Songwoman

by Ilka Tampke

  When she had drunk water from my cupped palms and doused me afresh in wet licks, she trotted to the shelter’s entrance and barked her announcement that she had found something. But whom was she telling?

  ‘Neha? Hoo!’ called a man’s voice from a distance and she barked again.

  I peered out of the cave and saw a figure approaching through the beech trees.

  With a yelp of joy I was beside him, crushing his delicate shoulders in my embrace, breathing the temple smoke that lingered in his robe. ‘Teacher,’ I murmured into his cheek. ‘How have you found me?’

  ‘By your hound,’ Rhain answered. ‘She came to Llanmelin in search of you. I knew then she would be able to lead me to you in the mountains.’ He chuckled. ‘It took her barely three days!’

  He had brought a cooked lamb’s joint and we shared it hungrily until the bones were sucked white and we gave them to Neha.

  ‘You are well,’ he said, appraising me. ‘Radiant as Lleu.’

  ‘The forest tends me…’ I shrugged. ‘And what of you? Have you seen my girl, Manacca? How fares Llanmelin?’ I had been almost six weeks in the mountains.

  ‘Llanmelin survives,’ he said. ‘Manacca has taken to visiting the journey-huts since you left, when Prydd does not shoo her away. Euvrain is with child and—’

  I could not catch my gasp of shock. Then I forced a smile. Of course she should bear his child. ‘She is his wife,’ I said with another small shrug.

  ‘You are also his wife.’

  I shook my head. ‘It is an empty title…’

  ‘But not for Caradog.’

  I glanced at him. ‘Tell me of the war king. Is he well? To where will he move the war camp?

  ‘He makes no preparations to move the war camp,’ said Rhain. ‘He intends to stand.’

  ‘In defiance of Môn?’ I asked.

  ‘In defiance of all good counsel.’

  ‘He cannot…’ I frowned.

  ‘You ask if he is well.’ Rhain paused. ‘The answer is no. He is dark-tempered and limp.’

  My heart sank. ‘I know this incarnation of him. It is hard to witness.’

  ‘It puts us in danger,’ said Rhain. ‘If he is determined to stand, then the warriors must prepare the roadways and banks for attack. But Caradog takes no action.’

  ‘He must,’ I said. ‘If he will not move the camp, he must at least be preparing the escape paths—’

  ‘So you must tell him.’

  I hesitated. ‘Others will tell him.’

  ‘He does not listen to others.’

  I stared at his face. ‘How rude I am! I have offered you no water after your journey.’

  ‘I want no water,’ said Rhain as I reached for my bladder. ‘I want you to return with me.’

  I took a long draught, then held the pouch to Rhain, who shook his head. ‘Please,’ I said. ‘Do not ask this of me. The tribes have made their judgement. I have found a place where I might find some peace.’ ‘And do you think this place will remain at peace? Do you think that, here, you are shielded from the war?’

  I closed my eyes fleetingly. I had thought exactly that.

  ‘If you love this land, you must fight for it.’

  ‘I cannot.’

  ‘Why not?’ He stared at me. His face, so warped, was still so familiar to me. I could read its every disappointment and hope.

  ‘Because I am malformed,’ I said, feeling shame press in the back of my eyes. ‘I cannot serve the tribes, even if it were my dearest wish.’

  His words were as certain as a blade. ‘You can.’

  ‘Do you forget what was said at the Arbitration—?’ My voice was ugly, trapped in my chest. ‘I led them falsely, Rhain…I killed them.’

  Rhain watched me in silence as I wept.

  ‘Yes, you did,’ he said when I had calmed.

  I looked up in surprise. Did he, too, condemn me?

  ‘Your actions, your command, caused the deaths of your people. That is your history and no lamentation will change its shape. But ask yourself now—who is aided by your lament? Does your shame serve your people?’ He paused. ‘Or is it yet another fascination with your own stature, your own presentation? With how you are seen?’

  ‘No…’ I frowned, confused. Would not anyone lament misdeeds as grave as mine? ‘It is not that. It is the fear that I will err again…’

  ‘Who are you that you may never err? Do you deprive your own king of counsel that will strengthen his war because of vanity?’

