by Lela Markham
“Nay, of course not.”
“Then Galyn died in summer and I – I think I went a bit mad there for a while. Certainly I acted mad. I couldn’t remain with the army. My father sent me home where I spent, for the first time in my life, long hours by myself, walking the heath and riding the forests and trying to forget. Winter came and I fair drank myself into forgetfulness. Until we captured one of Tren’s riders. There was no talk of ransom this time, of course. He was just a rider. My father ordered him killed on the morrow. It was the rider to whom I owed my life.”
Tamys lapsed into silence.
“So, did you return the favor?”
“Aye, and I hope he got clean away. I think he must have. I was caught, however. My father and the priests of Bel ordered me flogged, but the priests of Lugh arrived and said that I must be hanged, that I was a Believer, that I had the second sight, that I was possessed of a daemon.”
“Second sight? Why would they bring that up?”
“I do have a touch. I’m very good at guessing dice and I always could sense things – like storms and the like. I didn’t think they should know about it though, since I’ve never been stupid enough to bet on all my guesses.”
“Hmm, so they accused you of this and ...”
“My father refused to have me killed. He pointed out that he might someday need me, since he had but two sons left. He agreed to exile me, however, until such time that I make myself right with the temple. He ordered me whipped, but Galryen threw himself before me and pled for mercy, so my father turned me out with the clothes on my back. Galryen met me on the road with a horse, my sword and a purse full of coin or I surely would have died.” Tamys stared into the darkness for a bit. “I thought the priests of Lugh liked those with the second sight, made them into druins.”
“Aye, but somewhat about it must have alarmed them. I’m not sure what.”
Tamys nodded soberly.
“I wondered a lot after that, about why the rider would risk his life and what was the One God. Then I met you. I wanted to know, but I didn’t want to know, if you know what I mean. But, the other day, you saved our lives when you didn’t have to. Then today – that lad. Tell me about what it is that you believe, what sets you apart from everyone else.”
Padraig answered slowly, not because he didn’t know what he wanted to say, but because he wanted to give Tamys an opportunity to clear his mind for the answers. It had been Padraig’s experience that the answers were not easy to hear and harder still to grasp. A wrong word without the Lord’s guidance could cause a man to close his heart and Padraig never wanted to be responsible for that.
“What do you think about Believers?”
“I haven’t thought much about them. When I did it was sort of to think they were like the Old Faith. It wasn’t until I knew you that I began to think it was somewhat more.”
“Aye, it is much different from the Old Faith. The Old Faith is much like the religion you grew up with. It believes in the same gods. It’s more focused on personal sacrifices to appease the gods rather than letting the temple priests do it. Folk of power become druins in the cult of Bel, a separate sect kept well-clear of those they serve, but in the Old Faith, they’re called druids and they are the leaders of the worship, not constrained servants. Nay, the Belief is very different.”
Padraig mulled his thoughts, knowing Tamys was listening without judgment which was always a good sign.
“When the Celdryans came here, they were probably more like the Old Faith than the Bel system. Among them, though, were a handful of Believers. Even in Gael they were separate, but they fled with the Celts to Rune because the Rhwmanes did not see them as different. At first they probably were needed. We were few in number and if they were quiet, the hands were what counted, not what the heads believed. But, the Celdryans grew more numerous and as they pushed the elves out of the land, they began to distrust any talk of a belief in one god, which the elves held. The Believers may also have brought some of the distrust upon themselves by helping the elves escape the predations of the Celtman. At least among the elves there are stories that indicate that they did. Five hundred years ago, the priests of Bel and the priests of Lugh issued a proclamation that Believers were anathema and ordered that they be exiled. The Believers fled north into what would become Denygal. They found the elves who saw in them no threat and the two became one people. The elves had always believed in one god who required that we love our enemies and do good to those who misuse us, but the Believers taught them that His name is Jesu.”
“And Jesu, he is god of everything?”
