“I see.” Bridei, himself a foster child, knew all too well the loneliness, the confusion, the feelings of loss such a decision
could bring. Being brought up by Broichan, admirable as the druid had been in instilling learning into his small charge, had not made for the warmest of childhoods. “And now Umbrig employs you as a stable hand?”
“I like the horses,” Hargest said simply. For the first time he sounded natural, as if he had temporarily forgotten his protective screen of aggression. “I’m good with them. He wouldn’t
have brought me on this expedition if I wasn’t. But I’m better with a sword or a staff or with my fists, and that’s what I want to do, my lord king. Be the best warrior in all the lands of the north; prove I can outlast any challenger.” The young eyes were fierce, the back very straight.
Bridei waited a moment, noting the genuine courage behind the fighting words, and then he said quietly, “Prove
to whom? Your father?”
Hargest seemed to deflate a little. “Maybe,” he mumbled.
“I don’t think you mentioned his name,” Bridei said.
“Alpin,” said Hargest. “Alpin of Briar Wood.”
“Ah.”
“You know him?”
“I know something of him,” Bridei said. “Do you go back there, now that you are old enough to move beyond fostering? Do you see him often?”
“No, my lord. Umbrig said I could stay at Storm
Crag, and that’s my choice. It suits my father. He prefers me out of the way.”
“Really? A fine young man like yourself?” Breth’s tone was not quite mocking; in truth, this was a lad any father would be proud of, a physical specimen akin to a prize ram or boar.
“He has his reasons.”
“Hargest”—Bridei chose his words with care—“you mentioned Alpin’s marriage, when you first went to Umbrig at Storm
Crag. I’ve reason to believe he may be marrying again, perhaps this very summer. Have you heard any news of that? An invitation, maybe?”
“Huh!” Hargest snorted in derision. “I’m the last person he’d want at his handfasting. It’s true about a new wife. Umbrig was invited, but the wedding was delayed and now he can’t go, since he’s in the field. Hope my father has better luck than last time.”
“Last time?”
“His first wife was murdered. Killed by my mad uncle. Briar Wood’s a cursed place, that’s what my mother says. Everything goes awry there. Nobody in their right mind would want to stay.”
Bridei felt a chill in his heart. He hoped very much that the lad was exaggerating. It had been hard enough to dispatch Ana to an unknown husband; he had known his sweet-natured, honorable hostage
deserved better. He hoped this realm of madmen and curses was the product of an aggrieved young man’s too fertile imagination.
“Where is your mother now?” he asked Hargest. “Does she still live in Alpin’s household?”
“No, my lord. She left soon after I was sent away; she went back to her home settlement in the west and married an old sweetheart. I get messages sometimes, and I send them. I know
she’s well.”
“Good,” Bridei said. “Now tell me, what will Umbrig think of this defection? If your friend Orbenn goes back alone with the news that you are staying here, won’t your foster father be angry at such a desertion? Who’s going to keep the horses in prime condition on the long ride south?”
“There are other stable hands, my lord king.”
“But he’ll still be angry. You owe him better; he’s
provided you with a home and security.”
“He won’t be angry if Orbenn tells him you’ve offered me a position among your men, my lord king.”
The effrontery of it caused Breth’s jaw to drop. Bridei was momentarily without a reply.
“And what position would that be?” Breth’s tone was quelling. “By the Flamekeeper’s manhood, you have more than your share of—”
“Thank you, Breth,” Bridei said. “Answer
his question, Hargest. You’re evidently qualified as a stable hand. I don’t suppose that job would appeal to you. You’ll need to be precise.”
“I wish to serve you, my lord.” Hargest startled them both by dropping gracefully into a kneeling position. For such a big man, he showed a remarkable quickness and fluidity of movement. “To train as a warrior; perhaps to learn at the hand of just such
an able man as your bodyguard here.”
“So you do acknowledge you may still have something to learn.” Again Bridei was torn between amusement and admiration for, at fifteen, this lad had a certainty that spoke of bright things to come, if he were only given the right opportunities.
“I’m a good fighter, my lord. Good but raw; I know that. Your men could provide the polish I need, the refinement,
the tricks of the trade. Let me stay. Let me ride into battle with your forces.”
Bridei regarded the flushed face, the shining eyes. “If Umbrig wanted you in battle,” he said, “he’d have placed you among his own warriors.”
“He doesn’t see that I’m a man now—”
“I suspect you’re wrong about him. I imagine your foster father just wants to keep you safe. To see you survive to manhood and make something
out of your life. Foster fathers care about their foster sons, Hargest, though sometimes we don’t see it.”
“We?”
“I was the same as you. Only mine was a druid. That made it even more difficult. I was eighteen before I marched into my first battle.”
“Can I stay? Will you have me?”
Breth gave a little cough.
“We’ll see,” Bridei said coolly. “Both you and Orbenn may lodge here at Raven’s Well
a night or two. I need time to consider this. And you must come to terms with the fact that, by running off thus, you will have caused Umbrig serious concern. That in itself tells me you have not yet reached years of manly maturity. No—” he added, as Hargest, still kneeling, made to protest, “it is true, and in time you’ll realize what you have done. It may not be until you have sons of your own,
but it’ll come like a thunderbolt, believe me. Now up you get and off you go to your bed; one of the men will show you where. We rise early here. Make sure you’re ready for what the new day brings.”
“Yes, my lord.” Hargest’s face was full of hope, the dark glare quite gone. “May the Shining One give you good dreams, my lord king. And you,” he said, dipping his head to Breth, which was something
of a surprise.
“May the Flamekeeper light your waking,” Bridei said, and watched as the youth was ushered away by the men-at-arms.
“All that muscle and manners too, when he remembers them,” observed Breth. “All the same, I wouldn’t be too hasty with a decision if I were you. There’s more to that one than meets the eye.”
