When I judge that the horse has worked as hard as she should for a day and call a halt, one field is finished and another started. I'm happy to join Fiona and the others in the icy stream to rinse away the dirt from our legs and arms.
“I've oats enough for her for a few days,” I say, “but we'll need to find more grain if she's to work like this.”
“Aye,” Fiona says. “There's grain still in the pits. Show me how much she'll need each day, and I'll see to it. Can you leave her with us, then?”
I have little need for a pack animal if I carry only fighting gear, and it's better by far to be without one if I have to move fast. Besides, my old friends need her more than I do. “Yes, I can leave her. That should see you through the plowing at least.”
“We've a bull yearling that Eogan thinks will pull at the millstone; the children can take turns pushing along with it so we can get some of the grinding done.”
“Good,” I say. “The mare can't handle that and plowing.”
By the time I've fed and wiped down the roan, tended to Machonna, and changed back into my own clothes, there's a fire blazing at the storyteller's house, and a pot over it, sending the scent of stew wafting through the village. Aten, Fiona, Kenna, and I walk there together. I think of Durant and wonder where he eats his meal on this springtime evening. The others walk in silence too, grieving, I'm sure, for their missing husbands.
It is a gathering of women, with Eogan and the younger boys who surround him the only males present. Though I've talked with almost everyone at some time during the day, there is a stir of welcoming sounds when I arrive.
After we have eaten, Delya, the storyteller, begins. “We welcome Ilena home. Our grief for our husbands and sons and brothers is great, but with Ilena here our fears for our safety diminish.”
There are nods and smiles throughout the group. I can see hope and—worse—trust in the faces of these women whom I've known all my life.
She continues. “When Moren and Grenna, with Ilena in her arms, joined us that chilly spring day so long ago, the dangers that had plagued us vanished; Moren's skill and courage kept the raiders away from then on. And now Ilena has returned just as we, defenseless, face the spring raiding season.”
I want to scream, “No! I'm not staying. I have to find Durant.” But I can't. I cannot watch the hope in their faces turn to anguish when they learn that I haven't come to help them. Fiona is looking in my direction, waiting for me to speak, but I sit silent and listen as the teller goes through the story of my family's life in the Vale of Enfert. When the group disbands, I hurry back to Aten's house as soon as I can.
I'm so tired from the fieldwork that I go to sleep quickly, but some time later I awaken. I try to go back to sleep, but I cannot relax on the hard straw bed. Images of Durant sweeping by me at the Ford of Dee come as they have most nights, but now I'm troubled by the plight of the folk here in Enfert, too. At last I get up and creep outside.
The half-moon, which lit our walk home from the gathering, has set, and the night sky is a sparkling sheet of stars. I locate the Great Bear and follow its direction to the North Star. I long to gather my things, harness Rol, and leave as soon as dawn shows the trail.
I find a fallen tree beside the meadow and sit to stare at the brilliant sky. When I was little, I would lie in the grass here with Jon and Fiona beside me, and we would tell each other stories about the pictures we could see in the heavens.
“Ilena?” Fiona's voice comes from somewhere in the darkness.
I stand and look around, but I can't see her. “Fiona? Over here.”
“I missed you,” she says. “I feared you might have left us already.” She is beside me now.
“I'm sorry I woke you,” I say. “I tried to slip out quietly.”
“I haven't slept well since Craig and the others left,” she says.
“I know. I lie awake too, thinking of a loved one.”
“You've found someone?” Though it's too dark to see her face clearly, I sense that she is smiling.
“Aye,” I say. We sit down close together on the log, and after a few minutes of silence, I begin to tell of my experiences since I left the vale last fall. She is entranced by the story of Durant. “And he is one of Arthur's friends?”
“A cousin. He rides at the Dragon Chief's sword side.” Even in this isolated valley people hear tales brought by the bards, and so they know what an honor that is.
My description of the events at Dun Alyn amazes her. “You? Ilena—my friend—you are chief of a fortress?”
“I was,” I say, and continue my tale.
When I've finished, she embraces me, and I feel her tears against my face.
“Of course your first allegiance is to your betrothed,” she says. “I understand why you must go on.”
“But I am worried about you here in Enfert, too.”
“I'm not sure how we'll defend ourselves if the slave raiders from Eriu arrive,” she says, “or if that band of Northerners and Saxons comes back.”
I start to ask if they meet to practice with spears or slings, but I stop myself. I remember how difficult it was for Moren to interest the men in developing fighting skills, and the women in the vale have never considered using weapons.
She gets up. “I should sleep. I must work hard tomorrow. We are trying to do our own tasks and those of our husbands and fathers. Are you coming in now?”
“No,” I say. “I'll be along in a few minutes.”
As the stars wheel in their pattern through the springtime sky, I think about Durant and Dun Alyn and about this village. What I must do seems clear enough finally, though I do not like it.
Even though my position as chief of Dun Alyn is in doubt, it is my duty to fight for my people, to lead warriors, and to train others to handle weapons. The folk of Enfert are my people as certainly as are those of Dun Alyn. I failed at the Ford of Dee, but I must help my friends here.
