Songwoman Read online

Page 11


  I stared, speechless. His idea echoed one of the oldest rituals of the tribes, whereby a king’s true sovereignty was affirmed by his ritual marriage to the Mothers. They would be summoned, in the form of a wild-caught mare or other forest beast, brought to him, wedded to him, then slaughtered and boiled in a broth that he, alone, would drink before spilling the rest upon the ground. It was one of Albion’s most beloved ceremonies, for it ensured the land grew fertile by the seed of the chosen king. But in all my knowledge, it was always a beast who stood as surrogate for the Mothers, not a mortal woman. Not I.

  I looked to Prydd. To marry Caradog would give me great prominence. Surely he would oppose it. He leaned back, his eyes fixed on the war chief. His expression revealed nothing, but I sensed the whirr of reckoning behind his gaze. ‘I see a certain sense in it,’ he said at last. ‘It would greatly enhance Caradog’s standing, and establish beyond question his bond to these tribelands.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rhain.

  ‘I’ll kneel to King Horse-end,’ said Hefin. ‘But what of the chiefs to the north? They may not be so ready to bend to another sovereign.’

  ‘When they learn that he is king by marriage to the Kendra, they will kneel,’ said Prydd. His eyes began to shine with quiet excitement. ‘You would need strong counsel in such a role, Caradog. I am prepared to provide it.’

  I swallowed a surge of fury. How quickly he turned the mirror to brighten his face. Did none think to ask my view? And what of Euvrain? Did she have no say in it? ‘Surely the Kendra is not permitted to marry a…warrior?’ I stammered.

  ‘It is not typical,’ said Prydd. ‘But there is no law against it.’

  ‘This is nonsense,’ said Caradog, laughing. ‘I will not divorce Euvrain.’

  ‘There is no need to,’ said Rhain. ‘This is sacred marriage. You would lie together only once in ritual. You would not dedicate a hearth together.’

  ‘It will deliver a powerful message if you travel to Tir Brigantes as king and Kendra, War Chief,’ said Prydd. ‘It will convince Cartimandua that she breaches sacred vows by maintaining her alliance to Claudius. I am certain Euvrain will bless this marriage in honour of her tribelands.’

  ‘She would bless it more readily if it were only to a mare,’ chuckled Hefin.

  ‘Kendra?’ Rhain asked, noticing my silence. ‘What is your view of it?’

  ‘I would not ask this of Euvrain.’

  ‘I am asking you.’

  My thoughts spun. To marry Caradog would give me inarguable authority in this war. My Kendra’s voice would be less easily ignored. But even if Euvrain blessed it, I could not marry him. I was bound to another. My promise to Taliesin was the last thread that linked us. Even if he was lost to me, I would not betray him. ‘I do not wish to marry the war chief.’

  Prydd frowned. ‘You are Kendra. Your duty is to your role, not to your wishes.’

  I drew my cloak tighter around my shoulders. I knew he was right.

  ‘You cannot delay, Horse-end,’ said Hefin, ‘if you want to go north before the mountains are impassable with snow.’

  Prydd looked to Caradog then to me. ‘I will give you each two days to consider this proposal and give me your answer.’

  ‘I do not need time to consider,’ said Caradog. ‘If Euvrain will bless it, then I will join with the Kendra in sacred marriage.’

  Prydd smiled. ‘And you, Kendra?’

  ‘I will give my answer in two days as you have requested.’

  ‘I cannot marry Caradog!’ I said to Rhain, as soon as I had drawn the door closed behind us.

  ‘You do not wish to?’ he said, as he sat on the bench by my fire.

  ‘It is not that.’ I could not sit. I paced the small circumference of my hut, rubbing my wrists as if they still bore the tight-wound strips of linen rag that had bound me to Taliesin. ‘I am betrothed to another.’

  Rhain looked up. ‘Who?’

  I forced myself to sit beside him. Other than revealing his name to Caradog at Winter’s Eve, I had not spoken of Taliesin since I had fled from my homeland. Here, Taliesin might never have existed. I needed to speak of him. I needed to remember him before I lost him entirely. I placed a log of spruce into the fire and watched its sap bubble. ‘He is called Taliesin,’ I began. ‘He is a knowledge-bearer of great wisdom.’

  Rhain shook his head. ‘I have not heard his name.’

