A Novel

by Signe Pike

  “Well, that’s it, then,” Rhian sighed. “Let’s go inside. You should rest. Look, your feet are so puffed.”

  Crowan led the way and I took the arm Rhian offered, feeling wretched for deceiving her. “You’re such a kind sister,” I said. “Better than I deserve.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “You’re the one who’s been kind to me. Now let me look after you!”

  “Very well.” I smiled. “What shall we do then to pass the time? Shall I show you my weaving? I’ve been working at it these long, slow months.”

  “Yes!” She brightened. “I’ve yet to see your loom.”

  “It’s in the chamber off the great room,” I said. The truth was, it was a dim room used for storing wet-weather gear and not fit at all for weaving, but Tutgual wouldn’t have a loom in his great room, even in his absence. We passed two servants still cleaning up breakfast, the younger one nearly tripping as she rushed past us with the heavy wooden serving board.

  “Put the meat up,” the older girl called out. “Hurry, then, or we’ll miss the start o’ it!”

  “Watch where you’re going, now,” Crowan scolded. The girls looked up in horror as they caught sight of us, dropping their heads in a curtsy.

  “Unless you’ll be needin’ anything at all, m’ladies,” the older one flushed.

  “Nay. We are quite all right, thank you,” I assured them. “Off you go.”

  They raced off toward the kitchens and I heard the telltale slam of the door that led out to the stables and the midden heap, the route I hoped to take. My eyes went to the couch where my things lay waiting in the shadows. I hadn’t much time now.

  “The purple!” I threw up my hands. “Rhian. You must see the purple wool. It’s dyed with whelk and Rhydderch acquired it at some expense. Crowan, will you show her where to fetch it? It’s in my chamber, in the trunk with my skeins.”

  “The purple?” Crowan wrinkled her face. I hadn’t a purple wool, but poor old Crowan wouldn’t remember.

  “I’ll go wi’ ’em, m’lady,” Desdemona said quickly. She was too full of nerves. I wanted to reassure her that all would be well, but what could I say?

  “Right you are.” Crowan nodded as they led Rhian away.

  I waited ’til they had turned the stairs before hurrying across the great room and ducking clumsily beneath the couch to gather my belongings. Fastening my cloak with trembling fingers, I had just concealed my satchel beneath its folds when a voice came low at my ear.

  “And where might you be going, Lady Languoreth?”

  I spun to find Morcant standing within a hairsbreadth of me, his eyes lit like those of a wolf who’d just cornered a hare.

  “I knew you were fixed to do something you should not,” he said. “It’s as though I can sense you. The way your mind works.” He closed his heavy-lidded eyes and leaned in to breathe the scent of me, his nose sickeningly close to my neck. “You are disobedient. A savage.” His hand shot up and gripped my chin even as I tried to pull away. “Stay still, now, little rabbit,” he scolded. “I’m going to decide what must be done with you.”

  I knocked his hand from my face, trying to sound braver than I felt. “Release me at once or you’ll rue the day you did not.”

  “Oh, I’ll rue it, will I?” Morcant gripped me again, his face darkening with rage, and I swallowed, bracing myself to be struck.

  “Crowan sent me down to inquire which trunk—” Rhian blanched at the sight of us, her eyes flickering over my traveling cloak. Morcant’s hands fell to his sides but he did not back away.

  “Husband,” Rhian said. “You are due at the races.”

  “I left my sword behind,” Morcant lied. It was yet housed in the baldric at his shoulder. He had come to catch me out; he and I both knew it.

  “The lady Languoreth seems to be stealing away. And what might you know of this?” He lifted the edge of my cloak as if some game were afoot and turned his eyes upon his wife.

  Rhian brushed boldly between us, drawing me away.

  “She is cold, that is all. I told her I’d fetch her a blanket, but this cloak brings her great comfort. It belonged to her mother.”

  “Is that so? Have you caught a chill, Languoreth?” His eyes roamed my body. One flick of my cloak and my satchel would be revealed; a trained warrior, he would not miss the outline of my knife.

