself. They would be full-grown men by now; most likely bearded and heavy-bellied, no longer the lithe young men who had come swaggering into their village that day. Burly, coarse men, and as they reached for their axes, they would see the warrior following behind Edwin and fear would enter their eyes.
But how could he deceive the warrior—his teacher and the man he admired above all others? And here was Wistan nodding with satisfaction, saying: “I knew it as soon as I saw you, Master Edwin. Even as I released you from those ogres by the river.” He would enter their camp. He would free his mother. The burly men would be killed, or perhaps be allowed to flee into the mountain fog. And then what? Edwin would have to explain why, even as they were hurrying to complete an urgent errand, he had chosen to deceive the warrior.
Partly to distract himself from such thoughts—for he now sensed it was too late for a retreat—he said: “Warrior, there’s a question I have of you. Though you may think it impertinent.”
Wistan was receding back into the darkness, reclining once more onto his bed. Now all Edwin could see of him was one bare knee moving slowly from side to side.
“Ask it, young comrade.”
“I’m wondering, warrior. Is there some special feud between you and Lord Brennus makes you stay and fight his soldiers when we might have fled the monastery and be half a day closer to Querig? It must be some mighty reason to make you put aside even your errand.”
The silence that followed was so long Edwin thought the warrior had passed out in the stifling air. But then there was the knee still moving slowly, and when the voice eventually came out of the darkness, the slight tremor of the fever seemed to have evaporated.
“I’ve no excuse, young comrade. I can only confess my folly, and that after the good father’s warning not to forget my duty! See how weak is the resolve of your master. Yet I’m a warrior before all else, and it’s no easy thing to flee a battle I know I can win. You’re right, we could even now be standing at the she-dragon’s den, calling her to come greet us. But Brennus I knew it to be, even a hope he’d come in person, and it was more than I could do not to stay and welcome them.”
“Then I’m right, warrior. There’s some feud between you and Lord Brennus.”
“No feud worth the name. We knew each other as boys, as young as you are now. This was in a country further west of here, in a well-guarded fort where we boys, twenty or more, were trained morning till night to become warriors in the Britons’ ranks. I grew to feel great affection for my companions of those days, for they were splendid fellows and we lived like brothers. All except Brennus, that is, for being the lord’s son, he loathed to mix with us. Yet he often trained with us, and though his skills were feeble, whenever one of us faced him with a wooden sword, or at wrestling in the sandpit, we had to let him win. Anything short of glorious victory for the lord’s son would result in punishments for us all. Can you imagine it, young comrade? To be proud young boys, as we were, and have such an inferior opponent appear to conquer us day after day? Worse, Brennus delighted in heaping humiliations on his opponents even as we feigned defeat. It pleased him to stand on our necks, or to kick us as we lay for him on the ground. Imagine how this felt to us, comrade!”
“I see it well, warrior.”
“But today I’ve reason to be grateful to Lord Brennus, for he saved me from a pitiable fate. I’ve told you already, Master Edwin, I’d begun to love my companions in that fort as my own brothers, even though they were Britons and I a Saxon.”
“But is that so shameful, warrior, if you were brought up beside them facing harsh tasks together?”
“Of course it’s shameful, boy. I feel shame even now remembering the affection I had for them. But it was Brennus showed me my error. Perhaps because even then my skills stood out, he delighted to choose me as his sparring opponent, and reserved his greatest humiliations for me. And he was not slow to notice I was a Saxon boy, and before long, turned each of my companions against me on that account. Even those once closest to me joined against me, spitting in my food, or hiding my clothes as we hurried to our training on a harsh winter’s morning, fearful of our teachers’ wrath. It was a great lesson Brennus taught me then, and when I understood how I shamed myself loving Britons as my brothers, I made up my mind to leave that fort, even with no friend or kin beyond those walls.”
Wistan ceased speaking for a moment while his breath came heavily from beyond the fire.
“So did you take your revenge on Lord Brennus, warrior, before you left that place?”
“Judge for me if I did or not, comrade, for I’m undecided on the question. The custom in that fort was for us apprentices, after our day’s training, to be allowed an hour after supper to idle away together. We’d build a fire in the yard and sit around it talking and jesting the way boys will. Brennus never joined us, of course, for he had his privileged quarters, but on that evening, for whatever reason, I saw him walk past. I moved away from the rest then, my companions suspecting nothing. Now that fort, like any other, had many hidden passages, all of which I knew well, so that before long I was in an unwatched corner where the battlements cast black shadows over the ground. Brennus came strolling my way, alone, and when I moved from the gloom he stopped and looked at me with terror. For he saw at once this could be no chance encounter, and further, that his usual powers were suspended. It was curious, Master Edwin, to see this swaggering lord turned so swiftly to an infant ready to make water before me for fear. I was sorely tempted to say to him, ‘Good sir, I see your sword on your hip. Knowing how much more skilfully you wield it, you’ll have no fear drawing it against mine.’ Yet I said no such thing, for had I hurt him in that dark corner, what of my dreams of a life beyond those walls? I said nothing, but remained before him in silence, letting the moment grow long between us, for I wished it to be one never forgotten. And though he cowered back and would have cried for help had not some remnant of pride told him to do so would ensure his abiding humiliation, we neither of us spoke to the other. Then in time I left him, and so you see, Master Edwin, nothing and yet everything had passed between us. I knew then I’d do well to leave that very night, and since these were no longer times of war, the watch wasn’t strict. I slipped quietly past the guards, saying no farewells, and was soon a boy under the moonlight, my dear companions left behind, my own kin long slaughtered, nothing but my courage and lately learned skills to carry on my journey.”
