“We don’t have time to fetch it.” Gruffydd put out a hand to Llelo, who took it and swung onto the horse behind him.
Brodar actually grinned down at Cait and Gwen. “My brother is capable of getting into the most amazing kinds of trouble. Have no fear. I will rescue him once again.” He tipped his head towards the hall behind him. “We’ve made quite a commotion. Perhaps the two of you could do me the favor of convincing O’Connor and your uncle that nothing is amiss.”
And, before either woman could either protest or agree, he urged his horse after Gruffydd and Llelo, through the gate and into the street.
Within a dozen heartbeats, the rest of the company followed, leaving Cait and Gwen alone again.
Cait huffed. “I am not overly fond of being left behind. And I really don’t like this task he set us.”
“You are about to be a princess of Dublin,” Gwen said. “This won’t be the last time it is you who are sent to appease your uncle.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Cait looked towards the hall. “In defense of my family, I would do anything.”
Chapter Thirty-four
Day Four
Dai
“It’s going to be all right,” Steffan said.
The pair of them had been left in the dark in the barn. It smelled of hay and horse, not entirely unpleasantly. Dai’s hands were still tied in front of him and the other end of the rope had been wrapped around a beam above his head and knotted. It meant his arms were raised above his head, stretching his shoulders and putting him on his toes. It wasn’t comfortable.
Twenty feet away, Steffan had been subjected to a similar arrangement. Neither could get to the other nor help the other.
“How exactly is it going to be all right?” Dai tugged on the rope for a moment, but it served only to tighten his bonds further.
“Well, it won’t be if you keep doing that.” Steffan spun in a circle at the end of his rope, surveying what little they could see of their surroundings.
The barn had been well-maintained, with no cracks in the walls. Summer was the time when fresh daub would have been applied. The only reason they had any light at all was because the door to the hayloft was open, perfectly framing the moon. That wouldn’t last long, but it was cheering for now.
Steffan turned back to Dai. “We need to be ready when Cadoc comes. That was good work dropping those bread crumbs.”
Dai rubbed at his right cheek with his shoulder. “You saw that? Do you really think Cadoc is on his way?”
“He’d posted himself in a tree overlooking the byre.”
The feeling of relief that flooded through Dai was like sinking into a hot bath. “You’re sure?” And then at Steffan’s wry look, he apologized for doubting. “Of course you’re sure.”
Steffan scoffed. “Vigo has no idea who we are.”
“They know you’re a Dragon.”
Now Steffan grinned. “But they don’t know you are too.”
It was the nicest thing Steffan—or maybe anyone—had ever said to him. Dai wanted to be worthy of the title. But then he frowned. “Why didn’t Cadoc rescue us already?”
“Think about it, Dai. Prince Donnell is in league with Vigo, supposedly a Danish merchant of some prestige and repute, but clearly far more than that.”
“He’s Donnell’s half-brother.”
Gratifyingly, Steffan’s jaw actually dropped. “You know that for certain?”
Dai nodded.
Steffan snorted. “You might have told me sooner. As your mother would say, when were you going to step onto the stage and sing?”
Dai felt genuinely apologetic. “I meant to back at the byre, but with all that was going on I didn’t think of it again until just now. They called each other brother. Vigo’s mother is Danish, that much is clear. Perhaps he’s illegitimate because I hadn’t heard the High King had a Danish wife.”
“Now I understand why he thinks Donnell will follow through and give him Leinster.” Steffan gritted his teeth. “All the more reason for Cadoc not to have acted right away.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What would be the consequences of killing the High King’s sons?”
Dai deflated. “War.”
“Vigo’s involvement in the fighting ring was never more than a pretense to leave the city and meet with his brother.”
“That might have been how it started, but it became more than that to Vigo.” Then Dai told him everything he remembered about the conversation in Gaelic between Vigo and Donnell.
Steffan listened intently, breathing normally throughout, which was calming also to Dai, and when Dai finished, he bobbed a nod. “Good. I’m glad you told me. Remember everything you said because you’ll have to repeat it to Prince Hywel and Prince Godfrid.”
