Beast of Caledonia (19 page)

“Three times,” Quintus said. “Three times you have saved my
daughter’s life. And risked your own.” He shook his head at the memories. “If
it hadn’t been for you, she would have bled to death, not from her wounds after
the boar attack, but from that idiot physician giving her willow bark. Thank
the gods you knew what to do.”

Quintus closed his eyes and shivered at the memory of that
day…

* * * * *

Quintus’ inspection of the new section of trench was
interrupted when he heard his wife screaming, “
Homicida, homicida!
Murderer,
murderer! You have killed her.”

He turned around to see his wife and Thea running towards
Annachie. The man carried Sara in his arms, and even from a distance, Quintus
could see the blood stains on her gown. The women had caught up with them and
now stood in their path, shrieking up into the Pict’s face. Annachie tried to
ignore them and continue towards the house, but Claudia would not let him.

Quintus ran towards them and grabbed his wife by the arms,
dragging her out of the way. “
Sileo
, Claudia. Be quiet. If he had tried
to kill her, would he bring her back us to us?”

They had reached the house by this time. Annachie paused
just inside the door and turned to Quintus, who pointed up the stairs. “This
way,” he said, and led Annachie up to Sara’s bedchamber.

Annachie laid her down on the bed. “
Aqua tepidus
,” he
said to Thea who had followed them into the room. “Warm water.”

“And bandages,” Quintus added. “And send for the physician,
quickly.”

Then, for the first time, he took a close look at his
daughter. She was as white as snow and her breaths were shallow but at least
she was still alive. Blood soaked her gown from her armpit to her waist.

Claudia came into the room, took one look at her daughter
and began to retch.

“Get out of here, woman, if you cannot help,” Quintus
growled.

Claudia fled the room.

“What happened?” Quintus asked Annachie, even though he doubted
the man would understand him.

He must have read the question on Quintus’ face. “
Cullach
,”
he said. When Quintus shook his head that he did not understand, Annachie put
his index fingers on each side of his nose and snorted.

“
Aper
,” Quintus said, feeling the blood drain from
his face.

“Sir, he killed it with his bare hands,” said the guard who
had accompanied Annachie back to the house, and who now stood by the door.

Quintus stared at Annachie, but all of the slave’s attention
was focused on Sara.

Thea returned with the water and bandages, and knelt at the
head of her bed, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. Annachie began to soak
the torn remnants of Sara’s gown. After a moment of puzzlement, Quintus
realized that this would prevent any wounds that had sealed from bleeding again
when the clothes were removed. As he peeled each bit of cloth away, Annachie
carefully cleansed the gashes. Some of them were deeper than others and still
bled, others only seeped. Quintus was amazed that this savage giant could be so
gentle. He knew he should not let this man see his daughter partially
unclothed, but because he was helping her, Quintus allowed the liberty.

The physician arrived and demanded hot water to make a tea.
Quintus wondered how he was going to get it into Sara, since she was still
unconscious.

The physician cast a jaundiced eye at Annachie. “What is
this barbarian doing here?”

“He saved her life, Rufus.”

When the hot water was brought to him, the physician took a
bundle of twigs from his bag, peeled the bark off, and placed it in the cup,
stirring it around until the water took on a pale brown hue. As the tea cooled
slightly, he again watched Annachie minister to Sara’s wounds as if he were
supervising an apprentice. When Annachie removed the cloth from the deepest
wound, Sara began to stir and whimper with pain.

Annachie spoke to her in his own language, and to Quintus’
amazement, his daughter quieted. Annachie pressed a clean cloth to the puncture
wound in her left breast.

Rufus approached Sara and started to lift her head to give
her the tea, but Annachie grasped his wrist, stopping him. He took the cup from
the older man’s hand and tasted it. “Bah,” he said and crossed to the window.
He opened the shutter and pitched the liquid out.

“What do you think you are doing?” Rufus spluttered behind
the man’s back. “Quintus, I am the physician. Get him out of here.”

“Guards,” Quintus shouted.

Two soldiers entered the room and grabbed Annachie by the
arms. They dragged him towards the door, even as Annachie struggled to break
their hold. “No!” the Pict shouted. “No, no willow bark. Make Say-ra bleed
more.”

