by Mary Lide
‘And you as escort?’ Henry’s captain was not so slow as he seemed. ‘A Celt? And a knight? That is a knight’s charger there. ’ And he gestured toward the black stallion.
‘The abbot,’ Prince Taliesin sounded amused, ‘like many men of peace, prefers fighting men. Ask him yourself.’ At his gesture one of the Celts pulled back the leather curtains so the abbot was revealed. A jab from us made him stretch himself and poke his head out as he had before. ‘What, what?’ He sounded testy, the more because his anger was misdirected, although anger there was, certainly. ‘Make way,’ he continued, while we mouthed at him words to fit our needs. ‘Who are you to hinder a man of God?’ He even managed to trace a tremulous cross, raising his pudgy hands to display his rings.
“The king’s captain drew back a step and sketched a brief salute, but his eyes were sharp. He was a short, hard-looking man, comfortably astride a good horse; like all of Henry’s captains he was both shrewd and blunt, competent in his way, too, a professional. I thought suddenly, fooling him will not be easy, will not be something he forgets.
“ ‘My pardon, my lord,’ he was saying to the abbot respectfully, but caution, like a thread of menace hung beneath. ‘The roads are closed. We look for fugitives from the king’s justice: Hue, so called of Cambray, his sister, Olwen, their page, and a Celtic vagabond.’
“I saw the abbot’s eyes blink twice as he took in this news, as he looked back and forth, almost counting heads aloud. But he did not dare put suspicion into speech. ‘The road to Hell is never barred,’ he cried pompously. He bowed his head as if saying his prayers, pressing his pudgy hands together tight. ‘Even so, no man would prevent our pilgrimage. I shall pray for your success, Captain.’ I gave him another jab. ‘As Hell will hold its place for you,’ he amended hastily, ‘if you hinder a loyal Churchman about royal business. We go to Rennes.’
“At that the captain looked uneasy, knowing that Rennes was a holy place, loyal to the king, and behind him his complement of troops fidgeted in the rain. No soldier likes to meddle with Churchmen; they always have some unexpected reserve of strength, God waiting to back them in the end. To these soldiers it was nothing either way, pass or not pass, as the king commanded them, but God’s will was another case. Almost imperceptibly I saw how they began to give ground. But for their captain honor was at stake, and at least he was tenacious. ‘And what,’ he asked, his question very clear, as if he had been saving the best one for the end, ‘and what is that gewgaw at your wrist?’
“He nudged his horse so it bounded forward, and with his mail glove he flicked back the edge of the mantle that covered Taliesin’s arm. Under the folds of cloth the golden bracelets gleamed, his own, and the one used to entrap us.
“I held my breath. ‘That?’ Prince Taliesin laughed again. ‘Do not you know Welsh gold when you see it? Why, man, I got them off a border wench, and she no more faithful than any of her kind.’ I caught my breath, I say. Those, too, were words to strike like darts, but they made the captain grin. He slapped his hand along the black stallion’s flank. ‘Ride on, ride on,’ he said as the horse pranced and snorted and we rattled past. I slunk back within the shelter of the curtains, but not before I had seen the captain’s look. The smile had died, and he was watching us, still thoughtful. Another enemy made, I told myself, and catching sight in the semi-dark of how the abbot eyed us malevolently, I almost crossed myself.
“Well, thus was the bridge traversed, the abbot hastily throwing alms, more pain that than our sword pricks. Thus came we to safety, out of Normandy to Brittany, and now, stepping up the pace, jolting the abbot mercilessly, we trotted on through the town, its cobbled streets slippery with wet, its citizens, on hearing us, coming out to stare and wave. I do not know what plan the prince might first have thought of, I say, but had I been forced to walk or ride through these streets, my legs would have collapsed under me. Not so the prince and his men. One of them was whistling softly again, whatever sign of strain or relief well hid, if felt at all, this but a day’s work for them. And when, without further incident, we had got well clear of the town, and we hoisted the abbot down, his part over with, I think only I felt tension break, like sun coming through an overhang of clouds.
“We tied the abbot well and shoved him behind a convenient hayrick, tipped his litter over, and unhitched his mules. The sacks of gold, what was left of them, we strung about our saddle bows.
