Back at the yard, she checked her hiding place in the wall. The herbs she had tried to dry were mostly mouldy. It was a useless place for keeping that sort of thing. But there were herbs everywhere. The fire-starter was more important. She sorted the bare minimum she would need into a tidy pile: cotton grass, heather buds and stalks, the flint. She needed something to carry them in.
The cows still needed to be milked and they seemed to sense her new resolve, standing calmly while she pushed their calves away to take a share of their milk. With the milk pail full, she returned to the broch where salvation waited. Maadu and Cuckoo, Pytheas and Cuckoo were all out watching Gruach at work.
Fi took the pail from her. ‘You’re all wet. What’ve you been at?’
‘Nothing.’ Rian sat down on a stool by the fire, tipped her hair forward and combed out her hair with her fingers.
Gurda set a tray of risen bannocks beside her and tapped her on the shoulder with a griddle pan. ‘You can bake those while you dry off.’
She pulled up another stool and sat making more dough patties, as Rian cooked the ones on the tray.
‘Maadu’s been talking plans for the wedding. We’re all getting to go.’
‘When?’
‘I don’t know.’
Fi shook some carrageen into a pan of milk. ‘Full moon, whenever that is.’
Rian turned the bannocks over in the pan. The moon was half now, and shrinking. ‘Twenty days or so.’ Could she wait that long?
Gurda and Fi had stopped what they were doing and were staring at her. What had she said out loud?
Fi stirred the milk. ‘Fancy yourself as a witch?’
‘I do not.’
Gurda pointed over to a heap of old clothes on a chest. ‘We’ve to get new clothes ready for the feast.’
Rian got up to look. They were castoffs from Cuckoo and Maadu, both far fatter than any of the three of them. ‘Is there needle and thread for taking them in?’
‘Over in that basket.’ Gurda pointed towards a pretty wicker sewing case at Maadu’s bedroom entrance.
Rian peeked in. It had all she needed for making herself a pouch for her fire-starter kit and some herbs. Her adjustments to one of Cuckoo’s dresses would include a little extra preparation.
That evening she claimed a headache and went upstairs to her bed to avoid seeing any more of Ussa, Pytheas or, especially, Fraoch. Miraculously, Maadu left her alone. She didn’t come down until she had heard them depart the next morning. Maadu asked if she had taken the herb necessary for getting rid of her ‘little problem’ and Rian allowed her silence to be interpreted as assent.
In just over two week’s time, when the moon was rising earlier every night, Rian had made a tidy little bag for her fire-making tools, which she carried everywhere with her in her pocket. She had dried some herbs, brazenly, in the broch, pretending she was doing it for Maadu, then filched some for herself. Maadu made it clear that her food portions should be increased and Rian’s confidence grew with them.
She even took the chance of moving a little pocket knife from the toolbox out to her hiding place in the wall out in the yard. It was a bit rusty but better than no blade at all, and once it didn’t seem to be missed, she added a snug sleeve for it in her fire pouch.
There was a flurry of activity when they scythed the barley crop down, winnowed it and stacked the straw. It was back-breaking work, but it meant fresh grain.
One evening, Rian sat with the quern between her knees, grinding. She had always enjoyed the feel of seeds under stone, the rotary motion, and the songs that Danuta used to sing came back to her. She moistened the stone a little with tears, feeling sorry for herself in the hush of the room, her back smarting as the movements stretched her wounds. Her mind turned to how she might escape.
Time flowed with the spindle, the loom and the quern stone turning. Rian thought back over all that had happened to her over the past months. She felt it had been a lifetime. She was no longer the innocent girl that had been branded that awful day. The hearth was no longer a place of comfort and safety. She was friendless. Sold, sold on, sold back, sold on again into deeper and deeper servitude, into blacker and blacker emptiness, until she no longer knew where she was, who she was, or what she was doing there.
She turned the stone. She ground down the memories of Ussa and of Pytheas. She ground to remember poor Callum and Faradh, their bodies thrown to the fish and the monsters of the sea.
