Winter Serpent

by Davis, Maggie;

  She stumbled against him as they went through the dark yard to the tent of the Macoul.

  “What is Alpin doing with the tuath, the chieftain of Lorne?” she asked. “You will see,” Comac told her. He steadied her with his hand and then drew her to him. He tried to kiss her.

  “In God’s name!” she cried. “Do you bring me here to Alpin or just to tussle in the dark?”

  He let her go and stood in silence.

  “I did not mean to speak to you so,” she told him hastily. “I am tired to the bone and there is so much on me I am like a brittle stick which must break. I was not made for this intriguing. In my ignorance and trust I had thought that when Alpin brought me here and the brehons heard my tale, justice would be swift. I see now that this is not so. I despair that it will ever be so.”

  He put his arm gently about her shoulders and they walked together.

  “Be easy in your heart,” he said. “Nothing influences the brehons but a show of strength and power. In the old days there was a death oath of truth which bound them, and they were incorruptible. But this was long ago when the Celts had honor, in the days of the druids. There is little truth or honor to be had now. This is what the Christian priests have done to weaken us. When my kinsmen come from Eire we shall then be the strongest, and the decision shall be for us.”

  “But what of Alpin? Will he not take part in this? I am here because of him.” He shook his head warningly, for they were at the Macoul’s tent. He pulled back the flap and she entered. Two of the chieftain’s warriors stood at the back, holding torches aloft to light the interior. The Ard-Ri, Alpin, his long hair falling about his shoulders, was sitting on a stool drinking ale, the old Macoul beside him holding the flagon.

  “Greetings to you, Doireann nighean Muireach of the macDumhnulls of Cumhainn,” the Macoul said formally, getting up.

  “And to you, Macoul, tuath over all the chieftains and tribes of the district of Lorne,” she responded.

  Doireann bent herself briefly before the High King.

  “May your days be long, Alpin of the Scots, King of Dalriada, chief over all the chiefs both high and low.”

  Alpin’s face was thoughtful as he looked at her. She straightened and took his regard with quiet dignity. Alpin was her distant kinsman. This was the first time she had seen him since their brief meeting in the crowded hall, and she remembered the stories of his acquisitive nature, his talent for intrigue, and his ambitions to unite the far north of Britain under one king, himself. She noticed that he did not wear a crown nor even a helmet, seeming to be vain of his abundant hair. But his tartan was as old and well-worn as any of the curadhs’ and he wore a battered leather tunic. He had a fine brow and the commanding air of one who expects to be obeyed.

  Comac brought the point of his sword to his lips in salute and the Ard-Ri nodded to him, his face quizzical.

  “I see you, Comac Neish,” the Ard-Ri said. “I have wondered long these past days if you were still my swordsman or if you seek your oath-binding elsewhere. Am I still the giver of gold in this place and the leader of the king’s warriors?”

  Comac reddened, but did not answer. It was Doireann who spoke. “Address yourself to me, Alpin,” she said quickly, “Tell me why you have brought me to the Coire, for I have yet to hear it from your lips. If you wish to rebuke Comac Neish then you may do it some other time, for I have a sick child who needs me.”

  The Macoul frowned at this and shook his head at her, but the Ard-Ri was bland.

  “Yes, I will speak of these things with you, Doireann nighean Muireach. I acknowledge that your presence here is my doing. Yet, as you know, I have made you no promises. I have returned you to your father’s hall for justice. It was told to me that you have many grievances but are without support in them.” “I have made no petitions to you for justice, Alpin, and if you have come into my affairs of your own accord, then you must stand behind your actions. You speak of justice. Is it forthcoming?”

  “These things are slow,” the Macoul offered. “Slow enough,” she agreed.

  The Ard-Ri put down his cup of ale and leaned forward to her. “What do you think I owe you?” he asked.

  She stared back at him.

  “It is not the owing that should be discussed,” she cried, “but the payment! I have been brought to work your will, have I not?”

