The Crimson Chalice (8 page)

Tia had an uncanny feeling that the dogs and Bran now waited on her, that in some way they were all linked in an understanding into which she could and must enter. Between them and Baradoc, she knew, there was always a silent flow of knowledge and command which linked them magically even when they were not in sight of one another.

At this moment from beyond the outcrop there came a high half groan, half scream of pain that was followed by a burst of almost demoniac, giggling laughter. Lerg's hackles stiffened and the long ridge of his back was furrowed with the slow rise of his pelt.

As fresh laughter and a cackling of voices came from beyond the ridge, Tia, full of fear, but refusing to let it hold her, began to move forward.

Baradoc lay on the ground on his side. A few feet behind him were the nearest trees. His hands were still tied behind him but now, too, his legs were bound at the ankles. Before him, sloping in a shallow bowl, was a clearing which rose on the far side to a crescent-shaped ridge with large rock outcrops showing through a growth of brooms, gorse, and brier tangles. At the foot of this ridge, and cut into it, was a narrow doorway framed on either side by upright slabs of stone with a thick wooden crosspiece at the top. In the center of the clearing a large patch of ground had been cleared and cultivated, the dark earth now marked with new bean growth, rows of young cabbages, a line of vines, a patch of young barley and a bed of glossy green-spiked spring onions. Beyond the garden an apple and a fig tree stood close to a low-roofed, long wooden-framed hut, the roof and sides thatched with rush bundles. At one end of the hut was a small wattle enclosure in which a cock and half a dozen hens foraged. Nearer Baradoc a small spring welled from the ground and ran in a thin rill through a marshy channel to the far slope of the forest. Between the stream and the hut a fire burned, a fire piled now with new kindling so that the fresh flames leapt from it and the blazing wood crackled and spat sparks and black ash that rose in the air like a cloud of flies. Close to the fire stood Atro and Colta, each holding an arm of a tall, thin-bodied old man whose long, girdled brown robe had been stripped from the top half of his body. Standing in front of the old man was Enghus, holding the light spear. Already he had scored the man's bare chest with the spear-point and now he thrust the spearhead almost fully into the man's left hip. Both arms already ran with blood from previous thrusts.

Baradoc watched, sickened and angry with disgust, as Colta, striking the old man's face with her fist, spat at him, shouting, “You old fool—talk!”

Enghus raised the spear to thrust again, crying, “Yes, talk, talk, talk! Where is the treasure?”

Atro swung his free hand and sent Enghus spinning away. “Enough, Enghus! Enough!” Then to the old man he said, “Listen, Father, be sensible and talk, and then we will leave you in peace. But if you don't we will surely kill you.” He reached out, took the old man's long dark beard in his hand and jerked his head up. “Talk! Where is the treasure?”

Baradoc saw the slow bracing movement of the man's thin, bony shoulders as he drew breath. His dark eyes opened and he stared at Atro and his lean, weather-bitten face was stony with stubbornness. He said nothing.

Enghus lowered the spearpoint and held it against the old man's belly. “Let me, Atro. Let me!”

Atro shook his head. “No, he's had his chance. But now—you shall make him talk.” He laughed gently. “Roast him a little. That'll start his tongue to wag.”

“Yes, yes, roast him a little.…” Enghus dropped his spear and began to dance around, beating his hands in joy, like an excited child, chanting, “Roast him! Toast him! That'll make his old tongue waggle!”

At this moment, long before he caught the downwind scent of the hound, Baradoc knew that Lerg was close to him. And with Lerg would be the others … yes, even Tia, for he knew the dogs would never have left her so soon. He slowly turned his head and looked back at the near trees. The group around the old man were too busy with their own business to pay any attention to him now.

Enghus had taken a dry branch and was holding it in the fire the end of it flaming in a great yellow-and-blue tongue. He whipped it from the fire and swung it around to kill the flame and fan the thick end into a living red coal. The moment it glowed well Enghus danced in, cackling with delight, and drew the red end slowly across the old man's chest. The old man, his body jerking violently, threw his head back and screamed, the echoes of his cry beating back from the surrounding woods, setting pigeons flighting from the far treetops.