The thought of sea monsters brought back the memory of the giant spirit of the sea and she heard again the strange song that Toma had sung to it. Toma had never been her enemy. Perhaps, while they were in Clickimin, if she could find Ròn could she persuade him to sail her away to freedom? She hummed the tune to herself, having to slow the quern stone rhythm which did not fit the lilt of the song like a boat’s motion did.
Maadu’s hands halted their kneading. ‘What was that song?’ She was staring at Rian, who went silent.
Some instinct told her not to volunteer too much. ‘It’s from the sea.’
Maadu was not satisfied with this but Rian would not let herself be pressed into saying more. She didn’t rightly know herself what it was. But she did know she wanted to see Toma again, although she didn’t know clearly why. It was just that sense of their bond when singing those mournful notes, the feeling of a comrade who understood that the great forces of the earth are amenable to a will if that will is pitched true. Toma knew songs of the sea spirits, a song that could find a safe way out of pack ice. That, surely, was enough of a reason?
Maadu’s youngest and middle sons came to collect their mother and sister in the Chieftain’s boat, and there was a frantic rush to load up all their summer gleanings and Maadu and Cuckoo’s wedding gifts in time to catch the returning tide up the Sound. But Rian was willing, and hauled basket after basket down to the shore. Once off the island, she was never coming back. That big harbour would give her the means to escape, somehow or other. It had to. She was determined.
The night of the wedding, they got to wear their new clothes. Rian brushed her hair and plaited it carefully. She gathered from the looks she got that her dark green dress suited her well.
Feast
The feast was noisy. An awning made of sails had been rigged up over the forecourt of the broch, creating an atmosphere of a huge tented hall, with torches and candles lighting the space. The three slaves were told to help the cooks distribute food and drink among the throng, work at the cooking fire, clear away empty dishes, and generally be useful in ensuring the smooth sense of abundance the Chieftain wanted to convey to his friends. They must lavish his guests with all the best dishes and fob off starving gatecrashers with simple fare. Rian was told to serve drink to the throng and was given a jug to go around filling drinking horns. Some men grabbed at her buttocks or breasts, others bellowed at her for refills. She got better at keeping out of reach. Each time she returned to the broch, where the cooking fire blazed and smoked, she wished someone else would take the jug.
Overlooking the crowd, the Chieftain, black as ever, sat on his great seat like a throne, which had been carried out and placed beside the doorway.
Ussa was among those close by the Chieftain. She was, just as Fraoch had suggested, inveigling herself into favour with one of the unmarried sons, caressing him with her eyes, whispering in his ear and laughing at his remarks. Pytheas was by her other side, watching everything. Rian caught him looking her up and down and he pursed his mouth approvingly. She made sure not to look at him again.
To her surprise, sitting among the poor men at the far side of the yard, with his back to the Chieftain’s family, was Manigan. As Rian took her jug towards that end of the party, trying to satisfy the thirst of all the drinking horns and mugs thrust at her, whilst also trying not to incur the wrath of the steward by being what he considered profligate, he winked at her. What was he doing there, especially among the
beggars? She caught his eye a second time and he put his finger across his lips to signal secrecy. She nodded, though she thought it unlikely that he could somehow manage to remain incognito.
After a while the steward decided she was being far too generous with the drink and sent her to help the cooks, but they were all busy, so she was set to cleaning empty dishes. The water tank was running low so the grey steward told her to fetch more from the well. ‘And be quick about it.’
She hurried off out of the door and down the alley, a pail in each hand. It was almost dark and quiet away from the crowd. Was this her chance for escape? The well was down the hill, on the way towards the harbour. The sudden opportunity made her breathless, giddy. Where should she go?
Before she could decide, half way down the first narrow passage between huts, a figure emerged from a doorway. Rian backed into a gap between buildings and slunk into the shadows.
