Free Web of Deceit by M. K. Hume Page A

any wealth they possessed. A crude cart drawn by a complaining mule was brought as close to the carnage as possible and, once naked, the enemy dead were flung unceremoniously into its depths like so much rubbish.
    ‘I’ll not leave you with that bastard, master,’ Finn protested. ‘He’s even worse than Flavius Aetius, because Uther enjoys killing his victims. The Roman dog was too orderly and too cold for such hot passions. I won’t leave you, Myrddion.’
    ‘You must,’ Myrddion insisted. ‘You’re a father now, so your responsibilities extend further than your own desires. You must tell your children what you’ve seen and heard. You are the Truth-teller, so you must survive and be free of any further stains on your honour. If Uther seeks me out, he’ll demand duties of me that I’d prefer not to contemplate. I don’t want to worry about you, your wife and your babe as well as my other companions. Serve me well, my friend, by leaving me to my destiny.’
    A thin, almost inaudible whimper caught his attention. ‘Hush, Finn. Listen! Something is alive in that pile of corpses to the left of the gate.’
    Two of Uther’s warriors picked up the flaccid bodyof a woman whose head lolled unnaturally and whose throat had obviously been cut, to judge from the veil of blood that had soaked her robe from neck to hem. Beneath her body, and partially protected by the curled chest of a youth, a small child began to cry thinly from its nest of ruined flesh.
    As quick as the flash of a merlin’s wings as it glides in for the kill, Myrddion swooped under the arms of the nearest warrior and plucked the infant from the blood-soaked earth. The child was wholly saturated with its mother’s blood, so the healer couldn’t tell easily if it had suffered any injuries. As he tried to remove its sticky swaddling bands, Brangaine appeared at his side as if by magic, and whisked the child from Myrddion’s hands.
    ‘I’ll see to the little one back at the inn, master,’ she said, and Myrddion knew better than to refuse her. She had already wrapped maternal arms around the whimpering child.
    Another mouth to feed, a cynical voice whispered in Myrddion’s brain, but he closed a mental door on that insidious thought with a sharp, dismissive slam.
    ‘Why are you here, Brangaine? It’s far too dangerous, and you’ve left Willa unattended.’
    ‘The prince has been seeking you, master, and Gron looks likely to give you up. He’s a snake, that man, with no decent feelings except to whine and complain about everything in his smug existence. I came to warn you.’
    Brangaine scowled at her master with a look that would have curdled milk, so Myrddion attempted to soothe her injured feelings by sending her back to the inn to cleanse the infant and discover if the child had suffered any hurt. Then, his duty done, he turned to continue the search for those who remained alive among the drifts of bodies.
    By coercing any able-bodied person who passed into helping him, Myrddion managedto free the pitifully few survivors who still breathed. In their pursuit of plunder, Uther’s warriors had moved on to pick over the corpses of Saxon invaders in the lower town, having no pecuniary interest in the half-dressed men and women who had been caught up in the merciless battle. The killing field at the wall revealed a total of one hundred and fifty-one dead. Only two slightly wounded children remained alive, and Myrddion was heartsick to contemplate the thoroughness displayed by the Saxon attackers. Unprotected flesh was helpless against swinging axes and iron swords.
    In the lower town, Myrddion and his assistants must perforce cope with cruel burns, grossly swollen flesh and bodies that were blistered, splitting and glistening with internal fire. As Annwynn had done so many years before after the destruction of the Blue Hag inn in Segontium, Myrddion plied his henbane and poppy liberally, for few patients survived the kiss of the flames.
    And so,