Dreamer's Pool

by Juliet Marillier

  ‘We might ride over to Silverlake and see the folk there as well,’ I suggested. ‘I try to visit both villages in between the open councils, in case folk have any concerns they wish to raise. Sometimes I can resolve a problem without the need for it to be aired in the more formal setting of the council. The women will welcome your presence; I imagine there are some issues they will find easier to bring to your attention than to mine.’

  ‘If that is what you wish, of course,’ Flidais said. ‘I do wonder why your steward cannot do this for you.’

  We rode on in silence for a little, while I considered and discarded various replies. Surely I had already made my philosophy on a leader’s responsibilities clear to her, not only in my letters but in our discussions since. ‘As I’ve told you before,’ I said eventually, ‘I believe it’s important that we make these visits in person. Yes, it’s unconventional. But it’s the way I prefer to do things.’ I recalled somewhat belatedly the circumstances under which she had left home. ‘It is a time of peace here, of course,’ I said. ‘Riding out like this, with only a small escort, is perfectly safe.’

  ‘I understand, Oran,’ she murmured. ‘Though I would have thought you might have other matters on your mind.’ She glanced at me sideways as we rode, and the look in her eyes made the heat rise to my cheeks. I turned my gaze forward, hoping the men-at-arms had not noticed.

  ‘Bramble seems happier under Aunt Sochla’s eye,’ I said, changing the subject. ‘The two of them have quickly become good companions.’

  A silence, as we rode down a gentle hill toward the village of Winterfalls, where the dry weather had brought folk out of doors to tend to gardens, hang up washing and chat with their neighbours. Then Flidais said, ‘Your aunt is a formidable woman. I suppose any dog would obey rather than earn her anger.’

  Had she not noticed what Aunt Sochla was doing with Bramble? ‘I’ve seen no evidence of anger; my aunt’s training is always conducted with kindness. A dog responds best to a firm but gentle approach, I’ve found, whether it is a pet like Bramble or a working dog like Niall’s herders.’

  Flidais looked at me under her lashes. ‘Now I’ve offended you,’ she said.

  ‘Offended, no,’ I said, taken aback. ‘You have misread my aunt, that’s all. When I was growing up I did find her somewhat alarming, that is true – she is very definite in her opinions and always has been. But she is a good-hearted person. I liked to visit her; her house was full of little dogs and she was happy for me to play with them, feed them, take them out walking. At Aunt Sochla’s I could forget, for a brief while, that I was a prince. That gift did not come often.’ We were almost at the village; folk were walking up the track to meet us. ‘Donagan’s friendship allowed me the same opportunity,’ I said. ‘There are times when it still does.’

  ‘I have wondered, sometimes,’ said Flidais, ‘what kind of life it is to be body servant to a prince or princess. Take Donagan, for instance. He sorts out your clothing, he wakes you in the morning and sees you into bed at night, he hovers by your side all day, at your constant beck and call. What if such a man wanted to marry? To father children? What woman would want a husband whose life was not his own?’

  I was spared the need to respond to this extraordinary speech, for the welcoming party had reached us. We reined in our mounts.

  ‘Welcome, my lord!’ Iobhar the brewer was there with his wife Eibhlin; by them stood Scannal the miller and Luach the weaver with her daughter.

  I swung down from Snow’s back, helped Flidais dismount, then greeted each of the villagers by name. There was a pattern to my visits, and although Flidais was new to that pattern, it was clear she’d been expected. I was soon swept away to Iobhar’s brewery and ale house with the men, while Flidais and Mhairi were shepherded to the weaver’s by the women. A boy came to lead our horses into the yard behind the ale house. On my orders, our guards split up, Garalt coming with me, Fergal going with Flidais.

  ‘Garalt will relieve you in due course,’ I told Fergal. ‘There’ll be time for you to partake of some ale before we ride on.’ Iobhar’s brewing was almost as legendary as Branoc’s cakes. Not that I expected to be eating any of those today, even if we did go all the way to Silverlake. Everyone knew Branoc was averse to company, and I would not subject him to a surprise visit, especially not with Flidais present. What in the name of the gods had possessed her to say what she had about body servants? Could it be true that my reliance on my old friend had blighted his whole future? Was I not so much a friend as a millstone around his neck?

