The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One

by Jules Watson

Nerida let out a breath she did not know she held. ‘And yet the pain stands in her way; I can sense it.’

  Setana smiled, as if they did not speak of such weighty matters. ‘Foolish woman! Do you not trust the Mother yourself? The pain is the strength, if she surrenders.’

  Nerida sighed, and glanced down at her age-gnarled hands, remembering the bitterness in Rhiann’s eyes after the raid. ‘Her will is strong, Sister. Once before I asked her to understand, and I all but lost her.’

  Setana laughed, the sound echoing on the bare walls, and she brushed Nerida’s face with her hand. ‘You worry too much, old woman.’

  ‘Old! We are nearly of an age, you and I!’

  Setana threw her wrap around her shoulders, as she strode from the room. ‘You still worry too much. Trust!’

  In the hall, Eremon charted another course through the blindness of men.

  ‘Why should we care for the Roman invaders?’ a chieftain rumbled, eyeing a basket of new-baked bread being carried in. ‘We are safe, on our islands.’

  ‘No one in the islands will be safe if Agricola takes Alba and Erin. He has a fleet; he can be on your doorstep within days.’

  ‘Then we will draw into the mountains,’ another king said.

  Eremon leaned back on his bench, holding their dark eyes. ‘In western Britannia, Agricola went up into the mountains, which are nearly as harsh as yours. And he hunted down every last man, woman and child of the Ordovices. In the long dark. Your mountains will not keep you safe. Nor will your seas. Do you wish to know why?’

  ‘Why?’ Brethan asked, frowning, his hands clenched on his knees.

  ‘Because at the council, one man spoke out against myself and Calgacus at every opportunity. Is he sympathetic to Roman rule? Does he want to rule over you himself? For he then tried to kill me and the Ban Cré by sinking our boat. This man is known to you all; he has power in the northern seas.’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘Maelchon of the Orcades.’

  ‘We wish to speak with you, child.’

  Rhiann was startled, so absorbed had she been in the play of an otter against the bronze dusk on the loch, its tracks a ripple across the tide-race.

  Nerida was leaning on an ash staff, Setana grasping her arm; they had climbed the headland to the north of the Stones just to find her. The reflections from the loch caught at the many wrinkles seaming their cheeks.

  ‘You are well, our daughter?’ It was Nerida who spoke.

  Rhiann hesitated, and bowed her head. ‘I thought I would never come back, that I never could, because you would not have me. Now I feel like … a child again.’

  ‘But you are not a child any more.’

  Rhiann’s head jerked up.

  ‘Daughter, daughter, do not look like that!’ Nerida smiled, yet sadness crept at the edge of her mouth. ‘You were not cast out, nor could you ever be. But you have responsibilities now, as a child does not. Though I would give you more time for these feelings of … childishness … the Goddess cannot give us this time. I vowed to follow the Mother, and that is what I must do. As must you.’

  Why can I not sink into the joy, after so much pain? Rhiann thought, with a stab of anger.

  As if she heard her, Nerida looked deeply into Rhiann’s eyes. ‘Listen to me, and trust me, even if you never trust me again. We’ve come to ask you to take up your duty. A child cannot be a vessel for the Goddess. Only a woman can do that.’

  Rhiann’s shock chilled into dread. A vessel for the Goddess.

  ‘We understand your pain, as we understand the joy you felt last night. But life is neither all pain nor all joy, Rhiann. It is both.’

  Rhiann thrust out her chin. ‘You wish me to go back to the pain, then, after all I have been through?’

  ‘Some of this pain you chose yourself,’ Setana broke in, her eyes seeking to be gentle. ‘Do not forget that, child. You chose to leave, and you chose to stay away.’

  ‘But I have chosen differently now!’ Rhiann cried, her fear rising. ‘I want to stay here with you! Let me do that, please!’

  Setana closed a hand over Rhiann’s own. The grip was strong, yet not to hurt. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘The world has need of you. I have felt it. We all serve the Mother in different ways. Your home is not on these shores.’

  The women glanced at each other then, and Rhiann knew that worse was to come.