I pull the gold chain from inside my tunic and hold Durant's ring while I think of our time together at Dun Alyn. Will I ever feel his arms around me again?
When dawn begins to light the eastern sky, I go back into the house and fall asleep at once. Aten and Fiona get up early, and I awaken to the smell of hot oatcakes on the stone at the inside hearth. Kenna is stirring herself on her bed across the room.
She sees that my eyes are open and smiles. “I am glad that you are here, Ilena. I've feared for my babe with no one to protect us. Now there is hope for us; perhaps we can survive until Jon and the others return.”
Fiona is squatting beside the fire, turning the oatcakes. She stops her work and waits to hear how I will respond to Kenna.
I stand and stretch, then say, “I will stay here for a time; we must organize some defenses.”
“With women and children?” Fiona asks.
I laugh. “Yes, Fiona. Except for Eogan, we are a village of women and children now. So we will do what we must.”
Chapter 9
As I step into the yard, I see a familiar face peering over the gate. “Calum,” I call. “Just who I need right now.”
He grins and ducks his head as he comes in. “I'm on my way to gather the livestock—what we've got left, at least.”
Calum is about nine and the liveliest of the village boys, a leader in any group of his companions whether they're tending the village herds or spying on couples who've sought a bit of privacy in the long summer evenings.
“Carry word for me to the mothers that I want every young person over four summers old on the meadow as soon as the sun is above that great oak.” I point to a tall tree that stands at the eastern end of the valley. “Tell them the livestock can wait a bit this morning. And everyone should bring a sling if they can.”
He nods vigorously and turns to leave. “One more thing,” I say. “Find Eogan and tell him I need him.”
The first group of youngsters arrives with Eogan in their midst. “You see that dead tree?” I ask the children. “I want you to practice hitting i
t with a slingstone.” They jostle for position and begin. I step back to give them room and motion Eogan to join me.
“Will you be staying, then?” he asks.
“A while,” I say. “You and I must form a defensive force for the village.”
He looks startled, then squares his shoulders and smiles. “I've wondered what we could do.” The children are milling about, either casting stones in the general direction of the dead tree or begging to borrow a sling from someone else. “It'll be hard to make a defensive force out of that,” he says.
“Notice that they've made a great shield of stones even though few of them are near the target. No one could have walked safely across that space.”
“Aye, that's right. A stone hurts no matter who casts it.”
“Stop,” I call. “No more slinging now. Go look for the stones. We can't afford to lose any. When you've gathered all that were cast, come sit here in front of me.”
I send Eogan to bring the women, and I study the children assembling before me. Fifteen have come, and I don't think any are missing.
When the last youngster has settled herself on the ground and placed her slingstones beside her in the grass, I say, “Calum is in charge of slingers. It is a big responsibility.” Calum straightens up and looks solemn. “You are all to pay close attention to his directions. From now on no one is to leave the house without a sling and a pouch of slingstones. If you do not have them, talk to Macaulay.”
Macaulay, whose father made most of the shoes and leather goods for the village, gives me a startled look, but listens as I continue. “Has your father taught you how to work leather?”
He nods slightly. “My mother knows more about it than I do.”
“I'll talk to her. Between you, I hope you can furnish us with more slings and pouches.
“All of you must make sure that there is a pile of slingstones inside every door, every barn, and every compound gate. You should collect as many round stones as you can find, and, to be sure we have enough, Nessa will help us make more out of clay.” Nessa is a tiny child, but I know that she has at least eight summers already. She keeps her round blue eyes on my face as I speak. “Nessa's father was…is our potter, as you all know. Nessa, did you help him find clay?”
“Yes, often. The best is outside the vale, along a stream to the west.”
“Good,” I say. “Calum will assign others to help you gather clay, and Eogan will go with you for protection. Then everyone will help make slingstones—perfectly round, remember—to be fired in the kiln.”
“I'm not allowed near the kiln,” Nessa says. “Though I've often watched from a distance.”
“Your mother will help fire them, I'm sure.” I look from one to another. “Does everyone understand what is to be done?” They all nod. “And how important it is that you get ready to defend our village?” They nod again. “Take the livestock out now, but don't forget to practice slinging and to look for stones.”
When Eogan returns with the women, I explain what I've asked the children to do and remind them also to carry slings and pouches of stones wherever they go. “We must be ready to defend ourselves if we are attacked.”
“Are slings enough?” Kenna asks. “I'm sure that we couldn't have stopped the war band that took Jon and the others with a few stones.”
“No,” I agree. “Probably not. But I don't think a band like that will come again. Most likely, their fortress needed extra workers during the battle season, and they found them here. They'll no doubt release everyone at summer's end because they won't want to feed extra people through the winter.”
“I hope so,” Fiona says.
“You must be able to fight off the raiding parties from Eriu, who sail their leather boats into our waters and come ashore to plunder and to take slaves to sell in their country,” I say. “That is a danger every year.”
“And they do not return the children they steal!” Delya says.
“What about the watch?” Aten asks. “We haven't had one since the men left.”
“I've tried,” Eogan says. “I've slept up on the pass most nights, and I stayed during the day when I didn't need to hunt.”
