Blade of Fortriu

by Juliet Marillier

  FAOLAN COULD NOT speak to Ana alone at suppertime, nor afterward. He sat in his place among the serving men of Briar Wood and watched her unobtrusively as she partook of the meal. She was listening to Alpin and his favored men as they recounted the tale of their victory over the Blues. She seemed a small island of tranquility amid the raucous company of the Caitt with their rowdy jests, expansive gestures, and robust enthusiasm for their ale and meat. Faolan wondered if she could ever be at home here. He pictured her as an old woman; she would still be beautiful. She would sit quietly as the household belched and shouted and guffawed around her. She would watch her children and grandchildren in turn become part of this riotous, undisciplined company. Undisciplined: no, that was inaccurate. On the field of battle these warriors were no rabble. Their leader was astute and decisive, the men courageous, controlled, and skillful. They could be a threat to Bridei or a significant asset. He must not lose sight of that.

  Faolan’s attention moved to the broad-shouldered form of the bald serving man, Deord, who had come in with his little tray and was filling it from the side table. A small loaf, a squat jug, roast meat on a platter, something steaming in a bowl. Deord was efficient and methodical; his task did not take him long. For a moment, as he turned to retreat once more to the family quarters, his eyes met Faolan’s and there was recognition in them, acknowledgment of something shared. A moment later he was gone.

  When the meal was over the tables and benches were moved and there was wrestling, and after it dog fighting. Faolan made himself stay in the hall and watch. He pretended to drink his ale. He did his best to shut out the gurgling, snarling screams as the stronger hound slowly tore the other apart. He joined in the applause for the victor’s owner, a pugilistic-looking fellow with a thick neck and a network of scars on his face, overlaying his warrior markings.

  Ana had remained in the hall. She was ashen-white, her features pinched with horror. Most of the other women had left before the dog fighting began, with only one or two staying to join the men in their avid, howling circle around the combatants. Faolan had seen Alpin’s hand close around Ana’s arm as she tried to excuse herself, and it had turned him cold with fury. The lord of Briar Wood was not just a boor, he was cruel.

  The entertainment concluded, folk set about clearing away the mess of bloodied straw. Faolan sat a while with Gerdic and the others, pondering what it was in a man that such harsh sports awakened. He thought of Bridei and the god of the Well of Shades, a god who required an annual sacrifice as demonstration of his people’s obedience: a sacrifice not of a chicken or lamb or goat, but of a young and innocent woman. Bridei did not speak of it much; discussion of this particular deity and his demands was forbidden under the laws of Priteni ritual observance. But Faolan had seen Bridei’s face on the night a girl had died at the hand of the old king and his druid to appease the Nameless One. And Bridei had told him that what men felt when that god awoke in his dark power was not only awe, terror, revulsion, but also excitement, a thrilling sensation that was both pleasure and deepest shame. All men possessed that sense within them, Bridei said, though it was generally hidden deep, and few were prepared to acknowledge its existence. Privately, Faolan doubted very much that Bridei himself had ever gained enjoyment from shedding the blood of the powerless. Bridei was the embodiment of all that was just and good, balancing the authority of a king with kindness and generosity. Indeed, he had called a halt to that most extreme form of the Gateway sacrifice. For him, once had been more than enough.

  As for other men, Faolan already knew the darkness that resided within them, the desire not merely to shed blood but to twist the knife while doing so. His personal lesson in man’s inhumanity had been unforgettable. Tonight, watching as the folk of Briar Wood bayed and roared at the slow death of a hound, he felt a profound desire to be back at White Hill. He wanted quiet. He wanted time to think. In particular, he did not want to be sitting here watching Ana’s distress, and himself not able to do a thing to help her. As for the harp waiting for his expert attention, he tried to put it from his mind, for that, in its way, was the most troublesome thing of all.

  “Bard!” barked Alpin suddenly.

  Faolan walked up to the place where the chieftain sat by Ana’s side and bent his knee in show of deference. “My lord.”

  “Your presence will be required in the morning,” Alpin told him. “The lady wants you to be in attendance when we hold our formal discussions on the subject of marriage. I don’t see the need for it, myself, but we must humor the womenfolk, mustn’t we?” He patted Ana’s hand and winked.

