Songwoman Read online

  I exhaled deeply, already fighting fatigue; this would be a long night.

  Dawn broke through the forest. Our fire had dwindled. Prydd gathered the rods strewn between us. One by one, through the hours of darkness, he had picked up each rod, handed it to me, and sung one of the chants that I needed to memorise in order to perform the offering. As I listened to the words and repeated them, I observed the size, shape and colour of the rod, as well as the number and spacing of the ridges gouged along its length. In the future, I could remind myself of any of the chants afresh by picking up the rod that was its analogue.

  Prydd had tested me night-long, handing me one rod then another in various orders, quietly correcting me when my recitations faltered. It would require many more nights of grove-teaching to ensure I could recall them without hesitation or error.

  I looked up with weary eyes at the forest. Lleu’s light fell in muted shafts through the trees. The grove was peaceful in the early sun, and I saw that it had only been the movement of flame that had given the trees faces.

  I helped Prydd wind a leather band around his tools. My hand slipped as I was tying the knot and the rods clattered to the ground.

  Prydd cursed with irritation, and continued to grunt as I handed them back to him in turn. Was it only exhaustion or had something else caused his annoyance? Had I not been diligent in my attention to his teaching? I could not risk him speaking ill of me to Caradog.

  ‘Prydd?’ I ventured. ‘Have I displeased you this night?’

  ‘No, you learn well,’ he said. ‘The words come swiftly to your command. But I fear that what is too easily gained, will be too easily given.’

  I stifled my protest. ‘I regret my poor judgement with the fringe girl,’ I began. ‘I was beguiled by the innocence of a lost child.’

  ‘A Kendra should not be easily beguiled.’

  As I helped him tie the rods for a second time, I saw my chance. ‘Perhaps it would improve me to learn something of song law…My art in that branch is not strong. Sometimes I am not sure when I am, or am not, permitted to proclaim a poem…’

  ‘I am no Songman,’ he said wearily. ‘My branch is law.’

  ‘Which is a higher branch…is it not?’

  He muttered his agreement as he fastened his sack across his shoulder.

  ‘Perhaps I would be more worthy of your teaching if I first strengthened my knowledge of song.’

  He looked at me with reddened eyes. ‘If it would benefit you to learn when to remain silent.’

  ‘Do you esteem the talents of Rhain?’

  ‘Of course. He is Albion’s finest poet.’

  I waited. I knew it must come from him or he would not approve it.

  ‘I will speak with Rhain and see if he would be prepared to take on another twig.’

  He turned his back and did not see me smile.

  My whole body ached with exhaustion as I walked back to my hut. I was eager to speak to Rhain, but I needed to sleep first.

  When I pushed open my door screen there was a small figure crouched at my hearth. Manacca looked up at me with eyes as round as moons.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I said, closing the door. ‘Are you hungry?’ She nodded.

  I scooped us each a bowl of porridge and loosened it with sheep’s milk from a full jug that had been left on my table.

  ‘You cannot stay here,’ I said as we ate, although it was greatly comforting to sit with another at my hearth.

  She finished her food and giggled as Neha licked the scrapings from the bowl. She was poorly clothed and in great need of a wash. But I was too tired to sew or bathe her now. I could not stay awake any longer. Yawning, I rose and walked to my bed. ‘I have to sleep now,’ I told her. ‘You must return to your hut.’

  I took off my cloak and dress, leaving my under-robe, then lifted the blankets and lay down on the sheepskin that covered the straw. When I turned around, she was standing beside the bed. I stared at her, too weary to chastise her. I had told Prydd I would be resting. No one else would be seeking me. Surely no one would know if she stayed for an hour or two?

  I wriggled sideways and held open the blankets.

  In an instant she was in the bed, her knobbly back against my belly. Despite her grubbiness, she smelt of grass and warm bread. I drew her close.

  ‘I have seen it,’ she whispered.

  ‘…seen what?’ I murmured. I was halfway to sleep. Had she even spoken?

  ‘The place of many apples.’

  ‘Good…good,’ I breathed, too adrift to grasp her meaning.

  She squirmed deeper into my embrace. We slept through the rest of the day and into the night.