  “Doireann nighean Muireach,” the Ard-Ri said judiciously, “you may have your claims easily as the brehons see it. They know your story, but they also see that it is the clansmen of the macDumhnulls who must be satisfied, else there would be no peace in Cumhainn. As for my part, I have many interests. I would have a strong and loyal man here for me, and I have long thought I would reward my captain, Comac Neish, with something other than gold. It is obvious from the looks he gives you that he would be eager for some arrangement in Coire Cheathaich.”

  The Ard-Ri leaned back and stroked his hair with the palm of his hand, looking thoughtful.

  “You may have your land claims and your justice,” he said. “But I did not think you would bring the child of the Northman to Cumhainn.”

  Doireann stiffened at once, looking at the faces of the men before her. The mention of the child struck an ominous note.

  “We have suffered much at the hands of the Viking,” the Macoul was saying. “You have not been in Dalriada to learn of the raids they carried against Mull and Lewis arid the great havoc they have wrought against the Gael in Eire. In speaking of revenge and justice these things must also be considered, and the hatred which the Scots now have for the Northmen.”

  “It is dangerous for those who would bind themselves to the Viking,” Alpin warned.

  “But I am not bound to them!” she cried.

  “There is a Norse chieftain among them,” Alpin continued, “who claims you are his legal wife, and claims also the child you have with you. He has sent captives to Dunadd with this message.”

  “I deny this.” Her voice was becoming shrill. She stopped, and tried to regain some of her steadiness. “I was given unwillingly to this Norseman by my own foster brother and kinsman, Calum macDumhnull, in violation of all the laws of fosterage and his own vows to protect me on the death of my father. Did I bear this Northman a child because I willed it? Yet consider this Calum macDumhnull who should well have earned the hatred of the Scots when he gave the Viking haven in Cumhainn, and who tried to kill me when I bore the Norse chieftain’s offspring!”

  Alpin sighed.

  “Yes, I know this story,” he said. “You claim you were given to the Northmen unwillingly, yet Calum macDumhnull swears that you once asked him for a husband and that the matter was acted upon with this in mind with proper bride gold being exchanged. He says you were eager enough to leave the Coire and go with the Northmen, and claims he can produce men of this clan who will swear that you went of your own accord. He says they give evidence that you jumped from the boat onto the beach of the Northmen’s camp without a backward look. There was no struggling, no outcry.”

  Doireann bit her lips.

  “And how does he answer the charge that he gave the Northmen aid and engaged in trading with them for some months?” she wanted to know.

  “Calum macDumhnull says that his plan was to delay them until he could gather enough men together to attack them and seize their plunder. And this he did. He also says that he would have brought you back to Coire Cheathaich but that you escaped from him with the aid of Picts sent from Inverness, who killed one of his men.”

  “You have complained that the judging moves slowly,” the Macoul said, leaning forward. “It will move more slowly still when these things are brought out and argued back and forth. Can you speak truthfully and still win?”

  “Yes!” she cried.

  “But consider,” the Macoul went on. “You have the child with you. Do you think the brehons will set you over the clans in the Coire? What if the Northmen come here and murder many of your kinsmen?”

  “Consider,” Alpin said quietly, “tha
t you may have many strong sons by Comac Neish. There can be no place for a Northman’s bastard among the clans.” “Are you my reward for submission?” Doireann cried, turning on Comac Neish.

  “God, woman, I say that I love you!” he shouted angrily.

  “Is this not fortunate! Would you have said the same if I had been plain-looking and ungainly?”

  “Now, now, children, softly,” the Macoul murmured. “We have put on a bad face before you, Doireann nighean Muireach, but we are not your enemies. I have known you since you were a wee girl. I was your father’s good friend.”

  “Were was your concern for me when I was alone and in the power of Calum macDumhnull? Do not pretend these things to me. Tell me in plain words what it is you have patched between you.”

