While Turold gripped ?dda’s flesh with the tongs, the priest drove the steel pin through the skin, making the holes where he would later sew the linen sutures to bind the two sides of the wound together. I had seen it done before, but never so deftly or so quickly.
Not that it made it any easier for ?dda, who roared through it all. He roared every time the pin penetrated his flesh and he roared every time it came out again. He yelled through gritted teeth, biting down so hard on the wood that I thought it might split, his whole body shaking with agony. His cries filled the air, so loud that when Father Erchembald told Turold to grip the flesh tighter with the tongs, he had to shout so as to be heard. But I did not relent as I held the stableman down, leaning on his shoulders with all my weight, preventing him from struggling. I did not want to cause him pain, but I knew that if we didn’t do this, his suffering would only be worse.
Robert returned with two wineskins as the priest was about to begin stitching, although there was little need for them by then for ?dda had passed out. It was probably just as well, since it meant Erchembald could finish what he needed to do without further difficulty, and I could rest my arms. Even so, I stayed until it was done, crouching by the Englishman’s bedside in case by some chance he came to. But he did not, and when at last the priest laid down his needle and tied off the final suture, ?dda was asleep, his chest rising and falling in even rhythm.
‘It is done,’ Erchembald said. His brow glistened with sweat as he stood up, wiping his hands with a dirtied cloth. There was blood on his fingers and on his forearms, and his sleeves and his robe were stained a deep crimson.
Without another word he went outside, and I followed him to the stream which ran beside the herb-patch behind his house. The sun was almost at its highest, and I was struck by the heat; it must have been cool inside, though I hadn’t been aware of it. Flies darted about us, attracted by the stench of fresh-spilt blood, and I had to fend them away from my face.
‘Will he live?’ I asked.
The priest did not reply straightaway, and I wondered if he had heard me. He crouched down by the edge of the brook, cleaning his hands in its clear waters and rinsing out some of the cloths he had used.
‘Father?’
He splashed some water into his face and, blinking, stood up. ‘God alone has the answer to that question,’ he said, his expression solemn. ‘I have done what I can for him, but so often it is hard to tell. Some live; others die. While I can close the wound and stop the bleeding, much depends on the extent of the damage done to his innards and that I cannot help.’
Exactly what I was expecting to hear I didn’t know, but that was not it. A numbness overcame me. I knew he was only being honest, but I would have thought that a man of the Church would also try to offer some manner of consolation, some hope.
He must have seen what I was thinking, for he added quickly: ‘He is strong, I will say that much. For most men the pain is too much and they pass out straightaway, but he held on and almost saw it through. If God grants him that same strength over the days to come, then there is a good chance he will survive.’
‘And what do we do in the meantime?’
‘In the meantime the best you can do is pray,’ Erchembald said. ‘Now, I must prepare a poultice for that wound. The sutures will prevent it from bleeding further, but it will not heal well otherwise.’
‘Let me help,’ I said.
‘There is nothing you can help with, lord, except ensure that no one disturbs me. I know the villagers mean well, but I cannot have them getting in my way.’
Indeed I could see a group of men and women gathering close by the church, glancing nervously towards us. They would want to know what was happening.
‘I will make sure of it,’ I said.
‘In that case, if you will forgive me, I must go.’
He hastened back inside, leaving me to gaze into the stream. The cloths he had left to soak in the water, and I watched pink tendrils twist and coil around each other, forming eddies in the current.
I was not alone for long, as shortly I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Robert. ‘I’m sorry for the Englishman,’ he said. ‘You know him well?’
Better than most in Earnford, I liked to think. ‘He is my stableman,’ I said. ‘The ablest tracker I’ve known, and a good friend too.’
‘He will survive, Tancred. I’m sure of it.’
He meant well, but after what Father Erchembald had said his words sounded hollow to my ears. ‘You don’t know that, lord.’
‘No,’ he said after a moment’s pause, and he sighed. ‘I don’t.’
‘You saw no sign of any raiders on your way to Earnford this afternoon?’
‘None,’ he replied. ‘But that doesn’t mean they weren’t there. They could well have fled when they saw us approaching.’
That was more than possible. If they were a small band, they would have been easily hidden.