by Kate Forsyth
The next day they were all tired and heavy-eyed, and quick to snap at each other, but no-one demurred when Iven began harnessing the carthorses to the caravans before any of them had even finished scraping their porridge bowls clean. All were eager to leave the Broken Ring of Dubhslain behind them.
They rode hard that day, for clouds were pouring in over the great peaks like a grey flood, dimming the thin spring sunshine and swallowing the steep banks of pines and hemlock. When the road rolled out before them Rhiannon challenged them all to race and, to her great delight, beat every one of them. Her pocket began to jingle with coins and she often slipped her hand inside to caress them, liking the cool round perfection of them.
Most of the day they all rode quietly, though, pacing the horses and nursing along their saddle sores. Rhiannon kept close and quiet, listening to the conversation and later asking Lewen to explain anything she did not understand. Hardened by her upbringing, she did not suffer as much as the other girls from the long hours in the saddle and so she was glad to look about her with hungry eyes, and listen to everything that was said, sucking out its pith of knowledge. Rhiannon was determined to never again be mocked for her ignorance. If learning was the currency of power in this land, then Rhiannon would learn all she could.
They came to a town late on the third day, as the gloom of the cloud-hung day darkened to dusk.
‘Thank Eà!’ Fèlice cried. ‘A proper bed tonight! Proper food!’
‘Ye do no’ like my cooking?’ Iven said, pretending to be hurt.
‘Well, ye ken ye canna do much with a pot hung over a fire,’ Fèlice said disarmingly. ‘Stew, stew, or stew.’
‘Och, but such delicious stew!’
‘Aye, the very best. It will be nice to have something different, though, don’t ye agree?’
‘Mmm, a wee dram o’ whisky would be nice,’ Iven agreed. ‘Ye girls take up so much room with all your fimble-fambles I havena any room for anything but a keg o’ ale and that just doesna quench a man’s thirst the way a dram does. Let’s hope there’s an inn.’
The town seemed quite large and prosperous, sprawling round a square of green grass with a big old tree at one end and a small white rotunda at the other. Behind the houses were little walled fields devoted to vegetables and orchards and a few grain crops, running up to steep hills that disappeared into forest. The mountains behind were hidden in mist.
Many of the houses had large gardens, some hidden behind walls overgrown with ivy, others with nothing but a low wooden pole fence to separate them from their neighbours. Coming down a low hill, the travellers were able to see how the town sprawled along a small river, following its curve. At the far end of the main street they saw a water-mill, and a hunchbacked stone bridge across the river, and then, away from the houses, in a big garden all bright with spring blossom, a small round turret built of stone.
‘Aaah, they have a tower witch,’ Nina said, pleased. ‘She’ll give us a bed for the night if there’s no’ room for us all at the inn.’
Rhiannon stared about her with interest. Six boys, two girls and a mob of goats surrounded their cavalcade now, all the children chattering happily in high, piping voices, the goats bleating and leaping about madly. A woman came to the door of one of the little grey cottages, wiping red, damp hands on her apron, a cluster of children peeping out round her skirts. She exclaimed aloud and called to her neighbour. Soon there were faces at every doorway or window, pointing at the long-billed, iridescent bird perched on Nina’s shoulder and the arak leaping about on the roof of the red caravan, and exclaiming with awe at the magnificent winged horse. Blackthorn curved her neck in pleasure, lifting her feathered feet daintily. Rhiannon smiled and waved at the crowd, but did not answer any of the shouted questions, not knowing what to say.
They came down the main road by the village green, past a row of shopfronts with big glass windows filled with all sorts of amazing things. One, with the sign of a bee hanging above it, had windows filled with candles of all shapes and sizes and colours, many lit so the window glowed golden, and jars of honey with fabric tied over the top, some pale as sunlit water, some yellow as pollen, others dark as a forest pool. There was a honeycomb dripping with fresh honey, and large jars filled with round dark things Lewen said were toffees.
Another shop was filled with tools of all descriptions, hoes and scythes and enormous two-handled saws, and sacks of flour and meal, and bright saucepans and kettles and ladles, and mops and brooms and feather dusters, and brown bags of seeds tied with string. Another had stiff brown dried fish hanging from hooks alongside smoked hams, and huge round cheeses, and jars of preserved fruit and pickled vegetables and jam.
