The Forbidden Land

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘To those we’ve left behind,’ Elfrida said tearfully, clutching her little boy’s letter. This toast was drunk with eagerness, many sighing and looking pensive.

  ‘To my mam’s belly!’ Finn cried.

  ‘Aye, to the expectant mother,’ Lachlan said and drank deeply.

  ‘To peace,’ Dide said sombrely and the laughter died away, everyone at the long table nodding and repeating, ‘To peace,’ as they drank.

  ‘Well, that be all the news,’ Iseult said, folding the pages away.

  ‘How about some music, Dide?’ Lachlan said.

  The young jongleur looked up from his goblet. ‘Aye, why no’?’

  Connor was sent running to fetch his guitar, and everyone refilled their glasses and sat back to enjoy his song. For once, Dide did not play some ribald song of seduction or a humorous ballad designed to set everyone laughing. He strummed his guitar softly, the candlelight flickering over his olive-skinned face, with its straight, fine nose, sensuously curved mouth, and dark eyes now brooding with shadows. Then he began to sing a very old, very plaintive tune. So very unhappy was his voice, so full of heartfelt emotion, that many of those present cleared their throats, thinking of their own loves they had left far behind. Lachlan reached out and took Iseult’s hand, and Elfrida nestled her head on Iain’s shoulder, the ready tears once again springing to her eyes.

  ‘Long have we been parted, lassie my darlin’,

  Now we are met again, lassie, lie near me.

  Near me, near me, lassie, lie near me,

  Long have ye been away, lassie lie near me.

  All that I have endured, lassie my darlin’

  Here in your arms is cured, lassie, lie near me.

  Near me, near me, lassie, lie near me,

  Long have ye been away, lassie lie near me.

  Say that ye’ll aye be true, say ye’ll n’er deceive me and I’ll love none but ye, my darlin’, lassie lie near me.

  Near me, near me, lassie, lie near me,

  Long have ye been away, lassie lie near me.

  If we were n’er to part, lassie my darlin’

  My joy would be complete, lassie, lie near me.

  Near me, near me, lassie, lie near me,

  Long have ye been away, lassie lie near me.’

  His voice sighed away into silence, the last chords of the music dying away. Then the long hush was broken by uproarious applause. Dide bowed, unsmiling, and then came back to his seat.

  ‘Och, ye are such a performer, Dide,’ Finn cried. ‘So wistful ye sounded, anyone would think ye really felt the bitter pangs o’ unrequited love.’ She rolled her eyes, her hand to her heart.

  Dide stared down at her, colour running up into his cheeks. Then abruptly he turned and walked out of the pavilion and into the dusk, his shoulders very stiff.

  ‘Flaming dragon balls, what’s up with him?’ Finn asked in bewilderment.

  Jay hesitated then leant forward, saying very softly, ‘Ye should no’ tease him so, Finn.’

  ‘But what’s his problem?’

  Brangaine leant forward, her face soft. ‘He’s in love, is he?’

  Jay nodded. ‘Aye, he has loved her a very long time. He says since he first saw her, when they were but bairns.’

  ‘But why … Does she no’ love him too?’

  Jay shook his head. ‘I do no’ think she even kens.’

  ‘But, roasted rats, that’s ridiculous,’ Finn answered. ‘What’s wrong with the lass? Dide’s as bonny a man as I’ve ever seen, quick and clever and funny. And he fights like a lion and sings like a nightingale, and is the Rìgh’s best friend. What more could she want?’

  Jay cast her a quick glance, full of trouble and anger. ‘Love is an unaccountable thing. Like lightning, it strikes at random. Who is to say why one person loves another?’ His voice was stifled with emotion and Brangaine looked at him with a little frown.

  Finn did not notice, however, saying, ‘What a gowk that girl must be! Who is it? Anyone we ken?’

  Jay would not answer but Brangaine said, ‘This evening, when Isabeau the Red was mentioned, I saw such a look in his eye, a look of such longing, I could no’ help but wonder …’

  Jay shifted uncomfortably, colour rising in his lean cheeks.

  ‘Isabeau?’ Finn cried. ‘But o’ course. When we were at Lucescere he was always dancing with her and singing her love songs, and hanging on her shoulder. Why did I no’ see it?’ She gave a sigh. ‘Isabeau the Red. How romantic.’

  Brangaine was shocked, however. ‘But is she no’ the Banrìgh’s own sister? No wonder he looks so unhappy. Such a union would be impossible.’

