But she did not flinch from me. I slipped the hood over her head. She stopped moving. I held my arm up and leaned forward again, finding my balance, my left hand exploring the leather jesses tangled on the root. A slit in the leather had snagged on a small, upright rootlet. I slid the jess up and over.
I sat on the ledge, breathing heavily, thinking. I could not stand again from this position; the men would have to pull me up from where I was. I would need to get my left hand behind me, to avoid scraping against the cliff face, and then turn in the air. Or should I? What would be safer for the falcon?
“Is she free?” Tómas voice, from below me. I looked down. He stood at the base of the cliff. He must have run down once I was on the ledge, I thought.
“Yes,” I called. The falcon did not move.
“Unhood her,” he called. “I'll whistle her down to me.
It would be better to be pulled up the cliff-face without the bird, I realized. I reached over and plucked the hood from the falcon's head. She looked around, her curved and pointed beak too close to my face for my liking.
A sharp, cutting whistle came from below. The fuádain swivelled her head, and at a repeated whistle raised herself to launch into the air, gliding down to where Tómas stood, swinging the lure. I watched as she dropped gracefully onto his out-stretched arm.
I took a breath. Sounds from above told me the Teannasach and the others had seen the falcon return to Tómas. A pebble fell; I looked up. A face looked down. Sorley. He must be stretched out on the cliff top, I thought.
“Magnificent, Lena!” he called. “Are you ready to be raised up?”
“Yes,” I answered. “I can't stand, though; you'll have to pull me from here.”
His face withdrew. In a moment, I felt the rope tauten, and I grasped the knot with one hand. I extended my other arm and, once I felt my body leave the ledge, pushed off from the cliff, trying to position myself so I could use my legs to keep from scraping along the scarp. I swung, turning from side to side for a minute, but being pulled upward at the same time. The weight of my body took me hard into the cliff-face. I cried out in surprise and pain as my extended wrist took the brunt of the impact. The upward motion stopped. “Are you all right?” Donnalch called.
I tried to flex my wrist. Sharp pain ran up my arm. “I've hurt my arm,” I called. “I hit the cliff-face too hard. Let me see if I can get my feet against the wall, before you pull again.”
I swung my body, cursing myself. Whatever I had set out to prove, I was now injured. Nothing but a fragile woman. Cradling my throbbing arm to my body, I manoeuvred around until my feet were firmly against the face of the cliff. “Now,” I shouted.
Slowly but steadily they pulled me up. My feet slipped twice, jarring my arm and bringing tears to my eyes, and more pebbles and soil from above. But then I was at the cliff-edge. Hands reached down for me, held me under my armpits, dragged me over the edge. My wrist throbbed. I lay on the grass, panting, tears streaming down my face, too drained to worry about looking weak.
“Come, Lena,” Donnalch said gently. “We need to get away from the edge.” He extended a hand down, and I let him help me to my knees, and then my feet. The other men stood some distance off. I walked beside him, the rope dragging, to where they stood, brushing away the tears with my gloved right hand. The women, I saw now, sat on their horses in a little group behind the men.
Sorley stepped forward to undo the knots of the rope harness, freeing me. I winced as he pulled the loop down over my left arm. Pain radiated up from the wrist to the shoulder. Donnalch saw my grimace. He took my left arm in his hands and pulled off the heavy glove. Then he probed. I bit my lip.
“Turn it,” he ordered. I moved the wrist, gasping involuntarily. He felt along the bones.
“Not broken,” he said, “but a bad sprain. It will need rest and binding. Bravely done, Lena. Meas, for rescuing my falcon, although those words are inadequate.”
“Aye,” Gregor said. “I doubt any of our girls could have done what you did today.”
Something broke in me. “And you think we need freeing?” I cried. “That we live in tyranny, and have no choices about how we live our lives?” I felt the tears on my cheeks, and heard the rage in my voice, but fear and pain and anger overwhelmed reason. “I can climb a cliff and rescue your falcon; I can advise Emperors and speak in council meetings; I can sail a boat and kill men with a knife. Your women can do none of these. And you think the women of the Empire need freeing because we cannot marry? How dare you, Teannasach, Donnalch of the North? How dare you presume to know what we want?”