  Setana released her hand, and Nerida straightened her shoulders. ‘The Goddess has chosen you to perform the Beltaine rite.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Mother has chosen you to do this for the people.’

  Rhiann glanced back and forth between them wildly. ‘No!’

  ‘I promise you – I promise you – Rhiann, that in the joining with the land, with the God and Goddess in the rite, there will be joy again.’ Nerida smiled reassurance, yet the sadness had now reached her eyes.

  Rhiann shielded her heart with her arms, as if warding away the sharp grief. Just as she found some peace, so it was taken away. Even here, she could not find refuge; even here among those who were supposed to love her. Despair rose cold in her throat.

  And that was when she felt the touch of Setana in her mind. No, daughter, it is not like that! She stepped forward and took hold of Rhiann’s elbows, raising her bowed face with one finger. Her grey eyes no longer shone with feyness, but glittered with tears.

  Nerida moved up to stand next to her. ‘The world is changing, child, and the sisterhood must change with it. In the times to come people will need a different kind of priestess; a priestess that does not live in seclusion, as Linnet does, as we do. For the message we heard is this: show women that the Mother lives in them by working side by side, sharing their joys, their pains, their birth pangs. Teach them that they are the Goddess, by living that ourselves.’

  Setana nodded. ‘To do this you need to live, Rhiann. Hurt, fear, love fully. Show the people that the Goddess is not something apart, but the warp to their weft threads, so closely bound up with their souls they cannot be separated.’

  Setana stopped, breathing heavily, and Nerida put a gentle hand on Rhiann’s shoulder. ‘You must start this now by trusting us, and surrendering to love, for this will root you in the land. The Beltaine rite will be a doorway for you. You must leap, with only faith as your wings, but we are here to tell you that you will land in safety.’

  Rhiann trembled, gripped by their words, for they fell into her heart as truth, as rain on to parched soil.

  But still she fought, for she had steeled herself well against these very things for so many years now. She didn’t want to become part of the weave of men and women and children; she didn’t want to risk loss. She could not be a true priestess, and she certainly was not a true wife. How could she be a mother, an aunt, a grandmother?

  She stood now at the lip of a chasm, and knew that Nerida and Setana asked her not to step into life, but into a void. Step, she might then, out of duty – for she knew duty well. But trust again? That she could never do.

  Later, when Nerida and Setana left her, when darkness had devoured the loch and the hills and night crept into her bones, she remained on the headland, unable to return to the fires. The warmth of companionship below beckoned, but there would be no true belonging now, for no one knew what Nerida’s order meant to her.

  A man, a vessel for the God, would join with her, as a vessel for the Goddess. He would come in his guise of Stag, the Great Consort, and in the merging of the two halves of self, male and female, the perfect balance would be struck, and the Source would flower. The energy would bloom, expanding outwards to the people, the creatures, and the earth, charging all with life.

  It was the most wonderful act that she could perform; the greatest of honours. Yet despite her training, a deep part of her cried, Eremon!

  She had hardly thought of him, so taken was she with the sights and sounds of her return. But she thought of him now, watching her join with another man in the circle, his hair falling about his face like dark fire
, his green eyes blazing with hurt. He would not understand, she was sure.

  And how could she herself bear it?

  No one bar Linnet knew what truly happened to her in the raid. No one knew how her powers had failed her so many times since. What if the Goddess did not come to her in the rite? Then she would be conscious … she would feel every thrust, every touch of the man’s fingers.

  And the Sisters would know … they would all know at last that she was a priestess no longer.

  Chapter 75

  ‘Urgh!’ Conaire dunked his head into a barrel of cold water behind their lodge. ‘My skull has broken in two!’

  Eremon wiped down his own face with his hands, squinting into the morning sun that sliced between the village houses.

  The feasting had gone on well into the night. By the time it ended, more than one chieftain had draped his arm drunkenly around Eremon, regaling him with tales of a sword he once owned just like Eremon’s, or recounting long-ago trips to Erin in his youth. The Alban and Erin men boasted at the top of their voices about which peoples made the better ale, who had the strongest fighters, and later – after Caitlin had gone to bed – who possessed the most beautiful women.

