A Dance with Fate

by Juliet Marillier

  Then he’s beside me, kneeling before the fire, and he takes kettle and cup from me and sets them aside, then wraps his arms around me and holds me close. “Hush, hush,” he whispers, though I am not saying a word.

  48

  LIOBHAN

  This is the day. I hear Brocc and Torcan go out the main door, no doubt heading for the bathhouse and privy. Dau is still asleep. I roll up my bedding and stow it in a corner. I take off my night-robe and put on my clothes. I’ll have to wake him. But not quite yet. Let him sleep as long as he can before he must face what awaits him. For Dau, the hearing will be a battle more daunting than any fight with swords or knives or bare fists. This is brother against brother, and the weapons are words, gestures, arguments. The ability to influence hearts and minds.

  When Dau suggested we share the bed last night so we could both get a good sleep, I rolled my eyes at him.

  “Isn’t there a story about a pair of lovers who slept with a naked sword between them?” he said. “I suppose we could do something similar. Though maybe not; this bed is on the narrow side.”

  “A Swan Island warrior is trained to exercise restraint and strength of will and so on,” I said, while my body was busy telling me how much I wanted to lie down with him and hold him and do all sorts of other things, tired and bruised as I was. “But I know and you know that we wouldn’t be able to keep our hands off each other. And this is the wrong time and place for that.”

  “You’re saying there will be a right time and place?” Something in Dau’s voice made my heart turn over.

  “How could you imagine otherwise? But not under this roof. Not until we’re gone from here.” I took a careful breath. We had just made a momentous decision. Maybe that was why my heart was suddenly racing.

  “And not on Swan Island?”

  I glanced over at him. Now there was the hint of a smile on his face.

  “That’s a challenge that remains to be faced. A puzzle that’s still to be worked out. Sleep well, Dau. Think of good things.”

  He didn’t sleep well, but at least in the end he did sleep. I tossed and turned, plagued by unanswerable questions. They’re still going around and around in my mind this morning. The fact that Dau has his sight back doesn’t necessarily mean I’m free of my debt bondage. That decision will be up to Lord Scannal. What if Dau is allowed to leave and I’m not?

  Nothing for it now but to face the day and do my best. I gather my wits and my strength and promise myself I will answer questions with calm and clarity and give Dau all the support I can. Then I gently wake him.

  The hearing is to be in the afternoon. We’ve been told Master Beanón and the other lawman need this morning to talk to everyone who will be called to speak, and to take statements from some others. And the monks have to get everything set up at St. Padraig’s.

  After a quick breakfast Dau is gone. I think of him out there going from place to place and person to person, acting like the chieftain’s son he is, making sure the plan is as perfect as he can make it, with all its components in place. Meanwhile Brocc, Torcan, and I try to keep one another entertained. Brocc tells stories. I sing songs. Torcan teaches us a complicated game using different-colored pebbles. We tidy and clean our sleeping quarters. People bring us food and drink and, later in the morning, Miach comes with fresh clothing for me to wear at the hearing. She’s found me a sedate-looking gown in dove gray, with a shawl in dark blue. The gown almost fits; it’s just a little too short. She brushes my hair for me and plaits it into what would be a demure style on some other woman. I don’t need a mirror to know I could never look demure in a thousand years, but I thank her for the effort. I aim to draw as little attention to myself as possible.

  As I’m thinking how difficult that could be, Miach says, “I’ll come with you if you want. Master Beanón said I didn’t have to, because I’ve already told him what I know about the stillroom and writing in the book and so on. But I thought you might like some female company. I asked Iarla and he said I could go. Who knows, the monks might think it’s more proper to have two women there rather than only one.”

  “I’d like that. Thank you, Miach. Can’t say I’m looking forward to any of it, but at least by the end of today it will all be over.”

  Brocc declines the offer of a blue tunic, preferring his unusual green outfit. As a traveling storyteller, he can get away with looking somewhat eccentric. He leaves off the leather jerkin and substitutes a short cloak of Dau’s, plain brown in color. Torcan’s soberly clad in a clean tunic of the household blue, without the family emblem, and gray breeches. We wait, and wait some more, and finally Iarla himself comes to fetch us. It’s not far to St. Padraig’s; we’ll walk.

