The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One

by Jules Watson

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Caitlin glanced over her shoulder, though no one was in sight. ‘But my family does not know my real reason for coming. The news reached us at last that the gael war leader is creating an army to fight Romans. I have come to lay my bow at his feet.’ She said this in such a solemn manner that Rhiann swallowed her smile. Though she was not dressed as one of warrior blood, the girl handled her chosen weapon with confidence. What she said about her skill may well be true.

  ‘I happen to know that the war leader needs as many good fighters as he can get,’ Rhiann assured her. ‘If you are as good as you boast, he will find a place for you.’ She slung her bag over her shoulder, and smiled. ‘Well, Caitlin of Fethach’s steading, I hope your trading here is fruitful. Perhaps I will see you again, under less dangerous circumstances. I am Rhiann …’ She hesitated for a moment about giving her other titles. After enjoying some small friendship with Conaire, she was beginning to see how such things kept her alone. ‘I am Dunadd’s healer,’ was all she added.

  Caitlin’s eyes widened, and she looked down. ‘I am in the archery contest tomorrow, lady. If anyone wishes to see me shoot, tell them to come. And to bet on me.’ The grin flashed up again from under the downcast eyes.

  Rhiann laughed. ‘I have no doubt that you will make a name for yourself here. Perhaps I will even see you win.’

  Chapter 35

  ‘Agricola! What is this?’ Belen and most of the other council members jumped to their feet, shouting angrily.

  From the shadows of the King’s Hall, Eremon glimpsed Gelert’s pale head jerk to attention, and felt the prick of his eyes on his skin.

  ‘It is as I say, my lords,’ Eremon replied. ‘I met with Agricola himself.’

  ‘Is this treachery?’ Tharan stamped his staff, half-rising from his bench, his bear cloak quivering.

  ‘No,’ Eremon said, but could not help the slight hesitation. He swiftly explained what had happened.

  ‘You were a guest of this Roman leader for two days?’ Tharan thundered then. ‘And we are meant to trust you?’

  ‘I was a prisoner,’ Eremon corrected.

  ‘By the Mare!’ Spluttering on ale, Talorc heaved himself to his feet, turning on them fiercely. ‘How sorely we treat our prince! He escaped from a Roman camp of five thousand men! What a deed! And you doubt his words?’

  This set up a muttering and shuffling of feet.

  ‘True,’ Belen put in. ‘And he did return.’

  ‘Aye! To betray us!’ someone called from behind the crowded benches.

  ‘Lords!’ Eremon tapped his sword on his feet. ‘I understand your doubts. But hear me now. Agricola did ask me to betray you.’

  At this there was such an explosion of curses that Eremon had to hold up his hand. ‘But!’ he cried. ‘I did not agree! He offered to make me a client king in Erin. My escape was my refusal – and I killed three of his men to emphasize the point!’ He thrust his sword into the earth floor impatiently. ‘I have proven myself to you. I threw his offer back in his face, when it would have meant gaining more power than I have ever dreamed of ! But I will give you more!’

  The hall fell silent, and Eremon continued more quietly. ‘A message has come from the Damnonii. Agricola is building a line of forts across their territory, and this line has nearly reached the sea! So what I will do is this: take the levies and join with our Damnonii brothers to attack the newest fort, the western fort … and destroy it, utterly! Will you take that as my proof?’

  There was one startled pause, before the hall erupted in another roar, this time of approval.

  ‘I will take that as proof !’ Talorc cried.

  ‘Aye!’ said another man. ‘Bring us back Roman heads on your spears, and we’ll all believe you!’

  ‘We should not be sending our men into danger!’ Tharan protested, as two of the older warriors backed him up. But the younger men, those of hotter blood, soon shouted the dissenters down, and in the end they were drowned out.

  When, at long last, the hall emptied, ale cups littering the floor, Eremon slumped down on a bench, exhausted. For a moment, he put his aching head in his hands. Gods, but would there be no rest for him? No … he could afford none.

  The idea for this attack had taken shape on the way home from Samana’s dun; the Damnonii message only gave him the target. He had guessed how news of his meeting with Agricola would be received by the Epidii. And although a new expedition was the last thing that he felt like mounting, it was important. Important for so many reasons.

