by Jules Watson
Minna pulled off his muddy boots and sat by him, taking his hand. His knuckles were grazed, the folds of skin stained with something dark. She looked at the dried blood, and hesitantly touched it.
He followed her eyes, then stared at the roof. ‘Minna,’ he said softly, ‘when you were a girl and you thought about your future love, was he a farmer coming in from the fields, drawing your child into his lap? Or a merchant, perhaps, in your city house, shutting up shop to gather around the fire?’ His eyes roamed over the thatch. ‘I am sure you never thought of a man with blood on his hands, with so many baying for his death, who in one day nearly lost a kingdom, then gained it again.’ He smiled bleakly at her. ‘You’re much too clever to want that.’
She recognized the strain in his voice, and raised his bloodied hand to her mouth to kiss it before folding it around the sprig of flowers. ‘I did not think of any man at all – for you were entirely unimaginable.’
His smile melted the weariness and pain in his face, and he drew her with him to the bed, pushing the scabbard aside. He smelled of musty horse, his dark hair stiff with salt in her fingers. Tilting up her chin, he kissed her, his fingers tracing her eyelids, brows and cheeks as if committing them to memory, and she sighed as his lips moved to her throat, arched back for him.
When he straightened, his eyes fell on the blooms crushed into the folds of her shift. ‘They are the Beltaine flowers – may-blossom. Did you know?’
She nodded breathlessly. ‘Orla picked them at the river. I think it was her way of coping, to talk and run and not meet my eyes.’
Cahir touched the blossoms with a finger. ‘My daughters love you. That will overcome anything.’
She slid a hand across his belly and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘I almost didn’t notice how the land has changed, how leaf-bud has come. I couldn’t think of anything but you, and whether you were safe. But then I felt it today, when I waited on the walls for you to come back. I smelled the air, saw the woods white with flowers.’ She hesitated. ‘We went away in the cold, and now everything has changed. It is not only Orla and Finola who must accept this.’ She thought of herself, the servants, and also Brónach, who the day before would not speak to her, turning her shoulder and stalking away.
‘That is what Beltaine means, Minna. It is change.’
She stared into the lamp-flame. It flickered as if someone murmured to her. Yes. ‘The land comes alive, throws off dark and cold for light and warmth – I feel it running in my blood.’
He searched her eyes with wonder. ‘You do know, don’t you? I always wanted to feel the heartbeat of the land which the bards sing of – a king is supposed to feel that.’
Minna pulled herself up, her hair pooling in her lap. ‘But a king can only be bound to his land by the goddess of the land.’ The flame dipped before her eyes. ‘Davin said so once.’
‘And the goddess was supposed to be his queen.’
But that had not happened here, and the harvest had been bad for years. Cahir kissed the tender skin of her wrist, drawing her back. ‘Minna, Beltaine is also the feast of fertility.’ He held her eyes. ‘I hurried our return because I wanted to tell my people of my new course tonight, when they will feel its truth. And I need you by my side as Beltaine queen.’
He spoke as if she might refuse, and fear did flicker like a shadow over the lamp-flame. But the air was whispering gladness to her. She touched the fragile may-blossom and felt the blooms in the woods opening, the sap in the trees rising, the quickening of the land around her. And suddenly she knew what this night would bring. ‘We must join,’ she said wonderingly, shifting her gaze to his golden eyes. ‘We must be one in body, this night.’
He breathed out, pressed a hand to her cheek. ‘I know what I ask of you. But it is said that a great love between the Beltaine queen and king will bring fertile blessings to the land, if they give themselves up to the power of the night.’ He hesitated. ‘It isn’t what I wanted for the first time, for we must share ourselves with the world as well as each other. Do you understand?’
‘Yes. And as I am a maiden, this brings its own power.’ A chord struck inside her: did Rhiann do this? She touched the blood on his fingers again and shuddered as if waking. ‘You need this protection – you need all the power we can summon for this war. My blood will mingle with your seed and draw it to us. It is how it must be.’
He was disconcerted by her far-away tone, though she was merely awed by its rightness, as if she had been looped into an unbroken thread stretching into the past.
