We circle. He jabs with his right fist, I punch back, landing my blow precisely on the sensitive spot between shoulder and neck. I cover that precision by dodging back as if scared, while Coll wobbles and steadies. He’s waiting for something, I see it on his face. But what? I could charge him as I did Strong Man. More than likely he’d go straight down. The mute stablehand might have only two or three moves. But I don’t charge. It feels wrong. Instead I block his next blow, then seize his right arm, thinking to pin him against me before I deliver the punch that will send him to the ground. But as my hands go around his arm, he reaches behind him, and when his left hand comes back in sight there’s a knife in it.
Oh, foolish Coll. My booted foot comes up, connecting with his wrist, sending the knife spinning through the air and out over the onlookers. There’s a universal gasp. At the back of the crowd a hand goes up and catches the flying weapon with precision.
‘Ouch,’ says Liobhan. ‘That’s sharp.’
Sharp, and almost in my neck, or my heart, or some other part of me. Coll’s holding his injured wrist with the other hand and cursing. Seems he’s forgotten he’s in a fight. I wish I could make a pithy remark. Instead I let my fists do the talking. A crude uppercut to the jaw. He falls. Maybe he hurts himself and maybe he doesn’t. I don’t see and I don’t care. Now this is over, I’d best disappear before folk start asking awkward questions. I hope
I looked clumsy enough to be convincing. I don’t imagine Archu would expect me to get myself killed in order to maintain the disguise. Liobhan’s remarkable catch ensured everyone saw the knife. Little Man’s going to have some explaining to do. And possibly so is she.
32
Liobhan
Morrigan’s britches! I thought I was the one who created trouble. But what does Dau do but get himself into a brawl with not one but three of Rodan’s cronies. Archu and I walk into that scene on our way to the practice room, where we’re planning to talk. Rodan’s friends are taunting Dau, challenging him to a fight. I expect Illann, also on his way back from supper, to whisk his mute assistant out of harm’s way. I expect Archu to walk on by, ignoring what’s happening. Instead, Illann starts organising the fight while Archu takes wagers. It’s so crazy it hardly feels real. I watch, thinking this is sure to give us away.
But Dau plays his part perfectly, defeating each opponent with speed and skill and managing to look clumsy and awkward while he does it. The third man is a cheat. The big man passes him a weapon. Dau is ready for surprises. He sends the thing spinning through the air in our direction. It would be better to let it fly past me, even if it then spears some innocent bystander. But I can’t help myself. I catch it and hand it to Archu. Let someone else report this to the authorities if they will.
Maybe surprises come in threes. Dau heads back to the stables surrounded by new admirers – they may have lost their wagers, but they don’t hide their delight that one of their own kind has triumphed over the prince’s unpleasant friends. But Illann comes to the practice room with Archu and me, slipping in while folk’s attention is elsewhere. As for the three challengers, they’ve made a fast getaway before anyone can accuse them of cheating.
‘I don’t know how that started,’ Archu says in an undertone, when the three of us are safely inside with door and shutters closed. ‘We’d have been better off without it, but I’m forced to admit I enjoyed the whole thing. And I won twenty coppers.’
‘Lad took exception to some comments being made about Ciara,’ Illann said. ‘Might have been better if he’d slunk off into the barn and risked a beating, but by the gods, that was a clever performance. Most entertaining.’
‘As for you,’ Archu turns his attention to me, ‘I suspect your heroic catch may have saved me from a nasty injury. And made a great tale for folk to spread all around the household. I thought you were told to keep out of people’s way.’
‘I was with you, coming back from supper! Is it my fault if someone’s having a brawl in the middle of the stable yard?’
‘Keep your voice down,’ says Archu. ‘Let’s see that hand.’
‘It’s only a scratch. I have bandages and salve back in the women’s quarters. I’ll tend to it myself.’
‘At least wrap something around it. Here.’ He passes me a handkerchief.
‘Who was that big man, the one who was guarding Rodan earlier? I’ve never seen him before.’
‘You didn’t hear that Garbh was sent away? Dismissed from the prince’s service?’
‘Not because of me?’
