“You need your wife beside you. You need to shed your tears, as we all must, and recognize your own weaknesses, and take time to recover your courage. But you have no time.”
Bridei stared at him. “How can you know this? How can you understand so well?”
“Perhaps because I came close to despair myself, despair, violence, self-destruction … Without Deord, I could not have survived that. Without Faolan, I would not have escaped. Without Ana …”
The flow of words ceased. From beyond the campfire, someone was calling Bridei’s name. “Go on,” he said. “I imagine you wish to make this request of yours.”
Drustan gave a sigh. “I will not ask you. Not now. Let it wait until your work is done here and you are returned to your home hearth and the ones you love. Such matters are best not spoken of in such a place of death.”
Bridei nodded. He was reluctant to make his own request, for it seemed too much to ask. Drustan, for all his openness and understanding, looked drained by exhaustion. He said instead, “What are your plans for the future? White Hill is open to you, if you wish to remain with us a while.”
Drustan smiled. “Thank you, my lord. The queen also offered the hospitality of your court. I need time to come to terms with what has happened. But I must return to Briar Wood before too long, and then to the west. I wish to clear my peaceful waterway of my brother’s fighting ships.”
“Drustan—”
“I will bear the news of your victory home in the morning,” said the red-haired man, forestalling Bridei’s question. “At dawn I will go. By evening your people will know that you are safe.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say nothing. I saw the look in your wife’s eyes. With every breath, she was willing your survival. Besides, I have my own powerful reason for a swift return to White Hill.”
“Drustan?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“There’s more to this than you’ve told me, isn’t there?” Drustan was silent a moment. Then he said, “The facts, as I know them, I have set before you in full. But there were three of us on this journey. Each of us has a tale to tell. Seek Faolan’s accounting of it when you return home. That’s if he has not departed by then.”
“Departed? Where?”
“I believe you will find him much changed, as indeed are Ana and I. He has unquiet spirits to set at rest before he can move forward, and a broken heart to mend. He does not wish you to see him thus unmanned. Ana bound him to stay until your return, but he may not have the strength to abide by that promise.”
“You alarm me, Drustan. Are you sure we’re both speaking of the same man?”
Drustan nodded. “It is the same, only changed. He will try to flee from his friends; even from you. Tread carefully with him. We don’t want to lose him.”
“We?”
“Ana and myself.” This spoken softly and with pride.
“I see,” Bridei told him, guessing that there was at least one fact Drustan had not yet shared with him, and that it closely concerned the princess of the Light Isles. “I hope I will be home within a turning of the moon, but there is much to be done here in the west. If you can, please ask Faolan to wait for me. Tell him it’s important. There’s a matter I wish to put before him, one on which he is better qualified than anyone to advise me.”
“I will, my lord king. Have you other messages for me to convey?”
“Tuala knows my heart without the need for words. Just tell her, in private, that I miss her and Derelei, and am counting the days until I reach home again. And thank her and Broichan for their wisdom in sending you to save me.”
“I did not meet your druid. He was elsewhere, and so was your son. But I will pass on these words.”
“You may tell Ana, unofficially, that I am glad she returned home and did not wed your brother. It goes without saying that this message should be delivered in private.”
“Thank you, my lord.” The smile now was less tentative, the eyes very bright.
“There have been losses here. I will wait until our return to relate those to the household; I will not burden you with such sad news. Now I must go; they’re calling me. Will you attend our ritual for the dead?”
Drustan shook his head. “I hope you will excuse me. I’m best alone tonight; I will rest and prepare myself for the morning. I wish you well, my lord king.”
“You’d best call me Bridei. After all, you’re Faolan’s friend, and that’s what he always does.”
“Good night, Bridei. You are a fine man, deserving of our people’s loyalty.”
