The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [74]
“Let’s leave the horse trading to Carro and your king. By the hells, Nevyn, it gladdens my heart to think we’ll be spending the winter in the same dun. I know Caudyr will want to talk with you, too.”
“Caudyr?” It took him a moment to remember the young chirurgeon of Dun Deverry. “Well, now, is that young cub the chirurgeon Caradoc spoke of? I take it he followed my advice, all those years ago.”
“So he did, and I’ll wager it saved his life when Slwmar died, too.”
“Good. It seems he took my advice about abortions as well, judging from the pack of children I see over there. How many lasses have you picked up along the road, Maddo? I seem to remember that you’ve always had luck with women.”
“Oh, these are hardly all mine. We share what we can get when we can, you see.”
Nevyn did see, entirely too well. The thought of Brangwen living passed from man to man was like a bitter taste of poison in his mouth. Most of the women were riding astride, their skirts hitched up around them, some with a small child behind them, but all of them, mothers or not, were as hard-eyed and suspicious as their men. At the very rear, a pale blond woman was sitting in a mule cart, cushioned by blankets as she nursed a baby.
“That’s Clwna,” Maddyn said, gesturing at her. “When we’re back at the dun, I’d be ever so grateful if you or some other herbman would have a look at her. She hasn’t been well since the babe was born, and Caudyr can’t seem to mend her. She’s as much my woman as any of them are.”
“Oh, let’s talk to her right now.” Nevyn’s heart sank with dread. “The king and your captain will doubtless be a while yet.”
When they rode over, Clwna glanced up indifferently. There were dark circles like bruises under her blue eyes, and her skin was far too pale. Nevyn almost gasped in relief when he realized that she was not his Brangwen at all.
“This is Nevyn, the best herbman in the kingdom,” Maddyn said with forced cheer. “He’ll have you right as rain straightaway, my sweet.”
Clwna merely smiled as if she doubted it.
“Well, it’s a simple enough diagnosis, truly,” Nevyn said. “A good midwife would have spotted it in a minute, but the only women Caudyr’s ever tended were rich and well fed. Here, lass, your blood is weak because you just birthed a babe, and I’ll wager you haven’t been eating right. Get an apple, put an iron nail in it, and leave it there overnight. Then take it out and eat the apple. You’ll see the red streak of the sanguine humor, which is what you need. Do that every night for a fortnight, and then we’ll see.”
“My thanks,” Clwna was stammering in surprise. “It’s good of a courtly man like you to give advice to a silver dagger’s wench.”
“Oh, I’m not as courtly as I seem. Here, your babe is a pretty little thing. Who’s the father?”
“And how would I know, my lord?” She shrugged in sincere indifference. “Maddyn’s or Aethan’s, most like, but she could be the captain’s, too.”
In return for their winter’s keep and a silver piece a man if they should see any fighting, Caradoc pledged his loyalty to Prince Maryn through the spring, with terms to be renegotiated at Beltane. Getting so large a troop quartered in the cramped island dun was something of a problem. The chamberlain and the captain of Casyl’s warband conferred for an hour, then sent servants running all over the ward until at last the mercenaries had a barracks of their own, a stable for their horses, and a shed for their wagons and extra gear. The chamberlain was an old man with an amazing mind for details and a scrupulous sense of propriety. He was quite outraged, he told Nevyn, to find that