In the courtyard Rioghan was pacing, the red of his cloak muted under the moon. In the stillness I heard snatches of his speech. “Go in from the west instead, splitting the force into three parties . . . No, devise a decoy, take the enemy by surprise with a flanking action, then strike with catapults . . . He would still have fallen. My lord would still have fallen . . .” He walked further down the garden and his voice was lost for a little.Then he turned on his heel, restless as a caged animal, and paced back. “We should have checked the signs . . . Why did I tell him it would work?”
My own troubles paled by comparison with such distress. It seemed he was revisiting, over and over, the circumstances of some terrible error of judgment that haunted him. Perhaps every single night was spent in this painful search for answers. I wondered if going down to talk to him would be any help at all. It would be a distraction, at least. I was about to do so when I had the sensation that someone was watching me. I glanced about, hugging the shawl around me more closely, aware that under it I was scantily clad. There was nobody on the gallery; nobody on the steps. While moonlight bathed the garden in an eerie glow, under the trees it was shadow dark. I imagined folk standing there, clad all in black; I could almost see them. Don’t be foolish, Caitrin. The rampaging host of Conan’s records would hardly be up here, inside the courtyard walls. Maybe there were creatures of some kind out in the forest beyond the fortress, but they couldn’t be the ones he had spoken of. It had been years and years ago—Anluan’s father had been a child. Besides, a host of hacking, stabbing warriors could hardly be living just out there without my having seen or heard something of it.
One thing I knew with certainty: I was not the only sad and troubled soul in this place. Perhaps I would never quite be free from the shadows of my own past, but that didn’t mean I must stand by in the face of other folk’s misery. I found my cloak and went down to talk to Rioghan. He was still muttering to himself.
“If I had put archers on the northern hill . . . Or perhaps taken action far earlier, set a permanent guard at the bridge, that might have delayed the onslaught . . . He would still have fallen . . .”
I was standing right beside him and he had not noticed me. His fists were clenched, his eyes full of shadows.
“Rioghan,” I said quietly.
He started. He had been far away.
“Caitrin! You’re up late.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“A familiar state for me, alas, but not so for a young thing like yourself. You have bad dreams?”
“Sometimes.Troubles and terrors grow stronger in the dark, when I’m alone. Then, when I sleep, the bad things from the past come flooding in. But it’s worse for you. It seems you have that even when you’re awake.”
“It is true, Caitrin. I cannot be bitter. This is my lot. My own action, or failure to act, earned it for me.” Rioghan settled himself on a bench that was damp with dew and motioned for me to sit beside him. I did so, feeling the chill as it seeped through cloak, shawl and shift to sink into my bones.
“Whatever you did, or think you did,” I said, “it’s in the past now. We all make mistakes. Sometimes we can compensate for them later. Or we can come to terms with our errors and move on.”
Rioghan gave a great sigh, spreading his pale hands in a gesture of helplessness. “My deed cannot be made good,” he said flatly. “My lord is gone. He is dead, long dead, and the sward green over his dear bones. I held him in my arms as his lifeblood ebbed away; I wear this cloak in token of that. I cannot bring him back. I cannot expiate my sin, yet I am compelled to try. My mind will not let me rest.There must be something I could have done, some way I could have acted, something I could have changed to snatch victory from bitter defeat. I was his most trusted adviser. How could I have got it so wrong?”
“What happened? Who was your lord?”
“Ah, Caitrin. A precious jewel, a man who blazed like a bright star in the firmament. His name was Breacán, and he was king of northern Connacht. Long ago, you understand. Long, long ago.This region was Breacán’s home territory. The kingship was his by force of arms, but he was a good man. He ruled with justice and compassion. Many was the encounter I planned for him, the strategy I devised for him, and all executed with the brilliant flair and perfect judgment that were part of his very being. As a team we were unbeatable. Until that day.”
“He fell in battle?” I knew little of the history of this region. I could not work out how many years had passed since the events he referred to. Rioghan’s age was hard to guess; it could have been anything from five-and-thirty to perhaps fifty.The curious pallor of his skin and the sorrowful lines of his expression gave him something of Anluan’s look. Perhaps the entire household was bonded by sorrow.
“Let me show you.” Rioghan squatted down and, by moonlight, proceeded to lay out a miniature battlefield with sticks, stones and little mounds of earth. Despite the lateness of the hour and the fact that I was cold and damp, I soon became fascinated. I watched Breacán’s forces advance down a broad valley, advance intelligence having told them their enemy would be encamped near the far end and ill prepared for their arrival. I saw, at the same time, how the enemy had secret lookouts high on the flanking hills and a message system involving the flashing of silver discs in the sunlight, something Breacán’s men did not detect until they were trapped between two parties of assailants, summoned by this method from hideouts at either end of the valley.