“I suppose, in the end,” Bridei said, “all we can do is our best, and trust that the gods will find it sufficient. Good night, Drustan. The Flamekeeper guard your journey. And, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
IT WAS INDEED a turning of the moon and more before the king of Fortriu rode back to White Hill, accompanied by the contingents from Pitnochie and Abertornie and a group of men-at-arms from the court itself. There was no challenge at the gates; not today. They stood open and, in the courtyard beyond, the entire household was assembled to welcome Bridei and his warriors home. The bad news had arrived much earlier, by messengers dispatched to every place that had lost men in the war. That spared the families of those men who had laid down their lives in the Flamekeeper’s service from having to watch the return of each small band of travel-stained survivors, hoping beyond hope to see a well-loved face among them, and at length realizing that a certain son, father, husband, or brother would not be coming home.
For all those losses, it had been a great victory. Now, riding proudly at the front of the line, Cinioch bore the royal banner high. One of Ged’s captains carried the bright standard of Abertornie in tribute to his fallen chieftain. In time a formal celebration would be held, and all those leaders who had played a part in the reclaiming of the west would be invited to White Hill, each to be honored in his turn. That would not take place now until spring, for this return was late in the season and the approaching winter already set chill fingers on the land. Soon travel would become dangerous or impossible. Besides, Carnach and Talorgen were still at Dunadd, seeing to the departure of Gaels deemed a risk, and establishing secure rule in those territories. Fokel and Umbrig were in the north of Dalriada performing similar work, Fokel at his own ancestral home of Galany’s Reach and Umbrig at the fortified coastal settlement of Donncha’s Head, which he had taken a particular liking to. There would be a time for all things, even rejoicing. Without saying it aloud, the leaders of Fortriu had shared a conviction that the losses were too raw, the changes too overwhelming to make this appropriate yet. It was going to take some time even to come to a full realization of what they had achieved.
It was close to the festival of Gateway and the shades of the dead were only a cold breath away. Winter allowed space for reflection; it was the spirit’s fallow time, in which the seeds of wisdom began their long, slow generation. No need for cheering and music, feasting and celebration. It was enough to know that, when it was time, a new spring would come.
This, then, was not so much the triumphal entry of a king as the return of a family. First out the gates to meet the riders was the little white dog, Ban, yipping a frenzied greeting, his body trying in vain to keep up with his frantically wagging tail. Snowfire, steady as ever, walked into the courtyard with this miniature whirlwind performing a welcome dance around his feet. Then, as each rider came in and dismounted in his turn, he was surrounded by his loved ones, wife, mother, children, until the courtyard was alive with tears and smiles, embraces, friendly claps on the shoulder, and, here and there, the sight of young fathers greeting newborns for the very first time. Men whose families dwelt away from court received kisses from maidservants and kitchen women who had nobody else to welcome. There was laughter aplenty.
The king, of course, must conduct himself with somewhat more restraint in public, even when his dignity is compromised by a small dog jumping up and trying to lick any part of him i
t can reach. Bridei’s own welcoming party stood on the steps: Tuala, grave and still, with Derelei in her arms. The child looked doubtful, as if he were not quite sure who this grim and weary warrior might be. There stood Aniel, wearing a rare smile, and Tharan, tall and watchful. On Tuala’s other side was Broichan. There were Ana and Drustan, unabashedly hand in hand: by all the gods, they made a handsome pair. Bridei saw Garth, bearing a thrusting spear and a broad grin. There was no sign of Faolan.
Bridei took a step forward, and Tuala stepped down, and in an instant he abandoned decorum and wrapped his arms around his wife and son, for he had dreamed of this moment every night he was away, and now he could not hold back. Derelei froze; he opened his mouth to wail in fright.
“Papa’s home, Derelei.” This was Broichan’s voice from behind them. It seemed so much the kind of thing Tuala would say that Bridei was startled. The child blinked, closed his mouth, and, a moment later, leaned his curly head on his father’s shoulder.
