Skin

by Ilka Tampke

  I nodded, stunned by her threat.

  Then with a sob, she lurched forward and took me in her arms. I rested my head on the fat-stained breast of her cooking tunic and, for the first time since I was much smaller, she rocked me and sang my childhood song:

  Ailia Ay,

  Ailia Oh,

  Through shadowed lakes we travel,

  To land’s deep heart we go

  As she stroked my arm she found the bandage around my fight wound. Wordlessly, she unwrapped it. ‘Why do you bandage this perfect skin?’

  I looked down. My arm was unscarred. Already my knowledge was receding. Without answering, I rested my head back on her chest. Perhaps I would have to accept that this seed was not destined to fruit. I could speak of it with no one in Caer Cad. There was only one to whom I could confess my journey, and I had vowed not to enter the place where he waited. If I wished to meet with Taliesin again, I would have to find a way to call him to me.

  Early next morning, I was returning with bread when Neha streaked ahead, darting behind the kitchen. A hare? I wondered. There was a flood of barking before she bounded back, snapping at my skirts and bidding me come.

  ‘I don’t want to see your kill,’ I chided, shooing her away.

  But she kept up her barking until I followed.

  When I turned into the narrow pathway behind the kitchen, it was not a hare carcass I found, but Heka, sitting on her haunches with a torn piece of linen and a small pot of beeswax on the ground before her.

  She looked up at me, her face triumphant. Across her lap, one hand rubbing its blade and the other grasping its handle, lay my bronze sword.

  My fingers tightened around my basket. ‘How did you get this?’

  ‘Cah asked me to order the store pit and I found it hidden there. I thought it was so pretty I would clean it. For its lucky owner.’

  Neha yapped relentlessly at the weapon.

  ‘Hush!’ I hissed, crouching before Heka. ‘Has anyone seen it?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I kept it out of sight as I wanted to attend to it myself.’

  ‘Not even Cah, who bade you?’

  ‘Only me. Why do you ask? It could not be yours.’ Her feigned innocence chilled me. ‘Swords cannot be held by those without skin.’

  ‘You know that it is.’ How did she seek and find what was most precious to me?

  Footsteps passed just beyond the curve of the kitchen wall. ‘Give it to me, Heka, and speak of it to no one.’

  ‘For what reward?’ she said.

  ‘What is your price?’ I spluttered. ‘Coin? Food?’

  She leaned back against the kitchen wall, savouring her moment. ‘Coin, for now, enough that I need not find work for a moon turn or two,’ she said, ‘and some of the honey cakes that Bebin has just put into the oven.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I gasped, giddy with relief that the sword would not be exposed.

  She stood, letting it fall to the ground, and kicked it toward me.

  I stared at her, confused by her trust. ‘How do you know I will honour my promise?’

  ‘I do not like you,’ she said, ‘but I know that you are true.’

  I snatched up the sword and stowed it beneath my shawl. ‘Wait here until I can procure Cookmother’s purse,’ I said. ‘And when you have coin will you be gone from this kitchen?’

  ‘For now,’ she said. ‘Ugh, you bleed!’ Recoiling, she pointed to my arm.

  I looked down. Fresh blood streamed down my elbow. The cut had opened again.

  ‘A fight wound!’ Her eyes blazed.

  ‘No…’ I said. ‘A carving wound.’ With my hand pressed around it, I hurried away, calling Neha to my heel. I had to be on my guard with Heka. She was cleverer and more poisonous than I had realised.

  Pain is not evil. Nor suffering. Nor death.

  The only evil is moral weakness.

  The strongest weapon against it is knowledge.

  Learning is the root of all virtue.

  THE SUMMER HARVEST came. I did the same work I had always done—the milling and storing of the Tribequeen’s grain, the fleecing of sheep—but I was not the same woman. I was feigning contentment, sitting by the fire each evening with my worksisters, attending their riddles and gossip, when the whole of my being yearned to proclaim what I had learned.

  I became practised at wearing the sword, releasing it deftly as I undressed for bathing, disguising it in my skirts and refastening it by touch, so that no one could see. It stayed bound to me always, even as I slept.

  My hunger for skin endured, sharpened. With skin, I could be trained to journey to the Mothers with full sanction. With skin I could return Taliesin’s skinsong. The sword—which rubbed my thigh to rawness, to weeping sores, then finally thick calluses—was useless without skin.

  It was one moon after midsummer. I was sweeping the floor of the grain hut when I heard the bell announcing visitors to the Great House. At the sight of the horses tethered outside, I flew to the kitchen.

  ‘Quick, give me bread and an ale pot,’ I commanded Bebin, brushing clean my skirts. ‘Uaine and Ruther are returned!’

  Bebin loaded my tray with loaves and a jug and bade me send Uaine to her when their business was finished.

  The benches in the Great House were draped in gleaming, sky-hued fabrics, fragrant with spice. Boxes spilling with gems were spread over the silks and Fraid sat tall in a white gossamer shawl, clusters of green stones cascading from each ear. ‘Ailia,’ she called, ‘come and help me with these trinkets.’

