I brush away the heavy lock of hair that has fallen across the sleeping boy’s face. He blows against my touch, but does not wake. Thick, straw blonde hair it is, so typical of many of our folk. His eyes are greenish, and his nose seems overly large. He is young, no more than a year or so older than Ethel, I suspect. But then often girls take on the appearance of women at a younger age than boys take on the look of men? This is a boy, lying in the infirmary. Not a man, not a warrior, not a rider; but a boy with an old rusted sword, who tried to defend others.
Moving to take the nearby seat, I maintain my vigil. I have taken turns watching over him with Northgyth and Ymma, each sitting by his side for a few hours, least he grow worse. Sent back to my family by Northgyth late the previous night, I returned to take over from Ymma straight after breakfast.
“He had a slight fever,” she told me. “But it has already passed.”
From the window light, it is clear the sun is now high in the sky. Nearing midday. It will be another few hours before Northgyth returns. Not that I mind keeping watch. I will let the boy, Brinin, sleep on as long as he wishes.
Oh aye, he has spoken! A little to Northgyth; his name, and to ask after others in his traveling party. She had said little in reply, save he was now among friends. He had spoken more to me just before his present sleep.
As for his injuries, they are serious, but not life-threatening if well cared for I deem. He is battered and bruised, and has a swollen black eye where he was struck a blow. The main concern is his right leg, broken from being trapped under the cart. Thankfully it is almost a clean break, rather than the smashed bone that often resulted from such an injury. I am also thankful for Gamferth’s quick thinking at the site of the attack, and his gathering of strong and straight wood to be used as a splint. We had managed to carry the boy on the back of Hild’s wagon to Bancross, and though he had moaned a little with the pain until the willow-bark numbing potion took effect, his leg was none the worse. Broken legs can be difficult to deal with. But unless the rotting sickness took hold, he would almost certainly live. He may well be lame for the rest of his days though.
We three ‘healers’ (though none of us were full trained healers) would see him through this to the best of our abilities. He had a draught for easing pain, and to encourage restful sleep. He had his injuries cleaned and a press, soaked then wrung in chilled water, on his eye. Ymma made up an eyebright salve to apply later. His leg was as straight as possible. All three of us were in the room when I carefully manipulated and bandaged the leg so it stood the best chance of healing soundly.
Aye, the boy will live. But to what sort of life?
He had opened his eyes soon after I arrived, and tried to focus, to remove the cooling cloth.
“Where am I? What happened to the others” His voice was a rasp, so I brought him a small cup of water, which he thirstily drank.
“A little at a time,” I said. “And you are in the village of Bancross, safe among friends.”
He lay back, and replaced the cloth, knowing what it was for. He regarded me solemnly with the other eye. “They were all slain? All of them?”
There was no point keeping truth for him, so I nodded sadly. “When we came upon you, we thought all were dead, men, women and children. You were under a wagon. And then we saw you move just a little, and we raised the cart and carried you away. Those of my travelling party checked carefully. There was nothing more we could do for the others. Were they family?”
He paled as he thought on what I had said.
“Brinen, from Middlemead, lady” he said dully. “And no. They were not family by blood. They were travelling companions to Aldburg, traders from Entwade hoping for good sales and to aid neighbours there with extra supplies.”
“Yllfa, of Edoras and now Bancross,” I replied.
Brinin nodded, then turned a little away from me, as far as his leg would allow.
“It was an ambush,” he whispered. “They were lying in wait, hidden in the trees.”
I filled the glass again from the pitcher on the nearby table, and offered it to him.
“Drink slowly, Brinin. Then maybe more rest?”
He took the glass and drank.
“Will I be able to ride again, Yllfa?” he asked, with a hint of resignation.
Now that was a question!
“Possibly” I replied in a soft tone. “It is too soon to say for sure.”
“I was on my way to Aldburg to try and be accepted by the garrison there, to train as a Rider. It’s all I have ever wanted to do.” the boy spoke again with a hint of longing.
I took the empty glass from him, and bid him rest well. My mind was on possibilities.
“We will do all we can, Brinin. Sleep is the best medicine at the moment.”
It was not for me to question him further at that time.
It was some while later, for the sun had lowered a little into the west, when Waelden arrived. He was accompanied by Ethel, who had made me a moose meat stew, and by Herne. (Whose twitching nose was following the broth.)
“How is he doing, love?” Waelden spoke softly so as not to disturb the patient. “Has he said anything useful about what happened?”
Ethel placed the stew bowl and spoon on one of the shelves, out of Herne’s reach, then jumped up on the wide dresser nearby to sit cross legged, watching me and the boy.
“I can bring him some too, when he wakes,” she said brightly.
“Thank you, Ethel, I think he will be hungry soon. And his name is Brinin. He is from Middlemead”
Ethel nodded. She would remember. She started twisting a lock of her hair round a finger.