Behind him on the fringe of the trees Baradoc heard the shaking of a bush and a quick breathing as someone moved behind it. Slowly he turned his head. Momentarily the sunlight flashed on a scrap of fair hair. As another scream from the old man rang in his ears, Baradoc sat up so that the top half of his body would cover any approach from behind. All he wanted now was to feel the dagger thrust at the thongs of his wrists behind him, and then to have the dagger in his free hands to slash his ankle bonds.

The old man screamed again. Baradoc watched Atro and Colta supporting the long, thin frame and Enghus dancing back to the fire to heat up the brand for a fresh assault. Anger burned in him at the wanton savagery of the three. Then he felt his left arm grasped, heard Tia's heavy breathing and took the warm body smell of her into his nostrils. He strained at his wrists to stretch the thongs tight as, lying full length, hidden behind him, she sawed at them with her small dagger. When they came free, he said quietly, “Stay where you are.” He took the dagger from her and brought his right hand-around quickly and began to cut away at his ankle bonds.

Across the clearing Enghus stepped back from the fire, whirling his brand to make it glow. Colta was pulling at the old man's beard while Atro supported him as his legs sagged. The light spear lay on the ground, unheeded. Atro's bow was slung across his back, the quiver and broadsword hanging at his belt.

Baradoc's ankle binds came free. Dagger in hand, he began to rise swiftly. The movement caught Atro's eye. He turned full toward Baradoc, let out a loud warning cry, and began to fumble to free his bow from his back.

Through Tia raced a sudden surge of fear as she saw Atro beginning to unship his bow as Baradoc ran across the clearing. Then she heard theracing Baradoc shout,
“Saheer! Aie! Saheer!”

Lerg leapt from the thicket behind her and with him went Aesc and Cuna. Before Baradoc could reach the group at the fire, Lerg was past him and leaping at Atro as the youth freed his bow. They went over in a roaring, growling mêlée of arms and legs and twisting grey body. A long shriek of pain cut through the air. Colta let go of the old man and he fell to the ground. Enghus threw his burning brand at Aesc as the dog rushed in and bit and snapped at his legs as he tried to reach his light spear. Colta raised her fish spear and ran at Baradoc, but before she could reach him Bran dropped from above in a threshing at her eyes. Colta screamed, dropped the spear and ran for the woods, covering her face with spread hands. Enghus ran after her, away from the snapping, savage attack of Aesc and Cuna, abandoning hope of gaining his spear.

Baradoc shouted to Lerg and the dog drew back from the fallen Atro. Baradoc picked up the light spear and stood over him as Colta and Enghus disappeared in the woods. Tia ran forward and, hardly knowing she was doing it, pulled the old man away from where he had fallen so close to the fire that the hood of his gown was burning. She beat out the flames with her hands.

Baradoc stood over the fallen Atro, spear and dagger in hand. Blood was pouring from the side of the youth's neck where Lerg had taken him.

“Make one move,” said Baradoc, “and I'll put the hound on you.” Spear poised for action, he bent down and picked up the Parthian bow and threw it behind him. Grimly, he said, “Stand up and keep facing me.”

Holding his hand to his neck, Atro rose to his feet. Then with a slow shrug of his shoulders, he smiled and said, “What need is there for all this? The talk of selling you as a slave was not in earnest. You should join us. Together nobody could face us.” He nodded toward the old man. “There is treasure here. Everyone around knows it. We have only to make him speak and then share it.”

Baradoc pressed the point of the spear against Atro's breast, pressed it hard so that it reached his skin and made him wince away. “Undo your belt and let it drop. And give me no more talk. After all I've seen—a wrong word could yet move me to kill.”

Slowly Atro brought his hands to his belt buckle. The belt fell to the ground, an arrow slipping from the quiver, the heavy sword ringing against the stones.

“Now go,” said Baradoc harshly. “And remember this—you are marked by me and by the hound. To see you again means a killing. Go!”

Atro, tight-lipped, faced him for a moment or two and then turned and began to walk to the trees. Behind him stalked Lerg and when Atro passed into the trees the hound still went with him.

