‘A sure way to have half the household rapping on the door wondering what we’re up to and reaching all the wrong conclusions. Just as well I can’t take you up on the offer.’
‘Feeling any better?’ Dau is diffident now. ‘I’ll go if you want.’
‘You can stay a bit.’ I do feel better. Until I think about the other problem. ‘Dau?’
‘Mm?’
‘I’m worried about Brocc. Really worried. I have no idea why he’d go off like that, without telling me.’
‘Might the druids know where he was going?’
‘Maybe. But I can’t ask them.’
‘I certainly can’t ask them. Can’t it wait until Archu gets back? Or Illann?’
‘I don’t know if it can. This is not like him at all. Why would he go up to the forest?’
‘Looking for a clue? Following a lead? Doing something he knows you’d disapprove of?’
I squeeze my eyes shut in the darkness, wishing I hadn’t heard that. Wishing it didn’t chime with the fear that’s knotting my stomach. ‘He could be. But overnight, without letting anyone know?’
‘Hasn’t he said anything that might suggest what he’s up to? He’s been going to the nemetons for a long while now. No information for Archu? Nothing that seems to have got Brocc thinking?’
‘Brocc’s always thinking.’ I imagine my brother working on a verse as he walks, or tuning his harp, his dark head bent over the strings, or standing in the fields gazing into the distance. ‘His head is full of stories. Even while he’s fighting, there’s some grand tale of valour inventing itself in his mind.’
This time the silence stretches out longer, until I say, ‘Dau? Are you still awake?’
‘Since I’m standing precariously on some old crates and an upturned bucket, it’s just as well the answer is yes. Liobhan, there’s a storyteller who lives just off the Crow Way. She helped me after I was thrown from my horse on the way here. She was . . . odd. Very odd. She seemed to know things without being told. And since she knew stories, I thought . . .?’
I feel sick. He’s right, I’m sure of it. That’s where Brocc must have gone. In my mind is the story of the Harp of Kings, told to Brocc by Faelan, later passed on to both me and Archu. That tale tells of portals to the Otherworld, possibly situated not so very far from here. If the harp was protected by druidic magic, then a druid could reverse the charm and take it away for some reason of his own. We’ve considered that possibility, or that a druid might have got the harp out of the nemetons on behalf of someone with political motives. We didn’t consider that a being from the Otherworld might have whisked the instrument away. Such folk are adept at spells and charms. And one of the rules of visiting the Otherworld is that you don’t take iron with you, because it’s a bane to uncanny folk. ‘Oh, shit,’ I say.
‘Such eloquence,’ observes Dau.
‘Tell me more about what happened to you up there. Archu didn’t pass on much.’
‘I kept most of it to myself; it felt too odd to share. A bird flew past me, very close. One of the giant crows folk are talking about. My mare threw me and I was injured. The mare bolted, Illann had to go back for her. The old woman took me in. Gave me a potion to make me sleep. There was a dog . . .’ His voice trails away.
‘Tell me some more,’ I whisper. ‘What were you saying before, about her knowing things she shouldn’t know?’
‘When Illann came back next morning, all I told him was that she fed me a draught and gave me a bed for the night. Only . . . well, it was more. The strangest dreams I’ve ever had. The whole place was weird. Bones and feathers and things hanging all around. And . . . the sense that she knew me. Knew all about me.’ He takes an audible breath. ‘When I woke the next morning, the pain was completely gone. As if I hadn’t fallen off my horse and got bruises all over. I couldn’t make any sense of it.’
‘I wish I’d known this earlier. Going there is just the sort of thing Brocc would do. Only he’d be back by now unless . . .’ I can’t say it. Unless he’s gone on to find a portal to the Otherworld. Dau would laugh with scorn.
‘The house isn’t visible from the road,’ he says. ‘Perhaps Brocc walked on and missed it. I wouldn’t have found the place, or the woman, if her dog hadn’t come out and fetched me, more or less.’
His tone changes, softens, when he speaks of the dog. A chink in his armour? ‘What kind of dog?’ I ask.
‘What does that matter?’
‘It might, if I have to go looking for my brother.’
