The Willow Branch

by Lela Markham

  This time of day custom was slow and the sole person in the tavernroom was the tavernman himself, polishing tankards on a board at the back of the room. When last Padraig had been here, the tavern room had been but a half of the round main floor, but it now took the full of it, indicating that the owner and his family now lived in a smaller round house out back.

  “May I help you?” the tavernman said and Padraig recognized the voice.

  “Aye. I seek Annan, innkeeper of the Red Giant.”

  “I be Annan. And who might be seeking me?”

  “Padraig of Denygal, more late of Cenconyn, herbman.”

  Annan stopped with a tankard midway to the cloth and stared, then set his work down abruptly to come round the board and slap Padraig on the back.

  “Lad, you’ve come back!” he crowed happily. “I don’t mind telling you that I thought you might have perished after hearing naught for years and years. Where have you been?”

  “About. I had much to learn after I left Lodiac and I’ve done that.”

  “Lodiac? You know he died three winters past?”

  Padraig, surprisingly, felt grief like a blow at the news. His master in herbs had not been a young man, but somehow Padraig had expected to see him again.

  “Nay, I did not know. Was his passing good?”

  “Aye. He was here when the last illness took him. Heledd nursed him to his death. He had words for you, lad.”

  “Did he now?” Lodiac and Padraig parted on tense terms, though Padraig remembered that he’d tried to apologize for what he knew he had to do. “Kind, were they?”

  “Actually, aye. He said if you were to travel this way, I was to say that he understood why you traveled on. It were your time.”

  Padraig felt a burden of weight leave his chest, for truly that was what he had tried to tell Lodiac, though the old man had felt himself abandoned. He’d taken a starving street urchin and trained him in herbs and barely five years into the apprenticeship, Padraig had announced that he’d learned all that he could and needed to travel on. Lodiac had, no doubt, hoped Padraig would remain with him and work with him even as a journeyman so as to ease his master’s old age. Padraig had been tempted, but he felt a higher calling. He had never truly regretted it, but he had been saddened that Lodiac had not understood.

  “Did he suffer much?”

  “Nay, not more than one might expect in old age. And he died with a bit of family about him. Are you staying for a while?”

  “Aye.”

  “Tavern room or a chamber.”

  “I’ve a bit of coin. Chamber. Not your best.”

  “Third best. Top of the stairs on the right. Will you be wanting a bath?”

  “Oh, aye!”

  “We’ve a shed out back where we have it all set up these days.”

  “Custom does look good!”

  “Oh, aye. Cunyr may not be a kind overlord, but he’s good for custom, sure enough. Silver a week, copper for the bath. In advance.”

  “Did you think I’d cheat you, Annan?”

  “Nay, but I always remember that you started on the top of things and might not remember what it’s like for the rest of us.”

  “I’ve been free of them for nearly half my life now. I have your coin for you.”

  Padraig smiled because he knew that Annan had good reason to be cautious of his money-handling skills. He shook out two silver and five copper from his pouch and dropped the coin into Annan’s broad palm.

  “I’ll be here at least a fortnight and I plan to enjoy this bath of yours.”

  “Going up the hill?”

  “Among other business, aye. I’ll be down in a moment to care for my stock.”

  “The lad can do that.”

  “I’ll do it, my thanks.”

  Shouldering his saddle bags, Padraig mounted the stairs to the second floor and the third floor beyond. The third floor had been built of stone with a full-height ceiling, evidence Annan was planning ahead. Good plan! It looked like custom would be strong for many years.

  Padraig shuddered as an icy hand raked down his back. What he was about would not assure prosperity, only that the One’s will would be done.

