The Cross Legged Knight Read Online Free PDF

prominent bones, a broad forehead underscored by dark, straight brows – though all the hair might be burned and not naturally dark at all. On the right side of his face he had blisters high on his cheek and forehead, and his right ear looked as if it had been even more severely burned. There were perhaps bruises on his left cheek – it was difficult to tell with his face streaked with soot. She dabbed at the dirt. He winced. She guessed by the condition of his clothes that he had burns on all his limbs, though his principal injuries were the gash on his head and his shattered and burned right arm. He lay with it thrust out from him as if he would shake it off if he could. The colour of the arm was unnatural. Every now and then he gave a violent shiver. Though it was warm here by the fire, she knew that after such an injury one often needed extra warmth.
    Lucie’s elderly aunt sat on a stool nearby, clutchingher elbows as if protecting herself from the man’s agony. Phillippa had been confused when Poins was brought into the house, thinking she was back on the manor of Freythorpe Hadden the night the gatehouse had been ablaze. It had taken the maid Kate a long while to convince her that this had been a different fire, involving none of her family, none of her property. But it was clear that Phillippa was still ill at ease. Lucie thought some occupation might calm her.
    ‘Aunt, would you fetch some cushions and blankets from the chest at the top of the stairs?’
    Phillippa responded slowly, moving her fingers as if rediscovering them. Then she rubbed her cheeks, her eyes. ‘What did you say, child?’
    Lucie repeated the request.
    Phillippa rose and came over, holding her hands close to the fire while she gazed down on Poins. ‘He cannot be cold – it is so warm here.’
    ‘Yet he shivers, Aunt.’
    Phillippa watched until she saw the tremor move through Poins. ‘I see. I shall bring what I can carry.’
    Lucie bent to him again and gently pressed the cloth to his soot-streaked forehead, his cheeks, his chin. Except for the blisters on his cheek and forehead his face was untouched. She set the cloth aside, picked up the brandywine and a spoon. Before she tried removing the rest of his clothing she would numb him, if she could. Wheezing and occasionally moaning, Poins did not respond to Lucie’s efforts to get him to drink the brandywine. She kept up a soft patter, using his name, telling him that the brandywine would ease the pain, that he would soon be warm, that the Riverwoman was on her way. Phillippa returned with the blankets and they tucked them around him, lifted his head and gently placed a cushion beneath it. After a while hisshivering ceased and at last he began to suck at the spoon. He seemed quieter by the time Magda Digby arrived.
    Even so, Lucie thanked God for the Riverwoman’s presence. With little ado, Magda set her pack down on the small table Lucie had placed nearby, then crouched beside her.
    For a long while Magda considered Poins, holding his right hand, touching the elbow, the shoulder. At last she said, ‘Magda will need thy help.’
    ‘Of course. I thought first we should undress him.’
    ‘Aye, see what else he suffers.’
    Phillippa handed Lucie a pair of scissors. ‘It is no use saving the cloth, the fire has ruined it.’
    The poor man whimpered when they pulled the cloth from his left calf, which was already blistering. His right thigh looked worse, but he did not flinch when they pulled the cloth from it.
    ‘All feeling has been burned from it,’ said Magda. ‘That is not a good sign.’
    Elsewhere, he had abrasions and some small blisters, but Lucie was relieved to see no additional life-threatening injuries. The arm was bad enough.
    Magda stopped her when she drew near that arm with the scissors. ‘No need.’ She withdrew to the table. From her large leather pack Magda drew out bottles, jars and pouches, arranging them on the table. ‘Fetch Magda wine.’
    To Lucie’s