Lady Ilena (12 page)

Rol has spent the past month in Aten's paddock, cropping the lush grass, though I've made sure to exercise him as often as I can. Machonna leaps around us as I fasten harness fittings and cinch down the saddle. He, too, has had a long, healing rest and seems as strong as ever now.

I ride toward the far end of the valley, where almost impassable mountains close us in. I hold Rol to a brisk trot until we pass the last house, then stop and look back at the village. Kenna has reached the fields, and Delya is helping her wrestle the heavy plow into place behind the horse. Two other women are at work pulling weeds out of a field of young oats. The children have gathered a cow and three sheep already and are proceeding along the path, collecting the rest of the livestock as they go.

When I turn Rol away from the settlement, a hare bursts out of deep grass and races ahead of us. Machonna yelps with joy and charges after it. I give Rol his head and we race across the meadow toward the mountains. The hare soon goes to ground somewhere in a gorse patch, and Rol and I go
on, leaving the hound snuffling and digging his way into the bushes. We splash across a small stream and climb the first of the hills that begin the mountain range.

It feels good to be by myself and free to focus on my thoughts.

By the time Rol has climbed the second hill, he is tired, and I dismount and loosen his bit so that he can graze while I go ahead on foot along a narrow rocky path that I remember. My destination is a ledge above a quiet mountain lake. When I reach it, I sit down and lean back against the cliff behind me. I cannot see the village from here, and it seems as if I am alone in the world.

Jon and I climbed up here almost two years ago. It was the last time that we talked of marriage.

Moren had made it plain to me that I was not to tie myself to the Vale of Enfert. “Jon is a good man, Ilena,” he'd said, “but you have a place outside this valley, and I cannot agree to a betrothal between you and anyone from Enfert.”

I knew, of course, that my upbringing differed from that of the other young people in the vale, and it was clear that my training as a warrior would be little help to me if I became a farmer's wife. Still, I had grown up with Jon and Fiona, and I longed to go with him to the singings that all the other young people attended. I especially envied Fiona and the other girls when they paired off with the young men whom they would marry and strolled off in the evenings to be alone together.

As the two of us sat in this place, Jon asked, “Will you consider marriage?”

I hesitated, then answered, “I cannot, Jon. Moren is firm about it. I will go sometime to another place, perhaps to stay. I'm a warrior, and you do not need a warrior for a wife.”

We stayed here that evening until the first star appeared above the pass, talking of our feelings and pledging to be friends forever. Then we walked back through the darkness to find Moren angrily pacing about the yard around our house.

“I'm sorry, sir,” Jon said. “We walked up into the mountains at the end of the vale, and I didn't realize how late it was.”

Moren looked at the two of us, and his face softened. “I understand,” he said. “But you must both realize that Ilena will not stay here in the Vale of Enfert. One day we must go back.”

Soon after that Jon and Kenna began walking to the singings together while I stayed at home. After Moren's death, Fiona made a plea for me to reconsider Jon's proposal, but I knew then that I must journey to the East and learn where I had come from.

I sit staring at the lake, thinking of my foster parents and my childhood here in the vale, until the sun is past midway to noon. I must get back and see if I'm needed in the fields.

Rol is still cropping grass near the spot where I left him,
and Machonna is resting in a nest of tall grass nearby. I replace Rol's bit and lead him down the hill, with the hound following us. When we reach the small summit of the next hill, I can see down into the village.

Cattle, sheep, and goats are milling around near the last house; the youngsters are gathered on the other side of the village, near the pass. The mare stands, still harnessed to the plow, in the field, and the women are hurrying toward the children.

It is eerie to see the activity but be too far away to hear anything. There must have been an alarm. I mount and guide Rol down the hill, then urge him into a run when we reach the flat grassland.

I ride through the settlement and up the slope just in time to see a group of dark-bearded men wearing animalskin garments and carrying short spears disappear over the pass. Two bodies lie on the trail, just outside the remains of my old homestead.

I piece the story together from the excited reports.

“We kept slinging stones, Ilena,” Calum shouts. “Just like you told us to. It stopped them!”

“I felt a great anger,” Aten says. “I thought of our children and knew I had to act.” She carries a bloody scythe on her shoulder.

I look at the bodies on the trail and point to the one without its head. “Yours?” I ask.

She nods. “I did not think I could do it, but I did. You are right. A scythe works just like a sword. I whirled around with it like you said.”

The other dead man has a spear sticking out of his chest. “Who did this?” I ask.

Kenna looks surprised and proud at the same time. “I chased him. When I got close, he turned and threatened me. I cast my spear like we'd done at the straw men. I could not believe it when he fell.”

Fiona and Nessa have joined us. “They ran west along the trail,” Nessa pipes. “We kept slinging stones at them as long as we could reach them.”

“I doubt they'll be back,” I say. The panic I felt when I realized that there was danger and that I was too far away to help has subsided. In its place is a growing awareness that my friends can defend themselves.

In late afternoon Eogan returns from hunting just as we gather around the fire in Delya's yard to talk about the day.

“I saw two bodies near the pass,” he says. “What happened?” He looks at me, but Calum and Nessa answer, each vying for his attention.

“We had the livestock partway to pasture when we heard the alarm,” Calum says.

“I was on sentry duty with Fiona,” Nessa says. “They came sneaking along the trail—eight of them—and we waited like Ilena had told us, until they were on the pass. Then we called the alarm and started slinging stones at them.”

“Let me hang the deer and put Legg away,” Eogan says. “I want to hear every detail.”

“I'll help you,” Calum says.

When they return, the story of the battle is told all over again while I remain silent. I listen and enjoy the new confidence the women and children have gained.

