Spirit of the Mist
Page 11
He took her hand and drew her forward to stand before the king. The older man stepped forward to kiss her gently on the cheek. “Welcome, Lady Muriel. I welcome you home as my daughter.”
Muriel smiled back at him, genuinely touched by the sincerity of his words and by the affection shining in his old eyes. “Now,” he said, “come with me to the hall, where food is waiting. You can eat and rest and then tell us of your journey.”
“I would like nothing better,” Muriel said, smiling over at Brendan. Together they set out for the King’s Hall, but it was a slow procession, for they followed in the hobbling footsteps of King Galvin. Muriel was struck by just how frail and petite the king of Dun Bochna really was. One leg clearly pained him, and he moved with both the stiffness and the weakness that came with great age. And more than once she saw him angrily shake off the hands of the warriors who tried to help him along.
A chilling thought came to her as they followed his slow and painful steps. How much longer could he hope to serve his people as their king? Any man who wore the torque of kingship knew, in the back of his mind, that a king could no more be infirm than he could be blind, or maimed, or false.
The land required that any man who ruled her be as strong and as vital and as life-giving as she herself was…and if the day came when he was not, it was a true king’s duty to do what must be done to make way for the new young king who would replace him.
Yet this, too, she pushed from her mind. She and Brendan were here at a time of great happiness, the eve of their marriage, and it seemed that everyone’s spirits were as bright as the summer sun which shone down upon them. This was not a day for serious thoughts, which, she knew, would come all too soon anyway. But not on this day—not on this day!
Inside the shadowy hall, Muriel found a row of polished wooden slabs set in a neat row on the clean straw of the floor, set with shining gold plates and cups and laden with wooden bowls of steaming crab and lobster, plates of fresh wheat flatbread, and cups of rich golden butter and dark sweet honey.
As Muriel and Brendan settled down on the furs to begin the meal, waiting politely until King Galvin was comfortably seated, Muriel glanced around the long rectangular hall. It was much like the one at Dun Farraige—servants worked along the back wall and at the central firepit, preparing the food and cleaning up afterward. A few of the women sat together at the other end of the building, working at embroidery and smiling and whispering about the noble gathering before them. But then Muriel caught sight of two other people sitting quietly together in the farthest, dimmest corner.
They appeared to be an aged man and woman. She had nearly white hair and his was iron gray. The woman was combing a basket of dark brown wool to smooth and clean it, and then passing the combed pieces over to the man so he could spin them into neat lengths of thread.
These were servants’ tasks, yet this couple did not appear to be servants. Even from a distance Muriel could see the fine clothes they wore—good linen dyed in bright blues and greens and even purples—and catch the gleam of gold at the man’s fingers and the woman’s wrists as they worked.
She touched Brendan’s arm. “Who are they?” she whispered. “They do not appear to be servants.”
He followed her gaze, and then smiled, but there was sadness in it. “That is King Fallon, and his queen, the Lady Grania. They came here after being forced out of Dun Camas by Odhran.”
“King Fallon…” Slowly, Muriel nodded. She remembered Brendan’s words when he had told his story to them back at Dun Farraige.
The king was blinded with the same pin Odhran uses to fasten his cloak…and now lives quietly in the shadows with his queen. He remains alive only for her sake, and I can tell you that when she dies, he too will be gone before the sun sets on that day.
“I am glad to see that they are safe here,” Muriel said. “Dun Camas bloomed like a spring rose under his rule. It is a terrible thing that happened to him, and to all who lived there.”
“It was.” Brendan glanced at Fallon and Grania again. “Would you like to speak to him?”
“I would. Oh, I would. To both of them.”
“Then wait here.” Brendan got smoothly to his feet and helped Muriel to stand. After bowing to King Galvin, they walked across the hall to the corner where an aged man and his wife sat peacefully at their simple work.
“King Fallon. Queen Grania. I am here with my lady, with—”
“Muriel.” The old king stood up and faced them. “The Lady Muriel, who is to be your bride. I am honored and happy to meet you.”
Muriel’s heart broke at the sight of his ruined eyes. Only the skill of King Galvin’s druid physicians had saved his life after such terrible injuries. He was alive, but she knew that it was not much of a life any longer.
“And I am happy to meet you too,” said Grania. There was still a sparkle in her gentle blue eyes, and it was clear that she had not been defeated even by the tragedy that had befallen her and her husband and her kingdom.
Muriel smiled at the queen, and reached out to touch Fallon’s hand. “I would like to ask you both to come and sit with us at our feast.”
Brendan glanced at her, but then he smiled too. “We would be honored if you would join us.”
Fallon raised his chin and faced Brendan, as if he could see him perfectly well. “Prince Brendan,” he said, “Lady Muriel. Surely you both know that I no longer have any place among the nobility. My wife does and would turn to her family far off at Dun Cath if she wished; but she has chosen to stay here with me in the shadows and no longer in the place of honor she deserves.”
“You will always have a place of honor among all who know you,” Muriel said. “Please, come and sit down.”
But neither of them moved. “My lady,” Fallon said, “we appreciate your courtesy. But did Brendan not explain our situation to you?”
