by Katy Moran
“It would should he sell them to Northumbria,” Wulf replies, just as calm, as if he is talking of nothing more than a clutch of eggs or a few barrels of ale. “And I am not such a careless father nor a heedless guardian that it doesn’t cross my mind.”
“We can do it, Da,” Cenry says, and I can tell it costs him dear to sound so cool. “We’ll take care. You must send someone to make sure of Orhan, and both me and Cai speak British, which you don’t. It’ll seem a sign of respect that you send me; it’ll make Orhan think you trust him.”
“Of course you can do it,” Penda says. “Orhan shall swear you as many false oaths as he pleases, Cenred, and Cai will learn how the land truly lies.” His gaze falls on me. “I’d wager my right hand you could wheedle the truth from Orhan or one of his men without putting yourself to the sweat.”
I feel cold, and slightly afraid, if the truth be told. How does Penda know I’ve that knack? How does he know I can befuddle men and draw words from their lips they don’t mean to spill? I’ve not used this trick since I was on the slave ship, and talked the chief into selling me as a hostage.
It has never seemed right to do it here.
“Cai?” Wulf says, a touch sharply. “What’s amiss?”
Cenry is staring at me, narrow-eyed. Penda does nothing but smile.
I shake myself. “Nothing. It’s only that, well –” I grin at Wulf – “last sennight you near had a fit when I lied about weeding the kale. Remember?”
Wulf laughs. “There’s a world of difference between lying to your lord and lying for him, so don’t fret on that score. Lie to Orhan’s men all you wish. I order it.”
“Well then, Cai son of Essa,” Penda asks. “Do you take this task?”
“Of course, my lord.” He knows I have no choice. “And what should we do if we do find Orhan a traitor?”
Wulf only glances at his father a moment before replying, “Kill him. What else should you do?”
Jesu. Every now and then, Wulf reminds me why he is called the Devil’s Cub.
From Mercia, north into the rebel marches
IT’S A PEARL-GREY dawn, brightening in the east. Mist hangs in the air, dampening our faces; small silvery beads of water do glisten in everyone’s hair. It’s chilly now – Anwen wears a heavy blanket about her shoulders – but we shall get warm later, for we’re still in the time of the long days, though they’re getting shorter. I don’t know that I’ll ever be used to the stretched-out, drowsy light of midsummer on this island, and the darkness of winter.
In the courtyard, Anwen frees me at last from a hug, planting another kiss on my forehead. “Be safe, my cariad,” she says, trying to smile even though she is crying fit to flood us, the daft fool. Why are all women and girls such water-pots? Anwen turns to Cenry, weeping all the more. I am only glad they did not wake Aranrhod and Rhiannfel, or we should probably have drowned. Elflight and Asha were ever the same.
But I cannot think about them.
Thorn would not have cried, though.
Wulf gives me one of his quick, bright smiles, squeezing me so tight I’m crushed against his chest. “You’ll do well enough,” he says. “I said the same to Cenry, but if you get the flicker of a hunch that something’s not right, then be off, even if you must leave Orhan alive. Your da and I would have had our throats cut scores of times if we’d not listened to that feeling in our bellies. You know what I mean, don’t you?”
“I wasn’t the greatest thief in Constantinople for nothing.” I grin at him. “I’ve only been caught the once, you know.”
“Twice, wretch. I’ll not soon forget tracking you and that hussy across the marsh. I beg you will not do anything so tiresome this time.” Wulf’s smile fades, and he looks grave again, drawing me a few steps away from the others. “Do you take heed, Cai: I wouldn’t be sending you to spy on Orhan if I thought it beyond your skill. But I do not want Cenry to come back from Elmet alone. Do you ken what I’m saying? I hope you’re not cooking up some stew-brained plot to go off seeking your father once you’re out of my sight.”
Why must he be so wretched knowing? Of a sudden, it’s hard to speak. “I wish I were so sure he’s still alive.”
I can’t begin that back-and-forth talk with myself again. If Tasik were dead, would I not know? And what of Elflight, who grew beside me in our mother’s womb. Surely I would know if my twin were dead. Sia was right: my longing to see Tecca took me too close to the other place. But never a shadow did I see of Tas, Ma or the girls. Never once did they come to me when I was on the slave ship. It was only Tecca. And I can’t forget that voice saying, Na, cub, you’ll not find him here.