“ ‘Rest easily, my lord abbot.’ The prince lifted his sword in salute. ‘And God be thanked for your help after all. You buy our passage to England with your rents.’
‘Impudent cur, I’ll have your head,’ the abbot managed to howl before the gag was shoved in. ‘Thief, heretic, God’s anathema on you; I excommunicate you.’ He lapsed into a muttering. But his eyes were not bound. He saw Hue led out, he saw Urien, and finally he saw me, as we now all took to horse and, leading his as extras for our own, parted with him. And I thought again, a thought to chill, neither will the Abbot of Stefensforth forget.
“Now we rode hard again, all of Brittany to cross to reach the western sea. And behind our backs the king’s captain to appreciate how we had cheated him. Yet this ride was easy compared with the one previous, for although Henry’s men kept the border firm, in reality they could not hope to be everywhere at once, for all that Henry had commanded it, and each mile that we put between us and Normandy took us farther away from his influence. The Celts, on their own, would have made light of such a ride, nothing for them. Celts live off air and can steal anything, as now was proved, anything that flies or walks or creeps, and failing that will snatch at part-grown crops or weeds, or green stuffs that they pull from hedges or fields. It was a hard ride for me, skirts bundled up, astride a horse too large. At one stop they brought me men’s clothes plucked from some wayside line, but I pushed them aside. ‘I’ll go on as I am,’ I said. ‘I’ll not hide behind men’s gear.’ They shrugged, but Hue, starting up from his daze, cried, ‘So did the queen, rot her soul to Hell.’ He subsided back upon his cloak, mumbling to himself, but I felt a flash of hope. It was the first coherent thought he had uttered on his own, and I took it for a sign that gradually, in nature’s time, a healing of sorts was taking place. For that reason alone, as thanks-offering to God, I would not imitate that lady’s way, to bring more ill luck. But I also would not for willfulness, that Taliesin had sent the clothes.
For although he never since had had speech with me, I still was aware of him, knew every move, every turn he made, even without looking at him. And those jesting words at the bridge had rankled deep; jesting words, or not in jest, I did not know, but I nurtured them in silence and regret.
“We rode for the most part between dawn and dusk, as on that other ride. The daylight hours we spent in hiding, although as we progressed, in rain or mist, we often did not stop at all, changing horses frequently. There was little to eat or drink, of course, no time for setting nets or traps; I learned to sleep for moments at a time, leaning back in the high saddle, rocked by the steady, loping gait. Strange dreams those snatched moments of sleep gave, more vivid than nightmare, making me start awake. And always, it seemed, at our back I heard the sound of pursuit, horses coming ever closer, men’s cries. But it was only the pounding of my heart, the catch of my own breath. Even Urien was quiet, lost in his thoughts, and toward the end the Celts no longer whistled their tuneless songs, no energy left for whistling anything. We followed roads that were but tracks, dipping and swaying where, for centuries, farm carts had brushed their way from field to barn; we avoided even the smallest towns, avoided churches, abbeys, monasteries. And presently, as we came farther west, we found ourselves crossing open moors like our own, with granite rocks, hard to ride through in haste yet giving us better cover than farmland. And here the mists came down in true west country style to make us inch our way along. But never faltering, by instinct, I think, those Celtic horsemen led us on; westward we went, toward the sea. And behind us, hearing of our escape, King Henry raged and swore that he w
ould catch us yet.
“I dreamed of Henry sometimes, and sometimes of his lady queen, what their lives might have been had power and greed not made them what they were. I often saw Henry’s bold stare and awoke remembering Taliesin’s taunts. I thought sometimes of my parents, far away, sometimes of Robert, farther still, in Aquitaine, but seldom now did I think of Gervaise. Although when I did, it was as if I had to search for him through a loneliness, as if he wandered, too, looking for something. These were my thoughts, or part of them. For the rest I concentrated most on keeping alive, keeping awake, caring for my brother, who, day by day, now seemed improved, although he had never yet asked why we rode like this or what we were hiding from. And never did I lose sight or feel of Taliesin, like a fever running through my veins.