  Sitting by the fire, his hair cut short and face shaved like the merchants of the First City, was Ruther. His eyes turned to me as I entered, yet bluer against his sun-darkened skin.

  I set down the tray and walked to Fraid, feeling Ruther’s gaze hot upon me. Uaine was beside him, and opposite them both, with no interest in the eastern finery, sat Llwyd. He smiled briefly as I passed.

  Fraid held up her mirror as I fastened a snake-shaped clasp around her neck. ‘These are beautiful, Ruther.’ She turned her cheek. ‘How does it stand at the coast?’

  ‘They are ready to sail,’ said Ruther. ‘This is why we return. We have passed close to the Roman camp, and learned much of their intent.’

  Fraid put down her mirror. ‘We know they wish to subdue Caradog—but surely they do not look to the peaceful tribes?’

  ‘It would be false comfort to think so,’ said Ruther. ‘They want the isle of Albion in its entirety. This is Claudius’s goal.’

  I stood behind Fraid, staring at Ruther. Was it only I who read the trace of excitement beneath the concern in his face?

  Fraid motioned me to unfasten her neckpiece. ‘We are not his war trophy.’

  ‘But he would have us be,’ said Ruther. ‘And this, I know, is not all, Tribequeen.’

  I sensed the blood quickening under Fraid’s skin as I unclasped the metal.

  ‘Speak,’ she said.

  Ruther’s gaze flickered to me before returning to Fraid. ‘Durotriga is of particular interest to the General Plautius. Our tribelands are fertile and rich
in metal.’

  Fraid paused before responding. ‘I don’t see how any of this can be true,’ she said. ‘There have been several riders from the east telling us that Plautius commanded them to embark but they were too terrified of our tides and would not board their ships.’

  ‘Such a mutiny occurred, yes,’ said Ruther. ‘But the Emperor sent Narcissus to stand before them. He is a great speaker. He countered their fears with reason. They are once again ready to sail.’

  ‘When?’ asks Fraid.

  ‘Within days.’

  She stared into the fire. ‘So it is war.’

  I stood, motionless behind her, watching Ruther’s eyes jump from her to Uaine, then back again.

  ‘Is this the only way, Tribequeen?’ said Uaine carefully.

  Fraid looked to him. ‘Clearly you think not. Speak.’

  ‘If they are seeking to expand their territory, it is to their advantage for local leaders to remain in place,’ said Uaine. ‘Rome will offer client kingships, generous kingships, to those tribekings who do not oppose them.’ He paused. ‘Many of the eastern kings are already planning such negotiations.’

  Was it the draft from the doorway that made the hairs on my neck rise?

  ‘This is not the way of the Durotriges,’ said Fraid.

  ‘Wait,’ Llwyd raised his hand. ‘What would this mean?’

  ‘Foremost an arrangement of revenue,’ said Ruther. ‘Taxes paid to the Empire in metal and slaves and an allegiance to Claudius. Beyond this, freedom. To live as we have always done.’

  I startled as Llwyd broke into a loud laugh.

  ‘Do I amuse you, wiseman?’ said Ruther, frowning.

  ‘I laugh at your knowledge of freedom,’ said Llwyd. ‘Tell me, by what laws do we live in these client kingships?’

  ‘For the most part, tribal law is upheld.’

  ‘But ultimately?’ said Llwyd.

  Ruther’s lips tightened. ‘We would be held within the protection of Rome.’

  Llwyd nodded. ‘Within the Empire, laws are strictly enforced, are they not?’

  ‘The penalties for disobedience are indeed strict,’ said Ruther. ‘The law is strong.’

  ‘And upon this law rests the virtue of Roman citizens?’

  ‘Yes. For fear of death,’ said Ruther.

  I shifted on my feet, sensing the conflict seeding between them.

  ‘And yet the city is strewn with criminals,’ said Llwyd. ‘I hear they run like rats in a drain. Fouling the water.’

  ‘There is virtue and order in the city of Rome that Britain is yet to know,’ said Ruther, bristling. ‘Great cities cannot be built upon chaos.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Llwyd. ‘Chaos will always prevail.’

  Ruther frowned, shaking his head. ‘I am lost by your Journeyman’s reckoning. Speak plainly, wiseman, if you wish to be understood.’

  I flinched at his treatment of his journeyman Elder. There had been a hardening in him since I last saw him.

  Llwyd rose and stood closer to the hearth. His skin was made smooth, youthful, by the firelight.

  ‘As you know well,’ he began, ‘in this isle of light we live by the laws of skin.’ He fingered the sprig of mistletoe that hung from his belt. ‘Those who truly know the laws will love them. The order of Albion is freely consented. Taught. Not enforced. Whoever does not comply by their own judgment is not virtuous, but captive. Teach what is true, then allow each soul its choice. This is freedom. This is virtue.’

  And what of those who cannot learn? I ached to ask. Where is their freedom? Where is their virtue?