  ‘Why?’ Finn demanded.

  ‘I am sure the Rìgh has planned a grand wedding for her, one o’ great advantage to the throne. The Rìgh would never allow his sister-in-law, a NicFaghan, to marry a mere jongleur.’

  Jay was silent, staring broodingly into his wine. Finn leapt immediately to Dide’s defence.

  ‘Why not? Dide is Lachlan’s greatest friend, I have often heard him say so. And Isabeau is no simpering corn-dolly to be married off to some rich laird just because it would be to Lachlan’s advantage! She’s a powerful witch, ye heard them say so tonight. She has always gone her own way!’

  ‘Even so, there are few enough o’ the blood left to make it unwise for her to choose her own destiny,’ Brangaine said. ‘Isabeau NicFaghan has a duty to her family, just like ye and I do, Finn. We canna be marrying just anyone, or directing our lives to suit ourselves.’

  Colour rose in Finn’s cheeks. ‘Flaming dragon balls, why no’?’ she demanded, scrambling to her feet. ‘Why should we be sacrificed just because our ancestors were witches o’ the First Coven? I never asked to be a banprionnsa. There’s no way I’m going to let myself be married off to some fat auld hog o’ a laird just because he be rich!’

  With Goblin stalking at her heels, tail raised high, Finn strode off into the darkness, leaving Jay and Brangaine staring after her.

  ‘Poor Finn,’ Brangaine said. ‘She does no’ realise that being a banprionnsa has its duties and responsibilities as well as privileges. She will learn in time.’

  ‘Are Finn’s parents like that?’ Jay’s vice was troubled. ‘Will they really try and marry her off for some kind o’ political advantage?’

  ‘O’ course they will,’ Brangaine answered. ‘Och, they are kind and loving indeed, and very indulgent o’ Finn’s wildness. But she is heir to the throne o’ Rurach. It has been a troubled decade in our part o’ the world. There has been much hardship and both Siantan and Rurach have lost much o’ their wealth. A good marriage will do much to mend matters, as well as setting up new trade opportunities and political treaties. The MacRuraich will be considering all possible suitors very carefully indeed.’

  There was a long pause, then Jay said, ‘And be that true o’ ye too, Bran?’

  ‘Och, o’ course,’ she answered. ‘I am the NicSian. My people depend upon me. As soon as I come o’ age, the management o’ the country will be in my hands. I must make a good marriage. My husband must have strength and wealth enough to help me rule my country as it should be ruled. I have always kent that.’

  ‘Someone auld and powerful then,’ Jay said bitterly.

  Brangaine smiled. ‘He must be young enough to breed up heirs.’

  ‘That’s sickening!’

  ‘Nay, why? It’s the reality o’ life as a banprionnsa. I have been brought up to it and ken the importance o’ it. Finn, unfortunately, has no’. She will have to learn.’

  Jay said nothing but there was such a condemnatory quality to his silence that Brangaine said defensively, ‘She will be the NicRuraich.’

  The next morning Finn sought Dide out and apologised to him, and he laughed at her and said that it was him that should be saying sorry. ‘I was just in a bad mood, Finn. I want this war to be over and all o’ us back in our rightful places.’

  ‘I do no’ ken where my rightful place is,’ she said rather unhappily.

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nbsp; He stared at her. ‘But ye have a family and a home. Ye will return there, o’ course.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Do ye no’ wish to?’

  ‘It’s no’ that,’ she said. ‘It’s just I really do no’ want to be a banprionnsa. I wish I could do this forever.’

  ‘This?’ Dide said mockingly. ‘Hang around waiting for the war?’

  ‘Well, nay. But travel about and have adventures and see new places. Like ye do.’

  ‘Och, ye mean ye wish ye could be a spy and an adventurer like me,’ Dide said. Although he spoke laughingly there was a bitter shade to his voice that made Finn look at him questioningly. ‘Be careful what ye wish for, Finn; ye just might get it.’

  ‘But, toasted toads, I’d love to get it,’ Finn said.

  ‘Ye do no’ ken what ye are saying, lass. Be happy with what ye have. Many girls dream o’ being heir to a throne and a castle.’

  ‘Porridge-heads,’ she said.