“We came to the end of our ride one cold evening, after a day of driving rain. Even the horses were tired that day, plodding slowly on and on; weary were the men. I myself had gone past weariness, and only Hue’s training held him in place. Poor Urien, he seemed indeed a bag of bones, shaking with cold. I knew the sinking feeling that we could not long continue like this. Then, somewhere, out of the mists ahead, we heard the sea beating on a shore; we could smell the wrack of weed; the wind that had begun to blow these past hours was flecked with salt, and I sensed rather than saw that we had begun to move across a headland.
“The horses sensed it, too. They picked up their ears at first and broke into a trot over the springy turf. But I cannot pretend I felt relief; rather, uneasiness grew. Soon we all felt it, beasts and men, starting at the slightest sound, wary as if we walked into a trap. But it was not exhaustion or thought of pursuit that smote such fear as then I felt, fear that was not only fear but fear tinged with awe. It was the stones. They came looming out of the mist in lines, rank after rank of them, sentinels keeping watch in parallels or splayed out like finger bones clutching at the bare earth. We picked our way among them carefully, the horses shying at their own shadows, the surging of the waves a dirge, almost beneath our feet. It was a desolate place, I say, a place for men to shun, yet Taliesin moved forward easily, urging us on, never hesitating. I think now he had chosen this as his destination from the start; it held no fear for him, only familiarity, gratitude, a relaxing of weight that we had safely arrived. And these stones, they were but that, old stones, worn and aged, smothered in places with vines and thorns, in others brushed clear, the ground around them swept clean. For me, they were man-made, cruel, seared with old and terrible histories, and I had to close my eyes to force myself to go on, apprehension rank and cold.
“We were to spend the night in a kind of tumulus, or grave, underground, scooped out beneath a ring of stones and faced with them, a long stone tunnel, then, damp and dark even at noontime. Fugitives from a king’s justice might well have felt safe there; no king, no law, no time came there, a secret place, hidden from the world. Even Hue entered it uneasily, and when he slept, he twitched and fidgeted like a hound. Urien retreated against the farther wall, backed into a corner, crunched up, his arms wrapped around his chest as if to fend off ghosts. He neither spoke nor looked, nor moved, not even his thoughts to keep him company. As for myself, I could not have stayed underground, like being buried in a living tomb, older by far than what Urien had known in any Viking vault. I crawled out into the open air, feeling my way with my bare hands. Prince Taleisin was not with his guards; I noticed that at once. And even the guards tonight were uneasy, nervous, pacing back and forth. Celts live on air; sometimes I thought they were of air, to ride and watch and ride again, unceasingly, without sleep. But there was something else tonight that kept them awake, a tension, like an outburst of storm although no storm was threatening. On seeing me they nodded among themselves and jerked with their thumbs. At first I did not know what they meant, only gradually came to realize they were pointing out where was their prince. I pushed through the knee-high grass toward the headland, drenching my skirts for the hundredth time, my boots crunching over the wild mint and sage. Our horses had been hobbled for the night, but they, too, moved uneasily, snuffling at the wind and pawing at the turf as if it tainted them. The wind tugged at their manes and tails, reminding me of Cambray when the Celts had come through the pass; it tore at my braids, too, breaking them loose, making my gown billow like a sail. The smell of the sea, the salt air, sent shivers running down my spine, and behind me those long gray lines of stones settled down to brood another night away.
“I wandered at random for a while, listening to the wind and surf—familiar sounds these, causing no harm—tasting the salt upon my lips, and presently I caught sight of Taliesin close to the cliff edge, partly hidden by a great boulder that stood apart from the other ones, a giant stone that surely must have been used as marker of great significance. He turned his head as he heard my approach, then leaned back again, half sitting, half leaning against the stone, which on the seaward side sloped under an outcrop of cliff like a granite chair with its own canopy. And there he stayed, boots propped up on a ledge, arms crossed behind his head, as much at ease as if before his own hearthside.
I saw at once he had shed his hauberk, the first time free of it in days, and although his sword was laid close to hand, he had unbuckled his belt and thrown it over a bush.
