‘Mm?’
‘Please come and talk to me any time you want. Sometimes it does help.’
A wan smile. ‘Thank you, Mistress Blackthorn. You are kind.’
Kind? Me? Hah! Still, she seemed a good person, better than I’d been ready to believe earlier. Deserving of a listening ear, at the very least. As for supper and the need to don apparel fitting the guest of a prince, both would try me hard. Especially if the talk turned to Mathuin of Laois. That man cast a long shadow.
31
~GRIM~
Supper time, I’m looking around, trying to spot Blackthorn. Long time since I spoke to her. Can’t see her with the waiting women. I’m thinking maybe she’s been called away to do healer’s work. Then I see her at Prince Oran’s table, sitting down like a fine lady. She’s got a druid on one side and the prince’s auntie on the other.
My jaw drops. She’s all dressed up, fine gown in grey-green like willow leaves, and her hair’s pushed back under a sort of band with embroidery on it. She looks . . . she looks good. But not like herself. I know what she’s thinking. It’s in her eyes, on her face, in the way she’s sitting, tight as a creature in a cage. Let me out of here.
I’m staring. I make myself look away, sit down with the fellows, keep myself to myself. Just as well if I don’t get to talk to her tonight. I’d have to tell the truth; tell her how I nearly got myself thrown out of the prince’s house. Could have wrecked the mission for her. Me being still here tonight, that’s only luck.
It happened like this. Some of the fellows weren’t happy with me taking night watch. Not the prince’s men. The ones from the south, Lady Flidais’s guards. Seems there’s not enough work to go around, and since I don’t belong here, they think they should come first. Which is funny, since they grumble all the time about night watch. No pleasing folk sometimes.
I’d done quite a few nights before trouble happened. Thought it was working well: stand guard at night, work on the cottage in the morning, sleep in the afternoon up by the wood, where it’s quiet. Outhouse is weather-tight now. Back to Winterfalls in time for supper. Couldn’t see why anyone would object.
But the fellows, the ones from Cloud Hill, weren’t happy. Took their time letting me know, but when they did it all blew up fast. First one of them making a remark, then another one saying his bit, an insult, another insult, a knock that wasn’t quite an accident. A push. A harder push.
Told them I wasn’t interested in a fight. Told them they should save their blows for a proper battle, like the one Lord Cadhan might be fighting back in Cloud Hill. Shouldn’t have said that. Quick sharp there were six of them around me in the men’s quarters, voices coming at me like knives, saying I was a half-wit, an ignorant oaf, a numbskull, and what would a dolt like me know about Lord Cadhan’s business anyway? I should stick to the work the villagers were kind enough to give me and stop robbing trained men of their livelihood. Where was I from, anyway? I was a wanderer, a nobody, not to be trusted. And so on.
Thing is, those years in Mathuin’s lockup gave me a thick hide, and a lot bounces off it. Sometimes something’ll get through. But I’ve got big shoulders. Sat there quiet, that night, and let them say what they wanted to say.
If Domnall had been in the men’s quarters they wouldn’t have dared say those things, and they wouldn’t have done what came next. Good man, Domnall; keeps the fellows in line as well as he can. But he was off talking to someone, so they grabbed their chance.
Didn’t see it coming. Thought they were finished with me. They sat down at the table and started talking among themselves. Acted as if I wasn’t there, which suited me fine. They were talking about women, the way men sometimes do, unseemly talk that I didn’t like, but I stayed there anyway. The mood they were in, if I’d walked out they’d have taken it as an insult.
‘Another thing,’ said one fellow. All of them had had too much ale, and it was showing. ‘Too many rules here. Stay in the men’s quarters overnight, no fraternising, don’t speak the wrong way to the ladies and so on.’
‘And no bothering the village girls,’ said one of the others. ‘Back home, the girls didn’t call it bothering, they called it fun.’
‘Fun?’ said a third man. ‘Not much of that around here. What’s a man to do? No work, no amusements, house full of tight-arsed maids and fat serving women . . .’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said someone else. ‘I reckon that Sinead might be up for something, if you asked the right way.’