“Aye. A very powerful God, but also a very personal God.”
“How could one god handle it all?”
“I can’t answer that,” Padraig admitted. “He created the world, so He’s not tied to the cycles of it. He’s outside of space and time.”
“The gods rule from another realm, I’ve heard. What do you mean by personal?”
“The gods of Bel are – shall we say, uninterested in you as a person. Fate is set not only at birth, but in the lives lived before this one. The gods needn’t be concerned with our little problems. They might do us a favor if we offer enough sacrifices, but they really don’t care otherwise. And they’ll act as capriciously as they feel like. Raise you to the throne, or turn you out onto the roads.”
“True-spoken,” Tamys whispered.
“Jesu isn’t like that. He seeks to be a companion, a friend. He cares if a blind child sees. He cares if you’re hungry or fed. Not that He’ll do what we ask all the time. Sometimes there are higher goals to be accomplished than our petty requests, no matter how important they may be to us, and He’ll always make the decision that is best for us and those around us.”
“And how do you pay homage to this god?” Tamys asked.
“You believe in Him, which is as simple as it sounds, and more complicated than it might seem. In order to believe in Him, you must first admit that you’re not perfect, that you’ve disobeyed him, even without knowing it. Then you must accept that He offered Himself for you and that He and He alone can take away your disobedience. All He asks for that is that you ride at His command, not the command of any other.”
Tamys’ pale eyes flashed in the dark. Padraig had surprised him in this. Tamys had sworn fealty to Lord Corbryn and Padraig could see that he wanted to hold true to that.
The lad stood up abruptly.
“That’s why the rider released me?” he inquired. His voice echoed strangely in the dark.
“Mayhap. The Lord required that he obey an order contrary to the warleader’s edict.”
Tamys looked across the lake toward the sounds of the camp.
“You’ve given me much to think on, for now.” With not fare-the-well, Tamys started back along the peninsula to the main shore, ending their conversation that evening.
The caravan moved on the morrow before the day dawned. The dust of the caravan’s passing had scarcely settled when the lad who had been blind looked at his mother and said her red shawl was lovely. She dropped the jar of milk as her family clustered around. As she mopped up the pool of white liquid, she remembered the herbman saying that this healing came from the One True God. In the privacy of her awe-struck family, she thanked this god she had never heard of before, but wanted to know more about.
Founding Year 1028
Dun Cenconyn
Ryen ap Chenyn, rig of Cenconyn, lounged upon his bed with his wife, Lillirygga, nestled into the crook of his arm. They’d spent a pleasant morning enjoying one another’s company and now merely rested in contentment. Lilli was his greatest advisor, the finest mind in all his dun. Bed sports were a side benefit toward their relationship.
A knock on the door startled both of them. They stared at the door, thinking to remain quiet. Of course, a second knock followed the first. Ryen sighed. Lilli buried her lovely face in his shoulder to hide her laughter.
“Aye?”
“My lord, Duncyn of Denygal is back
from Clarcom.”
Lilli raised her face to smile at Ryen. Both of them enjoyed Duncyn and had missed him during their sojourn in Cenconyn.
“Tell him to make himself at home. We’ll be down soon.”
“Aye, sir.” Footsteps retreated from the door. Lilli sat up wearing only her long dark hair.
“Come back here, wench,” Ryen demanded, dragging her back onto the bed. “Duncyn of all people would understand our delay. We’ve discussions left.”
“Discussions?” she giggled. “Is that what you call it?”
“Nay, we did far too little discussing this morning. I need to make a decision about Nigyl of Somerhale.”
“We can discuss while dressing,” she reminded, her blue eyes twinkling.
“Or we could lie here naked and finish our discussion,” he said merrily. They kissed briefly and then rolled apart to sort out their clothes.
“It seems to me,” Ryen said as he donned his small clothes, “that we don’t actually need a steward. You’ve been doing the job with intelligence and insight.”