  The ale was good, the company good also, though with Donagan absent the men of the village were more reticent than usual. If I had not already known what an asset my friend was in smoothing the way for me, I would have realised it today. As my companion and personal servant, Donagan fell somewhere between me and these villagers, and in his presence they generally spoke out with confidence. Today they seemed anxious not to offend me. When they asked where my friend was, I told them he was indisposed.

  I talked to some of the farmers about a troublesome patch of boggy ground and the need to dig a drainage ditch. They could not agree on its position. I suggested they consider a compromise that would not encroach too severely on either man’s farm, and told them to bring it to the council if they had not reached agreement by then. Scannal had a complaint about Branoc, the baker from Silverlake. For now, the miller said, he could supply the special types of flour Branoc required. But the Gaul was very particular, soon finding fault if what he received was not up to his exacting standards. And transporting the stuff over to Silverlake was becoming a nuisance; it meant a whole day’s use of the cart, more or less, and the services of a man to do the driving and the lifting.

  ‘He won’t send a carter from his end,’ Scannal said. ‘There are fellows in the village there who wouldn’t mind the work, but Branoc won’t give it to them. Very particular about who comes in and out. Mind you, he pays well, I’ll admit that.’

  ‘Isn’t there someone who would take over the job of miller at Silverlake?’ I asked, remembering that there was a story attached to that mill; a tragic one, the miller killed in some gruesome way and the place more or less abandoned. It had happened not long before I moved to Winterfalls in preparation for my marriage. ‘Couldn’t one of your assistants get everything working again, Scannal, while you keep your own place going? I understand there are living quarters at the old mill that could be refurbished.’ The land on which the Silverlake mill stood was in my gift. If the previous miller – what was his name, Ernan? – had died and the place had been allowed to run down, it was for me to determine its future. ‘Did Ernan not have sons?’ I remembered, then, something about a daughter.

  ‘He had no boys, only the girl. Ness. Turned to the bad. We’ll see no more of her.’

  I was not quite sure what turned to the bad meant. ‘She’s no longer in the district?’

  ‘Gone off with the travelling folk, that was the story put about at the time,’ said Iobhar. ‘Though it was the wrong season for them to be here. But she had a fellow that was sweet on her, one of the travellers. Maybe he came on his own and fetched her away, who knows?’

  ‘She helped herself to her dad’s life savings before she went,’ put in someone sourly. ‘A traveller boy would come a long way for that.’

  ‘So it appears there’s no claimant to the mill,’ I said. ‘But generally, folk would agree that we do need a mill in Silverlake as well as Scannal’s place here, yes? There is enough work for both?’

  ‘That’s how it’s always been, my lord,’ Scannal said. ‘Two mills and two bakers. Until Ernan died, that is. Branoc’s fussy about his flour; too fussy for me, to tell you the truth. I could do without having to grind his special blends when I’ve got a big order for oaten flour or barley meal on hand. Problem is, nobody will take Ernan’s mill on. Not after what happened.’

  ‘Crushed to blood and splinters,’ said Dea
man the baker. ‘Who’d want to be using that grindstone again?’

  As a man, I found myself in perfect agreement. As a prince, I understood the wastefulness of leaving a perfectly good mill to rot away in disuse. ‘We’ll discuss this further at the council, when folk from Silverlake are present. Meanwhile, think about how we might remedy the situation. For instance, we might call Master Oisin or the local wise woman to conduct a cleansing ritual at the mill and set poor Ernan’s spirit to rest. Or, in the shorter term, we might find a way to persuade Branoc to hire his own carter. That would go some way toward ameliorating your problem, Scannal.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord. I’ve been using that new fellow, Grim, from the healer’s place. Good worker, but he’s not always available to help. Gets a lot of jobs around the district. Strong as an ox.’

  ‘I have met Grim briefly.’ A man of intimidating proportions and few words. A man of considerable skill. ‘Now, is there anything else you want to discuss before the council?’

