A Painted Winter

by H. Barnard

  Brei swallowed. “Did the soldiers bring you here?” What is she?

  “I don’t remember,” she mumbled and looked at the ground.

  “You must be tired,” Taran said. “You should sleep.”

  Sorsha nodded without looking at Taran and rose. She was tall for a woman, broad-shouldered but slender, and gave the impression she could run fast if she so chose. Brei studied Taran’s face as his eyes trailed Sorsha’s exit.

  When Brei was certain Sorsha and his twin girls had fallen asleep, he motioned for the adults to join him outside. They trudged in silence up the rise and into the forest.

  “Tell Taran what you told me earlier,” Brei said as they huddled together under the shimmering, silver clouds.

  “She talks in her sleep.” Anwen stroked the brooch that clasped her cloak, over and over. “She…she talks in their tongue.”

  Brei reached for her hand and squeezed it.

  “I think she’s a Roman spy,” Anwen whispered.

  The muscles in Taran’s cheeks strained. “But, Anwen, we saw no evidence of any soldiers. Even the Damnnones and Maetae have not seen the scouts for a long time. If she is a spy, she’s come a long way on her own.”

  Anwen’s hand shook. “She will…she will bring the soldiers back.”

  Brei’s throat constricted as Anwen’s voice cracked. “Anwen, my love, the soldiers are not coming, I promise. Their power is weakening even in the south. You have nothing to fear.” He squeezed her hand tighter.

  “Why is she here, then? And did you see her eyes change? She is a witch, an evil spirit sent from Tirscath,” Morfydd hissed and put her arm around Anwen. “She should be executed.”

  Taran raised his eyebrows. “Which is it? Roman spy or spirit from Tirscath?”

  Brei glared at Taran. “Morfydd, please, I will take this to the king, and he will deal with it. It’s out of our hands now.” He took Anwen into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Return to the girls, darling, I need to speak with Taran alone.”

  Taran waited until Anwen and Morfydd were out of earshot. “If she is a spy, then why did they just leave the twins alone with her?”

  “Don’t start.” Brei scowled.

  Taran shook his head and began to pace. “If she is a spy, she has to be the worst spy I’ve ever seen. She doesn’t want to talk to anyone. Ceridwen said she hasn’t even been to Caercaled. And today I found her lying alone in the forest.”

  “Then who is she and what is she doing here?”

  Taran stopped pacing. “She’s not telling the truth, I’ll give you that, but she’s not a spy.”

  “Why do you even care?”

  Taran’s face relaxed. “Don’t you want to know the truth, Brei? I keep wondering about the stories, and her eyes are… Did you see the way the fire–”

  “Yes, I saw it!” Brei sighed and lowered his voice. “I don’t think there is any good that can come from keeping her alive, Taran. How can it be otherwise when we were attacked not six summers ago? Did you learn nothing from it? The effort to kill her is small, and yet the potential consequences of keeping her alive are catastrophic.”

  Taran grabbed Brei’s shoulder. “Oh yes, I learnt from it! When I watched Father die in my arms, where were you? When they took Mother, where were you? Chasing after the farmer’s daughter!” Taran’s hand fell to his side. “Do you want to know what I learnt, Brei” I learnt that you will never be king. When you told me you’d abandoned Caercaled, I knew you weren’t the one to lead us. I’d believed it up to then. I’d have followed you to certain death if you’d asked me to. But a king would never abandon his people. Your own mother and father. You are so selfish. But I never told anyone what you did. The warriors would have begged for your death, but I protected you. I could have let them and then I would be innocent of your death, and you wouldn’t have stood in my way. But I protected you. So why didn’t you speak up for me when I made my claim to be king? I saved your life twice and you still don’t believe in me. And now you don’t trust in my judgement about Sorsha. Why is that?”

  “You were just a boy. And I was barely a man. What weight did my opinion have against the Druwydds?”