The man closed the door behind him. The bolt slid home with a dull thump and he winced and looked about nervously, a knife held out in front of him following his turning head. Rian cowered. In the other arm, the man was holding a large, unwieldy cloth bag and, by the look of his hunched shoulder, it contained something heavy.
As he turned in her direction, scanning, Rian held her breath, glad of the shadows. Then she almost shouted out in recognition: she would know those round, flat features anywhere! Only the look on his face stopped her. It was a mixture of guilt and glee, as wicked an expression as she had ever seen on Li’s face. So rather than let herself be known to him she remained, shrinking into the hiding place, while he satisfied himself he was unseen, sheathed his knife and set off down the alleyway away from the broch. He passed close by, but she didn’t move a muscle. She got a clearer view of his face as he strode past. It really was her former fellow slave. Hugging the bag to his chest with both hands, he headed for the shore, no doubt to stash whatever loot was in it on board Ròn.
Rian guessed she had witnessed Ussa’s quest being achieved. If Li had the stone head in that bag, and if she told Manigan, he might be willing to help her.
Then again, he might not. He was part of that family. Why should she embroil herself any more with them? But he had a boat. She needed someone to help her sail away. She crouched for a while longer in the shadows, wondering what to do, then got to her feet. She filled her buckets at the well then headed back to the noisy gathering.
Back in the broch, she was berated for taking so long, given an apron and set to work washing serving dishes so they could be refilled with good things for the guests. She sat by the fire, rinsing and scrubbing pig fat off bronze platters and wiping earthenware bowls, cursing herself for missing what might be her only opportunity to run away.
Another huge dish was thrust at her by the steward. ‘Wash that, quick. We need it for the venison.’ The dish was smeared and greasy with meat fat.
The steward returned, took the clean dish, and told her to take off her apron and get ready to serve again. The venison was the highlight of the feast and everyone would need ale or wine to toast the hunters. Rian was put to work pouring little beakers of wine on a big tray. Once it was full, she was sent off to distribute its contents.
‘Mind you don’t drop it.’ The steward held the door for her.
She minded, treading carefully, and people were more than happy to lighten her load. It was empty by the time she neared the far side of the throng and she had to return for more beakers. But she had seen that Manigan was still there. The second tray took her to the bench where he sat and she made a point of stopping behind him and saying, ‘Wine, and some news for you,’ as she passed him. He half-turned to her, presumably unwilling to turn his head where he might be recognised. Rian leaned across in front of him, asking those near him to clear a space on a bench for the tray, then set the drinks down. As she had hoped, everyone began helping themselves to beakers and passing them around. Her arms ached.
She put her mouth as close to his ear as she dared and spoke in a murmur. ‘Ussa’s slave has just stolen something heavy from a hut down that alley.’ Rian gestured over to the left.
He put his hand on her arm. She looked down at his long fingers. Then he let her go and reached for a wine cup, as if what she had said meant nothing to him. She picked up the now empty tray and returned to the broch.
On her way past him, the Chieftain caught hold of her dress and pulled her in. He asked if everyone now had a toasting glass.
Rian nodded.
He leered back, drawing her face down to his, so she could smell his beery breath. ‘You can expect to hear from me later. I think it’s time I got to know you better.’ He slid a hand up her skirt. ‘Is your arse healed?’
She tugged away.
Maadu was watching unamused, her arms folded.
Ussa leaned across the Chieftain’s son and plucked at Rian’s new dress. ‘You’re looking a bit better than the last time we saw you. Isn’t she?’ The question was addressed to Pytheas, who was seated next to Ussa on the other side. ‘A pretty little thing when she brushes up.’
Pytheas’ eyes were black and he had the slack mouth that Rian recognised meant he had drunk plenty of everything that had been offered to the guests. He was licking his lips and flaring his nostrils, his face flushed. ‘Yes. Before, you looked a peerie tired, but now you look a peerie beautiful.’ ‘Peerie’ was the word for little in the local dialect.
The Chieftain smiled indulgence at his effort to ingratiate himself. Ussa stroked his arm as if he was a pet.