“He does not know what he is talking about,” Rufus replied.
“It is for the pain.”

Quintus knew Sara had to be in terrible pain. And, after
all, Rufus was a trained physician. “Take him away,” he told the guards.
Annachie’s cries of protest continued all the way to his stable prison.

Rufus managed to rouse Sara enough to get the tea into her.
After a few minutes, her breathing slowed and it was clear that she slept. The
tea had obviously worked. Quintus sighed with relief that he had made the
correct judgment.

Meanwhile, the physician wrapped her wounds with fresh
bandages and packed the deep gash in her breast.

Then they waited.

In less than an hour, Sara’s bandages were again soaked
through with blood. Rufus removed them and applied fresh ones.

A half hour later, these too were saturated, and Sara’s face
was white as chalk.

Quintus had been in enough battles to recognize the signs of
approaching death, and he knew where to check a body for a heartbeat. He placed
his fingers on the side of Sara’s throat. “I can barely feel her pulse. What is
happening? Why is she still bleeding?”

“Her wounds are deep. It is not unusual for such injuries to
bleed for a time.”

“A time? Rufus, it has been over two hours since she was
attacked. Even the deepest wounds should have stopped bleeding by now.”

“Be calm. She will be fine.”

Rufus’ voice was meant to be soothing, but nothing could
soothe Quintus’ growing panic. “Was he right?” Quintus asked.

“Was who right?”

Rufus had to know whom Quintus was talking about and was
merely pretending ignorance. “The Pict. Was he right about the willow bark
tea?”

“Are you questioning my judgment? I am a trained physician.
He is a barbari—”

“Was he right?”
Quintus asked again, accenting each
word. “Is that what is making her continue to bleed?”

Rufus hesitated. “Well, I don’t…it has never been proven to
do so.”

Without another word, Quintus ran from the room, and to the
stable where Annachie was imprisoned. The slave sat with his head in his hands,
his legs shackled with strong chain. He looked up when Quintus entered the
stable.

“She’s dying,” Quintus gasped. “The bleeding won’t stop. Can
you help her?” Too late, he remembered the language barrier between them.
Oh,
how can I make him understand?

Annachie stood and nodded. “Gather herbs first, to make
fuarlit
,
uh, poultice.”

Quintus knew that Annachie would do nothing to further harm
Sara. He nodded. “Do whatever you think is best,” he said. “Guard. Unlock those
shackles.”

As Annachie started out the door, the soldier hesitantly
blocked his way. “Let him go,” Quintus said. “Go with him, but don’t
interfere.”

* * * * *

Quintus came back to the present and looked at the gravely
injured man in the bed. There was no response from Annachie to indicate that he
heard Quintus speaking to him.

“By rights, you too should have been dead more times than I
can count. I will get her back for you and you will be together. I promise you
that on my life.”

Still Annachie did not make a sound.

“Listen to me. You cannot give up now. You are a fighter,
Annachie. Fight now. Fight for your life and for Sara.”

Annachie’s eyes fluttered for a moment. “Sara?” he
whispered, so softly that Quintus had to lean over to hear him.

It was a sign. A very small one, but a sign that the man who
loved his daughter was still there in that torn, almost lifeless body.

And so, Quintus continued his bedside vigil.

At times, Annachie tossed his head from side to side and
mumbled, as if in a nightmare, but then he would slip back into
unconsciousness. His fever came and went, but Paullus assured Quintus that
Annachie’s wounds were not infected.

As Quintus was preparing for bed one night, he heard a knock
at his front door.
Who would be visiting this late?

A servant appeared at the entrance to his bedchamber. “Your
pardon, Sire, there is a young man at the door, asking to speak to you.”

“At this hour of the night? Who is it?”

“He gives his name as Micah, Sire.”

“I know no one by that name.”

“He says it is urgent, Sire.”

“All right, I’ll come.”

Quintus made his way to his foyer, and there indeed stood a
young man he had never seen before. “What is your business and why at such a
late hour?”

“Forgive me, Sire, I was told that a gladiator named
Annachie was brought here? Does he still live?”

