Читать книгу Son of the Shadows - Juliet Marillier - Страница 7

It’s quite tricky making a tincture of celandine. The method is simple enough; it’s getting the quantities just right that’s the problem. My mother showed me how to do it both ways, with fresh leaves and dry, her small, capable hands grinding the dried leaves with mortar and pestle while I shredded the newly gathered ones, placing them in a shallow bowl, covering them barely with a little of the precious brew which was the same Conor had used to bring down the blessing of Brighid on our fields this growing season. I followed her instructions, glad I was not one of those who suffered a painful swelling of the skin when working with this particular herb. My mother’s hands were smooth and pale, for all her daily labours in the stillroom, and delicately made. The only adornment she wore was the ring her husband had crafted for her, many long years ago. Today she was clad in an ancient gown that had once been blue, and her long hair was tied back with a plain strip of linen. This gown, this ring, these hands each had their own tale, and my mind was on them as I prepared my bowl of steeping herbs.

‘Good,’ said Mother, watching me. ‘I want you to learn this well, and be able to apply it with other materials as aptly. This tincture will ease most maladies of the stomach, but it is strong. Use it on your patient but once, or you may do more harm than good. Now lay the muslin cloth over your bowl, and put it away carefully. That’s it. One and twenty nights let it rest, and then strain it and store it in the dark, corked tight. Such a tincture will keep well for many moons. This will see you through the winter.’

‘Why don’t you sit down for a while, Mother?’ The pot was boiling on the small fire; I took down two earthenware cups, opened jars of dried leaves.

‘You’re spoiling me, Liadan,’ she said, smiling, but she did sit down, a slight figure in her old working dress. The sun streamed in the window behind her, showing me how pale she was. In the strong light, you could see the traces of faded embroidery at the neckline and hem of her gown. Ivy leaves, little flowers, here and there a tiny winged insect. I poured hot water carefully into each cup.

‘Is this a new mixture?’

‘It is,’ I said, beginning to clean and tidy away the knives and bowls and implements we had used. ‘See if you can tell me what’s in it.’ The smell of the herbal infusion was spreading through the cool, dry air of the stillroom.

Mother sniffed delicately. ‘There’s all-heal – the dried flowers, that must be; there’s figwort in it, maybe a touch of St John’s wort as well, and – goldenwood?’

I found a jar of our best honey, and spooned a little into each cup. ‘You certainly haven’t lost your touch,’ I said. ‘You needn’t worry. I know how to gather that herb, and how to use it.’

‘A powerful combination, daughter.’

I glanced at her, and she looked straight back.

‘You know, don’t you?’ she said softly.

I nodded, unable to speak. I placed a cup of the healing tea on the stone sill beside her, and my own near me where I worked.

‘Your choice of herbs is very apt. But it is too late for such cures to do more than provide a brief respite. You know this too.’ She took a sip of the tea, screwed up her face, and gave a little smile. ‘It’s a bitter brew.’

‘Bitter indeed,’ I said, sipping my own tea, which was plain peppermint. I managed to keep my voice under control, just.

‘I can see we have taught you well, Liadan,’ said my mother, regarding me closely. ‘You have my skill with healing and your father’s gift for love. He gathers all around him under his protective shade, like a great forest tree. I see the same strength in you, daughter.’

This time, I did not risk speaking.

‘It will be hard for him,’ she went on. ‘Very hard. He is not one of us, not truly, though we forget it sometimes. He does not understand that this is not a true parting, but simply a moving on, a changing.’

‘The wheel turns, and returns,’ I said.

Mother smiled again. She had put the tea down almost untouched. ‘There’s a bit of Conor in you as well,’ she said. ‘Sit down awhile, Liadan. I have something to tell you.’

‘You too?’ I managed a watery grin.

‘Yes, your father told me about Eamonn.’

‘And what did you think?’

A little frown creased her brow. ‘I don’t know,’ she said slowly. ‘I can’t advise you. But – but I would say, don’t be in too much of a hurry. You’ll be needed here for a while.’

I didn’t ask her why. ‘Have you told Father?’ I asked finally.

Mother gave a sigh. ‘No. He will not ask me, since he knows I will answer with the truth. I don’t need to put it into words. Not for Red. His knowledge is there in the touch of his hand, in his hastening home from ploughing, in the way he sits by the bed, thinking me asleep, and holds my hand, looking into the darkness. He knows.’

I shivered. ‘What was it you were going to tell me?’

‘Something I have never shared with anyone. But I think now is the time to pass it on. You’ve been troubled lately, I’ve seen it in your eyes. Not just – not just this, but something more.’

I held my cup between my palms, warming them. ‘I get – sometimes I get the strangest feeling. As if suddenly everything goes cold, and – and there’s a voice …’

‘Go on.’

‘I see – I feel as if something terrible is coming. I look at someone and sense a – a sort of doom over them. Conor knows. He told me not to feel guilty. I didn’t find that particularly helpful.’

Mother nodded. ‘My brother was about your age when he first felt it. Finbar, I mean. Conor remembers that. It is a painful skill, one few would wish for themselves.’

‘What is it?’ I asked, shivering. ‘Is it the Sight? Then why don’t I go into convulsions, and scream and then go limp, like Biddy O’Neill down at the Crossing? She’s got the Sight, she foretold the great floods two winters ago, and the death of that man whose cart went over the edge at Fergal’s Bluff. This is – different.’

‘Different but the same. The way it takes you depends on your own strength and your own gifts. And what you see can also mislead you. Finbar often saw true, and he felt the guilt of not being able to prevent the things from happening. But what his visions meant was by no means easy to interpret. It’s a cruel gift, Liadan. With it comes another, which you have not yet had cause to develop.’

‘What’s that?’ I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Wasn’t one such gift, if gift it could be called, more than enough?