  ‘Nor could you have,’ I said. ‘He does not walk the ground of Albion, though he craves to return. I met him here fleetingly, when he was permitted to journey, but I did not truly know him until I stood deep in the realm of the Mothers.’

  Rhain looked at me with a frown of confusion. ‘So he was a vision to you?’

  ‘No. He was not vision…I knew him as flesh…He dwelt with the Mothers, and dwells there still.’

  Rhain paused, then said, ‘No man might dwell with the Mothers.’

  ‘I know this! He is trapped there…’ My voice was shrill with the panic of being disbelieved. ‘He yearned to return here, Songman. I was given a weapon by the Mothers to cut a passage that he might pass back…But there was a geas on the sword, a prohibition, and I breached it, Rhain. I failed to free him.’

  Rhain stared at me for a long time without speaking. By now I could read the expressions that lived in his strangely-cast face. It was like a secret language. One that I shared, perhaps, only with Caradog. In this moment it revealed a bemused fascination. ‘Do you tell me that the Mothers lured you close with a man who was beguiling yet bound, gave you means to free him, then set magic about the instrument that it would fail?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said softly. ‘You have understood it.’

  Rhain gave a long and musical laugh.

  ‘Why does it amuse you?’

  ‘Because the Mothers are so wonderfully cruel. I could make a song of it,’ he said, smiling. ‘And so I will.’

  ‘I see no humour in it.’

  ‘Then look deeper!’

  I could not bear his brazen delight. I turned away, fixing my gaze on the hard earth of my floor.

  ‘Do not be tormented, Ailia,’ he continued. ‘Don’t you see? This is the Mothers’ way. They have played with you…to test your strength! You have been entrapped in the most artful web of conjuring I have yet heard of.’

  I looked back at him, fighting the ache of tears. ‘You are mistaken, Rhain…’

  He smiled again, this time more kindly. ‘The Mothers are capricious. You know this better than any. In their realm, night is day. Little is as it appears. It is both wonderful and terrible. But we cannot grasp onto it, nor anything that comes from it. This man, this Taliesin, is no more enduring than flakes of snow in a fire.’

  I felt the air grow thin. ‘It is not as you describe,’ I said. ‘I knew him as firmest flesh. The Mothers would not—’

  ‘The Mothers taunt us for their sport, and yet we must honour them with our every breath. Do not bind yourself to the memory of this man. Show the Mothers that you can withstand their games. And then they will strengthen you.’

  I shook my head and whispered, ‘He is real.’

  ‘He is a conjuring,’ said Rhain. ‘It is testament to your strength of vision that you knew him so powerfully.’

  I wiped away the tears I could not stem, then rose to pour some fresh water. My hand shook as I lifted the jug.

  ‘Are you well?’ asked Rhain as I gave him a cup, my hand still trembling.

  I nodded and told him we would speak of it no further.

  Every word Rhain had spoken was true and I had already known it. I just could not bear to hear it.

  As evening fell, I went to the Castroggi. The sky was leaden, Lleu faint on the horizon, already defeated by the coming winter. The river was running high and fast with the rains, the air moist with the boundary spirits, who surged at the seams between earth and water.

  I sat on a hillock, soft with comfrey. I had come to farewell Taliesin. But the rush of the river was too noisy. He would not hear me. I rested my head on m
y knees and let the cold spray prickle my neck. There was no need to farewell what did not exist.

  My fingers found their way into the yoke of my dress and touched the warmth of my scars. What of the Mothers’ song I had heard? Was it, like Taliesin, merely a manifestation of trance? No. War was forcing these questions, tearing us all from knowledge that had been undoubted since this land was first sung.

  I looked up. A lone sheep had wandered from its paddock and was standing among the reeds on the opposite bank. I smiled at its startled expression and stood up.

  I had no choice but to follow what was real and firm-edged before me. I was Kendra in the eyes of the tribes, whether or not I understood her purpose. I had been asked to marry a strong yet imperfect man to make him a king. And within all this, I was apprentice to Albion’s finest Songman. He was no vision, no trance. To sing a sweet note into a dark night was a power that could not be questioned.

  Tomorrow I would speak with Euvrain. For the choice to marry Caradog was not mine. It was hers.

  The call of a rider summoned us to Hefin’s hall early the next morning.

