Age of Iron (35 page)

“Aye,” said Dug

“Of course,” said Lowa.

Ula looked to each of them in turn. “Lowa. Dug. Spring.” She shook her head and smiled as tears shone from her eyes. “I owe you my life and the life of my tribe. You rescued us from ourselves. The Kanawan tribe will always be ready and willing should you need us. I’m sure our paths will cross again. May Danu and Bel and all the gods favour you and protect you until they do.”

Queen Ula pulled her horse around and rode away to the north, iron horseshoes crunching on the metalled road.

“So,” said Dug when she was out of earshot. “Do you really think Zadar will give up the chase?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know why he sent so many to Kanawan. I don’t know why he killed my sister and my women in the first place. The thing is Dug, I am going to kill Zadar. I have a plan which may work. But … it involves you. With good care you’ll recover in half a moon. If you’re prepared to help, I’ll wait. The plan isn’t carved in stone yet, but it’s likely to be difficult and possibly fatal.”

“You sell it well.”

“I don’t want to lie to you.”

Dug looked up at Lowa, standing over him on the cart. It was a good angle.

“I’ll help you.”

“What about me? Can I come?” Spring asked.

“You don’t have to, Spring. But you could help a lot. Do you want to help?”

“Course. Now can we stop talking and get to this Mearhold place? I’ve never been in a boat.”

A
boy carrying a hemp sack came into the hut behind the druid.

Dug had been asleep. After the cart it was bliss to stretch out on a decent bed. The summer heat had returned after the rain, but a cooling breeze wafted through the windows and door, carrying the muddy ming of the marsh mixed with a mild sniff of salt and the aroma of cut reeds.

His chest already felt easier, possibly because of the rest but more likely because of the cider. He’d never had the like. It tasted no more potent than watered-down apple juice, but moments after the first couple of gulps he’d felt the alcohol fumes swimming up into his head like a confused but persistent school of ethereal fish.

“All right,” said Maggot. “This is going to seem weird and you’re not going to like it, but it works. All right?”

“You’ve done it before?”

“Loads of times. Some people almost survived. Joking. It won’t harm you. Now lie back and don’t move.”

Maggot unlaced Dug’s leather jerkin, said, “Up on your elbows,” and eased the sleeveless top off him. The druid leaned forward, lank blond hair draping his face. With fine iron scissors he snipped through the bands of wool that held Dug’s chest bandage in place and peeled it down slowly.

Dug closed his eyes. He could feel strips of skin coming away with the cloth. He was booze-numbed enough that it didn’t hurt overly, but it did feel disgusting. And the smell! It was like unwrapping a wheel of cheese and a hunk of beef that had been left bound together in the sun for a moon. He swallowed to avoid gagging.

“Not bad, not bad.” Maggot seemed not to notice the stench. “You’ll be walking in six days, all right in twelve, back to how you were in a moon.”

“Good. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Maggot eased a woollen blanket under Dug’s back, went to the other side of the bed and pulled until there were equal lengths of blanket hanging out either side. “And here’s the fun bit. Sack, please.”

The boy stepped forward, holding open the top of the sack. Maggot delved a hand into it. Dug almost laughed when he pulled out a fistful of wriggling maggots.

“Ah, hence the name.”

“No, actually that’s just a coincidence. I’m called Maggot because I have a small penis.”

“Ah.”

“And that was a joke. I’m actually hung like Kornonos.”

“I see. What are the maggots for?”

“They eat dead and infected flesh, not the healthy bits. You’re infected. That’s why you stink. With these, the infection will be gone before you know it.”

“And without them?”

“You’ll be dead in three days.”

“Hmm. So you’re going to cure a big animal’s bites by getting a bagful of wee animals to bite me?”

Maggot nodded happily. “Great, isn’t it?”

Dug looked at the crazy-faced druid. To his surprise, he trusted him. He couldn’t have said why. It was probably the cider. He nodded.

Maggot’s smile widened. He pressed the handful of maggots into the largest of Dug’s chest wounds, then grabbed another handful.

It was disgustingly ticklish. Dug had to battle the urge to yell, sit up and brush the horrible little fuckers away. But he closed his eyes and twiddled the bed sheet, trying to concentrate on how the woollen fibres felt between his fingers and how they rubbed against each other. Distraction, he’d found, was an effective pain relief.