After a little, Tuala stepped back and scrubbed her cheeks, smiling ruefully. “You’d best greet the others, Bridei. There have been sad losses; your messenger brought us the news. Breth gone, and both Elpin and Enfret … And Ged, such a lovely man … That was grievous. His children are still young.”
Bridei nodded. “He wanted us to help them, and we will. It’s so good to see you; just how good, I cannot tell you in such a public place. Aniel, Tharan, greetings to you both. Many of our chieftains have remained behind in the west; there’s much to be done there. Tomorrow I will convene a council and give you all the news.”
“A great victory, Bridei,” Aniel said with satisfaction. “You walk in the light of the gods.”
“Broichan.” Bridei clasped his foster father by the arm and was momentarily lost for words. The druid looked at the same time far more worn and frail, and yet far more his old self, the dark eyes clear and formidably questioning. “I hope you are well. I have you to thank for Drustan’s intervention. Between you, you saved my life.”
Broichan shook his head. “The credit goes not to me, but to your wife,” he said quietly. “It warms our hearts to see you back safely, Bridei.”
He said nothing more, and that in itself was clear evidence that something had changed. No mention of the victory? No mention of the routing of the Gaels and the triumphant reclaiming of the west? This had been Broichan’s great vision. It was for this he had devoted fifteen years of his life to preparing Bridei for the kingship.
“Tomorrow,” Bridei said, “if it suits you all, I’ll place certain matters before you. You won’t like all the decisions I’ve made as to the future of Dalriada. There are questions I need your advice on. That fellow Suibne, who was spiritual adviser to Drust the Boar, turned up at Gabhran’s side. He gave me some disquieting information.”
Broichan nodded. “Tomorrow,” he said. “We have waited long enough for news; we can wait a day more, while you take a little time to rest and recover.”
Garth was leading Snowfire away; the other men were taking their own mounts to the stables, and the crowd was starting to break up.
“No formal feast tonight,” Tuala said. “The household has been told the day of arrival is for private reunions, each to his own. Our quarters are barred to visitors until suppertime at least. And there’s hot water ready. A bath and a change of clothes will be welcome, I expect.”
Bridei nodded. His eyes went to Drustan, standing by Ana on the steps. “I don’t see Faolan anywhere,” he said.
“He’s been much away.” It was Ana who replied. “And, of course, we did not know the exact day of your return. He will be back. He promised.”
“He’ll keep his word,” Drustan said.
It was unsettling. Bridei had expected his friend to be here to greet him, somber-faced and efficient, keen for news and ready with practical and ingenious advice. He had missed Faolan greatly, and to find him absent from this homecoming was disconcerting. “Very well,” he said. Then, in a different tone, “Come, Derelei. Let’s take Ban up to the garden. I suppose you can run faster than he can now. Why don’t you show me?”
AS DUSK FELL beyond the window of the royal apartments, Bridei lay on his bed with Tuala drowsing in his arms and let his mind drift, the contentment of this day balancing, for a little, the doubts and quandaries that accompanied the aftermath of his great conquest. His wife’s warm body curved against him, slight and graceful; her cloud of dark hair fanned across his chest, and he felt the small stir of her breath against his skin. His performance had been somewhat less than satisfactory, desire having got the better of him and rendered their lovemaking brief and explosive rather than tender and gradual. He and Tuala had laughed about this and promised each other next time would be a masterpiece of control. Derelei, worn out from chasing the dog and then from the novelty of splashing his father in the bath, was sleeping soundly in an adjoining chamber under the watchful eye of a nursemaid. Ban kept guard at the door.
“Bridei?” Tuala was stirring.
He curved his hand around to cup her breast. Desire had not yet reawakened fully, but he loved her body in its neat, small perfection; to touch her was like coming home all over again.
“Mm?”
“I have something to tell you. I don’t know what you’ll think about it.”
“That sounds intriguing. What is it?”
He felt her draw a deep breath, as if she needed to gain courage to speak.