‘Morrigan’s curse, Liobhan, are you crazy?’
‘Shh. Keep your voice down.’
‘She was like a wolf. Tall, grey, shaggy. With amber eyes. Her name was Storm. Liobhan, you can’t go off after him.’
‘He’s my brother. I can do as I like.’
‘You forget the minor fact that you’re in the lockup waiting to appear before a council. You’ve no choice about that. Archu may be back by the time that’s over. Brocc too, with any luck. Even if they aren’t, and even if the council amounts to nothing, you need to stay here and play your part. Or have you forgotten about the mission?’
The urge to hit him is strong. So is the feeling that I may cry again and shame myself utterly. It feels unsafe to speak, so I hold my tongue.
‘Just imagine Archu getting back to find both you and Brocc gone. That, on top of you nearly killing the heir to the throne. Though I could wish you’d done a more thorough job of that.’
‘Don’t joke about it!’ My whisper is furious. ‘Anyway, you were the one who told me about the storyteller. What did you expect me to do? To say, Oh, thanks, everything’s fine now? There’s more to this than you know, Dau. A danger that goes far beyond this court and this king.’
‘Meaning what, exactly?’
I long to tell someone why it’s so vital that I find my brother soon; to share something of our true story, and why Brocc will be in particular danger if he does find one of those portals. But I can’t tell Dau. He’s been a friend tonight, and I’m both astonished and grateful for that. But he’s all too ready to mock what doesn’t fit into his vision of how the world should be. One night under a wise woman’s roof won’t have shifted his thinking far enough to accept the uncanny. ‘Reasons. To do with the past. Not something I can share with you.’
Dau has nothing to say for a long time. Then he whispers, ‘I should go.’ But he doesn’t move. ‘I hope the council goes well for you,’ he says. ‘Hold yourself tall. Tell the truth. Don’t show you’re angry.’
‘Pretend I’m a lawman,’ I say. ‘I’ll try, even if I’m longing to punch a certain person in the face.’
‘I hope Archu will be back before it begins. If not, be strong, and don’t forget you’re Ciara. Not for an instant. Liobhan –’
‘Don’t say it. I’m not making any promises about Brocc or about anything at all. Just try to be open-minded about this. Now you’d better go. And . . . thanks.’
Dau whispers something I don’t understand, and is gone.
Being a musician can be useful. Most of the guards know me. Most of them have sung along with the choruses or danced to the lively measures of ‘Artagan’s Leap’ when we’ve played for
the household. This bond earns me an excellent breakfast, brought to the door on a tray and eaten not in my cell but out in the hallway, chatting to the man on duty. I find out that Rodan has survived the night and that the hearing will be on as soon as everything is ready. I explain that after sleeping in my clothes, I need to wash and change before the hearing, but my things are in the women’s quarters. Also, I need to use the privy.
My guards break the rules again. I’m sure they were supposed to keep me locked up. But one of them escorts me to the women’s quarters and waits while I go in and get changed. As I dress in fresh smallclothes, my plain gown and a shawl, I get some odd looks from other women passing through.
One or two of them murmur ‘Good morning.’ I put on clean stockings and my walking shoes. Some of the other women have fetched a bowl of water for washing, so I splash my face and hands. I brush and plait my hair. I pack a small bag with items that may come in useful if I get the chance to go after Brocc, and I stow it under the pallet. I wish I could leave a message in the practice room for Archu, but if they keep me in the lockup he’ll find out soon enough, and if they don’t, Dau will tell him where I’ve gone and why.
It’s a perfect day for walking, fine and cool with a slight breeze. Outside the women’s quarters there’s dew on the grass. Let me not have to spend this beautiful day locked up for something that was not my fault, while Brocc remains lost and most likely in trouble. Let me not be the object of Archu’s disappointment when he returns. A Swan Island warrior does not say, It wasn’t my fault or I couldn’t help it. A Swan Island warrior gets things right the first time.
My guard takes me back to the lockup, waits while I use the nearby privy, then opens the cell door so I can go back in. ‘They’ll come for you when it’s time,’ he says. ‘Sorry business.’
I agree with him, but I don’t say so, simply nod my head and look down at the floor.
