Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

Mordechai lay below me, much too far away for me to reach him, in the narrow, rubble-strewn bottom of a stark cleft in the hillside. The smooth rock face opposite me, at the foot of which he lay, seemed polished, stained with seepage and falling rain, and he lay sprawled at the foot of it, on his back, by the side of a strangely opaque, reflectionless pool that lay directly beneath my face as I peered down. His face was turned towards me and his crutch, identifiable by its padded end, lay lodged beneath his body. His left leg was obviously broken very badly, white bone splinters protruding from the shin, but I could see little blood. He was motionless, but I chose not to believe that he was dead. I called to him, but to no effect. Quickly I scanned the sides of the drop beneath me and saw that it, too, was sheer, like the other side, as though the rock had been cloven by a thunderbolt.

It was then, as I looked back towards him, that he moved, convulsing in a way that brought his right arm sweeping to hit a large splinter of stone that lay beside the edge of the dark pool I had noticed earlier. His arm hit the stone with sufficient strength to dislodge it and send it tumbling into the pool. My flesh crawled with horror, because I saw it fall and watched it disappear and there was no splash, no sound of any kind. What I had taken for a pool was a deep, black, bottomless hole in the floor of the crevice.

I rolled onto my back and sat upright, bracing myself on my straight arms and cursing the rain and my heavy armour. Mordechai needed help immediately, but I had no way of reaching him. He lay at least four times my own height beneath me, and even had I been able to climb down to where he lay, I could never climb up again, carrying him. My mind was filled with all the things I knew I could not do. I could not ride back for Rufio. By my reckoning, I had been riding for no more than an hour. One more hour to ride back would take me there just as the others were abandoning their search, with two hours yet to elapse before they won back to their starting point. By the time they arrived back it would be growing dark and we would still be one full hour away from here. Even were he still alive by then, it was clear to me that Mordechai would not survive the night, down in that hole in the cold and the rain. Even Liam Twistback was of no use to me. The path that lay between us was far too narrow, steep and dangerous for his large wagon. And then I remembered the rope from which the dead man hung, less than a mile away.

I scrambled back up the slope, mounted my horse and made my way back along the path to where I could climb up and cut the rope at the base of the tree that anchored it. The corpse fell to the hillside below me, disintegrating as it hit the ground, so that I had no worries about freeing the other end, and I began to coil the rope immediately, inspecting it as I brought it in. It appeared slightly worn at the point where it had lain across the tree limb for so long, but otherwise it seemed strong enough to do what I required of it. Another thunderclap rumbled away above as I finished the coils, satisfied with the weight and thickness of the rope. Looping it across my chest, I scrambled back down to my horse and made my way back to where Mordechai had left the track. There, remembering that there were few large trees below this point, I used my sword to chop down some strong saplings and cut them into lengths to use as splints. That done, I tore the remnants of his blanket into strips to bind the splints, then unrolled my saddle pack and removed my own thick, springy, waxed-wool blanket, wadding it tightly and securing it beneath my cloak where it would remain at least partially dry. I piled the remainder of my saddle pack's contents beside the path, and then removed my cloak again and divested myself of sword, helmet, shield and cuirass. They would be safe enough, I estimated, and I had no need of either their protection or their weight where I was going. I refastened the dry blanket against my ribs, secured my swordbelt, which now held only my dagger, and shrugged back into my heavy, wet cloak. Already the pleasure I had felt in freeing my head from my heavy helmet had gone, leaving me aware only of the runnels of icy rain trickling down my neck. Once I was certain I had everything that I might need, I slung the coils of rope across the saddle bow and led my patient horse once more into the wilderness of underbrush.

Mordechai had not moved, as far as I could tell, and was still unconscious. Wasting no time, I unloaded the coiled rope, the bundle of splints and the binding strips of blanket, then I went to tether my horse, looping his reins around a low-growing bush. Only then did I realize the true folly of what I was about. My horse, I knew, would remain where I tied him, no matter how loosely tethered. That was his training. But the rope by which I had thought to climb down to Mordechai required an anchor far stronger than a clump of low-lying shrubs, and I was already aware that there were no trees on this slope. The association, however, had escaped me until now! A hasty search revealed the full extent of my stupidity. There was nothing, not even an outcrop of rock that I could use as an anchor, and the rope was far too short to stretch uphill to the nearest tree. I was leaning against my saddle in despair, feeling the urge to weep with frustration, my face pressed against the leather, when my horse turned his head and nudged me with his muzzle. When I ignored him, he repeated the movement, this time nudging harder, pushing me. I stepped back and looked at him. "What? What is it?" He gazed at me and then tossed his head, whickering, as though trying to tell me something. Suddenly, and despite the seriousness of my situation, I felt the urge to laugh. Here I was, Caius Merlyn Britannicus, Legate Commander of the Forces of Camulod, talking with my horse, while a dreadfully injured man lay at the bottom of a hole in dire need of my help. And as I reflected on this, my gaze fastened on the pommel of my saddle and the horse whickered again, triumphantly, as though to say, "Finally! You see what I mean!"

My heart thudding now with excitement, I untethered him and led him slowly closer to the edge of the abyss, where I refastened his reins to another shrub. Then, carefully, I secured one end of the rope to the saddle horn, testing it firmly to make sure the knot would not slip. When I was sure it was trustworthy, I threw the end with the noose over the cliff, where it landed, with length to spare, close by Mordechai. I threw the splints and bindings after it, then turned to speak to my horse, calling him by his given name, a thing I did not often do, and one which he had come to know bespoke some special need.

"Germanicus," I said. "You are not the first Germanicus to serve a Britannicus, but today you have a chance to become the greatest. All you have to do is stand here, patiently as ever, and wait for me to come back to you. Can you do that?" He rolled an eye at me and I knew he could. I drew a deep breath, stepped to the edge of the abyss and sat on the edge, settling myself before taking a strong grip on the rope and rolling onto my belly. My horse stood gazing down at me with one great eye. "Remember," I grunted up to him. "Be patient. I will waste no time."

The rope was wet and hard, tearing at my hands which felt as though they were on fire before I was halfway down, but the rough hemp was far less harsh on me than was the cliff face beneath my knees and elbows. The descent seemed to take more time than I had thought possible, but I reached the bottom without injury, apart from scrapes and bruises to elbows and knees and one long, shallow cut on my right arm caused by a tiny snag of rock I had not noticed soon enough. Taking care to stay well clear of the frightening hole in the ground, I crossed to Mordechai, who was, as I had thought, deeply unconscious. When I placed my fingers beneath the points of his jaw, however, as Lucanus had taught me, I found his pulse strong and regular. Relieved, I turned to where the rope's end lay, and began to widen the noose. There was not as much rope to spare as I had thought, but there was enough. I grasped Mordechai by the shoulders and attempted to raise him up to where I could slip the noose over his head and secure it around his chest beneath his shoulders, but I must have twisted his shattered leg, because even in his deep sleep he moaned and heaved in protest. I knew then that I would have to splint that leg before doing anything else.