‘That skinny bitch? Not her. Isn’t she Lady Sochla’s maid? You wouldn’t want to fall foul of the prince’s aunt.’
‘Why would the old woman need to know? Quickie up against the wall, that’s all I’m after, not a night in the girl’s bed.’
Someone laughed. ‘Since she sleeps in the old lady’s room, you’d hardly be wanting that, lad. What if you got the two of them mixed up? The shock would turn your hair white.’
‘Nice surprise for the old woman, though,’ one of them said. ‘Probably invite you back the next night.’
General guffawing at this. I was feeling pretty bad by this stage. Wanted to tell them to shut up, but didn’t want to draw attention by speaking out. Wished I was somewhere else. Common enough feeling these days.
‘Pity about Ciar. Now she was a real firebrand of a girl. Always ready, always willing, hundred different ways to please a man. What a waste.’
‘Come on, Niall, the girl’s dead. Show some respect.’
‘Just saying. If any of them had to go, shame it was her. Real woman. Juicy as a ripe plum. Should be more like her, then we’d all be satisfied.’
Then it came. ‘Hey, Grim! How about that woman of yours? Is she juicy? Lonely old bed, now you’re on night watch.’
Felt the red rising inside me. Shoved it down. Told myself not to answer. Knew they were trying to goad me, get me angry, the fools.
‘Cat got your tongue, bonehead? Speak up when you’re spoken to, can’t you? Tell us about the witch. Dried-up old thing, isn’t she? Skinny as a mangy cur and evil-eyed with it. Big man like you can’t be getting much satisfaction from –’
The red was in my head, filling it up, blocking out everything. I was roaring, grabbing, squeezing, pounding. And then someone shouted ‘Stop it!’ and the red faded and there I was with a man in my grip, ready to thump his head down on the table one more time. ‘Stop!’ yelled Domnall again, and I let the man go. Looked around. Saw five of them white as ghosts, staring at me, and Domnall striding over from the doorway. The fellow I’d been holding was making a moaning sound. Not dead, then. Nobody was rushing to help him.
I stepped back. Black Crow’s curse! I’d just undone all Blackthorn’s good work. I’d just wrecked the mission. I’d get thrown out of Winterfalls or worse. Couldn’t bring myself to say sorry, though.
‘He called Blackthorn bad names,’ I said.
Domnall came up, gave the fellow a quick check. ‘You could have killed him,’ he said, looking at me. Truth was, if he hadn’t come in, I wouldn’t have stopped. I could see he knew that. ‘You’re due on watch,’ he said, though it was early. ‘Go now. Report to me first thing in the morning.’
That meant my time at Winterfalls was over. Would be over by morning. Even if Domnall gave me another chance, unlikely as that was, the men-at-arms wouldn’t accept what I’d done. I’d just made enemies of the lot of them.
Life’s full of surprises. Mostly bad ones – had plenty of those. Disappointments. Reversals. Nasty accidents. But sometimes there are good surprises, like Blackthorn letting me come with her to Dalriada, and then letting me stay. Or the folk from the village helping me rebuild our place after the fire. The morning after I nearly beat one of his men to a pulp, I reported to Domnall as ordered. Lochlan was with him, the prince’s master-at-arms, which made it even worse than I’d expected. I stood there in the guard room with my bag on my back, ready to leave as soon as
they’d said what they had to say. One good thing, I was thinking. If they’d been going to lock me up they’d have done it already, not waited until I’d stood watch another night.
‘Well, Grim,’ Lochlan said. ‘How do you account for your violent outburst last night?’
‘What I said to Domnall, Master Lochlan. The men insulted Blackthorn. The lady is my friend. Just standing up for my friend.’
‘Could you not have used words rather than blows?’
‘Not good with words. They’d have laughed.’
‘Perhaps that is true,’ Lochlan said. ‘But Domnall tells me you looked as if you would kill Seanan. I know you are taking a turn as night guard, and I recognise your ability to do a good job at that. But you are not trained as our men are, to curb your anger and to know when to stop. That can be dangerous. Especially when a man is as big and strong as you are. An insult to a lady, however disrespectful, surely does not merit death.’
