by Mary Lide
“I lay beside him under the outcrop of stone, my legs not long enough to reach with his, the surface of the stone not rough, as I had thought, but smooth, almost warm, as if the heat of many summers lay trapped beneath. We were in a sheltered place; the wind could not reach us, nor the mists; the bracken rose on either side like coverlets, and the cliff did not fall off sharply, rather sloped gently like a hillside toward the sea. He had moved slightly to make room, and we lay side by side.
“He said, ‘This is a holy place, Olwen of the White Way. And this an altar made by holy men.’ At my start, ‘Do not be alarmed. I do not speak of newer Druid rites. I speak, I tell you, of Celtic ones, long ago, when the Celts were masters of the world. Fire they worshiped, and flame, and all the elements of air and wind, and this was an altar to the gods they loved.’ I tried to speak. ‘Hush, Olwen,’ he said. ‘Be quiet. Put fear aside. Listen to the sea, the rain, the wind; listen to the promptings of your own heart.’ He had not called me by my given name these many days; he had not spoken to me like this. ‘Listen, Olwen,’ he said a second time, ‘my task is done. I do not boast, but I have bested a king and had him beg to me for life. I granted it. That is a thing my father will not accept, who lives his days in shadow of death. But I have lived my life, too, in shadow of a worse thing, a hateful thing, called revenge. When I return, I shall tell him so. Then will my work be through. Once,’ and now his voice had grown softer; I thought I remembered the way it used to sound. ‘Once I asked you what you would say when it was over. I had not thought to have it end in such bitter wise.’
“Now I could not say anything; my heart pounded in my breast; my lips were dry, salt-caked. I felt the length of him along my side, like flame.
“He said, ‘You are wet. God’s wounds, you’ll die of cold. Take off your skirts.’ With calm hands, those long, strong hands, he helped me untie the knots. I knew it was not cold he thought upon, nor yet did I, and yet I trembled as if I were cold. I laid my rags aside, for they were only rags; under cover of the cloak I felt his hand rest nonchalantly, casually, close to my body, naked beneath my shift.
‘I told you once,’ his voice had taken on an intensity of its own, ‘I told you that I would claim your lips, your flesh, white and soft as the name you bear. I told you no man would have you unless I did. A thousand times, then, for your naked breasts; a thousand times for your mouth, sweet it is when it does not cry your wrongs at me. And but once, I said, for your maidenhood. Are you still a maid, Olwen the Fair, that you should think to cry rape at me?’
“He said, his fine supple hands where they belonged, curved about and between, ‘I must have all, dear heart, no space, no room for anyone else, no holding back. Thus was our pledge, and thus I set my seal.’
“Long, supple hands he had, with wrists like steel to work their cruel, sweet will on me, and hard I felt him surge, with cruel, sweet pain, that makes a woman of a maid and turns a man into a god. Together, then, no space between, my bare back against the stone, and his bare skin upon my own; beneath us beat the western sea.”
Chapter 15
So passed the night, the shortest night of all the year. It was too short for us. And when the sun came up, that fickle west country sun, suddenly rearing through the mass of clouds, starting up on our left side out of the milky sea, he held me on his lap, fingers twined about my hair, and swore that he would return to me. ‘When you are safe at Sedgemont,’ for so he promised, ‘I shall come there for you.’ He twisted each strand into ringlets and smoothed them into place across my breasts. ‘Long have I wished for this,’ he whispered. ‘Long wanted to touch your hair, your skin, ever since you rode against me as a child. How you challenged me, how you threw down your gage, how you teased me out of mind. And at Cambray, when you swore your blood oath to me! Not look for you in France, Sweet Jesu, what else should I look for? As you teased me, shall I tease you, shall I ride you.’ His mouth covered me, breath, tongue, lips; who was to say which were his, which mine, out and in, and so out and in went his hands below, so went his flesh. ‘By all the Celtic mysteries,’ he whispered again, as the sun’s rays mounted and spread. He drew aside the cloak that covered us; the heat moved from toes to ankle bone, up each inner leg. ‘Thus do I offer you as sacrifice; thus in my own fashion do I seal our vow, your blood for mine, as now.’ And the sun beat down like a benison.