Dai frowned. “What about you?”
Steffan’s expression turned bleak. “Chances are, I won’t be rescued with you.”
“What? Why not?”
But before Steffan could explain, the door to the barn opened, and Vigo entered with three other men, one of whom pointed to Steffan and said in Danish. “That’s the one!”
Dai had no idea who this man was, but Vigo walked up to Steffan, looking up because Steffan was taller and he was slightly suspended in the air. “You lied to me,” he said in French. “You speak French more than well enough to understand me now. My friend Tomos here tells me all the Dragons speak French.” Then he gestured to the other two men. “Cut him down.”
“Why?” Dai asked in Danish, real panic in his voice. “What do you want with him?”
Vigo shot Dai a dismissive look, but he answered the question anyway. “Now I know he can understand me, he can be made to talk without need for you.”
“Just be glad they learned it, Dai,” Steffan said in Welsh as his feet settled on the ground. “If Vigo had hurt you, I would have talked. I wouldn’t have had a choice.”
Dai started to struggle against his ropes, even though he knew it was futile. He believed Steffan about Cadoc being close by—or was trying to believe him—but that didn’t mean either would survive being separated. Somehow, however, Steffan had known what was coming. “Where are you taking him?”
“Never you mind that, boy.” Vigo slapped Dai upside the head, though it wasn’t hard enough to make his ears ring, which told Dai he still didn’t know Dai’s identity. Steffan was right that Vigo would have used it against them. “You should look to yourself.” Then he jerked his head to the two men who held Steffan. “Bring him.”
They dragged Steffan from the barn, leaving Dai in darkness.
Chapter Thirty-five
Day Four
Conall
Conall was nearly beside himself watching the events of the evening unfold, made worse by the arrival of Sitric, sent by Aron with word of the capture of Dai and Steffan, and that he and Iago would follow Cadoc. “I didn’t know any of this was going to happen! Truly I didn’t!” Sitric appeared genuinely worried that Conall—and thus Prince Godfrid—would think he’d drawn them into an ambush.
“We have larger concerns now,” Conall said, not so soothingly, but with some understanding.
Then Jon arrived on Conall’s other side, wearing a hat much like Conall’s, but pulled even lower down over his face to disguise his identity. The three men plus Iona retreated to the edge of the ring. The last fight of the night was winding down, and to celebrate another successful event, the fight’s organizers had begun to pass around alcohol, one whiff of which told Conall it was water of life. Whiskey.
Sitric accepted the flagon and took a long slug. To do otherwise would invite notice and censure. After Conall too had drunk and passed it on, Sitric said, “Pardon my omission, my lord. I forgot we drank whiskey at the end.”
“We will remember it, but Harald’s death is of far less concern in this moment than what is going to happen to this mob once it has more whiskey in it.”
“Should I do something about Arnulf?” Jon nodded towards the priest, who had
his arm across the shoulders of the young man Conall had fought. They appeared to have been at the whiskey sooner than the rest of the crowd. Either that, or it really worked that fast.
“First, we need to find out what has become of the others,” Conall said. “Hopefully they are close enough that they realize what kind of trouble we’re in.”
And then the foreman, Goff, made everything that much worse. He stepped into the ring, both arms held in the air. “I wanted to share a message from King Brodar himself.” He produced a paper and flourished it. “He warns us that our enemy is at our gates! Rory O’Connor has not come to Dublin to celebrate Prince Godfrid’s wedding. He has brought an army, and our king needs our help to defeat him!”
With each successive sentence, the shouts of approval grew louder until they became a roar.
“What in the name of St. Ansgar is happening?” Sitric stared at Goff, a man he’d once admired.
“Nothing good.” Jon’s hands were clenched into fists and he seemed moments away from exposing himself and them, so Conall gripped his upper arm.
“Wait.”