  ‘Messenger arrives!’

  I heard the guard’s shout as I drank milk by my fire. I had awoken at dawn, alone. Manacca must have left during the night. I drained my cup, pulled on my cloak and went outside to hear what news had arrived so early in the day. The sky rang with the distant sword strikes of warriors at practice on the flatlands. Preparations for combat had begun.

  A throng of townspeople had gathered in Hefin’s courtyard. At their centre was a chestnut stallion, its fur clumped with sweat. The messenger beside it was breathless.

  Hefin ordered his servant to bring him ale.

  Caradog strode into the courtyard, high-coloured from training. ‘Your origin?’ he asked when the rider had drunk.

  ‘Tir Cantii,’ he said, still panting. ‘I bring knowledge from the eastern chiefs…’

  There were murmurs in the crowd. The messengers rode daylong, passing their whispered words to fresh riders when their horses fatigued, so that their intelligence may be more swiftly borne. This message had travelled the breadth of Albion.

  ‘Plautius has ceased his term. Ostorius Scapula, the new governor, has reached our shores.’

  The townspeople gasped.

  ‘This is sooner than expected,’ said Caradog.

  ‘What is known of him?’ said Hefin. ‘What breed of gut worm is he?’

  ‘There are stories of his violence,’ said the messenger. ‘He invited the chiefs of Camulodunum to feast on his first evening. The heads of the three who refused him provided table decoration for those who accepted.’

  I saw Caradog’s jaw tighten.

  The messenger paused to drink again. ‘The Roman criers say that Scapula will deliver the last of free Albion to the hands of the Empire, that he will subdue the tribes that his predecessor could not.’

  Wind whipped hair across Caradog’s face. ‘He sounds like an enemy who is worthy of my fight.’

  ‘Do we prepare, Horse-end?’ asked Hefin.

  Caradog turned to him. ‘Send riders to the free tribes today. We will launch as soon as they are gathered. We must strike before Scapula has a chance to learn this land.’

  ‘The warriors will come quickly,’ said Hefin. ‘They are rotten for a fight, as we are.’

  ‘And the offering must be made sooner, also,’ said Prydd, who had appeared beside Caradog.

  ‘Yes,’ said Caradog. ‘Augur for the day, journeyman.’

  ‘No augury is required. The festival of Winter’s Eve is upcoming. We will offer then.’

  Caradog turned to me. Although I had not stepped forward, he knew exactly where I was in the crowd. ‘Kendra, prepare. You will make the offering on Winter’s Eve.’

  Seven nights hence.

  ‘May I speak with you, War Chief?’

  I had followed him to the temple, where he had come to pour libation for the hastened attack.

  ‘Yes, but I will not stay long,’ he said. ‘I am keen to send out the riders.’

  I sat beside him on the bench. Now that conflict drew imminent, I needed to speak truthfully. There could be no discord between us as we launched into war. He wished me to yield unquestioningly to Prydd, but I could not.

  ‘I have commenced learning with your journeyman, in preparation for the offering.’ I paused. ‘But there is something in his method that…disturbs me.’

  Caradog’s e
yebrows arched. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I am not sure if his reverence is…true.’

  His expression fought a smile. ‘Are you accusing one of Albion’s longest-trained journeymen of falsehood?’

  I ignored the mockery. ‘His teachings do not…accord with my knowledge of Annwyn.’

  Caradog snorted, impatient. ‘Prydd is so esteemed a knowledge-bearer that initiates come from farthermost Gaul to train with him. He has allowed me to take leadership here; it would otherwise be impossible. He has been a loyal servant to the tribes.’

  ‘But is he loyal to the Mothers?’

  ‘Ailia…’ He frowned, all humour gone. ‘I do not seek advice from those of weak faith in my judgement.’

  ‘Please call me by my title.’

  ‘Forgive me, Kendra.’ He rose. ‘I have a war band to arrange.’

  ‘Forgive me, War Chief,’ I said. ‘But if your war band does not fight with the Mothers, it will fail.’

  His face filled with sudden anger. ‘Who are you to tell me this? Since when does a girl of no known history advise Albion’s greatest war chief?’

