The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One

by Jules Watson

  Eremon’s voice came out as a croak. ‘What does the writing say?’

  Calgacus turned to Rhiann, and she also cleared her throat before speaking. ‘It says: Calgacus of the Caledonii, son of Lierna, pledges allegiance and brotherhood to Eremon, son of Ferdiad, of Dalriada.’

  Calgacus smiled. ‘No untruth can ever be written down this way, so no man will ever be able to dispute that you speak in my name.’

  Eremon took the stone from Calgacus, and slowly, reverently, placed the leather loop over his head. When it was settled, the boar stone lay on his breast, below his torc. ‘I thank you, lord. I have no gift in return, but that of my own oath.’ Eremon clasped the King’s arm, wrist to wrist, and looked in to the gold-flecked eyes. ‘Yet I tell you now: it is as eternal as this stone.’

  Calgacus furnished Eremon and Rhiann with a large curragh, for they were to stay close to inland waters, and the hide boats were the most versatile craft, able to navigate river and loch as well as sea if need be.

  Yet it could only hold twenty, so she and Eremon decided to send Eithne and a still-silent Didius back to Dunadd with Declan, Rori, Aedan, and the horses. The Epidii warriors would be their escort.

  Rhiann insisted, however, that they take Dala and her guard, Rawden on the voyage, for even though Maelchon had gone, she wanted to keep a close eye on the fragile young girl.

  Though only the Epidii party knew in advance of their leaving, on the day of departure the pier was swarming with people. Rhiann stood in the bow of the boat, her eyes narrowed against the sharp glint of sun on the sea, watching the crew hoisting barrels of water and food and storing them between the ribs of the hide hull.

  The captain, a wiry, salt-swept man, was bustling up and down the pier with vexation because one of his crew had suddenly been taken ill. But a man loading the stores immediately volunteered in his stead, and after scrutinizing his height, the captain took him on, relieved at the presentation of an easy solution.

  When all were aboard, the oars lifted and dipped, and the boat slid away over the mirrored water, the clear sky above captured in its smooth net. Rhiann cast only one glance back, with great relief, for she wanted to be free of the disturbing emanations from the dun, which had been plucking at her senses for days.

  But then … her gaze was caught and held by burning, yellow eyes, fringed by straggling hair. Gelert, standing alone among the sea-grass, on the slope above the pier. Across the stretch of water between boat and land, she felt a faint last groping of his will. Yet, though the distance widened by the moment, his mouth quirked in that way that she knew so well: calculation, and a hint of … triumph?

  Icy dread pierced Rhiann’s belly, and she turned, seeking Eremon, close behind her. ‘Rhiann,’ he said, biting his lip. ‘In the rush, I forgot to tell you that he was still here, being cared for by the druids. I’m sorry.’

  He must have recognized the surge of fear in her face, for now he took her hand, rubbing her fingers. ‘No, Rhiann, he cannot hurt us here. For we are gone, and he is left behind. Look!’

  ‘His reach knows no bounds,’ she answered, her voice high and strained.

  Eremon smiled reassurance and moved to block her view of the pier, speaking of calm things until he was called away to the captain.

  But though the day remained fine, Rhiann had to wrap her cloak close against the chill that invaded her, until the Dun of the Waves fell far behind and was lost against the shore.

  They made good time under sail, with a blustery south wind skirting them along Alba’s coast. The captain hugged the high cliffs closely, never straying too far from land, and when the water ran out after three days, he put in to the slivers of beach that edged the rocks and hauled barrels up and down the steep cliff face.

  It was when they rounded the first cape and began heading west, that the brisk wind died, slowing their advance. Rhiann mostly sat with Dala and Caitlin in the bow, where the men had erected a small shelter from the sun. For a few days the water was as still and green as Roman glass, and they were forced to travel solely under oar, the sail furled and tied away.

  Yet despite the unseasonal calm, Rhiann’s unease grew, rather than faded.

  Dala, too, became restless, as soon as they reached the strait between the Orcades islands and the mainland. She withdrew into herself, her head sunk into the hood of her cloak, and did not respond to Rhiann’s gentle ministrations. Only when Rawden came did she look up, and then only to hold him and weep.

