Blade of Fortriu

by Juliet Marillier

  “You should give the lady more time.” Faolan was unable to remain silent. “Surely this discussion can wait—”

  “No, Faolan,” Ana said. “We must at least set out Bridei’s terms now. We owe it to those who perished to complete the mission.”

  “Mission?” echoed Dregard. “Since when does a bridal journey become a mission?”

  “It becomes one when the marriage is dependent on a written and witnessed treaty,” Ana said firmly. “That’s what Bridei requires. The terms are to be set down by a scribe and overseen by an independent party such as a druid; since you’ll need to summon a druid for the handfasting anyway, that should be easy to arrange. Lord Alpin agrees that Briar Wood will not take up arms against Bridei or ally itself with the Gaels. That’s what it must say. In return, the marriage between myself and Lord Alpin will go ahead.” Her voice had suddenly lost its confident note, but she went grimly on. “I did not think to have to present my own case here, but it seems I must. I am of the royal line of the Priteni, through the branch that furnishes the kings of the Folk, who are subject to the overlordship of the king of Fortriu. My cousin is king in the Light Isles. I come from a healthy and fruitful family. I am in my nineteenth year, and have lived at the court of Fortriu since I was a child of ten. As for Bridei’s reasons in dispatching our party when he did, I was never told them. As a royal hostage of long standing I have learned to obey the king’s orders and not to ask too many questions, my lord. Perhaps I do possess an excess of curiosity, but I would never allow that to endanger other folk’s lives, or my own.”

  There was a moment’s silence, then Alpin put his hands together in slow applause.

  Ana’s blush deepened to red. “You mock me, my lord?” Her voice was shaking now. Tension filled every part of Faolan’s body, though whether the urge to take her in his arms and comfort her or the desire to wring that hairy thug’s neck for him was stronger, he could not tell. He sat perfectly still, keeping his demeanor calm. In his line of business, the skill of not drawing attention was a primary tool. There wasn’t a lot he could do about the maelstrom in his heart, but he could at least ensure it remained there, invisible.

  “Not at all, my dear,” Alpin said. “Let me give you some ale; you seem distressed. My admiration is entirely genuine. You find yourself in a particularly awkward situation and, I’m sorry to admit, there’s a certain entertainment to be had in watching you struggle with it. You deal with it ably for a young woman; of course I do not expect you to have much knowledge of the games men play, your Bridei among them. Any education you have had was all fine embroidery and preserving fruit in honey, I expect.”

  Ana regarded him in silence a moment. Faolan recalled that she had been educated in Fola’s establishment at Banmerren, along with an exceptional group of young women including both Tuala and Talorgen’s daughter, Ferada. Fola was revered for her scholarship and intellectual rigor.

  “Fine embroidery is one of my particular interests, my lord,” Ana said coolly. “Now, concerning the treaty. Do you require a certain time to make up your mind? Have you any questions?” Her brows lifted in queenly fashion, and in that moment Faolan admired her most of all, for she made humiliation into a triumph. Her eyes caught his a moment; he allowed himself a little nod, a hint of a smile.

  “May I speak, my lady?” he asked her again.

  “Most certainly, Faolan.”

  “I believe there’s a point that needs to be clarified,” he said, hunching his shoulders a little in the demeanor of a man uncomfortable at having to speak out in a company of his betters. He hoped he wasn’t overdoing it.

  “What point?” Alpin snapped.

  “Go on, Faolan,” Ana said softly, playing the game. “You may well have heard something of significance at White Hill, something I was not privy to. Men will discuss these things in more depth when women are not present, I know that.”

  “It was something Kinet mentioned,” Faolan said, thinking quickly. “Something about my lord Alpin’s other property on the west coast and the need to be sure the loyalty of both households is secured by this treaty.”

  “On the west coast?” mused Ana, who knew very well the significance of that. “Now why would—oh, I see. It would provide a sea route to Dalriada … yes, I’m sure Bridei would want to be certain the agreement extended to all your territories, my lord. I was not aware that you had another tract of land besides Briar Wood. It is a long way to the west coast, is it not?”

