The Boar Stone: Book Three of the Dalriada Trilogy (26 page)

‘I promise.’

The porridge was simmering when a great thump on the doors flung them open. The other hounds leaped up from the fireside, growling, as a man stumbled in swathed in fur. He pushed the door shut, clawed his cloak from his chin.

Clíona’s spoon clattered in the pot. ‘Who—?’

‘Niall,’ the man cut her off. ‘Dun of the Rock. Get me the king and the wise-woman at once.’

‘What?’ Clíona stood her ground. ‘It’s not even light, man! I’m not dragging anyone from their beds until you tell me—’

‘Quiet, woman! I haven’t ridden all night to be challenged by a serving maid!’ The man’s cheeks were wind-bitten above a straggly black beard. ‘This is a matter of life and death. Hurry, before my balls freeze to my arse!’

‘Death?’ Clíona bustled to one of the alcoves. ‘Come to the fire, then, and warm yourself. There will be porridge soon.’ She nudged a sleeping boy on a pallet with her toe, and set him to wake the king.

While he scurried up the stairs, Clíona tucked strands of hair back in her braids. ‘What is going on, then?’

Niall hung his head. ‘I will deliver my news only to the king.’

Cahir came down the stairs blinking in the firelight, buckling on his sword. His dark hair was rumpled, his tunic on inside-out. Minna dropped her eyes, stirring the porridge more briskly.

Niall immediately went down on one knee, his chest heaving. ‘My lord,’ he choked, ‘the Picts have attacked one of our outlying duns, near the mountains. They have fled now, leaving many dead.’

Cahir’s face paled. ‘How many?’

‘I do not know. The warriors stayed to defend the steading while their women and children fled to my own chief’s dun.’ His voice broke. ‘They had to trek to us across the peaks in terrible cold, and many fell ill. The babies …’ He faltered.

Cahir gripped the man’s shoulder. ‘Go on.’

‘The women recovered, but the babes are gravely ill. Some fever swept through them – and spread to the ones in our dun. Even my own child.’ He looked up, pleading. ‘We need help. We think the Picts are gone but we are not sure, and then the children … we have been without a wise-woman for months and we cannot save them. It is the seal cough.’

Minna was on her feet. ‘Seal cough?’

The man’s gaze slid to her slave-ring, and Clíona flapped her skirt impatiently at him. ‘The girl has the healing knowledge. The wise-woman trains her.’

The man shrugged wearily. ‘Seal …’ He let forth a hoarse bark. ‘They cough like this.’

Minna knew that horrid sound: the dog cough, the Romans called it.

Cahir rubbed his face as if pulling himself back from some dark dream. ‘Peace, Niall. You are not alone now.’ He looked at Minna, the pain exposed in his face. ‘Go and wake my aunt and tell her we must leave at first light. I will rouse the warriors.’

She chewed her lip. ‘She is not here,’ she said in a low voice. ‘It was fine yesterday, and I saw her ride out. She hasn’t come back.’

Cahir cursed, his face darkening. His eyes were intense upon her. ‘Then you must do it.’ Minna went cold. ‘You know this illness, I heard you.’

‘I do, but—’

‘Then this is my order. Hurry up.’ He was already turning away, waking men from their pallets, sending the serving boys to inform the nobles.

Minna plodded through the snow to Brónach’s house to get what was needed. There, beside the hearth, she sank on her knees, the strength melting from her. ‘Lady, Mother, if you call me, if you need me, tell me what to do and I will do it.’ Tucked under her chin, her hands were trembling.
The dog cough.
Mamo had always used a special root for that, imported from Rome. There must be something else she could use here.

She knew this couldn’t be the proper approach to the Goddess, that she must be getting it clumsily wrong. But after a moment of fighting with her fear, something did come, as if placed in her mind by a deliberate, gentle hand. And that was all Minna had upon which to stake those tiny lives.