  Dide could not help but smile. ‘I mean it, Finn. Mine is a hard and dangerous life, and lonely too. I slip in and out o’ people’s lives, always playing a part, always ready to betray them for my master. I am his ears and his.eyes in the countryside, scenting out rebellion, searching for traitors, telling the tales the Rìgh wants told. I can trust no-one but my own family and even them I doubt sometimes, so cynical that I get. Ye do no’ want that, Finn. When this is all over ye will go home and hunt in your hills and dance with the young men o’ the court. And when ye are a wee bit aulder, ye will fall in love and marry and have bairns, and be happy and at peace. These are all good things, Finn; do no’ be throwing them away for the lure o’ adventure. It’s naught but a will-o’-the-wisp that will lead ye into danger and misery, and ultimately to your death.’

  Dide spoke with real feeling in his voice. Finn stared at him, feeling doubt for the first time. He had given her the opportunity she had been waiting for, however, and so she said boldly, ‘Why do ye no’ give it up then, Dide? Marry and have bairns and be happy, if that is what ye want?’

  ‘Marriage is no’ for me, Finn.’

  ‘Why no?’

  Goaded, he cried, ‘Because I canna have the lass I want and if I canna have her, I dinna want anyone.’

  ‘But I’m sure if ye told her … Ye could make her fall in love with ye; all the lassies are always falling in love with ye, Dide. Why do ye no’ just seduce her?’

  He quirked up one side of his mouth. ‘Och, I’ve tried that.’

  ‘And she dinna want ye? I never thought Isabeau was a fool!’

  Immediately he stiffened, colour surging up his lean brown cheeks. Finn quailed a little before his angry look but said, ‘I’m sure if ye let her ken how ye feel, Isabeau would …’

  ‘Isabeau is a NicFaghan and I am a nobody,’ Dide snapped. ‘What do I have to offer her: a life on the road, sleeping under a caravan and juggling oranges for a living? She has already told me such a life is no’ to her taste.’

  ‘What a dray-load o’ dragon dung! Ye’re no’ a nobody, ye’re a Yeoman o’ the Guard and the Rìgh’s best friend,’ Finn snapped back. ‘I canna see why ye canna retire from being a jongleur if ye wanted to. There’s plenty o’ other things ye could do. And I’m sure Isabeau does no’ care if ye do no’ have a last name. I wouldna!’

  ‘Well, thank ye, Finn,’ Dide answered sarcastically. ‘But there’s more to it than that. Isabeau wants to be a sorceress and ye ken they do no’ marry.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Thank ye for your concern, Finn, but if ye dinna mind, I’d really rather no’ talk about it.’ He resettled his sword at his waist and walked away, his shoulders under the blue cloak set very rigidly indeed. Finn sighed and pulled at Goblin’s tufted ears.

  To Finn’s dismay, a constraint grew up between her and Dide after this conversation and, to her bewilderment, between her and Jay. Up until the night of Isabeau’s letter, all had been comfortable between them, Finn having forgotten or forgiven Jay’s kiss on Midsummer Eve and falling into her old habit of easy discourse with him. She thought it might have been because Jay had told her about Dide’s feelings for Isabeau, which the jongleur clearly did not like being common knowledge.

  Finn took to spending much of her time with Ashlin the Piper, for he seemed to find everything she did right and appropriate and never regarded her with Brangaine’s air of faint disapproval or Jay’s miserable silence. He flushed with pleasure every time she stopped to speak with him and was the only one who did not lecture her for gambling at cards or puffing away on her pipe all the time.

  She also spent a lot of time with Dillon, having persuaded him to give her extra lessons in fighting. The young squire was already one of the most skilled and powerful fighters in the Rìgh’s retinue and Finn hoped he would teach her some of the Scarred Warrior tricks he had learnt from Iseult. Although Finn in many ways missed the Scruffy she had known, she found a new respect growing in her for the sombre, reserved man Dillon had become. The shadow of the cursed sword he carried had transformed him from a cocky beggar boy, quick with his fists and his tongue, to someone who was thoughtful and deliberate in his every word and action. Dillon knew that once he drew Joyeuse he must fight until all his opponents were dead and so he never drew her unless under great duress. When he and Finn sparred, they always used wooden practice swords, though Joyeuse was never far from Dillon’s hand or eye.

  Samhain Eve came as dark and silent-footed as Goblin the elven cat, a heavy mist lying in all the valleys and shrouding Kirkenny in a thin, cold veil. In Lucescere, the night of death was defied by the lighting of many lanterns and bonfires, the ringing of bells and the wearing of lively colours. Here in Tìrsoilleir, the people locked themselves in their houses and drew their curtains. Samhain Eve was the night when ghosts walked and evil spirits were about. No Tìrsoilleirean dared brave such a night.

