Son of the Shadows Page 15

  “What is it, lass?” Evan’s voice was weak, but his eyes were shrewdly assessing.

  “Nothing. I have a strain or something; it will pass.”

  “Some strain,” commented Dog, taking my sleeve delicately between his large fingers and rolling it up a little to show the deep, purple bruises flowering across the pale skin of my arm.

  “Who did this to you, Liadan?” Just as well the smith was too weak to get up.

  “It’s nothing,” I said again. “Forget it.”

  They exchanged a glance, faces identically grim.

  “Please,” I added. “It was an accident. Done with no intent to hurt.”

  “A man should take care to avoid such—accidents,” growled Evan. “A man should keep his hands to himself.”

  “Should know better,” agreed Dog, scowling. “Little dainty thing like you; puff of wind would blow you away. Easily hurt. Should have known better.”

  “I’ll be fine, really,” I said. “Let’s forget this, shall we, and get on with things? Broth perhaps, and maybe a sop or two of bread?”

  Evan rolled his eyes. “Have mercy! She’ll kill me with her endless flow of broth.”

  He ate a little, and slept again, and I chatted with Dog and played a makeshift game of ringstones on the ground. It was not easy. We found the flattest stones we could, but they could not be made to balance properly, and we ended up near hysterical with laughter, both of us woeful losers. At length I scooped the stones into a little heap, my hands brushing away the neatly drawn circle and its network of intersecting lines. When I looked up, Dog was staring at me, serious again.

  “Got a man at home, I hear,” he said.

  “Not exactly,” I replied cautiously, “an offer. That’s as far as it goes.”

  “You might think about another.” His tone was carefully offhand. “Offer, I mean. Got a lot saved. Been with the chief three, four years, now. Got enough put away to buy a good piece of land, few cattle, build a place, somewhere far enough away. Islands up north maybe. Or a boat, sail off and start again. Never met a woman like you before. I’d look after you. May not be much to look at, but I’m strong. I can work. You’d be safe with me. What do you think?” He fingered one of the long claws hung around his neck, his yellow eyes hesitant as he watched my face.

  I gaped at him, astounded. I imagined going back to Sevenwaters with Dog in tow. I imagined my father’s expression as he took in the half-shaven head, the patterned chin, the feral eyes and pockmarked face, the wolfskin cloak and barbaric necklace.

  “You’re laughing at me,” said Dog, his blunt features crestfallen. “Knew the answer would be no, of course. Just thought I’d ask.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said gently, curling my hand around his. “I am not laughing, I promise. I do not want to offend you. I appreciate your offer, I really do, for I can see you’re a fine man. But I will not choose a husband yet, not till the season comes back to summer again. Not you, nor any other.” Under my fingers the palm of his hand was ridged and hard. I turned the hand over, looking at the terrible callused scars that slashed across it.

  “Where did you get these?” Someone had said, ask Dog his story. I could hazard a guess at part of it.

  “Viking ship,” he said. “I’m from Alba, same as your warrior woman, Scáthach. Me and my brother had a herring boat, and we made a tidy living. Norsemen raided the village. Took the two of us for the oars, seeing the strength in us, you understand. That was a time, that was.” His eyes clouded, and he ran a hand over his scalp. “Long time we were rowing for them. Too long. Mostly they used their own crew, but these were short of men, and they’d six pair of rowers in chains, kept there permanent like. Me and Dougal, we were always in trouble. But they kept us alive; strongest men they had, we were. Dougal took it too far one day and caught the end of a whip across the face. He died. Maybe it was best. He’d seen his wife and daughters taken. Filled with hate. Me, I just kept on. Too strong for my own good.”

  “So how did you escape?”

