Chapter 16 – Desperate times
Eowyn's head was throbbing, both from the aftermath of Ceorl's blow and from the task that lay ahead of her. As he'd escorted her into the Golden Hall, he had pretended to be solicitous of her, informing any who asked about the bruise on her cheek that she had fainted and struck her face on a table. The presence of two blue liveried guards ensured she did not contradict him. He'd threatened to kill anyone who got in his way, and she did not doubt he would.
Now one hundred and fifty men were staring at her, waiting for her to speak. Seated on the throne in the Golden Hall, she looked out at them. So many young faces. Some barely more than boys. She had frequently heard Eomer lament over the loss of his comrade-in-arms, many of whom had been his friends as well as fellow warriors, but only now did she truly appreciate the scale of the devastation. She knew, too, that it was with some reluctance that her brother had restored his eored to its full number since the war, handpicking youngsters that he believed had the character and physical ability to serve both Rohan and her king. "Would that they could grow into young men free of the threat of death and injury," he would complain as yet another lad swore the oath of loyalty and took up a sword. Now their lives were in her hands. She shivered at the thought of the archers hidden in the shadows above her head.
"Your Majesty." Eothain stepped forward and bowed to her. "How can we serve you?"
She studied his weather-beaten face, and saw in the hardness of his eyes that it pained him to see her sitting on the throne in Eomer's place. If only he knew the truth. Eothain had always been something of a father figure to the eored. Totally loyal to Eomer, he had been completely supportive of Rohan's youngest Marshall, never challenging him to his face, but not afraid to quietly offer advice and even correction in private. When Eomer became king it was apparent to all that while the eored would remain his command in name, the every day running of it would fall on Eothain's shoulders.
And now, she was going to reward the man's loyalty and long service with a slap in the face.
"It has come to my attention that the eorod needs a new Marshall to command it." She held Eothain's gaze. "I am grateful to you for all you have done, Master Eothain. For your loyalty and your service. I know my brother counted you amongst his closest friends." She took a deep breath, the words she had to speak almost choking her. "I hope you will assist the new Marshall as ably as you assisted Eomer."
"Of course," Eothain said tightly, his eyes narrowing as comprehension of her intent began to show on his face.
"It is a new age for Rohan. A time when much is being asked of our young men. It is therefore only fitting that you, the Queen's own eored, should be led by one who may not have seen as many summers as some, but who has a great deal of... hidden talent. I therefore appoint Ceorl..." May the gods curse him for his manipulative ways. "...as First Marshall of the Mark."
Eothain sucked in an audible breath at her words. His eyes flashed with dangerous anger and his lips thinned into a tight line as Ceorl stepped forward and bowed to Eowyn.
"You do me a great honour, your Majesty," Ceorl said.
She schooled her face into neutrality as she met his gaze. Oh to wipe that smug smile off his face. To really hurt him. The only sign of the injury she'd inflicted on him was the slight hint of a bulge beneath his sleeve where a bandage was wrapped around his upper arm. If only she had pierced his heart.
She looked away, shifting her gaze to Eothain. She had been afraid that he would protest the appointment, but she realised now that he was too proud and too loyal. And where Eothain led, the eored would follow. Her only hope in this nightmare situation was that Ceorl would be Marshall in name only and that if she needed the men, she would need only to turn to Eothain and they would once more be hers to command. A queen's command still counted for more than that of a Marshall, and once Eothain knew the truth...
"Your Majesty!" A young rider she did not recognise stepped forward. "If I may be so bold as to speak."
Eothain's gruff voice rang out before she could reply. "No, lad. You may not. You heard the Queen's command."
The rider glanced at Eothain, and then turned back to Eowyn, his face determined. "Your Majesty, Eothain should command the eored. It is what we all expected. What we all want."
A dozen men gasped at the rider's audacity, but Eowyn's sharp hearing also picked up a few murmured comments of agreement. Ceorl stepped forward, his face thunderous. "You dare question the Queen's authority?"
The rider paled, but then found his courage. "I am ever loyal to Rohan and her Queen. But this decision is poorly made." He jumped as Eothain's hand dropped heavily onto his shoulder.
Eothain bowed curtly to Eowyn. "Forgive, Edric, your majesty. He means well, but he has much to learn." He yanked the young boy backwards and pushed him into middle of the eored. "Take your place, boy." He then turned to Ceorl and gave a quick bow. "My congratulations on your appointment, First Marshall of the Mark. It will be an honour to serve under you."
"Thank you," Ceorl replied, tearing his furious gaze from Edric in order to give Eothain the attention his words demanded. "Tonight we will celebrate. A feast for you all as a mark of my respect." He turned and caught Eowyn's arm. "My lady, you still look pale. Allow me to escort you to your quarters. I would not have you fainting again."
Her skin recoiled at his touch, but the presence of the blue-liveried men in the shadows of the minstrel gallery made her force a smile. Inside though, her heart was breaking at the shattered look on Eothain's face as she allowed herself to be led from the room.
--------------------
It was almost midday when Lothiriel, with Erika sitting behind her, led the way into the yard of the holding. Her gaze scanned the small collection of buildings for signs of life. There was a thatched barn. A stable. A pig pen. The main house had the typical Rohirric horse-head roof decoration. Chickens scattered in front of her horse, squawking indignantly at being disturbed from their worm hunting. Near the door of the house, a dog appeared from a kennel and started barking at them. "Nobody home?" she murmured.
