Clash of Kings (32 page)

‘Now we wait! The dressings must be changed regularly to be effective and the wound must be cleansed every time. I may need to cut away more flesh, but we must be grateful that the bone has not been exposed. If that had occurred, and the poison had reached the bone, this young man couldn’t be saved.’

For three days, the warrior slept fitfully, assisted by the use of poppy juice to prevent any excessive movement that would hamper the healing process. Gradually, after several more applications of the knife, the deep furrow along the thigh began to develop the pink growth of scabbing flesh, and although the scarring would be terrible Myrddion felt a moment of pride in the certainty that the young warrior would keep his leg.

After informing the town council that the patient would now rouse out of his artificial sleep, Annwynn bound the young man’s legs to prevent excessive movement and waited for him to regain consciousness.

Anticlimactically, the young man emerged from his deep sleep and appeared to be unconcerned with either his wound or his message. After his initial disorientation, his first thoughts were for his wife and his horse.

‘I’m trying to get home to my wife in Deva. I need to go now if old Rhiannon is fit to ride. The poor old girl was nearly blown when I arrived at Segontium. I don’t remember much about the journey, so I’m not sure where you are – or where I am, for that matter. I’ve got to get home, healer, before I’m caught on the road. Deva’s been declared neutral to protect the port, so I have to keep riding.’

Myrddion grinned at the young man’s ready, well-exercised tongue.

‘Has anyone ever told you that you’re a talkative bastard? No? Don’t take offence – I really am a bastard, so you can call me the same whenever you want. At any rate, the town fathers are eager for any news you might have. But don’t you want to know the condition of your wound? If I seem to be laughing at you, it’s because you’re one of those very rare patients who seem uninterested in what I’ve done to them after I’ve carved them up.’

The young warrior flushed, then laughed at his situation. Myrddion felt an immediate rush of affection for him, and was glad that he had managed to save his leg.

‘I knew I had a wound in my thigh, but I had no time to treat it for I had a task to complete. When I developed a fever, I believed that I would die. If I talk too much, it’s because I come from a family of women, as well as my wife, so I rarely get a word in when all my darlings are talking at once.’

‘It’s a good thing, then, that I worked so hard on your leg. It’s not pretty, but you’ll walk again and, if you’re sensible, you won’t need a stick.’

The warrior sighed and extended his hand. ‘My name is Ceolfrith. Yes, I know it’s an outland name, but apparently there’s Saxon blood somewhere in my ancestry, although it’s well hidden.’ He brushed one hand through a bush of curly red hair too unruly to be braided. Myrddion snorted with sudden humour. ‘As you can see, I’m neither fair, tall nor blue-eyed.’

As Ceolfrith’s eyes were brown and he stood barely five feet six inches in height, his name was indeed misleading. His shoulders were very broad and he had a disarming smatter of freckles over his nose and cheekbones, giving him the appearance of a cheeky, muscular boy. But Myrddion wasn’t deceived. Ceolfrith’s hands were scarred from years on horseback and countless sessions of sword practice. His eyes were surrounded by a network of wrinkles that spoke of years in the sun, so the warrior’s boyishness could only be a happy trick of heredity.

Before Myrddion could explain the nature of his treatment, Annwynn ushered in the two chief councillors of Segontium and suddenly the cottage became cramped and overcrowded. The town’s leaders were badly starved for news from the south.

‘We hear so little of the struggles of the Great Ones,’ Selwyn the grain merchant explained with some urgency. ‘And wise men need to know the way the wind is blowing, if you take my meaning.’

Ceolfrith nodded gravely. A township that chose the wrong side in a civil war was likely to be sacked and put to the sword without mercy.

‘I serve Vortigern, as do all the men of the Deva levy. We have good cause to fear the Picts, who still come over the Roman Wall when they believe us to be weak, although Vortigern has crushed them on so many occasions that they think twice before they invade in the spring. Yes, the High King has used Saxons to defeat the blue warriors and I can understand how foolish it is to invite foxes into the henhouse, but we northerners know what a scourge the Picts can be.’

Selwyn nodded his understanding. As a businessman, he understood that compromise was sometimes necessary in political situations, but Myrddion felt his lips thin with disapproval at the hated name.

Ceolfrith had caught that twist of the lips.