  “Ah, that’s a tale. Chief got me out. Thought he was mad at the time. We were in some eastern port, hot as a furnace, air you could cut with a knife. Shackled in our places, that was the usual thing, while the crew went ashore. You’d die of heat and thirst as easy as you’d draw breath. There we are, one night, sleeping as best we can, bum on the bench, head anywhere you can find for it, not the most comfortable bed you ever had. Place stank of piss and sweat, begging your pardon. Then there’s a little jingle of keys, and here’s this black man walking along between the benches, cool as you like, and he says to us, who wants to make an agreement with us? We’re all staring at him, waiting for the Norsemen to come back and finish him off; but nothing happens except the ship begins to creak and groan like it’s putting out from port. But nobody’s rowing. We say nothing. Some of the men can’t understand anyway; speak half a dozen tongues, they do. Then the black man (which was Gull, you understand, feather in his hair and all) says, the chief’s up yonder and getting ready to cast off. You won’t see your Norsemen anymore. You’ve got a choice. Row this tub to Gaul, and when we touch shore there’s a little bag of silver in it and freedom. You’ll row without shackles if you don’t make trouble. What about it?”

  “So I speak up. ‘What’s the other choice,’ I ask him? And this other man steps up behind him, it’s the chief, but his face was a bit plainer then. He’s young, not much more than a lad, and I’m thinking, what’s this whippersnapper think he’s up to? Then the chief says, ‘Depends how well you think you’ll do, chained up here. The Norsemen won’t be coming back. How long before somebody notices a dead Viking or two feeding the fish under the jetty? Maybe not long. Maybe a while. It’s a busy port, and nobody gives a toss what happens to you. That’s the choice,’ he said. Showed it in signs, with his hands, so all the men could understand. ‘Row well for me,’ he says, ‘and you’ll be free men before the next full moon.’ And I’m thinking, this fellow’s crazy. What about attackers on the way? What about the Norsemen avenging their own? Besides, there’s two of them and twelve of us, my brother’s place having been taken by a long-faced Ulsterman. What’s to stop us dumping them overboard the moment the chains come off? We all say yes, of course. Nothing like a sniff of freedom to make up your mind for you.

  “He kept his word. We had a few adventures on the way to Gaul, but we got there, and he gave me the choice to stay with him or move on. Been with him ever since.”

  “How old is—how old is the chief now? You said you’d been with him three or four years; but you said he was just a lad when you first met him. How can that be?”

  Dog was counting on his fingers.

  “That’d be right,” he said eventually. “Two and twenty, three and twenty. He’d be around that. Not so much older than you, lass.”

  “But—” I was quite taken aback. “He seems a great deal older than that. I mean—how can such a young man be what he is? It’s as if he has already lived as much as another man does in a lifetime. He’s very young to be such a leader. He’s overyoung to be so—so bitter.”

  “That man’s been old since he was a child,” Dog said soberly.

  Around midday there was an unusual stirring in the encampment, the sound of harness jingling, the bustle of orderly but hurried activity. I couldn’t see much, but what I did glimpse sent a chill right through me. Shelters were being dismantled, saddlebags packed. The signs of occupation were being quietly erased. They were leaving. They were leaving, and nobody had told me. He had promised me six days. Even that would have been barely enough.

  “You’d better go down and find out what’s happening,” I told Dog, keeping my tone calm as fear and fury began to rise in me. I went back inside and busied myself, with an ear out for his return. I felt Evan’s eyes on me, anxious, but he did not ask. It grew later, and Dog did not come back. I was kneeling on the ground, washing dishes in the bucket and trying to focus my mind on the autumn planting of my garden at Sevenwaters, when a familiar voice spoke
behind me.

  “There’s been a change of plan.”

  I got up slowly, hands dripping, sleeves rolled to the elbow. “So I see. I see also how easily you break your word. The man cannot travel. I told you that before. Nothing has changed here.”

  Bran glanced across at the smith, who was awake and listening. “He must travel or be left,” he said grimly. “There is no choice. It’s imperative that we move on today.”

  “We had an agreement. Six days, you said. I suppose you never had any intention of keeping your word.”

  “You judge overquickly, as always. I am responsible for these men. I will not order them to sit here and be trapped when I can move them out in secret before others reach this place. I will not keep them back when there is an urgent need for their services elsewhere. To sacrifice the entire troop for one man’s life would be an act of sheer folly.”

  I was silent for a time, thinking about this. “The smith cannot travel,” I said at last. “You see how weak he still is. He can barely sit alone. How can you transport him with safety? Who will look after him?”

  “That is no longer your concern.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Pack up these things,” he ordered Dog, who had appeared behind him, anxiously hovering.

