“There’d be pigs in the woods as well.” I added.
“That will work well.” Sal relaxed slightly. “But I’ll save a milk goat for the babe, eh?”
There were a few brief smiles at that statement. But the smiles faded and faces grew grim when Isdra spoke, her voice flat and hollow. “Some must gather wood. There will be a need for pyres.” No one drew a breath in the silence after her words. Isdra continued, relentless in her honesty. “The village still smolders. We can burn the dead there.”
“That is as may be.” Keir looked at her with understanding, not offended by her comment. “We will start by teaching everyone what Gils and the Warprize have learned about this illness. Set up the Warprize’s stilltent as quickly as possible. Until then, use this area. Fill the tent with messengers to learn from them and spread the word.” Keir continued speaking, issuing orders to all, but I was already considering what had to be done. It was only when he took my cold hands into his that I realized he was kneeling before me, and the tent had cleared of all but us and Marcus.
His eyes were clear and grave, the blue of the early morning sky. “I must go, Lara. There will be trouble over this, and I must be seen and heard to counter the rumors that will be spread.”
“See to the army.” Marcus placed a hand on my shoulder. “We will see to her.”
Keir cupped my face in his warm hand, letting his thumb stroke my cheek, feather-soft and gentle. With a swirl of his cloak, he was up and gone.
Within moments of Keir’s exit, warriors crammed into the command tent to listen as Gils and I explained how to treat the ill, what to watch for, and what to expect. We sent them out all over the camp to repeat our words. Thank the Goddess for their memories. That, and their strict obedience to Keir’s authority.
As the messengers left, more warriors filled the tent. Gils and I started them on the hunt for willow bark, as much as they could gather. Luckily, the army had cut down a number of willows to make their camp. I sent warriors off to strip bark from all the firewood and termporary tables and chairs. A small army of warriors would stir pots and pots of the stuff, boiling it down for fever’s foe. We’d need every jar we could fill.
Again the tent filled. I sipped some kavage that Marcus forced on me, then Gils and I started the herb lessons. I already knew that the supply of lotus wouldn’t be big enough to serve the entire camp. We needed alternatives, such as sleepease, tree butter, or comfrey. So these warriors became the gatherers. We held up the herbs we were seeking, and gave examples to them so that they knew what to look for. Rahel may have had a healing garden outside the walls, so I set them to searching for whatever they could find.
When gathering herbs the general rule is that you never strip an area of all of the plants that you are gathering. You try to leave enough that the spring will bring new growth and renew the area. But I didn’t have the luxury of leaving anything behind. I told them to bring me everything they could find. Should I pass this way again, I’d reseed the area myself, to make up for the damage. But we needed those herbs and we needed them now.
Within hours we had a hundred sick. By the end of the day the number tripled. Men and women fell dead as the wheat falls before the scythe. It struck with the sweat, the headache, and the stench as it had in the village.
The fever was the worst. Using the cold waters of the stream or the lake only seemed to work if the fever had built to its highest point. Too soon, and the fever returned, prolonging the illness and exhausting the patient. Gils ran himself ragged, helping to make the decision of when a patient was ready to be immersed. He gained far too much skill over a very short period of time.
Outside, the shores of the lake filled with people using its cold waters to bring down the raging heat of fever. And the sick kept coming as more and more fell victim. I could see no reason to its effects, either. One would be sick for days or hours, each with as likely a chance of dying as the other. But we learned, Gils and I, that if the person made it through the initial fever, his chances of survival were much higher. Once past the coughing stage, the individual recovered strength fairly quickly.
I’d enough strength to manage supplies, and train warriors to tend the sick. So I commanded from the stilltent, checking the quality of the fever’s foe and using the gathered herbs to make an alternative to the lotus. One of the draughts, the one based on sleepease, was milder than the lotus, and seemed to work better, so I concentrated on making that mixture. The familiar scents and surroundings of my stilltent were a comfort in those dark hours.