There was a tired-looking baker, giving away handfuls of sugar-dusted pastry twists to the children before locking up his shop for the night, and an apothecary’s shop, the window filled with jars of pills, and bottles of potions, and bowls of dried herbs and flowers and muslin spell-bags, and hooks hanging with bunches of bright feathers to sweep away bad dreams, and myriad charms and talismans dangling from leather thongs.
Next to it was a shop filled with bolts of lovely coloured material, spread out to show their silky weave. In one corner of the window was a headless wooden mannequin wearing a gorgeous dress made of blue shimmering fabric tied up with silver ribbons. Rhiannon gazed at it longingly. Though she pretended not to care, it bothered her that she had to wear hand-me-down boy’s clothes when Edithe and Fèlice were always so beautifully dressed in fabrics as soft as thistledown. It was a constant irritation to her, like a burr under a saddlecloth, and her only consolation was the embroidered shawl that Lilanthe had given her, which she wrapped around her shoulders every night as they sat round the campfire talking and singing.
‘It’d look bonny on ye,’ Lewen whispered shyly with a nod of his head towards the dress. Rhiannon scowled at him. She hated the way he always seemed to know what she was thinking, no matter how carefully she kept her feelings hidden. She gritted her teeth, waiting for one of the others to mock her, but they had not heard above the noise of the crowd and so she was able to pretend Lewen had not spoken and ride on, head held high.
They came to the inn in the very centre of town, facing the village green with its big old oak tree and its pretty white rotunda where, Lewen explained, the musicians would sit to play for weddings and festivals.
The inn was small and quaint, with an enormous blue-painted door, big windows with blue wooden boxes filled with herbs and flowers, and a very steep roof with two gabled windows in it like beetling eyebrows. Outside the inn were long benches where old men were sitting, hunched up in their heavy coats against the evening chill, smoking long pipes. Over their heads hung a brightly painted sign depicting a cat playing a fiddle.
The innkeeper stood in the doorway, beaming. He was a solid, red-faced man with a big apron tied over his breeches. Behind his square shoulder stood a thin woman, her hands clapped together in glee. It was clear they saw a good profit ahead of them that night.
Everyone was very chilled and stiff, and glad to dismount.
‘Jongleurs!’ the woman cried. ‘We havena had jongleurs in Ardarchy for years. And such a large company! Will ye be putting on a show for the town? Ye may have the use o’ our taproom, for sure. Everyone will come. And a flying horse! Gracious me! Does it perform too? Och, I dinna ken if we have room for it in here!’
‘My wife and I are minstrels and will be glad to give ye a show, but I’m afraid our companions are only travelling with us and willna be performing,’ Iven replied. ‘They are apprentices journeying to the Theurgia at the Tower o’ Two Moons.’
‘Witchlings? What are they doing in Ardarchy? There’s naught here but goats and geese,’ the innkeeper asked. His voice rose incredulously. ‘Ye do no’ mean to cross the Stormness River, surely?’
‘Aye, we do,’ Iven answered. ‘Why shouldna we?’
‘The bridge is barricaded shut,’ the innkeeper answered. ‘No-one goes that way anymore. The land acro
ss the river is haunted, did ye no’ ken?’
Nina and Iven exchanged a glance. ‘Surely the barricade can be taken down for us?’ Nina said gently.
‘Och, ye willna want to be doing that,’ the innkeeper said. ‘Ye’d be best off riding back to Barbreck-by-the Bridge and crossing there.’
‘But no’ tonight,’ his wife said firmly. ‘Ye’re cold and weary, and will be wanting a sup o’ something hot, and happen a dram or two to warm your blood. And no point wasting a good audience. The whole o’ Ardarchy will turn out to see ye perform – it’s rare we see a minstrel or jongleur here. A shame ye’re no’ all performers, but no doubt the witchlings will still want a meal and some ale too, and will watch the show with the rest o’ us. We’ll want a cut o’ the takings, mind. And ye’ll want stabling for the horses, no doubt, and that’s a few extra pennies too. I’ll call my laddie to come take the horses for ye.’