Lilli turned, her long lean body a marvel to behold.
“I thank you for the compliment and truly, I could continue doing it until we have children and then … well, the mistress of a great dun, the steward and mother to children … this may be stretching even my extraordinary abilities.”
Ryen caressed her cheek with a callused finger. Her skin felt like silk as he traced the curve of her jaw bone.
“I know,” he said solemnly. “I don’t suppose the vyngretrix council would accept it either.”
“How inappropriate to allow your wife such power!” Lilli intoned in a mocking voice. She drew on her small breecs and reached for the chemise.
“Mayhap Duncyn has good news for us on that front. If he’s found someone acceptable and not recommended by Cunyr, it will sit much better with me.”
Ryen pulled on his breecs, tying the drawstring.
“Aye, that does feel a bit of manipulation,” Lilli admitted. “Mayhap Lydya has insight into why her husband wants to install his own man in our dun.”
She pulled her underdress over her head. Ryen found his siarc.
“I am so looking forward to an evening with Duncyn entertaining us. He’s better than a bard any day,” Lilli said, smoothing down her dress and shaking out the overdress.
“I’m more interested in his report on Clarcom,” Ryen admitted, tightening his belt.
“You have grown much too serious since taking this dun, my lord.”
“Aye, my lady, but I do feel a responsibility here that I did not entirely appreciate from Denygal.”
Lilli carefully tied her kirtle, obviously thinking. Ryen appreciated her insight into court affairs so much that he didn’t interrupt her thoughts.
“It is very different here than at home,” she admitted, gathering her thick hair together to plait it. “The One has a plan, my love, and there’s naught for us to do except puzzle it out and wait upon His command.”
Ryen stood so quickly from pulling on his second boot that he nearly spilled face-first upon the Morikan carpet, but he quickly righted himself and caught her in a final embrace.
“I could not, would not, do this without you, my lady. You are my best advisor and worth a dun full of old men with stuffy ideas of how to do this and that. It’s all well and good, their experience and knowledge, but your wisdom far outshines any I’ve ever known.”
Lilli laughed pleasantly, kissed him on the nose and broke the embrace.
“I must be about the business of the lady of this dun, my lord, or else my skills may come under scrutiny of an ill sort.” She spoke as she moved, winding her braid up and securing it with combs as she headed toward the chamber door.
Ryen chased after her as she scampered down the corridor, but she was much quicker than he and already gone before he reached the stairs. Sighing, he walked down the stairs with dignity. His cousin Duncyn, wearing the traditional orange and green of Denygal, turned from the honor hearth where he was talking with another nobleman. Before Ryen could question this stranger, he felt a push on his mind as Lilli registered her concern.
“Duncyn, mayhap you will introduce your companion.”
“Of course,” the broad-shouldered young-looking man replied. Duncyn was not a typical Denygal in that he enjoyed a good tankard of ale, but he was also not at all like a Celdryan noble. He always had a cheery smile and a ready jest for one and all and he loved to tell stories and go on adventures so that he would have stories to tell. “This is Nigyl of Somerhale.”
Ryen felt his face freeze as his breath caught in his throat.
“I’m sorry. Did you say Nigyl of Somerhale?”
“Aye, my lord,” Duncyn assured. “Cunyr insisted that you would be so taken with his recommendation that you would retain Nigyl immediately.
Duncyn lacked the gifts of many Denygal … or at least didn’t acknowledge them … but he had very expressive hazel eyes and these conveyed that it was not his idea, but he had been compelled by Cunyr, who could compel anyone who valued their life to do anything he wanted.
“I see,” Ryen said, accepting the situation. He would have to retain Nigyl or explain why not and that was becoming increasingly difficult to entertain. “I suppose you brought letters of recommendation.”