They took the old man into his hut, stripped the gown from him and laid him on his bed, which was made of long, rough-hewn boards without over or undercoverings. He lay, there, breathing faintly, making no move, his eyes shut.

Baradoc nodded to an earthenware jar by the door. “Get some water. Wash his spear wounds and find some cloths to bind them. Don't touch the burns.” He went out of the hut, gathered up all the weapons and brought them back. Then, carrying only the light spear, he went toward the low crest above the hillside doorway.

Tia filled the jar with water. As she did so she noticed that Aesc and Cuna had stationed themselves on the forest edge of the clearing. Back in the hut she washed the old man's wounds and bound them as well as she could with some of the rags that Baradoc had found in the fishermen's hut. Since the rags were dirty she tore strips from her short undershirt, which was reasonably clean, to go next to the wounds. When the dressings were done she made a pillow from the old man's gown, propped his head up and fed water to him from her beaker. Eyes closed, he drank a little and groaned sharply when her arm touched one of his bums.

Baradoc came back after a while carrying two handfuls of leaves and herbs. With a stone he began to pound some of them into a pulp on a platter and said, “There's a hen run at the side of the hut. Get some eggs.” He said it without looking at her, pounding away at the leaves. The old man was all his concern. She found four eggs in a bracken nest in a corner of the run and brought them back. She saw that Lerg had returned.

Baradoc broke the eggs over the pulpy herb mass and stirred them into it to make a paste. When the paste was well mixed he took handfuls of it and spread it over the old man's chest burns. Although he did it gently the old man twitched and groaned at his touch.

Over his shoulder Baradoc said, “Find something to cover him.” Except for a rough loin wrapping, the old man had been naked under his rough woollen robe.

“There's nothing here. I'll have to fetch Sunset.”

“Then get her. There's no danger. They won't be back to face Lerg.”

As she left the clearing, Lerg rose and went with her without any sign or word.

When she came back with Sunset she unloaded the two panniers and freed her short mantle from the saddle rope. In the hut she spread the mantle over the old man, covering him just short of the lowest burn on his chest.

Baradoc said, “We must take turns to watch him. He's not in his proper mind and may try to pull the salves away.”

“How do you know about such things?”

“By not running away from my master. From his words and from his books. And much from my own kind. Although the old man burns, water will not put out his fire. It is the air which gives us life that feeds a fire. The burns must not be allowed to breathe. Did you not know this?” He looked up at her and then, unexpectedly, smiled.

“There are many things I don't know. It seems there is much that is missing in me.”

Baradoc stood up. “But much that I am grateful for. You can be fearful but not lose your courage. I owe you a life already. And now I owe you my liberty. Those devils would have sold me to slavery.” He reached out, took her hand and held it between the palms of his own, pressing it firmly.

“Why do you do that?”

“As a sign. While we stay together nobody can harm you until my own power is broken.” Releasing her hands, he grinned. “You came to me here, and I am free. Because of you, too, the old man lives and will live.”

Tia shook her head. “I came because the dogs brought me.”

“No. Without them you would have found a way. There is the mark on you. I know it and the beasts know it. They read your thoughts and know your heart. Before we reach Aquae Sulis I will teach you how to speak to them without words. Already the gift is in you. Now”—he turned to the hut door—“let us get unpacked and settled in. It will be many, many days before we can safely leave the old man to himself.”

“Many days?”

Baradoc laughed. “Now your face grows as long as Sunset's. Do you think the old man will recover by tomorrow? He will be long on his couch and longer before he can work his garden and care for himself and his shrine.”

“But that means—” Tia broke off suddenly, ashamed of her own selfishness.

Baradoc said easily, “Aquae Sulis will not run away. A little more rough living will make it seem like paradise. But if you wish you are free to go and to take Sunset with you.”

Tia's face stiffened angrily. Then putting out her hand, she said, “This hand you took in gratitude has an itch to smack your face!”

Baradoc shrugged his shoulders. “Good. That means you will stay. Now, let us get things in order.” He laughed, took her arm and tugged her gently toward the door, saying, “You have forgotten to bring the fish and I have lost the duck you were going to pluck. We will wring the neck of a hen. The old man will be better for a good broth to help him heal.”