  Of course it was never going to be possible to keep this quiet from the household at large. Folk will have noted Seanan’s absence from last night’s supper and today’s breakfast. They will have seen the worried faces, noted the consultations behind closed doors, observed the fact that influential members of the household were suddenly much occupied with something that was not their usual business. There will have been a lot of coming and going between here and St. Padraig’s, far more than on a regular day. Not to speak of the trips to and from Master Seanan’s torture chamber.

  Iarla leads us through the house and out a back door, past the infirmary where we are joined by Brothers Petrán and Martán. Dau, we’re told, is already at the monastery. It makes me shiver to think of him there. There was such hatred in Seanan’s voice as he menaced me with that knife, a hatred that was not for me—that man cares nothing about me—but all for his brother. What did Dau ever do to him? What fault is it of a newborn babe if his mother loses her life in the birthing? What if every such child were made an object of lifelong loathing? That would set a blight over every town, every village, every small settlement. I imagine Dau’s mother in the afterlife, looking down on her sons and weeping. Today, I hope the youngest will make her proud.

  St. Padraig’s is a sad-looking place. The part that was burned is still a ruin, though there are signs of preparation for rebuilding: a neat stack of blackened stones; a wide patch of newly raked ground; debris heaped at the edges of the monastery land, as if nobody was quite sure what to do with it. Strong old yews stand guard, scorched but living. The main monastery building still stands, though it now has a temporary entry, and today guards are standing outside it. My heart starts to race. I make myself breathe in a pattern. Today of all days I must be mindful of my Swan Island training.

  The two monks head our small procession. Miach walks beside me, Brocc and Torcan behind. It does my heart good to have my brother here. I’m glad of all the people who have befriended us and stood by us, not only Torcan and Miach and poor Corb, but all the others who have remained calm and practical and honest despite the poison Seanan has spread through this household. There are words I could use for Master Seanan. Vile. Loathsome. Cruel. Deranged. But he’s not going to show that side of himself in this hearing. He may be a hideous specimen of mankind, but he’s no fool. He’ll be all calm control, all tricky words, everything aimed to convince his father that he’s right and everyone else is wrong. Whose will be the final decision? At that other hearing, where I put my hand up for a year’s debt bondage, things were settled by mutual agreement. I’m not sure that can happen here. It might be up to Lord Scannal. Circumstances being what they are, I don’t find that reassuring.

  The refectory is a long room with a row of windows to the east and a hearth on the other side. There’s a lectern in a corner—perhaps it’s usual for a monk to read from scripture at mealtimes—and a hatch-like opening to a kitchen. At the far end there are two doors, both closed. Today the place has been set up with benches in rows at one end, facing three long tables set around an open area. There’s also a small side table at which a monk is already seated with pen, ink, and parchment sheets before him. I imagine Master Beanón has insisted on there being a written record of everyt
hing, despite the unofficial nature of the proceedings. Guards are posted at every entry, with more stationed behind the benches where we are ushered to sit. Miach and I are the only women present. Near us on the benches are various members of Lord Scannal’s household who may be called upon to speak, Fergal and Iarla among them.

  We don’t have to wait long. A guard opens one of the doors at the far end and Father Eláir comes in, followed by a gray-haired monk whom I guess to be the former lawman, Brother Máedóc. Now here is Dau, with Master Beanón. Dau’s choice of clothing carries a message: a plain linen shirt, an unadorned gray tunic over it, a good leather belt around his waist. Dark trousers, practical boots. His hair swept back from his face. His expression is a masterpiece of control. That is a Swan Island man if ever I saw one. Our eyes meet, then we look away.

  I’m waiting for the moment when Seanan appears. Waiting and wishing it didn’t need to happen; waiting and hoping the bastard gets everything he deserves. Thinking of the poison draft. Remembering the hot iron and the hungry knife. Thinking of Corb.

