Her pleas and protestations meant nothing. Insofar as they had any effect at all, it seemed to be one of amusement for her captors. She could hear the real smiles, behind the fake silver ones as she begged for her release.
‘Witch!’ was the verdict, as it always had been, before they even met her. ‘Witch!’
The water they gave her to drink was obviously tainted, her cunning ways told her so in an instant. So, she could die of thirst, or drink the water and take the consequences.
The consequences were a dark oblivion of feverish dreams.
Now she was awake again. Awake in cold, damp darkness.
Ameliam centred herself between earth and heaven, prayed to the Mother for calm and finally, found just a tiny kernel of inner stillness.
She raised her hands again, cupped them, blew into them gently. This time a little flickering, blue witch light sprang up. She held it up high on one hand. In its dim, eerie light, she could just make out the huddled forms of people, many people, crammed into a bleak, stone chamber.
To her absolute horror, as she watched, first one, then another and another witch light sprang up, until the whole noisome dungeon seemed lit by moonlight.
Every single person in the room was of the cunning folk.
∆∆∆
‘Where’s the monkey?’ Odemar bellowed at the top of his northern lungs, He stamped down the workshop between the rows of sweating backs, the black cotton mask on his face somehow failing to hide his disgruntled, sulky expression.
Hammers clanged, saws rasped, bellows wheezed and flames roared in the furnaces but no one answered him.
Xabre watched him from the shadows, his jaw tightened at the insult. I can think of at least four ways to kill you now where you stand… they would be rolling away the hell stone for you to enter before you knew how you got there, he thought.
‘Midget! Monkey! Get here now!’ Odemar hooted.
Xabre glared at him silently from the shadows. Before I leave here Odemar… before I leave here… Oh, yes… he thought.
Xabre was a dwarf, dwarfism was not uncommon where he was from, an island off the far South coast called Cimaron, last in a little chain of sunny islands known as ‘The Tears of the Mother.’ Beyond Cimaron, was only the endless open ocean.
Being so far from home, it had amused Xabre to use his real name on this job. He had had many names, many identities, in his life. His paymasters called him ‘The Spider’ and they did not know his real name.
In this identity, he was an idiot.
Xabre replaced the burning hate in his eyes with a well-practiced wide-eyed simplicity. He bounded into the open like a puppy called by its master.
‘Yes sir! Yes, Odemar sir!’ he called out, in a voice at least three times higher than his actual speaking voice.
Odemar stormed over and slapped the little man with the back of his hand, sending him flying. Xabre landed in heap of curling, razor sharp, bronze swarf, blood starting from a dozen little cuts. He leapt to his feet, jumping and spinning around, scattering the swarf that stuck in his flesh and clothes.
‘Oh! A monkey dance! Very good, very good…’ Odemar said.
Some of the slave workers were looking over at Xabre with concern, even though they knew it was dangerous to do so.
‘What?’ Odemar said belligerently, ‘if he was quicker with a broom there would have been no metal shavings to land in.’ He glared around him. ‘Who wants to look down at their work and who wants to have their eyes put out?’
All heads dropped, shoulders tense. Even when Odemar was joking, he was perfectly serious.
‘You wanted me to die of thirst monkey, that was your plan eh?’ Odemar said, turning his attention back to Xabre.
‘Me sir? Oh no sir? Xabre looks after Odemar Sir! I will fetch you water sir.’
‘The water you should have fetched me half an hour ago?’ Odemar said.
‘Oh no sir… that water would be stale now sir, in this heat. Only fresh water will do for Odemar,’ Xabre said, pretending to misunderstand.
Odemar stared at him in disbelief. He shook his head.
‘You idiot!’ he said. ‘Just go and fetch the water and be quick about it. Then clear up this mess you made, scattering shavings everywhere like a fool.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Xabre said, already running.
Chapter Twelve
The Edge Houses
The sky had a golden luminescence, that together with the still, moist air spoke of impending snow. Indeed, as Tamarin let her eyes travel up the sheer red sandstone cliff that seemed to glow in the odd stormy light, the tiniest of flakes began to fall, icy pinpricks on her skin.
