Shield Breaker by Richard Cullen

Author:Richard Cullen [Cullen, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781801102063
Publisher: Head of Zeus

23

Waruic, England, September 1068

He yearned for sleep, to fall back into the quiet comfort of oblivion, but his mouth was too dry, his thirst too unquenchable to allow it.

When Ronan lifted his head, a feat of tremendous effort, he could see the flap of the tent blowing gently in the breeze. He tried to call out, to summon aid, but couldn’t even manage the most pitiful of croaks. His eyes wandered in delirium until they fell on the jug and cup that sat next to his pallet bed. He stretched out an arm withered by inaction, fingers falling inches short of the cup. When he tried to move his body closer, pain lanced through his side as though he had been stabbed. Again.

Ronan let himself roll back, feeling a tear run down the side of his face, unable to wipe it away. At least there was no one here to see him weep. That was one mercy at least.

Memories flooded back as he lay there like some feeble old man, thoughts of how he had allowed himself to be attacked. And by who? Some peasant waiting in the shadows? A pig herder not fit to clean his boots?

And what had happened since then? As much as Ronan tried, he could not piece that time together. Days and nights melted into one, faces came and went, but where were those faces now? Had he been abandoned? Left to die here in some quiet corner of this misbegotten land?

He gritted his teeth, trying to swallow, but could conjure no spit in his mouth. Turning his head he focused on the jug once more. This time when he moved he snorted in defiance of the pain, growled till it hurt his throat. His fingers stretched, almost there, the cup just within his reach. Probing fingertips almost grasped it, but instead flipped the cup from the small table to spill its contents on the ground. Anger seethed up in his broken body – he would not be defeated. Ronan moaned, a pitiful mewling as he stretched further, ignoring the agony that wracked his body as he grabbed the jug. Damn it was heavy, but he managed to lift it, grasping it in two hands as he poured its contents into his mouth.

After swallowing down all he could, he collapsed again. Heaving in breath, feeling the cool water run down his face, forcing a smile at his one tiny victory, but he could not just lay here forever hoping for rescue.

There was daylight beyond the opening of the tent. He swallowed, leaned forward, then called, ‘Is anyone there?’ His voice sounded as broken as his body felt. A plea no one could have heard. Ronan fell back to his bed defeated.

How long had he been here? There was a chill to the air that told him much time had passed since they had taken the town of Waruic. Had it been days? Weeks? Had Robert moved on and left him here to be tended by idiots with no aptitude for the task?

Movement as someone entered the tent.

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