“Too short the night, too many things left unsaid, some things not even spoken of; we felt God had given us all the time left in the universe, no need for words. And when the morning was full come, we dressed ourselves, slowly, lingeringly; came down from that high and magic place, to the real world of men, horses, gear, boats. There were the Breton sailors to cajole, more suspicious, if possible, than our Irish ones at Cambray, although we paid them well. And while we waited for the tide, lacking three hours to high watermark, the village, with its scattering of huts around a central space, seemed as familiar as that at Cambray, the same smell of fish and brine, the same wash and rush of waves along the sandy cove, the same small boats, beached like colored whales, for the sea to float upright. The fishermen sat blinking in the unaccustomed sun, mending their nets, hiding their thoughts, and while I sought shelter in one of the huts, Hue and Urien waited on the shore, backs to the land, against a boat, dozing in the warmth.
“Taliesin and his men were gone to arrange the disposal of their horses. They rode around the cliff head, but a short distance off, leaving a guard, seeking themselves to find a better place to sell their mounts, no use at all to fisherfolk. Good battle destriers are hard to find, command their own price, and that black stallion had been a gift, which in due honor Taliesin felt he should return. The monies from these transactions would furnish us with comforts, and, of more import, equip the Celts when they landed on the English coast. As I have explained, my brother, Urien, and I were bound for Sedgemont, the largest and most secure of my father’s lands in England, safe for us; while, true to his bond, Taliesin and his men would ride westward to his homeland. A parting, then, but not for long; his quest done, he had promised to come for me. Sweet, then, was that morning in Carnac, in that little hut, a fortress it seemed after all those nights on the road—a peat fire, smelling, if truth be told, of cattle dung and fish, but comfortable; and water, tepid but clean, in a crockery bowl to wash, a strip of sacking to dry myself; I might have bathed in milk and lavender. I let the water drip upon my skin, aware of each drop, each inch, each pore; a thin trickle of water between my breasts. I had never thought myself anything but what I am, thin, small, red-haired; that morning I felt beautiful. My clothes were spread out to dry on a stone before the fire; a fisherwife had promised to mend the worst rips with her sailmaker’s thread; I stood there on the earth floor, felt the dirt, cool and black between my toes; felt my hair spring from my head, happiness tangible, within our grasp. When Taliesin’s shadow darkened the threshold, I said, not turning around, spreading my tresses apart with my fingers as I had no comb, ‘Come, love, help me unsnarl this.’
“ ‘So should I be glad to do.’ The voice was hard, strange, a soldier’s voice, and the man who spoke did not move.
“I twirled around, already feeling for my little knife, horror like cold water flung. But the knife was too far away, and the man between it and the door. On foot he was shorter than I had thought, travel-worn, his boots mud-splattered, as was his cloak, but the sword he held unsheathed was bright, battle-honed.
‘So, lady,’ he said softly as I looked at him, hearing his men behind him in the square; how had I missed their horses’ approach? ‘So,’ he said, the captain of Henry’s guard at the bridge, ‘we meet again. Did you think I was left behind? A long chase have I had, and hard. But here I am.’ He suddenly let a smile break across his harsh face. ‘You did not trick me, Olwen of Cambray.’
“For a moment, I think, all went black, a moment only, for my mind was already working faster than it had ever done. Behind that darkness I saw Hue and Urien, dozing in the sun; I saw Taliesin striding back ove
r the headland, on foot; I saw the trap set for them. Perhaps my eyes closed for that second, I do not know; perhaps it seemed like a blink of surprise. When sight returned, certainly the captain had not moved, and his men outside in the square had not finished riding in. And clear as a bell came the thought, they have me, but not the others yet. And he does not truly know who I am.
“I said, my voice stronger than I would have believed possible, not taking my gaze from his brown, square face or his hard, knowing eyes, ‘How do you know what name to put to me? And who or what are you looking for? There is some mistake . . .’
“He did not reply, his gaze neither leaving mine, his naked sword catching at the sun and glittering. Then he took a step forward, his spurs grating over the threshold, and behind him his men stilled and watched him intently. He did not have to reply, he did not need to. In his other hand he held proof, those armbands of Taliesin’s with which we had purchased the help of the Breton fishermen. Do you not know Welsh gold? Henry’s captain knew it as well as I did.
