"The Space Barbarians" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Mack)

Chapter Five

By morning they had shaken the pursuit, at least temporarily, and stopped at a waterhole both for the animals and to inspect Don of the Clarks’ wound.

Alice of the Thompsons, though she avoided the eyes of the obviously lovelorn John, cooperated. It was somewhat unseemly, for her abduction was not quite complete yet, nor would it be until they got her safely back to Aberdeen.

They stretched Don out on a cloak, and with her own stean she cut away his clothing at the point the carbine slug had entered and also where it had emerged. No bone had been shattered, but it was an ugly wound and he was pale, having lost considerable blood during the night’s pounding ride.

Being a clannsman, he allowed himself not even a groan ns she worked on him, but several times he winced involuntarily.

It was no time for feminine shame. She lifted the skirt of her gown and tore a long strip from her undergarment. John and Dewey stood anxiously to the side, staring down at their wounded companion. They had seen carbine hits before, and this one boded no good.

Alice worked deftly. She, too, had seen men torn in combat in the past. Indeed, she had lost all her immediate male kyn in such fray.

Finally she came to her feet. She turned, and for the first time she looked into John’s face. “He should rest,” she said. “And he shouldn’t be moved for a time.”

John of the Hawks shook his head. “For the moment, we have shaken them. But they must have a dozen troops scouring the heath, and we are barely over the line into the preserves of Aberdeen.”

Her voice level, Alice said, “The proof is there before you. He should not be moved. Leave him here with me, and I will await them. I pledge on the honor of the Clann Thompson that he will not be killed but taken into our clann as a servant.”

“And stripped of my kilts and made a clannsless one?” Don snorted. He rolled to one side and struggled to get to his feet. Dewey bent and helped him.

“Tie me to my steed,” Don ground out. “I’ll make it.”

John rode on one side of him, Dewey the other, and they took up the way again to Aberdeen.

As they neared the main gate, they could hear the conch sound.

Dewey groaned, “You forgot to change. You’re still wearing the kilts of the Clann Thompson!”

They were already within carbine range.

Dewey dashed forward, desperately, his hands high above his head. He alone among them wore the kilts of a clanns-man of Aberdeen.

By the time John, Alice and Don had arrived at the gate, the warder and his men had been sufficiently warned to do no more than boggle at them. Never before had they seen proud clannsmen, fellow phyletics, attired in the kilts of another phylum. Never, for that matter, had they seen a bride literally stolen.

But John had no time now for explanations or reflecting in glory, though surely the criers would shout this to the housetops, far into the day.

He snapped, “Don of the Clarks is sore wounded. Hurry him to his bedel.”

Four men untied the wounded clannsman from his saddle and, as gently as ever they could, carried him away. They ignored his shame. Don of the Clarks had long since fainted.

John looked after him for a long moment In dismay but then shook his head. First, he had other duty.

He turned to Alice and said, “Lass, I will take you to be presented to the Sachem of the Clann Hawk.”

She could do nothing but abide by the correct procedure. She followed after him. Phyletics, both male and female, adult and child, watched their progress to the long-house of the Hawks, and largely eyes were wide, and many looked askance.

Word had evidently gone on before them, since when they knocked at the door of the quarters of the sachem, they were immediately bidden to enter, and Robert of the Hawks stood there in his living room. Several of the members of his immediate family were also there, eyes wide, but he dismissed them, a bit curtly.

He ignored Alice and looked John directly in the eye. John failed to quail. “I present Alice of the Thompsons, whom I have honorably stolen to be my bride.”

“Honorably! You have then, without doubt, paid the brideright to her kyn!”

John said doggedly, “It is not against the bann. For long years I approached the Clann Thompson through their sachem at the yearly meetings of the Dail. And always I was refused. I read deep into the Holy Books and all accounts that have come down to us from the misty years and before.”

Robert, Sachem of the Hawks, was interested. “And what did you find there?”

“That in the old days, before the Keepers of the Faith had devised upon the present method of paying brideright, and thus eliminating much shedding of blood, clannsmen were wont to steal their brides at point of claidheammor, and it was not against the bann to do so.”

“But it is against the bann now!”

John looked him in the eye. “No. It is not against the bann. At most it is unseemly and not meet, but it is not against the bann, and I have had great provocation.”

The sachem thought about it. He said finally, “I will consult the Keepers of the Faith and the clann bedel and will inform you of our decision later. And now”—he turned to Alice of the Thompsons—“until you have been taken by John as his bride—if that is allowed to happen—you will be a servant lass.” He added, his voice more kindly, “I will take you into my own family, and my wife will make you at home and show you your light duties. Perhaps Hawk has been shamed by your abduction, and you will be returned to your kyn.”

She said evenly, “If I am returned to my kyn, I will be shamed and undoubtedly stripped of my clann position, for I failed to attempt my life upon being stolen.”