Jon clearly didn’t want to, but the rest of what Goff might have said was drowned out by a sudden roar from beyond the crowd, and Godfrid himself bounded out of the woods, his sword held above his head.
The crowd roared their approval back at him. Even with all the upheaval of the last months, and despite the general resentment against Leinster, Godfrid and Brodar themselves remained personally popular among the citizens of Dublin. The common people had always been very clear in their choice.
“Godfrid! Godfrid! Godfrid!” Someone off to the right began the chant, and Sitric instantly picked it up, his hands cupped around his mouth. Such was the way of a mob that the chant quickly spread and, with Godfrid’s arrival, Goff had no choice but to accede his place in the center of the ring.
Conall spied Gareth circling around the outside of the crowd and tugged at the others. “Come on.”
They snaked their way amongst the chanting onlookers and converged in the gathering place for the fighters. With Godfrid now the center of attention, Goff had retreated there, and Jon immediately went up to him. “You have either been used by villains or are a traitor. Either way, I expect you to support your prince.”
“What?” Goff gaped at him. “What traitor?”
Jon snorted. “You have been listening to the wrong people.”
“Rory O’Connor is our enemy.”
“That may be, but King Brodar did not write that message, as Prince Godfrid would tell you if he was speaking to you instead of to your acolytes.” Jon lifted his chin to point to where Godfrid stood, still trying to quiet the crowd. “The king has no problem with you training the next generation of fighters. Murder and treason, however, are another thing entirely.”
Now Goff’s mouth fell open. “You have this all wrong!”
Conall’s lip curled. “So you don’t know that Vigo met this evening with Prince Donnell of Connaught, with whom he is allied?”
“N-n-no!”
Conall tsked. “Maybe you really have been duped.”
Goff swallowed hard. “I swear to you—” But then he cut himself off and swung around to where Godfrid had finally quieted his audience.
Godfrid’s arms had been up, the sword above his head, but now he dropped them and stood before the crowd of people, silent all of a sudden as the full impact of Godfrid’s arrival among them hit home. A prince of Dublin was standing in their midst. He was a true warrior, of them but not one of them. He was, in fact, what every fighter among them aspired to be.
So they listened as he spoke.
“Our ancestors came to Ireland seeking wealth because it was through silver and gold that honor was gained. For centuries, our people lived by raiding other peoples. We settled in Dublin not because we had suddenly become farmers and merchants but as a base from which to raid even farther and wider.
“It wasn’t just the Irish we raided either.” Here, Godfrid flung out a hand towards the east. “We sacked settlements on the shores of Wales, England, and France. We went anywhere the land was rich and the people ill-prepared to counter us.”
Now he dropped his arm and gazed at the men and women looking back at him. “Friends, those days are over. We grow just as fat and rich by allowing our neighbors to grow fat and rich and trading with them. We do better selling them goods than by taking what they have. We do better by building than destroying. We have discovered we would rather live peaceably with our neighbors than make war against them.”
The people listening could have been disagreeing, but Conall didn’t read that in their faces. They appeared riveted and suddenly subdued, where before they’d been raucous with blood and whiskey.
Godfrid moved to head off any objections anyway. “I am not saying what you are doing here is wrong. My brother, when he learned of what Goff has built, was proud. They sailed together to Gwynedd, as some of you may recall, and fought together just last spring at the Liffey.”
Nods came from all around. Conall had never heard Godfrid speak before, not like this. He hadn’t known he could speak. Godfrid had lived in Brodar’s shadow the whole of his life. He’d gone where his father and then his brother pointed, fought where they told him to fight, and never once complained.
Maybe this was the same Godfrid, and it was just Conall who was seeing him with new eyes.
“There is a need still for men to wield sword and axe. We saw that at the Battle of the Liffey, where the warriors of Dublin fought to defend our city and our people against the men of Meath. Ottar fell that day.” He gave a little laugh. “God knows he and I had our differences, but I never questioned his prowess in battle. Today, however, we face a different threat.”
