Juliet Marillier - Hearts Blood
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.
The candle shook in Anluan’s hand; wax dripped onto the parchment. “Do?” he echoed bitterly. “Do? I suppose I will do just what my people expect of me, Caitrin: absolutely nothing.”
“But—” I began, shocked.
“Don’t say it!” It was a furious snarl, and I took a step backwards, my heart thumping.“Don’t tell me I can work a miracle here if only I have hope! You saw those men down the hill—you saw their weapons, their armor, their good horses, the discipline that kept them waiting as dusk drew close and Tomas no doubt regaled them with tales of demons and wraiths. Stephen de Courcy will have a hundred, two hundred such soldiers at his disposal, perhaps more. I have none. He could give me twenty-one days or ten times that: it would make no difference.This is the end for Whistling Tor.”
Deep breath, Caitrin. “If you decide it is, then I suppose it will be,” I made myself say.
“Oh, so this is all my fault? It’s my doing that this poxy foreign lord decides to ride in and take my land for his own? You expect me to pluck solutions from midair, I suppose?” A charged silence as he glared at me, the candle-holder clutched in his white-knuckled fist. My heart knocked in my chest. When a small, chilly hand crept into mine I almost leaped out of my skin.
Anluan looked down at the ghost child, who now stood pressed against my skirt, her thistledown head tucked against my side. His eyes rose to examine my face. “You’re afraid of me,” he said, blue eyes wide. “Caitrin, I’d never hurt you. Surely you know that.”
I swallowed.There was plenty I wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come.
The chieftain of Whistling Tor looked down at his boots. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m not ... I can’t ...”
I found my voice. “People won’t blame you for what’s happened with Lord Stephen,” I said. “And I don’t blame you. But you’ll be judged on what you do next. The Norman messenger said this was a household of few retainers, as if that were something to be sneered at.You are lucky in your retainers, Anluan. They love and trust you. Maybe the next step is to ask their advice.”
“You make it sound so easy.” In his voice I heard the child who had lost his parents all too soon; the boy who had shouldered an impossible burden at nine years old.
I took a step towards him and laid my hand on his arm. He did not shrug me off, though I felt him start at my touch. “Please don’t give up,” I said. “Please let us help you.”
“Would you number yourself amongst these loyal retainers, Caitrin?” He would not look at me.
“If you’ll have me,” I whispered.
“I don’t see the point in discussing this,” Anluan said a little later. The household was gathered as usual around the supper table, but nobody was eating the meal Magnus had hastily prepared.“Even if I were not burdened with the host, too much time has passed since the chieftain of Whistling Tor had the trust of his region and his people. To win that back could take years. I have twenty-one days. It is possible the folk of my settlements would prefer Norman rule to the way things are.”
“Bollocks,” said Rioghan. “Didn’t you notice Tomas and his friends down there, shivering in their boots at the sight of me, yet holding their ground? Those folk may not have a high opinion of you, Anluan, but they know you’re the same kind as they are. No Connacht man wants a bunch of mail-shirted foreigners lording it over him.”
“Quite true,” put in Magnus before Anluan could summon a contradictory argument.“With every step you take to bridge the gap, you’ll likely see one taken on the other side.That’s my opinion. But you’re right in one respect.Time is very short.”
“Too short,” said Anluan.
“As to that,” Eichri said, “it’s clear the Normans expect you to attend this meeting in person. A pity Stephen de Courcy won’t be returning that courtesy—we could have seized the opportunity to get rid of the wretch before this came to out-and-out war. I interpret the wording of the message to mean that if you fail to make an appearance when his councillor arrives, Lord Stephen will take it as capitulation. I believe there is one aspect of this we need to clarify, and I offer my assistance.”
“What aspect?” Anluan’s tone was not encouraging.
“What is the role of our own high king in the matter? How can such an act of aggression be sanctioned in the very territory of the Uí Conchubhair? Perhaps Ruaridh knows nothing about it. Perhaps, if he did, he might provide some support.We should at least ask.”
In the silence that ensued, I considered how long it might take to get a message to the high king’s court and bring back a reply, and which member of our small household might be spared to perform this task.
“You’d be surprised what one can find out at Saint Criodan’s,” Eichri said. “The current abbot, bless his curious heart, has a finger in a great many pies. I can be there and back a great deal quicker than Magnus can. Give me your permission to go, and I’ll find out whether an approach to Ruaridh Uí Conchubhair is likely to bear fruit.”
“The high king come to the aid of the chieftain of Whistling Tor?” Anluan’s tone was incredulous. “You’d be wasting your time.”
“There is no need to go.” This was Muirne’s first contribution to the discussion; she had sat demurely in her place throughout, expression calm. “Eichri need not go to Saint Criodan’s, and Anluan need not speak to these Normans. Whistling Tor is apart. That has long been the way of things.”
“And when Stephen de Courcy and his well-drilled army come storming up the hill?” asked Magnus.
“They will encounter the host,” said Muirne. It was obvious that, to her, this was the only answer we needed.
A weighty silence.
“Not quite as straightforward as that, is it?” said Olcan.
“She does have a point.” I was reluctant to support Muirne’s all-too-simple arguments, but I had seen the way the host drove Cillian off the Tor. I knew what terror it struck in the minds of the local people, a dread that lingered even in those who had never seen the spectral force at first hand. “Might not an encounter with the host change Lord Stephen’s mind about wanting to settle in these parts?”
“We cannot be certain of that,” said Rioghan. “And because we cannot be certain, the risk of attempting it would be too high.” He looked at Anluan. “Any appearance by the host would give Lord Stephen his justification for moving into the region by force. He could claim to be ridding the locals of a peril that has threatened them for generations.”