  Eremon thought he could recognize quite a few of the Caereni women on first sight, just from the lewd descriptions that had been shouted in his ear. ‘The pain may well be worth it, brother. I think I managed to turn their hearts at last.’

  Conaire flung his hair back, splattering water over Eremon. ‘Well, it took long enough! When they ignored all your dire warnings of marching Romans, I thought we had lost them.’

  ‘So did I.’ Eremon retreated into the shadow of the lodge wall, the sun too much for his aching eyes. ‘And the thing that changed their minds was Maelchon.’

  Conaire grinned. ‘Of course, you don’t actually know that Maelchon is in league with the Romans.’

  Eremon’s answering smile was grim. ‘No, but he tried to kill us, and I don’t care how I stop him. He is a threat to Alba’s peace, I know that, and if these kings join me out of fear of Maelchon, then I accomplish both aims at once. He sails west here often, Nectan said. He’ll find a different reception next time, I hope.’

  They went back inside the lodge, where Caitlin was still rolled up in the furs, deep asleep. Conaire gazed at her for a moment, a smile curving his mouth, before he scooped some barley porridge from the cauldron into a bowl. ‘I still find it curious that they were more angry about the attack on Rhiann than anything else.’

  Eremon sat down on the bench to pull on his boots. ‘It is as Rhiann said: they revere the Goddess here above all gods. And I don’t care how I galvanize them, so long as I do. With some well-placed questions I was able to gauge their numbers, and these people, though scattered, are great. We must make them join us.’

  Conaire took a spoonful of porridge. ‘What did Nectan say to you when you left?’

  Eremon shrugged. ‘That they greatly fear a joining of Maelchon and the Romans, and so are open to my plea – but they do not trust a man of Erin to lead.’

  ‘No wonder Fergus looked fit to burst! So where does that leave us?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’ Eremon sighed. ‘Nectan disappeared then, and later I saw him with Brethan’s druid.’

  He glanced out into the bright sun. Waiting on Nectan’s word was not the only thing on his mind.

  I have heard nothing from Rhiann. Perhaps now that she is here, she will never wish to leave.

  A day later, and Beltaine was here at last. In defiance of Rhiann’s cold fear, a bright sun sailed clear of the early clouds, warming the rocks of the peat hills as she rode across them in the dawn, touching the little lochs with copper, brushing each water reed with gold.

  Now she stood on the beach below Kell’s broch, listening to Eremon’s footsteps crunching over the shingle behind her, and with each step, so the beauty of the day seemed to recede.

  ‘I would recognize you from afar, even without your message,’ he said over her shoulder. ‘But why did you ride straight here, and not come to me at the broch?’

  She turned to him, unclasping her fingers. ‘I … I just needed to see it again. The place where it all happened.’

  She glanced down the narrow strip of sand, and then back up the glen to the village, where gulls wheeled, crying, and comforting smoke – the cooking kind – curled lazily into the clear air. It was all so serene, and yet she could not look at it without seeing another kind of smoke behind her eyes, the raging, black cloud that screamed out danger and death.

  Where the waves hissed over tumbling shells, red boats landed, and Kell’s blood ran in the clear water. And behind her, where the slope steepened, a man’s hand closed on her ankle …

  Eremon moved to her side. ‘I am sorry, Rhiann. I wish I could take the memories away from you.’

  She shivered. ‘I know you do.’

  When he looked away, she glanced at him sidewise. He seemed to be avoiding her eyes, and she detected something that disturbed him; something other than concern for her. ‘Has your reception by the kings not gone well?’

  He poked at a half-buried shell with one foot. ‘I think I may be getting somewhere, at last, though they won’t give me my answer until the day after Beltaine.’

  ‘I am pleased. Nectan believes in you, and though he commands few men, they are hardy fighters, and the best archers on the coast. And he is held in high regard for his insight. Winning him was well done.’

  ‘And you? Are you enjoying your reunion?’

  ‘Yes.’ The stilted words sounded so brittle between them.