‘Healer, I understand that Vortigern’s ways are cruel and capricious. Why, I have even heard that he killed a priestess from these parts some years ago, and what sensible man alienates the goddess? But Ambrosius has little interest in the north, so the Brigante, the Coritani and the Cornovii would be left to fall to the Pictish brutes if it were not for Vortigern. We northerners make treaties for our protection, not because we like the sword hand that keeps us safe.’

‘Sensible!’ Myrddion agreed brusquely.

‘Ambrosius Imperator has promised the throne of the north to Vortimer, Vortigern’s son, if he will guarantee to drive Vortigern’s Saxons out of the south. Vortimer has sworn to serve the emperor and so a huge army has marched into Venta Silurum, seeking to crush the High King.’

Selwyn and the wool trader exchanged nervous glances. Venta Silurum was far away, but war can spread very quickly.

‘Vortigern has been the victor of a score of battles and his skills are legendary, so he was not so foolish as to meet his son in equal combat on level ground. We met the southerners at Y Gaer where the ground is high, uneven and barren, and provided little opportunity to deploy the cavalry which Ambrosius had given to Vortimer in generous numbers. Nor were siege machines useful, as the terrain prevented their transportation into the mountains.’

‘And what happened?’ Selwyn asked breathlessly, his eyes very large and nervous.

‘Neither side gained any advantage, but the loss of life was terrible. Unfortunately for Vortigern, Vortimer received fresh men from Ambrosius to swell his ranks. Like any sensible commander, Vortigern abandoned the field.

‘As we retreated into the north, the southern army followed us past Forden and along a river valley leading to the mountains above Caer Gai. They caught us there, and we fought to a standstill. The loss of life was even worse than at Y Gaer, so Vortigern surrendered.’

‘Sweet Mother!’ Myrddion breathed, his heart filled with savage joy, although he took pains to ensure that his face remained impassive. ‘Is Vortigern dead?’

‘No,’ Ceolfrith replied, rather affronted to discover that the healer believed that Vortigern was so stupid as to place himself in the hands of his son. ‘Vortigern brokered a peace by unconditionally handing over the throne to Vortimer. That should have solved the conflict, but as we moved into the hills we fell into a treacherous ambush. Vortimer had decided to rid himself of his father permanently. We managed to fight our way out of the trap and eventually reached the mountains past Tomen-y-mur. Those of us who were mounted were sent to obtain assistance, while the bulk of our men, including many hundreds who are wounded, are dug into the high ground overlooking the peninsula. They are dying like flies, for Vortimer is determined to have his way. Vortigern cannot leave the field without abandoning half of his army.’

‘Is Segontium under any threat from the fighting?’ Selwyn asked, his face a little pale to think of the young men from the town who were unlikely to return to their homes.

‘No, sir. There is no possible way that Vortigern’s troops have the will to attack Segontium, nor any reason for them to do so. Vortimer has turned southwards in triumph, ready to attack the Saxon enclaves of Hengist and Horsa in the Cantii tribal lands to the east, for he must repay his debt to Ambrosius. The north is safe from this war – for the moment!’

Selwyn sighed with relief, and both businessmen gave coin to Ceolfrith out of gratitude. Like any sensible man with an eye to the future, Ceolfrith bit the coins to gauge their purity and kept them, for a provident man takes what bounty he can when an opportunity arises.

Once the senior citizens of Segontium had left the cottage, Myrddion unwrapped Ceolfrith’s wound so the warrior could see the deep furrow that was now beginning to grow scar tissue to protect the flesh around the wound. Ceolfrith paled until his freckles stood out like an old man’s liver spots.

‘You promised that I’d walk again,’ he whispered. ‘How?’

‘I had to cut away the rotting flesh or you would have lost your leg. However, I saved most of the muscle and the bone isn’t compromised. The wound looks worse than it is.’

‘Take no notice of him, young man,’ said Annwynn. ‘He achieved miracles, but he’s far too modest to say so. I could smell the stink of corruption when you reached us, and I thought you would soon be a dead man. You are very fortunate that Myrddion was the one who treated you.’

‘The Demon Seed!’ Ceolfrith whispered and grinned shakily. ‘Have I been healed by the Demon Seed who defied Vortigern at Dinas Emrys? The goddess must protect me and I never knew it. I am very grateful, my lord, and my family will say prayers for your continued health and well-being.’ Thoughtfully, he gazed into Myrddion’s face. ‘Healers such as you are needed at the peninsula, for those we have there are worse than useless. Initially, I was sent by my commander to find medical aid for our suffering wounded, but all I could focus on was returning to my home and my family.’