  “We have patched nothing between us,” Alpin said. “The loyalty of the clans in the Coire is yours for the taking. There are many who favor you because they think you are like your father before you, with a love of the land and a feeling for the welfare of the tribes. I think they have had it in their minds to take the good with the bad if you would accept Calum macDumhnull as your husband. It is said he desires you greatly. But if you have a bitterness toward him and feel that he has abused you, then I do not think they would reject Comac Neish as your mate and chieftain apparent.”

  “And what will become of Calum?”

  “He would be tanist, and chieftain if your husband died without heirs.” “How long do you think Calum would be satisfied with this?”

  The Ard-Ri laughed.

  “Comac Neish is no weak woman. He will hold what he takes possession of, and Calum macDumhnull will never challenge him.”

  “You do not know Calum macDumhnull. He would spend his days plotting his revenge, and his crafty brother Donn with him. It is a bad thing you put before me, and it only means trouble again in the Coire. Yet I think you would have me send away my child and settle for a bad bargain.”

  “It is no bad bargain,” Alpin insisted. “Calum need not be tanist long if he is troublesome. I leave this to Comac Neish. He knows how to keep the peace against the intrigues of others. And I would not allow warring in Cumhainn over disputed claims. This is a perilous time, Doireann nighean Muireach. The Vikings are not only raiders; they have brought war to the western isles, and the Christian peoples must now fight to throw them off. We must be united. But if we bring peace in Cumhainn it will not be with a Northman’s son. True, he is but a babe in his mother’s arms now, but what of his manhood? Will he seek out his father and bring him to Coire Cheathaich? This is in men’s minds when they look at him. You must consider the things which will work you well and not ill.”

  “I will not give up my child,” she said stubbornly. They looked at her in silence.

  “Doireann nighean Muireach,” Comac Neish said softly, “would you throw away all that could be yours? Shall I have to say to you that I do not want another man’s son?”

  “Put your faith in my word that I will do the honorable thing,” the Ard-Ri said. “Have confidence in Comac Neish, who is my trusted captain. It will be hard at first for you to give up the child, but you will have many rewards. In some ways you are a fortunate woman. You have great beauty. Your kinsmen in the Coire accept you despite your notoriety. Comac Neish has asked you to be his wife. This last is no small thing. He has great pride in his royal blood, and yet he would have it joined with yours.”

  “It has been suggested,” the Macoul said, “that since the bishop of Druiminn supports you and shows his interest, perhaps he would accept the Northman’s child as his ward.”

  “And raise him a priest? Why should he pay for Calum’s cruelty to me?” “What is wrong with priests?” they asked her.

  “No, no, to everything you proposed!” she cried. “I do not weep before you now, because I am proud, but I could shed many tears in anger seeing that I have found no pity, no honor, among my father’s friends, only treachery and self-seeking. I could weep in sorrow for my child because none will defend him, because he has no land or riches to buy his way into your hearts. Console yourselves that my child lies ill. Perhaps death will come to him and remove him from your path! As for this Irish captain here… you may take back your male whore! I give him to you willingly.”

  She flung herself from the tent and ran stumbling across the dark yard. She was quickly followed by Comac Neish who overtook her, grabbing her arm. “God help you, Doireann nighean Muireach!” he shouted. “God help you for the words you have spoken. If you were a man I would cut your belly open for it!” She jerked away from him. He raised his hand as if to strike her.

  “No, I cannot,” he groaned. He turned his head away. “What kind of devil is in you, woman, that you can speak such things?”

  She did not answer him.

  “Ochone,” he said quietly, “I have a love for you that is great enough to break me. You are a witch, for not just beauty alone could snare men so and tie them to your skirts. You will destroy us all.”

  Her face was still silent and unyielding.

  “I have no part in the plans of the Ard-Ri and the Macoul,” he protested. “I have declared that I will marry you and my word is my honor. I will marry you now, tomorrow, before there is any judgment on your fortunes.”

  She considered this.

  “And if I am turned out of the Coire with my claims refuted?”