  Faolan kept his expression impassive. “As I will be the bearer of your reply to King Bridei, the lady’s request seems appropriate.”

  Alpin scowled. “We don’t require your opinions, bard. Very well, that’s all. You’ll be summoned when it’s time.” It was plain that any gratitude the chieftain of Briar Wood might have felt for the gift of a strategically thrown knife had evaporated now he was on home soil once again.

  “Yes, my lord.” Faolan retreated; he felt the eyes of Alpin’s men on him as he did so, not hostile exactly, just interested. They were perhaps more interested than was altogether desirable. Never mind that. It was pleasing that the negotiations would be so soon. Get this thing done and he had some slight chance of being back at White Hill before Bridei departed. He had planned to stay and see Ana settled, if not happily, then at least securely. His enthusiasm for that job, never strong, was fading by the moment. What he really wanted was to remove her from Briar Wood straightaway, to head for home and never come back here. That was a wild dream, impossible for so many reasons he could hardly believe some part of his mind still entertained it. If he could not separate his own feelings from the situation, she was surely better off without him.

  THEY MET IN the small council chamber that was part of Alpin’s sleeping quarters. Faolan did not much care for the venue; he could not look at the capacious bed with its luxuriant fur covers without imagining Alpin disporting on it with his new wife, and this made it difficult to maintain the demeanor he had calculated best suited to this meeting: calm, quiet, perhaps a little overawed, for what does a mere musician understand of weighty strategic matters? At least, that was the way Alpin would think. Such an oaf would not make the logical connection between a bardic repertoire and a knowledge of the great flow of affairs. And that, thought Faolan, was just as well. When they finally forced him to sing, he’d offer some rollicking ditty full of hunting, drinking, and nubile women, and with luck it would satisfy them.

  A guard let him in. Alpin, seated at the table, acknowledged his presence with a grunt but did not invite him to sit. Faolan stood relaxed, hands behind his back, gaze on the middle distance. There was a second guard standing behind the chieftain and another man seated at the table.

  They waited. Ale was poured; Alpin did not offer Faolan a cup. After a considerable time there was a tap on the door and Ana came in accompanied by her maid.

  “You won’t need the girl,” Alpin said crisply. “Ludha, that’ll be all—”

  “Stay, Ludha.” Ana’s face was pale, her eyes shadowed from a night either wakeful or haunted by unwelcome dreams. Her firm tone was that of a princess. “A simple matter of propriety, my lord. It’s inappropriate for me to attend a meeting of men without my maidservant. I am accustomed to certain standards of behavior, and I do not intend to let them lapse now that I am in a new home.” She forced a polite smile.

  “Very well, my dear, mustn’t let our standards slip, must we?” Alpin blustered. “You’re late. I forgive you that; I can see you haven’t been wasting the time.” His eyes traveled with admiration from her elaborately plaited hair to her neatly pressed tunic and skirt to her soft kidskin slippers. It was quite plain to Faolan that the fellow was assessing the sweet curves and lines of the figure partly concealed by the demure dress. He saw the self-satisfied look on Alpin’s face. The chieftain was sure of victory here and made no secret of his desire for the prize. Faolan turne
d his gaze away.

  “You can sit on the bench by that little door, Ludha,” Ana said, coming to join Alpin at the table. “Are these men to remain here, my lord?”

  “Only fair,” said Alpin, grinning. “You get your bard, I have Dregard here to advise me. We can’t have the Gael running back to Bridei with a report that things were conducted improperly.”

  “And the others?” Ana glanced at the guards.

  “You must be used to minders,” Alpin said. “Haven’t you been a hostage since you were a child? That much was conveyed to me in Bridei’s cryptic message. I took it as a veiled assurance that my bride would reach me in pristine condition.”

  A protest rose to Faolan’s lips, to be swallowed as Ana frowned at him.

  “What danger could possibly threaten us in such a stronghold, my lord?” she asked Alpin, casting a casual glance toward the inner door as she spoke.

  There was a little pause, during which Faolan detected a tension in the chamber that he could not put a name to, something unspoken and deeply dangerous.

