by Mark Noce
“Any new ships? Have they gained any reinforcements?”
I shake my head. Artagan stops pacing.
“Bowen and Carrick saw two Pict ships while patrolling the shore,” Artagan recalls. “But both were heading out to sea.”
“That’s good!” Ahern interjects. “It means they may even have a few less warriors than before.”
Artagan and I exchange grimaces. It makes little sense for Queen Sab to deplete her forces, even by just two ships. So why would she willingly do so? Perhaps she has grown overconfident in the defenses of Dun Dyfed, thinking that she can hold the fortress with only a skeleton force. But then where are those two ships going? I take several deep breaths. Too many unknowns, too much that we still do not understand.
“First thing’s first,” Artagan begins. “We need to send riders to King Griffith and learn more about the Saxon threat. Perhaps he exaggerates his losses. We need to know whether it’s only a few raiding parties or a full-scale invasion taking place in the East Marches.”
“We should send ravens to King Iago in the North as well,” Ahern adds. “To find out whether the Saxons on his borders have shown any aggression.”
Artagan nods in agreement. I want to speak up, but Gavin grows heavy on my shoulder and I do not wish to wake him. I gingerly hand him to Rowena, who takes him in her arms and returns to our tent. I sigh, knowing what I must do.
“You and Ahern should rally our troops while I keep the Picts content at Dun Dyfed by continuing to meet with Queen Sab every day, as per the terms of our truce.”
Artagan shakes his head.
“Like hell. You would be defenseless if I have to leave to counter the Saxons.”
“The people who have come to Ogham Stone will be defenseless too if you and your men leave, but perhaps I can buy them time by continuing to meet with Sab. You can’t spare any troops against the Picts if the Saxons attack, but you can spare me.”
Artagan turns his back, pacing again. He is such a stubborn man sometimes. He knows I’m right. It’s what a wise monarch would do. Why garrison a few hundred warriors to keep the Picts in check when he can accomplish the same thing with a single emissary? In other words, me.
But Artagan won’t let me risk myself like that. He won’t ask me to do something he wouldn’t do himself. It makes him a brave hedge knight and beloved of his men, but it also makes him a foolhardy king. Even in chess, sometimes a king must risk his queen in order to win the game. Only the game we play now is one of life and death, with half the kingdoms in Wales hanging in the balance.
I have to convince him somehow, before he does something rash. The people of Dyfed will perish if Artagan and our small army leave. But our own kingdom at Aranrhod may fall under siege if we do not return there and gather our strength. I sigh, lowering my head.
“What if I can convince the Picts to fight for us, against the Saxons?”
Both Artagan and Ahern look up at me as though I just hatched a rotten egg.
“Branwen, we were just killing them yesterday,” Artagan says.
“Queen Sab has no love for the Saxons. She might consider coming in on our side if we allow the Picts to make their home at Dun Dyfed.”
Ahern leaps forward, nearly nose to nose with me. I flinch at such unusual aggression from my half brother. He talks through clenched teeth.
“You would sacrifice the castle of our forefathers to those … those … things? You and I were both born there, my Queen. Our father and all his fathers before him ruled from the throne on which that Pictish demoness now sits!”
I glare back at him, refusing to back down to either him or my husband.
“We cannot survive without some sacrifice! What do you suggest? We do not have enough troops to defend both Dyfed and the Free Cantrefs, especially with Saxons in the East and Picts in the West. We’ve made enemies enough amongst the barbarians. It’s time we started making some allies.”
Ahern growls and stalks off into the darkness without another word. Never have I seen him so agitated with me. Artagan shrugs, just the two of us beside the fire.
“That went well,” he remarks.
“What would you have me do?” I reply. “We’ve nothing but bad choices before us. I’m merely selecting the lesser evil.”
“You certain of that?”
“How can you say that? Would you rather have the Saxons as allies?”
Artagan shakes his head.
“Of course not. We both know the Saxons would rather see us all dead or as slaves first. You’ve given me good reasons for your plan, but not the real one. Care to tell me now that it’s just the two of us?”