She came back to the hall with the little statue of Brigid clutched in one hand and in the other a packet of dusty, crushed leaves that she’d dug out from behind Brónach’s jars, where it had been carelessly stacked with many others.

By now, Clíona and Keeva and the other servants were dashing back and forth, wrapping packets of food and helping to roll sleeping hides. As Minna appeared with a bulging pack, Clíona eyed her up and down. ‘Gods, child! If you’ll be on a horse you need more than that!’ From the storage chests she extracted a thick hide tunic with the fleece inside, riding boots that laced over the knee, and a voluminous cloak lined with speckled fur that fell to Minna’s feet.

Minna returned to the gallery to dress and tied the cloak high, covering the slave-ring. On impulse she curved Riona’s arm-band about her wrist. These things seemed important now.

She descended to the hall where Clíona yanked her hood up. ‘You’ll do.’

A thought occurred to Minna. ‘The queen!’

‘It’s the king’s orders – what
she
thinks doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’ll deal with her and the girls. You go and do what you can.’ She stopped as Minna’s gaze slid towards Cahir. Muffled in his grey cloak of wolf-fur, his eyes shone topaz in the firelight.

Clíona grew still. ‘Minna,’ she whispered, and Minna dragged her eyes from him with difficulty. The maid was regarding her with an intensity she had never seen on that harassed face before. ‘
Who are you
?’ she said, wondering, her gaze deeply searching. But Minna had no answer.

Cold rain drove into her eyes, and she had lost track of all time when they reached the Dun of the Rock on a windy headland to the north of Dunadd. The land had passed in a blur of misty grey, the trees lifting sparse branches to the sky. She clung grimly to the pony, thighs and tailbone aching, and by the time the light was fading once more the cleft of the pony’s ears was engraved in lines behind her eyes.

They rode under a timber gateway into a muddy yard, where Donal helped Minna down. Pains shot up her legs and her nose was streaming. She stemmed it with the back of her hand, struggling to uncurl her fingers.

They were taken inside a hall and divested of damp cloaks. Minna was urged to a bench and given warmed mead. Cahir seemed oblivious to the cold and long ride; he listened to the news and then briskly gave out orders.

‘I have fifty men,’ he said to the young chieftain. ‘Give me twenty more, leaving enough to defend the dun. We must search the hills and check the Picts have retreated.’

Revived a little by the mead, Minna stopped shivering. ‘Where are the children?’ she asked the women around her, who, she could see, were clearly distraught.

Cahir appeared at her side. ‘The wise-woman Brónach is indisposed,’ he told them. ‘This young lady has been treating our own people since she came from the south. I have every faith in her.’ He caught her eye. ‘Her name is Minna.’ Not
Minna the slave;
nor
Minna the foreigner
; nor
Minna the reviled.

She placed the cup on the bench and rose, drawing her aching back straight as she met the women’s red-rimmed eyes. ‘Where are the children?’ she asked again, strengthening her voice though her heart thumped. The king had faith in her. She remembered how Mamo sounded when she tended the sick; firm and in command because people were always so scared.

The chieftain’s wife spoke. ‘They are in the women’s house.’ Her voice was hoarse; she looked as if she had not slept for days. ‘Many babes have already died. The others are beside the fire.’

Minna looked around. This hall was much smaller than Dunadd’s, the hearth round, not long. ‘How many are in danger?’

‘Ten or eleven now.’

‘And what has been done for them, lady?’

‘There is little to be done, except be together and comfort each other. The coughing – ah! – you will hear. But there was only one wise-woman for many leagues around and she was carried off by her own sickness moons ago.’

‘I have never seen so many die,’ an older woman put in, shuffling closer. ‘A few get the seal cough every year, but usually they recover. I’ve never seen so many at once, and never so bad. We put hot compresses on their chests, but this time …’ She sighed.