  Lachlan and his retinue had debated what to do about Samhain Eve for some time. Lachlan had no desire to alienate his new allies by flaunting his paganism but believed he must celebrate the differences between their cultures while still staying true to his heritage. Consequently, Samhain Eve was to be celebrated as it had always been in his youth. A great fire was to be lit in the great hall of Keep Kirkenny, chains of lanterns had been strung along the walls, hollowed-out turnips carved into the semblance of fearsome faces grinning with fiery eyes and mouths, and a magnificent feast was spread out on the tables. Everyone in Kirkenny, from the laird of the castle to the humblest chimneysweep, was welcome to attend the festivities but none would be condemned for staying away.

  Rather to Lachlan’s surprise, quite a few of the townsfolk of Kirkenny braved the mizzling weather and the ghosts to attend, some even making an effort to brighten their sombre dress with the last leaves of the year or a knot of grey ribbon. None of the Greycloaks had brought any party clothes with them, but all had managed to find some vivid article of clothing so that the great hall was filled with colour and movement. All the musicians had dug out their instruments and played in public for the first time since arriving on Tìrsoilleirean soil, and squares and lines of dancers swung back and forth across the hallway. Although none of the Tìrsoilleirean guests dared join in, a few seemed to enjoy the spectacle and any condemnation was politely concealed, much to Elfrida’s amazement.

  ‘I never thought I’d see music and dancing in Tìrsoilleir,’ she said to Iseult, ‘let alone the laird o’ the castle tapping his foot to it!’

  ‘Times change,’ Iseult replied.

  ‘I hope for the better,’ Elfrida said rather anxiously and Iseult smiled at her.

  ‘Definitely for the better. Why do ye no’ go and dance?’

  ‘I do no’ ken how,’ Elfrida admitted.

  ‘Och, it be easy enough. I’m sure Iain kens how. Why do ye no’ ask him to show ye?’

  Elfrida hesitated. ‘The elders may no’ like it,’ she said. ‘Word would be sure to get back to them.’

  The elders were the most powerful group i
n the community, chosen from all walks of life by the congregation to oversee the running of the kirk by the pastor. The General Assembly which ruled Tìrsoilleir was composed of the most powerful elders and churchmen, and was very strict in its ideas. They frowned upon any form of entertainment, called a pack of playing cards ‘the devil’s prayer book’, a pair of dice ‘the devil’s bones’ and a violin ‘the Archfiend’s box’. Any form of personal adornment was abhorrent to them, so that a woman could be lambasted in the kirk for tucking a daisy in her belt. Dancing was particularly loathsome to the elders, who regarded it as inherently licentious. None of the elders of the Kirkenny parish had come to the Samhain feast, all no doubt considering it a lewd and heretical event, but Iseult knew as well as Elfrida did that they would have their spies among the gathering there tonight.

  ‘So?’ Iseult said. ‘When ye are banprionnsa it will be your job to change things around here. Ye may as well let them ken now.’

  Elfrida hesitated then shook her head. ‘Nay, I’d better no’.’

  ‘Then I shall,’ Iseult said and put down her cup of spiced ale and rose to her feet. Lachlan met her glance with a smile and crossed the floor to meet her, the two of them joining in the dancing with enthusiasm.

  Finn was dancing too, her green-flecked hazel eyes alight with excitement. As always, the infectious melody of Jay’s fiddle was working its magic so that even some of the most disapproving locals were nodding their heads and tapping their toes in time. When the air was finished, Finn found herself right next to Jay and impulsively she cried, ‘Och, I love your fiddle, Jay! Ye have magic in your fingers indeed.’

  ‘Thank ye,’ he answered gruffly, not looking at her, and lifted his bow and swung at once into another tune. Finn’s excitement ebbed away. She found herself feeling rather low and stepped out of the line to refill her cup of Samhain ale, sweet with apples, honey, whiskey and spices. She saw her elven cat Goblin curled on a cushioned chair near the fire and went to seek the comfort of her soft fur and affectionate purr. Many of the locals looked at her askance as she lifted the elven cat to her shoulder, and Finn stuck out her tongue at one rude boy who made a less than surreptitious sign against evil.