  “Then your lot will be as bad as my own, for we will share it. But I will not take your complaining, for it will be your stubbornness which decides it for us.”

  “And you will never lift your hand to my child or do aught to hurt him?” “I do not revenge myself on children, Doireann. I will treat him fairly,

  although he will be like a dead rat hung about your neck and mine. I will not say that I could love him, for I could never love the child you have borne another man.”

  She thought this over.

  “This is fair enough,” she allowed.

  “It is haggling over the child which brings you to me, then,” he said bitterly. “Can you say that it is not the thought of a good bargain which brings you to me also?” she flung at him. “Let us be practical. I might yet win the Coire.” “How far will you provoke me?” he cried. He shook his fist in her face. “So now it is you who are provoked!” she shouted. “You might give some thought to how driven I am now, and what treachery there is about me.” She put her hands over her eyes suddenly. “I am close to breaking.”

  20

  Comac Neish went to Alpin that night and asked for a release from his oaths. The Ard-Ri granted it. He was not in a good humor but he generously settled some gold on his captain, making it plain that he could see only a worsening of the other’s chronic troubles in this mad busi-

  ness. Now that Comac had left his service it would be hard for him to provide for himself and the luckless Doireann nighean Muireach and her Viking’s child.

  Comac Neish was no bo aire, the Ard-Ri complained, no born tender of sheep or crofter of some hillside farm. He was a prince of the Clanna Rury, a warrior and a school-trained nobleman, and a living was not to be had in just any place the Irishman might choose. The land of the Scots offered him no haven, for the Ard-Ri had many enemies, and they had become his captain’s also. Comac might throw himself on the charity of his Irish cousins, but Alpin had a picture of what his life would be then: a poor relation occupying a degraded seat among the hired fighting men, always open to challenge because of the woman’s beauty and desirability.

  The whole affair was improvident, Alpin prophesied. It was a flying in the face of reason and sensibility, and would only bring about Comac’s and the woman’s destruction.

  He gave his former captain grudging farewell and his blessing, and Comac accepted them in silence.

  Doireann found her child very ill when she returned to the hall. She spent the night holding him in her arms, his hot, burning body close to hers. She passed the long dark hours staring at her thoughts, at times stirring about frantically trying to nurse him. H
e would not accept the breast and his usually lusty, demanding voice was only a feverish whine. In the morning Sorcha looked at him and her words were not encouraging.

  “I shall have to bring you another child to nurse,” she exclaimed. “You will soon be feverish yourself with worry and no relief. You are ruining your looks. Your face is all haggard and worn.”

  Doireann ran her hands through unkempt hair.

  “It is of no importance to me,” she moaned. “There is nothing I would not sacrifice to see my child wake and smile at me as he did once. I would make any desperate bargain; I would gladly give my life for his. But if I did, who would care for him and protect him?”

  “Ah, be still,” the woman cried. “You will bring all the household about us with your wailing! Get up and prepare yourself. It has been told that the brehons will hear what you have to say this day.”

  “They must wait, then. I want you to bring some warm water. I am going to bathe the child and see if I cannot break the fever. The heat and the starving will soon kill him!”

  “You will do no such thing,” the other woman told her. “If you wish him bathed then I will do it for you. But you must go with the others to the gathering place. Have you considered what will happen if you do not appear and the clansmen think you have deserted your own pleading for the sake of the Northman’s child?”

  “You have heard me!” Doireann shouted. “Now do what I say!” Sorcha backed off indignantly.

  “Do not speak to me thus, Doireann nighean Muireach!” she cried. “Your prospects are not such as they were the first day you came to this hall”

  “The devil take my prospects!” Doireann screamed. “Will you get the water or must I fetch it myself?”

  The woman flounced out, and although Doireann waited, she did not return. Barra came to the door to see what the shouting was about. “Princess, softly, in God’s name. You only make enemies in your despair.”

  Comac appeared behind him, frowning.

  “Barra is right,” he agreed. “If you must argue with the nursewoman then keep your voice down.”