‘I don’t want it to be all about a sacrifice, Minna,’ he broke in, taking hold of her arms. ‘I want it to be us, too.’
Minna smiled softly at him. ‘But can’t you feel that?’ And she took his hand and placed it over her breast, so he could sense how her heart raced.
At dusk Keeva came to ready her with a group of serving girls.
‘I am sorry,’ Keeva whispered to her, ‘but the king has ordered it. We must make you the Beltaine queen, and this night pays respect to the fertility of maidens.’ She sighed, gesturing behind her. ‘And here are the maidens.’ Keeva was the only one unperturbed by Minna’s change in status.
She smiled anxiously. ‘As long as none of them bear anything of the queen’s.’
‘Gods, no!’ Keeva grinned, pulling her up. ‘What fool do you take me for?’
They bathed her in the queen’s hall, stripped now of everything Roman, everything of Maeve’s. As the maids drew hot cloths over Minna’s skin the steam rose around her, and suddenly she understood she was not being readied as a mare is groomed for her stallion. She was washing away all traces of what she had been, and becoming something else. Something sacred.
They dried her with scented linen and wrapped her in soft wool. Orla and Finola hovered solemnly nearby, awed by their glimpse of this intimate woman’s rite. Only one thing was wrong: the cold metal of the slave-ring on her warm skin. She touched it, but Keeva drew her fingers away with a knowing smile. ‘Do not worry. Put it out of your mind.’
So she gave herself up to the soft hands combing her hair, drawing it into long curls. Keeva stood back, scrutinizing her. ‘Perhaps oil of myrrh?’
‘Not myrrh!’ Minna would always associate that scent with Maeve. Instead, she suddenly remembered Nessa’s gift, and how she had spoken of new love and of scent. ‘Orla.’ Minna turned to her. ‘There is a small package beside your father’s bed. Go and get it for me.’ Orla dashed off. The gift, unwrapped in Minna’s lap, proved to be a collection of small blue bottles. When she pulled out the stoppers they were perfumed oils: wild roses, musk and honeysuckle. It was an extravagant gift.
Keeva beamed, ordering the maids to rub every inch of Minna’s skin with oil: under the curve of her breasts, in the dip of her waist, down her thighs. She stood naked, enveloped in the rich scents, the smoothing touches sending her out of herself into another place, and so, miraculously, she felt no shame or shyness.
For Cahir had named her many-born, and she knew in that moment she had once stood in another time, dark-eyed and dusky-skinned, while servants oiled her body beneath an awning of scarlet silk, making her ready for a husband. Her blood pulsing, she focused on the memory of hands on her skin and gold on her arms and ankles. Every sensation must be felt. She heard the murmur from ancient teachings. Open the maiden’s body slowly with sense and touch and smell, and the silken gateway will be entered without pain.
They finished as Riona appeared at the door with lengths of cloth over her arm. Minna noted the swell of the babe under her clothes and their eyes met, though Riona’s smile was uncertain.
‘Greetings, Minna,’ she said formally. ‘I have been ordered to bring you a dress of mine.’ She tried to dispel her discomfort with a laugh. ‘I don’t fit into it any more, and I can’t blame the baby, I have to say!’
Minna fingered the cloth in awe. There was a shift of white linen and a long-sleeved underdress of cream wool. Over that went a sleeveless robe of fresh green, with a
belt wrought of gold leaves. ‘The belt is not mine,’ Riona added swiftly. ‘The king chose it from the treasury. Along with this.’ She indicated the girl who had come in behind her, holding on a cushion an astonishing headdress. On a fillet of gold, vines of bronze wound about berries of amber and garnet, trailing gilded leaves over the wearer’s forehead. ‘I have not seen it since I was a child. I think it belonged to the king’s mother.’
Minna could not speak, while the serving girls whispered behind their hands. Riona’s curiosity was naked. They would all wait and see what this night brought, her look said, before they knew how to address her. She was being set beside the king as Beltaine queen. But why?