  But Seanan’s not here yet. The prior remains at the table facing us. The others have moved to the side tables and are standing there, waiting.

  Lord Scannal comes in. He’s using a stick for support, but making a visible effort to hold himself straight. I know him to be of middle years, but he looks old and frail; his eyes are deeply shadowed. Master Naithí is beside him. They, too, move into place, and I see how this will work. Lord Scannal is at that top table, looking directly at us, with Naithí on one side and Father Eláir on the other. At the right-hand table sit Dau and Master Beanón. At the left-hand table is Brother Máedóc. Beside him is an empty seat.

  The prior speaks. “We welcome you, Lord Scannal, to this house of prayer. May the Lord God send us all his wisdom on this testing day. Please be seated.”

  Lord Scannal sits; the rest of us do the same.

  “My lord,” Father Eláir says, “it is some while since you have honored us with a visit. I regret that this one could not occur under happier circumstances. However, I have opened our doors for reasons of some urgency. This is not a formal hearing; it has been agreed that the proceedings will be informal and private. Certain matters will be set out before you, arguments considered on all sides, and an agreement reached between the parties concerned before the end of the day. If these proceedings fail in that objective we will move, with your lordship’s consent, to refer the matters to a formal hearing. That would be costly in both time and resources. And what has occurred would become public knowledge, not only here in Oakhill but far more widely. It would become the subject of gossip and unrest. That is to be avoided.”

  The prior looks around the room. He includes everyone in his gaze, even the guards. There are one or two monks here whom I don’t recognize, including the scribe. I don’t see Brother Íobhar. Seems he won’t be back in time. It’s all too easy to equate his absence with cowardice.

  “What takes place here today is confidential,” Father Eláir says. “While the overall result of the hearing is likely to become known quite quickly, the details of who attended, what was said, how a conclusion was reached, are not for sharing beyond the walls of this chamber. Is that understood?”

  There’s a general murmuring indicating that it is. I hope someone has explained this to Seanan and his men, since they are not yet with us. It’s not for me to stand up and point that out.

  “Very well,” says Father Eláir. “I will explain my own role in this. Since Lord Scannal does not wish to preside, and since Master Beanón will be assisting Master Dau and Brother Máedóc doing the same for Master Seanan, I have Lord Scannal’s approval to conduct the hearing. I will ensure that things remain orderly and that time is not wasted. We have no desire for this to stretch to a second day.” He pauses. Dau has whispered something to Beanón, who raises his hand. “Yes, Master Beanón?”

  “Might it not be appropriate for Master Seanan to be present for this clarification, Father?”

  “This has been explained to Master Seanan and has his approval. But yes, it is time he joined us.” The prior glances over at one of the guards and the man goes out a side door. I know him—it’s Canagan, one of the brawniest of the men-at-arms and a regular attendee at our after-supper gatherings in the stables.

  I know how capable Seanan is, in his singularly twisted way. All the same, I’ve wondered if he might have lost his composure after being trussed up, dosed with a sleeping draft, and locked in a cell. But no; when they bring him in he is neatly dressed, blue tunic with the wretched symbol on it in silver, fair hair neatly brushed, shoulders square and chin up. The only sign that anything is awry, apart from the two guards escorting him, is the fact that his wrists are bound in front of him. That shocks me. What do they think he’ll do, dive across the chamber and seize his brother by the throat in front of everyone?

  Seanan’s eyes are immediately on Dau. It’s as if nobody else is in the room. He doesn’t scowl or sneer or raise his brows. There’s no need for that. I can feel the loathing in him, the resentment, the longing to destroy. It’s deep in every part of the man, eating him up.

  “Be seated, Master Seanan.”

  Seanan sits where directed, alongside Brother Máedóc. Canagan and another guard take up stations a discreet three paces behind these two.

  “Very well,” says the prior. “We’re all here. Brother Máedóc, I will ask you to confirm that the man you are representing understands the purpose of this hearing and has been advised as to how it will be conducted, including the limitations on when and how he may speak?”