My eyes narrow, my mouth half askew as I try and summon an angry retort. But my anger quickly fades. Artagan knows me better than I know myself. I lower my head.
“I fear what may happen to our boy if we leave Ogham Stone.”
“You really think some mystical magic in a bunch of rocks will keep him safe?”
“I can’t explain it! All I know is that our son was hunted and nearly killed by an assassin day after day until we arrived here. Since then, not one single attempt has been made on his life. If we leave the safety of Ogham Stone, something evil may befall our son.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know it in my heart.”
Artagan grunts in frustration as he circles the fire pit. I’m being unreasonable, and I know it, but I cannot help myself. There is some piece of the puzzle I’m still missing. For some reason, our presence at Ogham Stone seems to be keeping the assassin at bay. Until I know what that reason is, it makes sense to keep my son in the one place his potential killer will not go.
I rub my shoulder, my joints aching from the day’s ride. Come dawn, I shall have to arise again and make the journey back to Dun Dyfed. To maintain the peace, to protect my people, and to keep my little boy safe. I stifle a yawn. All I want to do now is lay my head on a straw pillow and sleep.
My husband sighs. He gazes into the dancing flames with that faraway look that tells me he has much on his mind. My husband will likely stay up half the night wrestling with the same questions, over and over. He tenderly touches my cheek, brushing back a stray lock of my raven hair.
“All right. You continue meeting with Sab, see if she’ll help us fight the Saxons. I’ll keep my soldiers here at Ogham Stone as long as I can, at least the next few days. It will take that long for Ahern to ride to Caerleon, assess the situation, and report back.”
“Thank you.” I smile back at him. “Having Gavin here, with you watching over him, puts my greatest fears to rest.”
“Just one more thing. Let’s keep this idea of letting the Picts stay at Dun Dyfed between ourselves for now. I’m not saying we won’t agree to it if the Picts come in on our side against the Saxons, but in the meantime I don’t want Bowen or Carrick catching wind of this. I’m trying to rally as many Dyfed men to our standard as I can right now, but they’ll balk if they think we’d negotiate away the old capital of their kingdom.”
I nod my head. He is right, of course, but I tire of keeping secrets. Especially since I cannot blame the people of Dyfed for their attachment to their ancient castle. Dun Dyfed has housed their chieftains and kings since the days of the Old Tribes. Many of my ancestors called that ancient hill fort their home. How many of them would turn over in their graves if they knew I contemplated giving it away to the Picts? But these troubles can wait for another day. I must lay them down for the evening and rest.
The vehemence in Ahern’s voice returns to my mind. I’ve never seen him so wroth before. As though I like the idea of a Pictish chieftess sitting on our dead father’s throne any more than he does. A throne that, by all rights, Ahern could lay claim to as the sole surviving male heir. Born on the wrong side of the blanket or not, that matters little in places where the blood of the Old Tribes runs strong. Perhaps my half brother longs to be more than a seneschal and guardsman. My eyebrows rise.
But that doesn’t mean he would betray m
e. I shake my head, ashamed that I could even entertain the notion. Artagan and I have no designs on Dyfed; we merely wish to push out the Pictish invaders that threaten all of Wales. As for Ahern, he has ever been a loyal soldier to me.
Except for that one great misstep of his years ago, when he betrayed me into the waiting hands of my enemies.
I shut my eyes. That was long ago, and Ahern repented his actions, even confessing to Artagan so that I and my unborn babe might be rescued. Ahern spent many a long day in the dungeons after that before returning to my service with redoubled loyalty and dedication. Still, I cannot blame the man if he wishes to forgo the life of a seneschal to become a king. He might very well seize power due to the simple fact that he can seize it. Since when have men anywhere needed more a reason than that? But this is Ahern we’re talking about. I try to picture my one-eyed kinsman atop Father’s old throne. Somehow, the image doesn’t quite fit.
Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that I am a queen. Sister or no, I ought to use my head and take precautions. Ahern has experience as an envoy and messenger, so it makes the most sense that I should send him to South Wales to treat with King Griffith. Sending him on this mission is the prudent thing to do.