“It was a rout, Caitrin,” Rioghan said. “And I was the one who led them into it. Mine was the counsel that told my lord, This is safe; we have the numbers.When others advised casting an augury to determine the wisdom of the advance, or recommended desisting from the maneuver until we had obtained clearer information from certain captives, I insisted we continue. I was so sure my plan was right. I was duped. A man I had trusted had lied to me. That, I did not learn until my lord had been cut down before my eyes, and his loyal men, men who had been my friends, lay slain by his side. The enemy spared this wretched councillor. They wanted one left to tell the sad tale. I laid my lord over his saddle and conveyed him home. I was alive where so many better men had perished through my ineptitude. I wished with every breath that I, too, had been slain on that field of bloody sacrifice. But it was not yet my time.”
“It’s a sad story,” I said. “But you were not the only one responsible. If someone gave you false information, the blame was partly his. And folk didn’t have to listen to you; they didn’t have to do what you said if they disagreed with you. Everyone has responsibility for his own actions.” I saw myself crouched helpless and silent under Cillian’s blows. “But sometimes we can lose ourselves. Out of fear or sadness or guilt, we become less than we should be. It can be hard to find the courage to move on.”
“There now,” Rioghan said, rising to his feet and reaching out a hand to help me up.“I should not have troubled you with this, Caitrin. My sorry tale has made you sad. Or is it your own woes that weigh you down? You are safe here. Anluan looks after all of us.”
“Your story made me think, that was all. Uncomfortable thoughts. I’ve wanted so much to be brave, and I can’t always manage it.”
“Dear lady,” Rioghan murmured. “Nobody at Whistling Tor means you any harm, you must believe that. Your presence is like a sweet fresh breeze blowing through this weary old place.”
This made me smile. “Rioghan?”
“Yes, Caitrin?”
“You have a new lord now. Breacán is gone. I know Anluan isn’t a king or a warrior. Perhaps he has some disadvantages. Some flaws. But he is worthy of your loyalty.”
“He has it,” Rioghan said. “Don’t doubt that.”
As I went back to my chamber, I realized this was true. Anluan’s tight circle of retainers had all chosen to share their damaged lord’s lonely existence on the hill. Magnus had been a warrior. He could have left when Irial died. Instead, he had stayed to help his friend’s son grow to be a man. At some stage, perhaps loyalty had become love. W
hatever it was, it had endured some sorry times. I recalled the lines I had read in Irial’s notebook after supper, by lantern light.
One touch, that is all I ask. One touch; one embrace. Reach out to me, beloved. Where are you? The ninety-first day.
Day two hundred and sixty. Winter. In the garden the birch twigs glitter with frost. My heart will see no spring.
I had not been long at work the next morning when Anluan came into the library, moving to stand by the window and gaze out into the garden. “Magnus said I must apologize,” he said abruptly.
I was too surprised to respond.
“He says I misjudged you. If I did, I am sorry.” His tone was all sharp edges.
I drew a deep breath. “You were so angry,” I said. “It frightened me, and when I’m frightened I find it hard to speak properly. I didn’t mean any insult to you last night when I spoke of writing.” I chose my words carefully. “I’m a scribe. I’ve worked very hard to learn my craft over the years. I consider a page of script one of the finest things a person could wager.And I would never mock a man for the fact that his writing was a little irregular. Besides, that could be remedied.”
“Huh!” Anluan turned on his heel and stalked away across the library. “You think a bunch of old rags can be made into a silken robe? A worm-eaten apple into a glossy, perfect fruit? Impossible. Why do you imagine I’ve employed you?”
I took a deep breath and then another.“As an apology, that was somewhat lacking,” I said, forcing myself to challenge him. “I doubt Magnus would be very impressed by it. If you don’t like the way you write, learn to do it better. I could teach you. It would require concentration, calm, and regular practice. I suppose you might find that difficult, but once you mastered the technique, I believe it would come quite naturally.”
A lengthy silence; he was standing by the far wall, half in shadow, and I could not read his expression. No doubt an explosion of some kind was imminent. My body was tight as a bowstring, waiting for it.
“Again you judge me,” he said quietly.
“Not so harshly as you judge yourself. With . . .” I had ventured into far deeper waters than I’d intended. At this point, going on might be safer than going back. “With courage and hope, we can conquer our fears and do what we once believed impossible. I know that’s true.”
“Courage. Hope.” His voice was shaking, and not entirely from anger. “Easy for you to say such words, with your background of family, of comfort, of warmth and rightness.You understand nothing.”
This was too much.“That’s not fair!” I lashed out, springing to my feet. “You can’t know how much I’ve longed for those things, family and . . . and safety and . . . If I still had that, why in God’s name would I be here?” I turned my back on him, wrapping my arms around myself and wishing I could unsay the words. I willed him to go away.
After some time, he said, “So you stay in my house, not out of a desire to help, but because what lies behind you is worse than the chaos you find here.”
“I didn’t come here just for payment or a place to stay. I love my craft more than anything in the world; it’s all I have left. I do want to help you. I wrote that in the sample piece and I was telling the truth.”
He said nothing, and when I risked a glance, he was simply standing there, watching me. It seemed to me that a wrong word would set him in flight.
“If you had time, I could teach you to write more evenly, and in a way that would not hurt your hand and arm.You could practice a little each day.”And when he did not respond, I added,“If you worked with me in the library, I would be able to ask your advice on the documents. It would help me very much if you were here to answer a question or two.”
