by Signe Pike
“I train with a knife. It was a gift from my father.”
“I know many kings who would not allow such a thing, much less encourage it.”
“My father is a learned man of history. It was not long ago that all women trained in weapons,” I said. “Or have you forgotten our own stories?”
“That was many hundreds of years ago, before the Romans.” Maelgwn took a sip from the horn. “Then the legions came, and men discovered they did not much like to see their women cut down beside them.”
“Well, I believe men have lost much since the presence of women has been forced from the battlefield.”
“And what do you know of battle?” Suddenly his voice had an edge.
I wanted to tell him I had seen bodies thrown over horses. That I had tended wounds inflicted by Angle axes and swords when I was little more than a girl. But these were not things I liked to speak of.
Instead I said, “I know the great queen Boudicca raised an army of three hundred thousand, and in doing so nearly brought the might of the Roman Empire to its knees—something no king in the history of battle has done. I know Cartimandua led a nation of thousands, defending her ancestral lands from the clutches of greedy, warring men who wished to tame her.”
“Cartimandua was a traitor and Boudicca’s army murdered hundreds upon thousands of innocents before succumbing to famine,” Maelgwn said evenly. “You speak of warrior queens whose deeds have become legend. But just like warrior kings, not all warrior queens who wear golden torques are fit to rule.”
I stiffened, and Maelgwn’s gaze swept my face. He extended the horn—a peace offering.
“I did not mean to offend. I speak of kings like Vortigern, not men like your father.”
“Then we are in agreement on one thing,” I said. “Let us drink to men like my father.”
The horn was heavy enough that I needed to grip it with both hands, but I tipped my head back and drained it just as I’d seen my cousins do. Maelgwn’s eyes sparked in amusement as I reached to wipe the corner of my lip and set down the horn.
“Seeing you are such an expert in war,” I said, “what do you imagine will happen with the Angles? Do you think they might truly overcome us?”
Maelgwn considered this. “Unification has always been our greatest challenge. As a people, we prize the individual: Who is the greatest warrior? Who is the greatest king? Who out of the dozens is the greatest of our gods? We are a people of choices, and in these choices we find our freedom. I choose for whom I fight. Cathan chooses to whom he gifts his counsel. A farmer chooses to which chieftain or king he pledges his spear.
“Yet I fear our love of freedom is also our greatest weakness,” he continued. “Perhaps we, the Dragon Warriors, can hold off the incursion for the time being. It could be months or even years that we might manage it. But I have seen the swarm of Angle ships that come. They have long since settled the eastern shore. They arrive in such numbers, you cannot imagine.”
He reached for the wine and refilled the horn. “For now, they meet us in skirmishes; they raid and squabble among themselves as one of their kings claws to overcome another. But if the time comes and Emrys cannot rally the entire confederation to join our cause, then yes.” Maelgwn turned to me. “I believe we may be entirely overcome.”
My throat tightened at the thought of it. “Then we should toast not only to men like my father but also to men like Pendragon.”
“To Pendragon.” He drank deeply. I watched him, curious.
“How is it you came to ride with Pendragon?”
Maelgwn looked at me sidelong. It was a look Fallah gave when I forced her to ride in the rain.
“Surely mine is not an unusual query?” I laughed, but Maelgwn only fixed his eyes on his empty vessel.
“Perhaps that’s an answer for another time. This is a night for celebration.”
“But—”
“There they are!”
I startled at the gleeful shout that interrupted us and looked up to find Gwenddolau and Lailoken lumbering toward our bench, their eyes bright from women, drink, and dance.
“Sit.” Maelgwn gestured. “Join us.”
“Join the victor, more like it.” My brother, beaming, took my arm and forced it aloft.
“Oh, hush,” I pulled away, unable to hide my smile.
“What came over you, Maelgwn, to let young Languoreth win?” Gwenddolau jabbed an elbow at Maelgwn and gave me a wink. “He’s woefully competitive, you know.”
“Don’t tell me you let me get away,” I accused him.