  “I have caught a chill.” I raised my chin, pulling my cloak more tightly about me. “I would have told you as much myself had you given me the chance.”

  Morcant looked as if he would say more, but Rhian laughed, a sound so odd, it startled me.

  “Hot in winter and chilled in spring! But what do I know of pregnant women?” Her smile was innocent—it did not falter—yet I glimpsed a hard resignation behind her eyes. Rhian was offering herself up as whipping horse. It drew Morcant as she intended.

  “What do you know indeed.” Morcant took three menacing steps toward her, turning his back on me. “Did you tell your sister Languoreth that you are barren? Did you tell her of all the times I have taken you, you lying beneath me, a wanton whore, only to have you leak your blood month after month like a worthless sow?”

  Rhian’s smiled faded but she did not shrink away. Her eyes met mine and looked mortified, frightened. For me. I wanted to intercede, but I could only make matters worse.

  “Come, now, husband. Such talk.”

  She lowered her gaze, peering at him sweetly from beneath her lashes. “And you are cutting such a powerful figure today. Sure the races are bound to begin any minute, but couldn’t you miss out on a moment’s revelry? You can be certain you’ll not regret it.”

  “Lord Morcant.”

  Rhydderch’s brother stiffened as one of his men strode into the room.

  “Here,” Morcant said, his eyes never leaving us.

  “Are we to stay as you commanded? The race is about to begin.”

  Morcant looked between the two of us for a long moment, then snorted dismissively.

  “No. We are leaving.”

  I exhaled as he turned to walk away, but he stopped beside Rhian, his face pinched with disgust. “I’ve wasted enough of my seed on you.”

  The door slammed behind him and Rhian wilted against the wall, boneless.

  “Thank you, Rhian, I am so sorry—”

  “Never mind it. You are leaving. Do not tell me where. That way he cannot beat it from me.” Her voice was clipped. “Only tell me: Is it with good reason?”

  My eyes fell upon the symbol at her neck. “I do it for my child.”

  She nodded. “Then it is reason enough for me. And you will come back?”

  “I will come back.” I took her hand. “I pray he will not strike you . . .”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She pressed my hand before glancing up at the railing. “You had better go. Crowan does not know?”

  “It is safer for her that way.”

  As if Crowan could sense us, she stuck her graying head into the upper hallway to holler from my chamber door, “Whatever are you gabbing about? Shall I come down or stay up? There’s no purple up here, not that I can see!”

  “Tell her I’ll be back,” I said quickly. “Tell her that I’m sorry.”

  “I will tell her nothing, for I did not see you leave. Now go!”

  Wasting no more time, I rushed past her and through the kitchens and out the midden door. Brodyn had saddled Fallah as promised, and my horse shifted now, edgy, as I heaved myself upon her. From beyond the fields at the western border of town the solemn blast of the horn sounded.

  “Go, Fallah, Go!” I urged her.

  My stomach seized in pain as I kicked her into a gallop, one hand bracing my unborn babe as I streaked toward the gate.

  “M’lady! Stop! Halt!” one of the guards shouted, lifting his spear before he was silenced by a stout knock from the hilt of Brodyn’s sword and the gate was shoved open so I could pass. I glanced back over my shoulder to see Brodyn had drawn the other three to him already, his taunts fading beneath the
beating of Fallah’s hooves. As I cut due west through town, past shuttered shop fronts and temporarily abandoned halls, there was no one to see me except Partick’s wandering ghosts. I did not slow until I reached the fields, and only then because otherwise I was certain to injure myself or my child. My breath was coming shallow and fast as I entered the dappled shelter of the wood.

  At last.

  Here I was at the tree line, but I could see no sign of Cathan. Suddenly a flash of white caught my eye. There was the old Wisdom Keeper, emerging from behind an oak on his trusty mottled gray horse.

  “Languoreth! Thank the Gods, you’ve made it. Are you unhurt?” His face was creased in worry. I nodded and gave a dismissive wave as I pulled Fallah to a halt beside him, still catching my breath.

  “Very good.” Cathan reached a tender hand to pat my hair. “Then we must hurry now. My boatman will be waiting. You cannot trot, and we must make haste.” He swung his mount round and I turned quickly, scanning the field beyond the trees.

