Another disturbance at the entry, and in come Lord Cathra and Master Brondus, walking rather more quickly than is their usual mode. There’s another druid with them, a dark-haired man dressed in a cream robe like Marcán’s. Rodan’s attention is caught; he hesitates. Then, without anyone appearing to give any orders, Brondus is beside the crown prince and politely ushering him over toward our side of the circle. Beyond them, I see all the novices making a rapid departure from the ritual ground, accompanied by the dark-haired druid. Just before they move out of sight, this man turns back for a moment and directs a withering look at Cathra. Then they’re gone. This has happened with remarkable speed. We’re all standing there with our mouths open, watching. Master Brondus, along with the red-faced prince and the bodyguard, is only a couple of strides away from us. Rodan has stopped shouting now that the object of his anger is gone, but he’s not sensible enough to hold his tongue.
‘Why was he allowed to come here? He has no part to play in this!’
‘My lord,’ murmurs Brondus, ‘we will discuss this back at the keep. Too many ears.’ He glances in our direction.
Rodan blusters on about plots and secrets and the truth being kept from him, while Brondus and the regent try to shut him up and calm him down. As for us underlings, we’re moving on with the ladder, unrolling another banner, doing our best to look as if we can’t hear a thing. But my thoughts are whirling. Because
in that moment when Rodan and the tall novice faced each other, that moment when one smiled and the other scowled, when one bowed politely and the other lifted his chin and glared, I saw the resemblance between them. Never mind that one radiates peace and light, and the other is all storms and fury. Never mind that one has a lean build and a scholarly look, and the other is thickset and muscular. In that moment, I saw that they could be brothers.
29
Liobhan
I’m up in the oak with Aislinn, and something interesting is unfolding further along the wall, in a cleared area between fortress wall and forest edge. Something with banners. Something that involves ladders and ropes and a lot of folk working, including one with bright golden hair – I hope the mute stablehand is not proving too competent out there.
‘Is he finished?’ asks Aislinn. ‘Can I see?’
I bring my attention back to the bag I’ve brought with me. The doll has taken longer to make than I expected, as Aislinn had very firm ideas about how it should look. Thus far I’ve failed to obey Archu’s instructions to stay away from her; she needs a friend. But the doll is almost done now. I open the bag and bring him out. ‘All finished except for the hair. What do you think?’
Aislinn is torn. She wants to hold my rather odd-looking creation, that’s clear, but she doesn’t want to put Cliodhna down.
‘May I take Cliodhna for a while? Or wouldn’t she like that?’
Aislinn passes the toy over without a word, and I give her the doll. She was insistent that it should be a boy, and that the clothing should be a long robe, and that I make the belt out of plaited string. She wanted to help with that, and I had to say no. I’ve done the face, with brown eyes as she requested, and the mouth she asked for: smiling a bit, but not too much. What with the grey-blue colour of the garment, the doll has a slightly druidic look.
‘He looks nice.’ Aislinn is inspecting every part of my work. I almost expect her to comment on how uneven my stitches are, but it seems they meet her exacting standards. ‘Can you do the hair today?’
‘I do have some brown wool. But I’ll need to find out how to sew it on firmly. That’s so he won’t go bald when he climbs trees and runs about with you.’
‘Can I see the wool?’
I fish the skein out and pass it to her. While she’s holding it up against the doll’s head to check if it’s perfect, my attention is caught again by new activity in that cleared area where I saw Dau and the others. There are druids down there, mingling with the ordinary folk. Doesn’t that break the rules? I thought only the most senior of the brethren were allowed out of the nemetons. Brocc said the novices wore blue. I think that’s Brother Marcán down there, and he’s got several blue-clad men around him, as well as one or two in green. This can only be preparation for the ritual. It’s interesting that they’re holding it outside the wall.
Aislinn has seen what I’m looking at. Now her gaze is fixed on the distant figures. Her whole body is tense.
‘I suppose that’s where your brother will be crowned,’ I say. ‘They’re getting everything ready. Banners and so on.’ That platform must be for the druid musicians. And the Harp of Kings. I feel suddenly sick. ‘Aislinn?’