‘I suspect because of you. Because he had the gall to stand up and dance with you straight after you’d apologised to the prince. Lost his position the next morning, packed up and left the same day.’
‘Oh.’ That feels like a punch in the belly. I didn’t have time to make friends properly with Garbh, but he was a nice man doing a thankless job. He always had a smile, and he treated me with respect. ‘I hope he finds somewhere else.’
‘After being thrown out of court, that could be difficult.’ Archu lets the silence draw out while I feel more and more guilty. Then he says, ‘We sent a message his way, not directly. Let him know that if he was looking for that sort of work he might drop in at a certain establishment to the north of here and speak to a person whose name we gave him. Could be you’ll see the man again some time in the future, who knows? Anything new to report, Ciara?’
I pass on my conversation with Tassach and his family. Although I don’t want to, I confess that I almost said in so many words that Rodan had threatened, if not actually hurt Aislinn. ‘I didn’t name him. I know what you said. But that child is in danger, and nobody here seems prepared to do anything about it. Tassach and his wife are good people.’
‘Not our business. Not our task. As I’ve said before.’
‘It’s just so wrong.’ It’s in conflict with the principles on which Swan Island is founded, one of which is justice.
‘You can’t fight every battle in the world,’ Illann says quietly. ‘We all learn that in time. But it’s hard.’
‘Keep your head down,’ says Archu. ‘Leave these people to work out their own problems. Stay out of trouble until Midsummer Eve. We’re following your lead on this, don’t forget. As leader, you need to keep your mind on the mission or the whole thing will fall down.’
I speak through gritted teeth. ‘Yes, Uncle Art.’
Archu didn’t tell me what to do if these people sought me out, rather than the other way around. I do spend a day more or less out of sight, first helping Dana and her crew, though my ankle rules out carrying buckets for long, then cooped up in the practice room, which now has an empty space where Brocc’s harp once stood. What happens if we don’t get the Harp of Kings and the high bard has to play this instrument? Maybe nothing. Maybe everyone will be fooled by the substitute. But I don’t think so. I wish Eirne had been clearer on what she wants us to do. I suppose the harp, the real one, will have to be handed over to the high bard the night before the ritual, since that apparently takes place in early morning. So I have to go up to the portal, fetch Brocc and the harp, and get back to court with enough time for that to happen. All without anyone seeing what we’re up to. Midsummer Eve will be a busy day.
I sew Aislinn’s hair onto the doll. I can’t do it while I’m with Dana’s crew, because I don’t want a story getting around about whose hair it is, and that’s something they’d be sure to ask. So I do it next morning, out in the garden where the light is good. Sewing with real hair is not something I want to do again – the hair keeps sliding away and it’s impossible to be neat. I get the job finished eventually, though the little person has a lopsided look. I’m fastening off the thread when Aislinn appears from under the oak and comes pelting up the hill with Brion and his younger brother Tadhg behind her. She’s pink in the cheeks from running, and there’s a big smile on her face. Cliodhna is under her arm.
‘Is he ready? Can
I hold him?’ She hands Cliodhna to Tadhg, and I pass my creation over. Aislinn is gentle. She runs a finger over the doll’s hair, touches his half-smiling mouth, adjusts his belt of woven string. She sits him upright in her arms, facing outwards, and turns to look back down the hill. ‘You’re safe here,’ she murmurs. ‘Yes, you are. That’s the big oak, see? We can climb up there any time and I’ll show you my special things.’
Brion and Tadhg must belong to the few who know about her treasure box or she wouldn’t say this in front of them. I think again about that dragon belt buckle. A boy gave it to me, that was what she said when she showed it to me. It’s easy enough to guess who that might have been. Just as well Aislinn likes these boys. Should Tassach get his way in the longer term, she’ll one day marry one or other of them. Or so Cathra thinks.
‘Where’s his sword?’ asks Tadhg now, looking at the doll.
‘He doesn’t need one.’ Aislinn is firm.
‘His hair’s a bit funny,’ observes Tadhg. ‘Where did you – oh.’ He glances at Aislinn, whose own hair has a visible ragged edge above her right eyebrow.
