‘Can we watch?’ Tadhg is by my side now, and although Brion hasn’t moved, he’s taking in everything.
‘Really?’ I make Cliodhna say. ‘I can let him go free?’
‘If he wants to come out, yes. Break the wall. Give him the choice.’
I pass Cliodhna back to Aislinn. There’s a hush like a great indrawn breath. A breeze from the forest ruffles my hair. I hear the trickling of the water over stones; I see the gauzy wings of the dragonflies, touched to shining beauty by the sunlight. Suddenly the game feels solemn and ancient, and Cliodhna’s decision, stuffed toy as she is, momentous. I cannot make the choice; only Aislinn can.
She sits motionless for a few moments, with tears glinting on her cheeks. Then she reaches across and pushes Cliodhna bodily into the earthen wall. It crumbles and falls, and Wolfie is free. ‘Walk out, Wolfie,’ she says. ‘Come home.’ She looks at me, expectant.
‘Shall I move him?’
She nods. Tadhg has sat down cross-legged, absorbed in the drama. I glance at Brion and smile, thanking him without words for knowing when to hold back. He’s a fine young man in the making.
I make Wolfie walk out of his place of confinement. He bows to Cliodhna. ‘Greetings,’ he says. My attempt at his voice makes all three children laugh.
‘He should give her a hug,’ suggests Brion.
Aislinn and I make the toys embrace.
‘She should say Welcome home,’ offers Tadhg.
‘Welcome home, Wolfie,’ Aislinn says, but the momentary joy is gone from her voice. She may be not yet seven, but she knows the difference between play-acting and reality.
The list. The tasks. Is this enough, or should I make quite sure of it? I still have Wolfie in my hand. ‘Please introduce me to your friends,’ I make him say to Cliodhna. ‘What fine young men they are.’
Aislinn introduces the boys solemnly; she’s been taught some court manners. ‘This is Brion, son of Tassach. He’s a very good rider and – and one day he’ll be chieftain. Chieftain of Glendarragh. And this is Tadhg, son of Tassach. He’s got curly hair and he likes playing games. Boys, this is Wolfie. He . . .’ She falls silent. She reaches out for Wolfie. I hold him a moment longer. I imagine his embroidered eyes can see, and I make sure his head is turned toward each child in turn.
There’s one more part to this. I hand Wolfie to Aislinn. ‘Now that he’s free,’ I say, trying to make it convincing, ‘we should wash the house away. So he can’t be shut in there any more.’ Oh, lies, lies and more lies. But I can’t think of another way to complete Eirne’s task.
‘I’ll do it!’ Tadhg is grinning. ‘Can I?’ He’s looking at me.
‘Ask Aislinn.’
‘Mm,’ Aislinn says, holding both Wolfie and Cliodhna close. She’s very solemn.
Both boys wade into the pond – they were soaked anyway – and make waves with their hands. The little enclosure soon crumbles and falls, and the tiny grove disintegrates, floating away down the stream and under the wall to the real grove, where the real druids live behind their invisible barrier, and the real Wolfie walks among them. A brother. A brother of Aislinn. A brother of Rodan. A man who might have been king.
33
Dau
It turns out the druid who looks so much like Rodan actually is his brother, or rather, half-brother. Liobhan put the pieces together after talking to the child, Rodan’s young sister. The man’s an illegitimate son of the last king, older than Rodan by nearly three years. Being born outside wedlock doesn’t make him ineligible for the kingship. But he’s ruled out anyway, because not long before he turned eighteen this brother decided he’d rather be a druid than king of Breifne.
Illann and I have a whispered conversation about this in the privacy of our stall, when there’s nobody close by.
‘Why didn’t the regent tell Archu from the start that there was another son?’ I ask.