  “Long enough,” said Alpin shortly. His tone had grown cold. “The place there, Dreaming Glen, is not mine, it’s my brother’s.”

  Faolan managed to conceal his surprise. Back at White Hill there’d been no talk of any brother; if this had been known, Bridei would have been sure to investigate further before setting out his terms. He was still searching for the right question to ask when Ana spoke.

  “You have a brother? You didn’t speak of him when I asked you about your family. Or perhaps I misheard. He’s in the west, I presume. Alpin, the marriage must wait until this brother can be consulted. Clearly, Bridei will need the consent of you both to the agreement. I regret to say this, but it appears he views each of you as a potential threat or, one would hope, a significant ally.”

  She was bold. Faolan hoped she had not overstepped the mark, for if Alpin reacted with anger he thought he might not be able to control his own response this time. But the answer, when it came, surprised him. The chieftain of Briar Wood erupted into bitter, self-mocking laughter.

  “Consult my brother? I think not. All you’d get out of him is nonsense. I speak for him on all such matters.”

  There was a silence. Ana and Faolan looked at him, waiting for more. For the first time, Alpin seemed uncomfortable. His broad cheeks had flushed and he was not meeting anyone in the eye but fiddling with his ale cup, a fine piece with red stones set near the rim and a pattern of dogs in wire work.

  “I don’t understand,” Ana said after it became apparent Alpin was not going to offer a further explanation. “You say you speak for him, but if this place, Dreaming Glen, is his, then surely he must control whatever forces are there. What do you mean, my lord?”

  “Briar Wood was our father’s land,” Alpin said. His reluctance to elaborate was obvious; he was ill at ease, restless on the chair, fingers in constant movement. “The other place was passed to my brother direct from our maternal grandfather, a special arrangement. But, alas, my brother is in no fit state to take responsibility for lands or men. He is … deeply unwell.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Ana said. “I hope he will be better soon. Perhaps a messenger could be dispatched to the west so we can obtain his consent to the agreement. I understand that he cannot travel, of course. Such a long way, and difficult …”

  “I could go,” Faolan offered helpfully.

  Dregard cleared his throat as if about to speak.

  “This is not something of which we talk openly here at Briar Wood,” Alpin said heavily. “It would have suited me better to wait and give Ana the information in private. It’s a family matter and quite delicate in nature.”

  Ana and Faolan maintained their silence, waiting for more.

  “The fact is,” Alpin said, “my brother is not at Dreaming Glen, he’s here, and has been for all the years of his … illness. His affliction is a lifelong condition, and incurable.”

  “Your brother is here?” Ana exclaimed. “Then why … is he too ill to be in company? How sad for you!” She was not playing a game any longer, but spoke in genuine sympathy. “What is it, the falling sickness?”

  Alpin gave a grim smile. “Would that it were a malady so easily accommodated, my dear. I’m afraid Drustan has a condition that renders him a threat both to himself and to others. It’s been necessary to keep him in … confinement. He’s … I don’t know how to put it for you. He’s just not right in the head, and he never has been.”

  Faolan’s attention was drawn to Ana’s face, for during this last speech something had changed
in her expression; she seemed to him unaccountably dismayed by Alpin’s speech. “Excuse me,” she said abruptly. “I’m feeling a little unwell. Can we resume this later? Ludha, come with me.” She turned her back and left the chamber, and the maid scurried after.

  For a little, none of the men spoke. Then Alpin took the ale jug, refilled his own cup and Dregard’s and, after a moment’s hesitation, poured a third and pushed it in Faolan’s direction. “I’ve upset the lady,” the chieftain said. “Such news is never well received, and certainly not by a young bride. What girl wants to learn she’s marrying into a family with a streak of insanity? There are ways and ways of telling people these things, and that wasn’t the best way.”

  “I’m sorry,” Faolan said quietly, and meant it. Not that he cared at all for Alpin’s sensitivities, but he would have done much to avoid distressing Ana. Her reaction had surprised him. She had handled Alpin’s veiled insults with the judgment of a councillor and the good manners of a lady. But this news had shaken her.