“I said, breathlessly, as if I had been running, as if I had no control over my voice, even to myself it sounded strange, husky, heavy, ‘Those are mine. And he who took them as pledge is long gone, sailed away, sod him, he and his men. You’ll not find them.’
“He listened to me without moving a muscle of his face, not even a grin of derision.
“Now some god helped me I think, and I cried, ‘Do I look as if I minded to be left? Why should I concern myself about a man who deceived me? Fickle, he called me, false, why should I be loyal to him? I know the way they’ve gone; for a price of my own I’ll tell more than those Breton fools. Give me back my bracelets, I say.’
“He did not contradict, listening to my Celtic lies without comment. A captain of the king’s guard is used to lies; how many had his duty bid him listen to, how many lies turned truth when the king’s will had been done?
“I cried again, letting anger show, woman’s anger, petulant. ‘Should I wish to protect a man who made a fool of me? I should have asked for help before. Your help.’ And for the first time I, too, moved, slightly, letting the sacking slip.
“I do not know where my words came from. It was a frantic attempt, little else, that somehow there would be a chance to warn the rest; no escape for me, but for them at least a hope. Nor did I even think these thoughts clearly, although that was what I must have intended. Blunt was that captain, and shrewd; I played shrewdness and bluntness, move for move, calculatingly. I remember thinking again, he cannot be sure where Taliesin is, he will be wary of him. ... Yet even as I spoke, and God forgive me, smiled, even as I picked up another piece of sack to dry my hair, I thought I heard above the stamp of horse and the wash of the sea the sound of men, coming from a distance, around the cliff’s point.
‘Do I look like a girl men spurn?’ I now cried, willing him to look at me. ‘There are others where he came from. You or your men perhaps? Please me, and I will tell you where they are.’
“For the first time I saw a small cloud of hesitation, a suspicion of a frown, gone in an instant. He said evenly (a captain is used to his prisoner’s chatter), ‘They purchased passage, that I know. Breton sailors can be easily bought. Easily bought, easily persuaded to talk. As can you. No need to pay for what we can take.’
“I gave another smile such as I have seen women give; I moved my hips as do those Paris whores. ‘Ah, so,’ I breathed, ‘but taking is not like the giving I could give, if you pleased me. And you might please.’ And for a moment, God forgive, it might have seemed so, that short, blunt man with a man’s hard body and a man’s hard eyes, staring at me, sword in hand. Fresh from my first game of love, I baited him. Do not wanton with me. Now I should.
“He said, fingering the armlets, rolling them round and round with his left hand before tossing them aside, ‘If a passage was purchased with these, then where else should my prisoners be but waiting for the tide?’ He was sharp; he missed little, that captain, so certain of himself he named us prisoners, already sure of us. ‘And my men and I, we can wait. Here we bide until I give the order to ride out. But,’ and now his eyes narrowed, his voice dropped, ‘if in truth they have already sailed, and perchance they have, as you insist, why, they are dead men anyway, all of England closed to them by Henry’s express command, the ports all closed. And the Abbot of Stefensforth, when he found breath to speak, has ordered all the church doors barred, no sanctuary for those who misused him, no place left to succor them.’
“Speaking of the abbot almost made him grin, but horror rose in my throat to choke. Nowhere safe, then, this not the end, happiness still an illusion far away. And from around the headland, rising green and smooth, clearer now, I thought I caught snatches of laughter, talk. Surely all there must be hearing it, listening; was I the only one to sense Taliesin’s return? And hearing, were they waiting to strike?
“Moving myself as a woman does who has not time to waste, as in truth I had not time, although not in that sense; letting the sacking slip deliberately; thinking despairingly even as I flaunted my nakedness, how little to offer a man who must be used to women, certainly knowing them, long accustomed to harlots of camp and field. I said, ‘Be quick.’ I breathed. Beautiful this morning had my lover called me, and beautiful had I been; now I prayed for what beauty there was to attract his enemy.