‘Archu knew there was an illegitimate son and that he had no claim, but not the reason why,’ says Illann. ‘True, he found that out from his own sources, not from Cathra or his advisers. Why don’t they talk about this person? Because once a man goes into the nemetons, he’s gone from ordinary life. Nobody on the outside so much as mentions his name. It’s almost as if he’d died. Worse, perhaps, since folk can grieve over the dead, speak their names, tell their stories. I believe this druid order is particularly strict. It took a child to make the fellow real again. But he can’t be king now. He may be perfect for the job but that doesn’t matter. He’s made his choice and there’s no going back on it.’ He pauses for thought. ‘Oddly enough, the coronation ritual, including the preparations, seems to be one time all the druids come out of their sanctuary. Hence your glimpse of the two brothers together – perhaps the first time they’d met in years.’
There’s activity down the far end of the stables and our conversation has to end. We head off in our separate directions. Illann’s got work in the forge, and I’m still responsible for a couple of very sick horses that sustained injuries on the night Rodan sent a group of men off on what ended up being a disastrous mission. There are other workers here who know far more than I do about horse doctoring, Illann included. But the stable master has noticed the animals are calmer with me around, so he’s asked for me to look after these two under Illann’s supervision. The great gashes inflicted by those things’ claws are evil looking, full of ill humours. I do my best to keep them clean. I apply poultices. I use gentle hands to calm the creatures, and since I can’t talk, I hum to them. Bryn rests in the straw, close enough so he can see me, but a discreet distance from the horses’ hooves. I coax one of the animals to take some warm mash; the other won’t eat. It’s one of those times when I wish there really was magic, so I could find a cure for this creature that’s going to die because someone was stupid enough to send her and her rider out on an ill-planned venture based on ill-informed supposition rather than facts. Will King Rodan keep doing that kind of thing until he’s made enemies of all his neighbours and lost all his good men?
It makes me wish his druid brother could be king in his place. I know nothing of the man except that he gave the impression of calm control and had a winning smile. There could be anything under that surface: a tyrant, a plotter, a stupid fool like Rodan. Perhaps the moment he stepped out of the nemetons he’d become a monster. My brother Seanan was expert at putting on a smile whenever he explained to our parents why I’d got myself in trouble yet again. He was a convincing liar when we were children, and I expect he still is. He taught Ruarc the same tricks. The two of them together, bigger, stronger, older, were always more believable than I was. Every time, they had a ready explanation for my cuts and bruises, my soaked clothing, my coming home hours late and freezing cold. When they killed Snow before my eyes, when they slowly cut her to pieces, they had a story, and in that story it was my fault. In a frenzy of temper I had snatched Seanan’s knife and laid about me, and I had done this terrible thing to my own dog. My clothing was covered in blood, Snow’s lifeblood, where I had held her in those last gasping moments. Evidence of guilt. They always believed Seanan before me.
‘Nessan?’
I start violently. Liobhan is there, standing at the entry to the stall, looking at me oddly. I wrestle my mind back to the here and now. I can’t believe I let myself think about that day. It’s supposed to stay buried.
‘Nobody around,’ Liobhan murmurs. ‘I heard you had care of these two,’ nodding toward the horses. ‘Brought you this.’ It’s the small earthenware pot of salve, the special mixture from her mother, the healer. ‘It’ll be safe for horses.’ As I take the pot she moves closer, peering at the claw marks. ‘Morrigan’s curse,’ she mutters. ‘Pity you can’t get Mistress Juniper to come and take a look at those. Have you tried figwort in your poultice? Might be too late for that, but it’s worth a try.’
‘What does it look like?’ I whisper.
‘I’ll get you s
ome.’
‘Aren’t you meant to be staying out of sight?’
‘It’ll only take a moment. It grows down near that duck pond.’
Before I can say another word, she’s gone. And just as well, because there’s a sound of men’s voices in the stable yard. I recognise one of them in particular. They’re coming in here. What do I do now? Crouch down and hide, hoping Rodan won’t see me? That could get awkward if he shouts for attention and then finds I was there all the time and ignored him. But if he needs a horse prepared for riding, I’m the last person he’ll be wanting to do it. I weigh this up quickly and decide to stay where I am, in sight.
I hope Liobhan doesn’t march back in with her bunch of figwort.
Rodan’s with his two friends and his new bodyguard. They don’t call for grooms or stableboys. Instead, they’re unusually quiet as they saddle up their own horses. Coll prepares Rodan’s horse for him, then his own. Nobody’s looked in my direction.