‘He’s the first doll I’ve ever made,’ I tell the boys. ‘I did the best I could.’
Brion frowns at his younger brother. ‘He’s not funny, Tadhg. He’s different. With the hair, I mean, and the clothes. That makes him the only one of his kind.’
‘Special,’ agrees Aislinn, smiling at Brion.
‘Special,’ echoes Tadhg, looking thoughtful. ‘Like a great hero. We should take him on an adventure.’
‘A quest,’ says Brion. ‘A test by earth and fire, wind and water.’
I don’t know who’s been telling the boys their bedtime stories, but it sounds as if they’re good ones. ‘He doesn’t belong to Aislinn yet,’ I’m obliged to say. ‘I have to take him away and show him to someone first.’ Seeing their crestfallen faces, I add, ‘But you can play with him for a little while, and he’ll come back to Aislinn in a few days. Can he do a quest without getting too dirty? Look on it as a challenge.’ I aim this at Brion, who’s old enough to see the humour in it.
‘Of course,’ he says, grinning, then takes charge like the future chieftain he is. ‘Come on, everyone. Down by the duck pond, that’s the place. Cliodhna can do the muddy parts and he can give her instructions.’
I have no choice but to go with them, not only to ensure they are safe, but also so I can take away the doll when the game is over. There’s no sign of their parents or Master Padraig or a nursemaid. Perhaps Brion, whose age I guess at around ten, is considered old enough to be responsible.
Beyond the horse field and over a dry-stone wall, there’s a smaller enclosure where ducks and chickens roam about. Their night-time quarters are in an outhouse at the top of this space, and at the bottom is the pond, fed by a streamlet that rises from the same spring that replenishes the household wells. The pool is fringed by rushes; flat stones have been placed here and there, and today, with the sun shining, there are dragonflies passing across the water, and tiny birds like the ones at Mistress Juniper’s house hunt for insects in the long grass. Those birds. They’re everywhere.
The children begin their game. The doll is seated on a rock, propped up to sit. Cliodhna, assisted by Aislinn and Tadhg, makes her way through the quest, getting both damp and muddy as she surmounts various obstacles. They’re so busy and happy that I don’t say a word in protest. Brion tells a story as the younger ones splash through the water and make patterns in the mud and toss Cliodhna from one to the other over a patch of rushes. I find myself hoping nobody comes looking for them, and not because that might get me in trouble. Right now, these offspring of royalty and nobility are just like me and Brocc and Galen when we were young. Brocc would have been the one telling the story, and Galen and I would have been putting ourselves at risk of broken limbs or sore heads by climbing or swinging or having mock fights. Suddenly I have tears in my eyes. I blink hard and will them away; I don’t want anyone to see me crying.
All this while, the doll with the crooked hair has been sitting on his stone, motionless. Watching. Oh, gods. Watching the future of Breifne, with his embroidered eyes. Watching in the way something created from wool and string and hair can, if he’s been made with a pinch of hearth magic. Because these children are, or could be, the future of Breifne. Rodan might not marry. He might not sire children. He might not reign for long. He might die young. The future of Breifne, after Rodan, could be Good King Brion and Wise Queen Aislinn.
I’ve completed part of a task for Eirne, and now I see the next part. ‘Who can make the best mud house?’ I call out. ‘One, two, three, go!’
Having issued the challenge, I’m obliged to attempt it myself. Each of us starts to scoop up mud and construct a house on the edge of the pond. Soon the doll is the only clean one; Aislinn and I have tucked up our skirts, but our hands are dark with mud and everyone’s footwear is caked with it. Tadhg has a big smear across his face. Cliodhna will need a bath too; she’s not designed for outdoor adventures, though I’m sure she and Aislinn have had many together.
I try to remember the exact words of Eirne’s task. Help build a small house from sand or earth, then watch the water wash it away. Is that right? So it would have to be built right next to the outflow from the pond, which runs down the hill and out under the wall through an ingenious rock-lined drainage channel that I wish my father could see, since such things interest him. I’d better scrap what I’ve done and start again over there. But . . .
