“Tuala?”
“Mm?”
She had tied the robe’s girdle around her narrow waist, and had begun to brush out her hair. Bridei watched the steady, graceful movement, the ripple of the long, dark strands. He wondered how he had been able to bear being away so long. “You’re so wise,” he said.
“Maybe that’s yet another proof that my theory is correct,” she told him with a grin.
Ban gave a warning bark and, a moment later, Garth’s voice came from beyond the door. “My lord?”
“What is it, Garth?”
“Faolan’s back.”
Bridei looked at Tuala; she met his gaze and said, “Don’t look like that; we’ll have plenty of time for ourselves later. You’d best see him now. He hasn’t been himself since they came back.”
“Thank you, Garth,” Bridei called. “Ask him to wait, please.” Then, as he began to dress, “How, not himself? I’ve heard an account of what happened from Drustan, but it was abundantly clear that was only part of the story. What does Ana have to say?”
“Less than you’d imagine. She and Faolan seem deeply changed by their journey. Since they came back here, the three of them have formed a tight little group. Faolan, of course, is performing some of his old duties, which Garth certainly welcomes. But I’m always coming upon them sitting in corners, conducting private conversations. Between Ana and Drustan, it’s undoubtedly the concourse of lovers. But I’m just as likely to discover Drustan and Faolan deep in intense debate, or Faolan and Ana standing in complete silence, side by side, looking out over the forest. Faolan is restless. He doesn’t want to be here. I hope he will talk to you.”
FAOLAN WAS WAITING in the garden, where lanterns had been lit against the dusk. He wore riding boots and a heavy cloak, as if newly returned from a journey. There was a small pack by the wall nearby, neatly strapped, and it came to Bridei suddenly that his friend was not arriving, but leaving.
“Faolan,” he said, “what is this?”
“It warms my heart to see you home safe,” Faolan said. “But I wish to be released from your service.”
Shock, hurt, and concern rendered Bridei incapable of response.
“My lord,” Faolan added belatedly.
Bridei drew a deep breath. “As you know, it’s not so easy,” he said. “I imagine you’ll be wanting what I owe you. Before I can pay you, I need an account of the mission. That’s a requirement, Faolan. Will you come indoors and share some mead before the fire? It’s cold out here.”
“No, my lord.” Faolan’s voice was tight. “No point in prolonging this. I don’t need the silver; I’ve more than enough put away. As for the account, Drustan’s told you what happened. The mission was a disaster. I lost the entire escort on the way. Alpin unmasked my role at Gabhran’s court and threatened me with public exposure. I was forced to give him information about your advance that was perilously close to the truth, though I managed to convince him you were moving at the end of autumn, no earlier. The treaty was signed under false pretenses. I got Drustan’s loyal guard killed. Is that enough?”
“It seems, however,” Bridei maintained a level tone, though Faolan’s bitterness alarmed him, “that in bringing Ana away and thus invalidating the alliance, you did all of us a favor: Ana, Drustan, and, in the longer term, myself as king of Fortriu. It seems Alpin would have been a perilous ally.”
“Indeed. Had I not been almost certain he had already deduced your advance was to be before winter, I would not have taken the risk of skirting so close to the truth with him. Ana’s safety was the issue; I gave Alpin what I believed would buy me the time to get her away. I didn’t like doing it.”
“Well,” said Bridei, “Ana is safe and the war is won, though not without some grievous losses. You and I have both fulfilled our missions, one way or another. It seems our royal hostage may wed the chieftain of Briar Wood after all.”
“Indeed.” Faolan was looking fiercely at the ground; his voice had changed again, the emotion back under tight rein.
“What is this all about, Faolan? Like you, I mourn those lost. But you’ve done well. You’ve saved Ana from a very dangerous situation and brought her home. She seems well pleased. I find no fault in your conduct of the mission. A flood is an act of the gods; to take personal responsibility for that seems more than a little arrogant. Do you no longer wish to work for me? Where were you intending to go?”
“Anywhere. Just not here.”
Bridei drew a deep breath. “You know,” he said, “I’ve never heard you sound childish before, Faolan. And I didn’t think you would lie, not to me, your friend. I will not release you from my service until you answer two questions to my satisfaction.”
Faolan raised his head. “Ask them,” he said.
“Why can’t you stay here, and where do you want to go? I want the truth.” He wondered if Faolan would simply refuse to answer. He knew, as Bridei did, that he could simply turn and walk away from White Hill, and that, short of exercising force against a trusted friend, Bridei could do nothing to stop him.
“You’ll be shocked at my weakness, Bridei.”
“Try me.”