I keep on tending to my two charges, making sure one or the other of them is between me and the group. I use the skills I learned on Swan Island to observe them. Rodan’s pacing up and down, impatient to be gone. I can’t hear clearly, but he’s saying something about needing to be off, and decisive action, and getting in and out quickly. In the straw at my feet, Bryn gives a little whine, and I crouch down to quiet him. When I get up again, the bodyguard is looking right at me. He touches Rodan on the arm; points.
What now? All four of them coming over to give me a beating this time? Midsummer Eve is approaching. I must be able to ride. I must be able to support Liobhan in whatever she does. I can’t afford trouble this time. I look away; dip some salve from the pot and smear it very gently onto the inflamed area. I make myself breathe slowly. At the same time my body tenses, ready for action.
‘Well, well. Who have we here?’ Rodan’s come over on his own; he waves the others back with some impatience. ‘You and I have some unfinished business, halfwit. Step out of there. Come on, move.’
I slump my shoulders, edge away from him, hold up the pot of salve and motion to the horse’s wound. He opens his mouth to order me out again, then freezes, his gaze on the livid gash across the animal’s shoulder and the swollen, discoloured skin around it. The prince turns sickly white. He puts his hands up before his face, palms out, as if to fend off some terror. He mutters an oath and backs away.
‘We’re ready!’ one of the others calls.
It’s quite clear this is the first time Rodan has seen the work of the Crow Folk. After sending that second party out, he hasn’t bothered to check on the injured animals. Chances are he didn’t take the trouble to look at the bodies of the men he sent to their deaths. Why am I unsurprised?
The four men, with their horses, stand by the open door. Three of them are armed with swords and knives, one with a bow and quiver. And they’re carrying what look like torches for burning. Here at court, in the middle of the day.
‘Only as far as the old woman’s house,’ Rodan says as he mounts his horse. ‘The undergrowth is dense there; it should go up fast.’
‘But what about –’ protests Big Man, perhaps unwisely.
‘Change of plan. Fire will flush them out; warn them off. That’s all we need.’
They mount and ride away in the direction of the gates. Dagda’s bollocks! What now? I will not panic. I am a Swan Island man. I replace the lid on the salve and set it aside. I lay a hand on the two horses in turn, in apology for leaving them with my job unfinished. I look around the stables again; nobody in sight. I head out the back door and across the field toward the duck pond, trying not to run. Mistress Juniper. The dog, Storm. Brocc, and whatever lies beyond that wall. The Harp of Kings. Because of that fool Rodan, they’re all at risk.
Liobhan’s taken off her shoes and is ankle-deep in the pond, with a bunch of unpromising-looking greenery in her hand. One look at my face and she’s out in a flash. ‘What?’
Gods, the need to keep my voice to a whisper, the watchfulness, even when there’s not a moment to spare – it’s starting to drive me crazy. In as few words as I can, I tell her what’s happened.
‘Where’s Archu?’ asks Liobhan, dropping her herbs and thrusting her feet back into her shoes.
‘No idea. And Illann’s halfway through a shoeing job, up at the forge. I can’t rush in there asking for help.’
Liobhan curses under her breath. ‘I’ve got to stop them,’ she mutters. ‘They can’t be allowed to do this.’ She starts striding back toward the stables, moving like a vengeful fury.
‘Liobhan. Wait. What are you going to do, barge in and confront Cathra? After everything that’s happened? This might have the council’s approval.’
‘Then I’ll take a horse and ride after him myself. A fire, up there? It can’t be allowed to happen.’ There’s a look in her eyes that scares me.
‘Stand still. Just for a moment. Please.’
We’re by the dry-stone wall that separates this area from the horse field. Fully visible, the two of us, to anyone who might happen to be looking our way. ‘You can’t go,’ I say. ‘You’ll attract attention, you’ll get in trouble, you’ll probably destroy not only your own cover but ours as well. You’ll fall foul of Archu and lose your place on Swan Island.’
‘I don’t care!’ She’s as tight as a bowstring; her voice is a snarl.