  “They cared what you thought, and you know it! They asked you to make a claim, and you denied them.” He lowered his voice. “I heard it. I heard the Eldar Druwydd ask you… You know, I thought the Eldar Druwydd would ask me next. I ran back to my chamber after you’d denied him and I waited. I heard his footsteps leave your room, and then he paused. I imagined him looking into my chamber. He was going to ask me to make a claim, and though I had always thought it would be you, I was ready.” Taran kicked at the snow. “And then it was as though an icy bucket of water had been thrown on me. The Eldar Druwydd turned and went down the steps to visit Gartnait. Even though I knew he wasn’t coming for me anymore, I waited for hours for him to return. But the steps were silent.”

  “Taran, I don’t know what I could have done.”

  “You could have done anything. Even if it didn’t work, the fact you did nothing, it was like you were betraying me all over again.”

  Brei raised his hands and dragged his fingers across his face. “This is all such an unnecessary distraction.”

  Taran turned his head and spat. “From what?” Brei remained silent and watched Taran’s shoulders drop. The intensity in his eyes vanished. “You mean the Damnnones bribing the Romans to let them through the Great Wall?”

  “Yes,” Brei said.

  “We should speak to the king tomorrow.”

  “Once this is settled, yes. But I will go to Caercaled to speak to the king now about this woman. Do you want to join me?”

  Taran scowled. “And leave your family unprotected with a spy in our midst?”

  “Fine. I’ll go alone.”

  Under cover of darkness, Brei dismounted before the circular stone tower. A red haze shone from the entrance, emanating from the great hall. Servants have left the door open again. As Brei walked into the tower, he paused under the arched stone entrance to scratch Beli, the tower guard dog, behind the ears.

  “Brei, is that you?” A raspy voice called from inside the hall.

  The circular hall took up the entire ground floor of the tower. Recessed into the stone wall was an enormous fire, and in front of it sat a long rectangular table with benches on either side. The king sat alone, hunched over the table close to the fire. He wore a simple tunic, dyed green, and his greying brown hair hung limp over his ears. Before him were two glossy red jugs and more silver goblets than the king needed.

  “Yes, Uncle, it’s me. Why are you sitting here alone?”

  Gartnait’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “You’re good to care, lad. Elfinn will be back in a moment, he’s just speaking to Serenn for me. She’s making me a potion.” His voice was soft but crackled, and the shadow of a smile forever lingered on his thin lips.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  “No, just feeling a bit off. When did you get back from the south?”

  Brei moved to the fireplace and sat on the bench next to the king. “I got back today. I would have come sooner, but…” His eyes lingered on the king’s pale, strained face.

  Garnait reached across the table and patted Brei’s hand. “I’m fine, lad. Go on.”

  “We found no evidence of soldiers.”

  “That is excellent news.” Gartnait gestured to the jugs and goblets. “Will you have some ale? Wine?”

  “Wine, yes, thank you, Uncle. But this woman we found, Anwen, suspects her of being a spy for the Romans.”

  Gartnait used both hands to lift the jug, and they shook as he poured wine into the goblets. “And do you think the woman is a spy, Brei?” His voice wheezed, as though out of breath.

  Brei frowned. “Are you sure you’re well?”

  The king waved his hand. “Serenn will sort me out.”

  “Right. Well, I have no proof, other than Anwen’s word that she speaks in the Roman tongue while sleeping. Maybe she is a spy, or perhaps ther
e is an innocent explanation. But as she has avoided our questions, and given the risk is so great, I think it would be best for us to act now.”

  “Are there others who have a view?”

  “Yes, Uncle.” Brei clenched his jaw. “Taran does not think she has been truthful with us…but he does not believe she is a spy.”

  “Then I think the correct course of action would be for the Gods to decide this woman’s guilt. I will speak with the Bandruwydd tomorrow.”

  “When will you hold the trial? Are you…well enough?”

  “Yes, dear boy, I’m fine.” He smiled. “Serenn and Elfinn are taking good care of me. We’ll hold the trial as early as I can fix it. Tomorrow, before dusk.”

  Brei nodded. “Well, I can’t stay long, we are staying at the farmstead.”

  “When are you returning to Caercaled?”

  “Soon, a few days perhaps. And I will need to speak to you about the Damnnones.”

  Gartnait raised his eyebrows. “The Damnnones?”

  “Yes, they have been raiding south of the Great Wall, apparently with the help of Roman soldiers.”