“I did,” Nigyl said. He was younger than Ryen had expected, thin and reedy, with a hawk nose and narrow eyes. Typical of many younger sons of minor nobles, he wore solid breecs of blue and a blue cloak trimmed in the blue and red plaid of his father’s dun. Ryen had researched Somerhale in expectation of an examination of Nigyl’s credentials and had found it a smallish dun just outside of Clarcom. Nigyl would be loyal to Cunyr, which was problematic in itself, but he was also likely very inexperienced.
Nigyl produced a message tube sealed with Cunyr’s seal. Ryen took it and felt the resonance of Lydya’s sealing spell on the knot. He wondered if Nigyl had worried the knot a bit and found it impossible to undo.
“As I am caught surprised by this, I will ask you to rest the evening and allow me to review these in private. I’ll speak with you on the morrow. A page will settle you in guest chambers. The meal should be a bit after sundown.”
Nigyl’s grey eyes widened in surprise, but there was not much to be done as Ryen had said it all. To assure no protests, Ryen asked Duncyn to report on his journey as if Duncyn were his vassal. They were in Ryen’s second floor greeting chamber before Duncyn started to chortle.
“I do so wish you could send that officious little ferret packing,” he explained upon closing the door behind them. Ryen moved to speak, but Duncyn raised a hand and smiled all the wider. “I know you cannot do so, but I would so love to see his expression when you did. What does your fair sister have to say about all this?”
Ryen sighed and unwound the simple knot that had no doubt confounded Nigyl. He broke the wax seal and opened the tube to slide out the messages. In addition to the letter of recommendation, there was a second message from Cunyr and an envelope bearing Lydya’s seal of Denygal.
Duncyn waited patiently while Ryen quickly scanned Cunyr’s message concerning taxes and levies. The lord of Cenconyn set aside the letter of recommendation to break the seal on Lydya’s envelope.
Dearest brother, there is pleasant news to share. Padraig has turned up, hale and hearty, and headed for the heartland. He has promised to keep in touch better in the future. I have tracked him as far as High Celdrya.
I must apologize for my husband’s insistence that he send his man into your dun. I counseled against it, but he has not the high opinion of me that you have of Lilli. Please do give her my kindest regards. There’s naught to be done with Nigyl, I’m afraid. Lilli can tell you the color of his character, but it is not a good one in my learned opinion. Again, I wish I did not have to lay pen to parchment and say you have little choice in the matter, but there you have it.
God’s grace be upon you and yours. Your faithful vassal, Lydya of Moryn
“Just that he’s as ignorant as he is inexperienced. Cunyr doesn’t even think highly of him, so he’s likely a spy.”
Ryen sighed. He’d known that, of course, but it pained him to hear Duncyn’s assessment because it confirmed his own.
“There’s naught for it. I’ll give him lots of irritating tasks in hopes that he’ll want to return to his father’s dun as soon as soon. Did you note any weaknesses on the journey? Incipient drink? Likes the lasses … or the lads?”
“Nay, not either of those. He’s judgmental, narrow-minded, gossiping, and less than honest, but naught that would disqualify him from being a steward besides lack of experience.”
“Sad,” Ryen said with a sigh, then replaced his sadness with a smile. “Well and good then. Life in Cunyr’s county is no different than it was a watch ago. Let us gird our loins and partake of a lovely roast beast and you shall tell humorous stories about the board tonight and then on the morrow I shall retain myself a steward … and count my pots and table daggers because I believe my steward’s fingers may be coated with sap.”
Duncyn laughed heartily and the two men departed to the great hall.
Solstice
We marched south for an eightnight, following the scouts riding ahead. The Rawmayne soldiers became useful, though they chafed under their bondage. If it weren’t for Da, the Celts would have killed them, but he spoke wisely as a scribe will of the usefulness of the horses and of men who could speak some other language besides Gawlish. In a strange land and likely to encounter strange peoples. We might need these men who could wield swords. It was the Rawmaynes’ idea to travel south away from the wind-swept moor where we’d first come ashore.