  Founding Year 1028

  Clarcom

  On the morrow Padraig bought a fine pair of grey breecs and a matching cloak and went to pay his respects, and his dues, to the head of the herb guild. Resyn, whom Padraig had known as a high-level journeyman, had increased in his fortunes considerably and was more than willing to trade gossip with the ignoble brother of Lady Lydya, especially in exchange for elven herb lore. Thus armed with valuable intelligence, Padraig eyed the tops of the towers as he walked toward the dun. It made sense to pay court, but he didn’t want to walk into the lions’ den unarmed. He checked the position of the sun and returned to the Red Giant for a bag of herbs. He was stocking the bag, using one of the tavern tables, when a figure filled the sunny doorway, ducking under the lintel, and resolved itself into a tall young man with a sword on his right side and the long arms and broad shoulders of a born swordsman.

  “I’m looking for the innkeeper.”

  “Annan’s out back preparing dinner. There’s room, I know.”

  “My thanks. I’d find him outside that door?”

  “Aye.”

  Padraig continued packing his bag until the young man returned with Annan just as Padraig closed the bag. The lad’s siarc bore no blazons and the breecs he wore were a plain blue, but he carried himself like a soldier.

  “Padraig, meet Tamys. He’ll be staying with us for a few days. Padraig’s an herbman, Tamys.” Annan dismissed himself to return to the kitchen out back.

  “Herbman, eh?” Tamys noted, which won a nod. Tamys turned to the ale barrel and dipped himself a tankard of dark. He sat down at the table and drew of long swallow off the tankard. Padraig noted his eyes over the rim, the lightest blue he’d ever seen, large and the color of a winter sky. Against his dark hair and skin that still held a tan after the winter, they drew a lot of attention to themselves.

  “Where did you say you were from?” Padraig asked, curious because eyes like that were so unusual.

  “I didn’t say.” Although that sort of answer usually denoted a warning to stay away, Padraig tried yet again.

  “What brings you to Dublyn?”

  Tamys didn’t reply, just drank some more ale. The set of his shoulders said it was a subject he preferred to avoid. Padraig had other business anyway.

  “I must be going. If Annan asks, I’ll be back for dinner.”

  Tamys saluted him with his tankard and Padraig left to walk up the hill to see his sister.

  Fourteen years had seen some changes at the dun; though Clarcom had always been built for siege, the two defense walls had been heightened and thickened. The main broch thrust like a fist against the sky, seven full stories, completely surrounded by half-broches and then joined to a secondary broch by a rectangular wing. Already this new broch had reached five stories.

  Padraig introduced himself at the gate and waited in the great hall for the page to return. He hoped that his sister practiced discretion. He somehow doubted Cunyr would be glad to hear he’d returned. If he ever came to suspect the reason why, Padraig might find himself at the end of a rope.

  The page returned shortly and said the Lady Lydya would meet with him in her greeting chamber.

  Aye, she remembers who she’s married to!

  This chamber, a pleasant wedge of the second floor of the new broch, sported a real glass window and Morikan carpets on the floor. A shelf held three books, a wealth even by noble standards in those days. On a small cabinet there stood a glass flagon and a half-dozen glass goblets.

  Lydya already sat with her back to the window when Padraig entered, noting the real wood walls that offered privacy beyond mere wicker. What does she hold over his head?

  Examining the room couldn’t keep him from looking at her eventually. This moment, so fraught with unknowns and risks, made him profoundly nervous. He
couldn’t see her face, backlit as she was, but he noted that she was still slim even after six children.

  “Padraig of Denygal, is it?” she said in a voice like honey.

  “Seemed a more appropriate title.”

  “It suits you. Even your manner of speaking is Denygal now. You’ve grown fully a man, Padraig. How many years has it been?”

  “Near a dozen, I think.”

  “And where have you been?”

  “Walking about,” Padraig replied, using a Denygal term for the journey a lad took prior to being accepted as an adult in the community.

  “And did you find yourself?”

  “Aye, I believe so. And you, my lady, has your life been all that you might hope it to be.”

  “Life is both lovely and awful in its turn, somewhat that you will come to understand as you live a few more years.”

  “I already realize that, my lady. Truly, I can assume that marriage to Cunyr would not be all a bed of roses.”