His voice was still kindly. “I will mention that aspect to the Keepers of the Faith,” he said. “However, I am sure you were seized by force and hence could not honorably take your own life.”

Alice was a well brought up lass and knew how to conduct herself before a sachem. She said, “I submit to Robert of the Hawks.”

It was unseemly now for John of the Hawks to speak further to her. He saluted his chief and turned to go.

But Robert said, a different tone in his voice, “A moment, John. What transpired? I suspect, if the Keepers of the Faith report that all is well and that the bann has not been broken, that the bards will sing this exploit.”

Avoiding the eyes of Alice, since her clannsmen had been shamed in the events, John said, “As soon as the Dail had adjourned, I, with Dewey of the Hawks and Don of the Clarks, rode by back routes to Caithness. While Dewey guarded the horses, Don and I scaled the walls and—”

“You entered Caithness!”

“Yes. And hid ourselves in the quarters of Alice of the Thompsons until she appeared. We then seized her and made our escape, Don of the Clarks counting coup upon three of her kyn and I counting second coup on one.”

“Counting coup at such a time! How many, then, did you find it necessary to kill? Aüi, the vendetta will rage this year. I must triple the guard on the herds before the day is out.”

John said, “We spilled no blood, thinking it not meet under the circumstances. At least we spilled none in Caithness, though perhaps Dewey and Don did whilst covering our retreat.”

Robert stared at him, though he himself had long been a man of action. He said, “The bards will certainly long sing this exploit. I have never heard, in their oldest praise, of such an event.”

John said, “With your permission, Robert, I shall now go to Don of the Clarks, who was badly wounded in the fray.”

“Aüi, lad, hurry. I know how close you are.” Robert turned to Alice. “Come now, and I will present you to my good wife. You have no fear in this longhouse, Alice of the Thompsons.”

“I have no fear,” she said, and let her eyes follow John as he left, which was slightly unseemly but only amused Robert of the Hawks, who was himself married to a lass of Caithness, though not a Thompson. Perhaps his wife was acquainted with Alice…

John stared down at Don of the Clarks, who was sprawled on a cot in his quarters in the Clark longhouse. The bedel was there, as was Sally, but the two young children had been hustled from the room.

Don’s face was flushed and had a thin, drawn look that was bad.

The bedel said, “I fear the fleshrot.”

Sally held the back of her right hand to her mouth.

John said, “It is too early to know that.” There was accusation in his tone.

The bedel shook his head. He was an old man, well versed in medicine. At least, as well versed as any in Aberdeen. “I am not sure, but I fear. The wound should have been cleaned more promptly and better, and the spider dust should have been applied.”

We had no time even to boil water. The Thompsons were in pursuit.”

The bedel shrugged.

Don got out, “It is not important. I will be up and around before the day is through. The Thompsons do not dispose of Don of the Clarks quite so easily.”

John reached down and mussed the other’s hair fondly. “That they don’t, Don,” he murmured. “I promise that.”

Don fell into a sleep, and John, not wishing to leave him, drew to one side of the room with the bedel, while Sally sat at her husband’s side. She was a slight girl and now infinitely worried, as she had occasion to be; one seldom recovered from the fleshrot.

John of the Hawks whispered, “What has happened with the strangers since we have been gone?”

The bedel scowled. “Bertram of the Fowlers took the soma.”

“And?”

“And within twenty-four hours his sight has become that of a twenty-five year old clannsman.”

John sucked in air—not that he was greatly surprised.

The bedel said, “Nor is that all. The gnawing pain in his belly is gone. For the first time in long months, it is gone. The guru used some mystic term ‘cancer,’ which not even we bedels and Keepers of the Faith understand. But whatever, the pain is gone.”

“And what else has occurred?” John of the Hawks could sense what was coming, but he must know.

“Bertram has been cast down from the post of Bedel of the Fowlers, and his kilts have been stripped from him, and he is now a clannless one. However, he cares not, no more than Robert of the Fieldings cares, and he was once the boldest raider of Aberdeen.”

“I know,” John said. “What else?”

“Others take the soma, or say they will, and there is great talk against the strangers amongst the Keepers of the Faith and the younger clannsmen, though the women and those elderly enough to feel the burdens of age and sickness speak largely for them.”

John thought about it. “And what do the younger men wish to do with the men from Beyond?”

The bedel said in disgust, “What can be done? Obviously, the guru, at least, is a holy man. He performs miracles.”

“He performs medicine,” John growled. “While we of Caledonia have remained stationary with our banns and our traditions, they have advanced in every direction. The so-called miracles of the guru are simply medicine far in advance of what we know in Aberdeen, or in any phylum, for that matter.”

The bedel was scowling again. “You sound as though you speak against the bann, clannsman. Let me point out to you that it is beyond a simple war cacique to understand all aspects of the Holy and of the Holy Books. It takes long years of study, long years of contemplation, before one can even begin to interpret the true meaning of the Holy Books. I cite a simple example, the first verse from one of the four.