Which means they live, does it not?
But then there was my dream. If I close my eyes, I see it again: Tasik lying dead in the courtyard, his throat cut. I can never be sure. I will never know. I wish Sia were here. I wish someone could tell me.
Wulf smiles. “Your father’s got out of tighter spots. I know him: if he lives, he’ll seek you till his last hour on earth. And if he ever comes here and finds you gone, he’ll knock me senseless. You don’t wish that on me, do you?”
I draw in a deep breath. “No. But, Wulf – can I have my ring back, at least?”
The sunny cheer drains from his face. “We’ve spoken of this before. You’ll have that ring when I judge the time is right for you to keep it.”
Anger twists deep in my belly. “It’s not fair.”
Wulf gives me a dangerous smile. “Na, perhaps not. But you sold yourself to me, remember? I paid good coin for you, too. Twenty gold ones – so don’t make me sorry. Cai, give me your word you won’t go off on some foolish search for your father.”
God take his eyes. “All right,” I say. “I swear I won’t go looking for him.”
Not this time, anyhow.
We pick our way through the village, past Garric’s smithy, past the weaving-hall and the god-house, the cluster of lopsided wooden houses topped with thatch, all golden in the dawn light.
Voices drift on the still early morning air. Strange: I hear no clattering of cook-pots or yawned greetings. Even the hounds are sleeping yet. Wulf and Anwen may have woken to see us off; I’d have thought the village folk would be enjoying their last moments of rest.
Cenry glances at me, grinning. “Seems we’ve a farewell party.”
But he’s wrong. I can see them now: it’s just Wynn, Garric’s woman, and one of her brood of daughters. What’s her name? Mildreth, that’s it. She’s bidding fair to be as fat as her mother one day, too. What are they doing huddled in the doorway of the weaving-shed like that? The sound of sobbing drifts towards us. Jesu, how many weeping females must I see in one morning? Wynn stands with her hands on her hips, jabbing her finger at Mildreth, who cringes away like a whipped pup. She’s such a milksop, that wench.
I can hear what Wynn’s saying now. “You foolish, foolish girl! Well, you’ve made your bed, and you must lie in it.” If they weren’t so wrapped up in each other, they’d have spotted us.
What are they talking of?
“Come,” Cenry whispers awkwardly. “This isn’t for our ears. I’ve no urge to hear Mildy have strips torn off her for breaking another bowl, the clumsy wench.” He glances behind
us to the bright line of yellow light where the sky meets the earth. “This way – north-west. We’ve a long ride ahead.”
But I do not think Mildreth has broken a bowl, or spoilt the milk, or dropped a cheese. Wynn loves nothing more than making a great fuss over naught – but not at this hour of the day when all are still abed and she’s no one to watch her. Cenry is right, though: it’s not for us to know what they’re squabbling about.
Anyhow, we should be otherwhere by now.
Be swift, dear one. I dig my heels into Maelan’s flanks and stir her up to a gallop, following Cenry as he thunders across the bridge, over the river to the reaches of the wood shore.
“That’s Cassiopeia.” I point up at the night. “And that’s Deneb, the bright one.”
“He still believes in those old gods, doesn’t he?” I ask, pulling my cloak tighter about my shoulders. “And your grandfather, too.”
Cenry shrugs. “If Granfer had any sense, he’d let the god-man baptize him. We’re the strongest kingdom in Britain, truth be told, and if Granfer were Christian, or seemed it at least, Kent, Wessex – all the rest – they’d take him for their High King, well enough. But they’re too afeard for their mortal souls.”
“And meanwhile, Penda and your da harry Northumbria as much as they please and no one’s the courage to stop them.”
Cenry pokes the fire again, roiling up a shower of amber-bright sparks. “It can’t go on much longer. We’ll fight it out with the north before the year’s done, if they can stop brawling amongst each other long enough.”
What will happen to Edge if Wulf fights his father? What will happen to me?
“Do you think the Elmet-set have truly gone over to the High King, then?” I ask, quickly.
