Pagan Siege (Tribes of Britain Book 5), Sam Taw [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗

his shoulders. Once or twice, I caught him shivering despite the warmth of the day and the gentle breeze. He was hot and clammy and a faint foetid smell of rot hung about him.

I had to avoid rupturing those blisters. The fewer open wounds about his person, the better. Either way, he really needed a hefty dose of something strong, like poppy resin. How I wished that my kit bag was filled with several pots of the stuff. There was no other option but to walk to the marshland, hike up my tunic and wade into the reeking mud in search of mace reed. It didn’t take long to find a patch but it had already been heavily harvested. When animals and birds are scarce, they are a rich staple among our people and many other tribes.

All I required was enough fresh leaves to split and scrape the clear jelly into a wooden bowl. It was slow work, especially since I needed every drop of the gooey substance I could lay my hands on, but still quicker than grubbing about in the foul water to collect roots to cook and smash. My shins and calves were chilled through to the bone, while my hands toiled instinctively, skimming the ooze into the bowl with a firm scoop of my thumb. I found myself humming softly, barely noticing whenever one of our men thundered past on horseback as they sped up the valley. They were so careless. At the rate they were going, Kenver would discover our plot long before we could finish the preparations.

When I had collected a bowl full, I slipped and skidded out of the muck and on to drier ground carrying my precious cargo wrapped in damp leaves back to the beach. Where the jelly had coated my forefinger and thumb, I was bereft of all feeling. It was enough to reassure me that it could be of some use to my giant friend.

After a quick rinse in the sea, I was ready to begin the job I’d been dreading. Only the wounded men and Nectan were left to keep the fires burning and our belongings guarded. Nectan pulled a face when I told him that I needed his help. For someone who’d endured day after day toiling in the mines, so close to the demons of the Underworld, he showed surprising cowardice. He shuddered and recoiled when I asked him to gather more seaweed and change the wrappings of some of our men. Maybe I was being too harsh. Not everyone can cope with the sick and injured. For me, blood, guts and pus were a daily occurrence.

Avoiding the inevitable, I chose to apply the reed slime to Kewri’s blistered areas first, hoping that it would lessen some of his discomfort. As I smeared the taut skin of his shoulders, I examined the damage to his lower back. The stitches made in haste had not held fast. Many had torn through the brittle edges leaving sagging gaps between those that remained. Each section wept with sticky humours.

“Bite down on this leather strap, my boy. This will hurt.” It doesn’t matter how softly you say those words, they cannot ease the pain that follows. I felt Kewri tense under my touch. His entire torso clenched as he endured the agony. Placing all five fingertips on the charred flap of flesh, I gently tested how far it could be shifted. It was the only way to determine if the tissues beneath were starting to reattach, or whether the entire area was likely to rot and would therefore need to be removed.

His mournful grunts and murmurs almost broke my heart, but he bore the pain with the same dignity as before. There was strength in the giant yet. Satisfied that the flesh had begun to knit, I concentrated on the open sections of the join. If I could get the festering patches under control, Kewri stood a good chance of recovery.

The first step was to clean away the bad humours and filth. With cupped handfuls of sea water from a pail, I delivered a steady trickle over the broken stitches until much of the charring and fragments from the wrapping had washed away. If the Belgae Tribe had not confiscated my best shears, I could have trimmed off the dead sections. As it was, I didn’t trust my hand with Nectan’s blade to do a good enough job. There was a possibility that I could make things much worse. When his back was clean, but raw as fresh meat, I smeared what was left of my mace reed paste over the edge of the skin flap. The numbing effect should have taken the edge off the pain while I made a balm for the rot.

Had we been back at the island compound on the Exe, I would have instructed Kewri to lay still on his front with his back open to the fresh air. On the beach, however, every gust of wind delivered fine sand to coat his troubled flesh. All I could do for him was to lay a clean section of damp hemp cloth across his back for protection and wait for Ren to return from the valley with the other herbs I needed.

When the men did finally walk down to the beach for the night, Kewri’s fever had taken hold. I could barely get him to drink water to counter the sweats. His shivers were so violent, he was shifting in the sand like a babe. Several times, he tried to cover himself with some of the rescued furs, but I couldn’t let him wipe off the jelly I’d applied.

Ren led his horse right up to us at the main fire. It was laden with dripping bundles. “We’ve had a stroke of luck.” He grinned, handing me the reins before starting to unload his steed. “Anyone would think we’d sacrificed a couple of goats to the gods to be blessed with such a haul.”

I grew impatient with