  ‘Thank you,’ Ruther’s voice was cold, ‘for your illumination. But wise words will not win a war. Tribequeen—’ he turned to Fraid, ‘—despite these compelling discussions of freedom, the Romans will come, and we will fare better if we meet them with some willingness to make terms. If we resist them, they will take their desire by force—and on that count we cannot match them.’

  I stared at him. This was not the warrior’s way. There was something he sought to gain in this.

  Fraid turned to Llwyd. ‘I have heard your protest, Journeyman, and understand it. Still, Ruther’s advice must be considered, if the legions do indeed reach our borders. Do you agree?’

  Llwyd stood at the hearthstones, his voice low. ‘If you submit us to their laws, Fraid, you will destroy us.’

  ‘Do you rather we fight a battle we cannot win?’ said Ruther without patience.

  Llwyd lifted his face, his voice now strong. ‘With the Kendra’s blessing, we will win.’

  Ruther snorted. ‘Of what Kendra do you speak?’

  ‘She will come,’ said Llwyd.

  ‘You are waiting for the past,’ said Ruther.

  I gasped and Fraid hushed me.

  Llwyd did not respond.

  The room rang with the clash of their minds.

  ‘I will summon the council to meet tonight,’ said Fraid. ‘You will attend, Ruther, and we will discuss the news you have brought.’

  ‘Ailia!’ Ruther held out his cup. ‘I am empty.’

  I took the jug to him. As I poured, he slipped his hand beneath my skirt, trailing his fingertips over my calf. Though I angered at his claim of me, my blood coursed at his touch. ‘There is something else you must both consider in relation to the intentions of Rome,’ he said to Fraid. In a moment he would know my sword. I pulled away and returned to my place.

  ‘Speak,’ said Fraid.

  ‘Romans do not judge their women as we do here,’ said Ruther.

  ‘Yes,’ Fraid scoffed. ‘I have heard they do not head tribes or fight…’

  ‘Nor choose their leaders,’ said Llwyd.

  ‘Not publicly, at least.’ Uaine laughed.

  ‘The wives exert power enough,’ said Ruther. ‘But not to command soldiers. I’ve heard them mocking the tribes that are led by queens: the Brigantes, the Iceni. And us. To their minds, these are weak targets. Easiest to destroy.’

  ‘If women are so poorly esteemed,’ said Llwyd, ‘then how is their knowledge heard in statecraft?’

  ‘Beyond bedchamber politics, it is not,’ said Ruther.

  ‘There are virgins,’ countered Uaine, ‘the Vestels, who keep the fires. They are always present at state ceremony.’

  ‘Virgins?’ Fraid snorted. ‘What do virgins know of the power of the Mothers?’

  ‘Little,’ Ruther laughed. ‘In this matter, the women of Britain are greatly superior. But we are already a target, due to the fortune of our geography,’ he continued. ‘To be led by a queen makes us yet more vulnerable.’

  ‘So you suggest a change of leadership,’ said Llwyd, ‘to address this problem?’

  ‘Without doubt a tribeking would present a more daunting opponent to Rome,’ said Uaine.

  This man loved Bebin, I mused. How could he question the Mothers’ strength? Was it Rome that infected him, or Ruther?

  ‘It may favour our hopes, Fraid,’ said Ruther, ‘if you were to hand the le
adership to another.’

  Fraid’s shoulders stiffened.

  ‘Fraid is our chosen consort to these tribelands,’ said Llwyd. ‘Deeply loved.’

  ‘I acknowledge it so.’ Ruther bowed his head. ‘I think only of the tribe.’

  ‘And who should replace me?’ asked Fraid. ‘I have no sons. We both know my brother’s temper is too poorly restrained.’

  ‘Perhaps you suggest that we select from the other high warriors, Ruther?’ said Llwyd. ‘Or their sons?’

  ‘I make no campaign,’ said Ruther to Fraid. ‘My loyalty is sworn. I merely bid you think on this and exploit me, if it serves you. I have rank and friends in Rome. I am in a strong position to negotiate when I return to the east.’

  None spoke.

  My eyes were fixed on the plush hide at my feet. I was rocked by the pride in Ruther’s petition and by the dawning reality of this attack.

  ‘Thank you, Ruther,’ said Fraid, standing, ‘for your information and advice. But I am Tribequeen of Northern Durotriga. Whether we fight them or submit, it will be under my rule.’

  My heart swelled with love for her.

  I returned to the grain hut after Fraid had dismissed me and it was here that Ruther found me when the day was late. He approached my turned back, winding his arms around my waist without a word of greeting. I knew him by the scent of his sweat and foreign cloth.

  ‘Come walking with me,’ he urged.

  ‘I am not finished here.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’ He pulled me by my hand toward the door. ‘I am sure I could have the Tribequeen’s pardon if you need it.’

  ‘And Cookmother’s?’ I snatched my hand away. ‘Gain her permission and I will walk with you.’

  He sighed. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘The kitchen, I expect.’