‘I can’t explain it, not fully. He used it on me, once. He and I – he and I shared the same bond you have with Sean, a closeness that lets you speak mind to mind; that tunes you to the other’s inmost self. Finbar had greater skill than I; those last days, he became adept at keeping me out. There were times when I think he dreaded to let down his guard; he had a wound deep to the spirit, and he would not share it, not even with me. But he had the other skill as well; the ability to use the power of his mind for healing. When I was – when I was hurt, and thought the world would never be right again, he – he touched me with his mind, he blocked out the bad things, he held my thoughts with his own, until the night was over. Later, he used this same skill on my father, whose mind was deeply damaged by the work of the sorceress, the lady Oonagh. She kept Father dancing to her will for three long years, while my brothers were under the enchantment. And Lord Colum was not a weak man; he wrestled with his own guilt and shame, and yet he could not deny her. When we returned home at last he scarcely knew us. Bringing him back to himself took many patient days and nights. There is a heavy price for the use of this healing power. Afterwards, Finbar was – drained. Scarce himself. He was like a man who has undergone the fiercest ordeals of body and spirit. Only the strongest may withstand this.’

I looked at her with a question in my eyes.

‘You are strong, Liadan. I cannot tell you if and when you may be called to use this gift. Perhaps never. It’s best you know, at least. He would be able to tell you more.’

‘He? You mean – Finbar?’ Now we were on fragile ground indeed.

Mother turned to look out of the window. ‘It grew again so beautifully,’ she said. ‘The little oak Red planted for me, that will one day be tall and noble. The lilac; the healing herbs. The sorceress could not destroy us. Together, we were too strong for her.’ She looked back at me. ‘The magic is powerful in you, Liadan. And there is one more thing in your favour.’

‘What’s that?’ I asked. Her words were both fascinating and terrifying.

‘He showed me once. Finbar. I came close to asking him what the future would hold for me. He showed me a moment of time. There was Niamh, dancing along a forest path with her hair like golden fire. A child with a gift for happiness. And Sean, running, running to catch up with her. I saw my children, and Red’s. And – and there was another child. A child who was – shut out. On the edge, so that I could never quite see. But that child was not you, daughter. Of that I am certain. Had it been you, I would have known, the moment you were born and laid in my arms.’

‘But – but why wasn’t I there? Sean and I are of an age. Why would I not be in your vision too?’

‘I saw the same vision earlier,’ said my mother slowly. ‘When I – but both times, you were not there. Only that other child, closed off from the picture. I believe you are somehow outside the pattern, Liadan. If this is so, it could give you great power. Dangerous power. It could allow you to – change things. In these visions, it was not foretold that Sean’s birth would bring forth a second child. That sets you apart. I have believed, for a long time, that the Fair Folk guide our steps. That they work their great plans through us. But you are not in their scheme. Perhaps you hold some sort of key.’

It was too much to take in. Still, I could not but believe her, for my mother always told the truth, no more and no less.

‘Then what about the third child in the vision?’ I asked. ‘The child on the margin, in the shadows?’

‘I cannot tell who that was. Only – it was a child who had given up all hope. That is a terrible thing. Why I was shown this, there is no telling. In time, perhaps you will find out.’

I shivered again. ‘I’m not sure that I want to.’

Mother smiled and got up. ‘These things have a habit of finding you, whether you like it or not,’ she said. ‘Conor was right. There’s no point in feeling guilty, or worrying about what may come. Put one foot before the other, and follow your path. That’s all we can do.’

‘Hmm.’ I glanced at her. It sounded as if my own particular path might be rather more complicated than I would have wished. I didn’t ask for much. The security and peace of Sevenwaters, the chance to use my craft well, and be warmed by the love of my family. I wasn’t sure if I had it in me to do more than that. I could not see myself as one who might influence the course of destiny. How Sean would laugh at this notion, if I told him.

The season wore on, and Eamonn did not come back. The druids left us again, walking silent-footed into the forest at dusk. Niamh became unusually quiet, and took to sitting up on the roof slates, gazing out over the trees and humming softly to herself. Often, when I looked for her to help with a piece of sewing or the preparation of fruit for drying, she was nowhere to be found. In the evenings, she never wanted to talk any more, but lay on her bed smiling secretly, until her eyelids dropped over her beautiful eyes and she slept like a child. I slept less easily myself. We heard conflicting reports from the north. Eamonn was fighting on two fronts. He had advanced into his neighbour’s territory. He had retreated to his inner wall. The raiders were Norsemen, come back to harry a shore we had long thought safe. They had settlements far south, at the mouth of a great river, and they sought to expand their holding up along the coast, and even into the heart of our own lands. They were not Norsemen at all, but Britons. They were neither; but some more foreign breed, men who wore their identity on their skin in a secret, coded pattern. Men with faces like strange birds, and great fierce cats, and stag and boar; men who attacked in silence, and killed without mercy. One had a face as black as the night sky. Not even men, perhaps, but Otherworld warriors. Their weapons were as odd as their appearance: cunning pipes through which a dart with poison tip might be launched into the air; tiny metal balls studded with spikes, that travelled fast and bit hard. Clever use of a length of fine cord. No sword or spear, no honest weapons.

We did not know which of these stories to believe, though Sean and Liam favoured the theory about Norsemen as the most likely. After all, such invaders were best placed for a quick strike and retreat, for at sea they were as yet unmatched, employing both oar and sail to move faster than the wind over the water. Maybe their ornate helmets had given rise to the strange tales. And yet, said Liam, the Norsemen fought unsubtly, with broadsword, mace and axe. Nor were they known for their prowess in wooded terrain, preferring to keep their hold on the coastal margins rather than venture inland. The theory did not fit quite as neatly as one might have wished.

Eventually around the time when day and night were of equal length and Father was busy with planting, Eamonn sent for help, and Liam despatched a force of thirty well-armed men off to the north. Sean would have liked to go, and so, I think, would my uncle himself. But as it was, something stayed them both. There was Aisling, still dwelling in our house where she would be out of harm’s way, and anxious for her brother’s safety. That was enough to keep Sean at home, for now. And Liam said it was too risky, with the threat not fully understood, for either of them to be in the front line along with both Eamonn and his grandfather. They would wait until they got a report from Eamonn himself, or from Seamus. That would be fact and not fancy. Then would be time to decide whether to take further action.