“I was too late,” Maelgwn answered. “You said so yourself.” His face betrayed nothing, but it made me wonder if he couldn’t have caught me more quickly had he wanted to.
“And you?” I looked to Lail. “You wouldn’t do such a thing.”
Lail scoffed. “What, let you win and light the pyre? Never. I’d have knocked you flat and well you know it.” He grinned.
“Ale—more ale,” Gwenddolau announced. “Or are we drinking wine?” He peered in the horn and looked at Maelgwn. It looked for a moment as if Maelgwn flushed beneath his covering of soot. He reached to twist the wooden spout of the ale barrel so that Gwenddolau and my brother could refill their horns.
“So tell me: What were you and my little sister speaking of?” My foster brother sat, his blue eyes slightly bleary.
“I asked Maelgwn how he came to join Pendragon,” I said, “but he would not answer.”
Gwenddolau’s eyes met Maelgwn’s. He was supposed to poke fun, to tell me the tale. Instead he only shrugged.
“There’s not much to tell,” Gwenddolau said. “Though I will say—since he won’t say himself—that my brother Maelgwn can take five men to my one. If there’s ever been such a warrior as he, I have not encountered him.”
Maelgwn’s smile revealed a disarming dimple as he lifted his horn, but something behind his eyes was brittle. I knew I had spent too much time in Maelgwn’s company already; I could tell by the way the other revelers shifted their eyes toward us as they stood swilling drink and laughing round the benches. Men and women, loyal to my father, all. Protective of me. And they were watching.
“Well, then”—I nodded—“I should go back to the fire.”
I expected Lailoken, at least, to protest, but he was already enraptured, sitting with his hand balled against his cheek as Gwenddolau began to recount a story. The men nodded as I rose. I wandered back toward the fire, feeling unsettled. Whatever scar bound Maelgwn to Pendragon and the cause of the Britons, it was still etched deep.
I should not have prodded it.
Hours later, when wine jugs lay shattered and barrels of ale began to dwindle, there was bodhran and cruit by the fire. Dane the Song Keeper sang of Cerridwyn, and babies slept on their mothers’ breasts, dreaming of feathered things. Ariane’s brew and unwatered wine had left me heavy with sleep, and as embers flitted into the night, I watched them trail like spirits into the sky.
Wanting was a weary thing, I decided, better suited to Wisdom Keepers and warriors, who could travel at whim, and to kings who answered to few but themselves and could bed any woman they wished in the privacy of their chambers.
It is bitter, Ariane had warned. Bodies moved in shadows round the fire, and I looked up to see Ariane leading Brant away from the tangle of people, off into the woods.
I sighed into the dark and tucked my knees to my chest. Would I never be able to follow my heart?
Maelgwn spoke of freedom being our very foundation but also our greatest weakness. But I saw no weakness in freedom, only strength. To travel from court to court, practicing the trade of healing and loving whomever I wished. And yet that dream wasn’t meant for me. My mother had known it. How had she suffered to think her own daughter would not benefit from the same freedoms she had enjoyed?
No, wanting was wearying, and love made one do foolish things. In marrying a king, my mother had sacrificed the freedom of her daughter.
Still. How was my mother to kn
ow she would bear only one girl? Had I a sister, or even more brothers, my fate might have been different. They could be matched, married to this family and that. But there were only Lailoken and me. He had his role to play, and I would have mine.
At the thought of it a sudden anger flashed through me. Who was this green-eyed warrior to stir my longings?
No.
I settled my head on my arms and stared at the fire. At last I was a woman. Who was to say how many more days of freedom stretched before me? How long would it be before Father decided it was time for me to marry? Already I could feel my time spinning thin. I wanted all of me for myself only, for as long as I could savor it.
I would not while away another moment pining for the love of a stranger.
CHAPTER 19
* * *
The Dragon Warriors had only just arrived, and now they were off. A messenger had come in the early hours of morning with news of a raid on Pendragon’s eastern borders. Angles, no mistaking it. Lord Emrys could have sent a force after them, especially given he’d left the bulk of his men behind. But Gwenddolau and Emrys would answer themselves; they would be the ones to thrust their spears and punish with their blades.