Best not to put off until tomorrow what can be accomplished now. I stride over to Ahern’s tent, folding back the flap without announcing my presence. He gives a start, reaching for his spear until he sees it is me. He lowers his weapon but still keeps a hand on it. He gives me the slightest of bows.
“I’m tired, my Queen, and was preparing for bed.”
“I shan’t keep you, brother. I have an errant for you tomorrow. At dawn you must ride to King Griffith’s court in South Wales and press our cause there.”
He wets his lips as though choosing his words carefully.
“I’m no diplomat, my lady. Surely there is someone else more qualified.”
“But there is no one I can trust. Not like mine own kin.”
His gaze searches mine. I mean every word I say. He is my kin and I do trust him. Ahern grimaces, doubtless knowing that much work lies before each of us now.
“As you wish, Your Grace. I leave at first light.”
I nod in reply, turning to go. His hand on my shoulder stops me in midstride. I keep my back to him.
“You will look after Dyfed while I am away, my Queen?”
I raise an eyebrow, still not looking him in the face. Does he mean that I should look after the people or his future throne? Perhaps both. I clear my throat, glancing back at him out of the corner of my eye.
“I will do my duty, just as I expect of everyone else.”
He nods in reply as though lost for words. I cannot tell whether he disapproves of the mission I have laid out for him or if he is merely fatigued. With a yawn he retires inside his tent.
I tread softly through the grass as it tickles my ankles, making my way across the encampment toward my own tent. Come dawn he will ride out of camp while I doubtless still slumber. I wonder whether he will glance back at the green dragon banner flying over my tent, and whether he will see me as a sister or as a queen.
* * *
More than a week has gone by, and every day I return to the dun. For a land in peril, everything seems eerily quiet. Ahern has not yet returned from Caerleon, even though he should have come back days ago. Nor have we received another rider from King Griffith or a single raven from King Iago. The entire world could be afire for all we know. Or perhaps nothing of consequence has happened at all. Either way, we simply do not know.
A gray dawn emerges in the east as I mount my pony. Artagan paces beside me, wearing a rut in the earth. Waiting like this makes a natural fighter like him restless. He clutches his sword as though afraid it might grow dull if he doesn’t put it to use. Yet I cannot help feeling a measure of relief despite all the uncertainty. Not one danger has approached our ever-growing encampment of refugees, and not a single attempt has been made on my son’s life since coming here. I don’t understand it, but I’ve come to trust the magic of those standing stones atop the tor. As though from atop that ancient summit, the old spirits watch over my boy. As though he were one of their own.
I ride for Dun Dyfed, passing the morning journey quickly. Day after day, I have sat with Sab, discussing fragments of our pasts, each of us somewhat reserved with the other regarding our many secrets. We’ve even spent hours meditating, something Sab insists was important to both of the Old Tribes and the Picts in the olden days.
As I come within sight of Dun Dyfed, a speck on the horizon catches my eye. Another ship with a black sail diminishes in the distance. That’s the third ship that has left Dun Dyfed in the past fortnight. But why and wherefore? Dozens of Pict longships still lie anchored along the shores, but I wonder how many more may have left. Perhaps Sab has sent them home to gather the remnants of her people in the far North, trying to escape the Emptiness that devours their lands.
Bal escorts me to Sab’s main chamber, where she already sits cross-legged in a trance. Each time I enter the fortress, I peer down side corridors and peek at the throngs of Picts congregating along the walls. I never glimpse more than a few dozen of them at once. Ancient tunnels and vaults beneath the castle teem with voices. No telling how many more barbarians lurk in the underbelly of the castle.
Alone again, Sab and I sit in a tower solar overlooking the cliffs. It takes me a moment to remember. The stripped walls and bare floors look so different without the bedstead and stools that once crowded it. This was my childhood bedchamber.
Sab opens her eyes, a large bowl of dark water on the floor between us. Seated on the cold stones, we gaze down at our reflections in the black mirror of seawater. The Pict Queen touches the surface with her finger, sending perfect ripples across the water bowl.