  “She’ll come to terms with it, my lord,” Dregard said.

  “I hope so,” Alpin said, sipping his ale, “for I confess to a strong desire—a bard might say a burning desire—for this marriage to go ahead. This woman can provide me with fine sons, and a great deal of pleasure in the getting of them. I can see she’s livelier than her demure manners suggest. I had hoped we might conclude this speedily. I’ve already sent for a druid, I did so the day you arrived.” He glanced at Faolan. “The fellow should be here within a turning of the moon, possibly sooner if the weather allows. There are not so many of that kind in the northern lands, and they tend to favor inconvenient places to live: caves halfway up cliffs, or barely accessible islets, or hidden clefts in deep woods. There’s a small community of them in the far north of Umbrig’s land; I sent my message there. Let’s hope we get someone who can write. I don’t keep a household scribe here. Word of mouth is a good enough pledge of faith among the Caitt.”

  “I understand King Bridei’s terms were quite specific, my lord,” Faolan said. “A written, witnessed agreement, to be conveyed back to White Hill.”

  “Who would sign on Bridei’s behalf?” Alpin’s eyes narrowed.

  “I think you’ll find the lady knows Latin and can write.” It gave Faolan considerable pleasure to watch Alpin’s face as he said this. “She’s had an extensive education. For a woman.”

  “I see. A scholar, is she? All the same, I expect I’ll be able to teach her a few new tricks.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Faolan spoke through gritted teeth.

  “You are close to her,” Alpin observed.

  “I’ve worked for the lady Ana awhile, my lord. But I am, after all, no more than a servant.”

  “Hmm. Very well, you’re dismissed. I don’t have the inclination to discuss this further now. I’ll consent to the agreement on Drustan’s behalf. He hasn’t the capacity to make such decisions. The value of the lady to me is far above some petty matter of alliances. If Bridei wants us to leave his forces alone, we’ll do so. We’ve enough territorial problems of our own without getting embroiled in the south as well. Once the druid’s here we’ll conclude the matter and you can be off home, lad. Get that harp in working order and you can keep us entertained while we’re waiting for him to arrive. New song every night, keep you on your toes.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Alpin rose to his feet. He towered over the other men in the chamber. “Stay away from the lady,” he said, and his voice had a note in it that was new. “No private conferences. No more than a servant isn’t good enough for me. She’s mine, and any man who lays a finger on her, or looks at her in a way I don’t like, will find himself dangling on a rope above my front gates with his personal parts stuffed in his mouth. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Faolan was seething.

  “Go now.”

  Faolan managed to maintain a servile demeanor as he quit Alpin’s chamber. A whole turning of the moon, he thought as he passed the door to the room where he knew Ana was lodged. It was going to be quite a test. Perhaps it was just as well he was forbidden to see her alone, for his heart might get the better of him, causing him to speak words he would bitterly regret. He might beg her to come home with him; he might do his best to convince her she must not wed a man who could never make her happy.

  Faolan found a place alone, up on the walkway behind the parapet wall, and stood there thinking as the sun passed overhead and the shadows changed in the vast pattern of greens and browns and grays that was Briar Wood. The treaty was almost secured. The mission was all but accomplished. Why, then, was he full of this ridiculous longing to go back, to be tired and cold and hungry, sitting by a tiny fire in the midnight dark with only Ana for company? The feeling gripped him so powerfully it was a physical hurt. You can’t have it, he told himself. You can’t now, and you never could. Let her go. Do your job. Do the only thing that you can do.

  After a while he returned to his quarters, sought out the material he needed, and set to with knife and wood to fashion tuning pegs.