  The scars were yet so fresh, Rhiann thought with pity, and one day she left the two lovers together and went aft to speak to Eremon. He had taken a place next to Conaire at the oars, and Caitlin was endeavouring to goad them into a race.

  Standing by the mast, Rhiann watched Eremon, noting that, as usual, he knew how to win over the handful of boatmen that Calgacus had provided. His broad back strained, as he encouraged the others to pick up their speed, and Rhiann saw the sidelong looks he received, the dawning respect on salt-rimed faces.

  All except one man – tall and, black-haired with a pock-marked face – the man the captain had taken on as they left. He never smiled or spoke, but hunched his thin frame over the oar, avoiding the other men’s eyes.

  Rhiann turned back to Eremon, putting the dour man out of her mind. Eremon did not seem to share her unease. Indeed, although he was initially downcast at the failure of the alliance, the further they sailed from the Dun of the Waves the lighter he became.

  Has this to do with me? Rhiann doused the idea as soon as it came. She truly had no say over Eremon’s happiness – and even if she did, what had happiness to do with life when it was duty and threat that called to them both?

  Now Eremon caught sight of Rhiann, and joined her by the mast. He had stripped off his tunic to row, and she saw the beginnings of sunburn across his shoulders. ‘I shall have to put an elder salve on that.’ She touched the flushed skin.

  He grinned, his eyes still dancing from the race. ‘And I shall enjoy it,’ he murmured, looking up at her from under his lashes.

  Though he jested, the light in his eye caught at her throat, and she pushed him away playfully. ‘You should have been a sailor after all! You’re like a boy on his first trip around the bay.’

  ‘Oh, no! I only like it when the weather is calm. I still remember our arrival – I thought the Albans must be mad to go out in boats.’

  ‘And now do you think us mad?’

  He cocked his head. ‘Most certainly! But it’s that potion you gave me that really helped. I have not felt sick for a moment.’

  She smiled, but plucked at a splinter on the mast, distracted. What could she say? That she had a feeling? It was not much to go on. And yet, he did say he trusted her intuition. ‘I have been feeling very strange, Eremon. I don’t know what, but something is wrong around us.’

  The laughter in his eyes died. ‘Wrong?’ He looked up at the sky, blue and clear from horizon to horizon, and then at the captain, picking the remains of the morning’s meal from his teeth.

  ‘Captain,’ Eremon called, ‘are the weather portents good?’

  The man shrugged one shoulder, but a frown touched his brow. ‘Such calm conditions do not bode well, as it happens, prince. Such a lack of wind, such unusual heat, usually mean one thing.’ He pointed to the open ocean in the west. ‘A storm may be building, far out at sea. But we will see it grow, with enough time to retreat to shore.’

  ‘There!’ Eremon smiled at Rhiann. ‘You sense a storm, that is all. Though my belly won’t like it, we can go ashore. We will be safe.’

  Rhiann shrugged unhappily. ‘Perhaps you are right. I just wanted you to be wary.’

  He nodded, and put his hand over hers on the mast. ‘Always tell me everything you feel, Rhiann. I will always take you seriously.’

  She forced a smile. ‘I know.’

  Suddenly he glanced away, hot blood rising to his cheeks.

  He was like a boy with her now, she thought, wondering. So different from before. But then she correcte
d herself. He has been different for many moons now. It is I who keep us apart.

  Later she sat by Dala as she slept, gazing out over the smooth, dark waters ahead of them. All looked well: the gentle swells that lifted the bow, the gulls crying and wheeling above. The ridge of the mainland cliffs was broken now, with shattered rocks falling into the sea, and bright green shelves of turf, and every now and then, curls of sand and ragged bays, which offered refuge from the sea.

  Perhaps it was just a storm she sensed. But as she thought back to Gelert’s smile, she didn’t think so.

  At night they slept ashore in tiny scraps of cove, though they saw few people or trails of smoke, for the lands on the far north coast were wild, and few dared to scratch a living from the rain-lashed soil.

  And then finally, on the sixth morning of calm, they pushed out the boat and rowed clear of the enclosing cliffs, and saw a faint smear of ochre in the sky, far on the western horizon. As they came out into the full force of the swell, the smooth wave hollows became broken, chopping against the hull, edged with foam.