Chapter Seven
I choked back a sob, willing myself not to break down completely. I stared at Donnalch. He regarded me thoughtfully. Then he turned to look at the rest of the men. I saw Gregor flush.
“Forla, Teannasach,” I heard.
“Deir'anaí,” Donnalch answered, his voice firm. Gregor nodded. Donnalch turned back to me. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, and swallowed.
“Well, Teannasach?” I said.
“Did you speak to the Emperor Callan in this way?” he asked, his voice amused. I blinked in surprise.
“Yes,” I replied. I almost smiled. “Once,” I amended. “Only once, in anger, Teannasach.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said, ‘Those who advise emperors should be able to challenge them as well',” I answered. I had my anger under control now, although I could feel the aftermath of emotion in the slight trembling of my body. I hoped it was not visible to Donnalch.
“Aye,” he said thoughtfully. “That sounds like Callan. Well, lassie, I did not think of you advising me—although I am no Emperor—but perhaps I should have. Now, Ardan, give Lena a sip or two of the fuisce you carry, and then we had best go back; Lena needs tea and honey, and the falcon needs her mews.”
Ardan appeared beside me with a leather flask. I took a sip of the spirits; smoky and rich on my tongue, the fuisce warmed me at once. After a second sip, I felt stronger, the trembling subsiding. I handed the flask back to Ardan. Gregor led Clio forward, and I mounted, holding my left forearm against my body. It was awkward.
“Gregor,” I said quietly as I put my foot in the stirrup. “Are you in trouble now, because you told me why Linrathe was invading?”
“Aye,” he replied. “And I should be.”
I grasped the pommel of the saddle with my right hand, and hauled myself up, half prone across the saddle. Clio moved slightly, flicking her ears. Gregor soothed her.
“What will happen?”
He made a small movement of his head. “Whatever the Teannasach decides.”
I swung my leg over and sat up in the saddle. My wrist throbbed. I looked down at him. “Forla,” I said quietly. “I truly did not mean for this to happen.”
We rode back to the hall at a walk, Gregor staying close beside me. Donnalch spoke quietly to Ardan, and the others rode in silence. By the time we reached the courtyard I was trembling again.
Donnalch swung off his horse and bounded up the steps, shouting orders. Gregor helped me dismount. “Go in,” he said. “I'll see to your horse.”
Dagney came out from the hall. “Lena,” she ordered, “go straight to the Comiádh's chambers; they are the warmest in the house. Isa will bring tea, and I have liniments for your wrist. Allech'i, Jordis, go with her.”
Perras’s door stood ajar. The fire blazed in the hearth, and I sank into the chair offered me. Jordis found a blanket to tuck around my legs. The tea arrived, Isa clucking her concern. I took the cup gratefully. I sipped. Hot and sweet, with just a thread of a bitter aftertaste: Isa—or someone—had added willow-bark for the pain. My mother would have done the same. I held the cup, drinking the tea slowly.
Dagney arrived with a basket, and sat in front of me. I held out my arm, and gently she pushed back my sleeve and touched my wrist. I winced, shook my head at her murmured apology. “It is a sprain, as the Teannasach thought,” she said. She dug in the basket, bringing
out a pot of liniment. She spread it over the wrist, rubbing it in with circular motions. It smelled astringent. “Heather and witch-hazel,” she explained, “and an herb called mot'ulva, that we get from the Marai. It will help.” Then she bound the wrist tightly with a linen bandage, and finally fashioned a sling for my arm from more linen. “You'll need to keep it bound and in the sling for a week,” she announced. “We will salve it three times a day.”
She poured me another cup of tea. “What were you thinking, Lena?” she asked gently as she passed me the tea.
“That the falcon needed rescuing, and I was the best person to do so,” I said bluntly. As much as I liked Dagney, or thought I did, I was in no mood for lectures on what was right—or wrong—for me to do. Dagney must have heard as much in my voice, for she gave me an assessing look, saying nothing for a moment.
