Son of the Shadows. Juliet Marillier
my heart thumping, ‘I am not here of my own will. There will be those of my household out searching, and they are both well armed and skilful. You think I would jeopardise their efforts to find me by telling you who they are and whence they come? Slow in the wits I may be, but not that slow. I have told you my name is Liadan, and that must be enough for you, until you give me yours.’
‘I cannot imagine why anyone would take the trouble of searching for you,’ he said in frustration. ‘Does not your habit of biting back, like a meddlesome terrier, make your folk soon weary of your company?’
‘Indeed no,’ I told him sweetly. ‘At home I am known as a quiet, dutiful girl. Well mannered, industrious, obedient. I think you must bring out the worst in me.’
‘Mm,’ he said. ‘Quiet, dutiful. I doubt it. It requires too great a leap of the imagination. More likely, true to your kind, you lie when it suits you. To such a teller of tales, that should come easily.’
‘You insult me,’ I said, keeping my voice calm with increasing difficulty. ‘I would have preferred a blow to the cheek. Tales are not lies, nor are they truths, but something in between. They can be as true or as false as the listener chooses to make them, or the teller wants him to believe. It is a sign of the tight circle you draw around yourself, to keep others out, that you cannot understand this. I do not lie easily, nor would I do so for so superficial a reason.’
He glared at me, grey eyes icy. At least I had sparked some sort of reaction.
‘By God, woman, you work an issue threadbare with your twisted logic!’ he said impatiently. ‘Enough of this. We’ve work to do.’
‘Indeed,’ I said quietly, and I turned and went in to my charge, and did not look back.
Evan was holding on; talking sense, and sleeping more naturally. I made sure nobody saw how greatly this surprised me. Gull was on watch that evening, and I asked him how the sick man was to be moved in safety when the time came, but he was evasive in his answers. Then I sent him outside for a while, so that I could wash and ready myself for the evening meal. The smith was nearly asleep, eyes narrowed to slits, breath calm enough after the painful changing of his dressing. He had taken a little broth.
‘This is rather awkward,’ I told him. ‘Shut your eyes, and turn your head away, and don’t move till I tell you.’
‘Still as the grave,’ he whispered with a certain irony, and closed his eyes.
I stripped off quickly, shivering as I sponged my body with water from the bucket, and used the sliver of coarse soap Dog had found for me. As I rinsed myself off again I felt the goosebumps rise, summer or no. I turned to grab the coarse towel, with the aim of dressing as swiftly as I could, and found myself looking straight into Evan’s deepset brown eyes as he lay prone on his pallet, staring for all he was worth and grinning from ear to ear.
‘Shame on you!’ I exclaimed as a blush crept across my naked body. There was nothing for it but to dry off sketchily and struggle as fast as I could into my smallclothes, shift and gown, glad that I could reach the back fastenings without assistance. ‘A grown man like you, acting like a – an ill-bred youth who spies on the girls. Didn’t I tell you –’
‘No offence, lass,’ said Evan, the grin relaxing to a smile that gave his blunt features a surprising sweetness. ‘Quite beyond me, not to look. And a pleasing eyeful it was, may I say.’
‘No, you may not say,’ I snapped, but I had forgiven him already. ‘Don’t do it again, you understand? It’s bad enough being the only woman here, without …’
He was suddenly serious.
‘These men would never harm you, lass,’ he said gently. ‘They’re not barbarians that rape and spoil for the thrill of it. If they want a woman, they’ve no need to force one. Plenty of willing takers, and not all put a price on it, believe me. Besides, they know they can’t touch you.’
‘Because of what he said? The Chief?’
‘Well, yes, he did tell them hands off, so I’m informed. But he could have saved his breath. Anyone with eyes in his head can see that you’re a woman for the marriage bed, not a quickie by the road, if you’ll pardon me. Got a man back home, have you?’
‘Not exactly,’ I said, unsure of the best answer to this.
‘What’s that mean? Either you have or you haven’t. Husband? Sweetheart?’
‘I have a – suitor, I suppose you’d call him. But I have not agreed to marry. Not yet.’
Evan gave a long sigh as I tucked the blanket firmly around him, and smoothed the makeshift bolster.
‘Poor lad,’ he said sleepily. ‘Don’t make him wait too long.’
‘Next time I tell you to close your eyes, keep them closed,’ I said severely.
He mumbled something and settled to rest, still with the hint of a grin on his face.
That night I told stories to make them laugh. Funny stories. Silly stories. Iubdan and the plate of porridge. He got his own back on the big folk, make no doubt of it. The tale of the man who got three wishes from the Fair Folk, so that he could have had health, wealth and happiness. Poor fool, all he ended up with was a sausage. By the end of it, the men were roaring with laughter and begging for another one. All but the Chief, of course. I ignored him as best I could.
‘One more,’ I said. ‘Only one. And now it is time to grow sober again, and ponder on the frailty of all creatures. I told you last night of one of our great heroes, Cú Chulainn of Ulster. You will recall how he lay with the warrior woman Aoife, and how she bore him a son long after he was gone from those shores. Not that he left her entirely without token. He gave her a little gold ring for her smallest finger, before he went off to wed his sweetheart Emer.’
‘Big of him,’ somebody commented drily.
‘Aoife was used to it. She was her own woman, and strong, and she’d little time for the selfish ways of men. She bore her child one day, and the next she was back out of doors swinging her battleaxe around her head. She named the boy Conlai, and as you can imagine, he grew up expert in all the arts of combat, so that there were few could match him in the field. When he was twelve years old, his mother, the warrior woman, gave him the little gold ring to wear on a chain around his neck, and she told him his father’s name.’
‘Not a good idea?’ hazarded Snake.
‘That depends. A boy needs to know who his father is. And who is to say this tale would not have had the same ending, had Aoife kept this knowledge from the boy? It was Cú Chulainn’s blood that ran in his veins, whether he bore the name or not. He was a youth destined to be a warrior, to take risks, full of his father’s impetuous courage.
‘She held him back as long as she could, but there came a day when Conlai was fourteen years old, and thought himself a man, and he set forth to find his father and show him the fine son he had made. Aoife had misgivings, and sought to protect the boy. He’d need to be careful, she reasoned, not to let on he was the offspring of the greatest hero Ulster had ever known. At least, not until he came to his father’s hall. He’d be safe there; but on the way, he might well meet those whose sons or brothers or fathers had fallen foul of Cú Chulainn, and who was to say they might not take their vengeance on the father by killing the son? So she said to Conlai, tell no single warrior your name. Promise me. And he promised, for she was his mother. So, unwittingly, did she seal his doom, who sought only to keep him safe.’
There was utter silence, save for a little breeze stirring the shadowy trees above us. It was dark of the moon.
‘Across the sea from Alba, across the land of Erin came Conlai, all the way to Ulster, and at last to the home of his father, the great hero Cú Chulainn. He was a tall, strong boy, and in his helm and battle raiment none could tell him from a seasoned warrior. He rode up to the gates and raised his sword in challenge; and out came Conall, foster brother of Cú Chulainn, in answer.
‘“What