Longsword Read Online Free Page A

did not seem able to hear him.
    How many days? It was taking him a long time to die. He had not thought it would take so long. He had thought it would be all over quickly … all he had ever done had ended in failure … such an unsatisfactory life, best ended. … But perhaps it was an illusion that he was taking a long time to die? Perhaps they were still living through that first night, the night of his coming to the castle? He tried to ask the ancient Anselm, but his lips were too swollen, and one of his eyes completely closed.
    It could not be the same day, for the girl was wearing different clothes. Her everyday dress was a plain affair of dark purplish-brown, but this was of sage green, with a pattern of gold threads. Then he saw it was not a different dress, but a green cloak cast over her shift, with the rays of the candle shooting gold across it here and there.
    He tried to smile at her. He wanted to tell her that he had never seen anyone so beautiful. She sat on the stool beside his bed with one of her characteristically abrupt movements, and took his hand in hers. …
    Then she was gone, and the candle was there again. It fretted him that she was not between him and the candle, to shield his eyes from the brightness. Then his sight blurred. Later – how much later? The sonorous words; he had known their meaning once, but now they echoed in his head like waves on the seashore. Then he realised that the girl’s nails were digging into the palm of his hand, and the priest was asking him if he repented of his sins. …
    Gervase tried to say that he was innocent of the theft of the ring, but the priest would not wait, taking his mumblings for assent. Gervase was shriven, and anointed, and received the Last Sacrament; and all this time he was aware of what was happening, although it seemed to be happening not to him, but to someone else.
    It seemed to distress the girl that he was dying. She wept, and turned her shoulder on Anselm when that ancient came to enquire whether the corpse was not yet ready for his shroud. It worried Gervase that she wept. He could not understand why she should. He was happy enough to go, and he tried to tell her so.
    â€œâ€¦ you shall not die!” said the girl. It was night, and she was wearing her cloak over her shift, with her hair loose about her shoulders. Such wonderful hair, curling and waving, running riot around her neck and over her brow, but not long enough … surely she did not cut it?
    He found he could open both his eyes. Not much, but a little. The swellings on his mouth had abated, too. Perhaps he could even talk, if he tried hard enough.
    He made an effort to moisten his lips and she, quick to help, held a goblet of wine to his mouth. He said, “It is better this way … close my eyes … a sprig of rosemary between my hands. …” He was surprised he could say so much, and even more surprised that she had heard and understood him.
    â€œNo,” she said. “You must not die. You are too young. There is so much for you to do. …”
    He moved his head in negation.
    â€œYes, there is,” she said, nervously insistent. “Such skill with the sword. …”
    â€œI sold my sword – to innkeeper – at Mere. The child – the boy – fell sick. Then the mother. I saw it was smallpox. She would not rest. Husband dead … wanted to take children to her father in Bristol. No money. She said to leave them … but I could not. So I sold everything, little by little. … only it was no good. The little girl lived longest … almost got there. I sold my tunic to give her burial and took their things on to the grandfather … but he did not care. He saw I was sickening, too … he turned me away … afraid of the infection … why are you not afraid?. … I thought you would bury me, if you were not afraid …”
    She struck her hands together. “If only I had