“What makes you think that?” Rhydian answered sharply.
Dodinal gestured at the ground close to the bank. “There are no footprints beyond this point.”
“That’s impossible.” Rhydian stepped back unconsciously, as though fearing the river could pull him into its lethal embrace. “We have fished wilder rivers than this. He knew what he was doing. He would never be stupid enough to fall in.”
Gerwyn reached out and grasped Rhydian by the shoulders, pulling him close in an awkward embrace. “Your brother was not stupid. But anyone can make mistakes.” He looked up bleakly at Dodinal. “Anyone.”
Rhydian shrugged free of him. “Believe whatever you want. Tomos would not have fallen in, he’s here somewhere. Go back to the fire, all of you. I will search until I have found him.”
“As you wish,” Dodinal said softly. Let the man search, if that was what he wanted. He would find no trace of his brother. Tomos was dead. His body would be far from here already, carried away by the implacable torrent until it either snagged on some obstruction or was washed out into the faraway sea. But it would be better to let Rhydian reach that conclusion for himself than try to convince him he was wasting his time.
They watched him go, picking his way along the path, calling out his brother’s name, until he was far enough away for the roar of the river to drown out his voice. When they made their way slowly back to the camp, the fire did little to warm them. Even Dodinal, for all that he had barely known the missing man.
He suspected Gerwyn would have remained with Rhydian if he had held so much as a glimmer of hope that Tomos may yet be alive. Perhaps, like Dodinal, he felt his friend should be allowed to make his own decision as to when to abandon the search, rather than have others make it for him. That might have caused resentment.
Dodinal observed Gerwyn guardedly. If that had been his reasoning, it was another encouraging sign he was not as selfish and shallow as everyone, Rhiannon especially, considered him to be. Then again, he thought ruefully, it could have been that he was simply too lazy to want to bother helping with the search.
The brace of trout Rhydian had caught lay untouched on the ground. The men had been ravenous, but now not one of them was hungry. It did not matter whether they had liked Tomos — indeed, Madoc and Gwythyr had barely known him — but they were all in this together, and he was one of theirs.
The men sat and brooded, each aware it could have been he who had fallen in, whose lungs had filled with water as he struggled, terrified, trying desperately to swim to the bank only for the current to sweep him away, consigning his body to the river’s crushing embrace forever.
Each of them had lost someone, whether it be a father, kinsman or child,
Other than the crackle and spit of the fire, the woods were eerily silent. In forests elsewhere there would be the hooting of owls, the howling of the wolves, the furtive rustling of small creatures in the undergrowth. Here, the stillness put Dodinal on edge.
After an hour or so spent in mainly silent introspection, they heard something move swiftly across the woodland towards them. At once the men leapt to their feet, reaching for their weapons, relaxing only when a forlorn-looking Rhydian stepped into the circle of firelight.
“Well?” Gerwyn hurried across to him.
Rhydian shook his head. “Nothing. I walked until I reached a turn in the river, where the forest closed in and the bank narrowed until there was not enough room to walk safely. Then I searched through the trees while I made my way back here. You were right, Dodinal. He must have fallen in, though for the life of me I cannot understand how.” He hurled his spear to the ground and sat down wearily. “Why him?” he asked no one in particular. “Why not me?”
“You should eat,” Gerwyn said tentatively. “You’ll feel better with a full belly.”
Rhydian waved the idea away. “I’m not hungry.”
“Then rest,” said Dodinal. “Conserve your strength. The same goes for all of us. It has been a hard day. We should sleep now so we can be away again with the dawn. I will stand first watch.”
Hywel looked at him sharply. “Why is that necessary? Are you worried those things may still be out there?”
Dodinal did not immediately reply. He had assumed the creatures were long gone, but had no way of being certain. At least he knew they had nothing to do with Tomos’s death; they would have left tracks if they had. He realised the men were afraid of what might be prowling the deep forest beyond the camp. Frightened men made mistakes, and in their situation errors could easily prove fatal, as Tomos had discovered to his cost.
“Better safe than sorry,” he said to reassure them. “We have cooked fish and their remains are scattered around us. Too late and too dark to gather it all up now but it could attract bears or wolves.”
There were no predators within range of his senses, but his companions could not know that. “I would rather miss a few hours of sleep than be woken by something taking a bite out of me.”
“Good point,” Hywel conceded. “Wake me in two hours. The rest of you can take turns after me.”
They seemed satisfied with that and, one by one, wrapped their cloaks around their shoulders and settled down to sleep, resting their heads on their packs. Dodinal undid his sword belt and placed it on the ground to his right, with the spear within easy reach to his left. The fire blinded him to anything outside the reach of its light so he closed his eyes and listened, wary for sounds that might betray the presence of anything that did not belong in the forest.
There was nothing, save for the ceaseless roar of the river and a night breeze that whispered its secrets to the trees.
Snores and coughs soon sounded around the camp. Bodies shifted and turned on the hard ground. Someone quietly farted.
When his legs started cramping, Dodinal got to his feet and, fastening the sword belt and picking up the spear, crept away from the fire to avoid disturbing the men. He walked slow circuits of the camp, treading carefully so he would not be heard above the endless din of the river.
He thought of Camelot and the life he had left behind in the hope of finding the life he longed for, a life of peace, free of war and of bloodshed. A mirthless smile played across his lips. How much blood had been spilled since then, despite his best endeavours to prevent it? How much more would have to be spilled before there could finally be an end to all of this?
Without intending to, he found himself thinking about Rhiannon. He was glad he had taken with him the image of her asleep in her bed, the cares of the world lifted from her shoulders, for a short while at least. It gave him something to hope for. Something to
A twig snapped with a whiplash crack and he froze, holding the spear ready before him, his breathing silent and shallow. It had come from somewhere close to the camp. He strained to listen.
“Dodinal?” someone whispered. The knight relaxed.
Rhydian picked through the undergrowth towards him.
“Didn’t I say to get some rest?” Dodinal said.
“I couldn’t sleep. Too much to think about.” Creeping about the forest at night was perhaps not the most sensible idea, at times like this, but Dodinal was gratified to see Rhydian at least had the presence of mind to carry a sword. “I still can’t believe Tomos is gone.”
“I did not know him, but I share your pain.”
“You have lost a brother too?”
“Not a brother, but others close to me. You may be hurting now, but it will pass, in time.” That was a lie. The hurt did not pass. It dulled, yes, but it was always there, a silent, haunting presence that would never go away. Neither would he want it to. His past was more than the sum of his memories; it had made him the man that he was.
“Thank you,” Rhydian said quietly. He scratched the back of his head. “You might as well rest. No point in us both being awake.”
“Are you sure?” Dodinal was bone-tired and appreciated the offer, but it felt wrong to leave the man alone with his grief. “If you want to talk about your brother, I will listen.”
“Another time, perhaps. Right now it just doesn’t feel like he’s gone. I keep expecting to look up and see him walking towards me, dripping wet, a big embarrassed grin on his face.” Rhydian stared into space. Pain had etched lines around his eyes and mouth. “Go ahead, sleep while you can. I will keep watch until I start to tire. Then I’ll