‘I’ll be out here. I won’t lock the door. I don’t imagine you’re planning to make a run for it.’
I could laugh at that. He’s big and sturdy, but I could take him down easily. I’d like to, even though he’s been kind. I’d like to
dash down to the oak tree, climb up and . . . what? Fly like a bird? The problem’s too tricky for a solution like that, even supposing I could work magic.
We wait quite a long time, the guard in the hallway and me sitting on the shelf bed, trying not to think what my brother might be doing up there in the forest. At last another guard comes in and says, ‘Follow me, please. You’re required in Lord Cathra’s council chamber.’
We walk along the maze of passageways in the keep to the same chamber where Archu, Brocc and I met Lord Cathra soon after our arrival at court. The regent is not there now, and nor is Master Brondus. Instead, the dark-bearded councillor from last night is standing behind the long table with his hands resting on it. From the moment I come through the doorway his gaze is on me. A scribe sits at a desk in the corner. The room is hung with tapestries, and there’s a small hearth but no fire. Candles in elaborate holders burn at either end of the table.
Having done the job of delivering me to my fate, whatever it’s going to be, the guard leaves the room. I stand there, back straight and shoulders square, waiting.
The councillor doesn’t move. His gaze doesn’t waver.
Don’t show you’re angry. ‘May I speak, please?’
He stares for a while longer. ‘The council is not in session at this moment, girl.’
Deep breath. ‘I wanted to ask about Prince Rodan. How is he this morning?’
‘The prince is recovering, thanks to the expert attentions of the royal physician. You should be glad of that. The penalty for unlawful killing is grave indeed.’
I count to five before I speak. ‘Yes, that is what I would expect. So what exactly am I being charged with? Last night I was given no opportunity to explain.’
The councillor’s mouth tightens further. ‘You will be charged with assault on the prince’s person, causing significant injury. Also trespassing with intent to steal.’
‘That’s ridiculous! I didn’t do anything of the sort!’ The words are out before I can stop them; words Ciara would not utter. My voice rings around the chamber, bold and accusatory. ‘I’m sorry,’ I add in a quieter tone, hating myself for it.
‘Lord Cathra’s lawman is without peer,’ the councillor says. ‘This will be determined with justice and fairness. You would do well to govern your temper when we are in session, young woman. Such outbursts can only add weight to the argument that you are impetuous, and therefore likely to commit sudden acts of violence.’
I bow my head, hoping I look contrite. I think of asking whether they should wait until my uncle is back at court, but do not. ‘May I sit down, please? I feel rather faint.’
He waves a hand toward the bench, looking irritated. Angry, I suspect, not only because of what he believes I’ve done, but also because the prince has got himself in trouble so very close to his coronation. The casual entitlement with which Rodan treated me, added to my new knowledge of Máire’s plight, suggests this was probably not the only episode of its kind. It’s possible that the regent and his councillors are sick of cleaning up after him. But that’s no excuse for this man trying to intimidate me. If I really were Ciara I’d be shaking in my shoes. As it is, I’m drenched in nervous sweat and longing to be somewhere else. I sit on the bench, shoulders bowed, eyes on the tabletop, and try to do what Brocc might do under the same circumstances, which is make up tunes in my mind. Something Aislinn will be able to play with the notes she’s learned so far – maybe a to-and-fro melody the two of us can play together . . . Oh gods, why can’t they hurry up? When will this be over?
At last the door opens and a serving man comes in, followed by Lord Cathra and Master Brondus. Then Rodan, looking very white, with Garbh alongside, holding the prince’s arm in support. I wonder if Rodan has learned a lesson and will accept the truth. I wonder if his headache is bad enough to keep him quiet for once. Then he looks across at me and I see the fury in his eyes. Garbh helps him sit down at the end of the long table, and stations himself behind.
Last to enter the room are a person in a long brown robe, whom I assume to be the lawman, and a guard, who closes the door and stations himself in front of it. I stand up again.
‘Be seated,’ Brondus says, but I wait for all of them to sit down at the table before I do. ‘Ready, my lord?’