“He does.” The young man’s sigh of relief was audible. ”But
I cannot say for how much longer. He is gravely ill.”

“Please, may I see him?”

“How do you know him? What is your business with him?”

“I know him from Septimius’ compound. I-I was a slave there
with him. We heard recently in my town that he saved Sara’s life and that he
died. When I came to find out more about what happened, some of the gladiators
who saved him told me that he had been brought here. I had to see for myself if
he still lived.”

“You know my daughter, too?”

“Yes, sir, I helped rescue her from the burial chamber, then
I took them to my family’s home in Castrum Novum to hide them. But the soldiers
found Sara and took her back. And well, you know the rest, I am sure.”

“Yes, I am afraid I do.” Quintus’ mind was working. If he
was a friend of Annachie’s, perhaps a visit from this lad would spur some
response from him.

Micah continued, “And I just want Annachie to know that my
sister is taking good care of Drust.”

“Drust? Who is Drust?”

“Why, his son, Sire. Annachie’s and Sara’s son.”

“Now you lie. Sara told Antoninus Pius that she miscarried
in the tomb, and my daughter does not lie.”

“Sara would lie to protect her child. Wouldn’t anyone,
Sire?”

Quintus nodded. Micah was right, of course. Most people
would lie or do anything else necessary to protect their children. His knees
suddenly felt a bit weak.
I am a grandfather. I have a grandson I have never
met.

Suddenly, Quintus remembered the word Annachie had mumbled
from time to time. “Annachie has called his name. I thought he was saying
‘roost’. But he was calling for Drust. Come in, I will take you to him.”

* * * * *

“Annachie? It is me, Micah. Can you hear me?”

The voice sounded so far away, as if it came from the other
end of a long tunnel. Micah? He knew that name, but how? Annachie felt as if
there were cobwebs wrapped around his brain. Snatches of memory came back to
him occasionally, but were they true memories or nightmares? Bad, frightful
memories—an earthen tomb, a woman tied to a stake, tigers,
pain.
Above
all else, pain.

Yet there were pleasant memories, too—of holding a woman
close to him and knowing that he loved her, of a bairn’s tiny fist wrapped
around his little finger or in his long hair. Were these real or only wishes
his heart made in his dreams?

“Annachie?”

He heard the voice again and struggled to open his eyes. The
blurry image of a young man appeared next to him. And suddenly his befuddled
mind made the connection. “Micah?”

“Yes, it is I.”

Annachie blinked several times and the image became clearer.
“Micah…Drust, how is Drust?”

“He is well. He thrives on Rachel’s milk. And he is smiling.
At least, that is what Rachel says; I think it is just gas.” Micah grinned,
then said, “He has Sara’s smile.”

Annachie gave a strangled cry and felt hot tears sting his
cheeks. “Sara? She is not with you?”

Micah hesitated. Then Quintus spoke from the other side of
his bed. “Sara is safe, Annachie. She is not with Micah’s family, but she is
safe. When you are well enough, you will see her.”

Had he imagined Quintus’ slight hesitation when he said
Annachie could see Sara? And what about the man’s choice of words? Quintus
hadn’t said he and Sara would be together, only that he would see her.

Annachie’s thoughts were clearing. He thanked the gods that
Rachel and Micah and their family were taking such good care of his son, but it
hurt, nonetheless. It should be he and Sara caring for Drust. He thought he
remembered Quintus telling him that he had to live, but what did he have to
live for? He was still Septimius’ property and if he got his strength back, the
slaver would put him in the arena again. If that happened, Annachie knew he
would die.

Best do it now and get it over with. “Thank you, Micah. And
thank Rachel and Jacob for me.”

After that, Annachie heard no more.

“Annachie, open your eyes,” Quintus said.

“Annachie, can you hear me?” asked Micah.

He responded to neither one of them. “Will he live?” Micah
asked.

Quintus shook his head. “I do not know. I have tried my best
to give him hope, but he has not responded. Then, when you came and told me his
son lives, I thought that alone would restore his will to live. But it seems
not.”

Micah was silent for a moment. Then he said, “What if he
could see Drust?”