The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One (67 page)

He did not glance at Calgacus when he said this, but sitting next to the Caledonii King, Eremon felt his arm tense.

Garnat, the Taexali King, leaped to his feet. ‘That is an insult!’

The Creones King also rose. ‘Is it? It seems to us that you are over-eager to appoint a war leader who will
control our men
! And what will he do with that control? Turn it on us, that’s what!’

‘Liar!’ one of Garnat’s chieftains cried.

The council erupted into a baying pack of shouting men, each trying to be heard over the other.

Eremon waded into the fray, desperately trying to calm the men down, knowing that a rift could be born that would be impossible to heal.

It was right at that moment that the smell assailed him – the stink of untanned hides, and unwashed skin. The air in the hall was split by the
rap of a staff on the floor, and the kings stopped arguing, and fell silent. Heads turned towards the door, and then the crowd of men fell back.

First Eremon saw the shock of matted, white hair, and then the burning of yellow eyes. It was Gelert, his robe dirty and torn, covered by a raw wolfskin. His arms were thin, the skin of his face drawn tight across the bones, his legs scratched as if by branches. Around the end of the owl staff a cluster of tiny skulls were tied, which rattled as he shuffled towards Eremon.

He stopped, and pointed the staff at the prince. ‘And here I find the devil, still speaking lies in our midst!’

Declan, who had been listening to the council along with the other druids, hurried forward. ‘Master?’ he whispered, incredulous. ‘Where have you been?’

Gelert turned to him. ‘I’ve been to the stars, brother! I’ve been to the bowels of the earth. I’ve broken down the doors of the Otherworld. I’ve burned in the fire!’

The kings began to glance around at each other, the fear plain on their faces.

‘And do you know what they tell me?’ Gelert boomed. ‘That
he
,’ he pointed at Eremon again, ‘has been sent by the lords of the underworld, to twist and capture us, to weaken us, to speak his lies to us. He seeks our blood for his own ends, and will sell us to the invaders …’

Eremon snorted. ‘This is ridiculous!’

‘Brother.’ Calgacus’s chief druid, the tall, stooped man, glided forward. ‘You are worn, and have travelled far, it is clear. Come with me now, and we will speak of what you have seen.’

The staff thudded on the floor once more. ‘If you let him into your mind, he will turn your thoughts to his own ends!’ Gelert cried. ‘He ever seeks his own glory, not our safety; he will bow his head to no one but his own foreign god. You must banish him now, before you succumb!’

Calgacus and his men stayed frozen to the spot. This was druid business, and no warrior could lay hands on a member of the brotherhood and live.

‘You have been living hard, master,’ Declan murmured. ‘Come and rest now.’ Gelert looked as if he might argue, and then seemed to realize where he was, and pulled his composure around him before striding from the hall. As he went, those burning eyes seared Eremon’s skin.

There was an audible outrush of breath from the chieftains and kings. Eremon found his legs trembling, for the strength of Gelert’s hatred had been tangible.

‘He speaks mad words,’ Calgacus said, staring after the druid. ‘We will give him no more thought.’

‘What he says may have truth in it.’ Maelchon at last stepped forward, his bulk filling the hearth-space.

Eremon swung to face him. ‘
What
?’

‘All of us here are loyal to Alba, except one.’ Maelchon bared his teeth at Eremon in what passed for a smile. ‘A foreigner, who came to seek his own glory, as the druid said, not to protect us. And even worse, this is a man who, if we believe him, met this Agricola, vanquished a Roman regiment –
and then walked free from a Roman fort
.’

Eremon caught his breath. How had he known that? And yet, Eremon did not tell his men to keep it secret. If he knew Aedan, the tale had already been taken up by a host of bards who would spread it throughout Alba.

‘And exactly how did he do this?’ Maelchon looked around at the other kings. ‘He has had a little too much to do with Romans, so far as I can see. How could he walk free unscathed … unless he has closer ties with them than we suspect?’

Eremon’s hand went to his sword. ‘That is an evil insult.’

He kept his voice low, but Calgacus rose to stand beside him. ‘Peace,’ he growled at them both. ‘I will have no fight in my hall. The prince of Erin is loyal to Alba, and a sworn enemy of the Romans. He is my ally, and has my full backing.’