“Bridei, this is going to seem … crazy. I really don’t know how to say it, so I suppose I’ll just have to come out with it. Bridei, I think maybe Broichan is my father.”
He took a moment to react. “Your … ? But …”
“There is some logic to it. I suspect Fola has the same idea. I saw a vision. I cannot imagine any other reason the goddess would have shown me this. And it explains … it explains his bond with Derelei. Watch the two of them together; their movements, their expressions, the inflections of their speech. Such a similarity is not simply that of tutor and small student. It’s the likeness of blood kin.”
“But …” Bridei began, not quite able to take in what she was saying, for it opened a view of the past that was darker and more troubling the more he considered it. “If this is so, who is your mother? Broichan doesn‘t—I mean, he wouldn’t—He’s a druid, Tuala. How could he—”
“A druid is a man, for all he gives his life to the gods. If the Shining One demanded of a man an expression of love that was carnal and worldly, as part of the conduct of a ritual, would not that man be bound in duty to obey? I know little of a druid’s practice during the three-day retreat at the time of Balance. I know only that Broichan’s habit was to go into the woods alone. My vision showed him as a man in his prime, walking the forest paths in springtime. There was a woman there; one of the Good Folk. One of my own kind.”
“How can you know—?”
“I can’t. Only Broichan could tell me. And I haven’t been brave enough to ask him. He would be deeply disturbed by such news. Disgusted, probably.”
“But Tuala—if this is true, surely he must know? He must have known all along.”
“Perhaps not.” Her voice was small and calm.
“Of course he would know. An experience of that kind in spring, and a baby appears on his doorstep at Midwinter—no man with his wits about him could fail to make the connection. If you are right, it means that, knowing you were his own flesh and blood, he still treated you as a danger and a threat. He still would have cast you out—” He was sitting up now, the languor gone, his heart thudding with shock and outrage.
“I shouldn’t have told you.” Tuala slipped out of bed, reaching for a robe. “Bridei, be calm. I’m quite certain that, if it’s true, he’s never thought of it. You’d be surprised how blind people can be to truths they don’t want to consider possible. I expect Broichan has shut the whole experience away in a forgotten corner of his mind. The last thing he would want acknowledged publicly is that he has me as a daughter. One of the Good Folk;
his nemesis; the child he was forced to shelter in his house, for fear of offending the goddess or antagonizing the foster son on whom all his hopes rested. Poor Broichan. It would be kinder not to tell him. But there are rumors; not of this, but of a possible irregularity in your own birth, or in our son’s. The older Derelei grows, the more such rumors will be given credence. That worries me. These foolish tales can undermine your authority as king. To tell the truth, painful as that might be to Broichan, would clear the air and ease the burden on you and on our son. Sons, possibly.”
“You are saying—” Bridei looked at her, meeting her wide, strange eyes, the eyes that marked her out as something more than humankind.
“All being well, we will have another small son or daughter by early spring.”
“Tuala! Truly? This is wonderful news!” He got up and took her in his arms, feeling tears spring to his eyes. “How long have you known?”
“Before you left I had a slight suspicion, no more. I have become surer as your absence grew longer and my fear for you deeper. I’m glad you are pleased, and still gladder that you will be at home when the child is born. I hope there are no more wars yet a while.”
“I, too. Tuala, this talk of rumors disturbs me. Who has been saying such things? Aniel and Tharan should have taken steps—”
“Hush, dear one. There’s no real danger, not yet.”
“But you must be upset—”
“A little. But I’m the queen; I can deal with these things. What’s important is how I go about it.”
“I’ll speak to Broichan, if you prefer that. If this is true, he must be brought to account.”
“No, Bridei. It’s for me to talk to him. Strangely enough, I don’t seem to be afraid of that anymore, just a little awkward about it. Broichan’s been seriously ill. He should really be at Banmerren now; Fola has him under strict supervision. But he knew you would be home before Gateway, and he insisted on traveling here to welcome you.”