A CARTLOAD OF fresh rushes had just been delivered, and Faolan
found Gerdic with two of his fellow serving men engaged in clearing away the soiled remnants of the old ones prior to laying their replacements. On the tabletops prowled, crouched, or reclined a number of cats, black, white, striped, patched, all of them showing rapt interest in the upheaval. At the far end of the hall a familiar robed figure could be seen bundling a quantity of the newly cut rushes
with a length of rope.
“Need any help?” Faolan asked Gerdic, glancing around to ensure the absence of men-at-arms or anyone else likely to be observing him with any degree of interest.
They were used to him now; he had cultivated a reputation as an eccentric, in keeping with his bardic profession, and most of the serving men accepted without surprise that he would set his hand quite willingly
to the most menial of tasks simply to fill in the day. It was amazing what snippets of information folk let slip while cleaning fish, digging privies, or kneading bread dough.
He worked his way gradually over to Deord, pitchfork in hand, rolling the malodorous layer of soiled rushes ahead of him. Clouds of small insects arose, and he felt a constant prickling around his ankles. At some distance
behind, Gerdic went over the same area again with a millet broom before a third man strewed the clean rushes. The reason for the cats’ attention was soon apparent: Faolan’s fork uncovered here a mouse, there a rat, there a family of dark-carapaced beetles scuttling for cover. For the feline population of Briar Wood this was a feast day.
Next to Deord’s feet, Faolan bent to loosen a clod of decaying
material caught in the tines of the pitchfork and made his request in as few words as possible. “Gael, today, visiting Alpin. I need a report.”
Deord fiddled with the fastening on his bundle of rushes. “Playing with fire,” he muttered.
“I need this,” hissed Faolan. “Tonight, if you can.”
“You should go home. Get right out of this.” Deord hefted the substantial bundle onto his broad shoulders
and turned his back. “I’ll do what I can.”
Faolan’s steady work with the pitchfork resumed as the other man walked away.
“Odd fellow, Deord,” remarked Gerdic, who had made up ground during the interchange. “Must be the worst job in the world, that.”
“I can think of a few to rival it,” said Faolan, scratching his leg and eyeing the filthy tide marks where rush carpet usually met whitewashed
stone walls. “What do we do with these, carry them out and burn them?”
“The lads’ll do that when we’ve finished. Here, take a turn with the broom, it’s easier on your back.”
“Gerdic?”
“Mm?”
“This wedding; I’m supposed to provide entertainment for suppertime, I’ve got that prepared. But what else happens during the day? What’s the order of it? Ritual, feasting, dancing?”
“You’d be better to
ask Orna; the women are the ones who take pleasure in such festivals. It’s a long time since we had anything like it here. Lord Alpin’s not one for music and flowers and dressing up. I know the men’ll have their own celebration in the morning, plenty of good ale and some sport and games. That gives the women time to put the finishing touches on the feast and to make themselves look their best. In
the afternoon the handfasting takes place. If it’s anything like my sister’s wedding that’s when you’ll get your prayers and suchlike. And dancing later on; dancing and feasting. That’s when they’ll be needing you, Faolan. Thought you’d know all about it. You must have played for weddings before.”
Faolan continued to sweep. “Well, yes,” he said. “But not among the Caitt. Folk here have their
very own way of doing things.”
“DRUSTAN?”
“Ana?”
“I’ve come without Ludha. I wanted to talk to you alone.”
He was silent a little. Light rain had begun to fall; Ana, crouched on the stones of the upper courtyard, put her shawl up over her head. Today she had not even attempted to unpack her workbasket.
“It is the last day,” Drustan said. “Tomorrow you marry my brother.”
There was
a lump in Ana’s throat; it made speaking difficult. “Yes,” she said. “The druid is here. There’s no more reason to delay. He’s putting the terms of the treaty in writing and it will be signed in the morning.”
He said nothing.
“Drustan, I had hoped … I wanted to track down that old woman, Bela. Ludha said she may be still out in the forest somewhere. I’d hoped she might tell me …”
“What, Ana?”
“If we could find her … if she’s still alive … I thought she might tell me the truth. That you didn’t do it. I can’t believe you were capable of such an act, not even if you were in some—some state of mind that made you unaware of what you were doing. But nobody knows where she is, and it’s too late. And now I have to marry Alpin, even though … even though …”
“Tell me, Ana. What is wrong?”
“Even though his touch disgusts me.” It came out in a very small voice; she was ashamed to be saying it aloud. “I cannot bear his hands on me. I don’t know how I can … I don’t know how I will be able to …” She had not intended to tell him this, not Drustan of all people, but it had come out despite herself.
“Don’t do this, Ana.” Drustan’s voice was fierce.
“I must do it.”
“He will hurt you.
And I will not be able to help you.” This was a whisper.
“Drustan?”
No reply.
“I cannot speak to you of what I really want. But if I must wed your brother, I wish you would just go, when Deord next gives you the chance. Run away into the forest, leave Briar Wood behind, seek a life elsewhere. Even if … even if you did do what they say, you should not be condemned to be shut up forever. How
can I live here knowing you are just beyond the wall, in chains? At least, if you took the chance to flee, I would know you were out there free, happy, even though I would never see you again.” She sniffed and fumbled for a handkerchief. On her cheeks, tears mingled with the soft rain.
“I would rather be in chains and close to you, dear heart,” Drustan said, “than out in the forest, free and
far from your side. Besides …” A darker note had entered his voice, making Ana shiver.
“Besides what, Drustan? You should seize your chance to get away. How can you choose captivity? That is … well, it’s crazy, and nobody has managed to convince me yet that you are out of your wits, though they’ve certainly tried.”