Free The Winter King by Alys Clare

position to fight at all.’
    Josse did not reply, except to go, ‘Mmm.’ He was, she realized, thinking very hard.
    Ninian brought the water, and she squeezed out a cloth and began to bathe the wounds. Blood was still flowing from the young man’s throat, so, not knowing what else to do, she padded up the cloth and pressed it hard against the wound.
    This cut should be stitched
, she thought. Aloud, she asked, ‘Is Meggie home?’
    ‘Not when we left,’ Josse replied. ‘She went off with Sabin, and she said they’d probably be gone all day. They were going to see that mystery patient, no doubt.’
    Suddenly the young man’s eyes opened. He looked up, first at Helewise, then at Josse. His face filled with terror.
    ‘I didn’t tell!’ he cried, starting to thrash around on the narrow cot. ‘I swear I didn’t! We were lost, and did not know how to find our way to you, but we didn’t say anything! Oh, you must believe me!’
    ‘Hush,’ Helewise soothed. ‘You must rest, and we will …’
We will what?
she wondered. She did not know what to do. Tentatively she raised the edge of the linen pad to check on the bleeding. She thought the flow might have lessened a little.
    The young man closed his eyes again.
    Josse leaned over him and, speaking softly, said, ‘What is your name, and what’s your business here? Who did this to you?’
    The man’s eyes flew open again. He did not seem to have registered Josse’s urgent questions. ‘I didn’t tell, before God, I didn’t!’ he cried, his anguish painful to watch. ‘He – they – he came for us, for Symon and me, although I do not know how he found us, and they fell on us, with their terrible, sharp weapons, and he … he … he
slew
Symon, my own cousin, right there before my eyes, and as he wielded the knife, he said, “You are not to be trusted”, but he was
wrong
, my lord, for Symon and I are resolved, and we have sworn to – we have sworn …’ He swallowed, the Adam’s apple rising visibly beneath the padded linen that Helewise still pressed to his throat. Then, his voice weak and barely audible, he said, ‘Accept my sword, my lord.
Please
.’
    There was scarcely a sound in the little room except for the young man’s gasping breaths.
    Ninian crouched beside Josse. ‘He’s dying,’ he said very quietly. Helewise met his eyes, frowning, and shook her head. It was surely not right to let a man know he was about to die. Besides, all the time the heart beat and the mouth drew breath, death had not yet won.
    She looked down at the young man. His lips were as pale as his face, and the flesh of his cheeks seemed already to be shrinking.
    As if he felt her eyes on him, his opened. ‘I’m so cold,’ he said. ‘Are there no blankets here? No furs?’
    There were no costly furs in the sanctuary, but Helewise had made sure of a good supply of fine woollen blankets, all of which were now piled on the wounded man.
    ‘Father, we have it in our hands to let him die content,’ Ninian said, right into Josse’s ear: Helewise could only just make out the words. She was moved, for Ninian only referred to Josse as Father in moments of extreme emotion.
    She did not know what Ninian had in mind, but it didn’t matter, because Josse did. He looked up at his adopted son with a brief smile, then, bending once more right over the dying man, he said, clearly and firmly, ‘I accept your sword.’
    A look of huge relief eased the young man’s tense features. With a great effort, he moved his right hand, the fingers opening and closing as if trying to grasp something.
    Now Helewise understood. ‘His sword, I think,’ she murmured.
    Ninian shot her a swift look, blue eyes bright in the firelight, and drew the young man’s sword from its scabbard. The blade was filthy, coated with mud and blood. Ninian put the leather-bound handle in the dying man’s hand, and, shaking with effort, the youth held it up to Josse. ‘My sword, my allegiance, my life,’ he said.