“They’re fools if they have.” Cenry falls quiet. What’s got to him? It’s not his way. Is he asleep? “Cai,” he says at last, leaning on his elbow and looking right at me, “what did Granfer mean when he said you’d have no bother drawing the truth out of Orhan? Do you know something about him?”
Cenry’s too cursed hawk-eyed at times. Just like Wulf.
I roll onto my back, drawing up my blanket. It smells of the lavender Anwen scatters to keep out moths, and I’m reminded with piercing strength of Ma. She used to rinse her hair in lavender-water, and always the smell of it hung about her, warm and peaceful.
What if I just tell Cenry the truth? He’ll never believe me, anyhow.
“No,” I say, slowly, “I don’t know anything about Orhan. I’ve nothing to bribe him with.”
Cenry spits into the fire. “I knew you couldn’t. You came straight off the slave boat to Londonwick, and you said yourself your parents told you nothing about living here. So—”
“Do you want me to tell you or not?” I sit up, wrapping the blanket around me.
Cenry sits up, too, grinning. “You know I do. There’s something going on – come, you can’t fool me.”
“All right. I don’t know how Penda got wind of it, but you know how I can run so quick, and hide, and no one can ever find me if I don’t wish it?”
“They don’t call you the witch-boy in the village for nothing. And most handy it was, when you stole Garric’s home brew from under his nose in the spring.” Cenry lets out a crack of laughter. “They never did find us out, did they? But what’s it to do with Orhan, some rebel chief you’ve never laid eyes on?”
I draw in a long breath, and let it out. “All right: I can make you tell me anything I want. You can’t keep a secret from me. I could make you walk over to that stream and lie down in it, if I chose. I could make you do anything.”
Cenry stares at me, his freckled face still. I thought he’d laugh. I wish I’d not told him. It’s like when I cheated at Fox and Geese – I reckon there’s no use in playing games unless it’s to win, and the devil may care how. But Cenry and Edge looked at me as though I’d thrown a baby in the river when they found I was sitting on half my goose pieces.
“Well enough.” Cenry lets each word drop from his lips as if it’s made of glass. “Show me.”
Iskendar or Niko would have laughed, but this island is not the same as Constantinople: here, the woods and streams are haunted still by old gods, and the elf-kind wait behind every shadow, fair and immortal, ready to tweak the affairs of men just as Cenry’s sisters play with wooden dolls.
I swallow. My throat’s drier than sand. I get to my feet, blanket wrapped about my shoulders still, and I walk around the fire till I’m near enough to crouch right by him. All right, my friend, no one could say you didn’t ask for it. I gaze right at him: his eyes glitter in the firelight.
Cenry looks puzzled now, afraid, almost. “Cai?”
I smile. “You don’t truly think I can make you do anything, do you? No, don’t look away. I do but talk of Thorn. We all know what’s to become of her, don’t we? Do you feel aught for her at all, Cenry? Or will you just be hand-fasted to her because you’ve been told to?”
He stares at me, his mouth slightly open. “Both. I’d choose no other girl, and I know my duty.”
My heart’s yammering. I’m burning. “Well.” I sound breathless. “That’s lucky, is it not?”
Cenry shakes his head slightly, then looks at me, stricken, and scrambles to his feet. “You sneaking cheat. How could you do that? You – you made me speak my private thoughts. You stole them from me.”
I jump up, afire with a mess of shame and rage. “You asked me to do it!” I yell. Before I even know what I’m about, I’m running headlong away from the firelight, into the shadows of the greenwood night.
It scares me. I’m afraid of myself. Oh, God, I would give anything for Tasik to be here.
I’m fast but tired, and it’s as if the trick has drained my strength somehow. I hear Cenry crashing after me, cursing and shouting my name. I only want to get away from him, away from his disgust.
“You little fool – I’ll wring your neck one of these days.” He grabs my arm, sounding just like Wulf. “Stop!”
“Don’t talk to me like that – I’m not that much younger than you!” My face is wet with tears. That’s all it wanted – me to start crying like a girl. I can’t help it, though. I can’t stop.