“I can’t stay because I can’t bear to see the two of them together. It’s a slow torture. I’m only here now because she—Ana—extracted a promise that I would wait until you came back.”
“The two of them—you mean Ana and Drustan? But I thought the three of you were very close. Tuala said—”
“We are close. We are friends. She loves him. He loves her. I love her. That is the simple truth, and I beg you to let me go.”
This from Faolan, of all men? Faolan whom people were apt to describe as devoid of human feelings? “I see,” said Bridei, too astounded to summon a more meaningful response. “And the second question?”
“I’m going home,” Faolan said quietly. “Back to Laigin. A man died because of us, a fine fighting man with a spirit of exceptional generosity. He laid it on me to bear the news to his kin. Believe me, I have no desire at all to go back. But this is a duty I must fulfill.”
“And reconcile your own past?”
The dark eyes narrowed. The thin lips tightened. “Who spoke to you of that?” Faolan snapped.
“Drustan told me there was a matter that still troubled you. He gave no details, saying it was told in confidence. I had thought you might want to visit your kinsfolk.”
“Ana would have me do so.”
“I see.”
“A lady of the royal blood of Fortriu, a Gaelic assassin, yes, of course you see. You see before you a deluded fool who couldn’t even keep his own feelings out of the king’s mission, and botched it as a result. You should be glad to be rid of me.”
“Really?” Bridei said. “Is that really what you want, for me to tell you, very well, go, and for the two of us never to meet again? To walk away and leave all this behind? Drustan and Ana will not stay here forever. And, to put it bluntly, she’s not the only woman in the world. You’re a mortal man, Faolan. This malady does befall men, and in time they recover from it.”
“I will not ask if you would have spoken thus if you had lost Tuala that night in the forest. You wish to cheer me; I thank you for that. I don’t deny I have missed your company, and that this is no easy decision. I think I must go, Bridei. At every turn, there seems a new reason for me to travel back. I know I cannot remain here. If I do so I will descend into a dark pit of destructive jealousy. I love her; I can’t do that to her.”
“I can hardly believe it is so short a time since you were strong in your condemnation of this lady as a spoiled princess with limited riding skills, the guarding of whom was entirely unworthy of your talents,” Bridei could not help saying. “What did she do to change your opinion so drastically?”
“Showed herself to be of true nobility: strong, courageous, selfless, and wise.” There was a silence. Then Faolan added, “Let me go, Bridei.”
“Tell me”—Bridei had been thinking fast—“what if I were to offer you a new missio
n, one that would take you close to where you intended to go, but on my business and in my employ? Tuala and I would do our best to settle Ana and her companion somewhere farther afield before you returned to White Hill. I know already that court life cannot be to Drustan’s taste.”
“What mission?”
“You are prepared to listen, at least?”
“I’ve agreed to nothing. You can tell me what it is.”
“Faolan, have you heard of a Christian cleric, a compatriot of yours, by the name of Colm? He’s sometimes called Colmcille, which translates as—”
“Dove of the church.”
“You know of him?”
Faolan nodded. “He has a reputation. Strong. Influential. Difficult. He’s kin to the High King in Tara. He got himself in strife recently over a secular matter, put his oar in where it wasn’t appreciated during the course of a territorial war. The man sounds like trouble. They were all talking about it at Dunadd last spring. What have you heard?”
Interesting, Bridei thought, how Faolan’s voice changed and his eyes came alive when he forgot his troubles and addressed a new challenge. “Gabhran offered him an island,” he said. “One of ours. Several folk have told me this man Colm is the spearhead of a great Christian push beyond the shores of your homeland; it’s said in Dalriada that he’s a force nobody can hold back. On the other hand, it sounded as if all the fellow wanted was a small bit of turf to call home, and it’s already been promised. Ioua’s an out-of-the-way place. And that cunning man Suibne pointed out to me my own inconsistency in letting missionaries settle in the Light Isles while I push them out of the west I want to know more about what this Colm is up to. Whether, if he’s given a straw, he’ll take the whole haystack. Whether these Christian brethren are a new invasion in disguise. Their relationship with Circinn. Anything you can bring me.”
There was a long silence and then, in the deepening dusk, Bridei saw Faolan smile.
“I expect you were good at fishing as a boy, were you?” Faolan asked.
“Not especially. Why?”
“You know just what bait to use and how to pull them skillfully in.”
“Maybe. My aim is not to kill, but to harness a man’s talents to their best use. Will you do this for me, Faolan?”
“I’d planned to go now, right away—”
“In the dark, with winter closing in? Come on now, credit me with a little intelligence. Wait until morning and take time to say your farewells. That way I can give you a full account of all I’ve heard, and we can reach agreement as to the scope of the mission and the time of your return.”