Annwynn glanced briefly at Myrddion and then began gathering together her whole supply of herbs, tinctures and unguents, including the raw materials that had yet to be prepared. Soon she had filled a wooden chest that did double duty as a bench seat with a plentiful supply of rags, oils, herbs and the tools of her trade.

Myrddion watched her with a hint of scorn. He knew that Annwynn could not see the suffering of anyone without offering succour, regardless of their beliefs or their vices. Annwynn had the pure soul of a healer, a virtue that Myrddion despaired of ever possessing. He knew that his hatred of Vortigern should not translate into a refusal to help the men of the north, but hatred is a vile, selfish sin and he couldn’t stop himself from snapping, ‘You aren’t going to assist Vortigern, are you? The man is a monster!’

Annwynn stared him down until his eyes dropped away from her accusing stare.

‘Yes, Myrddion, hang your head in shame! We are healers, and we have no right to choose who should live or who should die. How many decent men are suffering at this moment because no one will help them? But you needn’t travel with me if you do not wish to do so, for I’m prepared to go alone if necessary. Besides, Ceolfrith needs nursing, so it’s best if you stay in Segontium, if your sensibilities are so delicate that you can’t bring yourself to treat those men who are sworn to assist Vortigern in his battles. I’ll be on my way by first light tomorrow morning, if Ceolfrith will draw me a map and give me directions on the best route to follow.’

Faced with his own bitterness, Myrddion wondered if he was no better than Branwyn in his hoarded anger and malice. With a wrench, he acknowledged that Annwynn was correct in her assessment of his prejudices. He thought of that old Greek healer, Hippocrates, who told his students that they should never harm their patients. Wasn’t it worse to withhold treatment than to hurt a patient through honest error?

‘I’m sorry, Annwynn. We must both make an attempt to save those warriors who can be helped. As for Ceolfrith, I’m sure that Selwyn can find a family to care for him. All he needs now is rest and regular changes of his dressings.’

Like Melvig, Myrddion was able to move like lightning when he became convinced of the necessity to take immediate action. Arrangements were made for Ceolfrith to be cared for by an elderly widow whose sons were at the war. In her comfortable home, the warrior would be treated like a minor king and the widow would follow Myrddion’s instructions on his treatment to the letter. Then Myrddion went to the villa on the cliff top to ask for the loan of a wagon to carry Annwynn’s chest and his own tools, which had been made in the style of the Roman military surgeons’ implements. Eddius agreed to lend him a cart, but was not happy.

‘Vortigern is a murderer, Myrddion. He doesn’t deserve any medical assistance. Have you forgotten your grandmother Olwyn? Have you forgiven that misbegotten bastard for what he did to her?’

Eddius’s face was white with anger, and Myrddion felt a pang that this beloved man, who was his father in all but name, was still suffering so acutely. He tried to explain.

‘I’m not going there to assist Vortigern. He can rot in Hades for all I care. But Celtic warriors are suffering, and dying, and I cannot sit back when perhaps I could save their lives. To do so would be to damn men who have been impressed by their lords to serve the king. Can’t you see, Eddius, that these men have no choice as to whom they serve? If I pick and choose whom I heal, then I’m as much a murderer, by omission, as Vortigern is through his actions.’

Eddius sighed. ‘I understand, Myrddion. I’m sorry for taking my frustration out on you. Men such as Vortigern cause so much damage to other people, yet their own suffering is minimal.’

‘I’m glad you understand, Eddius. But if you’re angry, I shudder to think what Melvig will say. He’ll blister my skin with his fury, even from a long distance.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I don’t blame either of you for your reactions. I dread having to face the regicide, and I pray I’m not forced to speak to him.’

‘Take care, Myrddion. Vortigern has no reason to love you, and I’m sure he’d be happier if you vanished permanently.’

Myrddion could only nod, for every word that Eddius spoke was ominously true.

When the sun rose over the mountains in the early morning, the two healers were dressed and ready to depart. Until they returned, the cottage livestock would be fed by a local woodcutter who had been paid good coin to care for them. Everything had been considered, so they were free to leave for Vortigern’s encampment. With the first rays of the morning sun behind them, they set forth towards the southwest.