“Now then, lad, it is commonly understood that a stag was an animal of the chase, on one of the worlds Beyond. But tell me, what is a moon, and how does it dance? And above all, what is a Monan’s rill? And these are but simple problems that we bedels and Keepers of the Faith must dwell upon.”

“I don’t know,” John said. “But it is I who wish to preserve the old ways. These so-called holy men will destroy all, and it will result in clannless men such as this Mister of the Harmons stripping us of the products of our lands.”

The bedel said, “Why do you think all this? How do you know?”

“I haven’t the time now to reveal, Bedel of the darks; however, I will tell all at the next Aberdeen muster.”

He turned back to Don, who was breathing hard in his sleep, and stared down at his feverish comrade in blood. He turned again to the bedel. “You are sure it is the fleshrot?”

“I am fairly sure.”

Sally closed her eyes and moaned.

John gripped her shoulder and squeezed. “I have promised Don of the Clarks will survive.”

“You promise more than you can deliver, John of the Hawks,” the bedel grumbled.

John of the Hawks went to his own longhouse and to his assigned quarters and banged on the door.

It was opened by one of the expressionless younger orange clad strangers. The two were remarkably colorless. John wondered, in passing, if taking soma did this to a worshiper at the Shrine of Kalkin.

He said, “I wish to talk to Mister of the Harmons.”

“He has returned to the Revelation,” the stranger from Beyond said tonelessly. “Aberdeen is not the only town in which we spread the word of Lord Krishna. There are duties elsewhere.”

John said impatiently, “Then Guru of the Marks.”

“The guru is meditating upon the path of the Lord Krishna.”

The other was a man of no more than six feet, a puny creature compared with John of the Hawks. John, irritation, put a hand on the stranger’s chest and pushed him back and to the side.

“It is a matter of great importance,” he growled. He looked about the room. It was furnished quite differently than it had been when he was in residence. Various shiny metal devices and gadgets were here and there. Grey metal cabinets, holding John knew not what, lined the walls of the chamber. There was a high raised hard bed in the room’s middle, which reminded him strongly of the beds the bedels used when surgery must be performed upon the wounded.

The orange clad stranger began to remonstrate with him, albeit in a gentle voice, but at that moment Mark, the guru, entered from, a back room.

He said, with his usual calm dignity, “Ah, my son. You have come at last to take your soma and follow the footsteps of Lord Krishna?”

“No,” John said. “I have not. I have come to ask you use your medicine to cure my blood companion Don of the Clarks.”

“He is ready, then, to take the soma?”

John’s eyes narrowed. “No, he is not.”

The other said mildly, “Then how can I invoke the Lord Krishna in his behalf?”

John said impatiently, “Guru of the Marks, you use your words in double meaning. I am beginning to suspect that such is the custom of all men of religion. The truth! Is it necessary to take soma for you to cure ills incurable by our bedels?”

The guru looked at him for a long moment. Finally, he said, “What is wrong with your friend, my son?”

“A carbine slug in his side. We were on a raid against the Thompsons of the Caithness Phylum.”

“Thou shalt not harm, my son. Evil begets evil.”

John snapped, “Nevertheless, the fleshrot has set in, and our bedels are helpless to cure the fleshrot when it is in the body. An arm or a leg, yes. They can amputate. But not in the depths of the body, and this wound is immediately beneath the lung.”

“Gangrene,” the guru murmured unhappily. “How long since the wound was taken?”

“Three days and more.”

“Too long,” the orange clad assistant said. “Only the autohospital in the Revelation could handle him if the flesh has been gangrenous for that long.”

John’s eyes went from one of them to the other. “What is an autohospital?” he demanded.

The assistant looked at the guru, who said, “The Lord Krishna has seen fit, my son, to provide his followers of the path to the Shrine of Kalkin with the means whereby to cure all ills, save those of time. So it is that we who walk with Lord Krishna live lives free of sickness until we are ready to be gathered to the bosom of Kalkin.”

John snapped, “You still talk with double meaning, Guru of the Marks. But this autohospital will free Don of the Clarks of the fleshrot?”

“Yes, my son. But Harmon has returned with the skimmer of the Revelation and is not to return for a week. By that time our work hers in Aberdeen will be through, for the time, and we will proceed to the next town, leaving the good work here to be continued by those who have taken up the path of Krishna.”

Without further words, John of the Hawks turned on his heel and left.

Outside the longhouse he barked orders to several of his clannsmen who were standing about. Two horses were brought up, a litter rigged on one of them.

Dewey said. “What do you propose?”

“The fleshrot has set in. This Guru of the Marks informs me that on the ship from Beyond there is means to cure it. I take Don of the Clarks to Nairn.”

“But it is a three day ride!”

John looked at his kynsman.

Dewey said, “He will be dead before you arrive.”