“And the payment,” Faolan said, the fleeting smile returning for a moment.
“That, too,” said Bridei. “And if you need to take time for your family business while you are there, that can be accommodated. You cannot accuse me of being inflexible as a patron. In fact, I’m doing my utmost to hold on to you while trying to maintain a modicum of dignity. I’ve already lost Breth. I don’t want to lose you as well.”
FOR A MOMENT, as he stood by the great gates of White Hill waiting for the guards to let him out through the smaller door at the side, Faolan almost broke one of his own most sacrosanct rules: never lose control in public. He made the mistake of looking back. He could gaze into Bridei’s eyes with equanimity; he was sorry to be leaving his friend and patron so soon, but they understood each other well enough. Bridei had given him the means to depart with dignity and purpose. Faolan would repay this, in time, by the flawless execution of his new mission. And by coming back. He wanted to come back. Just as long as they were gone.
He could look at Drustan and keep his features calm. One could not hate Drustan, despite the gnawing jealousy, the constant awareness of the impossibility of matching up to such a man’s example. The fact was, Drustan had taken from him the only woman he had ever been able to love. Drustan had stolen his treasure and, despite that, he could not help liking the man. It was a conundrum, and he’d be glad to see the last of it. That farewell was not so difficult.
But Ana … Ana at dawn, holding his hands in the chill of the upper courtyard, and the glint of tears on her cheeks. Ana trying to tell him something that began with if only and stopping herself with the back of her hand over her mouth to block the words, dangerous words. If only what? If only a woman were allowed to love two men? If only they had turned back at Breaking Ford, and never come to a place where love and loss awaited them? Or merely, if only Faolan had not sung a song, and crossed a river, and given away his heart despite himself? He would never know what she had wanted to tell him. He only knew he had to go away, for all their sakes; for the three of them.
So, looking back now as the little door by the gate was opened and there was no longer any excuse for delay, he met her gaze as she stood by Drustan, and he made no effort to conceal what was in his eyes, but let her see his love and his sadness and his hope for the future; her future and Drustan’s. And what he read on her face brought a sudden hot rush of tears to his eyes, but he did not let them fall until his back was turned, and he was through the doorway, and his feet were carrying him on a path westward; westward to Laigin and a place that had once been home.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Bridei Chronicles are based on real history; Bridei himself, his mentor, Broichan, and the various territorial kings who appear in these books were all real people. Bridei became king of the Picts (Priteni) in A.D. 554, and approximately five years later he led his people against the Gaels of Dalriada, inflicting a crushing defeat on the forces of King Gabhran.
The details of Pictish daily life, religious observance, military organization, and political structure in these books are based loosely on the existing evidence. However, that evidence is quite slim, as the Picts did not leave any written records of their own. Historians are reliant on the writings of other cultures such as the Romans, who were scarcely unbiased, and Christian clerics such as Adomnan, who penned his Life of St. Columba approximately one hundred years after the events in these books took place (the Life was written well after Columba’s death and is more hagiography than history). Pictish artifacts such as the famous symbol stones give us further clues about their culture.
My notes at the end of the first book in this series, The Dark Mirror, discuss the use of imagination and informed guesswork to fill in the gaps in the known history of the period. A more detailed version of those notes can be found on my Web site at www.julietmarillier.com under the link “Bridei Chronicles.”
The political story of Blade of Fortriu, concerning the first major military campaign of Bridei’s kingship, is broadly based on history, as is the gifting of the island of Ioua (which got its current name of Iona through a slipup in penmanship) by the Dalriadan king to the Irish priest Columba. Gabhran’s generosity led to later complications when the staunchly pagan Bridei won back the territories of the west.
For readers new to this series, the geography of the books is that of the Scottish Highlands. However, I have taken some liberties with distances and locations in the interests of better storytelling. The notes on my Web site include a description of the method I used for inventing place names appropriate to the period and culture.
This is a work of fiction, not a history. The story of Faolan, Ana, and Drustan has little basis in historical fact. I imagine most powerful leaders of the period needed someone like Faolan at hand to deal with those situations calling for swift, silent solutions. The Caitt were a real tribe (Caithness in the far north of Scotland gets its name from them) and they were known as wild, independent, and warlike. Ana’s situation at the court of White Hill is based on fact: it is documented that Bridei kept hostages in order to control his vassal king in the Light Isles (Orkney).
For readers wanting to find out more about the Picts, my Web site includes a bibliography of reference books I found useful.
Juliet Marillier, Blade of Fortriu
(Series: # )
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