“Both our ancestors would meditate for hours before a trance. Peering into the bowl of water, they would see things if they had the will and ability to see them.”
“What would they see?”
Sab shrugs.
“It’s different for everyone. Some see nothing at all. Others, the future, the past, or things happening now in places far away.”
“What do you see, then?”
“Not much. I have another way I prefer to scry the secrets of the cosmos. I will show you another time perhaps.”
The memory of her cutting open that deer carcass the other day resurfaces unbidden in my mind. A tiny knot forms in my chest. As though sensing my apprehension, Sab smiles behind her soothing voice.
“But first, let us see if the water chooses to speak to either of us today.”
She closes her eyes, still as a gargoyle. I sigh, wishing we could discuss more regarding the Saxons first, but that will have to wait. Each day Sab promises that she will bring her people around to waging war with the Saxons but explains how they are tired of fighting and worn-out. In return, I allude to our interest in allowing them to stay in Dyfed, if they should help us in our standoff with the Saxons. Little progress has been made either way, but at least my daily visits have kept the peace. So long as I come, our truce holds true. Both sides have respected the lull in the fighting despite their mutual distrust.
I close my eyes, sitting cross-legged like Sab. At first, the rush of the sea outside the window fills my ears. I smell washed-up kelp drying out on the beaches. The subtle dampness of the sea air moistens my lips. My breathing stills as I pass out of thought and out of time, allowing myself simply to be. Without concerns or worries, without plots and plans. Just to be.
My eyelids flutter and I find myself leaning over the bowl. The sound of the sea has stopped. Everything turns still, except the dark liquid in the bowl. My cheeks flush hot as the water stirs and mingles with crimson and gold hues, one moment black as obsidian and the next as bright as stained glass.
A woman’s voice slowly grows louder, her cries and grunts setting my teeth on edge. My own silhouette appears in the reflection. I see my face from afar, a face with eyes squeezed tight. The image of m
yself screams, my dark locks soaked with sweat. Several hands hold me up from either side as my swollen belly heaves with every shout. Blood runs down my skirts and onto the floor. I pull away from the water bowl, knocking it over as I tear at my own hair.
Suddenly, the room turns cold again, the gentle whoosh of the surf outside returns. I prop myself up on my elbow beside the spilled water. Pawing my gown, I find no blood, just damp perspiration. Sab has not moved, her eyes fluttering open as she sits across from me.
“You are with child.”
I sit bolt upright. Did she see the same vision in the bowl? That’s impossible. But I saw it. Me, in labor pains, screaming my life out. And the blood everywhere, on the ground, on my hands. I swallow hard, my arms trembling. I saw my death.
Wiping the sweat from my eyes, I try to calm my breathing. Sab flashes a wry smile.
“You have the Gift. You saw something, a glimpse of things to come.”
“You saw my birth pangs? Is that how you knew of the baby?”
She shakes her head.
“It doesn’t take a shamaness to see that you are with child. You’re probably two or three moons along? Even menfolk will be able to tell in another moon or so.”
I turn to the side, not wanting to look her in the eye. Am I so transparent? Can every woman tell my secret? I feel naked before the Pict Queen, as though she can look into my heart. This is not what I expected when we sat down by the scrying bowl. I try to steady my voice.
“Have you seen into the future before?”
“Rarely,” she admits. “The shadows of things to come are usually murky at best.”
“Then that fate can be changed?”
Sab’s eyes narrow.
“Your husband doesn’t know, does he? Is it not his?”
“Of course it’s his!”
She holds up her hands innocently.
“A mother’s blood is all that matters. So it was for my people as well as yours.”
I rise to my feet, brushing the wrinkles out of my tunic. I was the one who wanted to delve into the secrets of the Old Wisdom in the first place, but now I’ve seen too much. No woman should know her own fate, especially if she has no means by which to alter it. But there is always the bitterroot potion, isn’t there? If I put it off much longer, I may find myself too far along and perish anyway. And even if I carry my child to term, will the baby live? I did not see that far into the vision, only my bellowing and the blood. I waver, slightly unsteady on my feet. Sab rises to balance me with her arm.