The fillet was placed in her hair, and rings with bells slipped on her fingers and ankles; they chimed as she walked. Lastly, Finola and Orla wound the may-blossoms all through her dark tresses with their small fingers, and she touched their faces and kissed them.
Outside, a horn blew. Minna straightened, her blood flowing faster, bringing her back from the past.
Cahir addressed his people on the darkened meadow. Somewhere, hidden in the shadows under the trees by the river, Minna waited. But he had to win his people first.
His warriors and fast riders had done their work spreading the news, and the moonlit grass was a shifting sea of people; a crowd of perhaps two or three thousand. Nobles had been summoned from all the outlying duns, as swift as their horses could carry them, as well as every farmer and herder and their wives and babes from the nearby glens.
Here it would be decided, then, if they heeded his words.
He drew strength from the presence of his men at his shoulder: burly Finbar and Gobán with hands folded on swords, legs braced; Mellan looking belligerently around, wary for any slight; Ardal smiling secretly behind his black hair. And Ruarc, adorned with so much bronze he was on fire, staring out into the crowd as if daring anyone to disagree.
‘My people!’ Cahir’s voice carried far in the cold air. ‘You know the treachery that I faced on my return, and how the Carvetii attack was foiled by the bravery and loyalty of our warriors. We are safe, and the traitors, including the former queen, have been dealt with.’
That part was easy. People were fired up by the shock of the raid, the rage and then relief, the excitement of the bonfires and dancing to come – and in no small measure by the mead they had already imbibed.
‘This you know, but you don’t know why I left and what happened on my journey. Now, I will tell you it all.’ With a breath he drew into himself now all his power, his awe, his memory of the night in the cave when his men acclaimed him, and the light in Minna’s eyes when she spoke the visions.
Above all, he summoned the power of the prophecy, and when he cried it to his people, he now heard the echo of all those who had first chanted it, who had wanted him to remember.
At long last, he knew Eremon was at his shoulder.
Seated on the white mare beneath the oak trees, Minna heard the shouts growing louder. Dalriada! Dalriada!
The cry went on, and the pipers and drummers standing by for the dancing joined in as if it were a song. Peering through the leaves, she glimpsed the torchlight gleam once on Cahir’s sword as he held it up and pierced the sky. Dalriada! Dalriada!
He had won them. Though she had not heard his words, Minna knew he had spoken like a god, invoking what his people longed for: freedom, pride in their blood, and a strong king who would fight for them. Like his men, their mood had been hidden, buried so deep they did not know their own hearts. They never believed it could be different, and so swallowed their anger and frustration like a bitter root, shoved down where it did not choke, only festered. Waiting for their lord to wake from his pain and release them from theirs.
‘It is time.’ The maidens escorting Minna had been silent, but now Riona, who had taken charge, gestured Donal to lead the white mare forward.
As they came out of the trees under the stars, the attendants in front and behind began chanting a low, throaty song. They walked with a sway in their hips, slowing the pony to a rhythmic walk so Minna also began to sway in the saddle, the slow, sensual movement passing from the pony’s stride through its flanks to her own flesh, rocking her. The gold leaves in the headdress brushed her forehead, white flowers fluttered from her hair and, with every step, the bells on her ankles chimed.
The girls around her clapped in time to the song, and Keeva, holding the saddle, glanced up, her mouth forming the words. It was an old chant about the Maiden of the fields. Where she trod, the earth bloomed, and the god that took her and made her his own became king of the land. Soon, Minna found her lips and throat moving as well, the words winding about her soul, demanding to be sung. The movement of the pony and her body sent her into a trance.
And then she was approaching a dark sea of people, and the sea parted, leaving a river of grass that wound its way to Cahir’s feet. As if in a dream, Minna looked out over the thousands of white faces, their breath misting the air like a cloud, before fixing her eyes on Cahir where he stood on a wooden platform between two flaming bonfires. The bath, the oils and the singing had all conspired to loosen the bounds of Minna’s body, and there on the horse, surrounded by the people, something greater began filling her. Something more powerful than herself.
