The Crown of blood

IV

A piercing scream broke the stillness of the night. The shrill wailing continued, rousing the whole camp. Ullsaard woke immediately and was on his feet in a heartbeat, dragging on his kilt and a thick tunic.

"What is it?" Luia asked groggily from the bed behind him. "Where's Urikh?"

"I don't know," said Ullsaard as he pulled on his boots. Another ear-splitting scream cried out.

Ullsaard dashed outside to find the camp in uproar; sentries shouted from the walls; captains bellowed at the companies spilling from their tents; legionnaires babbled to each other. When the scream sounded again, Ullsaard located it. It was close at hand, not far to his left. Turning that way, he saw Noran stumbling half-naked through the mud, his hands and chest covered with blood.

"What is it?" Ullsaard demanded as Noran grabbed hold of him.

"There's something wrong," Noran said between sucking sobs. "She's bleeding! There's so much blood!"

Ullsaard realised with horror that Noran was talking about Neerita. He collared a second captain running past, almost hauling the man off his feet. "Send for the surgeons!" Ullsaard ordered. "Which one, General?" the startled captain asked.

"All of them!" Ullsaard shoved the man away and followed Noran back to his tent.

Anriit appeared like a bloodstained ghost in the doorway, her light gown ripped and stained. Ullsaard realised the screams had stopped, but he did not know if that was good or bad news. Anriit held up her crimson-coated hands and looked at Noran with blank eyes.

"She's dead," said Anriit.

"No, she can't be," wailed Noran. He tried to push his way into the tent, but Ullsaard grabbed him and dragged him back.

"Best not to see," Ullsaard said quietly. Noran lunged towards the tent again but Ullsaard did not let go.

"Bastards!" shrieked Anriit, ripping at her hair in madness. She looked venomously at Ullsaard and turned her wild gaze on the other soldiers gathering around them. "Murdering bastards!"

Her eyes fell upon Noran, half-collapsed in Ullsaard's arms.

"She should never have been here!" Anriit leapt at Noran, her fingers clawing at his face. "You killed her!"

Noran raised a weak arm to defend himself, but blood streamed from scratches across his cheek and brow. Ullsaard tried to push Anriit away, but she stormed at him, kicking and screaming. He grabbed her by the throat and with one swing of his arm tossed her to the ground.

"Get this crazy bitch away from me," he growled, looking at the legionnaires close at hand. They dropped their shields and spears and wrestled Anriit away from their general.

"She's right," sobbed Noran, sinking to his knees. He looked at his blood-soaked hands and back at the tent. His voice was a choked whisper. "She needs a loremother… She needed proper attention… The cold, and the wet…"

There was another shrill cry from behind Ullsaard and he turned to see what new horror had been visited upon him. Meliu ran barefooted between the tents, her hair streaming, robe open at the front, belt trailing behind her. Ullsaard made no attempt to stop her as she plunged into Noran's tent. He heaved Noran to his feet and almost carried him away.

"Let's get you some clothes and a drink," Ullsaard said. "There's nothing to be done here."

V

Smoke spiralled through the light rain, the flames of the pyre hissing and spitting as they consumed Neerita's linen-wrapped body, her arms arranged around a tiny bundle of cloth and flesh. Noran felt nothing as he watched the flames crawling across her body and listened to the cracking of bones and the popping of fat. He was dimly aware of Ullsaard's bulk next to him, and felt his friend's hand on his shoulder.

"It was a boy," Noran said softly. "Noridan. He was called Noridan."

Ullsaard said nothing, which Noran was vaguely grateful for. He had suffered through the platitudes of Prince Aalun that morning, who had lost his own family years before; and the mewling pity of Meliu and Allenya. Their words were meaningless; nothing could be said that would bring back his wife and son. Anriit's scorn had been the most honest response.

"We should go back to the camp," Noran said dully.

"We can stay here as long as you need," replied Ullsaard. "There isn't any hurry."

Noran slipped from Ullsaard's touch and walked back towards the army camp, half a mile away. He looked at the ditch and banked earth walls; the small figures of sentries making their rounds; the guards at the open gate as companies filed back in after a morning's foraging. The legions were unchangeable, their routine regulated by the drip of water clock and flicker of watch candle.

He didn't know what to think and his thoughts churned between desolation and resignation. Last night his wife and child had died, and the legionnaires kept to their schedule as if nothing had happened, uncaring of events. But there was also reassurance in that timeless discipline; men who walked hand in hand with death every day who knew that, until their time came, life went on.

"I don't know if I can stay," Noran said as Ullsaard caught up with him.

"I don't think it's a good idea to be on your own right now," said the general. "But if that's what you want, I'll do whatever I can to help; protection, supplies, servants."

Noran plodded on with Ullsaard at his side, pulling his cloak tighter as the drizzle soaked into his clothes and chilled him. A respectful distance behind them, a guard of legionnaires followed with a jingle of armour and splash of sandaled feet.

"What a waste!" he exclaimed. "What a vanity it is, that we aspire to change kings and forge nations, but we can't stop a woman from dying. It's all so fucking pointless."

"We have one life to lead, friend," said Ullsaard. "Our achievements are all that we can lay claim to. Men are born and die, but their actions live on down the generations. History is only the tales of the lives of men that came before us."

"And what history do I write?" Noran was bitter, his words snarled between gritted teeth. "What achievements have I? I could not even bring a son into the world. I have not even given that small gift to the future."

"You are not dead," Ullsaard replied, quiet but stern. "Your life goes on. You can choose to abandon your dreams now, or you can be strong and strive for them again."

"I do not know if I have the strength," said Noran.

"Only time will judge that," said Ullsaard, gripping Noran's arm. "Do not let this misery destroy you. What has happened is sad, but to throw away the rest of your life because of it would turn sadness to tragedy. You are better than that."

Noran said nothing and the pair of them walked on in silence. Behind them, the flames burned higher.