|
Chapter Three
HEALING BEGINS
Once again Swin was in despair. Turn whichever way he would, he found himself opposed by cuckolds’ horns, soft yet menacing, pale as mushrooms. Forever, as it seemed, would he find himself estranged from the trust of every new supporter, previously entangled in dangerous intimacies and then thrust back into the prison-cell of his own darkening solitude. O for a friend! A friend! Someone to lean on! Who might there be? Who would there ever be for him? When Dreng and Bryd came in, holding hands, and knelt in homage before Lefnui and Daeranna, their own lord and lady, Swin saw the simple, uncomplicated pleasure felt by each of the four, and had to bite his lip and turn away. A festive dinner followed, a merry mealtime. The dragon was dead and a new age of the Kingdom must follow: these truths were beginning to sink into all hearts, so that all manner of hopes and dreams, never before admitted to be possible, might now emerge and spread their wings like butterflies. But Swin’s heart was mired in its own winter. The board was cleared, and Lady Daeranna came forth with the wine of celebration: she poured out for her husband, and for Swin as the guest of honour, and for all the warriors present. They drank to Swin’s conquests, both past and to come; he smiled, and pledged them in return, and wept in his heart.
The ladies withdrew, and the wine came round again, and Dreng unexpectedly began to sing a song of the far South. But Swin could keep up his pretence no longer. He took his leave of the company and went back alone to the guest-room. The night was very thick, very heavy and full of the most evil smells. A few drops of rain, however, had at long last begun to fall. Swin sat down on his bed with his hands in his pockets. Hunched, vacant-minded, he listened to the growing sound of the rain. He listened more and more attentively, as if the pattering and the splashing, the trickling and the drumming, the pounding and the hissing were words spoken by a voice addressing him in some forgotten tongue.
He suddenly got up and went outside, just as he was, bareheaded and cloakless. He splashed through the puddles, went up to the gatehouse and made himself known to the guards. ‘Open up,’ he said. ‘I’m going out.’
There was now that in his presence, his massiveness, which could silence most objections. Nervously the guards opened the gate. ‘We’ll have to close it behind you, Lord Eofor,’ they said.
‘That’s all right,’ he responded. ‘If Dreng or Lefnui asks about me, tell ’em I said not to worry.’
The gates were slammed-to and barred behind him.
The rain seemed to be falling more heavily outside the camp. Water was running freely down his neck. Soon he would be wet through. The night was pitch-black apart from the orange-golden flames, now encircled by broad haloes, of the flares. He walked towards them. His feet carried him onto one of the straight roads that ran on causeways above the height of the old swamp. The road was good, metalled and smooth beneath his feet, with a slight camber off which the rain was pouring in a continuous sheet. As he came up to the nearest tower the road reflected an orange glow. The rain poured down still more heavily, making a million little explosions of water, a carpet of tiny fierce little fountains. There was no thunder, nor would there be, for the rest of this strange night, nor any wind; but the continuous drenching downpour seemed sometimes to intensify and to resound with a deeper note, as if formless, directionless waves were moving through the air and the brimming clouds. Swin stood below the tower. The burning gas-stream was holding its own against the water. He confronted the tower with uplifted face; the rain poured out of his hair and into his eyes, dripped from his nose into his open mouth and trickled again, mixed with spittle, down his beard. He slowly raised his right arm towards the tower. His hand pointed at the flame, and it was extinguished.
He enjoyed no moment of triumph, no sense of achievement. On the contrary, a sudden horror came over him. He seemed to see the void in the eyes of the dragon-mask. He stood where he was, irresolute, unsure of what to do next. He began to cry. Then he stumbled off the road, slithered down the bank and collapsed into the ooze. And time began to flow sideways: no longer forward from the present, but outward from the darkness of his own heart, outward into the raped and poisoned earth. Maybe he wept at length, as he had wept in the lap of Fuindis; no doubt he sometimes stood up, rambled up and down, traversed regions of the oil-field. He remembered, afterwards, that he felt cold but had little sense of discomfort. He remembered that he extinguished at least one other flame; he remembered striking at the bank with his fist, burrowing into it, wrenching out wet stones, flowing handfuls of soil and slippery clay. He remembered staggering and falling into a morass, rolling in the mud, pushing his limbs into it, thrusting in his prick, fucking the black slimy earth and actually shooting his seed into it; he remembered making an association between this and a previous act of intercourse – his abominable violation of Dreng’s wife. Red of blood, mixed with brown smears on his flesh: the brown soil of the woman, the black soil of the earth. And then all thought was covered, dissolved and washed away by a multiplicity of rippling, overlapping darknesses. The dark of despair. The dark of blindness. The dark of night. The darkness of fate and the future. The darkness of the womb. The dark blood of the rocks. The darkness of the soil. The darkness of cunt and arsehole.The darkness of his own heart. The darkness of sin. The darkness of death. The darkness of life. The darkness of the Witch. The darkness of Yabeth.
