Last Tales of Mercia 7: Godric the Thegn Read online

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  It seemed a miracle that the boy named Dudda had not yet died by the time Godric got to him. The arrow-wound in his leg bled, swelled, and oozed pus. The boy sweated profusely and his skin burned to the touch. He spoke nonsensically and his eyes glazed over as if he stared into a nightmare. Godric did not think he would learn anything from the boy unless he took drastic measures.

  “Light a fire outside,” Godric told the monks. “Bring me a sword, or a poker.”

  “You’re not going to hurt him, are you?” asked one of the monks.

  “Oh,” said Godric, “it will hurt.”

  Godric took Dudda’s weight in his arms and lifted him with a grimace. The old wound in his shoulder ached and he silently cursed this boy for being so heavy. Then he carried Dudda outside.

  Only when he placed Dudda near the fire and stared binding his arms together did Dudda show any sign of consciousness. He started squirming and looking around in a panic. “What’s going on? Who are you? What are you doing to me?”

  One of the monks arrived with a poker for Godric, though the monk hesitated to hand it over. Godric took the iron rod and thrust it into the fire.

  “Hold him still,” Godric told the monk.

  The monk shook his head and lifted his hands. “I’ll not have any part in this!” Then he ran off.

  Godric grumbled to himself but did not argue. He preferred doing things on his own, anyway. So when the poker was ready he pulled it out and approached Dudda.

  “No, please!” Dudda tried to squirm away, but with only one good leg and two bound arms, he failed. Godric grabbed his shoulder with one hand and pinned Dudda’s good leg under his knee. Then he brought the smoking poker towards the bloody flesh. “Don’t hurt me! I’ll do whatever you want!”

  Godric hesitated. “You’ll take me to Hereward?”

  “Yes! Yes I will!”

  Godric didn’t know whether Dudda’s help would speed up his journey more than slow him down. Either way, he planned to finish what he started. He took out a pouch of ale and handed it over. “Drink.”

  Dudda obeyed. After a few gulps, Godric pulled the pouch back and upturned it over the injury.

  Dudda screamed and thrashed.

  Godric pinned him again, then forced the empty leather pouch into Dudda’s open mouth. “Bite down on that,” he suggested. And thrust the hot poker into Dudda’s wound.

  After a muffled scream, Dudda swiftly passed out.