Heir to Sevenwaters

by Juliet Marillier

  “Fine entertainment,” said Father, who had come over to sit beside Mother and was looking more relaxed than he had for some time. “Your skills are less rusty than you imagine, Clodagh. As for Aidan here, I’m surprised he finds time to keep his hand in. I know how hard you work your men, Johnny.”

  “What about a song?” suggested Muirrin. “You boys know a few; I’ve heard them at firsthand.” Her smile was mischievous.

  “That repertory’s hardly suitable for a fine hall such as this,” said Gareth. “And the execution’s—well, rough is a flattering way to put it.”

  “Go on,” Muirrin said. “Our two musicians need some rest and refreshment. You must have one or two ditties that are suitable for family performance.”

  The young men formed a line; Aidan got up to join them. With glances at one another, they began to stamp a steady beat and clap a complex rhythm over it. Once this was vibrating around the hall, Mikka began to sing, his light tenor carrying each line of verse, the lower, less polished voices of the others roaring out a refrain. It was a rambling and silly tale of a man who lost a prize ram and got into progressively stickier situations trying to get it back. I imagined there was a more scurrilous version, but in this company the young warriors kept it clean. They could all hold a tune, some more skillfully than others. Even Johnny, whose singing voice was not his most outstanding talent, was contributing to the chorus. But not Cathal. He remained detached from the group and completely silent. None of them had suggested he join in.

  I got up to pour myself some mead from the jug on the table. Cathal was leaning against the wall not far away, regarding the singers with his customary expression of boredom. Wretched man! It was obvious he cared nothing at all about the peril he’d put Eilis and Coll in earlier. I would speak to him about it right now.

  “I want you to account for your behavior out in the forest,” I said under the masking sound of the young men’s voices. “You put my sister’s life at risk. And Coll’s. That was very stupid, Cathal.”

  He did not look at me, and for a moment I thought he was going to ignore me completely. Then he said, “Would the children have learned a better lesson if they’d been forbidden to climb? They had a fright, yes. But they’re here, safe and well. Coll, at least, is not likely to attempt such a feat on his own in future. I’m not sure I can say the same for your sister, but with luck she has learned a little caution. As I said at the time, no harm done.”

  I began an angry response, then checked myself. I was forced to acknowledge that there was some sense in what Cathal said. Should I ever have children of my own, I would want them to have adventures, to test themselves, to experience what freedoms they could, within reasonable limits. Reasonable limits: that was the key. “It was too high,” I said. “They could so easily have fallen.”

  Cathal looked at me. “You sound as if you suspect me of something, Clodagh.”

  “After last night’s episode, the very least I suspect you of is persistently trying to scare me,” I said.

  “You seem easily scared,” said Cathal, his dark eyes unreadable. “I suppose your upbringing has not equipped you to cope with challenges. You might take a leaf from your little sister’s book. She appears to be entirely fearless.”

  I had tried to be courteous. Under the circumstances, I thought I’d done quite well. But this was too much. My hand itched to slap his supercilious cheek, but I suspected he would only laugh at me if I did. I took a deep breath. “If you imagine my upbringing has been a pampered one with a bevy of servants rushing to fulfill my every whim, you’re wrong,” I said.

  “Oh, don’t bother justifying yourself to me, please.” The tone was one of unutterable weariness. “Your little display before, with Aidan, illustrated quite clearly that you’re deaf to any good counsel I try to give you. As for your life history, I couldn’t be less interested. I’m certain it’s as much of a bore as your harp playing.”

  “I may not be an expert musician,” I said in a furious whisper, for the song had reached its end and the applause that had greeted it was dying down, “but other people seemed to enjoy listening.”

  “Hardly the most critical audience,” observed Cathal. The men were beginning another song, this one with actions suggesting a range of animals: bear, deer, fish, hare. “Half of them are your family.”

  I felt my cheeks flush with annoyance. “And half of them aren’t,” I retorted.