  ‘Vanity?’

  ‘I repeat what I have told you already: self-doubt is a vanity, as is pride. Both will erode your authority.’

  ‘I have no authority!’

  ‘Because you will not claim it!’ His voice matched mine. ‘You have injured the people of Albion once. But your survival was a chance to serve them again. Your guilt betrays this chance—it injures them a second time.’

  I startled with the shock of a newborn lamb and stared at him, my chest pounding, as his words echoed in the quietness of the cave. Gradually I began to sense the shape of something true: my guilt did not serve the land I loved; it served only me.

  Rhain must have noticed the softening—the seeing—in my face. ‘Relinquish your vanity, Ailia. Take up your authority. Albion requires it.’

  I looked at him. ‘I cannot be pardoned.’

  ‘I do not pardon you. I do not absolve you. I ask you to bear what you have done and continue.’

  I turned to the fire and sipped my water. I had no choice. Whatever I was, I was needed by the tribes. I was needed by the man who could win this war.

  ‘Will you come?’ he pressed.

  I thought of what the forest had told me. ‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘But not as the Kendra. I will bear my knowledge only as a learner of song.’ Rhain smiled. ‘There is no stronger vessel.’

  As we returned to Llanmelin, Rhain told me how close we were to a Roman attack.

  ‘Do we know when?’ I asked.

  ‘No. We believe the legion delays because Scapula suffers a weakness of the chest. He is some weeks confined to his barrack with fever.’

  My thoughts chewed on the information. A fever of the chest would not lift easily in the damp woodlands and would certainly leave a lasting weakness in his breath. I prayed that his illness would worsen.

  Knowing how soon we might need them, Rhain taught me navigation songs that mapped the different routes from Llanmelin to the mountains. As we finally walked up the hill path to the hill town’s entrance, my voice was hoarse with the journey we had made, and my muscles were infused with its words and rhythms. I held this tract of country so firmly in my body now, as if you could cut my skin and its river water would pour from my veins, and dark earth would crumble from the hollows of my bones.

  I stood before Caradog in the Great Hall. Rhain had sent me in alone.

  The war king greeted me with a formal bow. He wore a wolf-skin cloak and his totem feather neckpiece—tribal regalia—as if I were a visiting chief. Were we so distant? He had grown thinner, his cheeks hollowed beneath his stare.

  Despite his remoteness, it took all my restraint not to embrace him. His face was impenetrable, yet he looked into me as if I were a pool of water.

  ‘Will you not speak?’ I finally asked.

  ‘The words must be yours,’ he said.

  ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘Where was your loyalty?’

  ‘It sought retreat. It is returned now.’

  ‘Loyalty is that which does not ebb and flow.’

  ‘I know.’

  Our gaze held.

  ‘Rhain has told me you have been unwell.’

  ‘I will grow well now that you are returned.’

  ‘You welcome me then?’

  There was no softening in his face. ‘You fled like a faithless mongrel, but you bear the spirits of these tribelands and I cannot fight without you.’

  ‘Your wiseman Prydd does not agree—’

  ‘He does not need to.’

 
‘I was deemed to be falsely titled.’

  ‘By his word only. I never doubted it.’

  My skin grew warm, infused with his faith. My feelings were unchanged. I still believed in his war. I still believed he should lead it. I still loved him.

  I sat on the bench by the fire and he sat beside me.

  ‘Where…is Prydd?’ I stammered.

  ‘He left Llanmelin when I refused to heed him. I imagine for Môn. Hefin is not pleased.’

  I was relieved Prydd was gone, but aware that any rift between Caradog and Hefin would not be good for the warriors. The weft of war-craft drew taut within me. I was once more of the tribes. ‘I hear you will not move the camp,’ I said. ‘But you must go north. Scapula comes. You cannot sit in wait for him.’

  ‘It is time to fight them, Ailia.’

  I stared at his face, turned to the fire. Within the familiar authority of his voice, I heard something less certain. ‘Are you echoed in this belief by Hefin? By the warriors?’