  ‘I bring news of the east,’ said the messenger when the council had gathered. ‘Scapula is disarming the captured tribes.’

  Caradog flinched. ‘Which tribes?’

  ‘All those he suspects held sympathies with the Dobunni attack. And those he fears may turn to your leadership, War Chief—the Iceni, the Coritani—’

  ‘Those tribes did not ride with us,’ said Caradog. ‘He cannot disarm warriors who have taken no action against him.’

  ‘After the attacks at Tir Dobunni, he fears action. He seeks to crush any suspected disloyalty to Rome, before it takes hold.’

  Caradog laughed in disbelief. ‘What fool commander is he? These tribes are under treaty to him. He will incite the warriors by this, not subdue them.’

  ‘Ay. There is great unrest. The disarmaments are violent. They are killing those who do not yield their weapons and burning houses wherever they suspect hidden metals.’

  Caradog stared at the flames.

  No other Roman commander had disarmed peaceful tribes. To strip the men of their weapons stole their history, their lineage, their humanity. Without command of metal, we were nothing more than slaves.

  ‘Might as well tear off their balls,’ said Hefin.

  ‘This is in breach of the treaties.’ said Prydd.

  ‘This governor cares not for the honouring of treaties,’ said the rider.

  ‘He wants the tribes impotent,’ said Caradog, looking up. ‘So they cannot rise when he moves into the west.’

  The rider nodded. ‘This is the view of Aedic of the Iceni and many eastern chiefs,’ he said. ‘Scapula has commenced rebuilding the forts on the Sun Road, and has sent greater numbers to defend them.’

  Caradog inhaled. ‘And has he stated his intentions in the west?’

  The rider paused. ‘He proclaims that he will not rest until he has the head of Caratacus.’

  Caradog nodded, then suddenly seemed deeply weary. He was always enlivened by talk of the enemy. What now sapped him? Had the suggestion of marriage caused unrest at his hearth?

  ‘Will we go to the east, War Chief?’ I ventured.

  ‘No. There is no purpose in taking action until I hold the Brigantes within my war band.’

  His certainty surprised me. ‘And what of the deaths in the meanwhile?’ I said. ‘These tribes are bearing the retribution for our action. Do we not owe them our aid?’

  ‘We owe nothing to tribes who are under treaty to Rome.’

  ‘Yet you have ties among them—’ I pressed, ‘—for which they are now being punished.’

  ‘Kendra,’ chided Prydd.

  Caradog stared at me. ‘My loyalty is to those who have never doubted me.’

  I heeded the rebuke and said nothing more.

  ‘So what now then, Horse-end?’ said Hefin.

  ‘I will hasten for Tir Brigantes,’ said Caradog. ‘As soon as I learn whether or not I am to wed the Kendra.’

  Only when we were walking out into the cold morning, headed to the cook house for bread, did I notice that Caradog had remained in the hall. ‘I shall join you shortly,’ I said to Hefin. I returned to the vestibule and peered through the inner doorskins.

  He sat at the fire, his gaze cast downward. Alone in the vastness of the feast hall, he looked half his size.

  ‘Caradog?’ I called.

  ‘Do not await me,’ he said, looking up. ‘I will not remain long…’

  His voice, usually so resonant, was as thick as felt.

  I walked to the fire and sat down on the bench beside him. ‘Is something amiss?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I was simply thinking on the message…’ His explanation trailed away. ‘Go to the kitchen. I will join you shortly.’

  I touched his forearm that held his sword on his lap. ‘War Chief—’

  He flinched at my touch. ‘Don’t call me that.’

  I paused, confused. ‘Is that not what you are?’

  He did not answer. Agitation brimmed at his skin. Was this the dark weather of which Euvrain had spoken?

  ‘What ails you?’ I asked. ‘Don’t tell me you are well when I see, clear as Lleu, that you are not.’

  ‘Let me be.’ His voice was harsh.

  ‘As you wish,’ I said. ‘I will not cajole you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I felt his shoulders rise and fall with heavy breaths.

  The fire sputtered, needing fuel, feeble against the strong cold.

  After many moments of silence, he spoke to the floor. ‘The attack was wasted,’ he murmured, almost inaudibly. ‘It was reckless, poorly conceived. I moved with haste.’