I turned to Waelden, gesturing we walk a short distance away, and told him the little I knew. Then without warning, Herne was on the bed, licking the sleeping boy’s face.
“Woah, Herne. Don’t wake him up!” Ethel recalled her wayward hound. It was too late. Brinin opened his good eye and then smiled.
“Aww, good dog!”
“He is usually,” Ethel retorted. “Sorry about that. I’m Ethel by the way. I am tonight’s cook.”
Brinin looked after Herne and nodded. “Brinin. And I see you have him well trained.”
Waelden moved forward, coughing politely. He was pleased to see the effect the hound, and maybe Ethel were having. But he had questions.
“Well met, Brinin. I am Ethel’s papa. My name is Waelden. If you feel up to answering, I would like to know what happened, what you remember about the attack?”
The boy struggled to sit upright, but it was too soon. I waved a hand at him, bidding him lie down again.
“I don’t know how much help I can be, sir” he began. “I think I was knocked out quite early on.”
“Anything may help, lad. Just think a moment.” Waelden’s voice was firm but kindly. It was what the boy needed to help him focus.
“I joined the caravan a little way outside of Entwash, sir. It was traders, with grain, vegetables and beer mostly. They let me ride with them, on a wagon, seeing I did not have a horse, and I wanted to go to the same place. Aldburg.”
I noticed Ethel silently mouthing ‘Old Saddle?’ to her papa. He shook his head.
“Aye lad. That’s a help. But what happened?”
Brinin took a deep breath, his expression set in self reproach. “What happened was I had a sword, but not the skill to use it. There were only four men with weapons in the caravan. We should have defended the others.”
“No. don’t blame yourself,” I spoke up. “We saw them. All three of us were in the party that found you. We, and others, slew the four orcs and the troll who did this.”
“Four orcs?” the boy looked up to Waelden. “There was a troll, but there were at least ten or twelve orcs. A small warband it looked like. And there was the man.”
Waelden moved forward to crouch beside the bed. “You are certain? About the orcs that is? We have half a warband at least still loose in the Mark?”
The boy nodded firmly. “I didn’t count them, sir, but they came out of the trees at us. Mounted on wargs they were. Fast, so I could hardly draw my sword before they were upon us. The troll came a few minutes later, to throw the carts and horses about.”
“And the man?” Waeldens blue eyes hardened a little at the thought of any man of Rohan being involved. “Was he riding by and offered no help?”
Brinin shook his head. “I don’t think he was riding there by accident. He sat on his horse on the brow of the hill, opposite the place the orcs were lying in wait. And he gave a shrill whistle, almost as if he was summoning them.”
At that unexpected news Waelden rose to his feet. His expression darkened a moment. Ethel jumped down from her perch on the cupboard, and came to stand close beside me. Hearn whimpered.
“Let me make sure I understand correctly, Brinin.” Waelden continued. “You say a solitary man was responsible for the orc and troll attack?”
The boy nodded. “I couldn’t see closely, but I reckon I would know him if I saw him again. He was clad in black and grey, dark travelling colours. His horse was a dark brown. Braided mane. He had a beard, but not a long one, and lighter brown hair. I would know him sir!”
“Very well. Can you recall anything else?”
With a sigh, Brinin laid his head back on the pillow. “Only that I failed them, the others. And they were slaughtered. And that my dream is forever gone.”
“Don’t think like that, lad. I must speak with the sergeant of our garrison urgently about what you have said. There are orcs, and possibly a traitor to the Mark out there. But you concentrate on getting well. With my Yllfa, you are in good hands. And later, well, we have a garrison as I said. It may be they are looking for more riders to train, eh?”
Brinin looked faintly hopeful as Waelden turned to the door.
“What's your family? I will get word to them in Middlemead.”
There was a suspicious silence for a moment, then Brinin said “I am the third son of Bosa, sir. We are a farming family only, I wanted something different.”
There was kindness back in Waelden’s eyes as he regarded the boy a moment more. I wondered if he was thinking of his own father? Then he turned to the door.
“I will be home later, love. We can speak more then, aye?”
I nodded, giving him a small hug as he passed.
Now Ethel came to the fore.
“I am thinking my friend Brona and I can help you, if you want? We can come and walk with you, and support you, and show you Bancross and things. We can even help with riding and..”
“One thing at a time, Ethel,” I interrupted her flow of thought. “For now, maybe you will sit and keep Brinin company while I have the broth you brought me.”
I sat down nearer the door, trusting in bright company and an enthusiastic hound to be among the best medicine.
Brinin slapped on the bed, and Herne jumped up without second thoughts.
“Herne….that’s not okay!” Ethel protested.
“It’s just fine Ethel, as long as you don’t mind.” Brinin rubbed behind the hound’s ears. “We are old friends, Hedde and I. I was worried when the poor pup went missing, but I can see he has found a much better home than I could have dreamed of.”
Ethel smiled broadly.