...The pale light of a moist and cloud-barred dawn glimmered from innumerable pools and puddles. Streams were clattering down from the hills; water was flowing back into the fen. All the flames were out, and three of the towers were listing; one had been knocked right over. Swin was plastered with black mud from head to foot and stark naked underneath it. His hands hurt him: he had cracked some of his knuckles, and blood was seeping through the rents in the black gloves. And in many places on his arms, chest, legs and feet the skin was torn, the flesh gouged; his prick was very sore and his balls had the deep ache of utter exhaustion. He came plodding and shambling along the road. He returned to the camp, ignored the guards’ challenges, stopped in front of the gate and pounded on it with his less damaged fist. The guards challenged him again. Not knowing how to answer, he pushed forward with a shoulder, broke the bars, dragged the two gate-wings off their hinges and entered the camp.
There, surrounded by six hostile spear-points, he became aware that his life was unexpectedly in danger. He swayed on his legs, and coughed a lot of black mud out of his mouth, and struggled to recover a few words. ‘Friend,’ he mumbled pleadingly. ‘Soldiers. Dreng.’ The captain of the guard sent a message to Dreng and Lefnui. A few minutes later they appeared. Dreng identified Swin with little hesitation. He was at once led to the pump, soused and scrubbed. Dreng’s first reaction – exasperated scorn – gave way to gentler chidings as Swin’s old scars and the present state of his body were revealed; and Swin’s wits returned as the mud was washed away. None of the new wounds was serious but there were a great many of them. An awed silence fell while Swin sat in the middle of a circle of onlookers, allowing Dreng and Wulfstan to wrap him in bandages. But Lefnui had gone up into the watch-tower, and now stood looking out at the dawn.
For the sky was now pale blue, and the fresh sweet air had the first coolness of autumn, and the face of the land had been marvellously changed. Though its outlines were the same as before, these had all softened, had crumbled, as if all the works of men’s hands had long been removed and ten years of the earth’s self-healing accomplished in a single night. Traces of emerald green grass lay athwart the eroded dikes and causeways like exquisite veils. Here and there twinkled the yellow star-flowers, and the mats of withered vegetation had resolved themselves into reeds and lilies. A renewed piping of water-fowl was very faintly heard. Lefnui summoned Dreng, and his own officers, and Swin’s knights; they went out of the camp, and strolled around in the freshness, and breathed in deeply, and picked a flower or two; and the truth of the death of the dragon became yet more real, more indubitable, and the sunlight shone on their faces, and their hearts were filled with joy. Then, shyly and almost fearfully, they returned into the midst of the camp, where Swin, now bandaged, combed and dressed, was sitting on a wooden chair. Hardly knowing better than Swin had known, last night, why he did as he did, Lefnui came up to him and crowned him with a chaplet of flowers. Then he knelt, offered his sword and swore fealty to the King-in-waiting. And Sarvad, with all of Lefnui’s other commanders, did the same, while the Enaderthians looked on with joy and pride. Only Berven the Priest now turned away, sullen and disconsolate.
Lefnui sent the soldiers to their breakfast, and Swin, who had fully mastered himself, summoned him and the captains and the knights to an immediate council. So they all ate with a good appetite, and talked of ways and means; and Lefnui noticed that they talked more freely yet more respectfully before Swin than they had done before himself as the commander-in-chief. Dreng urged that they should now pass westward through Daelum, back towards the Bleck, in order to find Megiluin with the great army that had been sent to follow Fëaruk’s invasion. Swin’s strength was now over thirteen hundred, far too small to oppose the twelve thousands that had marched with Megiluin; but Swin must plan to gather more recruits from among the Foro, which indeed he must do whether he should turn westward to the Bleck, or northward to the Demesne and Ruminas. If the latter, the presence at his back of so large an enemy might fatally weaken him. And so it was agreed; and the host would all march forward that same day.
