“Ludha?”
“Folk don’t talk about it much.”
“How did she die?”
No reply. Ludha began to dip the bathwater back into its jugs and buckets for ease of removal.
“How did she die, Ludha?”
“I don’t rightly know, my lady. She was expecting a child, that’s what they say. The two of them died together. It was a long while ago, six or seven years at least.”
“Oh.” This was the most likely explanation, of course. Such a death, though doubly sad,
was common enough. Ana was able to summon a twinge of sympathy for Alpin. He must have loved her a great deal, and grieved long, to wait so many years before seeking another wife, another chance for children. But then, he had not exactly sought Ana. It was more the other way around.
“You’ll be wanting to rest,” Ludha said. “I’ll call a boy to take away these things and then leave you to yourself,
if that suits.”
“What?” Ana had not been listening. “Oh, yes, of course. Will you come and fetch me when it’s time for supper? You’re right, I am very tired.”
Sleep did not come, for all the soft mattress and good linen. At the back of her mind was the ford, the wave, the broken bodies, and the heart-clutching terror of being all alone. Ana suspected that would be with her every day for the
rest of her life. Then there were the immediate concerns. She rehearsed, over and over, what must be said to Alpin and how she would do it. The marriage was contingent upon his forming an alliance with Bridei, not Gabhran of Dalriada. Bridei was not asking him to fight alongside the men of Fortriu, although another Caitt chieftain, Umbrig, had pledged a band of warriors to that purpose. That particular
piece of information, Ana thought, was probably not to be passed on. But Alpin had to understand that a sworn agreement was required, written down if possible, that he and his men would not take up arms against Bridei, neither by land nor by sea. It was the “by sea” part that was most important; it was his access to the western sea route to Dalriada that made Alpin such an important player.
If Alpin agreed to Bridei’s terms, Faolan would take the news of it back to White Hill and the handfasting would go ahead.
Ana wished very much that she could discuss this with Faolan in private before she needed to broach the subject with Alpin. What she knew of it was the broad framework only. There was a lot more detail, which Bridei’s personal emissary held in his head, and which was almost
certainly terribly important. The fates of armies depended on getting this right and doing it quickly. The more Ana thought about it, the angrier she was with herself for her ill-conceived attempt to protect Faolan with a lie. She had really messed things up. She must make quite sure she did this perfectly from now on.
She tried to imagine what Alpin might wish to know. Questions about strategy:
she would have to answer truthfully and say she knew little of such matters. What if he asked her about the alternative? If he refused the offer, what was she going to do? She could hardly ride out of Briar Wood with Faolan and attempt the long journey home with only one horse between the two of them and the ford washed out, not to speak of those blue-clad attackers. She would have to stay here
at least until the rivers went down, and she would have to ask Alpin for an escort through the places of danger.
Perhaps the best course of action was to tell the truth: confess that she had lied and why, and let Faolan do the job he had come here to do. Ana considered this. It was undoubtedly sensible; it was probably what her friend Ferada would suggest.
Don’t be so silly, Ana, just tell the
man the truth. He won’t bite your head off.
Yet she hesitated. Quite apart from the fact that Alpin would think her wayward and stupid, his manner filled her with unease. There was danger here; she sensed it.
A little sound from the slitlike window interrupted Ana’s thoughts. She turned her head. There on the sill was a tiny bird, a wren, neat in its plumage of brown and cream. It perched there
motionless, head tilted to one side, bright eye fixed on her. Ana was charmed. The creature seemed so fearless; surely no woodland bird would venture so close to human habitation and stay there so calmly. Indeed, this habitation was a particularly unlikely place for birds to linger, on the way from the front door to her chamber Ana had seen no less than nine cats in the house, most of them made
in a similar mold to the men and women of Briar Wood, sturdy and muscular.