She hesitated. “He did. And yet—”
“And yet, there is no amount of courtesy that can make me whole again.” Fallon stood very still. “No amount of kindness that can give me back my kingdom. The land demands that her king be as whole as she is, that he be missing nothing lest she, too, become lacking and incomplete. I am missing my eyes…and so I am no longer worthy of being a husband to the land that I once ruled.”
“Fortunately, I am not so demanding,” Grania said. She smiled up at her husband even though she knew he could not see her. “I would rather sit in the shadows with this man than rule all of Eire beside any other.”
Fallon took her hand and held it close to his heart. “There can be only one king at this fortress or any other, Brendan. Again, I thank you for your kindness, but I will stay here with my lady while you go back to serve the rightful king.”
Fallon and Grania nodded politely and then walked back to their benches in the corner, picking up their wool and returning to their work as if nothing had happened.
Muriel looked up at Brendan, and then took his arm as they walked alone back to the feast which awaited them.
Late in the afternoon of the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, Muriel walked out through the gates of Dun Bochna with six of the loveliest young women who lived there.
All of them were dressed in their most brightly colored linen gowns and wore all the gold that was theirs to wear.
Beside Muriel walked Bercan, the druid who had accompanied her from her home. Also, close behind, anxiously making sure that the hem of Muriel’s newly made purple linen gown and long gray linen mantle stayed out of the damp spots, was Alvy.
Following after them were five of the king’s warriors. They were all dressed in gleaming leather armor with swords at their sides and flowing woolen cloaks at their shoulders.
The little party followed the path that led away from the great cliffside fortress and its two enormous half circles of stone. After a long, gentle rise up the windy hillside, the path ended in a wide, grassy space at the highest point overlooking the sea, and Muriel paused. The sight took her breath away.
She could understand why this place would be used for sacred ceremonies. It was higher above the world than she had ever imagined she would be, much higher than Dun Farraige. A cool and gentle breeze constantly blew in from the sea whose vast and endless waters were broken only by a few small and rocky islands some distance from the shore. Beyond those uninhabited bits of land, Muriel knew, no boat had ever ventured. They were truly standing at the edge of the world.
Waiting for them in the grass beside the mountain of wood was Brendan, his dark blue cloak blowing wide in the breeze over his gray tunic and black trousers and boots. Next to him was Loman, the druid who would read the marriage contract.
Close by was King Galvin, leaning on the arm of one of his warriors, along with Brendan’s older brother, Colum, and a crowd of warriors and druids and their ladies.
Brendan reached for Muriel’s hand, and she offered it at once, feeling both peace and excitement at the same time as his fingers closed strong and sure over hers…but just as she took the first step with him toward the waiting druid, the heavy golden brooch at her shoulder—the dolphin brooch that Brendan had given her—pulled free of the soft gray linen mantle and dropped with a thud to the damp, grass-covered earth at her feet.
She released Brendan’s hand and caught at her mantle before the wind could blow it from her shoulders. Alvy hurried to pick up the half-buried brooch and wipe the little clots of mud from it with the hem of her own skirt. The gathering waited patiently while the old woman refolded Muriel’s gray linen mantle and forced the sharp pin of the brooch into and through the fabric, fastening it again as securely as she could and turning the brooch so that the pin could not slip again.
At last Muriel turned back to Brendan with a brave smile, and he reached for her hand once more. Together they turned to the druid Loman, who nodded to each of them and then proceeded to begin reciting the contract of marriage.
“This day we find standing before us Muriel, a lady of Dun Farraige, and Brendan, tanist of—”
Just as the druid spoke the word tanist Brendan flinched and slapped at his neck, just below the gold torque that was a symbol of his rank. As Muriel looked up at him, she saw a crushed honeybee roll off his shoulder and drop away. A red welt quickly appeared where the insect had stung him, and Brendan shifted the heavy torque in obvious discomfort.
He took a deep breath and turned back to Loman. “Please. Continue.”
The druid glanced from one of them to the other, cleared his throat, and picked up his recitation. “Here before us is Muriel, a lady of Dun Farraige, and Brendan, the tanist of Dun Bochna.” He watched the two of them carefully for a moment, and when all remained quiet he went on.
“She has brought with her the following of her own property: five milk cows, eleven heifers, one bay mare, three bronze cauldrons, and…and…”
Now it was the wedding party’s turn to stare in amazement at him. Loman stammered for a few moments and tried to continue, but his mind had simply gone empty. He could remember nothing of what he was supposed to say.
After a few moments of paralyzing silence, Brendan turned to Bercan. “Please—would you assist him with the recitation of the contract?”
Glancing from Brendan to the strangely mute druid at the fore, then back again, Bercan stepped up to stand beside his peer. Haltingly he picked up where Loman had left off, watching and waiting for him to step in and continue once more, but the man remained silent, his face red with humiliation, and so Bercan went on and finished listing the terms of the contract as quickly as he could.
At last it was over. The property of each of the two was accounted for, and Muriel’s bride contract deemed acceptable by the king of Dun Farraige and by her family—meaning her two sisters and their husbands.