“It was brave,” she said, after a pause. “I am sorry for your injury, though.”
I shrugged. “I've had as bad, or worse, from fishing, over the years.” I was being rude, as truculent as a child. “Thank you, my lady, for your ministrations,” I said, trying to make my voice less brusque. “Meas,” I added, remembering. “My mother would be interested in this salve; the herb you mentioned—mot'ulva?—is not one we know, as far as I can remember, or at least, not by that name.”
“It is also called arnek,” Dagney said, “but the herb grows only in the northlands and the highlands, so perhaps she would not have access to it. I can send some home with you, when it is time for you to go. But I did not know you were interested in herbs and healing, Lena.”
“I'm not, not really, but I have helped my mother in the herb harvest and still-room as a little girl, and some of it I remember.”
“A bit of healing lore is always useful,” she said. She stood, gathering linen and scissors back into her basket. The pot of salve she left on the table. “Allech'i, Jordis, will you dress Lena's arm again this evening, and three times tomorrow?” she asked. “You saw what I did? Then I will look at it again, in two days.”
“Yes, my lady,” Jordis said. “I can do that.”
A knock at the door, and then it opened a crack. “Can I come in?” Donnalch's voice.
“Yes, Teannasach,” Dagney answered. “We are done; Lena is resting.”
He came into the room, bringing the scent of the outdoors with him. “The fuádain does well enough,” he said. “A few days of rest, and she will be fine, although right now she favours the leg she hung from. Tomas will tend to her. As the Lady Dagney has done for you, Lena, I see. You also are well enough?”
“Meas, Teannasach, I am,” I replied. “As you said, it is a sprain and I will heal much as your falcon will.”
“Salve and willow-bark, and binding and rest is what Lena needs,” Dagney said. I though I heard a warning in her voice. Donnalch was looking at me, though, and I shook my head slightly. A smile twitched at the edge of his mouth.
“I'm thinking she's a bit tougher than you give her credit for,” he said. “I'll not be long, Lady, but I want a few minutes with our hostage.” Gently said, but it was the Teannasach that spoke, reminding both Dagney and myself of my status.
“As you will,” Dagney said formally. “Come, Jordis.”
“Warm in here.” Donnalch pulled his outer tunic off. As he spoke, I realized I too was hot, and pushed the blanket away from my legs, letting it drop to the ground.
“I would offer you tea,” I said, “but it has willow-bark in it, and there is not a second mug.”
“No matter.” He sat in the other chair.
“I am glad the falcon is not seriously hurt,” I said. “Does she have a name?”
“Grasi, I call her.”
“And it is fine for Grasi to hunt, and kill, even though she is female?”
“It is her nature; she was born to hunt and kill,” he said evenly. “But she was also born to mate, and raise her chicks with her tercel. As she will, in another season. I would not deny her that right; it would be cruelty, to go against her nature so completely.”
“And if her tercel is gone, will she raise those chicks alone?”
“Aye, of course,” he said. “Although only because she must. And almost certainly less successfully.”
“Because they are solitary birds,” I said, “and no other female will help her raise that brood. But think of foxes, Teannasach, where the young from a previous year help feed the new litter, so even if the dog fox is gone the young are raised successfully. What is the nature of one animal is not that of another. And we are neither falcons nor foxes, bound to the roles nature gives us, but thinking, reasoning humans. Why should we not choose how we live?”
Donnalch shook his head. “I see I did right in sending you here,” he said. “You argue as if you had been taught by Perras for many years. Where did you learn this, Lena?”
“From the women of Tirvan. Do you think we do not argue, in council and out of it?” And from Casyn and Colm, I thought, but I was not about to admit that, not at this moment. “And you are changing the subject, Teannasach,” I added.
“Aye, I am,” he said easily. “Because you are hurt and tired, whether you choose to admit to such or not. I am truly interested in your thoughts, but I would like them to be considered and calm, and I doubt you can stay so, right now.” I started to protest, but he stopped me with a raised hand. “I have two things to say, or, more exactly, one to say and one to ask. Will you listen?”