When the bag was empty, Maggot placed a few layers of cloth of a type Dug didn’t recognise over the writhing larvae, then bound the whole lot up in the woollen blanket.

As he tied the last few knots, Lowa walked into the hut.

Maggot stood aside and Lowa bent down. If she noticed the smell, she didn’t show it. She kissed him gently on the lips.

Dug had had a hot mud bath once. Lowering himself into it, he’d groaned with pleasure and relief as warm comfort eased its way into every pore. Lowa’s kiss felt a lot like that.

“How are you treating him?” she asked Maggot.

“Maggots.”

“Good.” Lowa seemed unsurprised. “Anything I can do?”

“Judging by that grin, a kiss like that every now and then should help. Otherwise, leave him to rest. I’ll go now. Please let him sleep soon.”

“Sure.”

Maggot’s jewellery jangled as he left the hut.

The sunlight through the opened door was bright in her hair. “Are you really OK?” she asked.

“Never better. Is Spring all right?”

“She went fishing with some people in a boat. She looked happy. They looked nervous.”

“Good. You all right?”

“Course I am. I’d better go and let you sleep. You get well, OK?”

“Aye. I’ll be up and at ’em before the day’s out.”

Lowa leaned over and kissed him again. Dug breathed in her musky scent and went to sleep.

L
owa pushed the hut door closed, then leaped out of the way as a man carrying logs came careering towards her, so intent on watching his feet on the wobbly island floor that he didn’t see her.

“Gods, sorry!” he stammered. “I…”

Neither spoke for a moment, but Lowa found herself smiling broadly, first at the man’s honest horror at having nearly bumped into her, but more at how preposterously attractive he was. His strong dimpled chin was almost comically heroic, his neat hair casually ruffled as if today’s wind had been created solely to produce the effect, and his eyes shone with vigour. Under his clean white flax shirt was the outline of a lean, muscular torso.

“I’m Lowa Flynn,” she said. “I arrived this morning.”

“Ragnall,” said the young man, gripping the logs with one arm and reaching out a hand. “Ragnall Sheeplord.” He had the confident region-free tones of a ruling family. Lowa took his hand.

“Are you a local?” she found herself asking, her usual dislike of small talk put aside for a moment.

On finding that they both accompanied recovering invalids, Ragnall suggested that they go for a walk up nearby Gutrin Tor. Lowa acquiesced. She couldn’t see any massive problem in spending the day with a charming, good-looking young man.

They reached the summit tower. As they’d climbed the hill, her mood had soured again. She wanted to kill Zadar and she shouldn’t have been arsing about on recreational country walks, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not come up with a plan.

Ragnall nodded hello to the guards and they headed up, leaned on the south wall and looked at the huge view. Lowa walked off and looked over all the other walls in turn. Yup, spectacular. She came back and leaned against the wall next to Ragnall. “Why are you and Drustan here?”

The tall young man looked down at her.

“Same as you and your man.”

“I wouldn’t call him my man.”

“Oh, you’re not … er … together?”

“You mean are we sleeping with each other?”

Ragnall coloured. “No, I just assumed…”

“I don’t belong to anyone. Neither does Dug.”

“OK.”

“So, how did you end up here?”

“We were on our way to Dumnonia when Drustan got a lung disease.”

“Is that home?”

“No. It’s complicated.” His eyes were grey, shining with energy and youth.

“Tell me. I have nothing else to do today.”

“All right,” he said, nodding to the south-east. “The reason we’re heading to Dumnonia lives over there somewhere in the world’s most impenetrable hillfort”

Ragnall told Lowa a brief life history and what had happened, then about Maggot’s opinion of Drustan’s motives and his indecision over what to do next.

“What do you think?” he asked when he got to the end, fixing her with his intense stare. His curly hair shifted softly in the wind, other than where sweat from the climb had pasted tendrils to the sides of his strong face. He was, Lowa thought, a bright young man as well as a handsome one. The important word there was young. He was maybe six years younger than her, but the differences between their lives made it more like a hundred. With his parents newly dead, his mentor incapacitated and no other teachers around, he clearly needed someone to tell him what to do. If she ever managed to devise a plan, she’d be able to use him. How, she wondered, should she play it?

She knew first hand about his home’s destruction. She’d led the charge and been first over the wall, shooting arrows into the peace-softened bodies of the ineffectual defenders. She’d killed a lot of people that day, possibly – probably – more than anyone else. Chances were she’d killed at least one of his brothers. From his description, she was pretty sure she knew who Anwen was. She’d been taken alive from Boddingham.