I noticed, though, that they spoke long and seriously in the evenings, and studied their maps. Iubdan, too. My father might have sworn not to take up arms, not if the enemy might be his own kind, but Liam was enough of a strategist to recognise and make use of the skill his sister’s husband had with charts, and with the planning of offence and defence. I heard him remark that it was a pity Padriac had never come back, the last time he sailed off in search of new lands and fresh adventures. Now there was a man who knew how to build a boat and handle it better than any Norseman. There was a man who could think up ten different solutions to any problem. But it was three years now since Liam had last laid eyes on his youngest brother. Nobody held out much hope of a safe return, after so long. I remembered this uncle quite well. Who could forget him? He’d be home awhile, full of wonderful tales, and then off again on some new quest. He was tanned brown as a nut, with his hair plaited down his back, and he wore three rings in the one ear, and he had a strange many-coloured bird that sat on his shoulder and asked you politely if you wanted a roll in the hay, dear? I knew my mother no more believed him dead than she did Finbar. I wondered if she knew. I wondered if I would know, if Sean went away to battle and perished on the point of some stranger’s sword. Would I feel it in my own heart, that moment when the blood slows in the veins, and the breath stops, and a film covers the eyes as they gaze sightless into the wide expanse of the sky?

It was never my intention to spy on Niamh. What my sister did with her spare time was her own affair. I was concerned, that was all. She was so unlike herself, the way she retreated into silence, and spent so much time alone. Even Aisling commented on it, kindly.

‘Niamh seems very quiet,’ she remarked one afternoon as the two of us went up to the fields behind the house to pick wild endive for brewing. In some households it was thought inappropriate for the lord’s daughters to touch such menial work, and it would be left to those who served the family. It had never been so at Sevenwaters, not in my memory at least. Here, everyone worked. True, Janis and her women handled the heavier tasks, hefting the huge iron stew pot, cleaning floors, killing chickens. But both Niamh and I had our daily routine, and our seasonal tasks, and knew how to perform them capably. In this we followed our parents’ example, for Sorcha would spend her whole day between stillroom and village, tending to the sick, and my father, who had once been lord of Harrowfield, was not reluctant to set his own hand to the plough if the occasion demanded it. Niamh and I would make good wives, well able to order the domestic side of our husbands’ households. After all, how can you be a good mistress if you have no understanding of the work your folk must undertake? Just how Niamh did manage to acquire her skills I am not sure, since she never stayed long at one task. But she was a clever girl, and if she forgot something it did not take her long to charm Janis or me or someone else into helping her.

However, she was not here for the endive. Aisling picked carefully, stopping now and then to push her unruly bright curls back into the binding they sought to escape. Now the days were warmer, she was getting a light dusting of freckles on her nose.

‘Be sure you leave enough to make seed,’ I cautioned.

‘Yes, Mother,’ chuckled Aisling as she added a few more of the golden blooms to her willow basket. She was always willing to help with such tasks. Maybe she thought she was preparing herself to be the right sort of wife for Sean. I could have told her that side of it wouldn’t matter a bit, not to him. My brother’s mind was made up already.

‘But seriously, Liadan, do you think Niamh is all right? I wondered if – well, I wondered it was to do with Eamonn.’

‘Eamonn?’ I echoed rather stupidly.

‘Well,’ said Aisling thoughtfully, ‘he has been away a while now, and none of us knows what’s been happening. I’m not sure how things are between the two of them, but I did think she might be worried. I know I am.’

I gave her a reassuring hug. ‘I’m sure you need not be. If anyone knows how to look after himself, it’s Eamonn. Any day now we’ll see your brother riding up to the door as large as life, and no doubt victorious with it.’ And I’ll bet a silver piece to an old bobbin, I said to myself, that whatever is bothering my sister, it’s not him. I doubt if she’s given him a moment’s thought since he went away. He’s probably been in my thoughts more than he has hers.

We finished our picking, and we brewed the spring wine with honey and jasmine to counter the bitterness of the endive, and we put it away to work in darkness, and still there was no sign of Niamh. Aisling and I went upstairs and washed our hands and faces, and combed and braided each other’s hair, and took off our coarse working aprons. It was nearly time for supper, and outside a cool dusk was brushing across the sky, turning it to violet and faded grey. Then at last I saw her from my narrow window, running across the field from the margin of the forest, with a quick look to the right, and to the left, to see whose curious eyes might be watching her. She disappeared from view. Not long after, there she was at the door, gasping for breath, skirts still held up in one hand, her cheeks flushed scarlet. I looked at her, and Aisling looked at her, and neither of us said a word.

‘Good, I’m not late.’ She went straight across to the oaken chest, lifted the lid and rummaged for a clean gown. Finding what she wanted, she proceeded to unfasten the one she wore and strip it off, followed by her shift, with never a by-your-leave. Aisling moved tactfully to gaze out the window; I brought my sister the bowl of water and a hairbrush as she wriggled into fresh smallclothes and dragged the gown over her head. She turned her back, and I began to fasten the many small hooks for her. She was still breathing hard, which made my task no easier.

‘She’s decent again, Aisling,’ I said wryly. ‘Perhaps you could take a hand with the hairbrush. It must be nearly supper time.’ Aisling was clever with her fingers, and had a better chance of doing something acceptable with my sister’s wildly dishevelled locks in the little time we had left. She began to wield the brush with calm even strokes.

‘Where on earth have you been, Niamh?’ she asked in amazement. ‘There’s straw in your hair, and leaves, and what are these little blue flowers?’ She brushed away, her face as sweetly innocent as ever.

‘We missed you this afternoon,’ I said levelly, still working on the gown. ‘We made the spring wine without you.’

‘Is there some criticism intended in that?’ said Niamh, twisting this way and that to settle her skirts, and wincing as the brush hit a tangle.

‘It was only a statement, not a question,’ I said. ‘I doubt if your absence was noted by anyone but Aisling and me. This time. And we did fine without you, so you need not feel guilty on that score.’

She gave me a very straight look, but she wasn’t saying anything, not with Aisling there. Aisling saw only the good in people, and had no concept of secrecy or subterfuge. She was as guileless as a sheep, though perhaps the comparison was a little unfair. Simple as she was, the girl was not stupid.