  “The guards are for your own safety, my dear,” Alpin said. “And mine. We don’t like surprises here, but at least we know how to prepare for them. Now, where were we?”

  Ana cleared her throat. “As you know, Bridei’s official spokesman was drowned at Breaking Ford. He had some written messages with him; those were all lost—”

  “What was this man’s name?” The question was sharp.

  “Kinet,” said Faolan before Ana could answer. “Kinet of the house of Fortrenn. He fell to a Blues arrow.”

  “If I want you to speak I’ll tell you so,” Alpin snapped. “The lady doesn’t need your assistance to respond to simple questions. Was this emissary Bridei’s blood kin? A warrior?”

  “This is a meeting to discuss terms for an agreement,” Ana said quietly. “It is not an inquisition. Kinet was a good man, both fighter and courtier, a friend to the king and to me. And he is dead. I will set out Bridei’s terms as well as I can, my lord. I would ask that you allow me to do so uninterrupted. It will be necessary for Faolan to help me with some details; we did travel a good part of the way in company with the king’s spokesman, and we talked of certain matters with him. In addition, I am Queen Tuala’s personal friend, and—”

  “We?” Alpin’s dark eyes were suddenly stony, his full lips compressed into a dangerous line.

  “A bard’s job is to entertain his lady, my lord,” Ana said. “To hearten and cheer her. We were a party of thirteen in all; not large. It was inevitable that Faolan became privy to certain information.”

  “I see.”

  “May I proceed with the terms?”

  “By all means.” Alpin leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. His adviser, Dregard, put his elbows on the table.

  “Faolan, you may sit down,” Ana said, and for a brief moment the full warmth of her eyes was on him. He sat, not speaking.

  She did a very passable job considering there were aspects of the situation that she had not been advised of. She explained that Bridei, as a longtime enemy of the Gaels of Dalriada, was anxious to secure Alpin as a sworn ally; that he wished to ensure the allegiance of Briar Wood was with himself and not with the invaders in the west. The king understood, Ana said, that the location of Alpin’s territory, so close to the farthest reach of the Gaels within Priteni lands, would likely make him a target for overtures from Gabhran. However, as the Caitt and the folk of Fortriu were both of Priteni blood, descended from the same ancestry and sharing the same language and the same faith, Bridei thought it likely Alpin would be amenable to an approach from White Hill.

  “How many of the other Caitt chieftains has he persuaded to this?” Alpin asked. His gaze had sharpened; Faolan was struck once again by the feeling that there was a good strategic mind behind the boorish exterior. Don’t mention Umbrig, he willed Ana. There was no safe way to warn her. Alpin was following their every glance.

  “I cannot tell you of that,” Ana said.

  “Cannot or will not?” Alpin’s tone now verged on the outright discourteous; Faolan saw Ana flinch, and spoke quickly.

  “Lady Ana is unlikely to be able to provide that sort of information,” he said. “It’s been a long time since any of your fellow tribesmen visited White Hill. You can hardly imagine—”

  “Be silent!” Alpin rapped out. “You’re here under sufferance, and if I want you to open your mouth, I’ll say so. The question was simple enough, even for a woman. Well?”

  “I can’t tell you because I don’t know.” Ana’s voice was less steady now; her features were pinched with distaste. “Nothing was said of this by Bridei’s messenger. And, after all, there was only one bride to send.” She summoned a smile, answering Alpin’s rudeness with wit and charm. After a moment’s startled silence, the chieftain of Briar Wood broke into laughter. Faolan sat rigid lest fury overwhelm the need to continue playing his part. He was within a whisker of leaping to his feet and telling Alpin the truth, for how could he look on while this man insulted and belittled his future wife thus? Couldn’t he see what Ana was, as rare and lovely a woman as had ever walked the glens of Fortriu, so fair and honest and good that she deserved the finest of kings as a partner, not some crude wretch who couldn’t even attempt to be civil? Faolan’s hands balled themselves into fists; he took a deep breath and relaxed them, wishing he had a few of Bridei’s druid tricks at his disposal.