No response. She’s watching the ritual area so intently that she hasn’t heard me. I wait a while, and when she makes no move, I start to get concerned. ‘Would you like another whistle lesson? Maybe later today?’
Oh. Now she’s sad again, shoulders drooping, head bowed. She murmurs something, but I can’t catch the words.
‘What was that?’
‘I’m not allowed to practise any more. Máire said it’s too loud, and he said it’s ina– inap-something.’
‘Inappropriate?’
‘He said ladies don’t play the whistle.’
‘Who is he?’
‘My . . . my brother.’ Her voice has shrunk to almost nothing. I should take care not to speak so fiercely, even if that’s the way I feel. ‘He said if he heard me again he would break it. The whistle.’
‘You mean Prince Rodan?’
Aislinn nods, mute.
‘Aislinn, is your brother unkind to you? Does he get angry?’
She’s off down the tree without a word. I follow more slowly, cursing myself for pushing too hard. Even if she answered yes, what could I do about it? This whole thing is turning into a disaster. Midsummer Day is so, so close, and I feel like we’re all teetering on the edge of catastrophe.
Aislinn hasn’t run away from me. She’s at the hollow part way down the tree, and when I get there she’s putting her special box back in.
‘Here,’ she says, and holds out a thick lock of wavy oak-brown hair. At first I don’t understand. Then I look at her more closely and see the ragged ends where she’s just hacked the hair off, right in front. There’ll be no way of hiding this from Máire. Does Aislinn keep a knife in her special box? I’m still trying to find words when someone calls from down below.
‘Aislinn! Where are you?’ It’s not Máire’s voice, but the clear tone of a child.
‘It’s Brion!’ exclaims Aislinn. Suddenly her eyes are bright, and there’s a smile on her face. It’s as if the sun has emerged from sombre clouds. ‘I have to go!’ She thrusts the doll and the lock of hair into my hands, grabs Cliodhna and is away down the tree. I’m stunned by the change in her. I have no idea who Brion may be, but his arrival has brought back the happy Aislinn of that whistle-playing afternoon. I should stay where I am; Brondus told me to keep out of sight. But I need to see this.
I stow the doll in my bag. I coil the lock of hair and tie it up with some of the embroidery wool. I have the strangest feeling about this, a feeling that has nothing to do with logic or common sense. I just know I have to use Aislinn’s hair for the doll, even if that gets both me and her in trouble.
By the time I reach ground level, she and her companion are sitting side by side on the dry-stone wall around the horse field, talking in a manner that suggests they know each other well. Brion is a boy a few years older than Aislinn, fair-haired, and dressed like a nobleman’s son. They’re not alone in the field; a little further up the rise, three very fine-looking horses are grazing, and beside them stand Lord Tassach, a woman I think is his wife, and his adviser, Padraig, one of the men who danced with me on the night of my apology. I glance again at Brion and guess that he must be Tassach’s son. And there’s another boy, younger, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the wall; I didn’t see him earlier.
They’ve seen me, and I can’t avoid a brief conversation as I pass.
‘Good day, Mistress Ciara.’
‘Good day to you, Master Padraig. I was keeping Aislinn company.’
Master Padraig smiles. He’s quite young for an adviser, no more than about five-and-twenty, and his manner is courteous, as it was when we danced. ‘With your leave, I will introduce you to Lord Tassach and Lady Eithne.’
I don’t ask why he would want to do such a thing. Tassach offers a disarming smile. Lady Eithne gives me a good look-over.
Padraig introduces me, I drop a curtsy, and Tassach tells me not to stand on ceremony. ‘I look on this as a welcome escape,’ he says. ‘Out here in the fields I’m not a chieftain. I’m father to Brion and Tadhg, I’m a farmer who loves horses, I’m Padraig’s friend. You’d be surprised how highly I value that, Mistress Ciara.’
He actually means it, I’d hear it in his voice even if I hadn’t already learned that he’s a family man with no desire to become king in his own right. ‘I’m not very surprised, Lord Tassach. I imagine a chieftaincy comes with burdens as well as privileges.’