  ANA SPENT THE day in her chamber with only Ludha for company. She had no desire to hear Alpin’s explanations, though he had knocked on her door three times to inquire how she was. His brother. Drustan was Alpin’s brother. How could that be? How could that lovely man with his lambent eyes and gentle manners be kin to an uncouth chieftain whose tastes ran to crude blood sports and the baiting of women for amusement? Even if Drustan was suffering from a sickness of the mind, how could Alpin keep him chained like a savage dog, shut away from the light? Besides, Drustan did not seem sick. He did not seem mad. Though a little odd in his manner of speech, he had appeared quite rational to her. As she paced the length of her chamber, torn between confusion and indignation, it came to her that being incarcerated for a long time would inevitably have the effect of turning a man’s mind somewhat strange. Wouldn’t Drustan be hurt, angry, resentful, afraid? She had seen how his eyes lit up when he was out in the woods, free, able to feel the sun on his face and to stretch his body to the full. She had seen the shadow that fell on him like a dark cloak when he reentered his subterranean enclosure. Perhaps there was not much wrong with him at all. Why wasn’t Alpin trying to help his brother instead of pretending he didn’t exist? Why wasn’t he seeking a cure?

  Deord could have given her answers, should have done, as he had promised when he took back the key. Thus far he had evaded her, muttering something about Drustan needing him, and no spare time. And now that Alpin was back, Ana had lost her opportunity to question Drustan’s keeper.

  “What is it, my lady?” Ludha asked for the tenth time, eyeing her mistress with growing alarm. “Are you unwell? It distresses me to see you like this.”

  Ana opened her mouth to say yet again that it was nothing, then hesitated. It was unfair to involve Ludha in such a matter, but there was nobody else who could help. Faolan was beyond her reach; it was clear to her that Alpin would not sanction any private meetings between his lady and her bard.

  “Ludha,” she said, “I suppose you heard what Lord Alpin told us about the prisoner; his brother, Drustan.” To speak the name aloud gave her the strangest feeling, a warmth deep in her breast.

  “Yes, my lady.” Ludha was not meeting her eye; she worked industriously at her embroidery. An exquisite garland of forest green and violet blue now flowered across the hem of the tiny garment Ana had passed on to her maid for completion.

  “You already knew of this captive? That Alpin’s own brother was shut away here at Briar Wood?”

  “Everyone knows, my lady. We were told not to mention it until Lord Alpin had the chance to explain it to you himself. So you wouldn’t be upset or frightened. It’s quite safe. That man, Deord, looks after him.”

  “It’s not my safety I’m concerned about, Ludha. I’m shocked and distressed that Alpin would treat his own brother thus. That he would shut him away in such a …” Ana fell silent. She would not reveal what she had seen, not even to
Ludha. There was a conspiracy of silence here and the maid had been party to it. Who was to say she might not now go running to Orna, or to Alpin himself, to pass on anything Ana might tell her? “It’s cruel for a man to be a prisoner his whole life. I suppose he is kept in that place where Deord goes, behind Alpin’s sleeping quarters.”

  “That’s what they say, my lady.”

  “What is he like, this man, Drustan? Alpin said he was … incapable. That he could talk only nonsense.” And since that had already been demonstrated to be untrue, perhaps the rest of the story was a lie as well.

  “I don’t know, my lady. They never let him out. They say he’s crazy. Violent. He has fits, turns, as if a kind of frenzy comes over him. Deord is the only one strong enough to handle him. That’s what they say.”

  Ana felt cold. “But you’ve been here—what?—six years? You mean in all that time Alpin’s brother has never been out of his cell? Not once?”

  “No, my lady. Orna says it’s too much of a risk. I couldn’t say, myself. There aren’t many folk here who knew him before.”

  “Before what?”

  Ludha had fallen silent. She bent, lips pursed, over her handiwork.

  “Before what, Ludha?” Perhaps, Ana thought in exasperation, if she simply went on asking, eventually these folk would tell her what she needed to know. “Speak up!” Too late, when Ludha looked up and was revealed to have tears in her eyes, Ana realized how sharp her tone had become. “I’m sorry, Ludha. I’m not cross with you, just angry that they would treat a man like that when his condition is hardly of his own making. I’m not used to people having so many secrets. Please, just tell me what you know. I would like to help Drustan if I can. Indeed, if I am to stay here as Alpin’s wife, I believe it is my duty to do so.”