‘Just listen, will you? You can’t go, but I can. At the very least I can warn Mistress Juniper. And if I can stop them, I will.’
We walk on. Liobhan’s lips are pressed tight together. Her fists are clenched. Those tears that glint in her eyes won’t be given a chance to fall. We reach the stables and pause outside the back door. ‘You can’t get there before them,’ she whispers. ‘That’s impossible.’
‘Try me.’ There’s the glimmer of a plan in my mind; it could just work. I snatch a hat from a peg, a shapeless felt thing one of the grooms has left there. I pull it down over my ears. It’s not much of a disguise.
‘What am I supposed to do?’
‘Find Archu. Tell him discreetly what’s going on. Hope he has some kind of backup plan to suggest. One thing I did learn: Rodan’s terrified of the Crow Folk, or of what they can do. His desire to be a hero won’t last long if they’re up there and feeling combative.’
‘And yet he thinks he’s going to drive them out all by himself. If you spoil that plan, you’ll move right to the top of his list.’
‘What list?’
‘People he despises.’
‘He’s already at the top of mine,’ I whisper. ‘I’d better be on my way.’ I’ll take the horse Illann usually rides; he’s steady and he’s used to me. And he can jump.
Liobhan curses under her breath, then adds, ‘Go safely.’ I can only grimace in response. There’s nothing safe about this. I just hope I can do it.
The gates are still open and the guards are satisfied when I gesture vaguely in the direction of a nearby farm. They’re looking edgy all the same. They couldn’t miss the weaponry Rodan and his party were carrying, but he’s the prince, so they’d have to let him through.
I can see him and his friends on the road ahead. But I’m not going on that road; not yet anyway. I branch off onto a farm track before they think to look back. I cross a couple of fields, setting Blaze at the dry-stone walls, which he clears with ease. We skirt several farm dwellings and splash across some streams. I must get ahead. Far enough ahead so the man with the bow can’t pick me off before I do what I need to do. Morrigan’s britches, what is Rodan thinking? How did he persuade the others to go along with this?
There’s a stream running between high banks, with a plank bridge too narrow for a horse. We back up, then gallop forward and clear the waterway in a leap. A slight rise; a cluster of bushes. I rein Blaze in, let him catch his breath. We’re partly concealed here. I look down at the road, and ah! we’re ahead now, though the riders are keep
ing up a steady pace. Not much further and I’ll deploy what I hope will be my secret weapon.
I ride around the back of a barn; this farm is the one where I left a horse the day I followed Liobhan into the forest. There are workers about. One comes out of the barn as I pass and stops in his tracks, wide-eyed. I give him a friendly nod, then before he can challenge me, I’m gone. Down a narrow pathway between well-kept fields, where sheep graze and fruit trees provide both shade for the animals and partial cover for Blaze and me. Here’s the spot where the main road bends around to accommodate an awkwardly placed hillock, and for a bit we’ll be out of sight.
I make a silent apology to the farmer as I open the gate to his field and ride in, wishing I had Bryn with me – there’s no way the old dog could have kept up, but he’d be useful now as Blaze and I attempt to round up a large flock of sheep. The animals are not happy with this incursion, and although Blaze is a fine horse, this is not a job he’s done before. I can’t use my voice; I must rely on my bond with an animal I’ve never ridden before today. Too slowly for my liking, we work them out onto the road, until the field is empty except for one sensible ewe standing quietly in the shade of the trees. I dismount, close the gate, remount. With some difficulty, we thread our way through the increasingly disturbed mob of sheep. The moment we’re clear I dig my heels in, and as shouting breaks out behind us, Blaze is off along the road toward the forest.
I hate pushing a good horse too hard, but I have no choice. The first part, on level ground, we cover quickly and easily. Once the track goes uphill it’s harder for Blaze, but he’s a strong creature and well mannered, and he understands what I want. I should stop and rest him. But I can’t. I’ve seen enough of Rodan to know he’ll be driving his own horse hard and expecting the rest of them to keep up. Maybe I can’t stop the fire. But at least I can get the old woman safely away.
Harp of Kings Page 34