Poor Gils was the one to actually tend the sick, wearing himself to the bone with the patients, making sure that the right doses were given, that the fevers were brought down, that the drumming on their backs was done on a regular basis. His was the hardest task, for since he was out and about, everyone turned to him for advice, or when a patient took a turn for the worst. He’d return to my stilltent frequently, to ask questions, and restock his satchel, and then he’d be off again.
The raving seemed less of a problem than it had been in the village. Perhaps because of our use of the lake waters to bring down the fever, perhaps due to the use of the other sleeping draught. Or maybe it was the presence of warriors at the bedsides, well able to subdue any crazed by the fever. Still, I insisted that those who were ill not sleep with their weapons. This was resisted strongly, not that they’d disobey exactly. It was as if I had attacked their pride, that their weapons be taken from them. There was disagreement as to how far away the weapons were put, but it only took two incidents for them to start obeying me.
In many ways, I felt disoriented during those hours, since I had limited contact with the patients. Oils and Joden would report to me regularly, or other warriors would appear with questions, or asking for supplies.
It was a heady feeling, to have such power, to see my commands obeyed, a feeling that I wasn’t used to. I’d never commanded a large staff, and had only truly been Queen for a few hours before I followed Keir. This was a new experience for me, to be obeyed absolutely.
Yet, it had its drawbacks as well. They did exactly as they were told. I’d set a group of them looking for a weed, and they’d bring me all the weed they could find. But they didn’t have the ability to tell me if there were other plants in the area that I could have used as well. So I went through a range of about ten plants and herbs that I could use, trying to insure that I covered every possibility.
Keir was absent during these long hours, moving about the huge camp, explaining, issuing orders, sending us information about the state of the warriors. His presence insured that the ill were helped and that supplies were distributed where needed. He was the calm at the center of the storm, and the reason the warriors didn’t mount their horses and head for the plains. But I feared for him, exposed to all and sundry, and working tirelessly among his warriors. I’d tried to have him wear a ginger mask, but he pointed out that it hadn’t worked for Epor and I. Worse, I didn’t have enough ginger to mask the entire camp. Keir refused a protection that wasn’t available for everyone. Since he was absent more often then naught, I took to sleeping in the stilltent, to be quickly available to any that needed me.
Marcus was everywhere, aiding where needed, and somehow keeping us fed. He and Isdra shared the care of the baby, trading off when necessary. What amazed me was the ease with which the warriors dealt with her, for there was no shortage of volunteers. The rare smiles I saw were at the antics of the babe, who kicked and cooed and laughed, the one sound of joy in a camp filled with despair.
For there was little joy in our hearts. There were so many deaths, regardless of the care we took or the medicines we doled out. The darkest moments came when the ill outnumbered the healthy. At that point, we were all exhausted. Whenever I emerged from the tent, I tried not to look at the horizon where the smoke rose from the pyres. Instead, I tried to focus on the living.
Goddess love him, Marcus still found time to make sure that I ate. One morning, during the time when the days bl
urred together, he was coaxing the morning meal into me when we looked up to see Prest standing just inside the tent, his face grim.
“Prest?” I put my bowl aside and stood.
“Please come, Warprize.”
“Who’s ill?”
“Rafe.”
Prest led the way, and I followed. Marcus came behind, carrying a basket of my supplies, refusing to let me carry anything. I protested, until the walk itself left me breathless. My strength was still not fully returned.
A few of the smaller tents had been cleverly fastened together to form a larger shelter. Prest held the flap as I bent to enter. The tent was filled with people, but my eyes went to young Rafe first.
He lay on a pallet, already covered in sweat, his black hair plastered to his forehead. His face was pale, far paler than normal, and his eyes were huge and glittering as he looked at me. His lips moved and I heard a faint “Warprize.”
This caught the attention of the other people in the tent and they turned to look at me with wide eyes. Four girls, well, warriors . . . but girls to my eyes. They couldn’t be that much older than Gils. Their surprise was only for a moment, then the one closest to Rafe’s head wrung out a cloth, and placed it on his forehead. She gave me a veiled look of mistrust, bright green eyes flashing through long black hair.