Way up on the cliff face, the limewashed edge houses, cut from the rock itself, stood out, white as a gull’s wing against a stormy sea.
‘My wife was right, this last trip was too late in the year, soon the canals will freeze and I won’t be able to get home to her and worse now, none will know about Danner,’ Bald Bob said, rubbing his rough hand across his nephew’s pale cheek.
‘Your nephew is not dead yet Bob,’ Tamarin said, as serenely as she could. ‘And we are here at the Edge Houses, if he cannot be saved here, he cannot be saved anywhere.’ In truth, she was not hopeful, she could feel how weak the boy’s spirit was and worse, how tenuous his connection to the here and now, his soul wanted to wander. ‘Keep touching him, keep talking to him Bobdan, talk of the old days, happy days, his parents and home,’ she said.
A dark avenue of yews made a natural frame around the end of a narrow stone stair hewn out of the rock. From its shadows emerged an enormous woman, almost six feet high and with shoulders as wide as King Billy’s. She was dressed in a heavy blue gown and the sleeves were rolled back to reveal her thick forearms, as if she had been working and forgotten to roll them down.
Next, an even bigger man, emerged, with a bald head and a grizzled chin. Around his thick waist, he wore a four-inch leather belt, with keys in little pockets at intervals all around it and a great wooden baton hanging from it.
Both these forbidding figures broke into wreaths of smiles as they recognised Tamarin.
‘Vajek, Magra!’ Tamarin said and then, as a slim, woman of middle age, in a simple fitted gown of midnight blue emerged to stand between them, ‘Rosamie!’
Rosamie opened her arms and Tamarin fell into them, Rosamie’s cowl fell back, to let her unruly red hair spill out and she reminded Tamarin of Ullie so much that she wanted to weep. She did not weep, she knew with her cunning ways, that Rosamie had wept only moments ago but there was no sign of it on her calm face.
King Billy had asked Sara and Jasa to go ahead and alert the edge houses to their coming and tell them all that had happened. ‘As a kindness to you my special girl, I’ll make sure that they tell your Tanty about your mother, so as you don’t have to tell her yourself, now, eh?’ Billy had said.
‘I am Rosamie, Mother of the Rock,’ Rosamie said, slipping an arm around Tamarin’s shoulders. ‘This is Magramelia, Elder Sister of the Healing House and this is her husband Vajek, Warden of the Edge.’ She caught sight of Gorg, who was being supported by Saradev and Jasadir.
‘Gorg o’Priddow,’ she said playfully, ‘It is not the first time you have come to my door unable to stand by yourself and supported by women... though previously they were not women of good character...’
‘Ahh but I was young then and these are women of the best character and as bright as the southern sun...,’ Gorg said. ‘And I heartily wish my condition were due to too much ‘Tired Bob’ and too little self-control,’ and he sighed heavily, which sent both girls into fits of giggles.
‘Where is the lad who has taken hurt?’ Magra said and her voice seemed to belong to another woman altogether, it was high, soft and gentle.
‘Here madam,’ Bobdan said respectfully. Magramelia advanced with surprising grace, like a ship under sail. She bent and listened to Danner’s breathing and took the pulse at his neck, then she scooped him up as if he were a bundle of towels
.
‘Follow me sir, for it is important now that the boy has someone, he knows always with him and as we go, talk to him the while, about old times and good times, not minding about me at all,’
‘Mistress Tamarin said the like to me and I have been doing as she asked,’ Bob said.
‘And it was good advice,’ Magra said, smiling across at Tamarin. She drifted away up the steep stairs like a cloud, Bobdan puffing in her wake and talking, talking all the while.
‘Mistress, Tamarin?’ Rosamie said, widening her eyes and looking at her ‘take in’ niece with a smile.
‘Nothing strange in a bit of respect I say, where it’s due I mean. Tamarin has the cunning ways and more than the cunning ways, we’ve all seen it for ourselves,’ Billy Bracken said. ‘Now Tamarin, you didn’t tell me as how your Tanty was Rosamie, Mother of the Rock, eh?’