His eyes widen a little. ‘Very true. Which would you expect to dominate, the former or the latter?’
I’m startled by this question and for a moment I forget who I’m supposed to be. ‘What is this, a test?’ I ask.
‘Why would I test you?’ Tassach’s tone is mild.
‘I can’t imagine, my lord. But in fact, I think the balance of burdens and privileges would depend very much on the character and abilities of an individual chieftain. To weigh them correctly and to deal with them appropriately would be to perform the role well. It would be the same, I suppose, for any leader. An abbess. A chief druid. A bishop. A king.’ I clench my fists and order myself to stop talking. Ciara would have blushed at his first question and professed ignorance on the subject.
Tassach and his wife exchange looks. Can they be suspicious of my purpose at court? Do they know something about the harp? Are those lies about Tassach not wanting to be king, and is he in fact planning to make a last-moment claim?
Tassach nods to Padraig, who goes off to seat himself on the wall by the children. ‘Young Aislinn speaks favourably of you,’ says the chieftain. ‘I think you have been a friend to her.’
It’s the opening I wanted, an opportunity to tell someone about Rodan’s behaviour, and Máire’s situation, and Aislinn being neglected, possibly mistreated. But I don’t know these people. I don’t know what they really want. And I’m only a travelling musician.
‘I’m not here for long, only until midsummer. Aislinn seems lonely. We played music together a bit, and some games. I wish I had more time to spend with her.’ I can’t mention the fostering arrangement, since I learned of that from Cathra. But I can pass on what Aislinn herself told me. ‘She mentioned something about going to stay with you.’
Tassach and his wife exchange another look. ‘That was our plan,’ Lady Eithne says. ‘A fostering arrangement, since Aislinn has lost both parents. You see how easy the three of them are together.’ The children are sitting on the grass now with their backs to the wall, and Padraig nearby. Cliodhna is seated between Aislinn and Brion, staring out over the field with her uncannily real-looking woollen eyes. A shiver runs through me. ‘Sadly,’ Eithne goes on, ‘Lord Cathra has so far refused to consider the idea. Then there’s Aislinn herself. We’d love to have her at Glendarragh, and I’m sure she would be happy there, but any suggestion that she might come to us for the long-term sends her into floods of tears. Still, we’ll keep trying.’
‘Maybe she’d talk to you, Ciara,’ says Tassach. ‘We’ve heard a great deal already about your whistle playing and your singing and how well you climb trees. Nearly as good as me, I think that was the way she put it. She trusts you.’
‘I would help you if I could. But . . . my position is awkward. I’ve offended the prince; that is more or less public knowledge. And I’ve been told to keep out of folk’s way. That would include Aislinn, I imagine.’
Tassach just looks at me, brows up.
‘I don’t know why she wouldn’t want to come to your household and I can’t ask her that outright. But I know she’s often unhappy or frightened. And lonely. I think perhaps a girl child, even in a noble household, may . . . fall through the cracks. Be almost forgotten. And I think such a child, small and fearful, may fall victim to . . . to those who would neglect her, and to those who would hurt her.’
‘Go on,’ says Tassach quietly.
‘Aislinn tries to be brave, but sometimes she can’t. There are certain matters she won’t speak about, because she’s been ordered not to, or perhaps threatened with punishment if she does. She . . . she did give me the name of a certain person who has been unkind to her and has . . . has perhaps acted in an inappropriate manner toward her nursemaid. But – my lord, I can’t pass on that name without finding myself in very serious trouble. Besides, I know Aislinn offered it in confidence, expecting me to keep it to myself. I want to help her. But all I’ve been able to offer is my friendship, and even that has made difficulties for her.’
‘She played us a tune on the whistle,’ Tassach says with a smile. ‘My boys asked her if you could teach them as well, and Aislinn told them it was very difficult to learn and that you only teach girls.’