  Iobhar reached over to top up my ale cup. ‘Nothing serious, my lord. We wouldn’t want to be troubling you with too much just now. We all wish you the best for the future. You and Lady Flidais. Good to see her here. The women will like that.’

  ‘I hope they will, Iobhar. I imagine it is good for them to be able to raise their concerns with Lady Flidais in relative privacy.’

  ‘Keep her talking all morning, that’d be my guess, my lord.’

  ‘As to that,’ I said, ‘I’m hoping to ride to Silverlake, so if you’re sure that’s everything, we’d best be off shortly. Thank you for your hospitality. Iobhar, I think you brew the finest ale in all Dalriada.’

  Iobhar grinned broadly. ‘Thank you, my lord. I won’t argue with that.’

  I sent Garalt to relieve Fergal and to tell Flidais that we would be riding on soon. Then I excused myself to visit the privy, which was out the back of the ale house, near the stable where travellers’ horses were tended to while their riders partook of Iobhar’s fine brew. The meeting had gone well; my mood was much improved.

  I was stepping out from the privy, still adjusting my trousers, when someone grabbed my arm and pulled me into a dark corner of the stables. I drew breath to shout, and a small hand placed itself firmly over my mouth.

  ‘Hush, Oran, it’s me!’ Flidais, pressing herself up against me, her hands now moving down to undo the fastenings I had just tied up, to slip inside my clothing and attach themselves firmly to my manhood. What in the name of the gods was she doing? This, here, in Iobhar’s stables, in the middle of the day with several folk no further away than the other side of the courtyard, and our own guards likely to be looking for us in moments?

  ‘Flidais, no!’ I tried to extricate myself, but my back was hard up against the wall, and she was hard up against me. It seemed desire would always overcome common sense; even as I saw the folly in the situation, my manhood made a liar of me. ‘Flidais, stop it! Let go!’

  Her agile fingers released their grip. I had barely time to snatch one quick relieved breath when she fell to her knees and I realised she had a weapon in her armoury that was new to me, if not in understanding, then most certainly in practice.

  ‘Stop it!’ My voice was a strangled gasp. ‘Now, Flidais! Quickly, get up before someone sees us!’ But oh, how clever she was with her mouth; clever enough to stir me to boiling point even at a moment of such high risk. ‘Flidais!’

  She drew me right to the brink, unwilling as I was. There was, perhaps, a count of ten in it, from the moment she took her mouth away to the moment when Garalt came back into the courtyard to get the horses ready. In that count of ten I remedied the disorder of my clothing, and Flidais stepped out into the light, smoothing down her skirt, her manner relaxed and confident. ‘Apple has been a joy to ride,’ she observed, walking over to give the mare’s nose a stroke. ‘So gentle and calm. She was an excellent choice.’

  I gave a kind of grunt in response; I was still in some physical discomfort, though sheer horror was quickly reducing my problem. In truth, I could not believe Flidais had done this. Why take such a foolish risk? It went beyond stupidity. I could hardly think of a less appropriate occasion on which to engage in such an activity. These folk looked to us as their leaders. We were their protectors, their arbiters, their exemplars. How much respect would we have, how much indeed would we merit, if we rutted like animals where anyone might walk past and see us? Worse than that; we were on Iobhar’s premises, as his guests.

  I could not say anything with Garalt close by. And now there was Mhairi coming in through a side gate – where had she been? – and Iobhar’s stable lad emerging from the other end of the place. My belly tightened at the possibility that he had been there all along; that he had seen everything. Should this unsavoury tale be spread about, it would cause untold damage to my reputation in the community.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I said, not quite looking at Flidais. ‘We won’t ride to Silverlake after all; it will be too much for you.’

  ‘Oh, I can –’

  ‘Straight home,’ I said to Garalt. ‘We’ll give Fergal time for his ale, then we’ll be off. Silverlake can wait until Donagan is available; we may even beard Branoc in his den.’

  ‘Yes, my lord. I’ll go in and let Fergal know.’

  ‘Flidais,’ I said in a murmur, as soon as he was out of earshot, ‘that was entirely unacceptable.’