  “We must wait for Brodyn,” I said. “I swore to him we would not leave.”

  “No.” Cathan tightened his grip on the reins. “It’s no good. We cannot wait.”

  “But I promised—”

  “It does not matter what you promised, Languoreth. If we are to save the child, we must go now.”

  I swallowed my sense of unease and swung Fallah about onto the soggy forest trail. There was no turning back now, and Brodyn would catch up to us soon. With his protection I would feel more safe.

  “The timing of this . . . How did you know Tutgual was going to host the races?” I asked as I ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, wanting to distract myself.

  “I did not know, but I hoped,” Cathan said. “Winter with its sea storms has been too long, and like that of all kings, the blood of the high king thirsts for violence. There have been no Westmen to cut down, no raids to be had. He must have some blood sport before the season begins. He cannot help but whet his appetite.”

  A shiver traced my arms. “Father’s blood does not thirst for violence.”

  “Your father is just. He does his duty for the land and the Gods, and in turn the Gods protect him. He is an honorable man and better than most. If I did not believe that, I would not have counselled him for so long. But all leadership is blood, Languoreth.” Cathan looked at me. “Whether king or queen or chieftain, you cannot come to your seat without being willing to spill it. Your own and that of others.”

  We fell into a solemn silence as we rode side by side, listening to the soft trill of birdcalls in the trees overhead . . . then, from somewhere far off, the rasp of a crow. After a moment Cathan turned to me, his blue eyes as watery as the sea.

  “Truth be told, I am blood sick and weary,” he said. “Sick to my spirit with war. All of this nonsense over whose god is true. Gods rise and fall away. Such is the way with gods. Our gods replaced that of the ancients, and now there is a new god who comes from over the sea. So was it ever.”

  “How can you say such things?” I asked. “You above all, who have always spoken of our gods’ magic?”

  “When you have lived a life as long as mine, you come to understand that all gods, and all stories, are different names for the same thing. Beneath it all, there is one god with many faces, but always one god. There is one story with many variations, but always the same ending.”

  “And what is the ending?” I asked.

  “Death,” he answered simply. “Oh, do not look at me so, Languoreth. For we all know as surely as we are born, our time will come.” Looking at him now, I could see his clear eyes were rimmed pink by exhaustion. He shook his head as if to clear it.

  “I look at you now and I see a young woman. Why must everything age, and so quickly? It was only yesterday you were a little girl, sitting in your lessons with me high above the river. Now we travel to White Isle so you might bear your own child.” His voice grew thick and he turned back to the trail lest he be overcome.

  “Yes,” I said. “Time passes too quickly.”

  The Wisdom Keeper only gave a satisfied “Hmph” and unbuckled his saddlebag with some fiddling, retrieving a crusty loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese wrapped in cloth.

  “Here, eat,” Cathan said, handing it to me. “Agnes baked it off this morning and just for you. Soon you may labor. You shall need your strength.”

  I accepted the loaf, reveling in its yeasty smell, but ate uneasily, half listening for the sound of Brodyn’s horse.

  “He should have joined us by now,” I said. “He was to follow on my heels.”

  I glanced up as a dark silhouette caught my eye and I spotted a crow gliding onto a high branch overhead, bobbing its head with a startling caw. It made me cringe in my saddle, plucking at my already disquiet nerves. Cathan looked up, curious.

  “If Brodyn is not yet with us, it is for good reason,” he said, watching the bird. “In any case, a little ways yet and we’ll be at the water’s edge.”

  “As you say,” I flinched involuntarily as the beat of feathered wings sounded within inches of my head and looked up to see another inky form settle in the treetops.

  “That one nearly hit me,” I said.

  The Wisdom Keeper glanced up. “They’re gathering.” There was a note of warning in his voice. An omen. A bad omen.

  My skin pricked into gooseflesh and yet they kept coming. Bird after bird flocked to the canopy overhead, their fathomless eyes fixed upon us. Soon the trees were thick with them, nodding and squawking. I looked at Cathan only to find his bearded face had gone grim, his eyes searching the brambles ahead.