“Warrior, does Brennus hunt you even today fearing your vengeance from those days?”
“Who knows what demons whisper in that fool’s ear? A great lord now, in this country and the next, yet he lives in dread of any Saxon traveller from the east passing through his lands. Has he fed the fear of that night again and again that it now si
ts in his belly a giant worm? Or is it the she-dragon’s breath makes him forget whatever cause he once had to fear me, yet the dread grows all the more monstrous for being unnamed? Only last year a Saxon warrior from the fens, one I knew well, was killed as he travelled in peace through this very country. Yet I remain indebted to Lord Brennus for the lesson he taught me, for without it I might even now be counting Britons as my brother warriors. What troubles you, young comrade? You shift from foot to foot as if my fever possesses you also.”
So he had failed to hide his restlessness, but surely Wistan could not suspect his deception. Was it possible the warrior too could hear his mother’s voice? She had been calling all the while the warrior had been speaking. “Will you not find the strength for me, Edwin? Are you too young after all? Will you not come to me, Edwin? Did you not promise me that day you would?”
“I’m sorry, warrior. It’s my hunter’s instinct makes me impatient, for I fear to lose the scent, and the morning sun already rising outside.”
“We’ll be gone as soon as I’m able to climb onto that mare’s back. But leave me a little longer, comrade, for how else can we face such an opponent as this dragon when I’m too fevered to lift a sword?’
Chapter Eleven
He longed for a patch of sun to warm Beatrice. But though the opposite bank was often bathed in morning light, their side of the river remained shaded and cold. Axl could feel her leaning on him as they walked, and her shivering had grown steadily worse. He had been about to suggest another rest when at last they spotted the roof behind the willows, jutting out into the water.
It took some time to negotiate the muddy slope down to the boathouse, and when they stepped under its low arch, the near-darkness and the proximity of the lapping water seemed only to make Beatrice shiver more. They moved further inside, over damp wooden boards, and saw beyond the roof’s overhang tall grass, rushes, and an expanse of the river. Then a man’s figure rose from the shadows to their left, saying: “Who might you be, friends?”
“God be with you, sir,” Axl said. “We’re sorry if we brought you from your sleep. We’re just two weary travellers wishing to go downriver to our son’s village.”
A broad, bearded man of middle years, clad in layers of animal skins, emerged into the light and scrutinised them. Eventually he asked, not unkindly:
“Is the lady there unwell?”
“She’s only tired, sir, but unable to walk the remaining way. We hoped you might spare a barge or small boat to carry us. We depend on your kindness, for some misfortune lately took the bundles we carried, and with them the tin to recompense you. I can see, sir, you have but one boat now in the water. I can at least promise you safe passage for any cargo you’d entrust should you allow us to use it.”
The boatkeeper looked out at the boat rocking gently under the roof, then back at Axl. “It’ll be a while yet, friend, till this boat goes downstream, for I’m waiting for my companion to return with barley to fill it. But I see you’re both weary and lately suffered some misfortune. So let me make this suggestion. Look there, friends. You see those baskets.”
“Baskets, sir?”
“They may look flimsy, but float well and will bear your weight, though you’ll have to go one in each. We’re accustomed to filling them with full sacks of corn, or even at times a slaughtered pig, and tethered behind a boat they’ll travel even a rough river without jeopardy. And today, as you see, the water’s steady, so you’ll travel without worry.”
“You’re kind, sir. But have you no basket large enough for the two of us?”
“You must go one to each basket, friends, or else fear drowning. But I’ll gladly tether two together so you’ll go almost as good as one. When you see the lower boathouse on this same side, your journey will be over, and I’ll ask you to leave the baskets there well tied.”
“Axl,” Beatrice whispered, “let’s not separate. Let’s go together on foot, slow though it may be.”
“Walking’s beyond us now, princess. We both need warmth and food, and this river will carry us swiftly to our son’s welcome.”
“Please, Axl. I don’t want us to separate.”