“I was in Zadar’s army,” she said.

Ragnall blanched. Lowa heard his teeth grind.

“Why didn’t you … before I…?”

“I wasn’t part of the raid on Boddingham. I was in a small band of archers with my sister and some other women. My sister was the only family I had left, and the women were my only friends. We did more hunting and scouting than fighting, and we were away scouting when Zadar attacked Boddingham.”

“But you were still part—”

“Exactly. Were. A few days after Boddingham, at a place called Barton, Zadar had my sister and my friends slaughtered. They tried to kill me but I escaped. Now I only have one desire – to kill Zadar.”

“Barton?”

“Yes.”

“My father … I found his body.”

Lowa shook her head. “Yes. I don’t know why Zadar had my women killed, and tried to have me killed, but it may have been because I spoke out about your father’s treatment.” She had in fact thought that Zadar’s treatment of Kris Sheeplord was distasteful, but she’d been a long way from caring enough to say anything.

The young man seemed appeased, however. “Do you know what they did with Anwen?” he asked, eyes full of puppyish misery. “Drustan said she’d already be halfway to Rome.”

“I don’t know. She might be. But it’s as likely she’s still at Maidun. Is she good-looking?”

“Beautiful, the most beautiful—”

“Then it’s very likely she’s at Maidun.”

“Why? What will they be doing to her?” Ragnall gripped Lowa’s shoulders and shook her. He stopped shaking when he saw the look on her face. He took his hands from her shoulders and reddened. Lowa paused to let him stew in his own awkwardness for a moment, then continued.

“If she’s as beautiful as you say, chances are she’ll be in Zadar’s harem.”

“Oh Danu…”

“It’s the best place she could be. She’ll be treated well there.”

“But she’ll have to—”

“He won’t rape her.” She didn’t add that people were generally so grateful to escape slavery and be placed in Zadar’s harem that they seldom needed coercion to sleep with their charismatic rescuer.

“OK. Thanks. Sorry for grabbing you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But … But why should I believe anything you say? You’re with Zadar.”

“
Was
. Was with Zadar. And I was never fully
with
him, and when he killed my sister and my friends I became a different person.” Lowa gripped his arms much harder than he’d gripped her shoulders. It shocked Ragnall into silence. “Nothing matters to me, nothing at all, apart from killing Zadar. Help me with that, and I will help you find Anwen.”

“But Drustan…”

She loosened her grip but kept hold of his muscled arms. They felt good. “Drustan will have you running to Dumnonia while Anwen suffers in Maidun. Now remind me, which epic tale tells the story of a hero reacting to the kidnap of his woman by running in the opposite direction?”

“You have a point.”

“I do. Who knows what will happen? Yes, people are saying that Dumnonia will attack Zadar, but the Murkans might equally conquer Zadar and save Dumnonia the job. Or the Murkan tribes might unite with Maidun to attack Dumnonia. People say a lot and people are often wrong. Even if they’re right, it won’t happen this year because it’s only a couple of moons until harvest. Maybe it won’t happen next year or the year after. Maybe the Romans will get here first. Going to Dumnonia now is no way to get Anwen back. Come with me. Come to Maidun.”

“I’ll … think about it.”

“Do that. You have some time. I want to wait until Dug is healthy enough. But while we’re here, don’t speak to me, or anyone, about me being in Zadar’s army. That time is over, I swear.” This, she thought, was not a lie: she really was a changed person, appalled at what she’d done for Zadar.

“All right.” the man-boy nodded.

“So,” said Ragnall as he climbed into the boat to paddle back to Mearhold, “you only met Dug a few days ago?”

Lowa smiled. “Maybe five days ago. I lose track.”

D
ug’s hut was one of three squatting in a semicircle on the southern edge of Mearhold’s man-made island. From his door in the central hut Dug had a view across cleared, shallow, wildfowl-busy water. About a hundred paces away there was a fringe of reeds, then spindly but leafy birch and alder trees reaching out of the swamp like the hands of trapped, drowning men. The image made him shiver. But that’s the injury talking, he thought, and its treatment. Having creatures crawling around in your chest and being hungover for Toutatis-knew-how-many mornings in a row is bound to dredge up melancholy thoughts. The trees probably looked lovely to most.