Alys Clare - Out of the Dawn Light

Romain was less afraid of the dragons than of the other Fenland inhabitants. To an extent he was familiar with dragons, and familiarity had driven out some of the fear.

Not all of it; but he would not allow himself to think about that.

It was fully dark now. His feet were hurting badly and he could tell from the unpleasant wetness inside his right boot that the blister on his heel must have burst. He knew he must stop, for if he didn’t there was little chance of his marching even one mile in the morning.

He glanced at his two companions, mere shapes in the darkness, for clouds had blown up across the moon. The girl still walked with a spring in her step, although he had an idea that she was deliberately making herself look fresh because somehow she sensed his eyes on her. She had, he had noticed with some apprehension, certain talents that were not given to most people, and a highly developed awareness of others seemed to be one of them. Sibert, a few paces ahead, was trudging with his head down. He had not spoken a word for some time, not since they had stopped at a river crossing for a sip of ale. Back then — it seemed like hours ago — he had said the river was the Alde and that they had about another fifteen miles to go.

Oh, God, Romain thought, please let him have been right, for we must have walked five miles at least since then, which would leave just ten to cover tomorrow. For now — abruptly he made up his mind — I cannot walk another step.

‘We’re stopping,’ he announced, his voice suddenly loud in the damp night air. ‘There’s a stand of pine on that rise to the left. We’ll settle there and sleep for a while.’

Sibert and the girl followed him, neither speaking. They found a dry patch of ground where three trees stood close together and the slippery pine needles made an aromatic bed. They each stretched out in their own chosen place and Sibert gave them large slices of his spice bread and several mouthfuls of beer. Then he assumed his sleeping position on his back and soon his gentle snores suggested he was asleep.

Romain eased off his boots and then untied the strings that held up the hose on his right leg. He rolled down the fine wool and then winced in pain as he got to his heel, where the blood and the fluid from the huge blister had begun to dry in a crust, sticking the fabric to his raw skin. What should I do? he wondered. Peel it away? Put a dressing on the wound? He did not know how.

He sensed movement beside him. The girl said softly, ‘Have you got a blister?’

‘Yes.’ There was no point in being proud and denying it.

But she made no remark about the youth and herself being better walkers than he. Instead she reached in the pouch at her waist and soon he smelt lavender.

‘Pull your hose off the raw skin and press this on to it,’ she commanded, handing him a pad of some soft fabric that was damp to the touch.

He did as he was told, expecting it to hurt like fire. It didn’t. ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed.

‘It’s lavender oil, both soothing and cleansing,’ she said. ‘Before you put your boots on tomorrow, I’ll give you some alcohol to rub into your feet. I carry a small bottle of it in my pack,’ she added with a touch of pride. ‘It’ll harden the skin.’

‘Thank you,’ he said.

He hoped she would now go back to her sleeping place. He was grateful, very grateful, but now he felt embarrassed by her nearness.

She said, ‘You must have taken the journey over to the Fens in easy stages.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘How did you know?’

‘Your feet are not used to long marches.’ He could tell from her voice that she was smiling. ‘Still, if you keep this up, they soon will be. Good night.’

She crept away and he lay down in the darkness. There was now only a gentle throbbing from his blister and he sent her his silent but profound gratitude.

When we woke up after the second night of our journey, I had the feeling that we were close to the sea. I could not have said how I knew, never having experienced the coast before, but there was a new quality in the light over in the east. I got up, stretched and, hearing in the utter silence the sound of running water, went to find its source.

We had crossed a river last night — fortunately there was a little wooden bridge — but this was much smaller, nothing more than a stream. Still, the water looked clean, running bright and fast over pebbles, and I could see fish in it. I bent down and drank greedily, splashing my face to wake myself up, then washing my hands and feet. The water was cool but not cold and very refreshing.

I was thinking about Romain’s blister. The best thing, I decided, was not to disturb the dressing I had placed over it in the night but instead bandage it to his foot, to make sure the raw flesh was protected from the rubbing of his boot. Yes. That would be best.

I was deliberately forcing myself to think about the practicalities of how to make a man with a huge blister comfortable enough to walk another ten miles. I did not want to go on thinking about how I had held his naked foot between my hands and gently, so gently, touched his soft skin. The remembered sensations had kept me awake long after he and Sibert were asleep. They had disturbed me in the night and they threatened to the same now in the day.

There was something different about our little company this morning and I detected it as soon as I rejoined them. The men were awake and already busy, Sibert with setting out food and drink, Romain with getting his boots back on. Before he attended to his right foot, I rushed forward to fix the dressing over his blister.

When I had finished I packed up my small bag and wound Elfritha’s shawl around my waist. The day was already too hot for me to wear it. I watched the two men, trying to work out what had changed.

Romain was pale; perhaps from nerves, for we were surely now close to the climax of our mission. He stood a few paces out from the shade of the fir trees staring out towards the east, where we would shortly be going. He was frowning and chewing at the inside of his cheek. But nervousness was not the main emotion I sensed in him: what I felt emanating from him in powerful waves was a restless, barely contained excitement.

Sibert’s mood was very different. I know him well — or I thought I did — and he had always been subject to steeper ups and downs than most of us. This morning he was clearly uneasy, and I could hear him muttering to himself. His frown made a crease like a knife cut between his eyes. Out of nowhere I felt a stab of sympathy for him, so sharp that I almost gasped.

What was the matter? Why was he not as excited as Romain? This mission concerned them both, or so I had been told. Why was Sibert not as thrilled as Romain at the thought of nearing its completion?

I stilled my thoughts and, relaxing, opened my mind to him as Edild had taught me. Straight away his distress flooded into me and I knew why he looked as he did.

He was afraid. He had assured Romain — older, tougher, more important, influential and powerful and infinitely wealthier — that he could lead him to the general location of this thing that we had come so far to find. Now the moment would soon be at hand when he would have to substantiate his boast and he did not know that he could.

I’ll help you, Sibert, I said silently to him. All you have to do is tell me where to look. I can’t scour the entire coast but if you narrow it down, I’ll find your treasure.

My urgent reassurance could not have reached him. As we set off shortly afterwards, he looked like a man on his way to the gallows.

Around noon, to judge by the height of the sun, we passed through a broad band of forest. I was surprised, for what I had been told of the coast (by Edild, of course, my best and favourite teacher) suggested shingle or sandy shores and short, wiry vegetation tough enough to withstand off-sea breezes and salt in the air. Yet here we were, walking in woodland.