I felt that uneasiness again that night, as we sat at supper, the whole family together. Our meal was a plain one. In part because my mother never touched meat, we ate quite simply, relying mainly on the grain and vegetables of our home farms. Janis had a wide repertoire of tasty soups and good honest breads, and we did well enough. The men would partake of a roasted fowl or two, or a sheep would be slaughtered from time to time, for they worked hard, whether it be in the field of arms or the labour of farm and stable, and they were not always satisfied with a meal of turnips and beans and rye bread. That night, I was pleased to see that Mother was managing a little soup, a scrap or two of bannock. She had grown so thin, the north wind might snatch her away if it took a mind to, and it had never been easy to persuade her to eat. As I watched her, I felt Iubdan’s eyes on me, and I glanced at him and quickly away again, for I could not bear his expression. That look said, this is a long goodbye, yet not time enough. I have no aptitude for this. I cannot learn this. I would hold on, and hold on, until my hands clutch at emptiness.

Niamh sat neat as a cat, drinking her soup, eyes downcast. There was not a hair out of place. The telltale blush was gone, her skin smooth gold in the light of the oil lamps. Opposite her sat Sean, with Aisling beside him, and they whispered together, holding hands under the table. After supper there were no tales, not that night. Instead, the family retired under Liam’s directions to a small, quiet chamber where some privacy might be had, and left the men and women of the household to their songs and ale by the kitchen fires.

‘You’ve had some news,’ my father said as soon as we had seated ourselves. I poured wine from the flask on the table, serving first my mother, then my uncle, my father, Sean and lastly the other two girls.

‘Thank you, Liadan.’ Liam gave me an approving nod. ‘News indeed, which I have kept until now, since it should be Aisling who hears it first. Good news, child,’ he added hastily as Aisling started up in fright, no doubt fearing the worst. ‘Your brother is well, and should be here to collect you before Beltaine. The threat is over for now.’

‘What of the unknown enemy?’ asked Sean eagerly. ‘What news of the battle?’

Liam frowned. ‘Very sketchy. There were some losses. The man who rode here with the message knew little, having got it from another. I know that Eamonn has secured his borders again, but exactly how, and against whom, still seems to be shrouded in mystery. It must wait for his return. I, too, am keen for further knowledge of this. It could influence our entire plan of action concerning the Britons. It would be folly to expect victory in a sea battle against Norsemen.’

‘True,’ said Sean. ‘I would not think of such a venture, unless I had the skills of their own kind on my side. But the Norsemen have no interest in our Islands; if they needed the use of safe anchorage there, they’d have taken them from the Britons long ago. The Islands are too barren for crops, too remote for settlements, a territory long forsaken by all but the Old Ones. The Britons hold them only as a stepping stone to our own lands.’

‘And, I think, as a goad to yourselves,’ added Iubdan quietly. ‘I heard it said, once, that this was the way to provoke a response from a man of Erin. Start a fight by stealing what is closest to his heart: his horse maybe, or his woman. Start a war by taking away what is closest to his spirit: his heritage; his mysteries. Perhaps they have no more reason for it than that.’

‘Certainly, their efforts to establish a land base on this coast have not been impressive,’ said Liam. ‘Like ours, their skills are less apt for warfare by sea. And yet, they have held onto the Islands these three generations and more. Aided by an ally with a strong fleet, and the Norseman’s ability to use it, who knows what they might do.’

‘That, surely, is an unlikely partnership.’ Sean scratched his head thoughtfully. ‘The Britons of the western seaboard have no reason to trust the Norsemen. They have suffered losses more severe than our own through Viking raids. For scores of years they have witnessed the savagery of these invaders. It would indeed be an unholy alliance.’

‘If our old foe Richard of Northwoods is the yardstick,’ scowled Liam, ‘I would believe the Britons capable of anything.’

‘We should wait,’ put in my mother tactfully. ‘Eamonn will tell us more when he returns. I’m glad to see you smiling again, my dear,’ she added, looking at Aisling.

‘Your concern for your brother does you credit,’ said Liam. ‘The boy’s a leader, there’s no doubting that. I trust his losses have not been too great. And now, there is another piece of news. One that will interest you, Niamh.’

‘Mm …? What?’ She had been far away, deep in thought.

‘A letter,’ said my uncle gravely. ‘From a man I have never met, but of whom I have heard much. You will know of him, Iubdan. His name is Fionn of the clan Uí Néill, the branch that has established itself in the northwest. They are connected, quite closely, with the High King of Tara. But there is no love lost between the two branches of that family. Fionn is the elder son of the clan chieftain in Tirconnell, a man of great influence and considerable wealth.’

‘I’ve heard talk of him, yes,’ said Father. ‘He’s well regarded. It’s not altogether comfortable to be situated neatly, as we are, between the two seats of Uí Néill. Hungry for power, all of them.’

‘That fact makes this all the more interesting,’ my uncle said. ‘This Fionn and his father seek a closer alliance with Sevenwaters. He makes overtures, quite directly, to such an end.’

‘Is this your roundabout method of telling us he wants to wed one of the daughters of this household?’ My mother had a way of bringing her brother sharply to the point when he was being a little too formal. ‘Has he made an offer for one of our girls?’

‘Indeed. The letter says, he has heard there is a daughter of exceptional beauty and excellent skills in the household of Sevenwaters, that he seeks a wife, and that his father would view such an alliance as being to our mutual benefit. He makes a veiled reference to our feud with the Britons of Northwoods, pointing out the manpower at his own disposal, located conveniently close to us. He mentions also the strategic position of Sevenwaters in relation to his kinsfolk further south, should he face a threat from that quarter. For a short letter, it contains a great deal.’

‘What manner of man is this Fionn?’ put in Aisling rather boldly. ‘Is he young or old? Ill favoured or well made?’

‘He’d be of middle years,’ said Liam. ‘Thirty, perhaps. A warrior. I know nothing of his looks.’

‘Thirty!’ Aisling was clearly shocked at the thought one of us might wed so ancient a man.

Sean grinned. ‘A daughter of exceptional beauty,’ he murmured. ‘That’d be Niamh.’ He glanced at me, brows raised, and I made a face at him.

‘It would be Niamh for whom the offer was intended,’ agreed Liam, missing the point of our interchange entirely. ‘What do you say, niece?’

‘I …’ Niamh appeared quite incapable of speech, which was a very unusual state of affairs. She was suddenly extremely pale. ‘I …’ And yet, it can hardly have been such a shock. At seventeen, indeed, it was surprising that this was the first formal offer we had received for her.