  ‘Were you not enjoying it, Oran? You gave every sign that you were.’ Her voice was warm honey, conjuring images of the nights we had shared. ‘You seemed a little out of sorts earlier. Displeased with me. I thought only to make it up to you.’

  ‘We will discuss this in private,’ I said. ‘At home.’

  ‘Ah.’ It was a sigh of anticipation; clearly she had not picked up my mood.

  I cleared my throat. ‘Were any matters of significance raised by the women? Do they need answers from me before we leave?’

  ‘Nothing important. Oran, I can ride on to Silverlake –’

  ‘Don’t argue with me, Flidais. We’re going home, and when we get there I must be quite plain with you, even if what I have to say is not to your liking.’

  She hung her head. ‘I’m sorry. I keep getting it wrong.’ She looked up, her big blue eyes suspiciously bright. ‘I only wanted to please you.’

  I could have let those melting eyes, that contrite stance, that sweet voice win me over; not so long ago, I would have been swayed by them. But my mind was on the years ahead, all the years of our life together. The life I had wished on myself through my stubborn belief that dreams come true, if only a man waits long enough. ‘As I said, we’ll discuss this later. If you want the truth, Flidais, after this I cannot trust you to visit Silverlake with me. Or indeed anywhere.’

  But by the time we reached home again, Flidais had been stricken by one of her headaches and told me she must retire to rest.

  ‘I’ll send for the wise woman,’ I said. ‘These headaches have gone on too long. Mistress Blackthorn will surely have a remedy. Everyone speaks well of her skills.’

  ‘No!’ Flidais spoke sharply, then put a hand to her brow as if the effort had made the pain worse. ‘I don’t want her. All I need is to lie down for a while.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Really, Oran. I should be well by supper time. There is no need to trouble the wise woman, or indeed anyone.’

  I let her go, wishing I had taken Mother’s advice and allowed one of the court physicians to stay on here when the rest of the royal party returned to Cahercorcan. Had Flidais been beset by these headaches before she came to Winterfalls? I should ask her women, perhaps; but that might convey the message that I doubted her.

  ‘Is all well, Oran?’

  I was started out of my reverie by the dry voice of Aunt Sochla, who had come into the entry hall with a panting Bramble at her heels. The little dog greeted me with whimpers of delight, and I
had no choice but to gather her up and hold her close. She quivered with joy, stretching up to plant kisses on my cheek.

  ‘Oran?’ My aunt was regarding me with an expression very like one of my mother’s: it suggested an uncomfortable level of understanding. ‘I thought you were riding to Silverlake this morning. That was what Flidais told me earlier.’

  ‘We came back early. Flidais has a headache; she has gone off to rest.’

  Aunt Sochla did not reply, simply continued to stare at me. ‘Unfortunate,’ she observed.

  I glanced around the entry hall and found it empty for now of listening ears. ‘Aunt,’ I said. ‘May I ask you a favour?’

  ‘You can always ask, Oran. I may not say yes, of course.’

  Bramble was settling now, warm in my arms. Her fur was silky smooth under my fingers. ‘Could you have a quiet word with Flidais’s women about these headaches, without disturbing Flidais herself? It would be useful to know how long she’s been afflicted by them, and whether a physician was attending her back at Cloud Hill.’

  Aunt Sochla gave a crooked smile. It made her into a witch from an old story, a person neither good nor bad, but certainly dangerous. ‘Are not those questions you could ask her yourself?’

  ‘Flidais is reluctant to discuss the matter with me. She brushes off my concerns.’

  ‘Mm-hm. Very well, I can try, though your lady keeps her women on a tight rein. One thing I do know. Until the day of the drowning, Lady Flidais was devoted to Bramble, and Bramble to her. Deirdre told me, and she’s the most reliable of the handmaids. And that really does surprise me. I’ve never seen a dog change its allegiance in such a way. Even those that have been quite cruelly treated retain their loyalty. A dog’s devotion to its owner goes deep; they are far more forgiving than we are. Anything else I should be asking, while I’m at it?’