in, half
out of the water. An arm groped for a hold through the leaves, heaving to shift
the incubus, and the effort fetched a great groan. Through the threshing leaves
Hyacinth caught a glimpse of Eilmund’s soiled and contorted face.
“Hold
still! he shouted. “I’m coming down!”
And
down he went, thigh-deep, weaving under the first boughs to get his back
beneath their weight and try to lift them enough for the imprisoned forester to
drag himself clear. Eilmund, groaning and gasping, doubled both fists grimly
into the soil at his back and hauled himself partially free of the bough that
held him by the legs. The effort cost him a half-swallowed scream of pain.
“You’re hurt!” Hyacinth took him under the armpits with both hands, arching his
supple back strongly beneath the thickest bough, and the tree rocked
ponderously. “Now! Heave!”
Eilmund
braced himself yet again, Hyacinth hauled with him, fresh slithers of soil
rolled down on them both, but the willow shifted and rolled over with a splash,
and the forester lay in the raw earth, gasping, his feet just washed by the rim
of the brook. Hyacinth, muddy and streaked with green, went on his knees beside
him.
“I’ll
need to go for help, I can’t get you from here alone. And you’ll not be going
on your own two feet for a while. Can you rest so, till I fetch John of
Longwood’s men up from the fields? We’ll need more than one, and a hurdle or a
shutter to carry you. Is there worse than I can see?” But what he could see was
enough, and his brown face was shaken and appalled under the mud stains. “My
leg’s broke.” Eilmund let his great shoulders sink cautiously back into the
soft earth, and drew long, deep breaths. “Main lucky for me you came this way,
I was pinned fast, and the brook’s building again. I was trying to shore up the
bank. Lad,” he said, and grinned ruefully round a groan, “there’s more strength
in those shoulders of yours than anyone would think to look at you.”
“Can
you bide like that for a little while?” Hyacinth looked up anxiously at the
bank above, but only small clods shifted and slid harmlessly, and the rim of
impacted turf, herbage and roots at the top looked secure enough. I’ll run.
I’ll not be long.”
And
run he did, fast and straight for the Eaton fields, and hailed the first Eaton
men he sighted. They came in haste, with a hurdle borrowed from the sheep fold,
and between them with care and with some suppressed and understandable cursing
from the victim, lifted Eilmund on to it, and bore him the half-mile to his
forest cottage. Mindful that the man had a daughter at home, Hyacinth took it
upon himself to run on before to give her warning and reassurance, and time to
prepare the injured man’s couch.
The
cottage lay in a cleared assart in the forest, with a neat garden about it, and
when Hyacinth reached it the door was standing open, and within the house a
girl was singing softly to herself as she worked. Strangely, having run his
fastest to get to her, Hyacinth seemed almost reluctant to knock at the door,
or enter without knocking, and while he was hesitating on the doorstone her
singing ceased, and she came out to see whose fleet footsteps had stirred the
small stones of the pathway.
She
was small but sturdy, and very trimly made, with a straight blue gaze, the
fresh colouring of a wild rose, and smoothly-braided hair of a light brown
sheen like the grain of polished oak, and she looked him over with a candid
curiosity and friendliness that for once silenced his ready silver tongue. It
was she who had to speak first, for all the urgency of his errand. “You’re
looking for my father? He’s away to the coppice, you’ll find him where the bank
slid.” And the blue eyes quickened with interest and approval, liking what they
saw. “You’re the boy who came with the old dame’s hermit, aren’t you? I saw you
working in his
out of the water. An arm groped for a hold through the leaves, heaving to shift
the incubus, and the effort fetched a great groan. Through the threshing leaves
Hyacinth caught a glimpse of Eilmund’s soiled and contorted face.
“Hold
still! he shouted. “I’m coming down!”
And
down he went, thigh-deep, weaving under the first boughs to get his back
beneath their weight and try to lift them enough for the imprisoned forester to
drag himself clear. Eilmund, groaning and gasping, doubled both fists grimly
into the soil at his back and hauled himself partially free of the bough that
held him by the legs. The effort cost him a half-swallowed scream of pain.
“You’re hurt!” Hyacinth took him under the armpits with both hands, arching his
supple back strongly beneath the thickest bough, and the tree rocked
ponderously. “Now! Heave!”
Eilmund
braced himself yet again, Hyacinth hauled with him, fresh slithers of soil
rolled down on them both, but the willow shifted and rolled over with a splash,
and the forester lay in the raw earth, gasping, his feet just washed by the rim
of the brook. Hyacinth, muddy and streaked with green, went on his knees beside
him.
“I’ll
need to go for help, I can’t get you from here alone. And you’ll not be going
on your own two feet for a while. Can you rest so, till I fetch John of
Longwood’s men up from the fields? We’ll need more than one, and a hurdle or a
shutter to carry you. Is there worse than I can see?” But what he could see was
enough, and his brown face was shaken and appalled under the mud stains. “My
leg’s broke.” Eilmund let his great shoulders sink cautiously back into the
soft earth, and drew long, deep breaths. “Main lucky for me you came this way,
I was pinned fast, and the brook’s building again. I was trying to shore up the
bank. Lad,” he said, and grinned ruefully round a groan, “there’s more strength
in those shoulders of yours than anyone would think to look at you.”
“Can
you bide like that for a little while?” Hyacinth looked up anxiously at the
bank above, but only small clods shifted and slid harmlessly, and the rim of
impacted turf, herbage and roots at the top looked secure enough. I’ll run.
I’ll not be long.”
And
run he did, fast and straight for the Eaton fields, and hailed the first Eaton
men he sighted. They came in haste, with a hurdle borrowed from the sheep fold,
and between them with care and with some suppressed and understandable cursing
from the victim, lifted Eilmund on to it, and bore him the half-mile to his
forest cottage. Mindful that the man had a daughter at home, Hyacinth took it
upon himself to run on before to give her warning and reassurance, and time to
prepare the injured man’s couch.
The
cottage lay in a cleared assart in the forest, with a neat garden about it, and
when Hyacinth reached it the door was standing open, and within the house a
girl was singing softly to herself as she worked. Strangely, having run his
fastest to get to her, Hyacinth seemed almost reluctant to knock at the door,
or enter without knocking, and while he was hesitating on the doorstone her
singing ceased, and she came out to see whose fleet footsteps had stirred the
small stones of the pathway.
She
was small but sturdy, and very trimly made, with a straight blue gaze, the
fresh colouring of a wild rose, and smoothly-braided hair of a light brown
sheen like the grain of polished oak, and she looked him over with a candid
curiosity and friendliness that for once silenced his ready silver tongue. It
was she who had to speak first, for all the urgency of his errand. “You’re
looking for my father? He’s away to the coppice, you’ll find him where the bank
slid.” And the blue eyes quickened with interest and approval, liking what they
saw. “You’re the boy who came with the old dame’s hermit, aren’t you? I saw you
working in his
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