by Jules Watson
Aedan’s face fell, and he sighed and drew his fingers over his harp. ‘I am sorry to report, lady, that when Urben’s warriors came, only one of the nobles put up a real resistance.’ His throat moved as he swallowed. ‘We were all here in the hall, eating. Talorc swept up his sword and ran at Urben … and was cut down by his men.’
Rhiann’s heart plunged. ‘Dead? Not Talorc?’ The old warrior had been Eremon’s staunchest supporter, his booming voice always one of the loudest raised in dissension, but also in laughter, in jests. ‘How … long ago did this happen?’
‘One week.’ Aedan’s eyes were deep with shadows. ‘I think the death rites have been completed, lady, but it was a hurried affair, and involved only his own kin.’
Rhiann nodded, grief rising thick in her throat. ‘And Finan?’
There Aedan was relieved. ‘They removed him to the village, to be lodged with Bran. They did not harm him, though he drew his sword, too. I think … I think they did not wish to invite my lord’s wrath.’
Rhiann glanced at Aedan keenly. ‘Then they know Eremon is alive, too.’ She nodded to herself, and smiled grimly into the fire. ‘And they are afraid of him.’
Rhiann had another visit to make that day, a sad one, to Talorc’s house. No priestess had been present to sing the death song for him, and though his body had already been consigned to the pyre, she knelt with his weeping wife by the hearth and made an offering of meadowsweet and scented oil, milk and barley meal to the statue of Ceridwen that rested in its wall niche.
Gently, she endeavoured to ask Talorc’s wife about Gelert, but the woman writhed herself into fresh hysterics, giving full vent to her grief. It was left to Belen to provide the information that the chief druid had carefully avoided all suspicion of involvement in the plot.
‘He said to the people that it was not up to the druids to choose the war leader and king, but the warriors.’ Belen spoke in a hollow voice, sitting by the hearth, slack-shouldered and empty-eyed, his hands limp by his sides. ‘He said he would give his support to a new candidate as loyally as to your prince, who had only been set in place as your consort and war leader until you birthed the next king. But … since you have not …’ Belen’s voice trailed off. ‘Urben has stepped in with Lorn. He says he speaks for the other clans.’
Rhiann swallowed down her angry response, for before her sat a broken man, and she did not wish to hurt him further. But Eremon would not have let the dun go without a fight! She breathed through her frustration and gave Belen a blessing as he took her leave. It would clearly be left to others to be strong. Perhaps it would be left to her.
Rhiann walked unseeing under the Horse Gate again, ignoring the guards behind, searching inside herself for the echo of the power she had called in the stag rite. It was still there, faintly thrumming along her veins. Perhaps she could use that power, and keep it close to her.
‘Lady,’ Didius hissed, bringing her to a halt. Rhiann followed his eyes, and saw a man standing on the cliffs beside the druid shrine, outlined against the dusk sky. It was Lorn, and he was gazing out to the southern road.
Rhiann paused, with a challenging glance at her guards. ‘Go on, Didius,’ she said evenly. ‘I will only be a moment.’
‘You cannot see him alone,’ Didius muttered, raising his chin, though his cheeks wobbled with effort.
Rhiann was warmed by this spark of defiance; she would need that in her household. ‘Come, then, but don’t invite his anger in any way.’ She held his black eyes warningly. ‘You are a foreigner, nothing to him. He could easily kill you.’
Back through the Horse Gate they went, past the deserted druid shrine, and then Rhiann approached Lorn with her face blank, veiling her emotions. For Caitlin, she would humble herself.
Lorn whirled before she spoke, and the light from the fading sky showed what her earlier fury had blinded her to. Lorn, always resplendent and perfectly groomed, looked almost haggard. His clothes and hair were as immaculate as ever, yet his eyes were red-rimmed and pouched from too much ale.
Abruptly, Rhiann dropped her gaze, not wanting to acknowledge the strange pity that flared in her, seeing only the blood being squeezed from Lorn’s hands as he balled them. ‘Caitlin is in a delicate condition,’ she murmured, summoning priestess calm. ‘Music and tales would ease her time. I have come to request that you allow Aedan to join my household.’