There’s Aislinn, working fast, building not so much a house as a walled enclosure. She’s found a flat spot right next to that outflow. The soil there is wet enough to be easily shaped. The back wall of her enclosure is a rock; the other three will be piled earth. I move over to help her build them. The boys are both busy working. When we have the three walls done, Aislinn sits back on her heels and nods in approval. Then she starts to gather twigs and leaves, and to arrange them in the enclosure. I help with this task too. When the greenery is ordered to Aislinn’s satisfaction, she fetches the doll and places him inside, where he is almost invisible among the foliage.
Brion and Tadhg have stopped work on their own houses now and are watching her. ‘You need to keep him clean, Aislinn,’ warns Brion. ‘Mistress Ciara said.’
‘It’s all right,’ I murmur, not wanting to interrupt whatever it is Aislinn is doing. She’s brought Cliodhna over and put her in a sitting position outside the wall of the little enclosure. She moves her toy’s head and arms as she was doing that day when I saw Master Padraig playing with the children. Now Aislinn makes Cliodhna’s voice.
‘Wolfie! Wolfie, where are you?’ calls Cliodhna, rising to her feet.
‘Shh!’ Aislinn is being herself now. She picks Cliodhna up and looks her in the eye. ‘You know you can’t talk to Wolfie. He’s gone away. We don’t say his name, Cliodhna.’
Cliodhna puts her hands over her eyes, then subsides to a sit. ‘He’s in there,’ she says in woeful tones. ‘He’s just in there, I know it. He’s just over the wall. Wolfie!’
‘Shh!’ Aislinn hugs Cliodhna to her chest and bows her head. ‘You know Wolfie can’t come out. He’s not allowed. Not ever.’
I look at the little wall. The twigs and leaves, so many it might be a tiny forest in there. Danu’s mercy! How could I have been so slow to understand?
‘Aislinn?’ I keep my voice down, but she starts, turning so quickly she almost topples her own creation. ‘May I ask you something?’
She nods.
I must be quick, before the boys interrupt. ‘Aislinn, is Wolfie a druid?’
‘I’m not supposed to talk about him.’
‘All right, I won’t ask about him. But . . . this doll . . . he’s a druid, isn’t he? A novice in a blue robe?’
‘Mm.’
‘I like the forest you made. That’s where he lives, isn’t it? On the other side of the wall. He must be happ
y there.’ Brion is getting up, about to come over and inspect Aislinn’s work. I meet his eye and shake my head slightly, and he sits down again.
‘He’s lonely. He misses her.’ Aislinn holds up Cliodhna.
‘That’s easy to fix,’ I say, hating my lying words. In the real world, where toys are replaced by men and women, problems are not so quickly solved. ‘Cliodhna is on a quest. And she’s very strong. She can break the wall and let him out.’
‘But she’s not allowed to go there.’
‘Because she’s a girl?’
‘She’s a girl. And he can’t come out.’
‘Why not, Aislinn?’ I’m trying to tread carefully. Chances are the boys may report this conversation to their parents, or to someone else. How would they know that it might get both Aislinn and me in trouble?
‘It’s the rules. He can’t come back.’
‘Back where?’ I murmur.
‘Back home.’ She wipes a tear from her eye. ‘Back home with Cliodhna.’
‘Is she his sweetheart?’
‘No, silly! She’s his sister.’
I am utterly silenced. Now, surely, Aislinn has strayed from what I thought must be her own story and is making this up as she goes along. A brother who became a druid? Is she talking about the illegitimate son Archu mentioned? Wouldn’t he be too young?
Aislinn’s crying. Gods, I hate this! No child should be burdened with such sorrow. And no child should face the future she’ll face if she’s forced to live in Rodan’s household.
‘May I talk to Cliodhna?’
She hands the creature to me. I sit Cliodhna on my knee and look her in the eye. ‘Now listen, Cliodhna,’ I say, no longer caring who can hear me, because I’m angry, I’m so angry I could take on every one of them, the regent, the chief druid, the high bard and wretched Rodan himself. ‘I know there are rules. But sometimes the rules are wrong. Sometimes the rules make people unhappy, or lonely, or worried. And when that happens, you just have to break those rules. You have to break down the wall.’
Harp of Kings Page 33