  ‘Yes. They grow weary of waiting. They are ready to stand in battle.’

  ‘It is not our strongest position—to meet them on ground of their choosing.’

  ‘Our numbers are greater now.’ He would not look at me.

  ‘But still not great enough. The Mothers can help protect us—they can disguise us in the forests—but they cannot birth warriors from air, to match the numbers of Rome’s!’

  He exhaled. ‘Even if you are right, Ailia, I cannot leave the Silures. Scapula is preparing to move on Llanmelin and I cannot leave Hefin to face an attack unaided. I will not abandon the warrior who has shown me such loyalty.’

  ‘Then bring Hefin with us.’

  ‘He will not come. You know that.’

  I nodded. It would be a greater death for Hefin to abandon his homeland than to be slain defending it. ‘Then that must be his choice,’ I said. ‘But it cannot be yours. You are more than a tribal chieftain. You owe a loyalty to Hefin—but a greater one to Albion. You must defeat Scapula. You cannot sacrifice yourself to anything else.’

  Caradog laughed. ‘Your heart has grown harder in your time at Môn.’

  ‘Not harder,’ I said. ‘Just stronger, perhaps.’

  ‘Then lend me your strength, Ailia, for I am resolved to settle the question of Albion whenever Scapula is bold enough to ask it.’ His gaze remained fixed to the fire. These were warrior words but they lacked the warrior’s spirit. He did not want to fight this battle here where it would surely fail. He was not fuelled by strategy in this decision, but by some loss of heart. I had never known his illness to impede his judgement before. Even through his darkest weathers, his sense of war-craft had never faltered. This was a new unease. But what was its source? ‘From where does Scapula prepare to launch?’ I asked.

  ‘He seeks to confuse us. There are camps along the Habren from Tir Durotriges to Tir Cornovii. He could come from many directions.’

  ‘He will not approach from the west or south because that would leave you easy lines of retreat. Surely he will try to outflank you and come from the north?’

  Caradog nodded. ‘I have predicted the same. There have been Roman patrols scouting north. The Forest of Dean is rugged marching, but he would be determined enough to attempt it.’

  ‘And how do you propose to meet him?’ I asked. ‘Rhain told me there has been little preparation of our fortifications.’

  ‘By ambush in those very forests. We will halt them before they reach the hill fort.’

  I stared at him. ‘But if they breach the forest and make formation in the flatlands, you are trapped with only water at your back. You cannot swim to safety!’ This senseless strategy could not be his. He was brave but not foolish. Was he so war-weary that he had lost all judgement? ‘What do the elders at Môn command?’

  ‘They desire me to move north, as you have advised. They seek firmer protection of the routes leading to Môn.’

  ‘Then heed them.’

  He snorted, ‘I am not their hired guard.’

  ‘Yet you must not act against them. One word from the journeymen at Môn and your numbers will be halved—’

  At last he turned to me. ‘I hear your words. And the words of Môn. But we cannot run forever from this enemy…’

  Never had I seen his eyes so heavy. This was a burden beyond even his illness.

  ‘What is within you, War King,’ I whispered, ‘that you abandon what you have fought for?’

  The air in the hall became still.

  For the first time, he spoke without shield, without weapon. ‘I have been the heart and mind of this war for seven years,’ he said. ‘I need to finish it. I am tired of bearing it alone.’

  ‘You do not have to bear it alone.’

  He stared for a moment longer, then, to my surprise and relief, he moved closer to me and laid his head on my lap.

  I put my hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Tell me what to do, Ailia.’

  I felt the warmth of his face through my skirt.

  We sat in silence. This one man commanded a war against an empire. Now he asked me to command him. My answer held no doubt. ‘You must fight them. But not now, not here. Scapula has good knowledge of these lowlands, the river and the coast. His men are strong and long-rested in their forts. We must fight them when they are tired.’

  Slowly Caradog lifted his head to look at me.

  ‘Lead him into the mountains, War King, where his army will be clumsy and confused on the narrow paths. Make them march through the valley marshes where they will not know the dry crossings and will exhaust themselves in the mud.’