‘This is too much for a young girl to take in at once, Liam,’ said my mother quickly. ‘Niamh needs time to consider it, and so do we. I might, perhaps, read this letter to her in private, if you have no objection.’

‘None whatever,’ said Liam.

‘We’ll want to discuss it.’ My father had been keeping quiet up to this point, but his tone said clearly that nobody else was going to make his decisions for him. ‘Does this Fionn intend to favour us with a visit in person, or must we assess his qualities solely from his penmanship?’ It was at moments such as this that one remembered who my father was, and had once been.

‘He wishes to hear first if we will consider the matter. If the answer is favourable, he will travel here before midsummer to present himself, and would hope to be wed without delay, if we are in agreement.’

‘There’s no need for haste,’ said Iubdan quietly. ‘Such matters are weighty, and should be given due consideration. What seems the best choice at first may not prove its worth in time.’

‘All the same,’ Liam said, ‘your daughter is in her eighteenth year. She could have been married these two or three summers past. Might I remind you that at her age Sorcha was wed and the mother of three children? And an offer from a chieftain of such standing comes but seldom.’

Niamh stood up abruptly, and now I could see that she had indeed been listening, and that she was quivering from head to toe.

‘You can stop discussing me as if I were some – some prize breeding cow you want to sell off to advantage,’ she said in a shaking voice. ‘I won’t marry this Uí Néill, I can’t. That’s – that’s just the way it is. It just can’t happen. Why don’t you ask him if he’ll take Liadan instead? It’s the best offer she’s likely to get. And now, if you’ll excuse me –’ She blundered to the door, and I could see the tears starting to flow as she stumbled out and away along the hall, leaving the family in stunned silence.

She wouldn’t talk to me. She wouldn’t talk to Mother. She wouldn’t even talk to Iubdan, who was the best listener you could hope for. Liam she avoided altogether. Things began to get quite strained, as the days passed and Fionn’s letter remained unanswered. There was no sign of a compromise, and my uncle became edgy. Everyone recognised that Niamh’s reaction went beyond what might be expected (which was shocked but flattered surprise, followed by a show of maidenly reluctance, and eventually blushing acceptance). What they could not understand was why. My sister was, as Liam had pointed out, quite old to be still unwed, and her such a beauty. Why hadn’t she jumped at such an offer? The Uí Néill! And a future chieftain at that! The gossip was, it was Eamonn she really wanted, and she was holding out until he came back. I could have told them different, but I held my tongue. I had an idea what was in her head. I had a suspicion about where she went, those days she made herself vanish from sunrise to dusk. But my sister’s thoughts were impenetrable; I could only guess at the truth, and I hoped fervently that my misgivings were unfounded.

I tried to talk to her, but got nowhere. At first I was kind and tactful, for she cried a lot, lying on her bed staring up at the ceiling, or standing by the window with her tear-stained face bathed in moonlight, looking out over the forest. When kindness had no effect, I became more direct.

‘I don’t think you would make a very good druid, Niamh,’ I told her one night as we sat alone in our room, a small candle burning on the chest between our narrow beds.

‘What?’ I had certainly got her attention with that. ‘What did you say?’

‘You heard me. There are no warm blankets, no accommodating servants, no silken gowns in the nemetons. There is a lifetime of discipline and learning and self-deprivation. It is a life of the spirit, not the flesh.’

‘Hold your tongue!’ Her furious response told me I had come close to the truth. ‘What would you know? What would you know about anything? My plain little sister, wrapped up in her herbs and potions and her cosy domestic round! What man’s likely to want you, save a farmer with big hands and mud on his boots?’ She flung herself down on the bed, her face in her hands, and I suspected she was crying.

I took a deep breath and let it carefully out again. ‘Mother chose a farmer with big hands and mud on his boots,’ I said quietly. ‘There were more than a few women at Sevenwaters who thought him quite a catch when he was a young man. So they say.’

She did not move, did not make a sound. I sensed the deep misery that had given rise to her cruel words.

‘You can talk to me, Niamh,’ I said. ‘I’ll do my best to understand. You know it can’t go on like this. Everyone’s upset. I’ve never seen the household so divided. Why don’t you tell me? See if I can help?’

She lifted her head to look at me. I was shocked at her pallor, and the deep shadows under her eyes.

‘Oh, it’s all my fault now,’ she said in a strangled voice. ‘Upset everyone, have I? Who was it decided to marry me off so they could win some stupid battle? That wasn’t my idea, I can tell you!’

‘Sometimes you can’t have what you want,’ I said levelly. ‘You might just have to accept that, hard as it might seem right now. This Fionn might not be so bad. You could at least meet the man.’

‘That’s good, coming from you! You wouldn’t know a real man if you saw one. Didn’t you suggest Eamonn as a likely choice for me? Eamonn?’

‘It did seem – possible.’

There was a long silence. I kept still, seated cross legged on my bed in my unadorned linen nightrobe. I supposed what she had said about me was true; and I wondered again if my father had been wrong about Eamonn. I tried to see myself as a man might, but it was pretty difficult. Too short, too thin. Too pale. Too quiet. You could say all these things about me. I was, however, not discontented with the face and body I had inherited from my mother. I was happy with what Niamh disparagingly called my small domestic round. I had no wish for adventures. A farmer would suit me just fine.

‘What are you smiling at?’ My sister glared across the room at me. The candle made her shadow huge and menacing on the wall behind her as she sat up, dashing the tears from her eyes. Swollen with weeping as it was, her face was still dazzling in its beauty.

‘Nothing much.’

‘How can you smile, Liadan? You don’t care at all, do you? How can you imagine I would ever tell you anything? Once you know, Sean knows, and then they all know.’

‘That’s not fair. Some things I keep from Sean, and him from me.’

‘Oh yes?’

I did not reply, and Niamh lay down again, her face to the wall. When she spoke, it was in a different tone of voice, wobbly and tearful.

‘Liadan?’

‘Mmm?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘For what?’

‘Sorry I said that. Sorry I said you were plain. I didn’t mean it.’