For a moment Lorn did not answer, and Rhiann raised her head and gazed out beyond him to the marsh, her face devoid of all emotion.
‘I will grant this,’ Lorn grated at last, ‘only if you give your oath to plan no escape, no trickery, with your little group of … of …’
‘Eremon’s friends?’ she countered. She couldn’t help it.
His breath exploded outwards. ‘The prince is dead!’
‘Then any plan would lead to naught!’ she retorted.
Lorn flushed, looked at his spread hands and tucked them under his armpits in a boyish gesture that did nothing to soften Rhiann’s heart. ‘Nevertheless, I wish your oath.’
Rhiann considered him. ‘Then I give you my oath; that I, and those friends and family currently under my protection will effect no escape. May this oath be as strong and binding as your own.’
Lorn’s jaw clenched, the muscles twitching. ‘Aye, lady.’ He turned back to his vigil. ‘We wish no harm to the Lady Caitlin. If it will ease her, then have your bard.’
‘Thank you,’ Rhiann forced out. She stared at the tension tightening Lorn’s broad shoulders; he seemed unnerved by her. ‘There is one more thing,’ she continued, ‘news of the Lady Linnet.’ Since he seemed to have some concern for Caitlin’s safety, she added, ‘Caitlin greatly fears for her mother.’
Lorn’s shoulders lowered in a sigh. ‘She is well. My father … we … keep her under guard just as you yourself. She and her maid can go about their business as before.’
‘Except that she is a prisoner and cannot ease her mind over those she loves! She’ll be mad with worry.’
Lorn paused. ‘I will send word that you have returned and that all of you are safe.’
Safe. It was not the word that Rhiann would have chosen, but she swallowed all the bitterness in her heart, and thanked him formally – though it choked her – and left him to his watch.
Only that night, when the others were asleep, did Rhiann at last sink onto the side of her bed with her head in her hands, all the emotion of that day bearing down on her in a wave of utter exhaustion. She could not allow the others to see her rising fear. She would not show it! She would be strong, and keep the others strong, until … until …
Behind her eyes she summoned a vision of Eremon, riding proudly at the head of his warriors across a windy, heather slope. Alive. Unhurt.
I will keep strong for you, she thought, and wiped sweat from her face with nervous hands, straightening and staring into the dark.
CHAPTER 16
This could almost be a good time for him, Didius thought, as he carefully worked the chisel along the piece of rowan wood. A pale curl rolled up ahead of the iron point, and Didius did not take his eyes off the chisel’s long glide, though his mind wandered. He had been a prisoner for more than a year anyway, so being trapped here wasn’t that different for him. And he was still near the Lady, all he’d had to cling to since his capture.
Didius now glanced over the half-finished cradle to Aedan, Eithne and Caitlin, lined up in the sun on the outside bench against the house wall. True, it was hard for them all to stay busy, because the food came from Aldera and the other women in the village, and the Lady Rhiann was not allowed to leave the dun to search for her herbs. But they managed.
The bed linens had never been so clean, or the pots so shiny, scoured with sand by Eithne. And there was much weaving and spinning going on, though Didius did not understand these women things. Now he gazed down eagerly at the sun gleaming on the different woods and tools scattered on the ground between his crossed legs. He had embarked on the cradle to keep his own hands moving
, for making, shaping and perfecting were all that ever called to him.
He wondered with a rueful smile what his fellow engineers in the army would say if they could see him now, spending days – weeks! – fashioning an intricate bed for a barbarian child. It wasn’t exactly the same challenge as building camp defences, or long, straight roads that crossed mountains and rivers.
‘The headboard should feature a hound,’ Aedan said dreamily, his fingers keeping up their faint, soothing plucking on the strings.
‘A hound?’ Didius squinted up at him through the sunshine, spilling from high overhead.
‘For Cúchulainn.’ Aedan frowned, as if it were obvious.
Cúchulainn. Ah, one of Aedan’s tales, Didius remembered. The tale of the most famous of the Erin heroes. How he loved the songs and stories, so strange and mysterious to his Roman ears. Well, this forced arrangement at least meant that he got to hear Aedan play every night, and he didn’t have to put up with hordes of huge, terrifying, tattooed warriors making fun of him.