  The lower step of the gallery ladder creaked, and he jumped. ‘There is no end to the surprises in you, prince.’ Eremon looked up into Gelert’s yellow eyes. ‘You have not turned out at all as I expected. I offered my services as adviser, but you reject them.’

  Eremon was too weary to spar. ‘I never agreed to being your servant, druid, only that of your people.’

  The old man sported his usual bloodless smile, but the edges were tight, his lips a thin line. ‘And that involves meeting with our enemy?’

  ‘You heard what happened, along with everyone else. I did what I judged to be correct at the time, and did not need to consult you! I have my own mind.’

  The druid glided to the door, then paused with one gnarled hand on the post, his bowed back to Eremon. ‘So I see, prince. So I see.’

  The news of the planned expedition reached Rhiann as, of all things, gossip.

  On a day as warm as sunseason, she and Brica were in the camp, at the tent of an old woman who always supplied Rhiann with the finest heather honey. As they left her baskets full of sealed clay pots, they stopped to browse at a table spread with bolts of cloth and embroidered braids and tassels. Two of the dun women were there, fingering some lengths of soft, checked wool, and from their unguarded chatter Rhiann learned the welcome news that Aiveen had been married off to a chieftain of the Creones while they were away.

  ‘This stuff is too fine,’ one then said, laying down the cloth. ‘I’ll need the felted wool for a new cloak for my man. He’ll be sleeping out in Goddess knows what weather on this raid of theirs.’

  Rhiann’s ears pricked up at that. ‘Raid?’ she echoed.

  ‘Yes, lady,’ the second woman answered, suddenly noticing Rhiann. ‘The raid in Damnonii lands. On a dun of the new invaders, my man said. The prince has ordered it. Aldera says she’s hardly seen Bran, he’s at his forge day and night, making weapons …’

  Rhiann whirled and thrust her basket at Brica. ‘Take these back to the house.’

  ‘Yes, lady,’ Brica answered, as Rhiann hurried off.

  After much searching, she eventually found Eremon at the back of a large crowd on the edge of the training field. He was perched on the pole of an unharnessed chariot, shading his eyes as he watched the archery contest. Conaire was standing nearby, peering over people’s heads. As Rhiann reached Eremon’s side, there was the thud of an arrow into a target, and a great shout from the crowd.

  ‘You are taking the warband to raid a fort?’ She was breathless from haste, but Eremon merely glanced down at her, his face distracted.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why did you not tell me?’

  Now there was an even greater shout, and Eremon’s attention jerked back to the field. Conaire was grinning. ‘By the Boar, the little one’s done it again!’ He shook his head.

  ‘It does not concern you, that’s why,’ Eremon replied to her. ‘I go to fight this time, not to hide and skulk as a lady’s escort.’

  ‘You are in a charming mood today.’ The words were meant to stay in her head, but somehow had dropped from her lips.

  He looked down again, and this time his eyes glinted with amusement. ‘I apologize.’

  She ignored the sarcasm. ‘Eremon, why put yourselves in danger again so soon? We only just escaped with our lives as it was!’

  He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘Then now is the time to strike, when Agricola least expects it. I know the southern lands now, and I’ve seen ho
w they build. The Damnonii know where Agricola’s latest fort is taking shape. It is time to put this warband to the test. Ah!’ He broke off, as Conaire turned and thumped his arm.

  ‘She’s won!’ Conaire crowed. ‘That’s one arm-ring you owe me, brother. You were fooled by that girl’s size, but she’s strong. A score of hits in a row. Have you ever seen the like?’ He disappeared into the crowd, which was now surging around the victor. Rhiann had already guessed who they were talking about. Caitlin’s skill had been no boast.

  She addressed Eremon again, determined not to be distracted. ‘You are not making this personal, I hope.’ When he blinked at her, she held his gaze boldly. ‘Endangering these men because of guilt. About the choice Agricola gave you.’

  That stung him, she could see. ‘Ever the priestess,’ he answered. ‘But no, there you are wrong. It is not out of guilt. Why should I feel guilty? I came back, after all.’ He held her gaze just as long, clear-eyed. It was she who dropped her eyes.

