Warriors of Camlann Read Free Page A

– eyes she thought had been drained of them – but it helped her to do what she had to do. Fumbling a little because everything was slippery with gore, she managed to get her cold fingers around the knife. She dropped it several times and cursed – Combrogi warriors’ curses she rather hoped the man Ambrosius Larcius would not understand. If he did, he would certainly never again ask her if she was of ‘gentle birth’.
    At last, she had the knife, a serviceable Roman knife, kept sharp as a good soldier’s blade.
    â€˜I have it!’ Ursula told Larcius rather curtly. She liked the thought of giving a Roman a weapon about as much as she had liked the thought of recovering it from a dead man. Nerves made her voice sound more brutal than she had intended. ‘You must cut my bonds with it. Nick so much as a hair on my arm and you will join Marcellus. Believe me, I’m not of gentle birth and I would kill you.’
    She did not think that was true. For all her experience as a warrior among the Combrogi, she had not become so brutalised that she could kill a wounded man in cold blood. Larcius believed her though, which was what mattered. She heard his sharp intake of breath. He was injured in the upper arm, a sword wound deep enough to disable but not to kill. He had not been bound, but was too shocked to pose much of a threat to theAenglisc. He was almost too shocked to be any use at all to Ursula. She kept the steel in her voice as she told him what to do. The rope was sturdy and Larcius was shaking, though whether from fever, fear, the shock, or the blood loss, Ursula did not know. She did not much care. It took a long time to cut through the rope and Ursula had to curb both her tongue and her temper but in the end she was free. The return of blood flow to her hands and feet was painful. She stamped her foot to relieve her cramp, and then heard something. Someone was coming. She grabbed the knife from Larcius and threw herself to the ground. Her movement was so sudden and the floor so hard she had to muffle a cry of pain. Outside, someone was talking loudly. A door opened and light flooded the room. Ursula was almost blinded as the tallest of her captors threw another bloodied body into the prison. She only saw the body’s face for a moment but she would have known it anywhere, instantly. It was Bryn, Dan’s Combrogi squire. The last time she had seen Bryn it had been to say goodbye as she left him in Macsen’s land, before stepping into the Veil. How could he be here? What was going on?

Chapter Three
    Bedewyr gingerly approached the prone figure on the ground. The huge dog guarding the body was the size of a donkey and its slavering jaws were large enough to engulf a man’s head.
    â€˜Is he dead?’ Petronax’s voice was harsh.
    â€˜I don’t know. That hell-hound won’t let me get close enough to find out.’ Bedewyr sounded embarrassed. He did not like to admit to fear but then the beast threw back its head and howled like its wolfish antecedents. Bedewyr could feel each hair on his scalp lift in atavistic terror.
    â€˜Have you no meat left? Throw the dog some food!’ Petronax did not attempt to keep exasperation from his tone. Keeping his eyes on the beast, he groped in his saddlebag for the remains of their lunch. The meat was dried and far from tempting but Petronax was good with animals. He knew it would serve.
    â€˜Here boy! Look! We mean no harm to your master.We can help.’ He kept his voice low, his tone comforting, and his movements steady. The wolf dog ceased his howling and took the gift of meat but its eyes never left Petronax’s own.
    The body, sprawled on the ground, was that of a tall, dark-haired youth. There was a wound at the back of his head, the side of his neck and jerkin were caked in the rusty brown of dried blood. Petronax extended his hand cautiously towards the body to feel for a pulse. The man