  “Roses have thorns, don’t they not? Are you married?”

  “Nay, but there’s a woman who may someday be my wife.”

  “Do you travel together?”

  “Nay. And, you, my lady? Are your children a joy to you?”

  “Children are much like life – joy and sorrow in equal measures, but overall, I am pleased.”

  “I hear that some believe Bryan will make a good vyngretrix.”

  “If he lives, aye, I believe so.”

  “Tis a dangerous thing to ascend to the rule, I hear.”

  “I think you did not want to know.”

  “I would never have known, Lydya. My position was a long way from the rule.”

  “You know that Father died?”

  “Aye, nine or 10 years ago. I heard Gerraent became heir.”

  “Nay, but he died less than a year after his ascension and Radraig did follow. Then he died four years ago, about the time you rode east, I suppose.”

  Padraig stepped so that he could see her face. Beautiful in the Denygal way that seemed to attract men so easily, she looked much younger than her 47 years, with lustrous chestnut hair and turquoise colored eyes. Seeing her now, as a man would see a woman, Padraig couldn’t understand why Cunyr would take a mistress, no matter how young and pretty.

  “How do you know where I’ve been?”

  “Your accent. There’s only two groups who speak Celdryan with those tones – the Denygal and those who have lived among the elves. Besides, if you’d been anywhere in the kingdom I would have been able to scry you out and I couldn’t. Only in an elf holt could I see naught of you.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly. Why did you come back west?”

  “That’s a difficult thing, my lady. The telling of it could be a great burden or a great joy.”

  “You may tell me anything, brother, as if I were your own dear mother.”

  Padraig felt a cinch round his heart. Can I trust her, truly?

  “I want to trust you, but I am not sure if I dare,” he admitted.

  “I too would wish to trust you, but I am uncertain.”

  “Well, that’s a fine kettle of fish.” She smiled at the Believers’ symbol of secret identification.

  “You’re a Believer like Mam and I, then. Truly, I do love to hear that. When did you accept the One True God?.”

  “Before I went off to page, from Mam I did hear it. And you?”

  She nodded. They smiled at one another, more connected than they had ever been. Then Lydya sobered.

  “You know that she’s dead?”

  “Aye, she died about a month before I left page. I think her death had a lot to do with my leaving when I did.”

  “‘Tis a pivotal thing, to lose a beloved parent. Why did you remain hidden after Father’s death?”

  “I fled page to avoid him. I had no interest in taking up his legacy.”

  “You did not care for him. What did he do to you?”

  “He was himself and that was enough. I walked away as much to stay clear of him and Berys as I did because I loathed the idea of a life spent waiting for my turn to die in some petty honor feud.”

  “Berys is dead as well.” When Padraig blinked, she continued. “After Radraig’s death four years ago, along with his wife and two children. Reyn’s the rig of Cenconyn now.”

  “Is that how you came upon the rigdon of Denygal?”

  She laughed. It sounded like bells chiming in a light breeze.

  “We came upon the rigdon, my brother. He set the rigdon upon the both of us.”

  “Why would he do that since I had been missing for 11 years?”

  “Only seven by that time. He asked me if you were alive and then he set the rigdon upon both of us. It solves all the petty issues of the rule passing in the female line. And sharing the rule is not unheard of in Denygal, though there are some who think it unusual down here.”

  “Is that why Cunyr shows you such deference?”

  “I hold more over Cunyr’s head than a vote on the Council of Electors.”

  “Truly? Are you able to tell me about it?”

  “Nay – or, truly, I might, but I think we should talk a bit before I tell all my secrets.”

  Their shared smile gave Padraig a moment of thought.

  “Does Cunyr treat you as well in private as he does in public?”

  Lydya remained serenely beautiful, but she turned her violet gaze away for a moment.

  “Few Celdryan noblemen treat their wives with true love, as you know. Once the bloom is off the rose, they look elsewhere.”

  “I have never understood that thinking, especially not with a woman as beautiful as you.”

