Page 8 of Something Human

On the shelf he found a jar half full of dry oat biscuits, the sort that people lived on when they were fasting for purification. He put a couple of biscuits in the dish with the walnuts and the rest of the figs, and brought that over to the bed along with the jar of honey.

“These things are awful,” he said, indicating the oat biscuits, “but they’re very wholesome, and if you dip them in honey they don’t taste quite so much like sawdust. Don’t do that,” he said quickly, as Rus tried to push himself up onto one elbow to eat. “I’ll get something for you to lean against.”

He folded up the fur rug and a bundle of curtains, and piled them at the head of the bed, then he lifted Rus gently and propped him up on this arrangement of makeshift pillows. He set the bowl of figs and biscuits in Rus’s lap and uncorked the jar of honey.

“You know,” said Rus, taking one of the biscuits, his tone rather careful, “if it is to be thought of in terms of an exchange, you have repaid me for saving your life already.”

“I guess so. Have I?”

“If it is to be thought of in terms of an exchange. But perhaps that is not the right way to think of it.”

“No, maybe not. Here.” He held out the jar. “Seriously—they’re almost inedible without honey. If you’re suggesting that I should leave—”

“No.”

“Good, because I don’t think I’m feeling all that much better than you, honestly, and I’d just as soon not go anywhere.”

“I’ve no wish for you to. Mmgh—Phemians must have good teeth, these things are like rock!”

“Stick it into the side of your mouth—it’s easier to gnaw off a piece that way. I’m not sure where I’d go, anyway.”

“There is that.”

“So I might as well look after you while I’m here.” He shrugged. “Right?”

Rus gave him a thoughtful smile, as if to say that he could tell this was just a story Adares was making up, but couldn’t figure out what it was a substitute for. Adares didn’t really know himself.

“So long as it does not put you at risk,” Rus said finally.

“At risk? Oh, you mean … what do you mean?”

“I mean would your people think you a traitor for this?”

“What?” Adares was genuinely surprised. “No, they’d … ” They’d think you a hero for saving my life. They’d want to look after you too. “I think they would see it as I do. You cancelled the enmity between us when you pulled me out from under that cart and let me go.”

Rus widened his eyes sceptically. “My people would not see it that way.”

Adares hadn’t thought about that. “You didn’t know whether I was a Luth or a Phemian when you dug me out of that hole.”

“Ah, well—you’d fallen on a field where more Phemians than Luth went down. I knew you were more likely a Phemian than not. I didn’t care. I knew how you felt—probably young like me, and having to stare down your death, waiting for it miserably, instead of meeting it quickly in battle, when there is no time to think.” He shrugged. “I must have done the right thing—I didn’t know it would save my life too. Do you know, if you soaked these things in milk, they would not be bad at all?”

“I wonder if the priests left any of their goats behind. It seems unlikely—but it’s worth a look.”

Rus yawned. “I wonder,” he said drowsily, “if you are here caring for me because it was your first battle and you don’t know how warriors cope. But this is how you cope.”

“Huh. I don’t think I have anywhere near that kind of subtlety. I should go bring in some water.”

He found a copper tub in one of the other outbuildings, dragged it into their room, and filled it halfway with jugfuls of cold water from the fountain. He brought back one more full jug and set it in a corner while he went through into the temple to light a taper from the sacred fire. With this he started a fire in a small brazier in the storeroom and heated the water in the jug so he could have a warm bath. By the time he had done all this, Rus had fallen asleep again. Adares stripped off his muddy black tunic and his loincloth, poured the hot water into the tub, stepped in, and took his time scrubbing himself clean.

Climbing out when the water had cooled completely, he dried himself and rummaged around in the piles of linen at the back of the room until he found a couple of clean white tunics, oversized and worn soft and nearly transparent. He slipped one of them on, emptied out the dirty bathwater in the yard, and put another jugful of water on the brazier to heat.

Rus woke when Adares folded back the blanket over him, almost reached out to snatch it back, but caught himself in time. He stayed awake—and tense—through the washing and rebandaging of his wound.

“Honey is good for wounds,” he said.

“Good how?”

“Prevents it … going bad, however it does.”