  “So, then,” he said, as if to himself. “It is to be now.”

  “What is happening, Cathan? You frighten me.”

  Cathan turned to me as we tightened our grips on the reins, nearing a sharp bend in the trail.

  “Guard yourself, Languoreth,” he warned over the racket, but there was no time for anything more. There was a streaking figure, and then Cathan’s mount reared up with a terrified whinny as a man with a spear sprung out from behind a tree. His shout had startled Cathan’s horse, and, caught unawares, the Wisdom Keeper sailed from its back, cursing as he came down on his shoulder with a sickening crunch.

  “Go, Languoreth, ride!” he shouted as he scrambled to his feet, staff in hand.

  But I could not leave him. Spinning round I saw more men rushing from the forest wearing heavy, coarse wool tunics and brown trousers. Thieves. Fallah twisted, bucking beneath me, and I clung to her with my thighs, my teeth gritted as she came down hard. I gripped Fallah’s reins and rounded on them with a cry, but a flash of metal and a sharp sting made me gasp.

  “Stop!” a male voice demanded.

  I yanked the reins, pulling Fallah to an abrupt halt. A ruddy-haired man with a pockmarked face had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

  “Drop your reins,” he said. He motioned with the spear that had pierced me. A warm trickle of blood seeped between my fingers as I reached to touch my throat and blinked against the pain of it, raising my hands. The spear tip had grazed my windpipe: half an inch deeper and it would have impaled me completely. The man stepped forward and tore Fallah’s reins from my grip.

  “You’re in want of riches. Take my jewelry,” I said. “I will hand it over freely. But leave the Wisdom Keeper. He has nothing.”

  “Languoreth!” Cathan’s voice was sharp. I swallowed as a hulking man stepped forward, clearly their captain. He had an underbite that made him look brutish and wore his yellow hair in a bowl cut like Morcant’s. His eyes lit with amusement at my offer.

  “Your jewelry.” He looked as if he might laugh.

  “Did you hear me?” I demanded. “I have rings. An amber hair comb—”

  Cathan turned to me, his voice low and fierce. “These men have no interest in riches, Languoreth. Listen to me now! You must do nothing foolish. Think of the child and do exactly as they say.”

  Cathan maneuvered himself between me and the ruddy-haired spearman, address
ing their captain.

  “Nine men,” he said. “You must tell your lord Mungo he flatters me.”

  My stomach pitched. These were no common thieves. These were Mungo’s men. Cathan and my father had beaten Mungo at his own game. They had struck and humiliated the bishop. Now he would have his revenge.

  “Shut your mouth, old man.” The captain motioned for his men to surround us, their blades flashing in the filtered light. “Drop your staff.”

  Cathan’s eyes were full of a deadly fire as he tossed his staff away. “I will give you no fight. And you, in turn, will not harm this girl. You know who she is, do you not?”

  The captain raked his eyes over me. They settled on my torque.

  “Yes, this is the wife of Rhydderch,” Cathan continued. “Daughter now to King Tutgual. Harm her, and they will not only come for you. They will come for your wives. For your children.”

  The captain gave a hard laugh, looking at Cathan a moment as if deciding what to do.

  “I said shut your mouth,” he sneered suddenly, and in one swift motion he had ducked down to grasp Cathan’s staff, swinging it up with a thwack that sent Cathan sprawling back into the mud, blood spurting from his nose.

  “Cathan!” I shrieked. The Wisdom Keeper touched a hand gingerly to his face, then waved me away.

  He stood with some effort, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. “You call that a blow? Pass me my staff, fool, and I’ll show you how to use it.”

  “Cathan, no!” I called out. The captain lifted a brow and cracked the staff round again, doubling Cathan over with a grunt.

  “Stop it, please stop!” I sobbed. Cathan staggered to stand before another blow sent him plummeting onto his knees.

  At the sound of my voice the captain turned as if he’d only just remembered my presence, jerking his head. “Get her down from that horse.”

  “You heard him.” The pockmarked man jabbed me with his spear. “Get down or I’ll spike you.”