  “Ah, yes, but that half consists of virile young men, Clodagh.” Cathal had not lowered his voice, and I was glad the rousing chorus from the warriors masked his speech from everyone else. “They don’t give a toss whether you play well or abominably. They’re simply enjoying looking at you in your nice gray gown and imagining taking the pins out of your hair, one by one, and then starting on those laces—”

  “That’s enough!” Cathal’s eyes had traveled to the front fastening of my gown, and my cheeks were burning. “I’ve never heard such complete rubbish!” I turned my back on him, intending to walk away, but Muirrin was watching us, so I stayed where I was, trembling with fury. “And anyway,” I said without turning, “what did you mean last night with those dire warnings about Aidan?”

  “You’re actually prepared to listen to an explanation?”

  I wasn’t sure how the conversation had got here. I’d intended never to discuss the topic with him again, since I knew I would not take any advice such a dubious character might have to offer. “An explanation is long overdue,” I said, trying for a chilly tone.

  “I’ve got bruises from where you grabbed me. It was a strange way to try to make a point.”

  “I don’t think you’ll want to hear it,” Cathal said, surprising me.

  “Then you shouldn’t have tried so hard to tell me. Go on, say it, whatever it is. They’ll be finished singing soon.”

  “Since you ask so nicely, I will. My advice to you is to stay out of Aidan’s way. Tell your father not to put him on your list of eligible suitors.”

  “There is no list. Why would you say this? Isn’t Aidan your childhood friend?”

  “Oh, he’s been telling you stories, has he? I bet he didn’t mention that he’s betrothed to a girl back home. Two years at Inis Eala, then it’s back to Whiteshore, a nice wedding to the daughter of the neighboring chieftain, and a life of domesticity. Let him pursue his obvious interest in you and you’ll be breaking that young woman’s heart. Or your own.”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded. Aidan with his honest eyes and open smile; Aidan, who had not so long ago told me all about his future plans in a manner that suggested he would like me to become part of them, betrothed to someone else? He’d never spoken a word about any girl back home, either last year or this year. But then, he hadn’t mentioned Cathal either. “You’re lying,” I said, but there was a lack of conviction in my tone.

  “Ask him if you want,” said Cathal, offhand. “They’re just about finished. Go on, ask him now. I dare you.”

  The singing drew to a riotous close. I applauded along with everyone else, just to give myself a moment. I watched as the young men bowed, smiling. I should have been pouring cups of mead and handing them around. Aidan looked about, spotted me next to Cathal and headed in our direction.

  “Not my finest performance ever,” he said as he came up. Was I imagining things or was his smile somewhat strained? “We should play again, Clodagh. I might be able to compensate for my limited vocal talents. What were the two of you talking about?”

  I’d been right. There was a note in his voice that reminded me of the way he’d looked last night: jealous. “Cathal was telling me about Whiteshore,” I said. “I understand you have a young lady waiting for you back home. Your betrothed.” I saw him flinch, and made myself go on. “It makes sense of your wish to stay with Johnny only a year or two—I wondered about that, since most men who win a place amongst his chosen few would not trade it for anything in the world. If they marry, their wives are expected to go to Inis Eala and join the community there, as Muirri
n did when she wed Evan. You must be very fond of this girl.” I worked hard to keep my tone light.

  Aidan’s cheeks flushed. He looked straight at Cathal, and now the expression in his nice brown eyes was one of undisguised fury.

  “Don’t look at me,” said Cathal. “I was just making conversation.”

  “What’s her name?” I asked, unable to stop myself.

  “Rathnait,” said Aidan tightly. “And the situation is not quite as Cathal has painted it to you. If you would allow me to explain—”

  “There’s no need for that,” I said, wishing profoundly that I was somewhere else. “Your home situation is none of my business.”

  “But I must—”

  “Didn’t you hear the lady?” As Cathal spoke, Aidan clenched his fists.

  “Cathal! Aidan!” The voice was Johnny’s; the tone made this a command. “Gareth has suggested we counteract the effects of mead, good food and a day’s inactivity with a display of single combat. Knockout bouts, the six of us, with weapons of choice. Since you didn’t favor us with your singing, Cathal, I’ll expect a particularly fine effort from you.”