His listeners stirred at the change in Godfrid’s tone, and even Conall, an Irishman, felt his spine straighten, knowing he was about to hear something different.
“The threat against us isn’t about Danes versus Irish. It isn’t about us versus them. It is about our very survival.” He punched a fist into his open palm. “Tonight I am here because I learned Prince Donnell of Connaught has come to Dublin, not to pay his respects, not to celebrate my wedding to my Irish bride, but to collude with those who look at Leinster and see our traditional enemy, not realizing that in trading Leinster for Connaught we’d merely be exchanging one overlord for another even more brutal.
“I have no love for Leinster, believe me. And while I do love Caitriona and see the possible benefit of a closer alliance with the throne of Leinster, do not mistake me: I would never—” he paused and then emphasized, “—ever compromise Dublin’s sovereignty.
“But that is what we face tonight. Brodar would not have me tell you this, but we went to war against our allies when we fought the men of Meath. King Ottar himself plotted with them and Prince Donnell O’Connor of Connaught, the High King’s son, to murder both my brother and Donnell’s brother Rory, who sat at our high table this very night.”
If Conall had been asked, he would have counseled against revealing Ottar’s treachery, but he hadn’t been asked, and he understood both why Brodar hadn’t told anyone about the death warrant earlier, and why Godfrid did now.
Regardless, the revelation swept through the crowd like a sudden gust of wind, leaving mouths open and grown men gasping.
Beside Conall, Goff stuttered his protest, prompting Conall to turn on him. “This is also something you claim to have known nothing about?”
“I knew nothing! Nothing, my lord!”
Godfrid, however, wasn’t done, and he held up his hands for quiet once more. “Some of you are already warriors. Some of you are in training to become warriors. All of you may be needed, if not today then one day.” He put a hand to his heart. “I share your hopes and dreams for Dublin. One day, God willing, we will return our city to its rightful place on land and sea. We will speak more in the coming days. For now, know that my brother and I stand with you.” He clenched his fist and held it above his head.
“For the glory of Dublin!”
“For the glory of Dublin!”
It wasn’t a cheer Conall had ever heard before, but every man’s fist was in the air in mimicry of Godfrid.
And then an accompanying shout came from all sides of the clearing. It echoed so loudly, floating above the trees, that Conall had to fight the urge to cover his ears. The crowd had been won over by Godfrid’s speech, and it was as if a wave was cresting on a beach as each man fell to his knees at the sight of King Brodar himself riding into the clearing, followed by twenty of his men. Prince Hywel and the other Dragons hung back, but the fighting ring was now surrounded by warriors.
At the sight of his brother, Godfrid also went down on one knee. Brodar dismounted and the crowd parted for him. As he reached Godfrid, he held out his hand for Godfrid to rise, and the two men clasped forearms. “I see you’ve been busy saving my kingdom for me ... dare I say again.”
“Everything I do, I do for Dublin, and you, my lord.”
Beside Conall, Goff too had gone down on one knee.
Conall had bent his head but not knelt, and he looked down at the back of Goff’s head. “You really meant to overthrow your own king, Goff?”
“Please believe me, my lord. I didn’t know.” Then Goff gave in to a moment of weakness. “Is it death for me?”
“Help us rescue our friends. And then we’ll see.”
Chapter Thirty-six
Day Four
Dai
Dai jumped at the sound of a wooden board being shoved out of position, and he twisted towards the back of the barn. His arms were aching beyond anything he’d ever endured before, and he felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes as first Cadoc’s head and then his whole body came through the hole he’d made.
His face full of concern, Cadoc went first to untie the rope that kept Dai suspended. As Dai dropped his arms, he genuinely wondered if he would ever be able to raise them again. Cadoc struggled for a moment to untie the rope that bound his wrists and then gave up and simply sawed at them with his knife, which was sharp and deadly. A moment later, both men had slipped through the hole again and, whether out of a sense of order or to leave no trace of his passing, Cadoc reached through the hole to set the loose boards in place again.
The Irish Bride Page 23