Danuta winked at Rian. ‘Watch those bannocks.’
Rian returned to her duties at the hearth.
After they had carried various bags and chests up from the boat, the crew settled down for a snooze. Bael gave up his bed for Ussa, and he and Drost set out to check their traps and snares. Danuta gestured to Pytheas to take Drost’s room opposite the main door. He rose and bowed, then offered Buia a shiny bead in his outstretched hand, saying something in Keltic. Buia took it and held it between her thumb and first finger. It was perfectly blue, just like the ribbon he had given Rian. She smiled widely and he dipped his head to one side. Now all of them had been given gifts by him, and no-one could feel sorry for the presence of their guests. At least for the time being.
Quiet settled in the broch as the three women peeled and chopped, pounded and stirred, kneaded and shaped, and the visitors slept, all except Pytheas. Instead, he sat on the bed with the curtain open, scratching with a feather on a piece of animal skin. Rian was desperate to look at what the strange man was doing but something about his concentration made her hold back, as if he cast a spell around him, a circle like the moon creates, an aura of colour, a spread of magic. He breathed deeply and cleared his throat, staring out into the space in front and above him as if he was gazing far away with no focus or awareness of anyone in the room. Then, as if his dreaming had created something that itched the skin in front of him, he fell again to scratching.
She felt his eyes on her and realised that he was watching what they were doing, with an intensity that was embarrassing, as if he could see into their minds. It was such a powerful scrutiny Rian could hardly bear it and wanted to draw the curtain and shut him into her foster father’s room. Something about his gaze, such alertness while others slept, made the women go even more quietly about their cooking.
‘He stares like a heron fishing,’ Danuta murmured.
Rian nodded, trying to smile, managing only a grimace. ‘I wish I could hide under some seaweed,’ she whispered back. ‘What is he doing?’
‘Writing, I think. But it’s nothing like the ogham script.’
Rian tried to wind the quern stone as gently as she could, wincing as it squeaked.
‘Go and check for eggs,’ Danuta said. ‘I’ll do that.’
Rian slid the quern across the floor to the old woman, hurried into her boots, grabbed a shawl and fled, never so glad to have to visit the ducks and geese.
There were no eggs, so she tried to think of other things she could usefully do outside. She could fetch water, even though it was not her job. Then she hit on firewood.
She headed up into the woods above the broch to get some birch. They had asked the trees for permission to take their limbs and had cut many of them down in the early winter. Their stumps were still covered with snow. She felt sorry for the primroses that had showed themselves the week before only to be smothered, but then she spotted a couple in a sunny, sheltered spot where the snow had melted. Of course. They knew where to grow.
The branches were stacked to season. It didn’t take long for birch. The cold had done its work and already the twigs were brittle and snapped easily. She took a bough off the heap and set to work, breaking off the small side shoots and dead wood. The main stem could be left aside, it was too useful to burn, but she bundled all of the smaller wood before starting on another branch.
She loved the way the twigs held their tension as she bent them, then sprang to obey her will once the force was enough. She loved the noise of the snapping wood, its sharp crack and tear. And she loved its smell. A robin came to watch from a rowan nearby, wondering what the racket was and whether it would bring food. Once it had established what was going on, it hopped down to check over the broken wood, scouring for insect prey. Rian greeted it. It cocked its head as if in acknowledgement and then returned to its inspection.
She kept her eyes on the slope above her, alert for movement. The stream was slow, its song muted, gurgling under a muffle of ice. She knew her noise would keep most animals at bay but an early-waking bear could be a danger. Hungry and bad-tempered, they took risks they would never otherwise take and – even close to the village – bear attacks were possible at this time of year. To be honest though, she was more frightened of being here when Drost and Bael returned from their hunt, especially if they had been unsuccessful.
She wasn’t paying much attention to the path up from the village, so Pytheas was almost upon her when she noticed him. He was carrying his rod and he bowed politely as he passed her, continuing on up the slope towards the high point. She shifted her bundle so she could watch him, wondering if he knew about the bears, curious as to what he might be doing. He seemed so purposeful.