  I stared at him in shock. ‘But we fought well,’ I said slowly. ‘We destroyed their camps, we drew the border. We named the terms of war. You have said all of this.’

  ‘I have incited Scapula to even greater cruelty. I have gained no ground—’

  ‘What is this alteration in you?’ I said. ‘Why are you saying such things?’

  Still he did not lift his gaze. ‘Because I am as lacking in judgement as my opponents claim me to be,’ he said through a tightened jaw. ‘Because I cannot achieve what I have hoped.’ His breath trembled, yet he forced the words. ‘Because I have led men falsely, for my ambition.’

  I was mute with amazement. I had scented the doubt that lay within him. I had never imagined that it would find such a voice. This was another man. But who possessed him? ‘These are not your words,’ I said. ‘None of those things are true.’

  ‘They are true!’ he flared. He threw the sword clattering to the stones around the fireplace. ‘Give it to Caeden or Hefin,’ he muttered, ‘that it might serve the tribes through a better man.’

  ‘And who should lead us then?’

  He snorted. ‘My father thought I lacked the temperament to lead. That I was too hasty, too bold…’

  This was the voice that possessed him. How could he deny its authority? ‘Yet now you lead,’ I said quietly. ‘There is no other.’

  At last he turned to face me. ‘The fight is unwinnable and it is only my vanity that compels me to lead it.’

  His gaze challenged me to deny it. But I could not. There were fragments of truth in what he said. And yet, somehow, despite his wretchedness, he was more powerful for seeing it.

  His shirt was unfastened, his throat pale beneath his beard. Now I saw the payment he made for his assuredness, for being the man strong enough to lead Albion against Rome. He paid with a spirit that suffered despair. It was an ailment that he could never confess, for none would kneel to a war chief whose doubts could flay him so mercilessly. But he could confess it to me. For Taliesin had borne this sickness and I had seen the precious light that its darkness could yield, as stars were revealed by the night. ‘War Chief, you do not truly believe all that you have said. It is the voice of an ailment. You are spirit-ill. It alters your judgement and worsens in winter. It can pass. It will
pass.’

  ‘Leave me, Kendra.’ He stared at the fire. ‘I regret that I have spoken.’

  ‘I will not leave you,’ I whispered.

  He turned, once more, to look at me. ‘You have seen it,’ he said. ‘You have seen my weakness.’

  ‘I have seen your fear,’ I confessed. ‘But you have said yourself that you would be no war chief if you did not stand before fear.’

  He stared at me as if seeing me for the first time. ‘You see my fear, yet you do not doubt me.’

  ‘No, War Chief. I do not doubt you.’

  Still he stared. ‘Who are you, Kendra? You possess the mystery of Annwyn.’

  I almost laughed. ‘Because I have stood within Annwyn.’

  ‘You have, haven’t you…?’ Did he see, only now, that I was not as any other woman, that there was a story in the title I bore?

  ‘I have heard the Mothers sing,’ I said. ‘I have seen what you fight for.’

  ‘Do you wish to marry me?’ he asked, holding my gaze.

  I startled at the question. I had been asked to marry him as an act of duty. But as he stared at me, his eyes soft beneath a deep frown, it did not feel as if he were asking me as the Kendra.

  ‘I will answer tomorrow.’

  I returned to my hut and set a full pot of water over the fire, then searched out a piece of tallow and a strong bone comb from the baskets on my shelf. With the wash bowl wedged between by thighs I laboured for several hours, untangling the clumps of my hair until the water turned black with dirt.

  Once the comb could pass through without snagging, I knelt and bent my head near the fire. Steam rose from my hair, and with it, the last memories of Taliesin. When I lifted my face, my hair fell in waves, soft as mist, over my shoulders.

  Euvrain was spooning porridge into her children’s bowls as I took a seat at her hearth that evening. Caradog was at the war camp. Without asking, she handed me a bowl of the thick grain, fragrant with broth.

  Their house was finely provided and lavish with decoration. Even the earthen bowl in my hand was beautifully painted in the patterns of the Catuvellauni, Euvrain’s tribe.

  I ate hungrily, smiling between mouthfuls at the children who tugged at my belt pouch and asked in their eastern accents what was inside it. They were both fair, like their mother, but the elder, a girl, had Caradog’s intent stare and brimming liveliness.