  “Just a moment,” I said. “I have stayed here and nursed this man because we had an agreement, a fair trade. You’ve broken your side of it. But I am responsible for him, as you are for the others. This is my job. I will not see my work thrown away on—on some whim of yours.”

  Bran hardly seemed to be listening. Instead, he was staring at my arm, where the rolled-up fabric revealed the florid bruises his fingers had made. Angrily I pulled the sleeve of my dress back down to cover the marks. Dog was beginning to pack up, his face expressionless.

  “Sit down,” Bran commanded. I stared back at him. “Sit down,” he said more quietly, folding his arms and leaning a shoulder against the rock wall. I sat. “It is no whim,” he said. “I do not act on impulse; cannot afford such a luxury. I had no intention of breaking my word, else why would I give it? Events have overtaken us, that is all. You understand, I and my men are far from welcome in many parts of this land and beyond its shores. We have made numerous enemies. So we move by stealth and frequently. Because of the smith’s injury, and your presence among us, we have already stayed here far longer than was intended and taken great risk in doing so. Now I have a report of a considerable force of armed men on the road and limited time to move in safety. To remain here is to court death. For myself, I would face that with equanimity. But I will not risk my men for such a trivial reason. Besides, our next mission lies north, and those for whom we undertake it have asked us to put forward our departure for those parts. I have made the decision, and it will be carried out quickly. By sunset, no sign of us will be left in this place.”

  There was a brief silence.

  “Trivial,” I said, staring up at him. “You consider Evan’s life, and my safety, to be trivial.”

  “As a woman,” Bran replied carefully, “you would not be able to understand. In the scheme of things, one life, or two, matters little. I will not put my men at unnecessary risk for you or for him. Nor will I jeopardize their next mission. Already I waste time listening to your circular arguments. Were it not for you, we would be safe on our way by now. I should never have—”

  “Chief.” The smith was trying to sit up. His face was pale and beaded with sweat.

  “What is it?”

  “I can ride. Still strong. Got it in me. Strap me up behind Dog here, I’ll last as far as I must. But, Chief, what about the lass?”

  A heavy silence. Dog ceased his packing and straightened up, glaring at his leader ferociously. “Well?” he growled.

  Bran was still looking at me. “Can you understand what I am telling you?” he asked with exaggerated patience. “This is a decision made carefully, weighing all the options. I do not act on a whim.”

  I gave a shrug. “I understand that a man such as yourself sees his warriors as units with a value, like playing pieces in some lethal game, to be disposed to best advantage, to be protected for their worth. to the player. I know that it is women who wait until the game is over to pick up the broken pieces and try to salvage something from them.”

  “Oh, no.” His voice was cold. “That is a half-truth such as I would expect from your kind. It is women who inflict the deepest damage, who guide their men onto a path of destruction. My life has been shaped by this. Don’t preach to me about the healing powers of a woman. You know nothing. You understand nothing.” His hands were clenched tight, though he kept his arms casually folded.

  “Evan asked you a question,” I said very cautiously. “What’s supposed to happen to me? Can I go home now?”

  The chilly, measuring eyes stared straight into mine. “It’s clear you know little of the real world,” he remarked. “You still don’t understand, do you? Perhaps that explains your lack of fear. Tell her, Dog.”

  “Chief—”

  “Tell her.”

  “It’s like this,” Dog mumbled. “What the chief’s saying is, he’s got a problem. Can’t take you, not safe; would slow us down, too much of a distraction for the men, and so on. Can’t leave you behind either. There’s no such thing as visitors in the Painted Man’s camp. If a man comes in on business, he’s blindfolded. You’ve seen and heard too much. That’s the problem.”

  “But—” My heart started to thump. They couldn’t mean—surely they didn’t mean … Great Dana help me; the chief was right. I really was stupid. “You’re telling me,” I whispered, “that it’s the solution you would have used for Evan here but for my intervention. The solution of the sharp little knife, the clean cut and quick, neat disposal? Is this what you plan for me?”

  “Over my dead body,” growled the smith.