  “I’ve a question.” It was the man Dregard who spoke; he wore a gray woolen robe rather than the tunic, trousers and boots of a warrior, and had the look of one whose trade is plied indoors, for he was pale of complexion and a constant small frown had worked a double wrinkle onto his high forehead.

  “Go on, Dregard,” Alpin said. “I’m sure Ana is keen to tell us all she knows, little as it seems to be.”

  “Is Bridei after an addition to his fighting force?” the gray-robed man queried. “It’s well known that the Caitt armies are formidable, Lord Alpin’s in particular. Such overtures as this are hardly new to him. So, is this a request that we offer men and arms in support of a venture by Fortriu? A major advance against Dalriada, for example? When might such an expedition take place?”

  Ana drew a deep breath. “That is four questions at least,” she said. “To the best of my understanding, and you are right, my lord, it is limited, I believe Bridei seeks only your assurance that the men of Briar Wood will not take up arms against him. He does not anticipate any contribution by the Caitt to his own forces. I cannot tell you what venture is planned, nor when it might come about. I did, in fact, attempt to ask some questions on those matters when I learned I must travel to Briar Wood. I obtained no satisfactory answers.”

  This was close to the truth; Faolan had not thought she would play such a dangerous game.

  “You’re well endowed with curiosity,” Alpin commented with a little smile. “But then, that’s perhaps not so surprising in a young woman.”

  Ana did not reply.

  “If I’d been in your position,” Alpin said, “I’d have been asking Bridei why he didn’t wait for a reply to his message before dispatching you on your journey. Why such haste? Unusual, that. Unusual and not particularly kind to you. Isn’t this young king generally referred to as a model of all that is just and good, as if he were indeed a human embodiment of the Flamekeeper or some such?” He scratched his beard. “Or is that just a tale put out by his cronies, the druid Broichan and the others, to remind the rest of us who holds the real power in the Priteni lands now? The druid worked the election rather cleverly, so I was told.”

  Ana looked at Faolan, an appeal in her eyes.

  “May I speak?” Faolan addressed the question directly to her.

  “Please do, Faolan,” Ana said. Then, turning to the others, “Faolan has spent some time at Bridei’s court; he’s had opportunity to observe the king in the company of men.”

  “What they say of Bridei is true,” Faolan said quietly. “It is not for nothing they call him the Eagle; h
e possesses a far-seeing strength and a heart-deep devotion to the old gods of the Priteni. Of recent times men have been giving him a new name, one in keeping with his plans for the future of his people.”

  “And what name is that?” Alpin was interested despite himself.

  “They’re calling him the Blade of Fortriu, my lord; the one who will sweep the lands of the west clean of the Gaelic invader.”

  “I see.” Alpin regarded him closely. “You announce this in the manner of a man who thinks little of it one way or another. And yet you’re a Gael, and a Gael of high birth unless I’m very much mistaken. Why aren’t you plucking your strings and blowing your pipes at the court of the Dalriadan king in Dunadd, or back over the water in Ulaid? The lords of the Uí Néill would value your services, I expect.”

  “I’m in Lady Ana’s employ, my lord, until she is settled at Briar Wood. At that time, lacking another messenger, I will convey the news of what transpired here back to White Hill for her. My past is of no relevance. I left the west long ago and I have no plans to return.” Alpin had come close to the mark, painfully close; this line of questioning must be shut down swiftly.

  “As for the other question,” Ana put in, “I was disconcerted by the requirement that I ride here before the king received your response. You can imagine, I am sure, how a young woman feels in such a situation.” She was blushing. Faolan was struck, for a crazy moment, by the belief that she had seen his own confusion and spoken up to divert Alpin’s attention from him. “A woman prefers to know she is welcome,” Ana went on. “She prefers to wed where she is sure of her future husband’s approval. That we had no idea of your feelings on the matter troubled me greatly on the journey here but, of course, when the flood came and we lost so many … I realized then how unimportant such petty concerns were … I’m sorry …” She reached up a hand to brush tears from her eyes; an instant later the little maid, Ludha, was there with a clean handkerchief and a murmured word. “Thank you, Ludha. I apologize, my lord.” Ana squared her shoulders, lifted her head. “As you see, I am still not quite recovered from that experience.”