  Gartnait’s arm paused mid-lift to his mouth, and he lowered his hand without taking a sip. “That’s very interesting, Brei. I would like to hear more, though I expect you are waiting for Taran to be part of such a conversation?”

  Brei tightened his hand around the stem of his silver goblet and wondered if he could break it. “Yes, Uncle.”

  Nine

  Winter, 366 C. E., Caledon

  “Wake up.” A strained whisper in the dark pulled Sorsha from another nightmare of skulls in the spectral chamber. Pinpricks of silvery light filtered through cracks in the thatched roof, but the rooster had yet to grace them with its guttural cries. Taran knelt over her, nudging her arm. “Get up now.”

  Groggily, she dragged on skin boots and wrapped her legs with strips of wool. Taran crept between the weaved room divider and she tiptoed behind him. After pulling Brei’s fur cape over her tunic, she stepped into the pale dawn. The startling freshness, after the stale aroma of tanned skins and human breath, was a relief.

  Taran trudged across the trampled lane separating the line of ten roundhouses and led her to the river that flowed in front of the farmstead. Dark clouds gathered overhead, and a biting wind blew from the northern mountains. Sorsha scanned the patchwork water. Why has he taken me here?

  Taran avoided her gaze and looked at the gaunt forest on the southern bank. “Do you know what lies beyond the forest across the river?”

  “No.”

  “The lowland Kingdoms of Maetae, Damnnonia, and Gwoddodin. Do you know what is south of those lands?”

  She shrugged. “The Great Wall?”

  He turned to her. “Are you a spy?”

  “Why do you all think that? Just because I don’t remember how I got here doesn’t mean I’m a spy.” Her lips shivered as she spoke.

  “Where are you from, then?”

  Gwoddodin was the only tribe she knew about with any certainty because her father had often sailed north to trade with them. Their city, Caeredyn, was a misty harbour, with a great tower on a hill overlooking the sea. Her chest tightened as she remembered her father’s words, how his black eyes sparkled when he told her of his adventures. It was Gwoddodin he had sailed to the last time they said goodbye. “Gwoddodin, near Caeredyn,” she stammered, blinking away the sound of her father’s soft voice. “I can try to return to my family if you will lend me a horse.”

  “No. We can’t let you go, in case you are a spy. It’s just a question of whether we execute you.”

  Sorsha’s eyes widened. “But I haven’t done anything wrong. Isn’t that a bit extreme?”

  His blue eyes glinted in the dawn light. “Is it? If you’d seen what I’ve seen…what we’ve all seen, you wouldn’t take any chances on some stranger who appears from thin air.”

  She dropped her gaze to the silty riverbank, her heart hammering.

  “It doesn’t mean it will happen,” he said, lowering his voice. “It just means you will be subjected to a public trial.”

  She lifted her eyes to meet his. “Can I speak to a Druwydd before I…before a decision is made?”

  Taran frowned. “No, there aren’t any Druwydds visiting in Caercaled right now.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes prickled.

  “But Serenn, the Eldar Bandruwydd, will be involved in deciding your fate. You will meet her soon.”

  Sorsha’s chest rose and fell faster than she wanted it to, and the itching in her eyes threatened to spill. Why was I sent to this place, if they are going to execute me? Is this the Gods’ sick punishment for refusing their gift? “Can I speak to her now?”

  “If it is the will of the Gods that your life is spared, then you may speak with Serenn.” Taran turned back to the river. “Brei says King Gartnait will come down before dusk.”

  The crashing of the river buzzed in her ears.

  “You can remain out here, or in the stables, if you get cold, but I think you should avoid Anwen and Morfydd. I’ll bring you something to eat,” Taran said and walked up the bank towards the farmstead.

  “Thank you,” she murmured to his broad back when it was already a few yards away. She watched as he grew smaller, a grey shadow disappearing into the roundhouses. Perhaps I should make a run for it? She walked towards the stables at the end of the settlement. But where would I go? I must have been sent here for a reason. Even if I don’t know what it is. Two large wooden doors barred her way into the stables. She heaved a rough metal handle and pulled one door open. The building was split into two large pens, one for cattle and one for sheep. At the entrance, smaller pens held horses, which stared at her as though she might carry some delicious treat. She wandered towards a chestnut mare and clicked her tongue. The mare whinnied and Sorsha raised her hand for the horse to sniff.