“From where I stood I could look down at him, toe to head: long legs stretched out, leather jerkin unbraced, broad chest and shoulders in a shirt that had once been white, bright hair whipped into snarls, as was my own. He did not speak. In truth, I repeat, we had had but little speech, almost none since the crossing of the bridge, when he had put his life once more into my hands and I had put mine into his. I had not even shown gratitude to him for that, nor for bringing us here with such care. Yet neither had he praised our work. And those last words, ‘faithless wench,’ had left their poison in my mind.
“I said, too quietly for him to hear, for the wind snatched the words away, ‘My lord, I am come to give you thanks,’ for that at least seemed just, but he still stared outward at the sea, and I felt foolish to start again. The dark was soft, as if it glowed beneath the mist and rain, and the sea was shimmering, white-flecked, vast. Westward it stretches, the western sea that circles our world, where no man has gone and returned, not even those Celtic missionaries. Tomorrow or the next day we would embark upon it. Whither would that sea take us, where should Taliesin order us to go? I said again, more urgently, ‘My lord, I must have speech of you—’ when he interrupted me, almost speaking to himself, so that I had to crouch forward to listen.
“ ‘Off shore, where I come from, ’ he began, ‘there is an island sacred to our race, the most holy place for all the western Celts, Mona, the Holy Isle, our Earth Mother, it is called. The longest place name I have ever heard is found there, encompassing within its many syllables all the mysteries of the Celtic faith. There are rocks on the Holy Isle, like to these stones, so old they have magic qualities. One stone is shaped like a thighbone and is believed most venerable. An enemy who invaded us tried to hurl that stone into the sea. He loaded it with chains to make sure it would sink, yet by daybreak it had returned to its own place. You should not fear these stones of Carnac. They are as old, as sacred, to our kin.’
“I had never heard him speak so seriously before of sacred things. ‘And do you hope to return to that Holy Isle?’ I ventured next, eyeing him nervously when I thought he would not see.
“He stared ahead again, his mouth clamped up tight. He had a sensuous mouth, curved at the edge with its mocking smile, and the long, dark eyelashes fringed his dark blue eyes. There was a faint stubble of beard across his chin, and where the iron of his harness had chafed at neck and wrist, marks were scored into the skin. I could see how the fabric of his shirt rose and fell as he breathed, and the way his arms stretched into the sleeves, long brown arms, and strong, with hollows at elbow and wrist like boys have. I remembered how those arms had held me once, those hands.
“He said, ‘I shall go back to my father’s house.’
“
‘And I?’ I cried. ‘What of Hue, Urien, and me?’
“ ‘Why,’ he said, as if surprised, ‘I bring you back to England, of course.’
“It was what I had wanted to hear. I suppose it was what he should have said. But another cloud of disappointment settled on me. He said, ‘Tomorrow we take ship, a small, fast fishing smack. Breton-manned, bought for a price. The abbot’s gold has served us well.’
“He stretched himself, long like a cat, and put out his arms. The golden bracelets were gone from his wrists. He must have sensed my look, for he flicked one glance of his own at me. ‘They, too, will buy us passage,’ he said, mocking me.
“I could not prevent myself from saying it. ‘Those bracelets were a pledge,’ I cried, ‘a pledge, my lord, between us both. For life, or death, as that she who planned our deaths would have lured us on. And for love.’
‘Love.’ He almost shrugged. ‘That’s a word you have not lectured on this while.’
“He did not sound bitter, only older, dispirited. I said, and again I could not hold the words back, ‘I have not thanked you, Prince of Afron, for my life, my brother’s life. I have not thanked you for the pains you took. I have not thanked you for the love you offered me.’
There was a silence for a space. Presently he said, still not looking at me but I saw how his breath had quickened as if against his will, ‘I, then, shall thank you for your courtesy. But, God’s wounds, we have shared such ventures, surely formality has long been gone. Come down out of the rain.’ He gave my skirts a tug as he might have pulled at a companion’s cloak. ‘Else you be blown over the cliff, to waste so much effort on our part.’
“It was not the most gracious of invitations I have heard, but I scrambled down as best I could, my boots slipping on the wet grass. He let me come as I might, who once would not have let me move alone. Beside him I remembered again how he had held me, drawn me close; that, too, was gone, all gone.