After a few minutes he returned down the slope, then beckoned her to follow him. On the flat ground at the top, he made her hold the pole as he paced around. Several times he seemed to be intent upon the shadow cast by the long stick. It had elaborate carvings on it, and she liked the feel of them under her fingers. It must be some magic that he was performing, but it was unlike anything she had ever seen anyone do.
After a couple of minutes, something in his manner suggested that he had done what he had set out to do and she returned to her wood pile. On his way past, he paused to watch her and then, pointing to one of the bundles of wood, made an offer to take it with him. He shouldered it as if it weighed nothing. He said something in his tongue and she shook her head in incomprehension. He waved his rod, pointing it up at the sky towards the sun. She had no idea what he was saying. He tossed his rod up, span it around, twirled it until it blurred, then tapped her on the head. It was a feather touch, but it still made her duck and squeal. He chortled, bowed again, and set off down to the broch.
She set about another bundle of sticks.
When she returned, Pytheas had lain down and seemed to be sleeping. The rest of the day was quiet. The somnolent guests cast such an atmosphere Buia nodded off in a corner and Danuta spent longer than usual in her afternoon meditation. The sounds of children playing down by the shore drifted in as if from some other world. Rian felt she was the only person alive. The blood pulsed in her head and every sigh of the wood in the fire was a warning from the spirit world.
The light faded. Above the fireplace the mask needed to be turned. Rian twisted it on its spike so, instead of the day face of work, the evening face of play looked down on the hearth. Although why the evening should be for play she had never understood, as that was when her hardest work took place. Someone had to serve the food and drink and clean up afterwards. Someone had to keep the fire happy and someone had to fetch and carry for everyone else’s pleasure. That someone was her.
But, as the long dusk straggled towards dark, she was in for a surprise. The crew members woke, and although they spoke little they were remarkably helpful. The three slaves, Og, Li and Faradh, worked. Og, the biggest and friendliest, asked questions, practical things about food, drink and fuel, and then gave instructions to the others. By the time darkness was in, lamps filled and lit, most of Rian’s chores were done, and more. The circle around the hearth was arranged for feasting; the slow preparations of food by the three women had accelerated into a production line of delicacies. Og transformed eggs into an exotic pudding using a grainy powder he brought out of a bag, one of several such treats which Danuta, Buia and Rian sniffed with curiosity, scepticism and wonder, passing the little bronze bottles capped with cork to one another. The youngest slave, Faradh, had running sores on his hands from rowing in the cold, which Danuta dressed with her yarrow butter ointment. She was rewarded by great displays of gratitude.
Their loud good humour woke Ussa, who appeared from behind her curtain dazed and rumpled. She cast her eyes around the house in a groggy sweep as if performing a head count, then pulled back the door and stomped out into the dusk.
Shortly afterwards, voices outside heralded the return of Drost. Ussa made a grand re-entrance into
the broch, ducking inside and standing, hand on hip, head high, dark hair spread luxuriantly across her shoulders, her eyes glinting. ‘The hunters return victorious,’ she called, stepping aside, and with a thrust of her hand conducting Drost through the doorway, bloodied and sweating but grinning, with a roe buck across his back, two delicate hoofed legs clutched in each of his hairy hands.
A space was made beside the fire. He slung the carcass down and stood back to revel in the chorus of appreciation.
Pytheas sat up bright eyed, strode forward, clapped Drost on the back and with a theatrical gesture towards the deer declared ‘Bóidheach!’ Beautiful! to a gale of laughter.
Behind Drost, Bael stood with two ducks and a string of four rock doves and soon he too was swept up in the praise and seated beside his father with a beaker of ale. For once the grin on his face even stretched to Rian as she handed him a warm bannock, dripping butter.