“Of course, Teannasach,” I replied, remembering my place here.
“Sometimes,” he began, “a leader must find ways of making a task understandable to minds less versed in history, and what Gregor told you was how I explained my incursion against your Empire to the shepherds and fishermen of Linrathe. Gregor told you there are those amongst them who have been agitating for such a sortie for generations?”
“He did,” I confirmed. “Is it not true, then?”
“Not entirely,” Donnalch said. “But it brought men to the cause, and bound them to me as a leader who listened to their dreams. I channelled that desire to support my own plans.”
“Which were what?” I asked, bluntly.
“Ah, lassie, I’m not about to tell you that, not now.” He smiled. “Would you expect me to? I’m only telling you this much so that you don’t kill yourself in my care, trying to prove the women of the Empire are a match for our men,” he went on. “It was a brave thing you did today, and it will have done the girls here—and the men, too—no harm to have seen you do it. But now, my question. Could you ride, do you think, in two days? Or even one? Long days in the saddle, I mean, not a ride for pleasure or exercise. Answer honestly, please, Lena.”
I flexed the wrist again. It hurt, but not as much as it had before it had been salved and bound. “Yes,” I said, “if the riding is not at speed, I could manage it, I think.” I wanted to ask why, but did not.
Donnalch pushed his dark hair off his forehead with one hand, his manner suddenly more serious. “I would like to talk more with you, but I am constrained by time: I have given myself a bare fortnight to make this journey. But I want to hear your thoughts before that, and so I can see no choice than to have you accompany me, and we can talk on the road.” He stood. “I'll find the Lady Dagney, and make the arrangements. We'll be a small party, and all men, unless you want another woman along?”
I shook my head. I was used to travelling with men, alone, and had no concerns about their conduct towards me. On the ride north from the Wall to the Ti'ach na Perras, the men had treated me with respect. “If someone can bind my arm for me, for a few days,” I said, “and see to my pony's tack.” Donnalch had not, I noticed, asked me if I wanted to go. I was his hostage, I thought, so I suppose he doesn't need to. I was his to command. Did I want to go? I wasn't sure.
“Gregor can do that,” he answered. “Rest, now, Lena. We will leave the morning after next.”
†††††
Dagney spoke forcefully: either another woman went, or I did not. “It
is not your honour I am concerned about, Lena,” she explained. “Many who learn of your presence will already have their own thoughts about that, unfortunately,” she added, with a small grimace, “but the Teannasach cannot be seen to ride alone with a woman.” She paused. “I will come,” she said. “It has been some years since I went north.” She smiled at my expression.
“Don't look so shocked, Lena,” she said. “I am capable of the ride, and I will be regarded as a chaperone without peer.”
I felt myself blush. “My pardon, Lady,” I said. “I wasn't thinking you were too old; I just didn't realize you would leave the Ti'ach.”
“But how else would I find my danta?” she asked. “The songs are not written down, or not all the versions of them, anyhow. Almost each village or torp has a slightly different version, of the words, or tune, or both. I visit, and talk, and sing with the people, and write down what I hear. I have recently turned my thoughts to a set of ballads about two sisters, and so I will do my research while we travel. Two pots on one fire.”
Privately I wondered what Donnalch would think of this: would it distract from his own purpose? I said nothing, though; it was not my decision. We sat in Dagney's teaching rooms after another lesson in language. I had added a few words—predictably food—be'atha, and water—vann—and learned to ask for both. My arm ached. I had slept poorly, not finding a comfortable position, and the lesson had gone slowly.
Dagney had gone herself to the kitchen to ask for tea, and Isa had brought it through some minutes before. I held my mug in my good hand and sipped.
“Should I go to the Comiádh now?” I asked.
“Soon,” she said. “Let us talk a bit, first, about what it is you will say to Donnalch, as we ride north.”
“How can I decide that, until I know what he asks me?”
“You know it will be about how women of the Empire live, about your right—or lack of it—to marry, to raise children with their father present, to be part of a family.”
Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy Page 46