  “He understands and has been so advised, Father.”

  Dau confers with Beanón, and Beanón raises his hand again. When the prior nods assent, he asks, “Is it deemed necessary for the safety of those present that Master Seanan wears restraints on his wrists? We are concerned for his comfort.”

  Now Seanan raises his brows at Dau. Dau stares into space, impassive.

  “When it is his turn to speak, we will remove the ties. Until that time it’s considered unwise to do so. Lord Scannal, do you differ?”

  Lord Scannal starts. He’s been staring at Seanan and is caught off guard. “Ah—no, not at all, Father,” he says, perhaps unsure of what was just asked. He lifts a hand to his face. I can see it shaking with some violence. He lowers it to the concealment of the table. He adjusts his expression; squares his shoulders. I see something of Dau’s strength of will in his father and am startled by it. To be here at all, under the circumstances, is remarkable.

  “Master Beanón, you will speak first. Please proceed.”

  Beanón’s good. I thought so at that other hearing, even though I ended up with a year’s debt bondage because of it. He sets out the astonishing train of events that led to the skirmish in which Corb was killed and Seanan and his men were captured. There’s no mention of Lord Ross and his daughter, which is fair enough since we can’t prove that Dau’s interference in that matter was the spark that set Seanan off. Beanón says nothing about the long-standing enmity between Dau and Seanan. His summary starts with Dau realizing I’d gone missing while walking the dog, and ends with Seanan and his men being locked up in the monastery cells. It includes my incarceration in the outhouse, the fact that I was drugged, gagged, and bound, then beaten, branded, and threatened with a knife.

  I stand strong against a tide of dark memories. I hear how incredible the whole tale sounds, even when told in such a calm and level manner. Beanón deals quickly with the part where Brocc and his traveling companion appeared from nowhere to rescue us. I’m trusting that Brocc will deal with any questions capably. When the measured statement of facts is complete, Beanón says, “Were these acts of cruelty and violence aired in a formal court, I have little doubt they would lead to very serious charges, Lord Scannal. Many charges, some of which would attract penalties such as periods of debt bondage, incarceration, or banishment, not to s
peak of substantial reparation to be made. We must hope today’s proceedings result in matters being settled by mutual agreement.”

  The more I think about that the less likely it seems. How are Seanan and Dau ever going to agree about anything? Unless there’s some plan afoot that I don’t know about.

  It’s decided between the two lawmen that Dau will make a statement, Seanan will respond, then various other parties will be called by one or the other lawman, or by Father Eláir, to testify or to answer questions. Lord Scannal is saying nothing, but there’s no doubt he is listening now. Seems to me that through sheer force of will he is keeping himself upright and attentive. I may not think much of the man but at this moment I admire his strength.

  Dau rises to his feet. He’s using the techniques we learned on Swan Island to keep his posture upright, his breathing even, his voice controlled. His hands are by his sides and perfectly relaxed. “Thank you for that clear outline of events, Master Beanón. I can confirm that it was correct. I will not squander precious time by going over the whole story again. I will say only that when it was decided Liobhan should enter this household to serve a period of debt bondage in partial compensation for the accident that robbed me of my sight, my brother Seanan agreed that her safety would be assured while she stayed here. Master Beanón was present. Indeed, he negotiated very capably on Lord Scannal’s behalf at that hearing. I’m sure he is as shocked as I am that the promise of safety has been broken, and in so violent a way. Liobhan has worked hard in this household. She took on the thankless task of nursing me in my sickness, when it became apparent that no better provision was to be made for me. She performed that job with kindness and competence at all times. To see her treated so ill by my brother and his men is nothing short of sickening. For a man who would be chieftain to act as Seanan has done is outrageous. It must, at the very least, call his moral principles into question. Since Liobhan entered this household she has done nothing but good. And yet, he set his brand on her with hot iron. He left her to the mercy of wild creatures. He held a knife to her face and made vile threats. A future chieftain of Oakhill? I think not.”