‘Wouldn’t have killed him.’ But maybe that was a lie. When the red came, sometimes I didn’t know what I was doing until it was over.
Neither of them said anything for a bit. ‘You want me to leave now?’ I made myself say. Nothing worse than bad news being dragged out.
Lochlan looked at Domnall; Domnall looked back at him.
‘Leave?’ Domnall said. ‘We won’t ask you to leave, Grim. Unless you find yourself unable to comply with the penalty we’ve determined.’
My head filled up with all kinds of penalties, most of which I wouldn’t like at all. I wished they’d get on with it. I’d spent the whole night thinking I’d ruined Blackthorn’s mission, and now this. Whatever it was.
‘I want you to make amends with the men,’ Domnall said. ‘Continue with your duties, but ensure this kind of thing does not happen again.’
‘If you decide you wish to stay with us longer,’ said Lochlan, ‘we’ll provide you with the same training as all the men get. That includes learning to control your temper and not to take to your fellow guards with your fists, no matter how much they provoke you.’
This was a surprise. I didn’t tell him I had no intention of joining Prince Oran’s guards, even if the prince wanted me, which I was sure he wouldn’t. Make amends. That didn’t sit well with me, but there was no choice, not if I wanted to help Blackthorn.
‘I see,’ I said. ‘One thing, though.’
‘And that is?’
‘The fellows. The way they were talking. Not just about Blackthorn, but the other women too. Disrespectful. Making amends, that could be hard. I’ll do my best. But I won’t sit there and listen to that sort of thing. Training in keeping their tempers, that’s all very well. But why not training in holding their tongues, if all they can say is that rubbish?’
There was a proper smile on Domnall’s face now. ‘You may find making amends isn’t so difficult,’ he said. ‘As for the other, I think your presence among them may go some way to moderating their speech. Just keep your fists out of it.’
It’s funny. Me belting that fellow Seanan’s head on the table hasn’t made the men-at-arms hate me more. It’s earned me respect. Overnight, like magic. Since that morning I’ve tried harder to be friendly, but not over-friendly. Had no trouble with the men. I’ve joined in their talk when I could. I’ve done my share of the work. The one time they got onto the subject of women, I glared and bunched up my fists and they went quiet. Nobody’s even mentioned Blackthorn. Which is just as well, because if they speak ill of her I’ll do it again, and this time I won’t be so quick to stop.
So here I am at the supper table, glad they didn’t send me packing but worried too. Time’s running out and between night watch and mending the cottage I’ve hardly had a chance to say a word to Blackthorn. Looks like tonight will be no different. If she’s up at the high table with Lady Flidais, she’ll most likely have to stay in the hall after they finish supper, and I’m on duty.
Seanan passes me the salt. I make myself say thanks. Domnall has his eye on us, and I see him nod. So far, so good. Be glad when we get out of here, though. The thatching’s all done now, thanks to those two lads from the brewery, and there’s only inside work to finish, jobs we can work on even in bad weather. Want to tell Blackthorn we might be in there before winter after all. That’ll make her happy. Be good to see a smile on her face. Even bigger smile, of course, if we solve Prince Oran’s mystery first. Have to say I don’t like our chances.
32
~BLACKTHORN~
At this table I was a figure of fun, a scarecrow in a group of beautifully embroidered dolls. It was a relief to find that Master Oisin was of the friendly variety of druid. He began a conversation about the terrain around Winterfalls and what kind of herbs I had been able to gather. Over the soup I found myself discussing teas brewed from holly leaves, and how best to render them palatable without losing their efficacy.
Supper progressed through various courses. Lady Flidais, who was seated on the other side of Master Oisin, seemed uncomfortable. She was beautifully dressed, with her hair elaborately plaited and her head held proudly high. But she looked ill at ease, as if those who shared her table were not only strangers, but strangers whom she did not particularly trust. If my draught had eased her headache – it should have done – there was no sign of it in her demeanour. She exchanged a word or two with the visiting chieftain and his wife; she responded to innocuous questions from Lady Sochla and Oisin. But mostly she sat in silence, toying with her food.