Og and Li helped Danuta and Buia to skin the deer and set up a spit over the fire. Rian plucked the birds in a corner, seeking invisibility now that her tormentor had returned. She was as alert as a fox for the signs of danger. But the atmosphere in the big round house was jolly. Not long after dark they were joined by the smith and his daughter, Toma the skipper and his boy Callum, as well as several neighbours. Gruach had brought some of his wares and bronze daggers, bowls and pins were passed around the villagers. Bael was sent for some skins and the trade began.
Danuta gained a bronze bowl and Buia a cloak pin for their hospitality, which would extend to supplying the boat with oatmeal for the onward journey. The barrels were getting low. It was a long time until the next harvest and they could scarce afford to be generous, but it mattered to feed their guests well. Pride was a lot of it but seafaring allies were a better investment than enemies. You never knew when you might be rewarded for a remembered act of generosity. Plus being on Ussa’s bad side could be dangerous.
Drost fingered a bronze dirk with a knot-patterned hilt but put it down when Ussa opened her chest and produced a sword. It was sheathed in a scabbard with inlaid walrus ivory and the hilt was a twisted silver knotwork. The bronze blade was long and sharp enough to cut leather, as she demonstrated by nicking off the thong on Faradh’s boots. Rian wanted to help him, but could only watch as he tried to hide his furious tears.
Drost held the sword across his lap, lust for the beautiful weapon turning his eyes wide and his mouth into an open drool. He waved at Rian. ‘More ale all round!’ Then he turned to Gruach and Ussa. ‘How’s this made so sharp? And the scabbard, there’s a story in that I’ll bet.’
He made to hand it over, but Ussa pressed it back into his hands. ‘It was made in Belerion by the King’s smith, Yberg, the greatest craftsman ever known on the western seaboard. You know he’s lame? The King destroys the kneecaps of his most skilled makers so they cannot leave him. And people say that I’m heartless!’ She gave a sideways glance at Gruach and laughed, a high percussive titter of pure malice. ‘Look long and lovingly, Drost, for you can’t afford it.’
‘How much?’
‘Half a queen’s ransom.’ She smiled. ‘And cheap at the price.’
‘Tonight we’ll play craps and I’ll win enough from you to buy it twice over.’
He handed the sword to Bael, who stroked it with reverence, then passed it reluctantly back to Ussa.
The food began to be passed around and the trade goods were stored for later. Jugs of ale emptied as fast as Rian could refill them from the vat in the byre. She was glad of the snow, for it stopped the night being too dark as she fumbled with the catch on the door. The cows smelled warm and their lowing was comforting between the mounting din of the revelry inside the broch. Each time she returned, she had to blink at the lamps and the gleaming reflections from new bronze and glittering silver.
Ussa had taken over Danuta’s stool and was presiding over the feast, ordering her slaves to pass and carry, choosing the prize pieces of meat for herself or selected beneficiaries. She had shed her outer layer of clothes and sat glittering in a chemise of deep green, her skin shining, her arms decorated with silver and gold bracelets and an elaborate gold torc around her long neck.
After they had eaten their hunger into silence Danuta said, ‘So tell us what brings you this way, Ussa.’
The big woman continued to chew. She swallowed, shrugging. ‘Trade.’
‘You’ll not get rich from the likes of us.’
‘You’d be surprised what some of the things you people think are worthless can fetch elsewhere.’
‘Like what?’
‘Sealskin. Antlers of a red stag. Even that hide there.’ She pointed to the roehide, bundled ready for treating. ‘Well-tanned, that’s high value down in the farming lands further south.’
‘So you’re going south?’
‘Not straight away.’
‘You’re always so evasive.’ Danuta shook her head and moved to clearing some of the empty dishes. Rian jumped up to help.
‘All right, I’ll tell you my quest.’
Danuta paused, watching her. She handed the dish she held to Rian, who put it on the pile and sank onto her hunkers. Ussa was looking around, making sure she had everyone’s attention. It would be a story.
‘Go on then,’ said Drost.
‘I’m seeking Manigan, the Walrus Mutterer.’
‘Who on earth’s that?’