  Cathal straightened from his leaning posture. “Of course,” he said, then added in an undertone that only Aidan and I could hear, “What very fortunate timing. This gives my friend here time to work out what possible excuse he can offer, while you, Clodagh, are spared having to listen to it in a hall full of people. Meanwhile, both of you can hope I suffer an unfortunate accident on the field of combat. Come on, Aidan, he did say all six of us.”

  Aidan turned his back and walked away. His shoulders were set tight.

  “Coming out to watch?” Cathal inquired, brows raised. His narrow features were not without a certain charm when he allowed himself to relax.

  “Maybe I should be there just to make sure he doesn’t kill you,” I said. “It’s hard to believe the two of you are childhood friends.”

  “Ah, well,” said Cathal, “there are some things only a friend will do.”

  “Like making someone tell the truth when he doesn’t want to, you mean?” Aidan’s embarrassment and shame had been written all over him. There had been no formal promise made between Aidan and me; no official mention of a marriage or an alliance. Still, there had been an unspoken understanding, and I was hurt. I had thought Aidan liked me. It seemed I had misjudged the man. It galled me to realize that Cathal had done me a favor.

  “Better go,” he said. “Wish me luck.” With that, he was off.

  Mother and Muirrin stayed inside, but the rest of us trooped out to the yard. Coll and Eilis stationed themselves at the front of the crowd—cooks, grooms, men-at-arms and maidservants had all come out to watch. Johnny had a habit of springing sudden displays of this kind on his men when they were at Sevenwaters, to keep their skills sharp.

  In the first round they used bare fists. Each warrior had his own style. Mikka was nimble, but no match for Johnny, who had superb technical skill. Gareth and Aidan were more evenly matched, though Aidan’s concentration seemed erratic. I expected Gareth’s dogged strength to overwhelm him, but it was Aidan who won, a well-timed blow catching his opponent off guard and sending him sprawling. Aidan helped him up, looking at Cathal as he did so. The message in his eyes was quite plain: You next.

  Sigurd was unfortunate in his adversary. It was quickly plain to me that Cathal had something none of the rest did—an ability to anticipate moves, almost as if he knew what was in his opponent’s head, combined with a knack for springing surprises and the physical skills to use that knack to devastating effect. He fought like quicksilver, impossible to pin down, never where his adversary expected, evasive and fluid, yet strong when it mattered. I began to understand why Johnny had kept him. The bout was soon over, with Sigurd laughing as he offered congratulations.

  “Another round,” Johnny said. “I fight Gareth, Sigurd fights Mikka, Aidan takes on Cathal. If anyone has two wins, a third round determines the overall victor. Gareth, what’s your weapon of choice?”

  Bouts between these two were always entertaining to watch. They had been inseparable friends for as long as I could remember. We treated Gareth almost as one of the family. On the field of combat they moved with a perfect understanding, almost like a single entity in two parts. The fight came to a close with a dazzling display in which staves flew through the air to be caught, whirled and tossed again, with both combatants executing a somersault or two in between. Finally Johnny swung his staff low and caught Gareth across the calves, sending him toppling to the ground, from where the taller man sprang to his feet to clap his opponent on the shoulder and declare him the victor. Both warriors were grinning.

  Mikka and Sigurd fought with swords. Neither managed to fell the other or to relieve him of his weapon, and eventually Johnny declared the bout a draw and congratulated the combatants, then pointed out a couple of things each could have done to gain the advantage. Next, he told Cathal and Aidan to step up. “Weapon of choice?” he asked.

  “Knives,” said Cathal, quick as a heartbeat.

  “All right with you?” Johnny looked at Aidan.

  “Fine.” Aidan wasn’t looking at anyone in particular. He took the knife Gareth offered, examining the blade minutely. I went cold for a moment, then told myself not to be silly. This was a disagreement between friends, that was all. People didn’t kill each other over such trifles.