‘Oh, yes,’ the Lady Caitlin agreed now, her sweet face flushed from the heat. ‘The bravest and most skilled of all warriors – Conaire told me! Cúchulainn will be perfect for my son!’ She smiled softly, her hand over her jutting belly, the sweat standing out on her brow. She was wearing only a thin dress, but she seemed to be suffering the most from the unusual, sticky weather, and Didius saw how closely Eithne and the Lady Rhiann watched her. She was always so kind to him, and so he watched and worried, too.
‘I will model it on Cù then,’ Didius said, waving his chisel at the dog, and Caitlin and Eithne both laughed. In fact, Didius realized, applying himself to the wood again, this could have been the happiest time for him since the prince took him captive. He was treated by the others like a person, as though they were family, and he was being useful to the Lady, peeling rushes for lamps, hauling water, boring loom weights, and carving pots, ladles and chairs.
Then Didius sighed and laid the chisel in his lap. It wasn’t happy, though, it couldn’t be, because of the Lady. She had been sad and preoccupied ever since they returned after the shipwreck. And he had seen her being strong and clever before – hadn’t she nursed him through so many illnesses; didn’t she command the stags … ? He shuddered a little at that memory.
Now, however, the Lady seemed both at her saddest and yet strongest, and Didius was worried for her and in awe of her at the very same time. The way she faced down that Lorn, his hard-eyed father and the slimy druid had made Didius swell with pride. And he marvelled at the fierce will with which she held her friends, keeping their spirits up, caring for the Lady Caitlin, watching over their food and sleep. It was a wonder, seeing such strength in a woman, coupled with tenderness.
Yet Didius, always following the Lady with his eyes, also saw the way she took herself off every day and walked alone on the walls of the crag, looking south. They could all draw soft smiles from her, yet she never joined in their laughter, no matter how Aedan forced it from them with his funny stories. And every night, when Aedan sang his sad songs, the ones which took Didius’s spirit away to the stars, the Lady lay on her bed alone and stared at the firelit roof.
Didius could only try to anticipate her needs and help her where he could, as well as pray to his own gods that her strength would not falter. And if it stayed like this, where they were left alone all through the long, sunny days, they could ignore the two guards that hovered outside playing dice, and perhaps convince themselves that all was normal. And soon the prince would come back, and then the Lady would smile again – her real smile.
It had been a moon of monotony that Rhiann thought would drive her mad. Yet when the request for her healing services suddenly came from Urben, she baulked at leaving Caitlin, even though she longed to escape the house.
Urben’s kinswoman at another dun was suffering from a difficult birth, his messenger said, and reluctantly, Rhiann knew she must go to her. Despite her feelings for Urben she could not turn her back on someone in need.
Carefully, she packed herbs, needle and thread into her seal-fur medicine pouch, and set out. Yet as Rhiann rode south-west, though she threw off the stifling confinement of the dun, she couldn’t drink in the scents of the sunseason air or the freedom of the wide blue sky. For her chest was soon burning with frustration to see the profusion of life burgeoning all around her as sunseason peaked: the heather blooming in a riot of purple all over the hillsides, ready for ale, for dyeing; the stands of golden rod and winding trails of honeysuckle; berries ripening; and bees buzzing over the spills of flowers, producing honey for salves and mead.
To make matters more frustrating and confusing, by the time Rhiann arrived at the dun, the birth was already over. Despite the reported urgency, the chieftain’s baby had been safely delivered, and though it was small, it seemed healthy, already sucking lustily at the mother’s breast. Rhiann left instructions to the attendants to brew the feverfew and woodruff she had brought, and dispense milkwort for nursing.
Waiting for her outside, the grateful chieftain offered her his best bed for the night and a hot meal, but Rhiann’s unease was starting to grow as the light died in the sky. The birth had not been life-threatening, so why had she been sent for?
Suddenly she spun on her heel. ‘I must return to Dunadd now,’ she barked at the two guards, who were lounging with ale and dice beside the chief ’s hall.
The one who always spoke glanced up at the sky. It had deepened to rose over the western hills, and even now shadows were gathering below the spur of rock on which the dun sat. ‘It’s too late to ride,’ he announced, shrugging.