“Eogan will plan a schedule so that two people are always on sentry duty. He'll tell you your times,” I say. “I know we must be in the fields soon, but I'd like you all here again after dinner for weapons practice—if you want to learn more about defending yourselves.”
“I'll be here!” Aten says. “When I think of Jon and the others…”
“Aye,” Kenna says. She puts her hand on her belly. “I will fight to keep my babe from harm.”
“Then I will meet you here when we have eaten and cared for the animals. We'll work with staffs today, so bring a stout stick of some kind.”
Fiona stays behind when the others leave. “It is good to plan what we can do. I've felt so helpless since the men left.”
“Just organizing ourselves will help,” I say. “I think the roan's getting used to you. Can you harness her and try to coax her along the furrow?”
“Of course,” she says. She starts to leave, then turns back and embraces me. “I'm glad you'll stay.” As she walks away, there's a bounce in her step that I haven't seen since last fall.
I'm smiling when I turn back to Eogan. “Do you need to hunt today?”
“No.” He nods toward a deer carcass hanging high in a tree inside his fenced yard. “That should give us all a good meal tomorrow if we can spare youngsters to turn the spit. And everyone has grain and salmon from the stream.”
“Then let's get you up to the pass to watch for trouble. I'll go along.”
The rocks that tower above the trail hold passageways and nooks on both sides. One recess in the stone is larger than the others and gives a good view down onto the pass; sentries from the village have used it as shelter and lookout for generations. A cooking pot and a pile of bedskins are hidden under a ledge in the farthest corner.
“Will the women be able to stand watch?” Eogan asks.
I laugh. “Women can handle most tasks if they try.”
He ducks his head sheepishly. “I guess you do everything any other warrior does.”
“Aye,” I say, but I think for a moment of the time I failed to do a warrior's duty.
He looks puzzled by my silence, and I hurry to go on. “The women of Enfert have always had enough work to do without attempting things that men did. Now that there is no choice, they'll watch, and they'll fight, and they will do whatever else they must. But we have no trained warriors now—except for you. It seems from your success at hunting that you can handle a spear.”
“Aye. And a sword, too, if I had one.” He sounds confident.
“When did you learn sword fighting?”
“When you did. I watched almost every day. I'd hurry with my chores and then hide behind the bushes near your barn. I'd watch Moren show you how to hold the sword and how to fool your opponent and switch hands. Then I'd take a piece of wood and practice by myself in the forest. I wanted to fight and ride like you and Moren.”
“Show me.” I take my sword out of its sheath and hand it to him, hilt first.
He hefts it for a moment to get the feel, then tosses it from hand to hand. His smile grows broader and broader as he demonstrates the footwork and thrusts of a swordsman. I pick up a piece of firewood and engage him in a mock battle. He parries my moves, ducks under my thrusts, then turns away from me and comes back with the sword in his other hand.
I toss away the firewood and reach out for my sword; he hesitates for a moment, looking down at the blade, before he hands it to me. After I replace it in its scabbard, I grasp his wrists and study them. “You need practice for endurance. Look at my wrists.” I drop his hands and hold my arms out before him, turning and flexing them so that he can see the way muscles build up in a true warrior.
His smile fades. “I tried, but wood isn't very heavy.”
“Of course not,” I say. “You are as accomplished as my best student
s at Dun Alyn.” I think of Sorcha and wonder where she is and what she is doing now. “I was not criticizing; I'm amazed at your ability and at the fact that you have done all of this by yourself.”
His smile returns. “I'll look for heavier wood.”
“Use this for a while.” I slip my sword belt off and put it over his head so that it lies properly across his chest. He is taller than I am, so I adjust the belt to put the hilt in the correct position. “You have learned all that you can from sticks. You must practice now with a real sword. While you are up here on watch, you can use your time well.”
I leave him holding my sword across his palms and staring at it in awe.
On the way down to the village, I ponder the problem of weapons. Another swordsman would be a help, but swords cost a great deal, and few smiths in Britain make them. I know of no one in this area who can forge anything but the plainest iron tools and spearpoints. My sword was made by the greatest sword maker in Britain at his smithy far to the east.
I stop beside our old homeplace and inhale the sharp smoke smell that still hangs in the air. A few posts stand to mark the shape of the house and the position of the barn, but everything else is gone, reduced to black ashes that rustle and turn to powder in the breeze.
I search Aten's barn and find a wooden spade. She must have their good iron-shod one at the field, but this will do. Machonna whines from the doorway, and I stop to scratch his ears. The wound is healing well, and he is no longer feverish. I let him roam around the yard for a few minutes, then close him in the house. I'm happy to hear a few mournful howls as I leave. Soon he will be able to follow me around.
When I reach the high place where Moren's and Grenna's graves lie, I see another pile of rocks atop a new patch of disturbed earth. This must be Cryner's grave. I search about the area and find a suitable stone to add to the small cairn that Jon built for him.
I sit on a sun-warmed rock, thinking of my foster mother and father. It has been less than a year since we carried Moren's body up here to lie beside Grenna's, but it seems a lifetime. I feel close to them in this spot. How I wish I could talk with them, tell them my problems, hear the advice they would give me.
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