  ‘Rhiann.’ He was exasperated now. ‘I don’t understand you. You suggested the trip south in the first place. You played your own part in it, and well, I might add. Just what do you think I am training these men for? Not just for defence. For attack. We must make Agricola realize that, even though the Votadini surrendered without a whimper, if he comes this side of the mountains, he will receive a different reception!’

  She prodded the chariot wheel with her toe. How could she tell him that she worried for them all? For Conaire, with his lamentable jests and impudent grin, and little, shy Rori, who could hardly speak a word to her, yet had jumped to protect her.

  ‘Ah,’ Eremon said from above. ‘You’re just worried that you’ll miss something, that’s it, isn’t it? That you’ll be left out. You can’t stand it.’

  Her mouth dropped open. The presumption! It did not deserve an answer. She swallowed her enraged reply, and whirled on her heel to stalk away.

  ‘Rhiann, I’m sorry. Wait.’

  She stopped, but did not turn. ‘What?’

  ‘I need your help with our Roman – he seems to trust you. I want you to ask him about the design of the forts. His information may help us.’

  She paused. ‘I’ll do my best. But you must treat him well.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ came the unsatisfactory answer.

  Eremon watched the stiffness of Rhiann’s retreating back with some amusement. In fact, it was not so much stiff as straight. He had to admit that he admired the way she held herself. She had the finest carriage he had seen on a woman, a product of her training, no doubt. There had been little else to recommend her up until the trip south, but that was a start.

  Of course, then, there was the courage she showed when confronted by that Roman patrol. And she had apologized about Samana, which had shocked him … He shook his head, shifting his stance on the chariot pole. She was also good at her probing, but about the reasons for his planned attack, she was entirely wrong.

  What drove him to this was not guilt. The guilt had been spent when he ran down those raiding auxiliaries, and splattered a man’s brains on his tunic. That had been enough. No, what drove him now was nothing less than fear.

  He glanced up at the clear sky, and felt a light wind, carrying the first real warmth, lift his hair. Soon, very soon, the threat of leaf-bud storms would be over. The sea lanes would open. The Epidii would send a messenger to his people, and find out the truth – if a passing trader did not deliver it first. And, by the Boar, he must have a strong victory to lay at their feet before that happened. He must prove his worth beyond any doubt.

  He sighed again, the weight of it pressing so heavily on his breast. Still, at least this was one stress he could share with Conaire. His eyes sought out his foster-brother’s towering form, making its way back to him.

  ‘I think you should grab that archer for our warband,’ Conaire remarked. ‘That’s real skill there, that is.’

  Eremon smiled. ‘And her being a woman has no doubt escaped you, then?’

  Conaire snorted. ‘Woman! It’s hard to tell under all that dirt. And anyway, you came down here to see if there were any good fighters among the mountain people. She’s the best archer we’ve seen. You’d be mad to let her go, female or not.’

  ‘All right! All right!’ Eremon leaped down from the chariot. ‘Now, walk back with me. We must speak of our attack plan, for, by the Boar, it will have to be one of the best-laid of my life.’

  Chapter 36

  Didius was retrieved from his pallet in the shadows of the King’s Hall and taken outside for his interrogation. Rhiann told Eremon it was because the rushes were being cleared out and replaced with fresh ones, but in fact, she wanted to draw an audience in the hope that this would prevent any violence being done to him.

  A bench was brought out for her to the Horse Gate, and a stool for Didius. Eremon stood on one side of him, his arms crossed, and Conaire stood at his most glowering on the other side, one hand resting on his sword.

  Eremon’s men were gathered close, and many of the nobles and their servants from the upper tiers had joined them. Even Talorc had dragged himself from his morning meal, chewing on a mutton bone.

  Rhiann smiled at Didius. The little Roman was clean now, at any rate, and the black bruises around his eyes from the rough ride home were fading to green. His Epidii tunic came past his knees, and the sleeves were so long he looked as if he had no hands. But he refused to wear trousers, and his ankles were mottled with cold above the skin boots. He glanced up at Eremon apprehensively.

