The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One

by Jules Watson

  Linnet’s eyebrows rose. ‘Don’t you know? Dercca’s sister told her that he is going with you.’

  When Rhiann reported this to Eremon, he only shrugged. ‘Yes, I know. He said that he needs to speak with the northern druids on our behalf. And it would look better for us; the war leader is supposed to have the full support of the chief druid. So long as he keeps out of my way, I don’t care. He can’t do us any harm.’

  Privately, Rhiann thought that Gelert was anything but harmless. She had noticed, of late, that he was acting strangely. But he had stopped looking at her belly, and instead would hunch over into himself when he saw her. Perhaps, at last, he had turned his mind to other things.

  Seventeen days after leaving, with the tension of waiting running high, Aedan returned, travel-worn, but with a new firmness in his face. ‘He received me,’ he announced to Eremon in the King’s Hall.

  ‘Well, and then what?’ Eremon demanded.

  ‘I gave him your message in your exact words … and a few of my own, of course.’ Aedan blushed, then drew himself up with great self-importance, throwing his mud-flecked cloak over his shoulder. ‘And this is his answer: Calgacus, son of Lierna, the Sword, King of the Caledonii, the Bronze Eagle, sends his greetings to Eremon, son of Ferdiad, prince of Dalriada, war leader of the Epidii, consort of the Ban Cré.’

  Eremon raised one eyebrow.

  ‘Greetings, sword-brother,’ Aedan went on. ‘I would be honoured to entertain the slayer of Romans and destroyer of forts at the Dun of the Waves. We have matters of mutual interest to discuss. Come in one moon, and celebrate the longest day with us.’ Aedan’s stance relaxed. ‘That is all, lord. He fed and watered us well, and gave us fresh horses, and bid me seek you out with all speed.’

  Eremon was smiling now. ‘So!’ he cried to his men. ‘We leave in two weeks!’

  The hushed murmur of the river carried clearly through the night air. Inside the storehouse, the smell of new-turned wood mingled with the sharp scent of dyed wool. A shaft of moonlight caught the gleam of gold and bronze.

  But Gelert had not come here to gloat over the Epidii riches. In the dark, his lip curled. Such worldly wealth meant little to him; it was nothing compared to the power of the spirit – or the power over men’s hearts, which made them do what you wished; made them turn to you in all things. That was what he wanted, and the brute strength of a warrior, the gilded words of a prince, were not going to stand in the way. He, Gelert, would command this world just as he commanded the Otherworld. And if one vessel had proved faulty, it was time to seek another.

  Now he heard the jingle of a horse bridle, and glided, wraith-like, to the doorway. Under the old oak by the river, a dark shape moved. There was the soft thud of feet landing on moss, and then the shape slipped into the shadows of the storehouse walls.

  ‘You came then,’ Gelert murmured.

  The man jerked, for the druid had been still. ‘I have no wish to labour under the son of Erin’s yoke.’ He pitched his voice low, but he could not hide the bitter tone. Gelert smiled to himself.

  ‘Lord Druid, as you ordered, my men are hidden in the hazel wood outside Crìanan. What do you want from me?’

  ‘I need a man of courage, to act as my messenger, my herald.’ Gelert paused. ‘To go to Erin.’

  The hiss of breath was like a sword unsheathed. ‘Erin?’

  ‘The prince is not all he seems; I need to know his true position. The knowledge will give us power. Power over him.’

  The shadow leaned forward eagerly. ‘And you need me to gain this power?’

  Gelert smirked. They were so easy to manipulate, these swordsmen! But then, next time, he wanted a king who truly was a brute with a sword. He would not make the same mistake again.

  ‘It is a delicate – and possibly dangerous – mission. I need a man with the stoutest of hearts, and the most silver of tongues. A man who has no love for the prince of Erin.’

  ‘Then you have found your man. I can stay here no longer and watch our people turn to the foreigner – my bile curdles day by day. Charge me with this, and I will not disappoint you!’

  Gelert drew out the moment, then said, ‘So be it.’

  The man’s shoulders relaxed. ‘What are your orders?’