The girl closest to me was dressed in brown leather armor, with her brown curly hair cut very short. She inclined her head. “Warprize, I am Lasa of the Horse. We are tending to Rafe.” She straightened, a confident look in her clear brown eyes. “We have talked to Gils, and we know what we must do.”
“And we will do it well.” The honey-blonde girl kneeling by Rafe’s shoulder pounded a stake in the ground with a fierce blow. But she looked up with hazel eyes flecked with fear.
“I am sure that you will.” I smiled, trying to reassure her. “But Rafe is one of my guards, and I’d like to check him myself. Would that be acceptable?”
The hazel gaze flicked over to Lasa, but she must have gotten approval. “Of course, Warprize.” She got to her feet. “I am Soar of the Deer.”
Marcus handed the basket to me, but remained outside with Prest, given the crush. The girls arranged themselves carefully, leaving me to kneel by Rafe’s head. He gave me a weak smile as I put my hand to his forehead. “I’m sorry, Warprize.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Rafe.” He was warm alright, the fever flushing his face. “How long have you been ill?”
He blinked, looking at me, lost and uncertain. As he had looked the first time I met him, in the healing tent in the castle gardens. His head injury had been bleeding, and he’d been the first of the prisoners that had let me treat their wounds. He’d talked to me in a form of trade talk that our people had in common. It had taken time to win his confidence, but Rafe had been the one to ask me to treat Simus, and had reassured Joden of my skills. “Never you mind. Sleep, Rafe.”
He closed his eyes, and relaxed. The scar from that old wound stood out, thin and sharp against his skin. The green-eyed girl wet her cloth and began to stroke his face and chest. “He’s been ill for a few hours now, Warprize.” Her gaze flashed at me again. “Gils has told us all that we need to know.”
“Fylin!” Lasa scolded. “Earth’s sake, you have no courtesy!”
The green gaze disappeared, as Fylin bowed her head. “Forgive me, Warprize.” The tone was sullen. “I am Fylin of the Snake.”
“And I am Ksand of the Cat, Warprize.” The new girl knelt and held out a half-full jar of fever’s foe for my inspection, her brown hair in a braid. “Gils has dosed him with the sleepease. And left this fever’s foe for us to use.”
“We have taken his weapons, and removed ours as well. We are ready to bind him when the raving begins.” Soar sounded almost eager. I heard a snort from outside the tent, and knew that Prest was listening.
I suppressed my own smile. “You are ready for the battle, then. Let me give you another jar of fever’s foe, just in case.” I rummaged in my basket. It seemed that Rafe would be well taken care of by his friends. I wanted to stay, but I knew that I didn’t have the strength, and that I was needed in the stilltent. Besides, I would insult the honor of these women if I tried to take their duties from them. “I know that Rafe is in good hands, and that you will see him through this.”
I heard a grunt from outside, and knew that Marcus approved.
The women seemed pleased at my response, and even Fylin unbent enough to reassure me. “We will send for Gils if we have any doubts or questions, Warprize.”
I nodded, and bent down to brush the hair from Rafe’s forehead. “May the skies be with you, Rafe.”
His eyes opened then, and cleared, truly seeing me. “You must take another guard, Lara.”
All four girls went wide-eyed and sucked in their breaths, clearly impressed.
“No, Rafe. I am safe. Prest and Isdra will see to me until you can return to your duties.”
“I will return as soon as I . . .” He sighed, and his eyes drifted close.
“Win this battle, Rafe.” I stood, and left the tent before he could see my tears.
Outside, Marcus and Prest waited for me, their faces grim. We walked in silence for a moment, as I got my emotions under control. When I felt I could, I turned and looked at Prest. “Four women?”
Prest smirked.
Marcus gave a dry chuckle. “Rafe has always been popular. A charmer, that one. To rival Simus.”
I smiled at the comparison. But my smile was short lived as I lifted my head and saw the black smoke still rising from the pyres that burned where a village used to be.