Maelchon looked as if he would say more, but he evidently did not want to speak out openly against Calgacus. He preferred to stir other men to do that for him.

Calgacus continued mildly. ‘And in answer to the debate in progress before we were interrupted … it does not matter who is appointed war leader, only that our forces are combined for greatest strength. No one is seeking anyone else’s lands. I wish only to keep my own free.’

He could say it over and over, but Eremon saw, in the eyes of the most recalcitrant chieftains, that they did not believe him. Not before, and certainly not now.

The Caledonii Ban Cré tottered to the fire to refill the cup. The herbs would help to strengthen the druid’s mind and body, as he lay tossing feverishly. It was plain that he had been living wild in the forest for moons now, eating little.

She looked down at him, her senses confused and repelled by the emanations of the man, of something more than darkness. There was a void, as if the Source in him had been cut off.

The sooner he was gone, the better. It would not be long: his physical hurts were slight, and the scratches would soon heal. One good sleep and some broth and the druids would take him back, thank the goddess.

There was a tap at the door. ‘Yes?’ she called.

A man came into the lodge and straightened. He was slight and
stocky, with tangled black hair. ‘My master wishes to know of the druid. Is he well enough to receive a visitor?’

‘He’s sleeping.’

‘But he will not lie abed with sickness for long?’

The old priestess squinted at the man. ‘And why are you asking me all these questions? What do you want?’

The man hesitated. ‘My master is a powerful king. He wishes to speak with the Epidii druid.’

‘And why? What business is it of his?’

The man scowled. ‘He does not answer to you, old woman. Tonight he will come, and you will tell no one of it.’

The priestess drew her old bones up to resist him, but they ached, and after a moment she shrugged and turned away. Kings, druids. What did it matter to her?

The two men stretched their feet out to the brazier in the King’s room, for the evening wind had grown sharp, swinging to the north, driving a squall in from the sea. As the lamplight ducked and leapt, they were silent, each deep in their thoughts, twirling their mead cups.

There was a light tap on the carved screen, and a steward announced the Lady Rhiann. Calgacus rose and bowed, taking her damp cloak, urging her into his empty chair.

‘You had success?’ She searched Eremon’s face, but he only stared moodily into the brazier coals.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Maelchon stirred up the fear of the northerners that an alliance will lead to their subjugation by Calgacus. They will not agree, not now.’

Rhiann sighed. ‘We feared this, yet what else can we do?’

Eremon rested his cup on the three-legged table beside him. ‘There is something.’ He glanced at the King, who nodded. ‘Calgacus tells me that not all the tribes were represented at the council. The Caereni and their allies from the western coast chose not to attend.’

Rhiann nodded. ‘That is not surprising. People from the east travel to the Sacred Isle, but as for the mainland, the tribes there are isolated by the central mountains, and have always kept to themselves. We do not even know their true numbers.’

‘Exactly,’ Calgacus agreed. ‘Which is why we need to find out. I would guess that they feel no threat from these Romans, and so took my summons lightly. We must make them see differently, and quickly, before the dissenting kings from this council return home.’

Eremon leaned forward, his hands on his knees. ‘The King will give us a boat, to sail north and then west around Alba, on a diplomatic mission in his name. Then we get there before the other kings have a
chance to spread the false rumours of that slippery druid, and this trouble-maker Maelchon.’

‘Druid?’

Eremon threw a look at her. ‘I’ll tell you everything later. But the King and I feel that it might be best if we leave now. Because of your connection, among other things, Maelchon has fixed his baleful eye on me. I do not wish to damage Calgacus’s efforts with the other kings. What do you think?’

As he spoke, Rhiann realized that her hands were trembling, her tongue dry against the roof of her mouth. The Caereni lands were so close to the Sacred Isle; to the Sisters. She had gone nowhere near the island since the raid; since she stormed away, determined never to go back, never to face the shame that she had not done enough …

Now she took a deep breath, seeking calm. They weren’t going to the Sacred Isle. ‘It is a fine idea,’ she said at last. ‘When do we leave?’

‘In two days, before the kings scatter to their homelands. Calgacus is ordering a boat to be made ready.’