‘We’ll see to the horses ourselves, thanks, but if ye could rustle up some hay and happen some bran mash for them, we’d be grateful indeed,’ Iven said. Fèlice moaned audibly. He grinned at her. ‘Come, lassie, surely ye were no’ expecting to eat and drink until ye’ve cared for your horse yourself? She’s had a long hard ride today and she’s chilled through. What if this lad kens naught about horses? Ye wouldna like to think o’ her shivering in a cold draughty stall without her blanket and nothing but a bit o’ auld musty straw to chew on, would ye? No’, o’ course, that I’m wishing to cast aspersions on our good host here,’ he added with a charming smile to the innkeeper. ‘I’m sure your stable is warm and snug enough for a prince. It’s just the principle I’m wishing to teach.’
‘Och, and fair enough,’ the innkeeper replied jovially.
He turned to the crowd of followers then and motioned away with his hands. ‘Go on, get along home, there’ll be no show now. Come back after supper.’
Iven had vaulted down from the caravan to speak to the innkeeper but now he turned and faced the crowd, his voice ringing out clearly. ‘Good people o’ Ardarchy, I am Iven the Magnificent, and I have great pleasure in introducing the incomparable Nina, called the Nightingale by the Rìgh himself for the indescribable sweetness of her voice. You may wonder what we do here, so far from the royal court, but only a few days ago we heard we were called back to Lucescere by royal decree, for Nina to sing at the wedding o’ the royal heir Donncan MacCuinn to his bonny cousin Bronwen.’
There was a murmur of delight and astonishment.
‘Aye, I am glad to be the one to tell ye the happy news …’
As Iven continued on, captivating the crowd with his patter, the innkeeper helped Nina down from the caravan, saying: ‘I’ll go and stoke up the fire for ye, and pull ye all some ale, and add a few extra potatoes to the roasting pan, and we’ll have all ready for ye when your horses are seen to.’
‘We do no’ eat meat,’ Nina said. ‘Would ye have some vegetable broth or stew that we may eat instead?’
‘I have bean stew,’ the innkeeper’s wife said, her voice falling in disappointment, as bean stew was worth quite a few pennies less than roast mutton and potatoes. At the word ‘stew’ an audible sigh was heard from the apprentices. Nina flashed them an admonitory glance and allowed the innkeeper to show her into the warmth of the taproom.
Lewen helped Maisie down from her fat pony and, leading his horse and hers, followed the innkeeper’s plump son round the back to the stableyard, the others trailing tiredly behind.
‘I wish my groom was here to look after Regina for me,’ Fèlice grumbled. ‘I am so cold and so tired. Cameron, will ye no’ do it for me?’
Before Cameron could reply, Maisie said in her gentle way, ‘Och, we’re all cold and tired, aren’t we, Cameron? And poor Regina must be even tireder, for she was the one that did all the walking.’
Lewen looked at her with approval and she blushed and did her best to take off her pony’s tack by herself. Lewen helped her, and then unsaddled Argent, who was looking very bad-tempered, not liking being ridden for such a long time on such stony roads. Fèlice sighed and started to undo the buckles and Cameron left his own horse standing with steaming hide and hanging head to help her.
By the time the horses were unsaddled and groomed and tucked into their blankets, with fresh straw forked into their stalls and buckets of warm bran mash and fresh water to lip at, and all the tack cleaned and hanging on hooks, and the caravans secured, it was fully dark and everyone was weary indeed. The work had kindled some sort of camaraderie between them, however, and they all talked and joked comfortably as they made their way back to the welcoming warmth of the inn.
‘A proper bed tonight,’ Fèlice sighed in ecstasy.
‘I just hope they’ve aired the sheets,’ Edithe said.
‘I doubt there’s room for all o’ us here,’ Lewen said, looking up and counting the number of windows streaming light. ‘Some o’ us will have to go and stay at the witch’s, I think.’
‘I will,’ Edithe said. ‘Less chance o’ bedbugs, I bet.’
‘She’ll probably rather have Nina and Iven, so she can hear all the news from court,’ Fèlice sighed regretfully.
‘I doubt the innkeeper and his wife will let them go,’ Edithe said. ‘I’d say Iven the Magnificent is the most exciting thing to happen round here in a decade, and they’ll want to be the ones to hear all the gossip first-hand.’
‘Forget Iven, it’s Rhiannon and her fabulous winged horse that’s attracted most o’ the attention,’ Rafferty shot back, with a quick sideways grin at Rhiannon. ‘I bet Iven is wondering how he can incorporate ye into his show. He’ll have ye doing levades and caprioles by the next village we pass through.’