  My heart thudded with the insult. ‘A Roman would show me more reverence than you just did. I am the Kendra. I have come to help you. Why do you disregard me?’

  ‘Because none can help me!’ His voice was raised. ‘Do you not see that I stand alone in this task?’

  ‘But you do not. What of Hefin, and all the chiefs who have aligned?’

  ‘Ay, but each of them bears his own small piece of Albion. I alone see the greater shape.’

  I watched as he sat down again. His calf-skin shirt fell open to his chest and the scent of fresh sweat rose from his skin. He commanded more of the free tribes than any other. I had never considered the cost of such power. ‘It is a heavy vessel,’ I said softly. ‘Why do you choose to bear it?’

  He stared at me again, as if appraising my readiness for what he might say. Then he spoke slowly, all mockery gone. ‘Albion is a land of many tribes. We have warred with each other over our boundaries. But it is the same Mothers’ blood that brims at our wells.’ He met my eye. ‘We could be one force under one high king.’

  ‘You…?’ I murmured.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘I have already done much to bring the western tribes to one mind for this attack. If I could unite all of Albion, it would be undefeatable.’

  His voice. His gaze. The pulse in his throat as he spoke. If any could fulfil such a vision it would be him. But was there too much pride in it? ‘What of the chiefs’ independence?’ I asked. ‘A love of freedom is also something that the tribes share.’

  ‘I do not wish them to be puppets, for then they would be as mindless as the Roman soldiers. But they must see that unless there is some relinquishing of tribehood, they are subject to the greatest thief of freedom we will ever know.’

  ‘Rome.’

  ‘She does not come here to conquer one tribe. She wants Albion whole and we must fight her whole. Power must be met with power.’

  I stared at the flames before the altar. Must we become like our enemies to defeat them? I knew Caradog did not mean this. We all mocked the servile obedience of the enemy’s soldiers. Yet none could deny what it had achieved.

  I looked back at him. ‘Why do you not return east to build such a kingdom?’ I asked. ‘That is your home. The eastern tribes hold the greatest wealth in Albion. You have already said that their allegiance to Rome is weak—’

  ‘It is not my home,’ he interrupted. ‘And I do not agree that the greatest wealth is held in the east. I have found a richness here without equal.’

  ‘In metal?’

  ‘Not only this. These are not the gentle hills of the east. This country is harsh and its people are strong. They know how to fight. The eastern kings rolled over like dogs when Claudius came. The mountain chiefs will not roll. Nor will I.’

  ‘What of your own tribe?’ I asked. ‘Do you bear it no loyalty?’

  ‘I have no tribe. My loyalty is to greater Albion and to the Mothers who feed her.’

  I took a sharp breath of recognition. We were the same.

  ‘And the Mothers are close here,’ he continued. ‘Perhaps closer than anywhere I have yet stood. Do you not feel it too, Ailia?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I do.’

  ‘This is the true heart of Albion. This is where I will birth my kingdom.’ He shifted on the bench. His beast of a body never seemed to be still for too long. Soon he would rise and leave.

  I knew not whether his vision was attainable or if it would buckle under its own ambition. But I saw that it was rightly intended and that his love for the Mothers was fierce. ‘You say none can help you,’ I ventured. ‘But I can.’

  ‘How?’ Now he was still.

  ‘It is not only you who has a duty to greater Albion. I, too, must serve many tribes. I am tasked to carry the Mothers’ knowledge for all who worship them. Can we not stand together and share this weight?’

  He smiled, then said with kindness, ‘You are intriguing, and your Kendra’s title is a beautiful ornament upon my war, but your power is to inspirit, not to advise. You know nothing of war-craft. You cannot share my burden.’

  My face was aflame. What forces had robbed his faith? ‘Do you forget the Kendra’s strength?’ I cried. ‘I stand as a bridge to the greatest power you will ever know. The Mothers are within me. Use me. Speak with them through me. Know that they have come to you, because your war is true.’

  There was no hope for me if I could not make him see. Hurriedly, I loosened the ties of my dress. ‘I have stood face to face with the Mothers and watched them birth the land for which we now fight. See these scars?’ I wriggled my dress down my shoulders so he could see the red welts. ‘This is where their creation song entered me.’

