After a moment, Beatrice went over to him and touched his arm gently. “We thank you for this deed, Master Wistan,” she said. “And there’ll be many more across the land would thank you if they were here. Why look so despondent?”
“Despondent? No matter, I’ll regain my spirit soon, mistress. Yet just at this moment …” Wistan turned away from Beatrice and once more gazed at the clouds. Then he said: “Perhaps I’ve been too long among you Britons. Despised the cowardly among you, admired and loved the best of you, and all from a tender age. And now I sit here, shaking not from weariness, but at the very thought of what my own hands have done. I must soon steel my heart or be a frail warrior for my king in what’s to come.”
“What is this you speak of, sir?” Beatrice asked. “What further task awaits you now?”
“It’s justice and vengeance await, mistress. And they’ll soon hurry this way, for both are much delayed. Yet now the hour’s almost upon us, I find my heart trembles like a maid’s. It can only be I’ve been too long among you.”
“I didn’t fail to notice, sir,” Axl said, “your earlier remark to me. You said you’d wish me to go in peace, yet that peace couldn’t hold much longer. I wondered then what you meant by it, even as you descended into this pit. Will you explain yourself to us now?”
“I see you begin to understand, Master Axl. My king sent me to destroy this she-dragon not simply to build a monument to kin slain long ago. You begin to see, sir, this dragon died to make ready the way for the coming conquest.”
“Conquest, sir?” Axl moved closer to him. “How can this be, Master Wistan? Are your Saxon armies so swelled by your cousins from overseas? Or is it that your warriors are so fierce you talk of conquest in lands well held in peace?”
“It’s true our armies are yet meagre in numbers, even in the fenlands. Yet look across this whole land. In every valley, beside every river, you’ll now find Saxon communities, and each with strong men and growing boys. It’s from these we’ll swell our ranks even as we come sweeping westward.”
“Surely you speak in the confusion of your victory, Master Wistan,” Beatrice said. “How can this be? You see yourself how in these parts it’s your kin and mine mingle village by village. Who among them would turn on neighbours loved since childhood?”
“Yet see your husband’s face, mistress. He begins to understand why I sit here as before a light too fierce for my gaze.”
“Right enough, princess, the warrior’s words make me tremble. You and I longed for Querig’s end, thinking only of our own dear memories. Yet who knows what old hatreds will loosen across the land now? We must hope God yet finds a way to preserve the bonds between our peoples, yet custom and suspicion have always divided us. Who knows what will come when quick-tongued men make ancient grievances rhyme with fresh desire for land and conquest?”
“How right to fear it, sir,” Wistan said. “The giant, once well buried, now stirs. When soon he rises, as surely he will, the friendly bonds between us will prove as knots young girls make with the stems of small flowers. Men will burn their neighbours’ houses by night. Hang children from trees at dawn. The rivers will stink with corpses bloated from their days of voyaging. And even as they move on, our armies will grow larger, swollen by anger and thirst for vengeance. For you Britons, it’ll be as a ball of fire rolls towards you. You’ll flee or perish. And country by country, this will become a new land, a Saxon land, with no more trace of your people’s time here than a flock or two of sheep wandering the hills untended.”
“Can he be right, Axl? Surely he speaks in a fever?”
“He may yet be mistaken, princess, but this is no fever. The she-dragon’s no more, and Arthur’s shadow will fade with her.” Then to Wistan, he said: “I’m comforted at least, sir, to find you take no delight in these horrors you paint.”
“I’d take delight if I could, Master Axl, for it’ll be vengeance justly served. Yet I’m enfeebled by my years among you, and try as I will, a part of me turns from the flames of hatred. It’s a weakness shames me, yet I’ll soon offer in my place one trained by my own hand, one with a will far cleaner than mine.”
“You speak of Master Edwin, sir?”
“I do, and I dare say he’ll be growing quickly more calm now the dragon’s slain and her pull gone from him. That boy has a true warrior’s spirit given only to a few. The rest he’ll learn fast enough, and I’ll train his heart well to admit no soft sentiments as have invaded mine. He’ll show no mercy in our work ahead.”
“Master Wistan,” Beatrice said, “I still don’t know if you speak only in a mad fever. But my husband and I grow weak, and must return to lower ground and shelter. Will you remember your promise to bury well the gentle knight?”
“I promise to do so, mistress, though I fear even now the birds find him. Good friends, forewarned as you are, you’ve time enough to escape. Take the knight’s horse and ride fast from these parts. Seek your son’s village if you must, but linger there no more than a day or two, for who knows how soon the flames will be lit before our coming armies. If your son will not hear your warnings, leave him and flee as far west as you can. You may yet keep ahead of the slaughter. Go now and find the knight’s horse. And should you find Master Edwin much calmed, his strange fever passed, cut him free and bid him come up here to me. A fierce future now opens before him, and it’s my wish he sees this place, the fallen knight and the broken she-dragon, all before his next steps. Besides, I recall how well he digs a grave with a stray stone or two! Now hurry away, gentle friends, and farewell.”
Chapter Sixteen
For some time now the goat had been trampling the grass very near Edwin’s head. Why did the animal have to come so close? They might be tied to the same post, but surely there was territory enough for each of them.
He might have got up and chased the goat away, but Edwin felt too tired. The exhaustion had swept over him a little earlier, and with such intensity that he had fallen forward onto the ground, the mountain grass pressing against his cheek. He had reached the edges of sleep, but then had been startled back to wakefulness by the sudden conviction that his mother had gone. He had not moved, and had kept his eyes closed, but he had muttered aloud into the ground: “Mother. We’re coming. Only a little longer now.”
There had been no answer, and he had felt a great emptiness opening within him. Since then, drifting between sleep and waking, he had several more times called to her, to be answered only by silence. And now the goat was chewing the grass next to his ear.
“Forgive me, mother,” he said softly into the earth. “They tied me. I couldn’t get free.”
There were voices above him. Only then did it occur to him the footsteps around him were not those of the goat. Someone was untying his hands, and the rope was pulling away from under him. A gentle hand raised his head, and he opened his eyes to see the old woman — Mistress Beatrice — peering down at him. He realised he was no longer tied, and rose to his feet.
One of his knees ached badly, but when a gust of wind rocked him, he was able to keep his balance. He looked about him: there was the grey sky, the rising land, the rocks up on the crest of the next hill. Not long ago, those rocks had meant everything to him, but now she was gone, of that there was no doubt. And he remembered something the warrior had said: that when it was too late for rescue, it was still early enough for revenge. If that were true, those who had taken his mother would pay a terrible price.