As she reached Cahir she heard the whispers and murmurs growing all around, rumours of her healing skills and the miracle of the sick babies, passed from person to person.
As soon as the horse was before him, Cahir raised his hands. ‘And so you may wonder what great seer saw these visions I speak of; who brought your king back to his strength.’
Minna could not draw her gaze from him. The corona of light was more than a crown; it was a flame engulfing his whole body. He was a god. On his head he bore a war-helm of domed iron now, on top a crested boar wrought in polished bronze.
‘Here is your seer!’ Cahir was drunk with a savage joy, and she tensed as he extended one hand towards her. ‘Minna of Eboracum, the slave-girl that was!’
A cacophony greeted this revelation: shock, excitement and disbelief. Heart pounding, Minna held to the shine of Cahir’s eyes as if she were drowning.
He told them what she had done, and seen, just as she had repeated it faithfully to Darach the chief druid when he probed her that afternoon. Some people grew restless after Cahir’s telling, as if they might argue, but then their eyes flew between Minna and the king. Vibrating with the sense of the Other, Minna felt the understanding sink through their minds. Minna and Cahir were one.
‘And what say you, chief druid?’ Cahir spun towards Darach.
‘My lord,’ Darach offered, unblinking. ‘We have examined the stone, and tested the girl; we have consulted the stars and the entrails of a raven; and we conclude that her visions are true.’ He smiled enigmatically. ‘The gods are apt to provide their messages and signs through unexpected means. As to the other, the question of war – all people know the Romans are no friends of the brethren.’
The king replied with a gracious nod, while Minna’s belly churned. ‘So the choice is made,’ Cahir boomed, ‘to fight for who we are, to listen to the gods, to do their will on earth and regain our pride. In the coming days, I will answer all your questions until there are none. But for now, know that my own choices have also been made.’
His eyes were at last on Minna, warm and liquid, and Donal’s hands were on her waist lifting her down, and in that moment the old warrior, irreverent as always, caught her eye and winked. She looked at Cahir’s hand extended towards her and could not move, until Keeva bowed and nudged her on. And so she let Cahir catch her fingers and draw her up on the platform.
She saw nothing for a long moment but the blaze in Cahir’s face, and behind him, the shining points of his men’s eyes in the firelight.
‘My people, I bring you one who is not only seer, voice of the gods, but one of the many-born who once long ago was of my royal blood. Now she has returned to us.’ Cahir paused, his smile tender. ‘And so I
also name her my lennan, dearly beloved of the king.’
Her heart was a bird caught in a snare, beating wildly, and in that moment of disorientation Cahir delivered his last surprise. With a turn of his head he beckoned someone forward, and Minna could only stare at Fintan the smith as he emerged into the firelight, a hammer and chisel in his broad hands. Lonán followed, hoisting a block of wood and wad of linen.
‘As I take her as my lennan,’ Cahir announced, ‘and the seer of my hall, so I free Minna of Eboracum.’ There was an exclamation of pleasure from Clíona, and this was taken up by many others in the crowd. Smiling, Cahir raised Minna’s trembling hand to his lips and then led her off the platform.
She saw only a blur of wondering faces as Lonán set the block down and Cahir unclasped his cloak and spread it on the ground. ‘Lady.’ Fintan bowed. ‘Do not be afraid, for if you kneel there, and we put this pad under your ring, I can strike it off with no pain at all.’
She didn’t trust herself to speak, and under a great silence she knelt and laid her head on the block, fixing her eyes on the rising sliver of moon as the smith positioned his chisel on the hinge of the ring. The Lady had given Minna strength when the hated ring was bound around her neck, and now She was here to see her freed.
‘Breathe out,’ Fintan instructed, and swiftly struck the chisel with his hammer. Suddenly the iron ring was in pieces on the ground.
There was a clamorous cheer, as Cahir raised her to her feet and held her there. She was swaying, light-headed. ‘As we strike off the bonds of Roman slavery from Minna of Eboracum, now Minna of Dalriada, so we strike off the Roman shackles from our own necks!’ Cahir cried, and before everyone he circled her waist and kissed her.