Pendragon’s men were pallid and bleary-eyed as they packed up their saddlebags. Others appeared like raggedy crows in the hard summer light; having slept in the grass where they’d fallen, they’d not yet scrubbed the soot from their faces. I watched them, standing beneath the apple tree in the courtyard. Pendragon and his men were meant to stay; we’d planned a hunt and a horse race in the coming days, when I knew the weariness from the Midsummer celebration would have eased. I had arranged provisions enough to entertain them for at least one more week. And I’d had so little time with Gwenddolau, he still felt like a stranger. I felt so hollow, and who would not?
But as I took in the activity in the courtyard, it was not Gwenddolau my eyes were drawn to; they fell upon Maelgwn as if by habit. As he stroked the sleek neck of his horse in greeting; as he bent efficiently to tighten the girth. He glanced up as if sensing my eyes upon him, but I looked quickly away, smoothing my features with a woman’s composure.
The maids of Cadzow had gathered. They stood moony-eyed in the courtyard, watching the men who’d lured them into the forest with such honey and charm only hours ago now slap saddles on their horses and set their hardened sights on the horizon beyond. Midsummer enchantment had been cast as thick as pine pollen the night before. I thanked the Gods my conversation with Maelgwn had been cut short before I, too, had become ensnared.
The warriors were packed all too soon. I bowed to Pendragon and kissed Gwenddolau on the cheek and then they were off, shifting easily into their saddles and racing toward the outer gate as if the very tide were licking at their heels.
Climbing the ladder to the watchmen’s mount, I looked out over the pastures as they kicked their horses into a gallop, envying the calluses that leathered their hearts. Pendragon’s men were most proficient with good-byes. Of course they were. Above all warriors, it was they who lived most in danger; perhaps it was they who, in loving, had the most to lose.
I shielded my eyes against the sun as they sped through the outer gate, never looking back. Only Maelgwn’s form stiffened as if hearing a voice carried on the wind. Words I had not spoken. If he had turned to look over his shoulder, he would have seen me standing there, my emotion etched plainly on my face, my mask of composure fallen away. But he only shook his head as if to clear it.
Then, leaning into his mount, he disappeared into the distance.
• • •
A few lazy days passed. The fire pits were cleared and covered over, and I was harvesting nettles beside the pasture, when a shadow fell across the grassy bank. I turned to see Cathan watching me. The firm line of his mouth told me all I needed to know.
“You’ve come to tell me you’re returning to Partick.” I lowered my knife to study the plant before me. “I do not wish to go.”
Wrapping a thick stretch of linen round my hand to keep the sting of the nettles at bay, I bent to make a clean cut of the stems with my knife.
Cathan folded his arms, leaning his towering frame against the trunk of a nearby ash.
“Well, we can’t very well leave you here this time.”
“Whyever not?”
“You have reached the age where you require a different sort of chaperone.”
“You mean since I’ve had my moontime.” I flashed him a look as I yanked the linen rag tighter. “I have a perfectly fine chaperone in Ariane, I can assure you.”
“Ha! Ariane?” Cathan touched his ribs as if they ached. “Oh, that is amusing. Come, please. Tell me more tales.”
“Very well,” I sighed. “Then trust that you have known me the whole of my life. I would never do anything unbefitting of my position.”
“What you would or would not do is of no consequence. The fact of the matter is that it is time you joined your father at court. Lailoken has been attending these past two years. I’m certain there are some who think you to be little more than a ghost.” Cathan leaned in. “I have even heard some say that the young Lady Languoreth has become monstrously disfigured.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He shrugged. “You know how some delight in such tales.”
I gritted my teeth, and Cathan pushed off from the tree to come stand next to me. “Languoreth, you are grown. A woman of your age and bearing is to be kept close. Have you no idea what troubles could befall you—or your father, for that matter—should some rival chieftain or son of a lord decide to come and snatch you away for cattle or grain, or to force some unwanted political alliance? The blood that would be spilt? Come now. This is no lighthearted matter.”