‘Billy Bracken, King of the Wood,’ Rosamie said, turning her sharp hazel eyes in his direction. ‘Grateful as we are for your help King Billy and truly, I am grateful, the answer is still no.’
‘Old Billy has been here before...’ Abillie said with a smile, intercepting Tamarin’s quizzical look. ‘Looking for a safe haven I was. Well, it’s like a village in the sky isn’t it? What With its famous Healing House and all? It’s well known that the Edge Houses have never fallen in all the time folk have lived here and that’s a long time. There’s but one path up to them, they have their own deep, pure well and so it’s said, caverns full of provender that will stand any siege. Even the followers of the Two-Faced God couldn’t take this place eh?’
‘No, they couldn’t. We reached an accommodation with the forces of the Father/Sons when they stopped letting people climb up to the Healing House. We agreed to leave each other be. We would pay lip service to their god and say nothing of other faiths and let no one use this as a fortress who would defy the Father/Sons. In return they would let the sick come to us and leave us to our business, with just a monthly inspection by the local garrison commander.’
‘What a perfect base for me eh?’ King Billy said, with a face splitting grin.
‘Yes, in direct contravention to our agreement... I said no then, I say no, now.’ Rosamie said forcefully.
‘Oh, but old Billy’s changed. I’ve changed, haven’t I now Tamarin?’ Billy said.
‘I cannot say that he has not,’ Tamarin said tactfully. To become far more dangerous than you ever were before, she thought.
Two young men emerged with a litter and strapped Gorg to it.
‘Careful now lads, my backside’s as bruised as the rest of me and I’d rather it didn’t bump on the steps,’ Gorg said and then, turning to Tamarin, ‘I’ll see you at the top Tammy and I’ll ask them to mash a kettle of nettle tea for you.’
‘King Billy, let Vajek know what you need and I will send provisions down to you, as a gesture of our gratitude,’ Rosamie said to Billy. She turned for the stairs, ‘Come Tamarin,’ she said, looking over her shoulder.
Saradev and Jasadir made to follow her.
‘No,’ Rosamie said simply.
‘We go where Tamarin goes, it’s Abillie’s wish,’ Sara said, hand straying to her skirts, were the short sword strapped to her thigh made the slightest bulge in the cloth.
‘She’s the first Defender of the Faith in seventeen years, we want to protect her,’ Jasa said. Rosamie sighed.
‘I’m sure you do my dear,’ she said looking at Jasadir. Then, turning to Saradev, ‘But whatever friendship you feel for Tamarin, you are first and foremost Billy’s girls. You would kill for Billy and you would die for Billy and that is why, you will not climb up to my rock.’
There was a tense moment, as both girls rubbed at the rough cloth over their concealed sword hilts. King Billy began to move forward, stubbled chin outthrust. Vajek, moving with unlikely speed for a man of his stature appeared between Rosamie and Billy in an instant. He spoke and his deep voice was like falling rocks, though the tone was both pleasant and reasonable.
‘I am Warden of the Edge, on the Edge I am the law and my word is the law. I say who comes and goes here. Now, if the Mother of the Rock does not welcome you, then the word of the law is, no.’
‘Tamarin, my special girl,’ King Billy said, looking around the bulk of Vajek to catch her eye. ‘Off you go now and see good old nuncle Gorg settled and have a nice visit with your Tanty Rose. Talk of old times and have a bit of a rest. Well, I reckon you deserve it if anyone does, eh?
‘Now, when you’re done with your visit, me and all my people and there will be a lot more of them arriving shortly… Will be right here at the foot of the crag a waiting for you.’
‘Don’t you rush but don’t take too long now neither, because you and me, we’ve got things to do, eh?’
∆∆∆
‘You made good time Your Grace,’ Tillimanda said, taking Albermora’s heavy, red travelling cloak.
‘We are alone, Manda and have lived in the same house together half a lifetime my dear,’ the Duchesse said, delivering a little peck of a kiss to Tillimanda’s forehead, as if she were a favourite niece. Tillimanda smiled.
‘You made good time Mora,’ she said.