I return the smile. ‘We’ll be back on the road after Midsummer Day, so I won’t have time to teach anyone. But I’m glad Aislinn got some pleasure from it. It’s just a matter of seeing her as a real person, a child who will all too soon grow up and live her own life, and making sure she can be safe and happy and able to learn while she does so. That shouldn’t be so hard.’ Gods, I’ve done it again. Forgotten that I’m Ciara.
‘Well spoken,’ says Tassach. ‘A pity you are moving on so soon. The child needs friends and protectors. Folk to help her learn and folk to keep her safe.’
I want much more than that for her. I want her to be able to live her life by her own rules. To be free to wed or not, as she pleases. To ride and fight and sail ships and have adventures. To read and write and sing and wander in the woods. To dream. To fly. ‘Yes, my lord,’ I say, glancing at the children again.
With Aislinn’s assistance, Cliodhna is giving instructions by waving her arms and nodding her head. Brion, his young brother and a suspiciously grave-looking Padraig are obeying. They’re adding stones one at a time to a small and somewhat wobbly structure. When it topples and crashes down, Cliodhna puts her cloth hands over her embroidered eyes in horror. The boys burst out laughing. Aislinn likes this family. She trusts them. Why would she be so reluctant to leave court when Tassach can offer a home, an education, other children to play with and, above all, safety? What can be holding her here?
‘I hope the regent can be persuaded to change his mind,’ I say. ‘Excuse me, I must go now.’ I dip another awkward curtsy, give Aislinn a little wave, then take myself off as quickly as I can. I’m starting to get a strange feeling and I don’t like it. Tassach and Rodan may be kin, but this man is not like Rodan. Tassach is clever, he’s subtle, he’s observant. If he or his wife suspect I’m not what I seem, then I’m in real trouble and so is the mission. I’ve got to do better at being invisible. Only a few days to go and I’ll be on my way to fetch my brother home. Only a few days and this will all be over.
30
Brocc
I write, I sing, I play, I sleep. The small folk bring me food and drink and I consume it. I have lost a sense of time. Days and nights pass, and I do not know how long it is until Midsummer Eve, only that it draws ever closer.
I am fulfilling my tasks. The grand song Eirne needs for her people is nearly done. I have sung parts of it to her, in the privacy of my little house, and she seems well pleased. There is still work to do on the harp part, to make sure it perfectly complements melody and words. This place is beautiful. It is peaceful. The days are full of sunshine and birdsong
, the dappled light of forest glades and the gentle murmuring of streams. The nights are quiet, the only voices those of owls and other night birds about their business. But always, always in my mind I hear the harsh cawing of the Crow Folk and the slow movement of their wings, and I see a tiny broken body in a pool of blood. True’s big arms cradling the little one; Eirne’s folk weeping. And myself, singing or chanting or whatever it was, setting free something within me that had been hidden since the day I was born. Whatever that was, it scares me. I do not want to do it again. But if Eirne spoke truly, perhaps I will have to. For me, perhaps that is what it means to be a warrior.
I think of Liobhan often. My steadfast sister. What human woman in her right mind would want a brother with such wild magic stirring in him? When I confronted the Crow Folk, that part of me came through the human part like a wildfire through a tinder-dry field. It was a consuming force. How can I live my life in the human world if that might burst forth at any time? Perhaps my fey blood lets me sing a little better, play a little more nimbly, capture my audience’s ears a little more easily. I could still be a bard in that world. But how can I marry, become a father, take responsibility for a family? How can I live the life of a man when I have this thing within me? How can I ever go home?
I hear Liobhan’s voice in my mind, clear as day. But we’re not going home. We’re going back to Swan Island. You can’t have forgotten.
Just as well she is not here. Because I want to go home. I want to go home to Winterfalls, to my mother and father and Galen, to the familiar places, to Dalriada, where there is a king who understands the uncanny and who rules by principles of wisdom and justice. A king who practises mercy. My heart aches for home. But I cannot go. Not only because of Liobhan and the mission and Swan Island. But because Eirne needs me. Her folk need me. If I have understood her correctly, their survival depends on this song.
Harp of Kings Page 31