  Because … all she wanted to do was cry, Eremon, I’m so sorry. I do not wish to do this! It is not me laying with a man. Not me! But how could she tell him about the rite, which would begin at dusk? He would never understand. He would hate her, because it would hurt him …

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the breeze draw a dark tendril of hair over his cheek. The tiny movement ached in her heart, for she wanted to reach out and tuck it back …

  She bit her lip. She could just cope with doing this, for herself. She knew about these rites, what they meant – and did not mean. But he would not know. What if she told him right now?

  ‘Eremon,’ she said. But he would try to stop her, and the Sisters would be angry, and she would have let everyone down.

  He swung to face her, a question in his eyes.

  ‘I … ah … must be getting back soon,’ she finished, blinking tears away. ‘I have to fast for the Beltaine rite.’

  ‘Are you participating in this rite, then?’ The ridges of his cheekbones flushed.

  ‘Yes, with the other Sisters.’

  ‘Rhiann.’ He took her hand, but kept his eyes on their entwined fingers. ‘You know what you mean to me, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, Eremon, don’t, please!’ Guilt washed over her, and she pulled her hand free.

  No, he would not understand; he would think the rite barbaric – he might even walk away and not come back.

  Eremon’s arms dropped, and a mask fell over his eyes. ‘I will see you tonight then, Rhiann.’

  His feet crunched away, and she rubbed her stinging eyes. Here, on this beach, all the tears began. Perhaps here they would end, too. For if she lost what she had with Eremon, fragile though it was, she would never cry again.

  There would be nothing left within her to weep.

  Chapter 76

  The hand slid up Samana’s arm, and she shrugged it away and turned back to the camp bed. ‘You’re a fool!’

  ‘How dare you talk to me like that!’

  She whirled on her heel, and fixed the man with a glare. Among the shadows of the Roman tent, the lamp picked out his golden hair and the sheen on his eyes. But they held no charms for her now … if they ever did. ‘I dare because I gave you many luxuries in exchange for information. And look what you do!’

  Drust strode to the bed. ‘I had no choice! How could I know the Epidii Queen and that Erin cur would have a Roman traito
r with them? I had to run.’

  At the mention of both Eremon and Rhiann, Samana’s rage nearly choked her. ‘I see more than you think, prince; that your loins and your pride rule your head. If you’d kept your trousers on and your sword skills honed you may have been able to help us. As it is, you’re useless to me!’

  His fingers closed on her wrist, and his eyes burned. ‘You whore.’

  He was angry!

  ‘You still don’t understand, do you?’ she spat. ‘You’re in my control! I am Agricola’s whore, and you happen to be in his camp!’ She took a deep breath, calming herself. ‘But not for long.’

  Drust released her, and now fear leaped into his fine face. ‘What do you mean?’

  She rubbed her wrist. ‘What use are you to us now? You’re an exile, so no good as a hostage. And you can give us no information. When you ran from the Erin prince, you sealed your own fate.’

  ‘Is Agricola … going to send me away?’ Drust clenched his fists.

  She sat on the bed and took up her wine cup. ‘Why would he do that, prince?’ She smiled up at him.

  The fear turned to terror, and Drust sank to his knees before her. ‘Lady!’ He pressed her hand to his lips. ‘I’ve pleased you before and I’ll do it again. Keep me by you, and I’ll do anything you say!’ His desperate eyes did not raise even a hint of warmth in her.

  She turned her face away. ‘I can do nothing for you.’

  Agricola glanced up at the sky, pleased to see that it would be a fine day. The line of forts and watchtowers along the Gask ridge were coming along well, but a bout of good weather would hasten their completion.

  His horse shifted impatiently beneath him, and he patted its neck. He, too, was getting hot under his heavy parade armour. ‘I thought I gave the order to bring him out!’ he barked to the tribune standing at his ankle.

  ‘So you did, sir. I’ll just …’

  But then there was a stirring of the soldiers around the open gate, and the massed standards of the cohorts waved and dipped against the ramparts. A murmuring began that soon gathered force, spreading among the men as they parted to let the man through. From Agricola’s vantage point, he could see what the soldiers nearest to him were craning to glimpse, and he smiled.