I sighed. ‘It’s all right.’ She had a habit of coming out with hurtful words when she was upset, and taking it all back later. Niamh was like an autumn day, all surprises, rain and shine, shadow and brightness. Even when her words were cruel, it was hard to be angry with her, for she meant no harm by them. ‘I’m not looking for a husband anyway,’ I told her, ‘so it hardly matters.’

She gave a sniff and drew the blanket over her head, and that was as far as we got.

The season drew on towards Beltaine, and the work of the farm continued, and Niamh retreated deeper into herself. There were heated words exchanged behind closed doors. The household was quite unlike its usual self. When at length Eamonn did return, he received the warmest of welcomes, for I think we were all glad of anything to ease the building tension amongst us. The tale he had to tell was indeed as strange as the rumours had suggested.

We heard it the night of his arrival, as we sat in the hall after supper. Despite the season, it was cold, and Aisling and I had helped Janis prepare mulled wine. Ours was a safe household, where all were trusted, and so Eamonn told his story openly, for he knew the depth of interest in what had befallen himself and Seamus and their fighting force. Of the thirty from Liam’s garrison, but twenty-seven had returned. Eamonn’s own losses had been far greater, as had Seamus Redbeard’s. There were women weeping in three households. Nonetheless, Eamonn had returned victorious, though not quite in the way he would have wished. I watched him tell his tale, using a gesture here and there to illustrate a point, a strand of brown hair falling across his brow from time to time, to be pushed back with an automatic sweep of the hand. I thought his face bore more lines than it once had; he carried a heavy responsibility for a man so young. It was no wonder some thought him humourless.

‘You know already,’ he said, ‘that we lost more good men than we could well afford on this venture. I can assure you that their lives were not lightly thrown away. We deal here with an enemy of quite a different nature from those known to us, the Britons, the Norsemen, the hostile chieftains of our own land. Of the one and twenty warriors that perished in my service, not two were slain by the same method.’

There was a murmur around the room.

‘You’ll have heard the tales,’ Eamonn went on. ‘It may be they spread the tales themselves, to increase the fear. But these rumours are founded in fact, as we discovered for ourselves when at last we encountered this enemy.’ He went on to tell of a northern neighbour with whom a long-running dispute had flared into action, of cattle raided, of retaliatory strikes.

‘He knew the strength of my forces. He would never, in the past, have done more than attempt to herd away a few head, or light a small fire somewhat too close to one of my watchtowers. He knew he could not match me in battle, and that any action he took would bring about swift and deadly retaliation. But he covets a parcel of land I hold, bordering his own most fertile area, and has long schemed to acquire it. He tried once to buy the disputed territory from me, and I turned him down. Well, he found another use for his silver pieces.’

Eamonn took a mouthful of his wine, wiped his hand across his mouth. His expression was sombre.

‘We began to hear of lightning raids by an unseen enemy. There was no damage to the guard towers, no sacking of villages or burning of barns. Just killing. Highly efficient. Imaginative in its method. First an isolated post, where two lay dead. Then a bolder ambush. A troop of my guards patrolling the western margin of the marshlands, taken, all of them. A nightmare scene. I will spare the ladies the details.’ He glanced quickly in my direction, and away again. ‘Not cruel, exactly. There was no torture. Just … extremely efficient, and – and different. There was no way to tell what we were dealing with. No way to prepare. And my cottagers, my farmers were in a state of sheer terror. They thought these silent killers some Otherworld phenomenon, creatures that could appear and disappear in a flash, some hybrid of man and beast, devoid of any sense of right or wrong.’ He fell silent, and I believed his eyes saw an image he wished he could erase from his mind.

‘You would think,’ he went on finally, ‘that on our own territory, backed up by Seamus’s men, we would have no difficulty in expelling any invader. My men are disciplined. Experienced. They know those marshes like the back of their hands; they know every forest path, every place of refuge, every potential trap. We divided ourselves into three groups, and sought to isolate the enemy in one particular area, where we believed his force was concentrated. There was success at first. We captured many of my northern neighbour’s men, and thought the threat all but over. It was strange, though; our prisoners seemed nervous, always looking over their shoulders. I suppose I knew, even before that point, that the attacks were not made by a single enemy. My neighbour’s silver had bought him a force he could never have mustered himself. A force such as none of us here has at his disposal.’

‘Who were they?’ asked Sean, who was hanging on every word. I sensed his excitement; this was a challenge he would have relished for himself.

‘I saw them only once,’ said Eamonn slowly. ‘We rode through the most treacherous area of the marshland, returning to our main camp with the bodies of our slain. It is not possible to mount an attack in such a place. I had not thought it possible. One false move, and the ground will shiver and shake and swallow and all you will hear is the little ripple of the water as it takes a man under. It is quite safe, if you know the path.

‘There were ten of us,’ he went on. ‘Riding single, for the track is narrow. We bore the bodies of our dead across our saddle bows. It was late afternoon, but the mists in that place make day seem like dusk, and dusk like night. The horses knew the way, and needed no guidance. We kept silence, not allowing our vigilance to lapse, even in that forsaken place. I have good ears, and sharp eyes. My men were hand picked. But I missed it. We all missed it. The smallest pipe of a marsh bird; the croak of a frog. Some little noise, some signal; and they were upon us. Coming from nowhere, but rising each at precisely the same instant, one to each of us, taking his man from the horse, despatching him neatly and silently, one with a knife, one with the cord, one with the clever thumb to the neck. As for me, my punishment had been selected especially. I could not see the man who held me from behind, though I used all the strength I had trying to break his grip. I felt my own death at my back. But it was not to be. Instead, I was pinned there, watching, listening, as my men died before and behind me, one after the other, and their horses crashed in panic off the path and were swallowed by the trembling waters of the marsh. My own mount stood steadfast, and they left him alone. I was to be allowed to return home. I was to witness, helpless, the slaughter of my own men, and then to be set free.’

‘But why?’ breathed Sean.

‘I am not sure I understand that, even now,’ said Eamonn bleakly. ‘The man who held me had a grip around me, and his knife against my throat, and enough skill in his hands to stop me from struggling long. In this kind of combat he possessed an ability such as I could hardly imagine. I could not hope to break free. My heart was sick as I waited for the last of my men to die. And – and I almost thought the rumours true, as the shifting mist showed me a glimpse, here and there, of those that took their lives with cool detachment.’