Rhiannon had no idea what he meant but she smiled back anyway, deciding she rather liked Rafferty. At least he did not leer at her, or sneer at her, or compare her breasts to mountain peaks.
‘Well, I’m happy to stay at the inn,’ Cameron said. ‘Ale, ale and more ale for me, please!’
‘I’d like to see the witch’s tower,’ Maisie said wistfully. ‘I’ve never seen one afore, ye ken.’
They came into the taproom and hurried to warm themselves by the fire, the boys gratefully accepting the mugs of foaming ale the innkeeper tapped for them, the girls sipping hot spiced wine. Rhiannon had never tasted mulled wine before and drank deeply, feeling a pleasant euphoria fill her veins. By the time they had been served a substantial meal of bean stew and roast vegetables, followed by a surprisingly delicious treacle pie, she was feeling quite light-headed and was surprised to find herself giggling at one of Edithe’s sarcastic asides. Edithe was equally surprised but rather gratified, while Lewen surreptitiously moved the jug of wine away from Rhiannon’s elbow.
The boys began a game of chance with some dice which Cameron pulled from his pocket, and Rhiannon went eagerly to join them. Soon their corner was noisy with laughter and the calling of bets, Rhiannon’s face alight with eagerness as she challenged Cameron to another toss. Lewen was content to sit back and watch her, sipping his ale and enjoying the warmth of the fire on the soles of his boots.
‘I just canna understand why it is we have to travel round Eileanan in this ridiculous fashion,’ Edithe said as she watched Roden and Lulu practising their juggling and Iven walking round the room on his hands. ‘It really is naught better than a circus. My father would’ve happily paid for me to travel to the capital in comfort and it would no’ have taken me months to get there! Do ye no’ agree, Lady Fèlice?’
‘Well, it’s true my dai-dein was no’ very happy about it,’ Fèlice said. ‘He wondered how safe it was, particularly, ye ken, with the boys …’ She nodded towards Cameron and Rafferty, who were eagerly gesturing for the landlord to refill their ale tankards. ‘But the Coven insists on it, ye ken. Diantha, the court sorceress at Ravenscraig, says it knocks any nonsense out o’ us afore we get to the Tower and gets us used to doing things for ourselves and rubbing elbows with all kinds o’ people.’
‘Well, that at least is true,’
Edithe replied and for once her voice was free of scorn, sounding only resigned.
‘Diantha told me that the council o’ sorcerers believe it was because the Coven had grown arrogant and isolated from the common people that the Day o’ Betrayal was able to happen at all. So now all apprentices must travel slowly through the countryside afore they ever reach the Tower, learning what it means to be cold and hungry and afraid. We are lucky we are allowed to ride. Diantha said the council debated whether it would be wiser to make us walk the whole way on our own two feet.’
‘Eà forbid,’ Edithe said faintly.
‘Probably if each country had its own Tower, we would have had to, but as the only Tower in all o’ western Eileanan is the Tower o’ Horse-lairds and their wisdom is no’ what most wish to learn, we all have to travel a long way and so they allow us horses. Indeed, she said we were lucky indeed to get to travel with Nina and Iven, for they at least are great fun to be with, and will teach us much along the way. Besides, she said we should be honoured to be travelling in their company, and somehow I do no’ think she was joking.’
‘Honoured?’ Maisie and Edithe echoed.
Fèlice shrugged. ‘So she said. Iven is some sort o’ war hero, ye ken. He fought with Lachlan the Winged in the rebellion against the Ensorcellor, and was there when they rescued Daillas the Lame and many other adventures they now sing about. And Nina … well, Diantha would no’ say too much about Nina but there was this note in her voice that made me wonder …’
‘What kind o’ note?’ Edithe said sceptically.
Fèlice shrugged. ‘I dinna ken. Awe. Respect.’ She turned to Lewen, favouring him with her most dazzling smile. ‘Lewen, your family kens the royal clan. What can ye tell us?’
‘About what?’ Lewen said warily.
‘About Nina. She’s no’ just an ordinary jongleur, is she?’
Lewen choked back a laugh. ‘Well, ye only need to hear her sing to ken that,’ he said.
‘I mean more than that,’ Fèlice coaxed. ‘Ye should’ve seen the way the MacBrann himself bowed to her. The new MacBrann, I mean, no’ the auld mad one who’s dead now. There’s some mystery about her, I just ken it.’