How could I get her to talk to me? How could I persuade her to trust me enough to tell the truth, whatever it was? It was a pity I wasn’t more like Master Oisin, whose very manner inspired trust. I was pondering this and trying to catch what Lord Muadan was saying to the prince – were they speaking of Mathuin of Laois? – when Lady Sochla leaned forward and addressed the druid.
‘Master Oisin, I’m hoping you will favour us with a tale or two after supper.’
‘Of course, Lady Sochla. What manner of tale would the company prefer? A story of true love, perhaps? A tale of transformation? An epic adventure – journeys and battles and quests?’
‘I enjoy a tale of magic and mystery,’ I said. ‘But, of course, the choice is not up to me.’
Master Oisin smiled. ‘I expect you are something of a storyteller yourself, Mistress Blackthorn. We could perhaps share the duty.’
Flidais spoke, suddenly sharp as broken glass. ‘Since Blackthorn sits with us every morning in the sewing room, we’ve heard more than enough of her tales. I’m sure you have something more interesting, Master Oisin.’
There was a frozen silence; even the weighty discussion between Prince Oran and Lord Muadan ceased. Then the prince spoke. ‘That was uncalled for, Flidais. Mistress Blackthorn sits at this table as my guest.’ He made no attempt to hide his displeasure.
Flidais flushed scarlet. She looked down at her platter. Mhairi, standing behind, laid a comforting hand on her mistress’s shoulder, and the lady shook it off.
‘A tale of transformation would suit very well,’ said Lady Sochla, smoothing over the difficult moment. ‘The dream of Aengus; the wooing of Etain. Or there’s that strange old story about the brothers being turned into swans.’
‘Not so very old, and close enough to home, that one,’ said Master Oisin. ‘But perhaps Lady Flidais fancies the tale of true love instead.’
‘You must tell whatever tale you please,’ muttered Flidais. She was deeply unsettled, as well she might be. It must be almost unheard of for a prince to reprimand his lady before a table full of guests. With the hand-fasting so close, was Oran starting to panic? I’d have to speak to him in the morning, if the opportunity arose, and warn him to keep up the pretence that nothing was amiss, or I’d never get Flidais to talk.
The promise of a tale kept most of the household in the hall once supper was over. Men moved tables aside and benches were set by the hearth. Oisin had a little harp and o
ne of the fellows had a whistle, so there was music first. Then the druid told his tale, one I had never heard before, about a sad creature that could live neither entirely in the water nor entirely on the land; a being that dwelled all alone in a seaside cavern and cried by night for a companion in its solitude. But there was no companion, for it was the only one of its kind in all Erin.
Some eyebrows went up as the druid’s tale unfolded, for it was indeed sorrowful, and after Oisin’s earlier suggestion of a story suited to a hand-fasting, this one seemed an unlikely choice.
But Master Oisin struck me as a subtle man even by druidic standards. This odd tale might turn out to be exactly right for the occasion.
‘The local people, fishermen and the like,’ went on the druid, ‘were becoming weary of the creature’s moaning and wailing. They were losing sleep, and fisherfolk keep early hours. They spoke of creeping up with spears and ridding the cave of its occupant forever. But the wise woman of the settlement warned them that such violent action would put a curse on the place, and the noise would likely continue, night after night, even when the cave was empty. One of the women said maybe there was another creature like this one somewhere, and shouldn’t someone go out and look for it, for who could say with certainty that it did not exist on some lonely island or in the bottom of a well or in some other mysterious place where earth and water met? Not in Erin, maybe, but in a realm close by? And one or two of the men liked this idea, and said they might put out in their boat and go on a quest to find it, but their wives pointed out that they could be looking for a long time, and who was going to catch the fish they would have caught if they’d stayed at home as sensible folk should?
‘So they were in something of a dilemma, as you can understand. Perhaps you can help me here, Mistress Blackthorn.’
Already on edge in this chamber packed with folk, I felt my body tighten still further. ‘Of course,’ I said in a tone I hoped was not too strangled.