“I think not.” Anluan moved to the doorway.“I do not believe I could be of much assistance to you. I’m easily tired. I cannot . . .” A thought half spoken there, but his glance downwards completed it for me. The lame right leg, the useless right hand would make many of the simplest tasks difficult or impossible: lifting a pile of books, for instance. And he did get tired. I had seen that for myself. Perhaps he had some malady that went beyond the physical limitations. It was not something I could ask about.
“As for my script,” he added, “I fear no tutor could mend that.”
Such was the look on his face, yearning and desolate, that I swallowed the denial that came to my lips. He was not speaking of learning to write, but of something far bigger. Whoever took Anluan on as a student must first teach him hope.
“Well,” I said to his departing back, “you could let me try.”
Magnus and I became friends.Aware of the heavy load he carried, I made a habit of rising early so I could help him in the kitchen before starting work in the library. He would not let me prepare the porridge or mix up the mash for the chickens, but mending was a different matter; it was one of his most detested duties. Gradually I worked my way through a pile of neglected garments. The alteration of clothing for my own use I had done as quickly as I could after the disturbing visit to the north tower. With the russet and the violet along with my own two gowns, I was well supplied for the rest of the summer, even when the weather made getting things dry a challenge. Once or twice I had helped Magnus launder garments—mine, his and Anluan’s—and hang them over the bushes in the courtyard. I wondered when and where Muirne attended to her washing. She had a series of identical gray outfits, and I had never seen them other than perfectly clean and neatly pressed. Had we not been on Whistling Tor, I would have assumed she had the exclusive services of an expert laundress.
I saw little of her, or of Anluan. Sometimes they would be in Irial’s garden, sitting under the tree, he writing in his little book, she hovering close by. Often I would see a lamp glowing in Anluan’s quarters, late at night when the household was abed. But apart from Magnus’s warm kitchen, the house felt empty, echoing, forlorn.When we gathered for supper, without our chieftain or his constant shadow, the talk was of the day’s work: vegetables to be planted, stock to be tended to, a bridge to be mended. And in my case, the documents.There were always the documents.
I continued to sleep poorly, the old nightmares haunting me. I would wake with a start, my heart hammering, sure I had glimpsed a dark figure in the doorway. I would hear creaking footsteps on the gallery outside my chamber, or the soft swishing of a garment. Sometimes there was a stirring in the air, a presence I could sense close by, but I never saw anyone, save for Rioghan with his steady pacing in the courtyard below. Well, I had been warned Whistling Tor was a strange place. I should probably count myself lucky that this was the worst I had encountered.
I was attending to the cuffs of a shirt one morning when Magnus said, “It’s time I went back down the hill for supplies. Maybe tomorrow. Anything you need?”
“Linen thread, if you can get it. That’s all. I don’t need any writing materials.” The translation of Nechtan’s Latin notes was progressing slowly, thanks to my tendency to get lost in one tale or another while reading.
“You could come with me if you want.” This was offered with some diffidence.
I looked up, but he was stirring the porridge on the fire, his back to me.
“I don’t think Anluan would approve,” I said.“He expects me to work every day, I’m sure.”
“That’s as may be,” Magnus said, turning to put the pot on the table. Steam arose from the contents, along with a wholesome smell.“It wouldn’t hurt to remind him that you’re your own woman. At least, that’s my opinion. He still doesn’t believe you’ll keep your word about staying here. If you come down to the settlement with me, pass the time of day with the folk there, and then come back of your own free will, it might show him that you’ve the fortitude for the job even when the opportunity to escape is offered to you on a platter. And another thing. It would be good for the locals to see with their own eyes that a young woman can stay up here for a month or so and emerge, not only completely unscathed, but calmer and happier than she was when she headed up the Tor.”
“I’ve never felt like a prisoner here, Magnus. I know I’m free to go. It happens to suit me to stay, not just because the work needs doing, but . . .” In fact, the likelihood of Cillian finding me at Whistling Tor was now much diminished. My trail must surely have grown cold.
“Free to go. I hope that doesn’t mean you’d think of walking down the hill on your own.You’re safe up here; Anluan ensures that. But if you wander off into the woods without his knowledge, you could soon find yourself in trouble.” He passed me a bowl of porridge.
“If it really is so dangerous, how do you get to the village and back in one piece?”
Magnus smiled. “Never had any trouble yet, and I’ve been doing it since Anluan was knee-high. Must be something about the way I look. And if you’re with me, you’ll be all right. Think about it. I expect you wouldn’t mind a chat with some womenfolk. Muirne’s hardly the most sociable of girls.”
“Magnus.”
“Mm?”
“Why won’t anyone tell me what they are, these things in the woods? Every time I ask for explanations, I get a vague reply about beings or creatures, and how they’re of various kinds, and then someone changes the subject. But in the documents they’re described as a fearsome army, a force nobody can control, something that was so powerful and destructive that everyone in the neighborhood must have known about it.”
He looked at me, gray eyes steady. “There’s two ways you might find out the answer to that, Caitrin. It might be somewhere in those documents you’re working on. Or he might decide he’s ready to tell you.”