“Rafe was right, we need another to ward you.” Marcus spoke from behind me.
I looked down at the ground as I continued to walk, wishing for the security and comfort of my stilltent. “No, Marcus, don’t disturb Keir. I have Prest and Isdra, and that’s enough.” I felt the disapproval radiate from him and cut him off before he could speak. “The healthy care for the sick. The sick try to reclaim their health. Who has time or the strength to threaten me?”
We returned to the stilltent in silence.
The next day a slight noise outside my tent caused me to peek through the flap to see Marcus working his familiar magic on yet another warleader. This time his victim was Joden, being told in no uncertain terms to sit down and eat. Poor Joden looked drained of all his strength as he plopped down onto the stump.
Marcus returned to shove the baby into Joden’s arms, wrapped in a blanket and fussing loudly. “Make yourself useful and see to her.”
Startled, Joden took the wriggling handful as Marcus stalked off. The babe was kicking and crying as Joden started to make funny noises, trying to distract her. But I could see her tiny feet moving and knew that she was not to be soothed by such a trick.
So that clever, exhausted man patiently reached into his pouch and brought out a strip of privacy bells. At the sound, tiny hands reached out of the blankets and clutched them tight. The fussing changed to happy laughter; a happiness reflected in Joden’s face. A happiness that I had seen in the faces of others that Marcus had played this trick on, using one tiny baby to restore their hearts. I turned back to my pots with a lighter heart.
When Marcus returned with soup and kavage, Joden was relaxed, singing a quiet song to the babe. I emerged from the tent as Joden put the babe back in her basket. When he tugged at the bells, she let out a squall, and tugged right back, putting the leather strap in her mouth and gurgling with joy.
“A warrior’s grip, Warprize.” Joden accepted the food from Marcus. “What have the elements named her?”
I pushed my hair back behind my ear as the wind caught it. “Her name was lost, Joden. We found her next to her dead mother. Her thea.”
Joden drank soup, and studied the child. “A serious thing, to lose a name.” Isdra walked up with a load of firewood as he continued. “We listen to the elements to find a child’s name. She is young yet, the loss will not harm her. We should have a naming
ceremony for her.”
Isdra brushed her hands off. “She is of Xy. We should follow their ways in this.”
Joden looked at me.
“We name our children for their ancestors, or we choose a name that we like. Rahel said her mother’s name was Meara.”
“Name her for her thea then,” Isdra knelt by the basket.
“Meara, it is.” Joden reached out to tickle a waving foot. “She should be marked. Stained.”
I had a sudden vision of Anna’s face on seeing this child with a tattoo, no matter how temporary the mark. “We can see to that later.” I stated firmly.
Joden sighed and picked up his kavage. “It is good that she is named.”
Meara shook the bells and laughed, letting us share a rare smile as well.
Her laughter reminded me of something else. “Joden, I forgot to tell you, Simus sent a letter for you. He asked that I read it to you, so that you had his words for your song.”
I expected a positive response, but Joden didn’t even look at me. He stared at the babe, his face grim. “Joden?”
“I do not think I can craft that song, Warprize.”
Puzzled, I studied his broad face, trying to figure out what he meant. “Of course. You’re tired. Now’s not the time to create a song. I will save the letter, Joden. For later.”
Joden ignored me, addressing Marcus instead. “My thanks, Marcus. I have the strength to continue in my task.”
“No need of thanks, Singer.” Marcus gave him an odd look, but didn’t press the matter.
“What are you doing, Joden?” I asked.
“I am seeing to the dead, Lara. Someone must sing for them, even if just a snatch of song.” Joden straightened his back and stood. “Give me some good word, one that I can carry in my heart.”
“It’s slowing, Joden.” I answered. “The number of newly ill is falling off.”
He took a deep breath, nodding. “That is good, Warprize. I will take that with me.” He looked down at the child, still shaking the bells. “The Warlord was right to hold us all here. I can’t imagine this horror in the Plains.”