  ‘There is a boat waiting below the Dun of the Spears. The boatman knows the sea-lanes. Land in the northernmost part of Erin, and seek out news of the prince’s kin. But do not put yourselves in danger. If all is as he says, then present this to his father’s druid.’ He handed the man a short stave of ash, on which he had carved the sacred druid symbols. The man took it and tucked it carefully into his belt.

  ‘And if it is not?’

  ‘Then keep your heads down, and use the gifts I have left in the boat to buy as much news as you can. When you return, make all speed to join us at the dun of Calgacus the Sword. Tell no one you are leaving, and speak to no one when you return. Unless you die …’ he lingered over the word, ‘I want the message from your own lips – or I will call down the curses of all the gods on your family. Do you understand?’

  The man’s breathing came fast and harsh. ‘Yes.’ He bowed his head, returned to his horse and levered himself into the saddle. ‘I will bring you what you seek.’

  Gelert folded his hands in his robe, satisfied. Now he knew he had judged this man well.

  As the rider left the shadow of the great oak and started down the Trade Path, the moon swam out from behind a cloud, bleaching his hair to a cascade of silver.

  Rhiann decided she could not risk taking Didius on the journey, for fear of what the Caledonii would do with a Roman in their midst. The only time she had seen him smile was when he was learning something new, so she brought him to Bran’s house.

  The smith, a towering man with brawny shoulders, looked down at the Roman. ‘You wish me to guard him for you?’

  Rhiann smiled and shook her head. ‘I wish you to take him as your guest. He works with his hands and his mind – you may use them both.’

  Under his brows, singed by the forge to stubble, Bran’s blue eyes were speculative. ‘A Roman as an apprentice?’ His large, blistered hand, with ash-rimed nails, landed on Didius’s shoulder and ground the bones together. ‘He doesn’t have much muscle. How useful will he be?’

  Didius flinched, but held his gaze bravely. ‘I can show you how to make water flow uphill.’ His accent covered the musical language of Alba in a heavy coating of harsher sounds, but he was understandable. Eithne had done well. ‘I can show you how to drain waste from your house.’

  Bran’s eyebrows rose, then he smiled. ‘Perhaps you will be useful, then, Roman. But I am charged by the Ban Cré for your safety. Do not shame me by trying to escape.’

  ‘I will not,’ Didius replied, but he was looking at Rhiann.

  ‘Do you need me to go over anything again?’ Eremon stood by Dòrn beneath Dunadd’s gate tower.

  Finan shook his head. ‘No, my prince. It is all perfectly clear.’

  ‘And the scouts are all along the mountains to south and east?’

  ‘Yes, they’re in place.’

  Eremon scanned the party around him with a practised eye. Rhiann was checking her pack once more with Eithne, as Aedan deferentially held her bridle, his harp cradled in one arm. The bard had regained his strength after his recent journey, and although he’d balked at returning the same way so soon, he declared that he had no intention of missing the meeting between two great men.

  Caitlin and Rori, both mounted up, were scrutinizing one of Caitlin’s new arrows. Fergus and Angus chuckled together as they took leave of three maidens who wept and held on to their bridles.

  There was a detachment of Epidii warriors, and an equal one of Eremon’s own men – ten of each. Just behind him, Conaire sat easily in his saddle, and from his spear swung their new standards: a bristled boar crest on its strip of leather, and the plaited tail-hair of a mare.

  In the shadows beneath the tower, Gelert and two other druids sat atop grey horses. Drui
ds almost always walked on such journeys, but Eremon had asked Gelert to ride so they could reach Calgacus quickly. Surprisingly, Gelert agreed, his yellow eyes glinting with some emotion that Eremon had neither the time nor inclination to decipher. The druid would be under Eremon’s own gaze from now on, anyway. He would have no chance to make mischief.

  But just as Eremon swung himself into the saddle, some instinct made him check. He looked out at the crowd who had gathered for their farewell, shading his eyes. ‘And watch that young buck Lorn,’ he murmured down at Finan. ‘Where is he, anyway? I saw him at Dunadd only two days ago … I thought he’d be here cheering, happy to see the back of me!’

  Finan also scanned the crowd. ‘I haven’t seen him. Perhaps he’s gone to lick his wounds at home.’