As people get ready to leave Delya's yard for their homes, I say, “Machonna and I will hunt tomorrow; perhaps we can find a boar for a true victory feast.”

I awaken early and slip out of the house with Machonna. This will be the dog's first hunt with me since his injury, and he watches happily as I put hunting spears into the case on Rol's harness. We stop at the lookout on top of the pass to talk with Eogan.

“Come see,” he says. “I kept busy last evening.”

A few feet down the slope that leads to the east-west trail there is a wide tree that overhangs the path. Two human heads hang from a branch. They are easily visible to anyone coming up the trail toward the pass.

“That should slow down attackers,” I say.

Eogan smiles grimly. “Aten supplied one head, and I took the other from the one killed by a slingstone. He didn't need it anymore.”

“No,” I agree, “he didn't.”

I walk a few steps down the path to get a good view. “They serve as a good warning,” I say.

“Are you going hunting?”

“Aye. I hope to find a boar to roast alongside your deer for a feast tonight.”

He looks worried. “Shall I go with you? They might still be around.”

“You need sleep. I'll be fine. I have Machonna now.” The dog looks up at his name and howls. “I'd better go on. Your relief will be here soon. Were you alone all night?”

“Calum came up to keep me company and to talk about the battle. He's been asleep for a while.”

“He did a fine job.”

Eogan nods. “I think we can manage. The women are good fighters now that they know how.”

The boar that Machonna and I bring back roasts in the village cooking pit all afternoon while the deer is spitted above another fire nearby. By the time the sun has fallen behind the tallest hills to the west, we have gathered to share the feast. When Eogan and Calum hoist the steaming carcass out of the pit, I step forward with my dirk in hand.

“You know from the stories that the greatest hero at a feast receives the first serving. I don't know what to do. I see heroes everywhere.” There are broad smiles throughout the group.

“Calum is a hero because he led the slingers so well, but each of you”—I look from child to child—“is a hero because
you were so brave, and you have become so skilled with the sling.”

I look at Kenna. “Kenna is a hero because she ran, hard as it is for her at this time, and chased the invaders up the pass. Aten…”

There are murmurs of approval and someone says, “Aten beheaded their leader.”

“I can't choose one hero out of so many, so I will serve you all in turn; let's begin with Calum and his troop of slingers.”

After we have eaten and large portions have been carried up to the sentries, Eogan piles more wood on the fire against the cool evening breeze. Delya takes her place on a log seat and prepares to entertain us—no doubt with the tale of yesterday's attack.

The sentries' first calls sound like the beginning of her story, but Delya's lips are not moving, and the warning continues. A stranger on the pass.

A lone horse and rider descend the path.

Eogan and I carry our swords, and others grasp spears or staffs while most of the youngsters have pouches open and slings in hand.

We meet our visitor near the remains of my home. Her travel costume is much like mine, but she wears her white hair long and loose, held back with a gold circlet. The sword hilt protruding from her harness scabbard is gold, as are the bangles on her arm. She halts her horse a few feet from us and surveys the group.

“You are prepared for an attack, it seems,” she says. Her voice is strong and melodious. “I saw the warnings on the trail.”

The children look at each other and grin; all of them, and most of the adults, have traveled up to the pass to see Eogan's handiwork.

She looks at each of us; it is probably my imagination that her gaze lingers on me for a time. “I am alone,” she says. “I would welcome shelter for the night… and perhaps a bite of that roasted boar that I smell.”

“We—” I stop. It is easy to forget myself; I am not the leader of this village.

Delya steps forward. “You are welcome here. We were not expecting a guest and have already eaten, but there is plenty of boar meat and also deer. I am the storyteller, and I would be honored if you stayed in my humble house.” She turns to Calum. “Your father's barn is big enough for the lady's horse. Can you care for it?”

Calum nods. “Aye. Eogan will help me.”

Eogan has stepped forward to hold the horse's reins with one hand and to offer his other arm to assist the woman. As she slides off her horse, I catch a glimpse of her pendant; it is a hammered copper disk with a large chunk of malachite in the center. Only a high priestess may wear malachite; it is sacred to them.

When she has dismounted, she stares at Eogan's sword before turning to face the rest of us. She speaks first to Delya. “Thank you. I am sure I will be comfortable in your home.” Then she looks around. “And where are the men of the village?”

There is silence. Even though we have repelled one attack, no one wants to announce that our men and boys are not here to defend us.

At last Aten speaks. “They are gone, but we expect them soon.”

She nods and says, “I am Vorgel. I am weary with traveling, and I appreciate your welcome.”

Vorgel is high priestess of all Britain! Her authority equals that of Dubric, the head Druid. It is hard to believe that she has ridden unescorted into this remote settlement.

When our guest is seated in a place of honor beside the storyteller and is supplied with a large trencher of pork, Delya begins the story. She tells about the attackers of yesterday morning, describes the battle in great detail, and ends with a mention of Eogan's display on the trail. There is much about Calum and Aten. Nessa and Fiona are named, and Kenna is praised, but my name is not mentioned.

Still, I feel Vorgel's eyes on me several times during the story and so am not surprised to find her beside me when the gathering ends.

“Will you walk with me, Ilena?” she asks. “I want to see the place where you lived with Moren and Grenna.”

So she does know who I am! I wonder how—and whether she knows the story of my exile. “Of course,” I say. She puts her arm through mine and lets me lead her.

“You knew Moren and Grenna?” I ask.

She laughs, and the sound is a rich melody of notes. “I
knew your foster father when he was a babe. His mother, Gwlech, was my friend; we spent ten years together on Gorre at the school for Druids. I visited Dun Alyn often when Moren and Cara were young.”