  ‘Do not fear,’ Rhiann said in her halting Latin. ‘We need information. No one will harm you.’

  Didius regarded her warily. ‘Information?’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘We have given you food, and a bed. There will be no harm, I promise.’

  The Roman’s eyes strayed up to Eremon again. The depth of fear in them was almost painful to see. Plainly, Didius had not recovered from his first meeting with the prince.

  ‘He won’t hurt you,’ she hastened to add. ‘I give my word. We need to know about the …’ she sought for the word, ‘the forts.’

  Didius’s eyes jerked wider with alarm. ‘You want me to betray my people?’

  Rhiann considered how to answer this, and then realized she could not. After all, she would refuse if it were her. There was no way to trick him. She shrugged helplessly. ‘I need you to answer this. It will keep you safe.’

  Didius shook his head, his chins quivering, and Eremon’s dark brows drew together. Then Rhiann thought of one tack to use. ‘We need only to destroy the buildings. Tell me how many men there are, and their … positions … and they will be safer.’

  She doubted the real truth of that, after seeing the look on Eremon’s face before attacking those soldiers. But she was caught in this, just as Didius was. If it saved her own people … her friends … then a half-truth was a small price to pay. Wasn’t it?

  But her heart sank when she saw the Roman’s face harden into refusal. Eremon once said that Didius was a coward. Perhaps he had more backbone than they had supposed.

  ‘No,’ Didius said, lifting his chin. ‘Just kill me. You are barbarians. You care for nothing. You—’

  But there he broke off, for Eremon drew his sword with one sweep, grasped the Roman’s hair and wrenched his head back until his stubbled throat was exposed. Rhiann went to cry out, but bit her tongue.

  ‘Rhiann.’ Eremon’s voice was mild. ‘Tell him that if he does not give us the information we need, I will cut his fingers off one by one.’

  ‘You would not!’

  His eyes flickered her way. ‘Tell him.’

  ‘He said he’d rather die.’

  ‘That can easily be arranged. But lingering pain is more persuasive. Tell him.’

  ‘Release him first.’

  Eremon let Didius go and stepped back. With more speed than anyone would have expected, looking at him, the little man wasted no time coughing or rubbing his throat, but immediately threw himself off the
bench. The leg chains tautened, and he fell down at Rhiann’s feet, grasping the hem of her dress and pressing his face into it. ‘Mercy!’ he cried to her, his shoulders shaking. ‘Lady … mercy! Give me protection!’

  Eremon jumped forward at the sudden movement, and his face was now close to Rhiann’s own, his sword a breath away from the Roman’s neck.

  Rhiann glared at Eremon, then took a breath. ‘My lord,’ she said with calm formality, as if she did not have one man snivelling into her robe and another with drawn sword at her knee, ‘I ask a boon of you.’

  The shadows of the gate deepened Eremon’s frown. ‘What boon?’

  ‘As my husband, I must crave it of you. Will you give your word to grant it?’

  Eremon suddenly seemed to remember his audience, which was gaping at the little scene, and he straightened and sheathed his sword. But his gaze held a silent warning to her. A warning she ignored.

  What could he do but agree? Generosity was valued in kings – or princes – above all things. He nodded at her stiffly.

  ‘Then,’ she said, ‘I ask you to give me this Roman for my own household. As a servant.’

  There was a collective gasp. ‘If I have more time, if I show him mercy, I can win his trust,’ she added swiftly. Eremon’s eyes bored into her, burning with the things he so obviously wanted to say, but could not. She thanked the Goddess for the foresight to arrange this in public.

  At last Eremon bowed. ‘As you wish, lady. May he serve you well.’ He looked around, addressing the crowd. ‘We know where the fort is, and we have seen them building. With or without this man’s aid, we will burn it to the ground!’ He glanced down at Didius, his mouth curling. ‘At least tell him that!’ Then he flung his cloak over his shoulder and stalked away. Conaire raised one eyebrow in Rhiann’s direction before following him.

  Rhiann stayed there without moving, straight-backed, until the murmuring crowd dispersed. Didius was still face down at her feet.