He turned away.
SIX
I woke stiff and uncomfortable, with sharp bits of heather sticking in my back. I think the heat had woken me, for I was lying in full sunshine and I was tangled up in Elfritha’s shawl. Romain and Sibert were still asleep, so I crept out of the dell and, behind the meagre cover of some hazel bushes, passed water. I had been worrying about how I was going to manage my bodily functions; it was not proving to be easy, on the road with two men, so I was glad that, for the moment at any rate, I had solved the problem.
I returned to the dell, sat down and looked around me. We were on a sort of heath, bracken and heather mostly, and there were no more signs of life up here now than there had been at first light. I stared up the track, first one way, then the other. There was nobody about.
Sibert was asleep, on his back. Romain had turned away. With a small stab of pain, I remembered how I’d opened my eyes soon after we had settled down last night to see him looking at me. I had risked a smile — how lovely it would have been if he had lain down beside me and we had slept side by side — but instantly he had looked away. I tried to excuse him — he’d probably been embarrassed because I’d caught him watching me. He was that sort of man — courteous, mannerly — and it was probably against some code of manners that existed among his kind to make approaches to young girls when you happened to be camped out with them in the wilderness.
All the same, I wished he had been bolder. I would not have turned him away.
Sibert woke and sat up, stretching. He smiled at me — the first time he had done so for I couldn’t remember how long — and said, ‘Hello, Lassair. Did you manage to sleep?’
‘Yes. Very well,’ I replied.
Our voices woke Romain. He came up to consciousness more slowly — probably he was used to a gentle awaking, perhaps with some manservant bringing him a reviving drink and a bowl of water to wash his face and hands — and for a moment or two he looked puzzled. Then his face cleared and he too smiled. There was an air of excited happiness among the three of us; any fears we might have had last night had gone. The sunshine and a good long sleep had thoroughly revived us and after a bite to eat and a drink, we were ready to resume our march.
Romain knew that he was the weak one out of the three of them but, as the eldest, the instigator and the leader in every other respect, he could not allow his fallibility to show. As afternoon turned to evening and the total of the miles steadily augmented, he watched the slowly lowering sun and reflected that so far on this journey, at least they had not had to bed down to sleep in the Fens.
Romain’s mistrust of that mysterious marshland region was profound and he had only gone there out of desperate need; the Fens were where Sibert was to be found. As far as Romain was concerned, once this business was over he never intended to set foot there again.
He had once been told by an elderly family retainer who came from the Fens that once, long ago, an ancient horse-loving people had risen up against the invading armies from the hot south. They had fought ferociously under their red-haired queen and burned the towns of the newcomers to the ground. But the military might of the incomers proved too strong and the people were defeated, their proud queen taking her own life by poison before she could suffer the humiliation of capture. The remnants of that once-great people, leaderless, disorganized, had scattered and fled. Many of them, according to the old servant, had sought refuge in the one area where the newcomers barely troubled to venture: the Fens. And their ghosts — perhaps even their descendants — were still there. .
Romain had believed he was too mature and sensible to go on being scared by a tale told by an old man to entertain a little boy. Reality proved different. But then, Romain reminded himself as he trudged on, buoyed up by the happy thought that tonight he was far from that dread region, that original childhood impression had been fed and kept alive by what he learned of the Fens as he grew to adolescence and manhood. Raised as he had been on the coast, where the wind blew fresh off the wide grey sea to the east, he had been all too ready to accept the horror stories of that dark, unknown inland place. Malign creatures inhabited the pools and the bogs, and they would entice a traveller along what seemed to be a safe path, only to create a strange white mist that swirled and billowed so that a man could not see where he was placing his feet. Then he would find himself tumbling into the stinking black mud, clouds of stinging insects round his head, leeches and eels sucking and biting at his legs. If the threatening water did not get you then sickness would, for ague and quinsy were rife and if you risked eating the bread, then the poisonous mould that grew on the crust would drive you to terrible visions that drove you out of your mind. Frightful, abominable creatures lived hidden in the Fens, from the terrible monsters that swam in the deepest, most secret waterways and lived on human blood to the nimble elves who were so successful at hiding themselves that a man only knew they were near when he felt their elf-shot pierce his skin. It was said that there were dragons, too, living in their barrows deep underground where they guarded their treasure hoards with their fearsome weapons of claws, spiked tails, vicious jaws and deadly fire.
Romain was less afraid of the dragons than of the other Fenland inhabitants. To an extent he was familiar with dragons, and familiarity had driven out some of the fear.
Not all of it; but he would not allow himself to think about that.
It was fully dark now. His feet were hurting badly and he could tell from the unpleasant wetness inside his right boot that the blister on his heel must have burst. He knew he must stop, for if he didn’t there was little chance of his marching even one mile in the morning.
He glanced at his two companions, mere shapes in the darkness, for clouds had blown up across the moon. The girl still walked with a spring in her step, although he had an idea that she was deliberately making herself look fresh because somehow she sensed his eyes on her. She had, he had noticed with some apprehension, certain talents that were not given to most people, and a highly developed awareness of others seemed to be one of them. Sibert, a few paces ahead, was trudging with his head down. He had not spoken a word for some time, not since they had stopped at a river crossing for a sip of ale. Back then — it seemed like hours ago — he had said the river was the Alde and that they had about another fifteen miles to go.
Oh, God, Romain thought, please let him have been right, for we must have walked five miles at least since then, which would leave just ten to cover tomorrow. For now — abruptly he made up his mind — I cannot walk another step.
‘We’re stopping,’ he announced, his voice suddenly loud in the damp night air. ‘There’s a stand of pine on that rise to the left. We’ll settle there and sleep for a while.’
Sibert and the girl followed him, neither speaking. They found a dry patch of ground where three trees stood close together and the slippery pine needles made an aromatic bed. They each stretched out in their own chosen place and Sibert gave them large slices of his spice bread and several mouthfuls of beer. Then he assumed his sleeping position on his back and soon his gentle snores suggested he was asleep.
Romain eased off his boots and then untied the strings that held up the hose on his right leg. He rolled down the fine wool and then winced in pain as he got to his heel, where the blood and the fluid from the huge blister had begun to dry in a crust, sticking the fabric to his raw skin. What should I do? he wondered. Peel it away? Put a dressing on the wound? He did not know how.
He sensed movement beside him. The girl said softly, ‘Have you got a blister?’
‘Yes.’ There was no point in being proud and denying it.