“But this good man says he’ll truss our two baskets together, and it’ll be as good as we’re arm in arm.” Then turning to the boatkeeper, he said: “I’m grateful to you, sir. We’ll do as you suggest. Please tie the baskets tightly, so there’s no chance a swift tide will move us apart.”
“The danger isn’t the river’s speed, friend, but its slowness. It’s easy to get caught in the weeds near the bank and move no further. Yet I’ll lend you a strong staff to push with, so you’ll have little to fear.”
As the boatkeeper went to the edge of his jetty and began to busy himself with rope, Beatrice whispered:
“Axl, please let’s not be parted.”
“We’re not to be parted, princess. Look how he makes his knots to keep us together.”
“The tide may part us, Axl, never mind what this man tells us.”
“We’ll be fine, princess, and soon at our son’s village.”
Then the boatkeeper was calling them, and they stepped carefully down the little stones to where he was steadying with a long pole two baskets bobbing in the water. “They’re well lined with hide,” he said. “You’ll hardly feel the river’s cold.”
Though he found it painful to crouch, Axl kept both hands on Beatrice until she had safely lowered herself into the first basket. “Don’t try and rise, princess, or you’ll endanger the vessel.”
“Won’t you get in yourself, Axl?”
“I’m getting in right beside you. Look, this good man’s fastened us tight together.”
“Don’t leave me here alone, Axl.”
But even as she said this, she appeared reassured, and lay down in the basket like a child going to sleep.
“Good sir,” Axl said. “See how my wife trembles from the cold. Is there something you might lend to cover her?”
The boatkeeper too was looking at Beatrice, who had now curled up on her side and closed her eyes. Suddenly he removed one of the furs he was wearing, and bending forward, laid it on top of her. She seemed not to notice—her eyes remained closed—so it was Axl who thanked him.
“Welcome, friend. Leave everything at the lower boathouse for me.” The man pushed them into the tide with his pole. “Sit low and keep the staff handy for the weeds.”
It was bitingly cold on the river. Broken ice drifted here and there in sheets, but their baskets moved past them with ease, sometimes bumping gently one against the other. The baskets were shaped almost like boats, with a bow and stern, but had a tendency to rotate, so that at times Axl found himself gazing back up the river to the boathouse still visible on the bank.
The dawn was pouring through the waving grass beside them, and as the boatkeeper had promised, the river moved at an easy pace. Even so, Axl found himself glancing continuously over at Beatrice’s basket, which appeared to be filled entirely by the animal skin, with only a small portion of her hair visible to betray her presence. Once he called out: “We’ll be there in no time, princess,” and when there was no response, reached over to tug her basket closer.
“Princess, are you sleeping?”
“Axl, are you still there?”
“Of course I’m still here.”
“Axl. I thought maybe you’d left me again.”
“Why would I leave you, princess? And the man’s tied our vessels so carefully together.”
“I don’t know if it’s a thing dreamt or remembered. But I saw myself just then, standing in our chamber in the dead of night. It was long ago and I had tight around me that cloak of badger hides you made once as a tender gift to me. I was standing like that, and in our former chamber too, not the one we have now, for the wall had branches of beech crossing left to right, and I was watching a caterpillar crawling slowly along it, and asking why a caterpillar wouldn’t be asleep so late at night.”
“Never mind caterpillars, what were you doi
ng yourself awake and staring at a wall in the pit of the night?”
“I think I was standing that way because you’d gone and left me, Axl. Maybe this fur the man’s put over me reminds me of that one then, for I was holding it to myself while I stood there, the one you’d made for me from badger skins, which later we lost in that fire. I was watching the caterpillar and asking why it didn’t sleep and if a creature like that even knew night from day. Yet I believe the reason was that you’d gone away, Axl.”
“A wild dream, princess, and maybe a fever coming too. But we’ll be beside a warm fire before long.”
“Are you still there, Axl?”
“Of course I’m here, and the boathouse long out of sight now.”
“You’d left me that night, Axl. And our precious son too. He’d left a day or two before, saying he’d no wish to be at home when you returned. So it was just me alone, in our former chamber, the dead of night. But we had a candle in those days, and I was able to see that caterpillar.”
“That’s a strange dream you speak of, princess, no doubt brought on by your fever and this cold. I wish the sun would rise with less patience.”
“You’re right, Axl. It’s cold here, even under this rug.”
“I’d warm you in my arms but the river won’t allow it.”
“Axl. Can it be our own son left us in anger one day and we closed our door to him, telling him never to return?”
“Princess, I see something before us in the water, maybe a boat stuck in the reeds.”
“You’re drifting further away, Axl. I can hardly hear you.”
“I’m here beside you, princess.”
He had been sitting low in his basket, his legs spread before him, but now shifted carefully into a crouching posture, holding the rim to either side.
“I see it better now. A small rowing boat, stuck in the reeds where the bank turns ahead. It’s in our path and we’ll have to take care or we’ll be stuck the same way.”
“Axl, don’t go away from me.”