‘Were they indeed half man, half beast?’ asked Aisling hesitantly, afraid, no doubt, of sounding foolish. But nobody was laughing.

‘They were men,’ Eamonn said, in a tone that suggested there might be some doubt. ‘But they wore helmets, or masks, that belied the fact. You might think you saw an eagle, or a stag; some, indeed, had markings on the skin, perhaps above the brow or on the chin, to suggest the plumage or the features of a wild creature. Some had helms adorned with feathers, some cloaks of wolf pelt. Their eyes … their eyes were so calm. As calm as death. Like – like beings with no human feelings.’

‘What about the man who held you?’ asked Liam. ‘What manner of man was he?’

‘Evasive. He made sure I did not see his face. But I heard his voice, and will not forget it; and as he released me at last, I saw his arm revealed when he drew his knife away from my neck. An arm patterned from shoulder to fingertips with a delicate web of feather and spiral and interlocking links, an intricate and permanent design etched deep into the skin. By that I will know this killer again, when I avenge the murders of my good men.’

‘What did he say to you?’ I was unable to keep silent, for it was a fascinating tale, though terrible.

‘His voice was – very even. Very calm. In that place of death, he spoke as if discussing a business transaction. It was only for an instant. He released his grip, and as I drew breath and turned to pursue him, he vanished into the encircling mist, and he said: Learn from this, Eamonn. Learn well. I am not done with you yet. And I was alone. Alone save for my trembling horse, and the broken bodies of my men.’

‘You still believe these are not – are not some creatures of the Otherworld?’ asked my mother. There was an unsteadiness in her voice that worried me.

‘They are men.’ Eamonn’s tone was controlled, but I could hear the anger in it. ‘Men of awesome skills in the field; skills that would be the envy of any warrior. For all the strength of our forces, we neither killed nor captured a single one of them. But they are no immortals. This I discovered when I heard from their leader again.’

‘Did not you say you had never seen this man?’ asked Liam.

‘Seen, no. He sent me a message. It was some time later, and we had encountered no more of them. Your reinforcements had arrived, and together we flushed out the rest of my neighbour’s meagre force and sent them packing. Our dead were honoured and laid to rest. Their widows were provided for. The raids ceased. The threat appeared to be over, though folk still shuddered with dread at the memory of what had happened. They had given this murderer a name. They dubbed him the Painted Man. I thought his band gone from my territory. Then the message was brought to me.’

‘What message?’

‘No simple words of challenge; nothing so honest for this miscreant. The message was … perhaps I should not relate this here. It is not fit for ladies’ ears.’

‘You’d better tell us,’ I said bluntly. ‘We’re going to hear it regardless, one way or another.’

He looked at me again. ‘You’re right, of course, Liadan. But it is – it is not pleasant. None of this story is. I was brought … I was brought a leather pouch, which had been left where my men could not fail to find it. Inside this pouch was a hand. A neatly severed hand.’

There was total silence.

‘By the rings it wore, we knew this was removed, with some skill, from one of our own. I interpret the gesture as a challenge. He tells me he is strong; I know already that he is arrogant. His services, and those of the men he leads, are now for sale in these parts. Of that we must take heed, in planning any venture.’

We sat stunned for a while. At last my father said, ‘You think this fellow would have the gall to offer any of us his services after what he has done? To ask for payment?’

‘He knows the value of what he has,’ said Liam drily. ‘And he’s right. There’s many a chieftain whose scruples would not stop him from accepting such an offer, had he the resources to finance it. I imagine they would not come cheap.’

‘One could hardly consider it seriously,’ said my mother. ‘Who could ever trust such a man? It appears he would change his allegiance in an instant.’

‘A mercenary has no allegiance,’ said Eamonn. ‘He belongs to the man with the fattest purse.’

‘Nonetheless,’ Sean spoke slowly, as if working something out, ‘I would like to know if their skills by water equal those they showed in ambush. Such a force, used in conjunction with a well-disciplined, larger troop of warriors, would give one a great advantage. Do you know how many men he has?’

‘You would not seriously consider employing a rabble such as this?’ asked Liam, shocked.

‘Rabble? From Eamonn’s account, this is no unruly band of oafs. They seem to strike with the utmost control, and plan their raids with a keen intelligence.’ Sean was still thinking hard.

‘They may work cleverly, but they are worse than fianna, for they carry out their missions without pride, without commitment save to the deed itself, and the payment,’ said Eamonn. ‘This man has misread me badly. When he dies, it will be at my hands. He will pay in blood if he sets foot on my territory, or touches what is mine. I have sworn it. And I will make sure my intention reaches his own ears. His life is forfeit, should he cross my path again.’

At this point Sean wisely held his tongue, though I could sense the suppressed excitement in him. Eamonn took another goblet of wine, and was soon surrounded by eager questioners. I thought this was probably the last thing he wanted at that moment, when his tale had brought the memory of his losses back starkly into his mind. But I was not his keeper.

I suppose that night was the first time I had seen Eamonn come close to conceding he was not in control of a situation. If he had any outstanding quality, it was authority, and next to that was his commitment to what he believed in. It was no wonder, therefore, that the precision and audacity of the Painted Man’s attack, and the arrogance of its sequel, had disturbed him deeply. He was due to escort his sister home the next day, for there were many matters to attend to. I was surprised, therefore, when he came into my garden soon after I began my morning’s work, as if our previous appointment had merely been slightly postponed.

‘Good morning, Liadan,’ he said politely.

‘Good morning,’ I replied, and I went on cutting the spent blooms from my ancient briar rose. Prune them back now, and they would provide many more flowers as the summer advanced. The hips, later, could be used for a powerful cordial with a multitude of applications, as well as a tasty jelly.

‘You’re busy. I don’t wish to interrupt your work. But we leave soon, and I would like to speak with you first.’

I ventured a glance at him. He did indeed look rather pale and extremely serious. This campaign had aged him beyond his years.

‘You will, I suppose, have some notion of what it is I wish to discuss with you.’