‘Then I have something else to do first.’ She turned to Calgacus. ‘Maelchon’s wife has sought my aid, for he is mistreating her. Her kin will not act to protect her, but I must, as a member of the sisterhood. It is our duty to offer protection to all women.’

Calgacus’s brows knitted together. ‘His wife? What does she accuse him of?’

‘I would prefer to keep that private, for her sake. But your own Ban Cré and I have talked with her at length, and her guard also offers proof. I am invoking the law to release her from the marriage.’

Calgacus sighed. ‘Then this will inflame him even further.’ The lamplight drew the flecks of gold from his eyes. ‘I cannot ask you not to act, under the circumstances, but you are sure this warrants such drastic action?’

‘Yes.’ Rhiann’s voice was flat. ‘I am sure.’

‘What do you wish to do, then?’

‘I am going to confront him now.’

Eremon jumped to his feet, his mead forgotten. ‘You’re not going near him without me!’

She smiled. ‘Well, of course not. But I must talk to him alone, with only Dala and the old priestess. I will not shame the girl before other men. You can wait outside.’

‘No.’ Eremon was firm. ‘I will stay by your side, with my sword to hand.’

‘Eremon, Dala will not speak before you. If you surround the house, there is nothing Maelchon can do, and he knows it.’

Eremon tried to argue, but Calgacus raised his hand. ‘The Ban Cré is
right,’ he said. ‘This is women’s business. Remember that I grew up at the knee of a priestess; I know when to let them be.’

‘Then perhaps you could teach that to my husband,’ Rhiann retorted. But as they left, she turned to Eremon. ‘You can stand just inside the door, then, but not too close.’

Maelchon tried to push aside the fog of rage that clouded his mind.

The red-haired vixen dared to stand here and accuse him. Accuse
him
! In front of his mouse of a wife, and that doddering old healer – and of course, in the background, that cur from Erin. All of them, joining forces against him, like they always did. He shook his head, and focused the force of his attention on the Epidii Ban Cré.

She did not look away or tremble with fear. Her blue eyes were clear, and they burned with anger. Great gods, that fire and hate aroused him more than anything he had ever experienced in his life. He longed to lay hands on her creamy skin, to shake her until her anger burned all the brighter, and he could conquer it with his body …

‘I said, what do you answer to these charges?’

He caught his thoughts, froze them. ‘That they are unfounded. She is my wife, and under my control.’

‘And there you are wrong,’ the vixen snapped. ‘She has her own rights, under the laws of the Mother, as the druid judges will confirm. She cannot be beaten or … taken … in that way. We have a witness from your own lands who will attest to her injuries. I myself have also examined her.’

Maelchon glared at his wife. She was half-hidden behind the Ban Cré, her head down – as it would be. Behind, the firelight glanced off the sword of the Erin prince, but his face was in shadow. Maelchon had no doubt that there were other swordsmen outside the house – they were all in thrall to the Epidii Queen and her husband, and would do what they said.

He puts his hands on her, he takes her when I cannot
. The red fog swirled and beat on his temples.

‘Now, we can debate this before the druids and Calgacus and the other kings, in council, or you can agree to release your wife, here.’

‘You have no power to order me like this!’ he growled.

She smiled. ‘Oh, I do. I understand you have no druids or priestesses in your islands, so you may have forgotten how the laws are applied in civilized lands. Here, what you do is wrong, as all would agree. We can win your wife’s freedom with force if you wish.’

Maelchon glanced at the prince behind her. The man was quick, and by all accounts deadly with that sword, and he, Maelchon, did not have his own blade to hand. He had been caught unawares in his lodge, without even his own guards to hand.

Gods! In the end, what did he care for his pathetic wife, anyway? He wanted to get rid of her, and they had given him the way. ‘Bah! She is nothing to me – she is worthless. You can take her.’

‘And her dowry?’

His lip curled. ‘Pitiful though it was, she can have it. I’ll send it to the Caereni when I return home.’

‘Good.’

He watched with beating blood as his wife crept to her bedplace and took her few personal belongings: a shale bracelet, a broken antler comb, an old bronze mirror. And then she scuttled out the door, the old priestess hobbling after.

The Epidii Ban Cré turned on her heel and left him without a word, as if he were beneath her notice, and only the prince dared to glare at him before following.