  ‘Well, watch him all the same. He is a problem I have not yet laid to rest.’ He touched Finan’s shoulder. ‘Farewell, old friend. Look for us in one moon.’

  Finan stood back as Eremon nodded at Conaire, and the standard swung through the clear air, the polished spear-tip flashing.

  The crowd let out a great cheer, as the horses moved through the gate into the sunshine beyond.

  Chapter 45

  SUNSEASON, AD 80

  After the steep-sided lochs and wild crags of the Great Glen, the Caledonii lands flowed over the eastern plain like the soft folds of a cloak: fertile, heavy with furrows, the barley high and ripening to gold. The homesteads were so numerous that the smoke from their fires hazed the air with blue mist.

  Calgacus had inherited his kingship through his mother, a Ban Cré. She died before Rhiann was born, but her name was known and greatly respected, still, by the sisterhood. A powerful priestess had given birth to a powerful king. It was as it should be.

  Unfortunately, their arrival was heralded by a sudden rainstorm that swept down from the western heights in drifting sheets. They pulled up their hoods and hunched over their horses, and were so absorbed in shielding their faces from the rain that they nearly ran into a great stone, which reared up out of the drizzle beside the track.

  Rhiann and Eremon, at the front, halted their horses. Scored into the granite was a carving, the height of a man. It was an enormous eagle: its noble head to the west, its eye bold, its beak sharp. But that was not all. The lines of the carving had been filled with molten bronze, and the curves of the great bird’s wings and talons shone through the grey rain, glowing with power.

  Conaire, coming up behind, let out a soft whistle.

  ‘Calgacus’s totem is the eagle, is it not?’ Eremon asked.

  Rhiann nodded, staring at the carving.

  ‘Then this king must have some fine artists. I have never seen such quality.’

  Rhiann’s mouth had gone dry, and she swallowed with difficulty. Something rapped, faintly, far at the back of her memory. This carving bore a recognizable stamp.

  ‘Calgacus the Sword is rich, and powerful.’ They were the first words Gelert had spoken for the entire journey, stooped over his grey pony, face shadowed in his hood. ‘He is no man to treat lightly. You may find you’ve met your match at last, prince.’

  Eremon glanced back at Gelert with distaste. ‘This I hope, druid. Perhaps then he will understand the necessity of an alliance.’

  ‘Perhaps. But even your gilded tongue may not be enough to persuade this king.’

  With a sharp movement, Eremon nudged his horse on, and Rhiann followed, shielding her view of the stone with her hood, her mind already slipping past Gelert’s words.

  The carving was familiar; there was no doubt. Her hands trembled on the reins.

  Soon they reached a sweeping bay, and here Calgacus’s stronghold reared up out of the rain, crouched on a headland between a swift river and the sea. From the heights on which it stood, it bellowed out his power and influence over the plain and the port at its feet, clustered with boats.

  As Dunadd was impressive to anyone from a small homestead, so the Dun of the Waves was as impressive again. A massive ditch had been delved, shouldered by sweeping banked walls three times the height of a mounted man. The bank was then crowned by a timber palisade and walkway, and lookout towers reared from the breastwork every thirty paces. The oaken gate, the width of four chariots, was flanked by two sturdy gatetowers. Over it all, banners flew, embroidered with the eagle totem, and the posts they hung from were capped with gold so they shone bright in the sun.

  Inside was the familiar jumble of squat roundhouses and ramshackle sheds, but everything seemed larger and noisier and more frenzied than at Dunadd. The air of prosperity was tangible. Wooden walkways kept feet free of the mud. House walls were bright with colour, and hung with banners and trophy skulls. The thatch roofs were new and golden.

  Once they dismounted and were ushered up the main pathway, Rhiann could see that many of the house posts were carved in the same beautiful designs as the stone they had seen. Unconsciously, her hand went to her belly. She could almost feel the tattoos on her skin burning through the thin cloth. The same hands that drew the designs on her skin carved the stone, and the doorposts. Drust’s stamp was everywhere she looked. But where was he?

  Despite being weary from the ride, after they were shown to the guest lodges, Eremon took his men to look at the defences of the dun in the fading light. When he and Caitlin returned to Rhiann at their lodge to get ready for the welcoming feast, the room was soft with the light of rush lamps and torches.