Erika swung down from the saddle, landing softly on the dusty ground. "Breda?" she called, striding towards the house. "Breda? It's me, Erika."
A young woman, heavy with child, stepped through the doorway, shading her eyes against the light. Two small children clung to her skirts, twins by the look of them. A third older child peered out from the doorway. "Erika? By the gods, it is indeed you. Welcome." Her gaze slid past Erika to Lothiriel and then to Elfhelm and Eomer. "Your companion is injured?"
Lothiriel glanced at the king. He had stirred only twice throughout the morning, and on neither occasion had he truly been conscious. Once he had mumbled something incomprehensible about his sister, lapsing once again into oblivion when Elfhelm soothed him with false words about their destination. The second time he had seemed totally unaware of his surroundings, murmuring about orcs and black gates. It all but broke her heart to see him so confused and vulnerable.
Erika also glanced at the king, and then turned back to Breda. "He is very sick. I would trouble you for a bed, access to whatever medicines you have and..." She grasped Breda's hand. "Your silence if anyone comes seeking us."
Breda pulled her hand free, resting it protectively on her belly. "You would bring sickness and trouble to my home?"
Surely the woman wouldn't turn them away? Dismayed Lothiriel dismounted, determined to promise money or whatever else the woman wanted in order to let them stay. Eomer's condition frightened her. The thought of being denied the sanctuary that they so desperately needed was more than she could bear.
Erika, however, was already pleading their case. "If there was any other choice, Breda, we would have taken it. But you need not fear that what ails him will touch you or your children - both born and unborn."
Lothiriel saw the woman glance at Eomer again, and then to her relief the hostility was replaced with a look of compassion. Next, though, Breda's attention moved once more to Elfhelm, her gaze assessing his clothes and bearing.
"A Marshall of the Mark? Or am I mistaken?"
"My name is Elfhelm," he said, neither confirming or denying her suspicions.
"And your companion?"
"Is in dire need of aid," Elfhelm replied gruffly.
Breda hesitated a moment longer, then inclined her head in acceptance. "You had better bring him inside then." She beckoned to the child in the doorway. "Anlafsson, there are horses to tend. Quickly now."
"Where is your husband?" Erika asked, as the boy darted past her to take the reins from Lothiriel.
"Anlaf has gone west to make trade," Breda said, shooing the younger children back towards the house. "We need cloth and other supplies to get through the winter, especially with another young one on the way. It will be another three nights before I expect to hear his cart in the yard again."
Lothiriel moved to help Elfhelm with the king as best she could. Tall and well-built, Eomer was no light weight to manoeuvre from a saddle.
"Unbuckle his sword," Elfhelm said as he tipped Eomer forward so he was resting against the neck of the horse. "I will carry him across my shoulders."
"Are you sure?" Lothiriel asked. She could feel the heat radiating off Eomer's body as she removed the leather belt that held his sword and sheath to his side.
"It is either that or drag him into the house between us. Neither option is exactly dignified, but I think he would prefer the former to the latter." Elfhelm dismounted and then positioned himself with his back to the horse. Grasping hold of Eomer's right arm, he pulled the king from the saddle, squatting as he took the weight. He was red-faced and breathing heavily when he finally straightened up, the king held securely across his back. "You would think he'd be light after days with no food," he muttered, gritting his teeth as he headed for the house.
Lothiriel followed him, ducking her head as she stepped through the low doorway. It was dark and cool inside. The interior was divided into three - a main area filled with the usual furniture and equipment needed for daily living, a long, narrow storage area, above which was a sleeping platform, and a single bedroom. The latter was a tiny room that was all but filled by the wooden framed bed and its horsehair mattress. Elfhelm deposited Eomer on the bed as gently as possible, and then hurried away muttering about helping the boy with the horses. Breda stood in the doorway of the tiny room, her children buried in her skirts.
"How is he?" Lothiriel asked as Erika placed one hand against Eomer's forehead and frowned. She brushed her own fingers against his cheek, once again feeling the heat of his skin. There was no need for Erika to answer her question. The fever was severe.
"If only I knew what Galwyn had given him," Erika said. "Then there might be a chance." She turned to Breda. "What medicines do you have?"
The woman fetched a small wooden chest, which she handed to Erika. "There is blue balm for headaches, bog myrtle for stomach complaints, black birch to treat worms, nightshade for bruises, and coltsfoot for coughs." She looked anxiously at Eomer's pale face. "Feverfew grows freely nearby. I could send Anlafsson..."
"Do you have red ink berries?" Erika interrupted.
Clearly alarmed by the request, Breda's gaze shifted back to Erika. "What ails him that you would need so violent a herb?"
"He has been poisoned, but I have no knowledge of the plants that were used."
Breda's eyes widened. "This poison was given to him intentionally?"
"Red ink berries?" Lothiriel asked, before Erika had chance to answer the question. She brushed a strand of hair from Eomer's forehead. The horror on Breda's face was a sharp reflection of her own revulsion at the harm inflicted upon him, but right now she was more interested in helping him than explaining the story behind the poisoning.
Breda's face set into a mask of disapproval as she answered Lothiriel's question. "She would use one poison to fight another. It is a dangerous treatment. One he does not look strong enough to survive."
"Erika?" Lothiriel was horrified at the prospect.
Erika refused to meet her gaze. "I know of no other answer."