Free The Serpent Sword (Bernicia Chronicles Book 1) by Matthew Harffy

got, the less likely that appeared. The man seemed unconscious, not asleep. A few steps more convinced him that the warrior was not going to cause him harm. His breathing was shallow and feverish, his face a mess of caked dried blood and mud. His left eye was so horribly swollen that it looked as though a plover had laid an egg in his eye socket, and there was a deep gash on his temple. The shield boss, which had at first appeared rusty and tarnished, was in fact smeared with dark liquid, now dry and crusted. Whether the warrior’s blood or his foe’s Coenred wasn’t sure.
    Apart from the shield and the spear, there was little to indicate that the man was a warrior, except perhaps for his size. He was tall and broad-shouldered, but his clothes – a simple kirtle and trousers - were those of a ceorl, a commoner, not a thegn.
    The donkey moved restlessly behind Coenred, startling him. He would have to make a decision about what to do. He could run back to the monastery and tell Abbot Fearghas what he had found. That would be the easiest option and he’d get away from danger quickly. But the stranger was obviously very sick. If he went back now, leaving the man in the chill damp morning, he was bound to get worse. He might well die. Brother Sebbi had been struck dead by a fever only last month and he hadn't looked half as ill. But what would happen if the man got well and then caused them harm? Coenred fretted. The stranger was a man of war and he looked strong enough to do considerable damage if he were fit.
    Then Coenred recalled the tale Jesu had told of the Samaritan who had helped his enemy. It didn't matter who this man was - he was in need of help and God had seen fit to place Coenred in a position to aid him. He may have overslept and forgotten his prayers, but this was a trial he would not fail.
    With new resolve, Coenred went to the fallen man and tried to lift him. He couldn't move him to start with, but after a few attempts, the man's right eye flickered open. It was a pale blue, but glazed with pain and fever.
    “I can't lift you. You'll have to help”, said Coenred, hoping the man would understand.
    The wounded man didn't reply, but shut his eye again and let out a sigh. Coenred thought that he had lapsed back into unconsciousness, but a moment later the warrior gripped Coenred's arm.
    With a lot of help, the stranger managed to get to his feet. He was in great pain and rested much of his weight on Coenred's shoulder. With difficulty Coenred guided him to the cart where the man collapsed. He had used the last of his strength and he didn't even groan when Coenred lifted his legs into the cart.
     
    Beobrand awoke slowly.
    Recently, he seemed to always be waking up feeling terrible and this was no exception.
    He could feel something pressing on his face. His chest felt tight and ached with each breath. He tried to open his eyes, but found that something prevented him. He reached up and found a damp bandage was wrapped around his face, covering both his eyes. As his fingers brushed the left side of the bandage, an acute pain flared in his eye and head. He gingerly made a move to remove the bandage but a voice from the darkness stopped him.
    “Don’t take off the bandage,” said an anxious voice. “Alric says you’ll go blind if you do.”
    Beobrand let his arm fall by his side, he had no desire to live life as a blind man. The voice that had spoken was young, that of a boy.
    “Who are you and where am I?” Beobrand’s voice croaked in his dry throat.
    “Here, have some water,” the boy replied and Beobrand felt a hand behind his head and a cup brush his lips. He swallowed a little of the cool water and let his head rest back on what he guessed was a straw mattress.
    “Thank you,” Beobrand said and then repeated, “Where am I?”
    “Engelmynster. I found you in the woods, nearer to death than life. My name’s Coenred.”
    “How long have I been asleep?”
    “Three days. Your fever broke