  “Believe me, I considered that, too,” said Bran smoothly. “You’re both a damned nuisance, and I bitterly regret ever agreeing to give this a trial. But you,” nodding at Evan, “you’ve earned your chance by surviving this long. You’ll come with us. As for you,” looking at me, “my men have placed me in a very awkward situation. They’ve asked me if you can remain with us for now. Indeed, it was made quite plain to me that a refusal on my part could lead to some kind of mutiny. Such is the influence of a few outlandish tales, told by one who knows well the feminine art of persuasion, who uses her face and her body and her honeyed words to make a man do what he should not.”

  “That’s quite ridiculous!” I exclaimed crossly, fear replaced by outrage. “How dare you criticize me? I have no base motives such as you insinuate! I have sought only to help in everything I have done here. Everything. I am no—no seductress. Look at me; how can you even think … ? Besides, you broke your promise. You yourself are on shaky ground.”

  “Oh, no,” said Bran softly. “I’m keeping my side of the bargain as best I can. You’ll stay and tend your patient, if he survives the journey. My men allow me no other alternative here. And, whatever you may choose to believe, I do respect their wishes if I can. A good leader must be prepared to do so. You must understand, though, that there will be a decision to face later. The longer you stay with us, the more you see, the more impossible it becomes to let you go back. Is that what you want?”

  “When was what I want ever a factor in this?” I demanded, angry tears threatening to spill. I blinked them back. I had not realized, until now, how much I longed to see my mother again. What did Bran mean, that I would never be allowed to go home? I pictured Sorcha’s fragile form and shadowed eyes, my father’s steadfast, watchful presence. I thought of Sean and of Aisling, and of long, peaceful days spent in the deep quiet of the forest or busy about the domestic tasks I loved: baking, sewing, drying herbs. I glanced around me. This grim encampment was no home; this secret, perilous existence was no life. For the first time the weight of what this might have done to my family hit me, and a single tear did escape to trickle down my cheek.

  “You will achieve nothing
that way,” said Bran. “A woman’s tears are turned on as readily as the flow from a pump. I am immune to this.”

  But others, it seemed, were not. I felt Dog’s big hand on my shoulder, and Evan said, “Don’t weep, lass. When it’s over, you’ll be home again in no time, and your man there waiting for you.”

  Bran was looking at Dog. “Take your hand off her,” he said, in a terrible, soft voice. Dog snatched it away as if touched by a lash.

  “We’re wasting time,” I said, dashing the tears from my eyes. “Show me how you will transport this man. I may be able to advise you. I hope you. don’t expect me to ride blindfold. You’re likely to need me on the way.”

  “You can ride then?”

  “Indeed, I was doing so quite capably before your men snatched me off the road. You will find I am not entirely without resources.”

  He did not respond to this, merely indicated with a jerk of the head that I was to follow him outdoors. I was tempted, not for the first time, to say something I might regret. But I swallowed my rage and tagged along in his wake as he strode off across the encampment. Nothing mattered, really, except keeping Evan alive. I was a healer, and I had a job to do. Later, perhaps, there would be time for questions.

  This journey was the stuff of nightmares. I kept my mouth shut and my eyes open. I was aware that we traveled somewhat east of due north, but I could not have judged the distance with any accuracy. The pace was unrelenting, as fast as we could maintain in near silence, going by wooded and concealed ways, making use of streambeds and marshlands to hide our tracks. There was always a man out ahead and one behind. It grew darker, and still we rode on. My back hurt and my mouth was parched, but I held my tongue and willed myself to keep going. My own discomfort was nothing to Evan’s, strapped as he was to Dog’s broad back, bounced helplessly by the horse’s rapid pace on uneven ground, his wound protected only by a wadding of linen hastily applied before our unceremonious departure. I had hoped we would stop on the way so I could help him. It appeared this was not to be. I could not ask. The men kept silence, communicating only by subtle signals, and with good reason. Once, as we traversed a heavily treed ridge above an open stretch of land, we glimpsed other horsemen below us, riding in an orderly, well-armed group parallel to our own path, but in the opposite direction. Bran halted us with a single small movement of the hand, and we sat in silence until the riders were well past. They were men in deep green tunics with the sign of a black tower on them, worn over field armor: Eamonn’s colors. Whether they were looking for me, or on some other errand, there was no knowing. I remembered what Eamonn had said about the Painted Man and his arrogant challenge and knew I trod a perilous path.