A Dishonorable Knight(43)
***
Elena awoke to a blindingly bright sun. She squinted as she sat up, partly from the glare, partly from the tremendous throbbing in her skull. She was coated in dust and for the first time in her life she felt the urge to spit. Slowly easing herself to her feet she closed her eyes when the world began to tilt dizzily. After a few moments it seemed to level out and she opened her eyes cautiously. If this is the thanks I get for trying to be a heroine, Elena thought, Joan of Arc can have it.
"Breila?" she choked out. "Where is that damn--" Elena froze when she saw the huge horse sprawled several feet away from her. With staggering steps she crept over to the horse and knelt down by its head. Breila whinnied softly, but did not move.
"Oh, Breila, I'm so sorry," Elena whispered. Although she could see no obvious wounds, the horse's awkward position left no doubt in her mind that Breila's back was broken. To Elena's surprise, tears filled her eyes and began coursing down her cheeks. She stroked Breila's face and the horse made a valiant effort to rise. Elena sucked in a breath, hoping that she had been wrong about the horse's injuries, knowing she wasn't as soon as Breila whinnied in pain and fell back against the ground heavily. Tears streaked Elena's dusty face as the horse's breathing finally slowed and then stopped altogether. A sob escaped her and she pressed her face against Breila's neck.
All her life, horses had been like servants to her. They had served a purpose and she forgot their existence the moment that purpose was accomplished. Unlike her friends, she had never seen her horses as pets, never felt more than a passing interest in what was carrying her. Now she was suddenly overcome with heart-wrenching grief for the horse she had ridden but a few days. What a noble animal, Elena thought. She kept going when I pushed her, when she must have been exhausted. Elena sobbed harder, her breaths coming in great heaves. After several minutes, her sobs diminished and her innately sensible self began to reassert itself.
Pushing herself up, she told herself firmly, "I'm going to make myself sick if I carry on like this. And that is no thanks for Breila’s sacrifice." She looked around, wondering where she was. Crouching down, she could just see the road below through the thick cluster of trees. She turned back to Breila and with one finally caress, left the horse and began making her way towards the road.
She had no idea what time it was, but the sun was high in the sky and the heat was pressing down on her oppressively, filling her nostrils with the smell of hot pine needles and scorched earth. Elena walked for hours, wishing she would come across a stream or a pond or even a hut where she might ask for water. Though her stomach had long since given up complaining at its emptiness, her throat was parched and her head felt light for lack of water.
Her head drooping, she kept walking down the winding road, back and forth as it descended the mountain. In some places it was no more defined than a worn place in the grass. In others, it was wide and smooth enough to allow a cart to pass. When she stumbled over a rock, she bent to inspect her foot. Though she wore boots, they were of thin, delicate leather, meant to peep out from under her gown as she rode, not to support her as she hiked through the Welsh mountains. As Elena straightened, she smoothed her kirtle, the same one she had put on that last morning at Middleham. It was no longer the deep rich blue that was so difficult to achieve in a dye. It was now faded and crumpled, full of dust. She pulled up the hem and frowned at what was once a cream colored chemise of fine Italian cotton. It was now a dingy grey and not a little tattered.
Pushing her tangled hair off her face with a sigh, Elena continued down the road, stumbling more and more often. Oh, if only this heat would abate, she might be able to clear her mind. A rock found its way into her boot but she was too tired to stop and remove it so she continued to limp along. When the sky began to cloud over, Elena was so wrapped in her misery she did not even notice. It wasn't until the first drop hit her face that she glanced up hopefully.
"Thank God!" she said as loudly as her parched throat would allow.
The first drop was quickly followed by several more and Elena let them fall on her face with pleasure. This was no fine mist of rain, but huge cold raindrops that cooled her deliciously and did much to restore rational thought to her muddled brain. Picking up her pace, Elena walked as briskly as her sore feet would allow.
***
"It's no use Gareth! The rivers is too swollen," Cynan shouted over the roar of the Dovey River. The steady downpour of the last hour had filled the narrow stream until it was spilling over its banks and the shallow ford that the men had sought to cross was now impassable.