Belaset's Daughter - By Feona J Hamilton Page 0,57
stirrups, and raised his legs high, swinging himself round in the saddle, so that he faced them. Beside her Aaron, still mounted, pushed past her.
"Keep away, both of you!" gasped Jervis. "I am almost free!"
But they could see that he was not. Aaron urged his horse forward, gently, and threw the reins forward, over the beast’s head. As they flew towards him, Jervis put out his hand, and managed to grasp them. Holding the mane, Aaron tugged at his horse, to make it back off. The beast seemed to understand what was required of it, and backed away from its struggling mate with a will. Despite the weight of Aaron on its back, it managed to make some progress, and hauled Jervis off the back of his horse just as it began to sink faster.
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Jervis was dragged on to the relative safety of the path and lay, exhausted by the struggle, dropping the reins he had clung to so fiercely. Judith dismounted carefully, and went to him. Aaron followed suit, giving his own horse a thankful caress on its neck, as he walked past. On her knees, Judith looked up at Aaron, then her eyes widened in horror, as she saw what was happening to Jervis’s horse. She clasped her hand to her mouth, and Aaron turned to see.
The horse which Jervis had been riding just a few moments ago had now almost disappeared. Only the top of its head was visible, with its ears and the tuft of mane.
There was a final stomach-turning gurgle from the mud, and it was all over. The bog heaved once more and the horse was gone completely. There was nothing to see.
The three stayed where they were, too shocked to move. Judith could not turn her eyes away from the patch of marsh where it had happened. She fought off the nausea she could feel rising in he throat, and swallowed hard. Tears came to her eyes, and she brushed them angrily away. The movement broke the spell.
"We must go on," she said to Aaron. He looked at her, his eyes also full of tears. Then he nodded, and bent over the still form of Jervis. He had begun to stir, after lying so still that Judith thought him unconscious. He groaned slightly, then rolled on to his back, opening his eyes.
"Are you injured?" said Judith, anxiously.
Slowly, he shook his head.
"I don’t think so," he said, weakly. "But my arms are almost pulled from their sockets.
Give me a moment, and I will try sitting up."
Aaron bent towards him, holding out his arm.
"Here!" he said, his voice rough with emotion. "We will help you to sit. If there are no bones broken, you can ride with me."
Jervis tried to stretch out his arm towards him, but cried out with the pain. He shook his head.
"My arms will not obey me for now," he said. "You will have to lift me on to the horse I cannot do it myself."
Aaron changed his stance, and bent further, to pick Jervis up. As he lifted him, Jervis quietly fainted.
Aaron placed him carefully across the horse, face down, in front of the saddle, then mounted the horse himself. He nodded to Judith.
"It will be easier for him thus," he said. "He will not notice the bumps."
"But we have no idea where to go," said Judith.
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"We know we must go south," said Aaron. "It is enough for now. We can use the sun as a guide, and, when Jervis comes round, he may feel able to guide us himself again. If not, at least we will be away from this place."
Sadly, silently, they began again to cross the marsh, knowing nothing more than that they must move southwards, away from London. The day brightened, and they could see a path clearly marked in front of them. It wound its way, narrow but firm, between tussocky, coarse grass, where water flashed in the sunlight. It was going to be one of the first spring-like days of the year. Despite the horror so recently past, Judith felt her spirit lift slightly in the brightness. She looked about, straining to see somewhere which might offer shelter, however temporary. They walked forward steadily, the horses picking their way. The marsh was still all around them. There was grass, reeds, mud, water; nothing else. Occasionally, a bird flew overhead, but there was no other movement, apart from themselves. There was a damp, stagnant smell of rottenness.