I straightened. “This is Cadzow. There is no danger here. Even so, I am never without a weapon when I walk the wood. And if Father so wishes for me to join him in Partick, he should tell me himself.”
“Command you to do something he knows is against your will?” Cathan raised a brow. “Your father would sooner drink watered wine.”
“How can you make light?” I stopped my work and looked at him. “You know what you truly ask of me. You mean to put me before the men of Partick. Find me a suitable match.
“Well, the thought of it sickens me. To be paraded like some prize cow, destined for the highest bidder! And what of my work here? Who will treat the calves of their ringworm? Who else knows where the whortleberry grows, or how to properly strip the willow bark?”
Cathan studied me. “Languoreth, child. You have long known of your duty as daughter to Morken King. Surely you knew this day must come.”
I sheathed my knife at my belt and turned to him, beseeching.
“Leave me, only this once, and I swear I will attend on the next visit. Please, Cathan. I give you my word.”
“Do you think, then, you might be any more ready?” Cathan asked tenderly. “The days of youthful freedom are passed, Languoreth. You have danced in the Midsummer circle.” His eyes told me he, too, had seen me dance with Maelgwn. “You are a woman now. You have hidden yourself from Partick long enough. You cannot creep off to the wood and make believe your obligations will disappear.” He caught my eyes so his meaning would not be lost.
Was that truly what he thought of me? I turned my head, blinking away the sudden swell of tears.
“You needn’t compare me to Vortigern,” I snapped.
Silence fell. A sheep in the pasture moaned and the bank of nettles trembled in the breeze. If I did not go willingly, they would have no choice but to force me. And I refused to be slung over a horse and dragged to Partick kicking and wailing like an infant for all to see.
“I will need some time to prepare my things,” I said tightly.
“Of course,” Cathan nodded. “We leave three days hence.”
His blue eyes were solemn as he bowed, and then he was gone, the grass rustling as he made his way back to the Hall.
My throat felt stuffed with coarse wool. Sinking t
o my knees, I blinked as the nettle bank before me became a watery haze of green. The sobs rose, choking me, and I put my fist to my mouth to stifle them.
This is it, then, I thought, even as my ribs shook with fury. My time has come.
I was no fool. I knew I had beauty. I read it in the faces of the men who surrounded me, even if I could not grasp it myself when gazing at my reflection in bronze. It was a matter of months or days now until I was promised—of that I was certain. Now I felt the tug of the land like never before. It had been these trees that had sheltered me, this river that had bathed my body on a hot summer’s day. It was this wood that knew me, better than any living thing. I may be forced to leave, to live for a time at the hall of another family, but Cadzow would be mine. Someday I would return. Cadzow was my heart. Nothing could take it from me.
I sat there until my harvest of nettle went limp in the sun. I wished I could commit to memory every scent and sensation, each blade of grass.
It wasn’t until evening, when I was alone in my chamber reflecting upon what Cathan had said, that it returned to me. What Cathan had done. It was a monumental act that had marked my entry into adulthood. My entry into service.
Through the cloud of my tears, I almost hadn’t seen it, the sign of respect that acknowledged my sacrifice. Wisdom Keepers bowed to no one.
Yet Cathan the Wisdom Keeper had bowed to me.
CHAPTER 20
* * *
Rain was falling by the time our retinue reached the towering walls of the town, rushing in rivulets off the hood of my traveling cloak. It sent townspeople scurrying for the thatched shelter of their huts while merchants hovered over their goods like dragons, wet cloaks outstretched like leathery wings.
I’d watched the purple clouds billow in from the west, mounding over the ramparts of Partick until the air had grown heavy and tasted of metal, until it prickled with the promise of lightning.
Good.
Send them scuttling away, the gawking flocks of men and women who cluttered the roadside, so eager to catch a glimpse of Lady Languoreth, the reclusive daughter of the king. Send them off to the isolation of their houses where their greedy eyes could not pry beneath the hood of my cloak. I lifted my face to the sky and willed the storm to rage on, as though I could thrust my anger into the churning summer clouds and watch with satisfaction as the storm punished the landscape.