‘He’s a hunter. He travels far, far north to the lands where ice rules. He’s the best walrus hunter there is.’
‘What’s a walrus?’ Bael said.
Ussa laughed at him and he blushed, but Rian was glad that he’d asked.
Drost said, ‘It’s like a huge seal, and the males have big tusks of ivory. They’re so fierce even the biggest ice bears cannot kill them.’
‘That’s right,’ said Ussa. ‘They are almost invincible, nothing except a few exceptional men can threaten them. There is never only one walrus. It’s not as if you can pick one off like a seal. They live in huge packs. They huddle together like an army. Picture the biggest bull you have ever seen.’ She looked around at her audience.
People nodded back, enthralled.
‘Well, they’re that big, that strong. Imagine a boat, not much longer than this house.’ She gestured to help people to visualise. ‘And half the width, and forty or fifty angry bulls trying to crush it. You wouldn’t stand a chance.’
Drost was nodding. Even Danuta had put down her bowl and was rapt, listening.
‘Well, Manigan, not only does he hunt walrus, he hunts the biggest males, the walrus Chiefs. And he does it alone. He talks to them. He does. That’s why he’s called the Walrus Mutterer. He’s a kind of magician. He charms all but the big chief into the water. They say they’re so calm about it they don’t even make a ripple. They go swimming off and leave him alone with the leader, as if they believe he needs a word in private. You can hardly believe it.’
Rian shook her head and caught Danuta doing the same.
‘He puts that big male walrus into a trance and gets him so dreamy and full of peace, he can walk right up to him and slit his throat.’
‘Have you seen it?’ asked Danuta.
Ussa shot her an acid smile. ‘Once.’
Everyone knew she was lying, but it was a good story so she went unchallenged.
‘And why are you seeking this mutterer?’ Drost asked, a hint of jealousy in his voice.
Ussa turned her charm on him. ‘I’d rather not have to ever see him again, if you want the truth, but he has something of mine he shouldn’t have and I intend to take it back into safekeeping.’
‘What?’
‘It’s a skull of stone, with three faces carved on it. They call it the Head of Telling. It speaks the future, so they say, but at the cost of a life for every question. To say you must be careful what you ask it is to rather understate the case.’
&nbs
p; There was a hush.
‘You’d be better off leaving it with him,’ said Danuta.
‘And why’s that? Do you think I’m not capable of invoking its power?’ She sneered at the old woman. ‘Do you think you’re the only one who can peer into the future?’
‘Not at all.’ Danuta’s voice was mild. ‘But I’ve heard of this stone. The druids revere it.’
‘They do.’
‘But they do not seek to use it. It’s far too dangerous. Do you know its other name?’
‘Don’t you start,’ said Ussa.
‘What’s its name?’ Bael was frowning
Danuta looked at him, and paused for effect. ‘It is the Death Stone. It is cursed. You should leave it where it is.’
Ussa rolled her eyes and turned aside to her chest of trinkets. Drost got to his feet and began offering the guests more to drink. Everyone seemed to be speaking to the people next to them about what they had heard.
In a pause in the hubbub, Pytheas demanded the attention of his hosts and, in an almost wordless mime, he thanked them for the meal. His manners delighted Danuta, who patted him and stroked his long pigtail.
He took her hand and then touched Drost’s sleeve. ‘You are his Mama?’
She nodded.
Then he pointed to Bael and Drost and said, ‘Papa?’
They concurred.
Then his gesture was to Buia and Bael, ‘Mama?’
At this Buia laughed and shook her head vigorously. ‘He’s no brat of mine, the mongrel.’ And then she pointed to Danuta. ‘Mama!’ she said, imitating his accent and gesturing to herself. ‘I’m Drost’s sister,’ she chuckled.
‘Sister,’ he repeated, then pointed to Drost.
‘Brother,’ they chorused to him. Then he pointed to Rian and Bael and said, ‘Sister, brother?’
The Walrus Mutterer Page 2