Ana sat up in bed, arms around her knees, regarding her small visitor. She gave a soft whistle. The wren shifted a little; its eye did not leave her. Now that Ana thought about it, she had seen that look before, intent, watchful, as if the creature had some purpose of its own in seeking her out. Had not the hooded crow
at the ford turned its penetrating eye on her with just such concentration? That had unsettled her. But the hoodie had proved a friend. Without its help, she would have lost Faolan.
“What are you?” she murmured, getting out of bed as slowly as she could, so as not to frighten the tiny bird away with a sudden movement. “Where have you come from?”
The wren hopped along the sill; not far, since
the window was so narrow. Ana had not looked out before. She came closer. The wren stayed where it was. She could have reached out and touched its soft feathers. Ana wondered if it had once been a lady’s pet. The look in its bright eye could scarcely be called tame.
“Who sent you?” she whispered, looking out the window at the sliver of view it offered. The chamber was high; she had climbed stone
steps to reach it. From here she could see a stretch of forest, oak and elm, a scrap of pale sky, and, if she edged to one side, part of the long, high wall that appeared to encircle the fortress. Ludha had said Briar Wood was very safe. This appeared inarguable; without Alpin’s say-so, there would be no coming in and there would be no getting out. Ana felt suddenly cold.
The wren gave a warble
and, as quickly as it had appeared, launched itself out of the window and away. Ana craned her neck to watch as it flew along the wall, arrowstraight, and downward out of sight. Wherever it was headed, it had not gone into the wildwood, but to a place inside Alpin’s fortress.
“Odd,” Ana said to herself. “Very odd.” She wondered if Alpin had druids or wise women in his household. That could explain
it. Such practitioners of the crafts of healing, divination, and magic could be very close to their creatures. Fola had once had a huge cat, Shade, which had not seemed particularly magical, but with whom the wise woman’s bond was clearly strong. If these birds were indeed the companions of Alpin’s druid or priestess, Ana hoped she would get an explanation of why they seemed to be seeking her
out.
BY SUPPERTIME FAOLAN had acquainted himself with the layout of Alpin’s stronghold. The fortress at Briar Wood had three levels: cellars for storage, living and working areas at ground level, and a few higher chambers that included the chieftain’s own apartments. Ana had been housed next to Alpin. Faolan had been given a pallet in the serving men’s quarters. As soon as he’d been
announced as a bard, Alpin’s men-at-arms had begun to treat him as an amusing novelty rather than a person of genuine interest. Sharing his quarters with grooms and cooks might prove useful; such company was often a source of good intelligence.
The central courtyard was fringed with buildings backing up against the huge wall around Alpin’s fortress. There was a smithy, a tannery, a bakehouse,
a kennel packed with hunting hounds of fearsome appearance, a grain store, an armory. Farther down were barns and stables; it seemed little of this household’s business was conducted outside the protection of the wall. In his mind, Faolan made a new map: the run of the wall, the buildings each in its turn, the points where trees were tall enough to be seen above the barrier, reminding those inside
that they were only a stone’s throw from the great wood. He looked for entrances and exits; somewhere there must be a lesser opening in the wall, a back door, so to speak. A drain, perhaps? A place where goods might be brought in without the need to heave open those great gates?
The questions he asked aloud did not concern such matters. His queries were carefully structured to seem innocuous,
to be soon forgotten. They were designed to encourage people to give him what he needed without knowing they had done so. Faolan had been a spy a long time, and he was good at it.
It was not possible to go far afield that first day. They had reached Briar Wood in late afternoon, the last part of the ride having been quicker than he anticipated with Alpin’s escort showing the way, and by the time
Faolan was settled and had visited the stables to check on his horse and exchange a word or two with the men who worked there, it was growing dark. He would save night explorations until these folk grew accustomed to his presence among them.