  The captain spat over the side, and rubbed his chin. ‘There she is.’ He squinted in all directions. ‘We are fast approaching the great cape, and there are no landing places on its tip,’ he explained to Eremon. The men at the oars cocked their heads, listening. ‘Yet I think we can clear it in time, and reach the bay on the other side.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Eremon peered into the sky. ‘We are in your hands.’

  The captain hesitated, then broke into a gap-toothed grin. ‘I’m sure, if your men and mine row as fast as Arawn’s hounds can fly!’

  Eremon looked up at the cliffs sliding by. With the return of the wind, his senses were sharpened to the threat that Rhiann had felt.

  Well, he had been trained from birth to deal with unexpected dangers. Taking after him, his men were prepared for almost anything, and Calgacus’s rowers could handle a boat. Together, he was confident they would be safe.

  Gods. Pray that I do not bring bad luck to sea trips.

  Chapter 68

  ‘It seems our captain misjudged his weather.’ It was a few hours later, and now Eremon held one of the ropes, his other arm steadying Rhiann. Under the hull, the sea heaved restlessly, and the dark cloud ahead reared up like a wave itself, growing far more rapidly, the captain spluttered, than he expected.

  And then, abruptly, the cloud eclipsed the late sun, thickening the air to murk, yellowing the light. Stray gusts of wind tugged the rigging under Eremon’s hand, as he released Rhiann and turned to the captain. ‘Now what do we do?’

  The man’s face was sheened with nervous sweat, and he wiped his forehead with one arm. ‘The swell has pushed us too close to the cliffs here.’ He pointed at the rocks lurking at the base of the cape; dark teeth glistening with spume. ‘We must turn back immediately, and make for the last cove.’

  They wheeled, and rowed back east again for what seemed an age, time lost in the sulphurous gloom, the wind rising to a soft, ghostly moan. Now hanging over the bow in the deepening dark, Eremon’s face had lost its boyishness. ‘I thought your Goddess looked after you!’ he muttered, as Rhiann joined him, pulling the wind-whipped hair from her eyes.

  ‘Her will is never clear,’ she said.

  ‘Then I will put my faith in earthly power – my hands and those of my men. That is all that will save us.’ He turned away, barking orders to lash down the loose packs and barrels, and Rhiann crept back into the shelter, where Dala was crouching, her eyes wide and unseeing. Next to her, a prone Caitlin caught Rhiann’s eye and smiled weakly. She had a mountain soul, and even Rhiann’s tansy tonic had done little to help her through the past few hours.

  ‘The storm comes for me,’ Dala whispered now. ‘I knew I would escape him, I knew it.’

  ‘We will be safe.’ Rhiann pushed away her own fear and laid a hand on Dala’s head. It was damp with sweat. ‘We are close to the landing place now, child. Do not worry.’

  ‘No, no, I will die.’ Dala spoke in a monotone. ‘It is coming closer now – the end of my pain. I run to meet it, to be free.’

  Rhiann shivered at the energy of the seeing coming from the slight body next to her. The girl had the power! She took Dala’s freezing hands and chafed them between her own. ‘No, child, come back now. Run to life, not death.’

  But Dala only looked through her, her eyes vacant. ‘You will live, sister. You and your love.’

  Rhiann met Caitlin’s eyes, now wide and bright with fear, and just then a shuddering sequence of waves hit the boat, outriders of the storm whipped up in the open ocean days before. Still holding Dala’s cold fingers, Rhiann closed her eyes, as they were all three tossed against the walls of the shelter in a squall of wind, and she fell to her knees.

  Mother, deliver us.

  Further back, the rowers fought to hold their seats in the face of the freak waves, lashed into a growing frenzy by the rapidly rising wind. Eremon pulled at his oar until the sweat broke out on his brow, casting desperate glances over his shoulder for a glimpse of the bay that signalled safety.

  By Hawen’s balls, I am never again setting foot on a boat!

  Yet as he looked back again, the fear of the waves and the wind lurched into sudden anger, as one man struggled to his feet and abandoned his oar. The man, the tall one with pitted skin, stumbled and fell into the hull, as another wave struck the boat, and Eremon threw his own oar aside and started towards him, his fists clenched.