  As Eithne took their cloaks to dry by the fire, and began to cluck at Caitlin about the state of her hair, Eremon reached the screen that hid the main sleeping alcove from the rest of the room. There, he stopped.

  Rhiann was sitting on the fur-covered bed holding her mirror before her. In place of wet clothes and bedraggled braids, she wore a gown of green wool edged with yellow flowers, and her hair was piled high in intricate whorls, and gilded with jewelled pins. The gold drew the firelight to her royal torc, clasping her slender neck, and the great brooch of the Epidii glittered on her priestess cloak.

  He had never seen her shining so brightly, and to his immense surprise, his body responded. For a moment, he found himself wishing that things were different between them, that he could walk up to her now and take her hand, and see her eyes alight on him with desire. And later, to bury his hands in that glorious hair and tumble it down around his face in the dark, as she called his name …

  ‘We must look our best.’ Her voice broke in upon his thoughts, as she gestured down at herself, laying the mirror on the bed. ‘They must respect me as a Ban Cré, and then they will respect you.’

  A flash of anger instantly extinguished Eremon’s desire. I can gain my own respect!

  ‘I laid out your clothes.’ Rhiann waved at the other side of the bed. ‘I picked your blue tunic.’

  As he changed, he watched out of the corner of his eye as she applied a stain to her lips from a small vial. Her hands were shaking.

  And this was all to impress a gathering of old men?

  There was a rap on the doorpost, and Conaire and the other men piled in. When Caitlin rose from Eithne’s braiding, Rhiann drew a leaf-green cloak over the girl’s borrowed dress and declared that she would make the Epidii proud. At that, Caitlin pulled a face and stuck out her tongue at Conaire, who laughed.

  But Eremon saw the way his foster-brother’s eyes followed Caitlin’s shiny, plaited head as they left the house, and he sighed. At least Conaire had some chance of seeing his look returned.

  The massive carved timber doors of Calgacus’s house swung open to reveal an immense room, clustered with benches, its roof soaring to the apex, far above.

  ‘This king has some fine craftsmen,’ Eremon observed again to Rhiann, as they waited in line to be greeted with the other nobles. He was admiring the carvings on the inner posts that held up the upper gallery. Rhiann followed his eyes, and then looked away quickly, a flush staining her cheeks.

  What was the matter with her?

  Eremon’s attention was claimed by a tall man before the cen
tral fire, crowned only with a mane of hair the exact shade of the great eagle’s plumage. His face, too, bore the noble stamp of that bird, with a strong, hooked nose, and far-seeing golden eyes beneath straight, fair brows. Eremon noted with approval that the King’s body was well muscled and upright. Though there were furrows beside his eyes, and grey at his temples, he had obviously kept to his warrior life, and not given in to the softness of age.

  ‘The Lady Rhiann, Ban Cré of the Epidii, and Eremon mac Ferdiad of Dalriada of Erin,’ a steward announced to the room, and ushered them forward to his lord.

  Eremon glanced at Rhiann. She was smiling politely at Calgacus, but her eyes were darting around the room, as if she were looking for someone.

  Calgacus gave her the kiss of greeting on both cheeks. ‘I remember your mother,’ he said. ‘She was a great beauty. And you are her image, my lady.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Rhiann replied, bowing her head. ‘So I have been told. It is an honour to meet you, my lord. I understand your mother was also a woman of great ability. The Sisters still speak of her.’

  Calgacus smiled and turned to Eremon, looking at him with a speculation that was not unkind. ‘You interest me very much, man of Erin: why you are here, and why you wish to fight with us. I look forward to speaking with you about these things.’

  ‘As do I, my lord,’ Eremon answered. ‘We have much to say to one another.’ He returned that long, appraising look, green eyes holding gold. And he suddenly realized that no matter how things went, he would value this man as an enemy or friend alike. He knew, in the instant leap of energy between them, that their fates were somehow bound together.

  Then Calgacus smiled, seeming to come to the same conclusion. ‘Relax tonight, but tomorrow I will send for you. I am still waiting for my nobles to come in from their duns, so we cannot meet in council for a few more days. But I would like to hear your news myself first.’

  Eremon bowed his head, before they were led to one of the benches around the walls and seated.