Alys Clare - The Rose of the World

Meggie wished with all her heart that her mother was there in the wildwood waiting for her. She wasn’t; she had gone, and she would not come back.

Meggie knew she couldn’t go where her heart desired. For one thing, if she ran away with Rosamund now, the girl’s poor parents would have to wait even longer to know she was safe. Meggie could barely imagine what they had been enduring. She had briefly explored a little way towards Paradisa’s mind, but it had hurt very much and she had stopped.

The other reason — two reasons, really — were in the clearing with her. One was lying on the ground and not moving; the other had sat down on the grass and, one hand clamped to his shoulder, was staring at the blood welling up between his fingers.

Meggie disengaged herself from Rosamund. Her hands on the girl’s shoulders, she stared into the wide eyes. ‘I want you to go over to the edge of the clearing and keep an eye on the abbey gates,’ she said. ‘If you see one of the nuns or monks, yell as hard as you can to catch their attention.’

Rosamund’s trembling stopped as soon as Meggie finished issuing her simple command. Watching her hurry away across the grass, Meggie smiled. She was a plucky girl and, given a task, she had put her fear and her horror aside and got on with doing what she was told.

Meggie spun round and went over to the man lying on the ground. She glanced at the man in the russet tunic and saw that his eyes were on her. ‘I will come to you in a moment,’ she said calmly. ‘Your companion here appears to be the more gravely wounded, so I must tend to him first.’

She knelt beside the young man, her hand out to touch his face. His skin was cool and clammy. She put her fingers to his throat, feeling for the pulse of life. She was not sure if it was there. She bent over him, her cheek against his mouth, and felt the faintest in and out of his breath.

Then, when she knew he was alive, she began examining him. He had a wound in his side, under his right arm. It was quite deep and bleeding a great deal. She reached under her skirt and grabbed her linen underskirt, biting the cloth with her teeth and ripping a length of fabric. She balled it up and pressed it against the wound, undoing the man’s belt and fastening it up again over the pad of cloth. She noticed bruising across his ribs and wondered if he had winded himself. He needed more help than she could provide, for she had no medicaments and no proper bandages, and the day was cold. She got up and hurried over to the older man.

‘Let me see,’ she commanded. He took his hand away from his shoulder. His wound was less deep, but still bad enough. She tore another length off her underskirt, again folding a pad and putting it against the cut. ‘Press that, very hard,’ she said.

He obeyed. She sat back on her heels watching as the blood stained the white linen. It seemed to her that the flow was already lessening.

She felt his eyes on her. Turning, she saw that he was smiling. ‘I have had many wounds,’ he remarked, ‘but never such an exotic bandage. May I be permitted to keep this piece of your delectable underskirt, lady?’

Against all expectations, she laughed.

His smile widened, and he chuckled. ‘I thought you might be offended,’ he said. ‘I thought you might get angry again, like you did just now, and stab my other shoulder.’

She was still smiling. Whatever sort of a predator he was, he had charm. ‘That was then,’ she said. ‘Now, you are wounded. You are in my care, and I am not in the habit of sticking my sword into my patients.’

‘That’s lucky,’ he observed. ‘You swing a sword like a man, although your technique could be refined.’ The blue eyes blazed up at her, full of a seductive heat that required the swift assembly of her defences. ‘I’ll give you some lessons, if you like.’

‘Yes, I will accept,’ she said calmly. ‘Once you are healed, that is.’

She got to her feet. As she did so she heard him say her name, just once, so softly that she only just picked it up. She stared down at him. ‘I am going to Hawkenlye Abbey for help,’ she said. ‘I will be quick. Your companion there is, I think, unconscious. He has a bad wound in his side, and he should stay still. I have stemmed the bleeding as best I can-’

‘That wonderfully accommodating petticoat,’ the man murmured.

‘-but if he tries to sit up, it will get much worse.’

The man looked across at the still figure on the grass. ‘I will try to make sure he does not,’ he said. He met her eyes again. Serious now, he added, ‘You have my word.’

She nodded. She had done her best. She turned and ran across the clearing, where she caught Rosamund by the hand. The two of them flew as fast as they could down the slope to the abbey.

No matter how strong the urge was to go back immediately with helpers and medicaments to aid the two men up by the chapel, Meggie’s first duty was to Rosamund. She took the girl straight to Abbess Caliste’s room where, much to Meggie’s relief, the abbess was working at her table.

On seeing who Meggie had with her, the abbess’s face broke into a brilliant smile. She leapt up from her chair and flew across the small room, swooping down and taking Rosamund in her arms in a quick, intense hug.

‘You are unharmed?’ She broke away, holding Rosamund at arm’s length and running anxious eyes over her.

‘I am perfectly well, thank you, my lady,’ Rosamund replied politely.

Abbess Caliste looked up at Meggie. ‘Where did you fid her? Did you-?’

‘My lady, I am sorry but I cannot stay to explain,’ Meggie said. ‘Two men lie wounded by St Edmund’s Chapel and, with your permission, I will take a party to help them and bring them back to the infirmary.’

Abbess Caliste stood up, put the emotion of the moment aside and said briskly, ‘Of course. Tell Sister Liese that you have my authority to take whoever she thinks.’ Her eyes slipped back to Rosamund, and a trace of her beatific smile returned. ‘Meanwhile, you and I, young lady, will send word to your parents, so that they may come to rejoice with us and give thanks for your safe return.’

Meggie had to admire Sister Liese’s efficiency. Within a very short time, she had assembled four sturdy monks to carry the two stretchers and a nursing nun to accompany her to tend the wounded. Meggie had briefly described the wounds, and Sister Liese and her companion each carried satchels containing all that they would need. Sister Liese nodded to Meggie and said, ‘Lead the way, please.’

Meggie set a fast pace back up the slope to the chapel. To her great relief, the younger man was still lying just as she had left him. Pointing across the clearing, she said to Sister Liese, ‘He has the worse wound. There is a bad cut under his right arm, a long slash to the left forearm and there may be other injuries too.’ The fight had been so devastatingly swift that she had no idea what had happened.

Sister Liese nodded. ‘What about him?’ She looked at the older man, who was lying back with his eyes closed. ‘Where’s his wound?’

‘In the right shoulder and not as bad. He has lost much blood, however, and is probably feeling faint.’

Sister Liese issued some brief commands, and immediately the nursing nun bent to attend to the man in the russet tunic. The infirmarer went over to the younger man, gently loosening the belt and removing the makeshift bandage. She looked up at Meggie, who had hurried to stand anxiously behind her.

‘The bleeding is slowing,’ she said. ‘You did well.’ For an instant she eyed Meggie with undisguised curiosity, and then went back to her patient.

Very soon, the infirmarer deemed both men ready to be moved. With gentle hands, the monks got them on to the stretchers, and they set off back to the abbey, the nuns in attendance. Meggie watched them as they carefully descended the slope. She was about to follow when abruptly her legs gave way and she found herself sitting on the grass.