  But the sharp scolding died in his throat when the man looked up from his crouch, for in the bruised light of the storm, his lips were drawn into a terrible rictus of despair. Pain billowed out from him and struck Eremon’s chest, filling the boat as blood fills a wound.

  Then a scream split the air; Eremon now jerked towards the unearthly sound and saw Dala standing by the shelter, her arm reaching out to the pock-marked man while Rhiann held her. And when Eremon’s eyes traced back along the line of Dala’s fingers, the shock struck him.

  For the man was on his feet now with a sword in his hands, and he scrambled up on to the railing of the boat.

  Is he going to kill himself? Eremon thought wildly.

  But the man looked instead into Eremon’s eyes, and tears stood on his cheeks. ‘Forgive me,’ he cried.

  And with that, he launched himself like a diving gull, his sword pointing down beneath him, his whole weight driving it into the toughened hide hull of the curragh.

  Chapter 69

  ‘No!’

  Eremon threw himself in a great leap towards the man, over the benches, arms out. But he was too late. As he fell face down in the hull, seawater spurted through a wide hole, drenching his face.

  Then he was on his feet, fingers seeking for the traitor, but he was lithe as a weasel, and before anyone could stop him, he flung himself over the side into the black waters below.

  Eremon realized only then that the waves had pushed them around the headland at last, but they’d strayed too close to the pitted rocks at its base and were tossed now in a flume of boiling foam, knocking him to his knees.

  There was another agonized shriek. Eremon looked up to see Dala’s lover leaning desperately over the bow, but there was no sign of Maelchon’s Queen. When Rhiann’s scream came again, the guard too was gone, leaping after his love. Eremon’s body tensed to follow, until a restraining hand clamped on to his arm. ‘I won’t let you, brother,’ Conaire warned, pointing at the seething waters below.

  The captain was frantically ordering the men to the oars on the landward side, and in their panic, the rowers wrenched the boat away from the rocks in only a few strokes. In the maelstrom of pale surf and dark water, no heads surfaced. It would be death indeed for any to venture there.

  Despairing, Eremon looked down at the hole made by the sword. The force of the traitor’s leap had opened a long rent, and they had little time, as the freezing water was already ankle deep. Some of the men now abandoned rowing and began bailing with any container that came to hand.

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p; ‘Can we make it to shore?’ Eremon cried to the captain, over the rising wind.

  ‘I think so!’ the man choked out, pointing past the rocks. Through the gloom, Eremon could see a pale blur of sand, and hear the pounding of surf. ‘We can swim, prince, but can you?’

  ‘Most of us can,’ Eremon answered. ‘Yet empty out the barrels, anything that may float. We don’t have long!’

  He splashed through the water to the bow, where Rhiann crouched, her arms wrapped around her body. Eremon knelt and cupped her wet face, as Caitlin hovered over her, holding back tears.

  ‘I tried to hold her, but she fled from me.’ Rhiann’s eyes were wide, torn with grief, and Eremon pressed her face into his shoulder.

  ‘It was not your fault, my love.’ He brushed damp hair back from her cheeks. ‘Can you swim?’ I cannot lose her … I will not lose her …

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I learned on the island … I can do it.’

  ‘Good girl.’ Relief coursed through him.

  Conaire reached them now, and enfolded Caitlin in his arms. They murmured together, and Conaire turned, his face stricken. ‘Caitlin cannot swim, brother.’

  Rhiann gasped and struggled to her feet, as Eremon raked the hull with desperate eyes. ‘Those food barrels are empty now. Tie her to one – you can keep her afloat, I know you can.’

  The fear in Conaire’s face tore at Eremon, but then he saw him grasp at Eremon’s suggestion, and gain control.

  The seawater was now up to their knees, but the men still rowed, trying to edge the boat closer to the beach, past the rearing cliffs that gazed down without mercy. The growing waves aided them, pounding on their seaward side, the wind flinging foam up over the stern.

  Eremon took one of the barrels from Conaire and brought it to Rhiann where she stood, clasping Caitlin’s hands. ‘Hold on to this when you go in,’ he said, tying a length of the rigging around the barrel. ‘Don’t let go, whatever you do.’ He touched her face, as Conaire took hold of Caitlin in his arms.