“Excellent idea,” Magnus said. “I’ll come along to protect you.”
I saw the bitter denial in Anluan’s eyes and flinched before it. He opened his mouth to utter what would no doubt be another furious outburst.
“Of course, it’s not our decision,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “It’s yours.We’ll only do it if you think it’s best.”
There was a little sound from Magnus, instantly suppressed. In the silence that followed, Fianchu padded over to the hearth, found that nobody had thought to provide a bone, and went back to stand by Olcan, looking hopeful.
“You’re not to take Caitrin out of my sight,” Anluan said, tight-lipped. I blinked in astonishment.
“Then you’ll need to come down as far as the boundary and wait where you can see us,” said Magnus calmly. I remembered that he was a warrior, accustomed to making decisions and to taking orders.
“I’ll wait at the sentinel trees,” said Anluan. “We’d best do this now. Olcan, I want you and Fianchu to stay up here, just in case.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Olcan, and nobody corrected him.
There were five of them, waiting in a line, seated on their horses. I imagined they were unwilling to dismount so near the forest’s edge.Their iron-ring garments were impressive: in addition to the long shirts that covered them to the knee, three of the five wore separate pieces wrapped around forearm and lower leg, and one man wore a kind of hood that protected his neck under his metal helm. They were well armed: I saw daggers, swords, an axe and two spears. One man wore a long robe with a cloak over it; he, too, bore a sword at his belt, but no protective mail. A leather bag by his saddle suggested he was the bearer of the message.The fifth man, by his side, was in simple breeches and tunic under a hooded cape.
At a slight distance stood Tomas, Duald and a third man from the settlement, huddled close together.They looked mightily relieved to see us until they clapped eyes on Rioghan. I thought Duald was close to wetting himself with sheer terror.
We approached, Magnus and I on either side of Rioghan. Our plan, such as it was, had been put together on the walk down the hill.
Four strides from the Normans, we stopped. Rioghan spoke before anyone else could get in first. “I am Rioghan of Corraun, Lord Anluan’s chief councillor,” he announced in ringing tones. “What is your business here within his borders? To ride across another man’s land armed and without prior agreement flouts the law of trespass.To do so in these parts, close to dusk, is beyond foolhardy.”
The messenger held a muttered consultation with the plainly dressed fellow by his side, and this man then attempted something in Irish. I took it to be a question about my presence among them.
“I am Lord Anluan’s scribe,” I said, reminding myself that Magnus was here, and that Anluan was watching from a little way up the hill, and that this had actually been my idea. I switched to Latin. “If you prefer, we can conduct this conversation in Latin.”
They were taking a good look at Rioghan now, perhaps noting the unusual pallor of his skin, the deep-set eyes, the gaunt features, and assessing them in the light of what Tomas had no doubt told them about the chieftain of Whistling Tor and his household.Their gaze moved from Rioghan to me. A scribe. A woman.
“Lord Anluan’s councillor asked you to state your business,” I said in Latin.“He says your presence here, armed and uninvited, breaks Irish law.”
“Irish law, pah!” The messenger made a gesture of contempt.“We bear a message from Lord Stephen de Courcy. I thought your man here understood that.” He glanced at Magnus, then looked quickly away.
“What message?” I asked.
“A message for the eyes of Lord Anluan only. It’s to be handed to him with Lord Stephen’s seal intact. I’d hoped to speak to the chieftain of Whistling Tor in person.”
I translated this for Rioghan and Magnus.
“Tell him Lord Anluan isn’t at the beck and call of any poxy foreigner who happens to turn up on his doorstep,” Magnus growled. “An Irish chieftain can’t be summoned the way you’d whistle for a dog. Tell him to give the message to Rioghan and get out of here before I lose my temper and do something foolish.”
“Caitrin, tell him we’ll take the letter,” said Rioghan. “You might point out that no Irish councillor worth his salt would dream of opening a sealed message to his lord.Then say they’d better be out of this district before nightfall or they might meet something that makes them soil those shiny outfits.”
“Please pass your message to Lord Anluan’s councillor,” I said in Latin. “He will deliver it to his lordship with seal intact. This other man who stands with us is Lord Anluan’s chief war leader. You will no doubt have heard certain tales about Whistling Tor. Lord Anluan’s war leader suggests you depart before the sun goes down.”