  “Such a pretty girl, aren’t you,” Sorsha murmured, stroking the mare’s forehead, breathing in the familiar scent of dry grass and earth. Surely, they wouldn’t execute me? She patted the mare’s nose. But what if they do? Will I return to Tirscath? Or will the black abyss be forever this time? She rested her forehead against the horse’s neck and tried to calm her racing heartbeat.

  A tabby cat slunk across the hay-covered floor, avoiding Sorsha, who sat with her back against the cold stable wall. Over and over, she turned in her mind whether things could have been different. If I had been a dutiful student and had willingly accepted the gift of the Gods, would I have been sent here? Would I still be facing a permanent death? She ran her hands through her hair and pressed her forehead against her arms. I pushed so hard to avoid my fate, but now here I am. She screamed into her arms, the muffled anguish strangling out into sobs as she released hot tears down her cheeks.

  The door of the stable creaked open, and leather boots scraped on the dirt floor towards her. She lifted her head and wiped the back of her wrist across her eyes and nose. Taran knelt in front of her and held out a chunk of grainy bread.

  She scrambled upright. “I can’t eat, I feel sick.”

  Taran exhaled, stood up, and wandered along the pens to stroke a white, muscled stallion.

  “Is he yours?”

  Taran smiled up into the horse’s face. “Yes, his name is Ri.”

  “Ri,” she repeated. King, she thought. Sorsha joined Taran next to the white stallion and patted his glistening neck.

  “I don’t want to alarm you, but King Gartnait is coming down now, with Serenn the Eldar Bandruwydd,” Taran said.

  Sorsha concentrated on stroking Ri’s forehead and tried to count the strands in his fringe. She felt Taran watching, but when her eyes flicked to his face, he looked away.

  “I spoke to Serenn and…” The sound of boots crunching in the snow made them both start.

  “Taran!”

  He glanced at Sorsha before responding. “Uncle Gartnait! How are you?” he called back and disappeared through the opened door.

  Sorsha’s palms grew sweat
y as she continued to stroke Ri’s forehead. Ri seemed to sense her anxiety and tossed his elegant head in the air, stamping his front hoof on his bed of straw. Sorsha wondered whether it was still possible to escape. Perhaps if I run to the river and jump into the fast-flowing water, I could see how far it would carry me before I died of the cold. She gazed up into Ri’s face. I survived in the snow without clothes, so perhaps I could survive in the icy river too?

  Taran reappeared and hurried towards her. “My uncle, Gartnait… the king that is, he came early,” he whispered.

  A few men wearing the wolf pelt capes she had come to associate with the warriors stood just outside the stable door, gawking in. She recognised the guards from the forest, Deryn and Brin, but the other men she did not know.

  Taran motioned for her to follow him. Nausea pulsed from her stomach into her head. There is no point even trying to calm my heart. It hammered with such intensity she thought it would burst through her chest.

  The entire farmstead had come to hear the matter of the Roman spy adjudicated. Many more had arrived from Caercaled. They gathered in a semicircle near Morfydd’s roundhouse, standing ankle-deep in brown snow.

  The king and three strange women stood in the middle of the semicircle. The women’s faces were painted in dark blue woad. White paint encircled their eyes, accentuating their features so that they resembled enormous birds. They must be of the female Druwydd order, the Bandruwydds. One woman pulled her shoulders back and surveyed the gathered crowd by looking down her nose. A section of her hair was secured under a leather cap, atop which a deer’s skull and antlers had been affixed. The rest of her hair was stained dark blue and hung in long plaits over her shoulders. She must be Serenn. Serenn’s two companions seemed much younger and wore their hair loose about their shoulders. All three women were cloaked in thick black robes.

  As Sorsha was led through the crowd, she glanced at Brei, but his deep-set eyes stared through her. King Gartnait stepped forwards and raised his hand to silence the whispers. Despite the cold, the king’s cape was draped low around his shoulders, exposing his upper chest. A large, twisted gold necklace hung around his neck.