Alys Clare: The Tavern in the Morning

‘Very well. It remains as true, however, that I intend no harm to either of you.’

She went ‘Huh!’, but he thought he detected a slight softening in her ferocious expression. ‘Let me look at your wound,’ she said, kneeling down beside him. ‘Turn round — no, not that way! Yes, that’s better. Hmm. A deal of swelling — ’ her fingers gently probed the bump, and he winced — ‘and the skin has been broken in a couple of places.’ She lowered his head down again and sat back on her heels. ‘I’ll warm some water and apply a poultice. It will sting, but it will draw out any dirt and allow the cuts to heal. Ninian!’

From somewhere outside, the boy called back, ‘Here!’

‘Put some water on to boil!’

‘There already is some.’

‘Good, good,’ she muttered, getting up and sweeping out of the shack in one swift movement.

Presently she came back, bearing in her hands what looked like a lump of green mud. A strong smell accompanied her into the shack; a pleasant smell, which, as he breathed it deeply into his lungs, gave him the impression of being slightly lightheaded …

‘Don’t breathe it in too deeply,’ she warned belatedly.

‘Why?’ He leaned forward and she bent over his head. ‘What’s in it?’

‘Primarily comfrey and lavender.’ He felt a sudden heat as she put the poultice to his wounds. ‘Plus one or two secret ingredients of my own.’

‘Where did you find comfrey and lavender in February?’

‘I brought them with me. In my satchel. They’re dried, of course, not fresh, but even dried, they retain some of their goodness. There.’ She had secured the poultice with a strip of linen, which she was tying off. ‘How does that feel?’

He thought about it. ‘Better,’ he said eventually. ‘The whole of the back of my head feels warm, the stinging sensation has eased off and in fact … yes. It’s going nicely numb.’

For the first time she smiled. The effect was considerable; he couldn’t resist smiling back. ‘Excellent!’ she said. She held out a small mug. ‘Drink this. You ought to drink plenty, it’s bad if you get thirsty.’

He thought at first that it was plain water. But there was some sort of aftertaste to it, a slight bitterness. He wondered why he wasn’t instantly on his guard. Why he appeared to have put his trust in her so unreservedly.

He watched her as she packed up her leather satchel. She was humming quietly; a soothing, soporific sound. He gave a great yawn. ‘Sorry.’

‘You’re drowsy,’ she observed. ‘Have a sleep. It’ll help your body heal itself.’

‘Very well.’ He could feel his eyelids drooping. Closing.

‘I’ll be back later,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve filled your water flask, and left you some bread and dried meat. I’ll bring you more food when I return.’

He opened one eye. She was still there. He closed it. When, an instant later, he opened it again, she had gone.

* * *

He wondered afterwards what she had put in the cup. Some strong sedative, that was for sure. Well, he had to conclude that she knew what she was doing; waking up late in the day, when the long shadows cast by a low sun in a clear sky told him it was almost dusk, he discovered he felt much better.

He lay staring out at the sunset. The sky was clear, not a cloud to be seen. As he watched, the orange glow began to fade and, in the deep navy of twilight, the first stars came out. There was the Great Bear — idly his eyes followed the line of the constellation — there were the Pointers, there the North Star, and, over there … ah, yes! There was Cassiopeia.

She had said she would come back, and he knew she would. Eventually, she did.

She was breathless, and had obviously been running. ‘It’s going to be a very cold night,’ she said without pausing to greet him. ‘There’s no fire out there this evening, so you’d better come with me. Can you manage to mount your horse, if I help you?’

He sat up. So far, so good. ‘Aye,’ he said. He had been outside several more times to answer calls of nature, and getting on to Horace shouldn’t present any problem. He rolled over on to his knees, then very slowly got to his feet. Not too bad.

She held his arm and they went outside. Somebody — the woman? — had put on Horace’s saddle and bridle, and beside him stood a stout bay pony, also tacked up.

Josse pointed. ‘Minstrel?’

‘Minstrel.’

The woman bent down and held her joined hands beneath Horace’s left stirrup. Josse put his knee into her hands, and, holding on to the saddle, heaved himself up while she pushed from beneath.

Lord, but she was strong! He hardly needed to pull, she was doing most of the work.

He settled himself — his head was spinning wildly — while she mounted the pony. ‘You’re no weakling,’ he remarked.

She shot him a glance. ‘Four months of taking care of us has developed muscles I didn’t know I had,’ she said. ‘I can split logs and carry loads as well as a man.’ Then, as if regretting her words, her expression closed down. Face severe, she nudged the pony closer to Josse. ‘Look, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to blindfold you.’

‘ What? ’

‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated, ‘but it’s necessary. You have to agree,’ she went on, earnest now as if it mattered that she convince him, ‘there’s no point in discovering a perfect hiding-place and then letting a total stranger know where it is. Is there?’

‘No.’ She was right, he did have to agree.

He leaned down to her level while she tied a soft cloth round his eyes, over the top of the band holding on the poultice. She tied it tightly and efficiently: he couldn’t see a thing.

‘And I’ll have to tie your wrists to the pommel of your saddle,’ she added, doing so before he could protest.

‘I won’t take the blindfold off, I promise,’ he said quietly.

‘I believe you.’ He sensed from the warmth in her voice that she did. ‘But suppose your horse were to trip? Natural instinct would be to uncover your eyes, despite your promise.’ He made no reply. ‘I won’t let that happen,’ she said. ‘Won’t let your horse trip, I mean. I know the way, and he’ll probably follow on quite happily behind me. If he gets uneasy, I’ll dismount and lead him. All right?’

‘All right.’

They travelled for some time. Josse, in the blackness of his blindfold, disorientated and dizzy, concentrated on clinging on to the saddle, and on coping with the sickness that kept coming in vertiginous waves.

After a while, he sensed they were no longer beneath the trees. The ground seemed a little firmer and once or twice one of the horses struck a shoe against a stone. The air felt colder and colder. Josse was shivering almost constantly now.

They climbed a slight rise — instinctively, feeling Horace’s effort, he put his weight forward slightly — and then they were there. He sensed walls around them, a building of some sort, and then the woman was beside him, untying his hands, removing the blindfold.

‘Thank you.’

She stared up at him. ‘No. It is I who must thank you. Not a journey for a sick man, I’m afraid, especially when he has been deprived of his sight.’

‘Only temporarily,’ he murmured.

She helped him down, and, as she led Horace and the pony on into the building — it appeared to be a barn, which had been fitted with internal partitions to make two or three rough stalls — he leaned against the door frame, trying to stop the spinning in his head. He noticed absently that one of the stalls was already occupied, but the light inside the barn was too dim for him to make out details of the horse. Perhaps — probably — it was the woman’s mount.