  “Thank you,” Lydya said with perfect aplomb. “I think I’ve put her in her place,” she continued as if discussing the quality of cheese at dinner. “And truly, I don’t resent her Cunyr. She may have him if she likes.”

  “That’s a practical view.”

  “It was never a marriage based on love, Padraig. Father forced me to marry him and I come as close to hating him as I can come without violating God’s laws.”

  Padraig nodded, understanding. He knew another woman who had been unjustly treated by a husband and she had made him understand what she felt.

  “Tell me of your children,” Padraig prompted.

  “Bryan is 15 winters. He’s a fine lad, Padraig. A Believer. Cunyr’s betrothed him to the daughter of Dun Blyan. I’m wondering what we’ll be getting. I know I can’t expect him to be able to marry a Believer, but I was hoping.”

  “Maybe she’ll be reachable. None of us is born Believing. Bryan doesn’t sound at all like his father.”

  “Hmm,” Lydya hummed, then paused before continuing. “He’s nothing like Cunyr, that is true,” she continued in a tone that caused Padraig’s hair to stand on end.. “Cullyn’s much more in his pocket.” She paused as if thinking of somewhat. Whatever that be, she chose not to share it. “I love my children, truly I do, but it’s hard to like that one. Then there’s Glynn. He’s a charming one! He’s not come to Believe yet, but I hope. I think he will. He at least has a conscience.”

  “And Shyla? She’s your eldest lass, aye?”

  “Aye. She’s going to do wonderful things, if her husband will let her, of course. She’s betrothed to the fourth son of Galornyn. Teddryn. Do you remember him?”

  For a moment Padraig’s mind was blank. He truly remembered only the three older boys and a younger girl who died of a fever while he was at page. He didn’t remember – or did he? There’d been Jaryn, Stevyk, Maddw and, aye, it might have been Teddryn, and there’d been a much younger brother as well.

  “If it’s the one I think, he liked horses. He was a young lad – 10 mayhap. I remember naught about him. Are you buying a pig in a poke?”

  “Aye. It was Cunyr’s idea, to secure the alliance, and I’ve felt a bit at a loss for knowing naught.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “I can only hope that he’ll be besotted with
her, enough to ignore what she believes. I’d hate for her to have to lie for the rest of her life the way I’ve had to.”

  “Aye, ‘tis not an easy life. I’m sure it’s hardest when you think of your children. Mam managed to tell some of us, but not others. Surely, you have the same problem.”

  “Aye. The time alone with each is precious. Mam managed that pretty well with us lasses. I suppose the younger boys as well.”

  “What of Reyn, since he’s acted so honorably about Denygal?”

  “He was at page in Denygal at Mam’s insistence, if I remember it rightly. And, aye, he is a Believer.”

  “It seems the Belief always flourishes even in danger.”

  “Like the Denygal rose. So will you at least be staying about for a while?”

  “Nay, my lady, but I must travel on. I wait upon the supreme commander, now don’t I?”

  “True spoken. And never would I deny your mission, my lord.”

  “I am not a lord, sister, and it is best you remember that.”

  “Oh, but you are! You’re the rig of Denygal, after all.”

  Padraig chuckled.

  “So, besides all the turnips I can eat, what will that afford me?”

  “Safe haven if ever you need it, of course. My squire would take you in without hesitation. And coin. I’ve not much on hand right now, but I’ll get you your earnings. I’ve been keeping some back for you.”

  “That’s not needful, Lydya. I make a good living by the sweat of my brow and in these times there’ll be lots of physicking to do.”

  “Aye, but I have an honor of my own, brother. You’ll have your part of the rigdon, I promise you that. Now that you’re back in the kingdom, I should be able to scry you out easily enough.”

  “Aye. Well, I’ll be about for a bit – an eightnight, mayhap a fortnight. I hear your chirgeon’s looking for physick of a strange sort. I believe I might have what he needs. You’ll let him know?”