Chapter Twenty-three
I am exhausted and I give myself up to the visions. There is little to choose between the scene before me and the pictures I see with my mind’s eye: people are dying in both.
I’m brought back to myself by the homely scent of ale and the savoury smell of bread.
‘Trista?’ Ger shakes me gently. When I open my eyes, it is his gap-toothed smile I see.
‘We won, my girl. You did well to fight them off for so long. You’re safe now.’
Can I ever be safe? The sun is high in a pale blue sky. I am lying under a thick plaid blanket and there are no trees to be seen. There are no bodies either. I sit up and accept the beaker of ale and hunk of bread from Ger’s hand.
‘Whaa?’ I begin. It is a sound not a word and it hurts to make even such a sound. I go to wipe my mouth and find it smeared with sticky ointments. Every part of me aches and I am stiff from the beating at the legionaries’ hands. I don’t think I’ve been cut, but it is hard to tell.
‘You were out of it, girl, so after we’d done what was needed we put you on your horse and brought you here.’ Now I can see it is a tribal encampment with people and livestock all corralled together in a temporary stockade. A huge central hearth has been built and the women are roasting what looks like venison on a spit. The smell of burning meat is too close to the stench of burning flesh. It makes my stomach heave.
‘Our Lord Druid took your words to heart and has taken himself off to find Caratacus. It was decided that we shall all follow his lead and offer ourselves to his service. Those that want to throw their lot in with Rome can follow Madoc’s path and risk his fate. Whatever our Queen has to say about it, I’ll not give my crops to Roman masters.’ He looks angry but then he looks at me and his brow clears. ‘There is no need for you to risk the road alone. I think we were wrong to send you on your way with no one but a slave. We are all in this together now. It will take us a while as we have brought all we can carry with us.’ He waves his hand to encompass the village of crude shelters.
I feel responsible. Was it my vision that did this? I think he must see that thought flit across my face. ‘The wind has been blowing this way for a while, girl. I’ve had a few visits from the armed men of the legion and I don’t like the way they eyed my land. I can’t hold what is mine against the legions. I might be old but I’m not stupid.’
I nod. I try to speak but nothing but a croak comes out of my dry throat so I drink the spiced ale instead and remember the night of my escape from the hall when I would have given almost anything to taste its flavour again: it was worth the wait.
‘We found your gear: the mare, your sword and mine, oh, and this.’ He hands me the pouch with the message for Caratacus still intact inside it. ‘Not much of a one for keeping hold of things, are you?’
I’m about to try to explain but he puts his hand over mine. ‘I’m joking with you. You did well to survive. You’re truly worthy of this blade.’ He presses my longsword into my hand. As my fingers curl around it I can’t help but smile. The tiny movement hurts as if the skin around my mouth has shrunk. I still can’t speak so I pat his hand in thanks, but my eyes are already beginning to close. Too late I detect the bitterness of a sleeping draught in the aftertaste of the ale.
The next nights pass in a haze. I have visions. I eat. I sleep. I have to trust Ger and I do. His wife, Bethan, spoons warm milk sweetened with honey into my mouth. I know she has laced it with a potion to make me sleep but I don’t make a fuss. I’m not allowed to be awake for long. I know they believe that sleep is good for me and so it would be unkind to tell them about the endless horror of my prophetic visions. They are good people and are trying to spare me agony. We travel all day and sometimes for half the night and I am never left untended for very long.
The moon is a waning crescent. I calculate that I have been allowed to rest for almost fifteen nights. Tonight Bethan gives me unadulterated ale, instead of honeyed milk. I’m very weak, but I can swallow without pain.
‘So,’ Ger begins, ‘you are well again.’ I nod and cough. I have to force my voice to work after so long a rest.
‘I must thank you and your wife for caring for me.’
He grins and opens his arms to include all his gathered clan. ‘We have all cared for you as if you are our only child. You have not been the quietest of patients.’ There is a low wave of laughter swiftly suppressed. The people at the fire all look at me with such affection I wonder for a moment if I have turned into someone else.
His wife shushes him gently. Perhaps I made more noise than I remember. ‘What we all want to know,’ she says with a wicked little smile of her own, ‘is who is Morcant?’
At his name my body tenses. How can I have forgotten him? Where is he? I think my expression must have changed because she looks penitent at once. ‘Oh Trista, I’m sorry. Have I upset you?’
‘No, no, it’s fine. He is a friend, but we have parted company.’ My voice is still husky from lack of use. I try to smile. Has Morcant abandoned me or have I abandoned him?
It is a long time since I’ve been part of a clan such as this. I don’t belong here among this kindly throng of warriors and their wives. I am a warrior, a seeress and now a messenger with a blood debt to repay. I belong with other outcasts. I belong with Morcant.
I watch the leaping flames of the hearth fire for a long time, ignoring the cavorting of the Wild Weird and listening to the sounds of the sleeping tribe. I cannot stay. I wait for the first hint of dawn and then I get ready. I take only what is mine: mail, helmet, sword belt, sword and cloak. I am quiet as I can be, though my legs shake a little from lack of use.
‘Wait! You’ll need food for your journey,’ Bethan whispers to me across the sleeping form of her husband. She gets to her feet.
‘I’ll see you past the watch.’
She doesn’t ask me anything. She is swiftly on her feet gathering up a few small loaves of flatbread into a bag along with some dried venison. She hands me a spear too – one of ours – decorated with interwoven charms, curses and blessings.
‘Don’t think me ungrateful . . .’ I still find it difficult to speak.
She touches my cheek gently; her hands are rough as a slave’s. ‘You are not like us. We all know of the horrors that haunt your dreams.’ I see her snaggle-toothed smile in the firelight. I was obviously not as close-mouthed as I might have hoped in all my endless dreaming. ‘Our Lord Druid told us to take care of you and we have. Please take care of yourself.’
I hug her as warmly as if she were Cerys. ‘May the gods bless you,’ I say. ‘Say goodbye to Ger. I’ve left his sword.’
‘I hope you find him, your Morcant, and I hope he knows what a prize he has in you.’
She kisses me lightly on the cheek and returns to the fire. Two of the Wild Weird follow her, the rest come with me. I am still puzzling over her words when day breaks.