‘Well, yes,’ I said, realising there was no choice but to stop pretending to work, and hear him out. It would have been helpful if I had had any idea of how I was going to reply. ‘Would you like to sit here awhile?’ We moved to the stone bench, and I sat down, basket on my knees and pruning knife still in my hand, but Eamonn would not sit. Instead, he paced, with hands clenched. How can he be nervous about this, I thought, after all he has endured? But nervous he was, there was not a doubt about it.

‘You heard my tale last night,’ he said. ‘These losses have made me think long and hard, about many things. Death; revenge; blood. Dark matters. I did not believe I had it in me to hate so. It’s not a comfortable feeling.’

‘This man has done you a wrong, that is certain,’ I said slowly. ‘But perhaps you should set it behind you, and move on. Hatred can eat you up, if you let it. It can become your whole life.’

‘I would not see that happen,’ he said, turning to face me. ‘My father made bitter enemies of those who should have been his allies; thus he brought about his own destruction. I would not wish to be consumed by this. But I cannot put it by. I was hoping that … perhaps I should start this again.’

I looked up at him.

‘I need to wed,’ he said bluntly. ‘After this, it seems even more important. It is – it is a balance, to those dark things. I am weary of coming home to a cold hearth and echoing halls. I want a child to secure the future of my name. My estate is significant, as you know, my holdings secure, save for this upstart and his band of cut-throats, and I will deal with them soon enough. I have a great deal to offer. I have – I have admired you for a long time, since you were too young even to contemplate such an alliance. Your industry, your application to a task, your kindness, your loyalty to your family. We would be well suited. And it is not so very far to travel; you could see them often.’ He shocked me by moving closer, and dropping to his knees beside me. ‘Will you be my wife, Liadan?’

As proposals go, it had been – businesslike. I supposed he had said all the correct things. But I found it somehow lacking. Perhaps I had listened too much to the old tales.

‘I’m going to ask you a question,’ I said calmly. ‘When you answer, remember that I am not the sort of woman who seeks flattery, or false compliments. I expect the truth from you, always.’

‘You will get the truth.’

‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘why have you not offered for my sister Niamh, instead of me? That was what everyone expected.’

Eamonn took my hand in his, and touched it to his lips.

‘Your sister is indeed very beautiful,’ he said with a trace of a smile. ‘A man might well dream of such a woman. But it would be your face he wanted to see on his pillow when he woke.’

I felt myself blushing crimson, and was quite lost for words.

‘I’m sorry, I have offended you,’ he said hastily, but he held onto my hand.

‘Oh no … not at all,’ I managed. ‘I’m just – surprised.’

‘I have spoken to your father,’ he said. ‘He has no objection to our marriage. But he told me the decision is yours. He allows you a great deal of freedom.’

‘You disapprove of that?’

‘That depends on your answer.’

I took a deep breath, hoping for some inspiration. ‘If this were one of the old tales,’ I said slowly, ‘I would ask you to complete three tasks, or kill three monsters for me. But there is no need to test you in such a way. I recognise that this would be a highly – suitable match.’

Eamonn had put my hand down and was studying the ground at my feet, where he still knelt.

‘I hear unspoken words here,’ he said, frowning. ‘A reservation. You had better tell me.’

‘It’s too soon,’ I said bluntly. ‘I am not able to answer, not now.’

‘Why not? You are sixteen years old, a woman. I am sure of my own mind. You know what I can offer you. Why cannot you answer?’

I took a deep breath. ‘You know my mother is very ill. So ill that she will not recover.’

Eamonn glanced at me sharply, and then he moved to sit beside me on the bench. The tension between us eased just a little.

‘I have seen how pale she looks, and wondered,’ he said gently. ‘I did not know it was so serious. I’m sorry, Liadan.’

‘We don’t speak of it,’ I said. ‘Not many are aware that we count each season, each cycle of the moon, each day that passes. It is for this reason that I can make no commitment to you, or to any other.’

‘There is another?’ His voice was suddenly fierce.

‘No, Eamonn,’ I said hastily. ‘You need have no concern on that score. I’m aware of how fortunate I am to receive even one offer such as yours.’

‘You underestimate yourself, as always.’

A silence fell again. Eamonn stared at his hands, frowning.

‘How long must I wait for your answer?’ he asked eventually.

It was hard to reply, for to do so was to set a measure on Sorcha’s days.

‘For my mother’s sake, I will make no decision before Beltaine, next year,’ I said. ‘That is long enough, I think. I will give you an answer then.’

‘It’s too long,’ he said. ‘How can a man wait so long?’

‘I must be here, Eamonn. They will need me more and more. Besides, I do not know my own heart. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but I will return your honesty with the plain truth.’

‘A whole year,’ he said. ‘You expect a great deal of me.’

‘It is a long time. But I do not mean to bind you to me for the passing of these four seasons. You are under no obligation towards me. If you meet another during this time, if you change your mind, you are quite free to pledge yourself, to marry, to do whatever you wish.’

‘There is no chance of that,’ he said with absolute finality. ‘None whatever.’

At that moment I felt a shadow pass over me, and all at once I was cold. Whether it was the intensity of his voice, or the look in his eyes, or something quite different, for an instant the peaceful, sunny garden grew dark. Something about my expression must have changed.

‘What is it?’ he asked anxiously. ‘What’s the matter?’

I shook my head. ‘Nothing,’ I told him. ‘Don’t be concerned. It’s nothing.’

‘It’s nearly time for me to go,’ he said, getting up. ‘They’ll be expecting me. I would be happier if we had at least some – understanding. A betrothal, perhaps, with the marriage delayed until – until you are ready. Or – or might not the lady Sorcha wish to see you happily settled before … might she not wish to be there at your wedding feast?’

‘It’s not that simple, Eamonn.’ All at once I was terribly tired. ‘I can agree to no betrothal. I want no commitment. I have told you when I will answer, and that will not change. A year may not seem so long.’

‘It seems forever. A great deal can change, in a year.’

‘Off you go,’ I said. ‘Aisling will be waiting. Go home. Sort out your household, put your people to rights. I will still be here, next Beltaine eve. Go home, Eamonn.’

I thought he would leave with no more said, he was silent so long, arms folded, head bowed in thought. Then he said, ‘It will be home when I see you waiting there in the doorway, with my child in your arms. Not till then.’ And he strode away through the arch in the wall, with never a backward glance.