“We have heard that the chieftain of Whistling Tor has few retainers.” The Norman messenger glanced at Magnus. “His war leader, a barbarian oaf.” The man’s gaze passed over me. “His scribe and interpreter, a girl.”
Neither of my companions could understand the Latin, but the sneer in the Norman’s voice was unmistakable. “Arrogant swine!” Magnus snarled, clenching his fists.“Not content with riding onto our land with your poxy demands, you insult us!”
The Norman interpreter opened his mouth.
“Translate that and you’ll be in unimaginable trouble,” I said.
Rioghan moved forward. As he approached the Normans, their horses shivered and lifted their hooves in skittish unease.The messenger had unfastened his leather bag. He brought out a scroll. Rioghan reached up a pale hand to take it; he pushed back his hood and stared straight into the Norman’s face.The messenger’s eyes widened.The color drained from his skin. I saw one of the guards make the sign of the cross.
“You!” the messenger called, looking over at Tomas and his two companions, who were every bit as pale as the visitors. He was using Latin, my efforts at translation having evidently been more effective than those of his own man.“You will ensure Lord Stephen’s men are admitted immediately to this settlement next time.There will be no barrier. Do you understand?”
I rendered this into Irish.Tomas muttered something under his breath, but nodded to the visitors. An ordinary innkeeper on foot does not challenge armed and mounted Norman soldiers.
At a snapped command in French, Lord Stephen’s party turned their horses and rode away. It was not yet dusk; just as well, since we had not brought a lantern.
“Home,” muttered Duald. “It’ll be dark soon.”
“Wait,” Tomas said, and came over to me. He was trying hard not to look at Rioghan, who courteously drew the hood back over his head and waited at a slight distance. “Caitrin,” the innkeeper went on, “about that fellow who came here looking for you; I heard you had some trouble. Glad to see you’re unharmed. If I’d known what would happen, I’d have lied, sent him packing. We argued about it, Orna and me. The man was full of the tale, how he’d been to every inn from his home town to here, spoken to every carter, followed every shred of information—he’d been on the road for a long time, must have been determined, the wretch. It seemed a better solution to send him on up, knowing what generally happens to folk who try the Tor. I feel bad about it, lass. Never meant you to get hurt.” His gaze kept darting to Rioghan. “Funny how things work out. Never thought to find myself out here with ...”
“It’s all right,Tomas,” I reassured him. “I understand.” With a jolt I realized that I had just walked down the hill and out onto this open ground without even thinking of Cillian. My mind had been all on the crisis facing Anluan. “Now you’d best take yourselves back inside the barrier, and we must deliver this message.Thank you for coming out.Thank you for waiting here until we came down the hill.” I glanced at Rioghan and Magnus, wondering whether I could take it upon myself to be Anluan’s mouthpiece. “If Lord Anluan were down here, he would thank you for your bravery and support. I don’t suppose this has been easy for you.”
“If that thing has bad news in it,” Tomas said, “let us know what it is, will you?” He turned away, and the three men headed towards the safety of the settlement.
We walked back up the Tor with dusk turning the forest to a landscape of purple and violet and shadow gray. Rioghan had passed the scroll to Anluan as we reached the place where our chieftain had been waiting under concealment of the trees.The document was like a weight hanging over us, holding us all silent. I felt the need to know its contents, yet was glad the poor light meant waiting until we reached the house, for this could surely not be good news. I thought it likely Anluan would want to read the message alone.
As we entered the courtyard, I remembered Cathaír, left on guard outside my bedchamber door all this time. Hurriedly I made my excuses and went up to the gallery.
The young warrior still stood at his post, his features stern. His eyes, as ever, moved with restless unease.At a slight distance sat the little girl in her pale garment, cross-legged on the gallery floor, making a pile of dead leaves.
“Thank you, Cathaír,” I said.“I regret that my errand took so long. Has anyone been here while I was gone?”
“None will pass while I stand guard, lady.”
“Can you come back tomorrow, in the morning?”
“If you have need, I will be here.”
“I am grateful.You have leave to go until then.”
With a solemn inclination of the head he departed, not fading this time, but marching along the gallery and down the stairs as a flesh and blood man might do. I watched him cross the garden towards the trees. Just before he entered their shade he turned to look up at me, raising his hand in a hesitant farewell. I returned the gesture, half wave, half salute, and then he was gone.
