Juliet Marillier - Hearts Blood
He lifts his hand and strikes his wife across the face, hard enough to send her reeling backwards. He closes the door; slides the bolt home.
“How deep need I go,” he mutters, “to keep the world out?”
My head dizzy, my vision blurring, for a little I did no more than sit quite still at the work table as the images in the obsidian mirror faded away to nothing and Nechtan’s thoughts slipped one by one out of my mind. Outside in the garden a thrush was singing.The sun had moved to the west, sending a stream of light through the library window.When I could move again, I wrapped the dark mirror in its cloth and stowed it away in the chest. There was another leaf of Nechtan’s writings on the table, another part of this story to be visited, belonging to the time after the experiment: the time of the wayward host. I would not look at it now.
When I felt strong enough I went outside again. I stood in the sunlight and spoke the words of a prayer, a simple one from childhood, asking the angels to watch over me. This vision had been less dark than the first. It was not so much what I had seen that was troubling; it was the way the mirror had drawn me into Nechtan’s mind. How many times had Cillian hit me in just the way Nechtan had struck Mella? And yet, watching that, my thoughts had been not hers but his, all violence and fury. Even now his anger flamed red in my mind. It sickened me.
Would it be like this from now on if I continued to use the mirror? Would a little of Nechtan’s evil rub off on me each time, turning me into a person who cared nothing for compassion, forgiveness, kindness, but only lived for power? I understood exactly what Muirne had been talking about. If doing this made me feel so wretched, what would it do to Anluan, with Nechtan’s own blood running in his veins? The chieftain of Whistling Tor was in many ways an innocent. He might be able to summon a host of specters to see off intruders, but this insidious evil could consume him from within. He must not be exposed to it.
“Caitrin?” It was Magnus, standing in the archway. He had a bundle on his shoulder; it looked as if he had only now come back from the settlement, though it was midafternoon. His strong features wore an unusually grim look. “There’s a problem.Where’s Anluan?”
“He went down to the farm some time ago.What’s wrong?” My mind went to Cillian and I felt cold.
“There’s a party of armed Normans on the open ground between the foot of the hill and the settlement, demanding that Anluan come down and speak with them. From what I could understand, they’re under orders to pass their message to nobody but him or his chief councillor. They wouldn’t tell Tomas what it was all about, and they weren’t interested in hearing anything I had to say. They’ve heard enough about this place to stop them from coming up the hill to deliver this decree or whatever it is. See if you can find the others, will you, Caitrin? I’ll fetch Anluan.”
We assembled in the kitchen. The afternoon was passing; there wasn’t long to make a decision.Anluan was sheet-white, his features pinched with strain. Nobody sat down. Magnus ran through it all: he had spent some time talking to Tomas about the situation with Cillian—he’d tell me about that later, but I would be happy with the explanation—and had been about to head for home when the Normans had ridden up to the village barrier and demanded admittance.They’d come from Stephen de Courcy.
“The fellow they were using as a translator didn’t seem to know a lot of Irish,” Magnus said. “Took him a long time to convey what it was they wanted. Then they asked about the barrier, and Tomas told them exactly what it was for. After that, they weren’t so keen on finding a way up the Tor. Now they’re down at the foot of the hill waiting. Tomas is there too, with a couple of the lads from the settlement. Bit of a surprise; you know how mortally frightened they all are of anyone from up here. Tomas was keen to get the iron-shirts away from the women and children. Once Duald and Seamus saw him leading the way, they were more or less shamed into doing the same. Mind you, the three of them are shaking in their boots down there.The sooner we deal with this the better.”
“Deal with it?” Anluan’s tone was brittle as glass. “How can we deal with it? You know I can’t set foot beyond the safe margin. If they will not deliver this message to you, Magnus, then we cannot receive it.”
“What do you think the message is?” I asked, not sure if I should take any part in the discussion, but hating that look on Anluan’s face and the familiar way he had wrapped his arms one over the other, as if to set a shield between himself and the world.
“It must be something of significance.” Rioghan had his palms together, the tips of his fingers at his lips; I could almost see his mind working. “Otherwise they’d be quite willing to pass it to Magnus and ask him to deliver it.Whatever it is, you cannot ignore it, Anluan.”
“What do you expect me to do,” Anluan responded furiously, “send the host out to snatch it from this messenger’s hands? I cannot go beyond the boundary!”
“Of course you need not go,” said Muirne, who was standing close to him, her hands demurely folded together, her manner eerily calm.“There’s no need to do anything.These Normans will not wish to be near the Tor after sunset.When night falls, they will go away.”
I stared at her, unable to believe she was serious. Her assessment of the situation was a child’s.
“I wish it were so simple,” Eichri said. “But for once the councillor here is right. Norman lords don’t send armed warriors to call on local chieftains just to share a jug of ale and exchange the time of day. They don’t insist on delivering messages into the hands of those chieftains if all they want is permission to ride from here to there, or to purchase a cow or two.”
“Should such a message not be delivered because the intended recipient refuses to accept it,” said Rioghan, and he turned his dark eyes on Anluan with a measuring look, “and should that message contain some kind of warning, the sender might well assume he’s been given sanction to proceed with whatever is intended. A move to seize another man’s property, for instance. Or an attack.”
“Don’t you think I’d go down there if I could?” The words burst out of Anluan. “What do you think I am, a fool and a coward? If things were different—if I were—” I heard the anguish in his voice, and my heart bled for him. “One step beyond that line, one single step, and the entire host could descend on the settlement and destroy it.”
“Are you sure?” I ventured. “They may have changed since Nechtan’s time. From what I’ve seen, there are some amongst them who just want a purpose.”
“It doesn’t matter if I’m sure or not!” He turned on me, his voice a snarl. “The risk is too high, and I won’t do it! Keep out of this, Caitrin!”
It felt as if he’d slapped me.
“She’s trying to help you,” Magnus said quietly.“We all are. And time’s running short. I’m in agreement with Rioghan: this problem won’t go away of itself.There must be a strategy we can put in place.”
“A strategy? There can be no strategy!”
But there was. I had seen it, and I thought some of the others had seen it, too, but were not quite prepared to offer it in the face of Anluan’s rage and distress. A challenge; I must be brave. “You need not go beyond the boundary, Anluan,” I said. “Didn’t these Normans say they were prepared to give the message to your chief councillor?”
“What difference does that make?” Anluan retorted, glowering at me. “This is not a court with all the trappings: councillors, advisers, lackeys for every purpose. It is a shadowy, ruined, deserted excuse for a chieftain’s household. And I am a wretched apology for a chieftain.”
“I don’t know about lackeys,” I said shakily, “but you have a chief councillor right here.” I nodded towards Rioghan.“He can go.When I first met Rioghan and Eichri we were all beyond the foot of the Tor. If he can walk out there once, he can do it again.”
All eyes turned on me.There was a silence.
“Only one problem, Caitrin,” Eichri said. “Remember those missiles folk were hurling, the day you arrived? I know you thought the two of us were ordinary men. But you were more than a little distracted at the time. No Norman soldier is going to look at my friend here and see anything other than a ... than something distinctly odd.”
“He can wear a hooded cloak. He can talk to them politely, saying as little as possible. By the time he gets back down there, the light will be fading.”
Rioghan’s thin lips curved in one of his rare smiles. He said nothing.
“If it would help,” I added, “I could go with him. I’m not distinctly odd, as far as I know. And although I don’t speak French, I can probably manage Latin.”
“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.