‘Indeed, I did, I couldn’t bear to be in that ghastly country a moment more than necessary. Ruppit and Ardan took turns to drive and neither, man, horse or I took any rest, until we had crossed the isthmus to the sound of birdsong and a pink and hopeful sky. We took a short rest and refreshment at a little inn near Crayton. Then, with fresh horses, we raced for home as if the Father/Sons were giving chase.’
Tillimanda opened the door to the corridor, outside, a bored, black-masked guard sat awkwardly on a gilded chair halfway along its length. The guard didn’t even look up, as she quietly closed the door again and locked it. She shot a meaningful glance at the Duchesse.
Albermora took a few, graceful steps to the corner of the room. Reaching behind a heavy, green tapestry depicting a herd of grazing unicorns, she operated a small, secret lever.
The women slipped behind the tapestry and through the concealed door behind it, which Tillimanda slid shut behind them. She produced flint and steel from a pocket in her gown and lit an owl shaped, pewter lantern that hung just inside the door.
By the lantern’s light, they descended a narrow, spiral stone stairway. At length, the chill air became warmer and they felt the slightest of air currents brushing over their hands and faces. Abruptly, they emerged into a cave that sparkled with a myriad of tiny crystals and echoed with the gentle chuckling of a small, stream of hot water.
The spring issued from a stone pitcher, held in the arms of a statue of the goddess, smiling serenely from a niche in the wall. She seemed to be wearing a green gown, an illusion created by the moss and lichen that grew abundantly all around the basin into which the water tumbled. The rich growing smell and mineral odour filled the warm, humid little chamber.
Both women genuflected and blew a heart kiss to the calm effigy.
‘It’s been a long, cruel winter Manda,’ Albermora said wistfully, perhaps prompted by the warmth of the water.
‘Spring always follows winter Mora and that’s a fact, one not even the two-faced god can do anything about,’ Tillimanda said.
‘Oh! We had such times in the old days! The Duchesse said, beaming. ‘Blossom picnics… oh you remember those… out under the trees, the new spring wine, still a little sour but no one minded. Strong, double strength spring ale… Showered in blossom by day and carousing far into the night by the light of those lovely big, pastel painted paper lanterns… Everyone made their own. Decorated eggs, spring pie, spice bread. No one was left out, Feddy and I made sure of that…’
Albermora’s face fell, she turned to look at Tillimanda.
‘It hurts me so you know, Manda dear, when they say that Feddy and I were terrible tyrants, dictators, despots who ruled by fear and torture…’
‘No one believes that Mora…’
‘The young believe it, many of them anyway and why wouldn’t they
? It’s what they have been taught?
‘Duke Federand was a strong man but a gentle man, everyone loved him,’ Tillimanda said with feeling, distressed to see the Duchesse so unhappy.
‘Thank you,’ Albermora said, as Tillimanda slipped an arm around her narrow shoulders.
‘We didn’t rule anything, that’s what really makes it so unfair. The towns and villages elected councillors and the council ran the country. The occasions when we made decisions were few and far between. If the council reached an impasse, they would invite Feddy and I to come and give our casting vote.’ Albermora laughed. ‘Even then, I would often vote against Feddy, or he against me and they would have to have the whole debate again…’
She sighed.
‘I have passed children in the street who look at me as if I will scoop them up and eat them…’
‘I have passed ill-mannered brats in the street I would quite happily eat,’ Tillimanda said spikily.
‘Tillimanda, you can have such a sharp way with you at times!’ The Duchesse admonished but she was laughing as she said it.
Albermora turned to her friend, great, grey, eyes serious and troubled.
‘If I know you as I think I do, you will have called a meeting for this evening?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Tillimanda.
‘Good, good…’ she paused, ‘It’s time to rise against them, Major Tillimanda.’
‘Goddess no! It’s too soon, we are nothing like ready, we will be slaughtered…’ Tillimanda said in alarm.
‘Then we must die trying and die free women and men.’
‘General…’
‘Major Tillimanda, they are going to lock all the women away in Gynaeceum More than this, Bracken says, it is all of the cunning folk not some, that they are targeting. And then… a little bird has told me, that more of our men will be taken for slaves, as the Father/Sons try to move against the South Lords.’
After Bell Hill Page 9