Feeling as though she could breathe again, Muriel walked with Brendan and the others back toward the gates of Dun Bochna. She brushed the remaining bits of mud from her shining brooch and glanced up at the stinging red welt beneath Brendan’s golden torque.
“Does it hurt?” she whispered to him.
“Does what hurt?”
“The sting. It looks angry.”
“That is the last thing I am thinking of right now,” he said, smiling down at her. He stopped just in front of the open gates to the dun. “I am looking at my wife…my queen…my lovely Muriel. I may never think of anything else again.”
She looked up at him, standing on the threshold of her new life, thinking of how strange it was to feel both the greatest joy and painful doubt all at once—joy that Brendan was now her husband, and a nagging doubt that she might not have truly done the right thing by becoming his wife.
Together they turned and walked across the boundary separating the outside of the dun from the inside, but as they stepped over, Muriel felt as though the earth itself had suddenly clamped itself to her foot. She fell down hard across the entrance, her hand ripped from Brendan’s grasp as she fell.
In an instant he had lifted her to her feet. “Muriel! Are you hurt?” The others gathered close to see what had happened, and she could hear the steady murmur of “Are you hurt? What has happened?” from all around her.
She reached down and shook out her skirts, trying to get the grass and dirt out of them even as Brendan continued to hold her in a tight grip. “I am fine. Really, I’m fine,” she said, taking a deep breath as Brendan eased his hold. “And I am so sorry. Please, let’s all of us go inside.”
He looked closely at her, gently running his hands over her arms and face and satisfying himself that no harm was done; and then he took her hand. The crowd of people made way for them as they walked to the King’s Hall, where the wedding feast awaited them.
The wedding celebration began, and at first it was all that Muriel had always hoped it might be. She was surrounded by crowds of happy, laughing, colorfully dressed people sitting on furs and cushions along the boards, with the last of the summer sunlight filtering in through the high thatched roof and open windows.
Musicians played on harps and drums and wooden flutes, and endless amounts of the finest food and blackberry wine were brought out. She and her new husband were the honored and beloved guests at this lively party where everyone ate and drank and shouted and laughed, and wished them all the best…and then Muriel looked down to see that her sleeve was on fire.
She jerked back her arm. Brendan grabbed it, slapping out the flames with his bare hands as Muriel stared in shock. Holding up her hand, she looked at the scorched and tattered remnants of the sleeve of her gown—the beautiful purple linen gown that she had made herself for this day of her wedding to Brendan. He pulled back the sleeve to her elbow, examining the skin and running his fingers over it, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw she was uninjured.
Again he held her, trying to steady her even as her heart pounded and her hands trembled with shock. He clasped her fingers tightly. “I am so sorry about your gown—but am very glad that you are not hurt. There will be many other gowns. I will see that you have all you could ever wish for.”
She could only stare back at him, realizing that he did not understand this the way she did.
Leaning close to whisper into her ear his soft golden brown hair brushing her lips, he finished, “Though perhaps on this night you will need no gown at all.”
Muriel drew back, looking away from his blue and brown eyes as her heart began racing again.
“Brendan,” she said, reaching for her cup of honey wine. “Did you not see what happened out at the hilltop today, when we stood before the druids? When we walked through the gates? When I sat here beside you at our wedding table? First a honeybee stings you from the air; then I fall hard to the earth; then my gown goes up in fire.” She shook her head and took a long drin
k of the wine. “Too many things,” she said. “They are a warning. Too many things—”
“Muriel,” he said gently, “please do not worry. Such things happen at any ceremony. Now, look here. Look at this. Look at what is real.” He placed his hands on top of her own, then leaned down to kiss her on the lips. She felt a thrill go through her. “Even after a few small catastrophes on our wedding day, we are here together, are we not? That is real. That is what matters.
“We have been through far worse together. Nothing was able to keep me from finding you—not your own king and his men, not an evil man like Odhran, not even the sea itself. Kiss me, dear wife, and let me kiss you in return, and tell me you will not think of these things again.”
She closed her eyes and kissed her husband, and she had to smile. “I am sorry. I cannot bear the thought of anything going wrong, of anything coming between us.” She felt silly at having worried.
He kissed her again. “Nothing will ever come between us. I promise you that. I will wait while you finish your wine, and then I will take you to the home that is now yours.”
“The home that is now ours,” she corrected, smiling again. Then she drank the honey wine from her cup until there was none left.
Chapter Ten
The feast went on, and there were no more mishaps. As usual, most of the women eventually gathered near the central firepit to talk and gossip and laugh, while the men stayed at the boards to finish their beer and blackberry wine. The merriment ended only when King Galvin got up from his cushion, helped to his feet by two of his men.
“Good night to you, Brendan and Muriel,” said the king. As they quickly stood up, he moved slowly on trembling legs to stand before his son’s wife.
“A more beautiful daughter I could never wish for,” he said in a voice whispery with age. “And a finer queen Dun Bochna could never want.” With great care he reached out and kissed her on the cheek.
Turning to Brendan, the man rested a hand on his son’s shoulder and smiled. “You have a beautiful bride. See that you always take care of her.”