Selden was grateful that one of the villagers came to him and told him, “Pater, I’ll see this.”
“What will you do?”
“Keep him away from flame. Can you smell the drink on him?”
“It was the end of him.”
“All the same.”
Perhaps Selden misunderstood, but he didn’t want to argue about the First Nation people.
“What should we do with the sword, do you think?” Selden asked.
“The lordling will want it. May have need of it, too.”
“Will you... Will you draw it out, please?”
The man pulled and, smiling, told the priest, “Just like Arthur.”
Selden didn’t know what to say. He wouldn’t admit that he had thought the same. Instead, he took the sword and thanked the man, who grabbed the dead man by the ankles and was set to drag him away.
“Here now, let me help lift him,” Selden told him, but the man would have nothing of it.
“Check on the boy, Pater. I’ll not go far." As he dragged the body, he assured the priest, "He won’t feel a thing.”
Friday, November 27, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Thirty-five
“Good,” the old woman said. “Now stand back, Pater. I’ll have a look. You, Wilfred, pull that cloth away. Just enough for me to see.”
She tucked at the tunic as gently as she could. The blood was slick, but clotting, she saw.
Selden felt her attention sharpen, her bated breath.
Granny had bent down, despite her aching, and she saw the scalloped wound. The gash started just below Rian’s waist and seemed to slice safely enough upward, past the lowest rib. She breathed and Selden could breathe again too.
Wilfred held his tongue.
“Who would scar such an innocent?” the healall asked.
“Hatti saw it all, Granny,” one of the children told her and Granny looked up and found the circle of eyes towering over her and the blood.
Rian grimaced. He tried to speak.
“Little one,” Granny told him. “Little one, grown so tall. Quiet. Hush now. Don’t go counting stars. You’ll live.”
“Press that cloth, Wilfred. Tight, but don’t move it side to side. There’s a flap of flesh there we’ll sew.” She looked as gently as she could into the man’s eyes. “He’ll live, Wilfred.” All business again, she demanded, “Stop that shaking. This minute, you hear? You’ll scare the boy with that palsy. And, you, Pater, say a prayer. We’ll move the boy as fast as you can thank the Mother.”
“God, our Mother, bless you for your mercy. Watch over us now and forever.”
Selden stood. “Let’s get the boy warm. Where do we take him?”
A village woman offered that her family had their table still made in the back room of their shop. “But we’ll need wood. Husband’s hunting. He’s not at timber.”
Wilfred regained his strength and nerve and gave commands. He was a respected elder, though not really so old, but strong and reliable. The villagers did as he told.
Rian was lifted on a blanket and taken away, through a nearby doorway, and all the youngsters ran for firewood they’d find in the Smithy. Granny called for a leather satchel that she had just inside her door. A fifteen-year-old was sent for it with the command to “Run!” Selden turned to Geoffrey and found his head laying in the lap of a village girl, a girl whose eyes still streamed with tears.
“Are you Hatti, child?”
She nodded yes.
Geoffrey opened his eyes and struggled to focus them. He felt as though he were floating out at sea.
“Child, what happened? Why are they fallen?” He was gentle, soft-spoken.
“The lordling defended me ... from him.” She pointed, not looking at the dead man, the sword driven deep into the man. “Rian stepped between them when the man drew a knife.”
“I see.” He paused for the girl to explain about Geoffrey. She only whispered to the lordling.
“And my student? He fell from whose blow?”
Geoffrey spoke, “Another.”
“There was another, Pater,” Hatti agreed. “He ran, as I did. I brought Master Smith. He had a stick.”
“The other?” Selden asked.
“Yes, the stranger. Master Smith had his hammer.”
Geoffrey winced as he rose, or tried. He managed only to sit up.
“Where is Rian?” Geoffrey asked, remembering it all now. He reached his fingers into the new mud.
Selden told him, “We think he’ll live. You saved him.”
“He saved me, master. It was a blow meant for me, one I couldn't have parried.”
“We are all indebted. Warf and weft. You too, Miss, are in the weave. I thank you. Now wipe away your tears. Bring the lordling inside. And calm Rian’s mother. Tell them what you saw. I’ll see to this last one.”
She tucked at the tunic as gently as she could. The blood was slick, but clotting, she saw.
Selden felt her attention sharpen, her bated breath.
Granny had bent down, despite her aching, and she saw the scalloped wound. The gash started just below Rian’s waist and seemed to slice safely enough upward, past the lowest rib. She breathed and Selden could breathe again too.
Wilfred held his tongue.
“Who would scar such an innocent?” the healall asked.
“Hatti saw it all, Granny,” one of the children told her and Granny looked up and found the circle of eyes towering over her and the blood.
Rian grimaced. He tried to speak.
“Little one,” Granny told him. “Little one, grown so tall. Quiet. Hush now. Don’t go counting stars. You’ll live.”
“Press that cloth, Wilfred. Tight, but don’t move it side to side. There’s a flap of flesh there we’ll sew.” She looked as gently as she could into the man’s eyes. “He’ll live, Wilfred.” All business again, she demanded, “Stop that shaking. This minute, you hear? You’ll scare the boy with that palsy. And, you, Pater, say a prayer. We’ll move the boy as fast as you can thank the Mother.”
“God, our Mother, bless you for your mercy. Watch over us now and forever.”
Selden stood. “Let’s get the boy warm. Where do we take him?”
A village woman offered that her family had their table still made in the back room of their shop. “But we’ll need wood. Husband’s hunting. He’s not at timber.”
Wilfred regained his strength and nerve and gave commands. He was a respected elder, though not really so old, but strong and reliable. The villagers did as he told.
Rian was lifted on a blanket and taken away, through a nearby doorway, and all the youngsters ran for firewood they’d find in the Smithy. Granny called for a leather satchel that she had just inside her door. A fifteen-year-old was sent for it with the command to “Run!” Selden turned to Geoffrey and found his head laying in the lap of a village girl, a girl whose eyes still streamed with tears.
“Are you Hatti, child?”
She nodded yes.
Geoffrey opened his eyes and struggled to focus them. He felt as though he were floating out at sea.
“Child, what happened? Why are they fallen?” He was gentle, soft-spoken.
“The lordling defended me ... from him.” She pointed, not looking at the dead man, the sword driven deep into the man. “Rian stepped between them when the man drew a knife.”
“I see.” He paused for the girl to explain about Geoffrey. She only whispered to the lordling.
“And my student? He fell from whose blow?”
Geoffrey spoke, “Another.”
“There was another, Pater,” Hatti agreed. “He ran, as I did. I brought Master Smith. He had a stick.”
“The other?” Selden asked.
“Yes, the stranger. Master Smith had his hammer.”
Geoffrey winced as he rose, or tried. He managed only to sit up.
“Where is Rian?” Geoffrey asked, remembering it all now. He reached his fingers into the new mud.
Selden told him, “We think he’ll live. You saved him.”
“He saved me, master. It was a blow meant for me, one I couldn't have parried.”
“We are all indebted. Warf and weft. You too, Miss, are in the weave. I thank you. Now wipe away your tears. Bring the lordling inside. And calm Rian’s mother. Tell them what you saw. I’ll see to this last one.”
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