Rian caught Ussa sharing a conspiratorial wink with Maadu, then she took them all by surprise.
‘If the Chieftain will sell her back to me, I will offer a handsome price: a piece of amber, the colour of her hair.’
The Chieftain pulled at Rian’s hair, which was plaited down her back and her head jerked backwards and round as he examined it, as if to test its value. ‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’
Ussa blinked like a lizard. ‘I may not offer again tomorrow.’
The Chieftain smiled with one side of his mouth. ‘Add in a piece of ivory, and she’s yours. I know you like trading with the Mutterer.’
‘How appropriate, exactly the colour of her skin,’ Ussa said smoothly.
Maadu was nudging the Chieftain and pointing to the crowd, whose drinks were waiting.
‘It’s a deal.’ He let Rian go, and gave Ussa’s outstretched hand a cursory shake. ‘But now, it’s time to toast the happy couple.’
Pytheas caught Rian’s hand. ‘Welcome back.’ His smile was like a cat’s, his eyes glazed.
She tugged away, tears of fury blurring her vision. Was she no more than a trinket, to be passed from one person to another in exchange for baubles?
The Chieftain banged his drinking horn with his knife handle and stood, signalling to a young page behind him who leaped to his feet, put the mouthpiece of the carnix to his lips and gave a blast like a rutting stag. Throughout the place heads turned and conversations stopped. The Chieftain began to make a speech praising the hunters and the gods who blessed their hunt. The smell of venison filled the air now as the cooks teased flesh from the roasted carcasses, piling it up on bronze platters. The steward waved Rian over and gave her a plate of meat to distribute.
The Chieftain drew his speech to conclusion with a toast. As everyone except the slaves raised their cups and drank, Rian looked around. Manigan had gone.
The meat was devoured, the noise level dropping for a while as all mouths, except those of the slaves, were occupied with chewing. Then everyone seemed to be talking at once and a kind of crazy exuberance took the place over. A plate of venison was passed back half-full from the Chieftain’s family to circulate among the cooks and skivvies, and the steward rushed over to supervise and control this largesse. Rian seized the moment, grabbed the water buckets again and slipped from the broch, skirting the crowd and heading for the well.
/> She set the buckets down there and looked about her, waiting for her eyes to adjust. It was fully dark now. There was no-one in the alley as far as she could tell, but the shadows were deep. There was something creepy about the hush away from the broch. She began to creep along a passage between the buildings. There was an eerie glow that made her want to tread even more quietly, as if each step might take her into the net of some demon. She reached the end of the first building and at the corner she stopped, trying to control her pounding heart. She needed to find Manigan. Would he be in the hut she had seen Li leave?
She looked up and stopped breathing. The sky was green, the colour of bright wood moss, and rippling. Fear rose in her like a snake. What world was this that she had stepped out into? What spirits had gathered for the feast? What powerful wizard had conjured them? Was this something she should warn someone about? But who?
She stood, gazing up, as the spirits moved in the sky. She had seen them once before as a child. One night Danuta had woken her up and led her out of the broch at Clachtol, to stand on the headland and watch the dance. Buia had already been there, and had taken her hand. Danuta explained that they were spirits trapped in a livid sea of green that oozed out of the north. Their pain was clear as they writhed within the mesh of light, like fish caught in a river-mouth net. Watching them now, Rian understood what they were suffering.
The sky to the west was obscured by the hut. She crouched down and peered around the corner to look up at the lights. The green faded, then surged. Into her left ear a voice said, ‘The dancing ladies are splendid tonight.’
She jerked away but something had hold of her dress. She tugged but a hand clamped over her face and she was bundled into a hollow, bumping against a stone step and down into dampness.
‘Tell what you saw.’ The voice in her ear, a ghostly whisper.
She was lying on her back. Something cold was oozing up into her dress. She didn’t dare speak to the ghost-voiced demon, but it insisted.
The Walrus Mutterer Page 17