  This fight was not like the last two. From the start it was intense and brutal, the pair moving from one tight lock to another, their knives a hairbreadth from wrist or groin or neck. Nobody shouted instructions. The crowd watched in a tense hush as Aidan backed Cathal all the way across the circle, up to the stone wall of the house, only to have Cathal slip sideways almost faster than eye could follow to pop up behind the other man and place a knife across his neck. I held my breath longer than was quite comfortable; I realized my teeth were clenched. Aidan struck backward with his elbow, expertly, and when a winded Cathal let his weapon slide away from his opponent’s throat, Aidan hooked a leg around Cathal’s and attempted to unbalance him. They staggered, locked together, each seeking an opportunity to wield his knife effectively. I could hardly bear to watch, for there seemed to me to be a violent purpose in both men that put this on a different plane from the other bouts we had seen today. Surely Johnny should call a halt before one of the combatants plunged his weapon into the other’s heart.

  I glanced in my cousin’s direction, but he was watching with every appearance of calm. The look in his gray eyes suggested he was assessing the two fighters’ technique, nothing more. He made a quiet comment to Gareth, who stood behind him, and Gareth smiled as he murmured a reply. Mikka and Sigurd, across the circle, looked engrossed but not troubled. Perhaps I was overreacting. Perhaps this was not as bad as it seemed.

  Cathal slipped and fell to one knee. The crowd sucked in its breath. Aidan grabbed Cathal’s arms, twisted them behind his back and applied a fearsome grip to his opponent’s right wrist, trying to force his knife hand open. Cathal said something under his breath, and Aidan’s features were suddenly suffused with rage. For a moment he looked like a different person. He hissed a response, jerking at Cathal’s arms, but Cathal writhed like an eel and was out of Aidan’s grasp and on his feet again, his knife still in his grip, his expression showing nothing but detached amusement. This time I heard his comment.

  “You’ll have to do better than that, papa’s boy!”

  Aidan launched himself at Cathal like a battering ram, heedless of his own safety or that of the circle of onlookers. Cathal dodged out of the way, lightning swift, and Aidan came close to crashing headfirst into a pair of white-faced serving women. He managed to stop in time, spinning to face his opponent, knife at the ready.

  “At least I know who my father is,” he said in a voice that had gone ominously quiet.

  For a moment Cathal froze. Then, in a whirl of movement, the two men met again, and an instant later Aidan was on the ground on his back, with his adversary on top of him
and both wrists pinned over his head. I looked for Cathal’s knife and saw, to my astonishment, that at some point he had slipped it back in his belt. Cathal’s grip tightened. Aidan’s right hand opened and his weapon fell to the ground.

  “Enough,” said Johnny calmly, stepping forward. “Technically very good, Cathal, but you came close to letting your guard down. You must learn to block out your opponent’s taunts. Aidan, get up.” He reached out a hand to help Aidan to his feet. “If you have not already learned that anger is a hindrance when you fight, now is the time to do so. We are professionals, whether in an exercise such as this or on the field of war. A cool head, impeccable technique and perfect focus are the keys to success. The two of you will settle your differences before nightfall, and there will be no more dispute between you.”

  Cathal and Aidan looked at each other. Cathal put out a hand, but his expression was stony. After a long moment, Aidan grasped his friend’s hand briefly, then turned his back.

  “Very well,” Johnny said. “Last bout, Cathal. What’s it to be? After that fright, I think our audience might prefer that we avoid anything sharp.”

  Aidan was watching me. He had gone to stand with Sigurd and Mikka, but I could feel his gaze and it troubled me. What was it between him and Cathal? Had this really been all about Aidan leaving out one critical detail in his account of his personal circumstances? That might matter to me, but it seemed unlikely that it would have ignited such a dispute between the two friends. Not only had this revealed a darker side to the placid musician I had been so drawn to, but even the impenetrable Cathal had seemed disturbed by it. Not by the fight itself; he’d handled that as coolly as Johnny would have done. It was that comment about fathers that had rattled him. The two of them knew exactly how to upset each other.