  Caradog frowned. ‘I do not know the mountains as well as I know the lowlands—’

  ‘But I do. They will protect us. And they worsen Scapula’s health.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He has been ill and his chest is weak. The high air of the mountains will irritate him and keep him wakeful at night…’

  Something twitched in Caradog’s face. ‘He will wear down, lose judgement…’

  ‘Yes. We must fight with the Mothers. Let them hold back his arms with their cold, wet air, while we sink a sword in his chest.’

  Caradog stared at me, a brightness growing in his eyes. ‘I am tempted to heed you, Kendra.’

  ‘Heed me, but not as Kendra’. I paused. ‘Heed me as the Songwoman I will become.’

  He frowned, then nodded. He trusted me. His gaze locked to mine, bold and seeking.

  This was the man I knew. I loved. I saw now what lay between us. I had caused his spirit to weaken by my absence, and I had restored it on my return. This was the truth of us. This was the Mothers’ will.

  I took his hands. ‘Is my disloyalty forgiven?’

  ‘Of course,’ he whispered.

  ‘Then yours will be also.’

  ‘What disloyalty?’ he asked.

  ‘This.’ Gripping his hands for safety, I leaned forward and kissed his mouth.

  He tasted of the nettle tea he had drunk at highsun, and beneath that, of the iron and salt of Albion’s earth, the pollen of its air. With a groan, he drew me closer, pressing his chest against mine. ‘I will deny you no longer,’ he said into my skin. ‘You are my healing.’

  ‘And you are mine.’

  ‘If you will stay with me, I will pledge you my loyalty above all else.’

  I tightened my arms around his neck and repeated the words that had lived true within me since I first spoke them to him on the shores of Môn:

  You are blood of my blood.

  Bone of my bone.

  By the power of the Mothers, may you love me.

  As I love you.

  With his lips at my temple he spoke them back.

  Our love was as unsure and terrifying as the war that was coming, but we clung to each other’s strength, our desire the very force of life for which we fought.

  I found Rhain in the temple, clasping a horn of mead. His face lit up with a knowing smile as my flushed cheeks and rapid breath betrayed me
. ‘Hoo!’ he said. ‘The dog and the wren!’

  I sat beside him, murmuring the briefest blessing to the altar before us. ‘How do you see me so well?’

  ‘I am trained to see. And you are a not a dull flame.’

  We sat in silence. There was no small cost to the love I had just pledged.

  ‘Am I wrong?’ I asked softly.

  ‘Are you?’ he answered. ‘Who is the authority?’

  I felt my heart lurch with the giddiness of freedom. Only I could sanction my actions.

  He sipped from his horn.

  I reached forward and took it gently from his hand. ‘There will be time enough to take the gods’ water, for we feast tonight.’

  ‘Have you altered the war plan?’

  ‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘We are going north into the mountains and you will need your hard wits to make song of it tonight…unless—’ A hope came to me. Was I ready? ‘Rhain,’ I ventured, ‘may I sing at the feast tonight? I learned much on the mountain. I have come to understand something of why we fight.’

  He looked at me with the lopsided stare that saw me more clearly than any other. ‘Why do you wish to sing?’

  It was the third time he had asked the question. This time I did not falter. ‘For our sovereignty.’

  Rhain’s eyebrows lifted. ‘How are we sovereign?’

  ‘By the land’s desire.’

  ‘Who speaks the land’s desire?’

  I took a breath. ‘I do.’

  ‘Very good!’ He laughed.

  I waited. ‘Well?’ I said. ‘May I…sing?’

  ‘Soon, soon. Not yet,’ he said with his interminable smile. ‘Shed one more skin!’

  I wanted to tip the horn of ale over his lumpy head. But I trusted him and I nodded my acceptance.

  Lleu’s shadows were long as I walked to the northern entrance.

  Manacca was crouched on the path outside the gates, floating a feather in a puddle, while her mother haggled with the slaughterman over a basket of bones. When she saw me, there was no smile, no yelp of joy at my return.