“Cai, be calm, will you? I’m sorry.” Cenry talks soft, as if to an unresty horse, which makes me think of Tasik again, because that is how he used to speak to me when I was riled up. Tears burn down my face, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand, trying to catch my breath. Cenry shakes my arm, gently. “I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t mean to shout at you. But I wasn’t thinking you’d do that; it was – it was strange.” He laughs, uneasily. “And you might have asked about something other than Thorn, like what I most like to eat, or who in the village I can’t stick. Christ, Cai.”
I draw a long breath, steadying myself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. But I know you like roasted ducks most, and you hate the cursed god-man just as much as me.”
But part of me is glad I asked about Thorn, and I don’t even know why. It is like pressing a bruise, a strangely gratifying ache.
It is because, inside, you and she are wrought of the same stuff. And she is going to marry your dearest friend, and you can’t stand it.
Without thinking on it, I know the truth of this. It’ll fetch me, too, one of these days, if I’m not careful, just as Achilles was brought down by the heel of his foot.
Cenry stares at me a moment, shaking his head. “Come on, you crazed witch-boy, we’ve a long ride on the morrow.” He slings his arm around my shoulder, and we walk back towards the fire. I’m glad, for I’m shuddering with the cold. We lie down in the warmth, and after a while Cenry says sleepily, “Well, if you can do that to Orhan’s men, we’ll have no bother.”
“We’ve to find them first,” I reply, but what I’m really thinking is how in God’s name did Penda know I could twist the thoughts and words of men, when I have done my best to forget it?
Elmet, three days later
IT’S A WILD land: rolling, rock-strewn, green and tangled about with great swathes of stinging nettles, and a wiry brownish plant Cenry calls heather. Streams criss-cross the hills in lines of white, and tumble into pebbled pools of dark water. As we ride, we follow the path of the sun across the sky – like a yellow bruise it is now, smeared over with cloud – and mark our way by looking at the shape of the trees.
“They’re bent by the wind, see,” Cenry says, “and the wind’s most often in the east. If the trunk grows moss, there’ll be more of it on the sheltered side, and if the day’s still, it smells different,
too, on the windward side of a tree.”
We must trail the Elmet-set as we should a roe deer in the forest, Wulf told us, and so everywhere I look for signs that folk have passed this way, just as if I were tracking a deer or a boar, even though we ride over wild moorland. It seems hopeless we’ll hunt down so much as our supper, out here, let alone a rebel tribe.
“Why don’t the Elmet-set settle in one place?” I ask. “What kind of kingdom shifts about all the while, like a flock of wretched geese?” The sun grows hot today, even though the leaves are turning gold, and I feel sweat sliding down my back. Maelan is tired, too. We ought to stop soon, and rest the horses.
Cenry leans back in the saddle, sighing. “They’re not a kingdom: my grandfather killed their last true king before Da was even born. Elmet’s part of Mercia, paying tribute to Granfer. But for the most part they’ve British blood, the Elmet-set, not Anglish or Saxon, and they’ve been Christian since before the folk from Rome left. Elmet’s full of rebel chiefs like Orhan who won’t pay their tribute to Granfer because he’s a heathen, and send it to the High King instead. We’ve been playing cat-and-mouse with them for forty years, Da told me.”
How must that be, to live in a kingdom chased about the countryside like a hare hunted at sundown? It can’t be too far off ruling the Underworld of Constantinople. What should I do, if I were Orhan of Elmet?
I would not ride about the moors, to start with. I rein in Maelan, patting her neck. We’re on high ground, a ledge that sweeps down, tumbling towards a line of darker green at the edge of my sight. Woodland.
I swing myself out of the saddle, taking a long draught from the waterskin hanging over my shoulder. I’m glad to wet my throat, but it’s got a dusty, leathery taste.
“Over here, girl.” I lead Maelan to a stream singing through the heather, and turn to Cenry. “We should rest the mares. There’s no use dithering around this moor for days on end: they’re not here.”
He raises an eyebrow, following my gaze to the dark line of forest where the land rises up to meet the sky. “I ken what you mean.” He springs neatly to the ground, and Fleet follows him to the stream, dipping her head beside Maelan. As they drink, we stand gazing out at the moor dropping away beneath us, and the far-off smear of woodland. Cenry turns to me. “They’ll see us coming, you know.”