All who took part in Swin’s westward progress now speak of it in hushed tones – diffidently, quietly, absorbed in the wonder and the rapture of that time. It was far more than a mere reprise, involving greater numbers of people, of his first recruiting-drive through Enaderth: for a new theme had been added, a deeper resonance, a more potent magic. Through the fortnight of glorious late-summer weather men flocked to Swin’s banner while the news of the rebellion spread far and wide. The Foro, being descended in part from the people of the Knife, hailed Swin as one of their own. He spent long hours in welcoming them one by one, and receiving the oath of loyalty from each man; and when they kissed his bandaged hand or embraced his knees, and looked upon him with eyes of adoration, he saw the blankness of those shining eyes, concealed his many misgivings and successfully acted the part that was required of him. Part, yes, pretence, but also reality: for he was in very truth the King-in-waiting, the one who had died and been raised again by the Goddess; and the land rejoiced where his feet had passed, and the grass grew greener, and the flowers bloomed again, and then another token of Her power was seen. For Daeranna, wife of Lefnui, being grievously troubled by the sickness of her young son, came to Swin secretly by night and begged him to touch the child. And Swin, overcoming his reluctance, laid his hand on the boy’s head and blessed him. And the child at once grew strong and well. Daeranna could not keep secret what she had done, so that the rumour of it flew abroad: that this Eofor was a healer not only of the land but also of the sickness of man and beast. Then the women of the Foro came thronging to him, bringing him their children and babes at the breast who had sickened for lack of food, or because of the Worm’s Evil; and Swin did not spare himself, but laboured day and night and touched and blessed them all; and they all grew lusty and strong once again. And the pride of the men revived, and the maidens that cast flowers at them became soft and beautiful in their sight, so that much human seed was sown during those summer nights, as was known next year, by the very many children born around the end of the springtime.
On the fourth day of Swin’s progress the harp and drum were heard once more: here came the Sons of Athelstan, with those of the wounded who had been left behind, and whose wounds had been healed with elvish swiftness. With them also came some of Sarvad’s men, of those Swin had rejected, and again they begged to be accepted into his service; and Swin accepted them all, being now possessed of greater confidence. He also accepted those Thandorians who had come south as voluntary settlers and who now saw which way the wind was blowing. And although he had very little time for sleep, he conferred daily with Dreng and Lefnui and his other captains. It was on Dreng’s shoulders that the work of building up the new army was falling, but Dreng’s subordinates were also kept busy, and though Dreng might swear or curse or shake his head at the antics of his commander-in-chief, he had no cause to complain of the latter being inattentive. Swin remained alert, fully alive to his predicament. The army was to grow five-fold before it reached the Bleck, yet it was still outnumbered by Megiluin’s host – whose whereabouts, thanks to Dulinir and Thoronhir, was now known. Though Lefnui had thrown everything he had into Swin’s scale-pan – horses, wagons, weapons, armour, shields – the army was on the whole ill provided-for, sword and shield having been forbidden to the Queen’s slaves. Swin dared not tarry to make more, for the River, as a strong natural barrier, would be a great help to the weaker side. If Megiluin could cross it, he might either give battle or stand his ground and wait for reinforcements from Thandor; in which case Swin’s army might find itself encircled. Lefnui, however, believed that Megiluin would prefer to attack at once, relying on his strength and the better discipline and equipment of his troops. On the other hand, the heavy rain had replenished the River to near its winter level. The only place where Megiluin, lacking boats, could get across quickly was the Ford.
In the afternoon of the fourteenth day Swin looked at the tall stone of the Waymark, and by straining his eyes was able to perceive the horsemen and banners of the Queen’s forces. By evening it had become clear that the two armies had reached the Ford simultaneously.
‘I can’t say,’ said Dreng. His air was morose. ‘Neither of us can easily attack the other. And there’ll be no surprising him.’
‘Dulinir?’ said Swin.
‘That’s true. He has his own agents, and there are some loyal to the Queen who have fled this way before us. Several small boats have crossed from this side.’
‘So he’ll have a fair reckoning of our numbers?’
‘Yes, very likely.’
‘Lord Lefnui?’
‘He’ll be chafing to attack. He has little patience, and he must be vexed at not having arrived sooner. At the back of his mind he always has the thought of making himself master of the southern lands, and then marching on the City so as to grab the throne for himself. He might well try a surprise attack on us before tomorrow morning.’
‘Hear me, lord,’ said Wulfstan.
‘Speak!’ said Swin, smiling.
‘The standing stone of Belechel has disappeared from sight, and an autumn mist is rising from the stream. The River himself will aid the true heir, as he once aided Kedral.’