  He startled at the violence in my chest, then lifted his eyes to my face.

  ‘Will you touch the scars, War Chief?’ I whispered. ‘Some have said that they hear the Mothers’ voices in them.’

  Slowly, Caradog raised his hand.

  My heart was crashing under the scars. Was their song still in me? Would he hear it? His fingers drew closer. I realised how much I wanted his hand on my skin.

  ‘Journeywoman!’ Prydd’s voice cut through the temple air, sharp as an arrow.

  Caradog withdrew his hand, and I was untouched.

  I fastened my dress as Prydd walked forward. ‘I have spoken to the Songman,’ he said, showing no reaction to what he had witnessed. ‘He wishes to see you. He awaits in the fruit grove beside the war camp where, I believe, you have previously met him.’

  A crow moaned and wheeled through the pale grey sky as I hurried from the temple. Pausing to watch its flight, I yearned for the wild places and the spirits within them who cared nothing for my title. Rhain will teach me, I reassured myself. Rhain will give me the words, the tools, to give voice to my knowledge.

  ‘Greetings Songman.’ Neha and I emerged from the bushes surrounding the grove.

  Rhain sat beneath the same tree, as still as a carving. ‘How persuasive you are,’ he said when I was beside him. ‘I did not predict the hairless one would approve you.’

  I unwrapped my basket without responding. Did no one imagine me capable of anything? I pulled out a loaf of fresh-roasted bread that I had collected from Hefin’s kitchen, tore it in two and handed him the larger piece, still steaming.

  We ate in silence. I had taken no food since yesterday morning and was stupid with hunger. My thoughts quietened with each mouthful of the fragrant bread.

  ‘Are you settled in your new home?’ Rhain asked.

  ‘The hut is comfortable.’

  ‘I mean the township. All of us.’

  I was grateful he should ask it. Yet I found myself too overwhelmed to answer. By the torch of his question, I saw how wearied I was by being observed and assessed, by having to account for myself with every word, every gesture, by being unknown and, most exhaustingly, by being doubted. The role of Kendra was one
of service to the tribespeople. What purpose was the title, if they did not esteem it? Neha stood close, grunting softly as I fondled the loose skin of her belly.

  ‘You are weeping…’ said Rhain.

  ‘I am only tired,’ I answered. ‘Prydd has been grove-training me for the offering.’

  ‘He gives you great trust…’

  ‘In the one task I did not desire.’ I brushed breadcrumbs onto the ground.

  ‘Do you fear the offering, Kendra?’

  He was impossible to lie to. ‘Yes.’

  ‘We all do,’ he said. ‘That’s why it is powerful.’

  I glanced at him. The sun had emerged and late-clinging leaves cast speckled shadows across his face. He looked more of the otherworld than ever.

  ‘What do you fear in it?’ he asked.

  ‘The suffering.’

  ‘But Caradog says you know medicine…’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then use it.’

  ‘I am not permitted. Prydd has said that—’

  ‘Are you not a journeywoman? Hide it.’

  I met his eye in surprise, then smiled. I felt myself growing yet fonder of this man.

  ‘Make the offering in service to the tribespeople,’ he continued. ‘It allows them to glimpse Annwyn. None of us can touch the Mothers as you have done.’

  I stared at him. I could use my knowledge of plants to dull the pain of a dying man, but I knew no remedy for the impotence that seemed to have beset my title. ‘Then why is the Kendra so poorly respected in these tribelands?’ I felt shame at the plea in my voice.

  Rhain took breath. I saw the muscles of his cheek tighten. When he turned to me his eyes were hardened with despair. ‘Because war has changed all,’ he said. ‘We are fighting for our land and we are losing. Those who lead us are holding to whatever is most easily grasped: the fight, the coinage to fund it. In their fear, they are forgetting what is harder to see…’

  He spoke of what was embedded in the land: the vast root bed of knowledge, yielding fruit when it was fertilised with ritual, withering when it was not, the very thing I was tasked to tend. ‘But if this is not remembered,’ I said, ‘what then do we fight for?’