There was a corner of the fortress that caught his attention, a place where it seemed to him the wall doubled, creating a narrow space bordered on both sides
by high stone barriers. There was no apparent entry point to this area, but the wall showed a slight curving inward for the length of perhaps fifteen strides; beyond it, Faolan judged, there might be sufficient room for a hidden courtyard or chamber. What might one value so highly that one set it away thus? A store of arms? A cargo of spices or silks that might be offered to a powerful enemy
as a bribe? Or perhaps there was something of a different nature behind that odd contour of construction. Perhaps it was not a bulwark against intrusion but a barrier to keep something in, something too dangerous to be housed in ordinary confinement such as barn, kennels, cellars. A prison? Surely not. What captive requires such elaborate concealment? Shackles and a big guard or two were all a competent
chieftain required to keep men confined. True, once or twice Faolan himself had made an escape from that kind of security, but he did not count himself as an ordinary prisoner. It was his job to be one step ahead, one level better; it was one of his codes for survival. Ah well, there was time to discover the truth about this and other matters of interest. There was time, as long as Ana could
get the message across to her intended husband that he could have her only on Bridei’s terms. She must summon the strength to insist on a delay, and fend off any attempts by Alpin to bed her until Faolan could verify the fellow’s promises. As bard, he’d have no problem ferreting out information. In that respect Ana had done him a favor. He just hoped nobody would ask him to play.
What he could
not do was step in to help Ana with the initial negotiations. Faolan had planned with Bridei exactly what information he would present in response to Alpin’s inevitable questions. Some of it would be false and misleading, designed to reinforce the intelligence he had already passed on at the Gaelic stronghold of Dunadd, before he met a man called Pedar and was obliged to silence him. Bridei wanted
the Gaels to be aware of the likelihood of an early strike: he wanted them to believe the council with Drust of Circinn was called for the harvest festival of Gathering, and the advance itself planned for Maiden Dance, celebration of the first stirrings of spring. This rumor was to disguise the true timing of his venture, which was much earlier. Dalriada would feel the teeth of Fortriu the day
the leaves turned to gold; the campaign would be over before Bone Mother fastened her icy grip on the hills of the Great Glen. The strategy had been good: there is nothing better designed to conceal the truth than intelligence that is very close to that truth, but inaccurate in one crucial particular. Faolan doubted greatly that King Gabhran of Dalriada had an inkling Bridei was almost ready to strike.
Ana was a dangerous player in this game, for she could not be relied upon to withhold information whose strategic importance she did not understand, the names of Bridei’s existing allies, for example, including the Caitt chieftain Umbrig. Faolan was glad they had kept the full truth from her; he was under no illusions as to the methods that might be applied to both men and women to extract information.
She did have one advantage in the negotiations. It was clear from that wretch Alpin’s hot eyes and roaming hands that he wanted her. The thought of it made Faolan sick.
He had washed under a pump and dressed in the plain attire one of the kitchen men had found for him, homespun in dun and gray, coarse and serviceable. His own boots had been left in the forest; they gave him a pair of ancient
shoes with cracking leather and ragged stitching, and he put them on without protest. Since the lie had been told and could not be withdrawn, he would use it to his advantage. The less he looked like a royal emissary the better. In these garments, he should blend in here without much difficulty. It would be good for him. It would remind him that women like Ana lived in a different world from men like
himself.
At supper, they seated him near the opposite end of the long table from the place where Ana sat at Alpin’s right hand, wan and drawn-looking in her clean clothing. She had her hair plaited in a crown on top of her head, and was holding her neck straight, aiming for a regal carriage. Alpin hardly took his eyes off her. Faolan, who never drank ale when he was working, drained his goblet
in one draught and allowed a woman to refill it. Alpin was laughing; he was patting Ana’s hand with his big, rough paw. Faolan saw her flinch. He focused his gaze on the platter of roast mutton before him; speared a slice with his borrowed knife and began to chew. He watched the folk around him; he observed, also, the corners of Alpin’s hall, the doorways covered by loose hangings, the broad hearths
at each end. They said the winters were perishing cold in the realm of the Caitt.