‘Let us commence, by all means.’ The regent looks as if he hasn’t slept. I thought him weary and burdened the first time we encountered him in this chamber, and now he looks worse. ‘Will you set out the matter of this hearing, Master Niall?’
As the lawman rises to his feet, I absorb the fact that nobody has addressed me by my name; nor has Black-beard told me his. I suspect it’s another tactic designed to make an accused person feel worthless. Can it be that even though both Cathra and Brondus know my true purpose at court, they also believe I’ve deliberately harmed the heir to the throne?
‘Young woman, the prince sustained a serious injury last night,’ says Master Niall. ‘As you were the only other person present when this occurred, this enquiry is necessary to look into the circumstances and determine what charges, if any, should be laid.’
Ah. So Black-beard was wrong. The charges haven’t been determined yet. ‘I understand, Master Niall. And I am glad to have the chance to give my side of the story, since I was prevented –’
‘Enough!’ barks Black-beard. ‘You were not asked to speak.’
I will my breathing to stay steady; I order my heart to beat more slowly. I clench my fists, then relax them. I do not say sorry.
‘We will hear the prince’s statement first,’ says the lawman calmly, ‘since his poor state of health may mean he wishes to leave us early. Will you do that now, Prince Rodan? You may remain seated.’
I’d like to stare at Rodan while he speaks. I’d like him to know I’m not afraid. But Dau was right; if I want to be set free, I have to be Ciara while I’m here, and Ciara wouldn’t challenge the bastard in any way.
‘I’d gone out for some fresh air,’ Rodan says. He sounds unusually calm. Someone has given him good advice. ‘The door to the men’s quarters was open and I spotted this girl inside, ferreting through people’s belongings. I knew who she was. Everyone does. She’s . . . somewhat eye-catching. And she’s not a member of this household, which made her being in there even more suspicious.
I asked her to explain herself. Instead of answering, she turned on me like a fury, hissing and spitting.’
The godsforsaken l
ying piece of scum! I bet he’s spent all night embroidering his story. Or someone’s concocted it with him.
I glance up at Garbh, but he’s stony-faced, gazing at the opposite wall. Any trace of sympathy I might have felt over Rodan’s sore head is gone. I clench my teeth to keep myself quiet.
‘I attempted to apprehend the girl. She caught me off balance and caused me to fall. I remember nothing after that, but it seems I struck my head on the wooden support of a pallet and was rendered unconscious.’ A pause; perhaps he’s looking at me, but I don’t look back. ‘I could have been killed,’ Rodan says.
A plea for sympathy. He won’t be getting any from me. His story is laughable. But when I glance up at Master Niall, the expression on his face is sombre. It’s matched by Black-beard’s grim look. Cathra just looks tired; Brondus has a little frown between his brows that might mean anything.
‘Let us hear your version of events, Ciara.’ It seems that as senior councillor, Master Brondus has the authority to assist the lawman. For that I’m grateful; of them all, Brondus seems to me the most likely to take me seriously. Also, he knows why I’m at court. ‘Unfortunately we could not delay this hearing until your uncle could be present. I gather he will return to court later today.’
How does he know that? Did Archu tell him he was going to seek information in Tassach’s community? ‘I believe so, Master Brondus. Should I speak now?’
‘Go ahead.’
Aware of the scribe poised with quill in hand to set down every word I utter, I think of Dau’s courage in the face of that beating in the stable yard and lift my chin. ‘After I finished supper last night, I went to the men’s quarters to look for a whistle I had lent to Donal, our harpist. We have a new piece to learn, one that Donal wrote, and we want to have it ready next time we play for Lord Cathra’s guests. I was looking on Donal’s shelf when Prince Rodan came in.’ The next bit is hardest; I can’t look at Master Niall or Black-beard while I say it. I fix my gaze on a tapestry behind Lord Cathra: an image of noblemen riding, with hawks on their fists, and three white dogs running beside the horses. ‘The prince accused me of stealing, that is true. I told him what I just told you, about the whistle, and he didn’t believe me. He . . . he said he would report me to the authorities unless I gave him what he wanted. It seems Prince Rodan believes he can take advantage of a low-born woman under such circumstances.’
Harp of Kings Page 18