‘When Sorgrim’s host were all swept away, and the King’s party escaped? ...That’s encouraging. But Dreng here is against us taking the offensive... How would it be if... Let me think: if we were to make a feigned withdrawal? Hide our foot-soldiers in the mist and the tall grass on this side, and allow Megiluin to see, shall we say, shortly after dawn, our horsemen riding towards the upland, looking like a rearguard?’
‘Make him think we’ve turned tail?’ said Lefnui. ‘Worth trying, perhaps.’
‘And leave a clear space, a receptacle for his army to come into: and attack from both sides when we see that a sufficient number have come across.’
‘I like that,’ said Dreng. ‘Try to cut off the snake’s head. It makes more sense to deal with his vanguard than to face his whole army at once... And if it doesn’t work, we’ll be no worse off than we were before. But he’d need to be a bit of a fool.’
‘He is a bit of a fool,’ said Lefnui.
‘But think, now,’ said Dreng. ‘He might try to come across in a thin column, say in ranks of twenty, and that’d be easier for us to deal with; but he might form a broader front, even though that formation would be harder to bring across the stream in good order. But then it would be harder for us to pierce his flanks.’
‘I see,’ said Swin. ‘Yes, the trap must be a movable one.’
Discussion continued until the plan was mature. Then the commanders went off to make their preparations.
And all went well, at least at first: as well as Swin could have hoped. Megiluin did try a surprise attack, but it failed. Swin’s sentries were on the alert, and he himself heard, through the dark mist, faint sounds of shouting and splashing. But there was nothing to do but stand and listen. Later it transpired that these attackers were mazed in the network of islands and rivulets, cut off from one another and lost. None of them even reached the Waymark, and scores were swept away in the deeper channels, or entangled in the sharp grasses and drowned. They were dripping and disheartened troops who finally struggled back to the west bank, an hour after dawn. Lord Megiluin’s brow was black with chagrin. But then he was treated to the unexpected and cheering sight of the enemy’s backs. Through his spyglass (the latest offering from the Aulendili) the banners and the mounted rearguard were distinctly visible above the level of the mist, as the horsemen slowly disappeared into the woods. Megiluin ordered the army to advance in a rigid column, twenty-five wide. There was no attempt to scout ahead. The column, in which each man was supported by his fellows, was more able than any individual to keep going in the right direction. Slowly they struggled to the island of the Waymark, and then paused, and sent a message back, and then struggled on towards the opposite bank; and there beheld, to their great relief, the wide trampled space that had been vacated by Swin’s army. But the grasses whispered all around them, and although the wind was rising, with filmy clouds being carried into the blue sky, the river-mist refused to disperse. The commander of the first regiment ordered a trumpet-signal, and hearing it, Megiluin commanded the next regiment to cross.
Swin’s army crouched and waited patiently. The morning wore on.
Seven regiments crossed in this way. The leaders had no orders to push on further; that was lucky; but the trap must inevitably be discovered soon. Swin gave a quiet order.
The pincer-movement had the advantage of full surprise, and easily cut the vanguard off from the main body. Swin’s aim was now to prevent the latter from crossing, while surrounding and defeating those who had crossed. A fast rider was dispatched to recall the ‘rearguard’. The column of men crossing the River broadened, became incoherent and began to lose itself in the clinging mist.
Fifteen minutes went by, a slow straining nightmare of stabbing and lunging, yells and clangour, swords glancing off shields, hands clutching at earthy banks and being cut by sharp grass-blades, arrows flying through the mist, blood staining the grass and beginning to float down the River. On the east side the fighting became stable. Megiluin’s vanguard, though isolated, was holding its own in a disciplined circle. Swin saw that an extra weight was needed to tilt the balance. Leaving Dreng in command, he leapt onto Colwine’s back and galloped to meet the returning cavalry.
A hasty conference with Sarvad, the leader; a brief pause and regathering; and then a final mad charge, with Swin at the fore.
He saw the tall grass thinning out, saw the backs of his own men, their hasty turning and desperate scrambling to get out of his way. In full fury and joy he smote the ranks of the enemy. Three swordstrokes he struck, not with Lydagnir but a blade of Lefnui’s. On the fourth stroke the wretched damn thing broke off in his hand. Yet there was the enemy’s standard, and the standard-bearer, pale but grim-faced, seeing his approaching death. Swin pulled at Colwine’s reins, and the great horse reared up before descending with terrible hooves. The man fell back, and the tree of Thandor foundered, and the unity of the host was broken, and fear fell upon them all; and the ring of their enemies pressed in on them, but Swin cried aloud in a mighty voice, calling on them to surrender.
| |