“ ‘Do not keep me waiting,’ I panted, biting my lip, moving my feet, white they looked against the earth, ‘you or your men. Six of you for the price of one. But first I’ll have my bracelets back.’
“He looked me up and down, a man bargaining for a horse, estimating its value, its use; a king’s captain might not pleasure with a king’s prisoner, but if she insisted, if he thought her of no worth, he might; that might be his gain. I swayed my hips and smiled; the sacking fell to the ground; I tossed my hair; now I had his attention sure. But to give me those bracelets he must stoop to fetch them forth from where they had rolled.
“He said, ‘Quickly, then, before my men know what they miss.’
“ ‘First my gold.’ I insisted as a harlot would, the Celt’s approach so loud in my head that it was rather like a drum, a drum to summon them all to attend. He gave a whistle himself, half a whistle, half the sound men make when they cannot believe their luck, and shouted over his back for his men to dismount, never taking his eyes from me. The noise they made, grumbling as troopers do, cursing, would surely drown every other sound, and on foot whatever advantage they had would be lost. But they would see Taliesin and his men when he saw them, and mounted again, they could ride the Celts down, however well Celts can run. A warning, then, still to be given. But fast.
“ ‘By the rood.’ The captain had turned back to me, almost laughingly, beginning to unbuckle his belt, hefting his sword from hand to hand, ‘whatever your crime, and whether the king will have you swing for it, who am I to deny your wish? The Abbot of Stefensforth warned that you were red-haired and wild, Olwen of Cambray, a witch, he said, to entice men.’
‘The abbot judges women as he does men. Red-haired, hot blood, isn’t that what all men think?’ I did not even bother to deny the charge, neither yea nor nay, let him decide, but I stirred with my foot again and smiled.
“He moved briskly, then, ripping open his steel corselet with one hand, stripping off his spurs, one by one, never dropping his gaze, never giving up his sword (but even a king’s captain cannot make love with a sword in hand). He came toward me purposefully, a short man, compact, tough, hardened by campaign like old leather, but not unjust, professional, knowing pleasure and savoring it. He would love a woman well.
‘First my fee.’ I marvel that I was so cool, for my part edging to keep us face to face, his back to the door. He paused in his stride and laughed outright, the sort of laugh men give when they are alone, a solid laugh from the chest. ‘God’s my life,’ he swore, ‘lady or not, the king has got a prize in you. Here, then.’ He propped his sword against the wall, stooped to look for the golden circles where they had fa
llen. That was my chance. In a flash I had slid past to the open door. I could not escape, all his men staring at me, but the others could.
‘Ware, ware,’ I screamed, ‘Henry’s men.’ And I gave the battle cry of my house, a high, loud shout.
“He was on me fast, arms about my waist, bowling me to the floor, hand to mouth. But not before I had seen Urien start awake, seen Hue. That was all I cared about. And in the silence that followed, I heard no sound from the cliff. Taliesin must have been warned, too.
“We clawed along the floor, knocking over stool, jugs, sword. I bit and scratched, the more he tried to quiet me. ‘Vixen,’ I heard him shout, ‘bitch. The abbot warned that you were sly.’ He gave a great heave that sent me tumbling against a wall, followed with hand raised to slap my head upon the ground.
‘Make a fool of him, make a fool of me,’ he gritted out between his teeth. ‘Damn your eyes. You’ll rue this day; you’ll wish for death.’
“Spitting blood, I cried, ‘So be it. Escape is worth the price.’
“His sword was in his hand again; he raised it, pointed it. I suppose I was as close to death then as any man, anger overwhelming him. But he was an old campaigner, too; killing could wait. Recollecting himself, with a mighty effort he scooped up his gear and leapt for the door, bellowing to his men. They started toward him, started back. ‘Mount, mount,’ he was howling, ‘arm yourselves.’ And to those who in panic would have struggled inside the hut, ‘Get out, out, too late for that.’ For it was already too late, and so he knew, and so with a rush of gratitude I knew also; Hue and Urien disappeared, slid along the boat’s side, the sea licking at their heels; the Celts vanished likewise, the cliff path empty. That moment’s hesitation had cost Henry’s captain his command, perhaps his life.