Rhiann stared hard at him, though she trembled inside. ‘We can take torches, and there is always some light in the sky this time of year.’
His jaw working tightly, the guard looked at his companion, and then at the chieftain and the other nobles of the dun, all gathering nearby for the evening meal. Rhiann wondered how much support Urben really enjoyed, and how the other chiefs would take to seeing his own warriors lay violent hands on the Ban Cré.
So she strode straight for the stables, where their horses were waiting to be bedded down. In a moment Rhiann was in her saddle, nudging Liath back across the yard towards the chieftain. ‘My blessings on your lady,’ she said a little breathlessly, fear beginning to pound out a beat on her temples. ‘I will return home now, for she is in excellent health, and I have left her some preparations that will make her strong. So my lord, if you could provide us with pitch torches … ?’
Stammering his gratitude, the chieftain moved to do Rhiann’s bidding, ordering servants about until the darkening yard was milling with people. In the midst of all this Rhiann sat unmoving in her saddle, holding the eyes of Urben’s leading guard until at last he sighed and shook his head, and both men untied their horses.
Although she tried to counsel herself to calmness, Rhiann’s anxiety nevertheless grew on the path home. Her nerves leaped every time the wind set the torches flickering, casting eerie shadows on the rocks of the narrow valleys and the trees lining the paths. One guard went in front, one behind, and after a while all Rhiann could see was a confusion of wavering flame, slices of dark sky above, and firelit rocks and tree trunks.
By the time Dunadd’s gates loomed over them, the moon was above the horizon, hanging in the sky like a silver shield. Rhiann dismounted and led Liath to the stable, then hurried up the path from the houses, her heart in her throat. She waited in an agony of frustration until her guards caught up and ordered the watch to open the Moon Gate, then she darted inside and outran them. The paths on the upper tier were dark, lit only by a few torches. The door of the King’s Hall above was open, spilling firelight over the crest of the crag, yet little sound came from within. At last Rhiann reached her own house, and lunged under the door-hide, her hands stifling the cry that rose in her throat.
Aedan and Didius were gathered around a figure lying on the floor. Shaking herself into action, Rhiann threw herself to her knees, desperately
scanning Eithne’s dark hair and tightly closed eyes, as she lay moaning in Caitlin’s arms.
Caitlin looked up, her fear as bright and wild as the moonlight, and Rhiann forced herself to suck in air then, as the maid’s face spasmed again, and a trickle of her sweat ran from her cheek to Caitlin’s lap. ‘She wouldn’t wait,’ Caitlin said despairingly. ‘She wouldn’t wait for you.’
Rhiann forced away the rush of panic that welled up, and took Eithne gently from Caitlin. ‘What happened?’ she demanded, laying Eithne back so she could check her pulse and her eyes.
‘The food came,’ Caitlin whispered. ‘But it was beef stew again and I couldn’t face it just now, without you forcing it down me, and with the others so hungry …’ She glanced up at Didius and Aedan, both frozen and watching the scene with wide, helpless eyes. ‘So Eithne tasted it herself this time, just like you do …’ Caitlin’s eyes filled with tears, and she stroked Eithne’s hand.
‘How long ago did she eat?’ Rhiann croaked. I should have been here. I let them get past me, Eremon …
‘Hours and hours, lady,’ Aedan offered, with a gulp. ‘At dusk. But she only got sick just now and … we didn’t know what to do …’
‘We tried to give her water,’ Didius said, his hands spread helplessly.
Then Eithne moaned again, clutching at her abdomen, and Rhiann leaned in close to smell her breath. Faintly, just faintly, there was the slightest taint of something bitter. But no vomit. ‘Has she been sick?’
Caitlin shook her head, unable to speak. Her whole body was trembling violently, but Rhiann had no time to spare her.
‘Then it is not inside her gut,’ Rhiann murmured to herself, and as she ran her hands over Eithne’s stomach, pressing and smoothing lightly, she was suddenly pulled up sharp by the smear of blood on the girl’s thighs, below the edge of her dress. She caught her breath, and then glanced up at Didius and Aedan.