The child had moved to stand right beside me.The moment I opened my door she slipped through. Standing in the middle of the chamber, she said, “Baby’s gone.”
I had to think for a moment before I remembered the ruined gown, Muirne, my mending efforts.“Róise’s downstairs, in the kitchen,” I said.“I had to mend her; she was hurt.”
The little girl stood very still with her hands clasped behind her back and her eyes on the floor. She said nothing.
“I don’t want her hurt again,” I said quietly.“When my things are damaged, it makes me sad. That’s why I had a guard on the door.” This child did not seem capable of doing the damage. She looked like something fashioned from twigs and cobwebs. “I don’t mind if people touch Róise very gently, as long as they ask permission first.”
For a moment she simply stood there; then she sank onto the floor next to the bed, put her head down on her folded arms and began to weep. It was not the full-throated crying of a child who has scraped a knee or lost a battle with a brother or sister, but a forlorn whimper. Without allowing myself to think too much, I picked her up, then sat on the bed with her chilly form in my arms. Her sobs grew wilder, racking through her.
“It’s not your fault,” I murmured, stroking the wispy white hair and wondering if I was being utterly foolish.
Inside is pure malevolence.
I could not bring myself to believe it.“And she’s better now, all better. I made her a nice veil. A lovely color, like violets. It’s a memory of a beautiful lady who once lived here.”
After a little the weeping died down. The child nestled against me, sending cold deep into my bones. If she could have slept, perhaps she would have. But like all the folk of the hill, she could not enjoy the peace of slumber.What was her story? How could she, so young, have died with guilt on her soul?
Oh, Nechtan
, I thought,
what kind of warrior is this?
“
Can I stay here with you?” the little voice asked, twisting my heart.
“I’m going downstairs in a moment,” I told her. It was almost dark; I must fetch a candle.
“Your bed is soft,” she said.The statement had a question in it. I imagined sharing my pallet with that chilly little body. I thought of lying awake, wondering when she would creep out and start shredding my possessions.
“Caitrin?”
I started, looking up.Anluan stood in the doorway, a candle in his hand, the unsealed scroll tucked awkwardly under his arm. The light turned his features into a flickering, deceptive mask.
“I need you to translate this,” he said. “I would prefer to do it in private.”
I should have realized the message might be in Latin. “Of course.” I rose to my feet, displacing the child, who curled up with her head on my pillow. I hesitated.Anluan seemed to be alone, and it was clear he expected me to do the translation right away. Perhaps he was not worldly enough to realize that a young woman did not invite a man into her bedchamber.
“I need to know what is in this,” he said.
“Of course.” I moved to the doorway. “If you hold the candle steady, I may be able to see it well enough.”
Steady. It is hard to be steady when you hear ill news. We stood close together, not quite in the bedchamber, not quite out of it, and the ghost girl watched us from the pallet. Drafts from the gallery stirred the candle flame; Anluan brought his weak arm up awkwardly to shield it.
The message was scribed in a bold, decorative hand on the single parchment sheet. It was not very long. “Do you want a word-for-word translation?” I asked him, my voice cracking.
“Just tell me what it says.”
“It’s more of a decree than a request,” I said quietly, wishing with all my heart that I was not the one who had to tell him this, for a glance had shown me the gist of the thing.“Lord Stephen intends to establish himself on your land, with his stronghold here on the Tor. He states that all surrounding territory as far as the borders of Whiteshore and Silverlake is to become Norman land, under his rule. He claims he has the authority to do so as a knight of the English king.” Although we were not quite touching, I felt Anluan’s whole body tighten. I heard his breathing change.“Then he says he’s going to be considerate and give you a choice. He can take your holdings any time he wants. However, he’s allowing you the opportunity to discuss the matter with him and reach a mutual agreement, which will spare your land and your people the rigours of armed conflict with its inevitable damage and loss. He believes you will see the wisdom of attending a meeting for this purpose. His chief councillor, with an appropriate escort, will return here on the eve of next full moon to hold this meeting.” Next full moon. By my count, that was around twenty-one days from now. “Then his signature: Stephen de Courcy.” The message was an insult. His lordship wasn’t even planning to attend the meeting in person. Mutual agreement? What chieftain in his right mind would agree to this? “What will you do?” I asked, my throat tight.