Minna took a deep breath, and as she let it out she forced the fear with it, as Mamo had taught her. Then she met the eyes of the chieftain’s young wife, holding to her strength and binding it with her own. ‘We need hides, as many as you can find. If they are not big enough to form tents, then tie them together. Then we need all the cauldrons and every other big pot filled with boiling water.’ Minna swiftly unwrapped a bundle from her belt. ‘Do you have more of this?’ She held out the dried leaves and flowers she had taken from Brónach’s house.

The women gathered around. It was grey-ear, one said, an early bloomer and already appearing in sheltered spots. The younger women with no sick children were dispatched to gather as much of it as possible.

Soon it was time for the men to go. Cahir drew her aside and searched her face. ‘Can you do this?’

Minna allowed herself to meet his eyes and nodded.

He smiled briefly. ‘Well done. Then we will return when we can.’

When the men had ridden away, Minna went to the children. Firelight illuminated the walls of the women’s house and the knots of hunched mothers wrapped in furs. Minna knelt by one hollow-eyed woman and her baby, who was lying limp in her arms. She put her hand on his hot forehead. His eyes were glazed, and in between those pitiful barks he struggled to breathe, his throat dipping as he sucked at air. Minna’s own chest grew tight, but she could not breathe for him.

Some of the women rocked silently, their eyes on the fire. When she went to touch these children it was to find their skin cold and their mother’s arms their last cradle.

‘Come on,’ Minna murmured. ‘Just a little more.’ But the baby girl in her lap fussed and tried to pull away when she pressed the cup to her lips.

‘Here. I’ll hold her.’ The chieftain’s wife leaned in to the hide tent Minna had set up around the hearth, covering the bubbling cauldrons of water so the hide filled with steam. They dribbled more grey-ear down the child’s throat, and were rewarded with a bout of spluttering and kicking.

In the dim tent, Minna smiled wearily at the other mothers. Steam, pungent with the scent of thyme, condensed on her nose and she dabbed it away. It had been too late for three other babies, but most were responding well.

She had not slept for two days, and nor could she yet, for there was another dun nearby where more children had come down with the same cough. Eventually she crawled out of the tent, blinking blearily, and donned all her thick riding clothes once more. The chieftain’s wife sent a man with her as guide, and Minna set off again. Another day came and went, another dusk steeped in sea-fog that drifted in over the cliffs.

Two babies died at the second dun, but many more were saved, and at last there was nothing more Minna could do. As the ponies plodded back along the misty path to the Dun of the Rock, she hunched over her pain, closing her eyes.
Look
! she seemed to hear Lucius and Marcus cry, from the hill above the villa.
Minna! Hurry up
! That life had been so easy, after all, when she had thought it hard. They waved madly now, far ahead.
Minna
!

She startled awake as they halted in the yard of the dun, her hands tangled in the pony’s mane. As the man helped her dismount, her legs buckled. Faces blurred before her eyes, frowning with concern. Someone asked her a sharp question, but when she tried to reply her throat spasmed. She couldn’t focus.

In the hall, women came and sat by her, warming themselves at the fire. She needed to sleep, but could not leave them. One, holding her crying babe, pressed her face into Minna’s hands late in the night. ‘Lady,’ she wept, ‘my son lives, and we owe you our hearts. We will never forget.’

Lady.
Slumped on the hearth-bench, she heard the word as if from afar. Lady.

‘Minna.’ It was Cahir, his hand on her forehead. ‘I’ve been speaking to you.’ She squinted up, trying to see him properly, but all the shadows and flames were whirling around her now. ‘Gods! You’re burning.’ He turned his head. ‘How long has she been like this?’

‘I do not know, my lord. We’ve been so busy with the children. I thought she just needed to rest so I left her alone.’

‘She’s not resting, she’s sick! Come, where can she lie down?’

‘I’m … I’m just tired …’ Minna protested weakly. ‘But I need to see the children again.’

‘You’ll do no such thing.’ And the next moment she was lifted and then gently lowered onto fur covers. A shudder took her, and someone chafed her hands. ‘Her cheeks are hot, yet here she is cold.’ Cahir’s voice floated from far away. Minna’s eyelids were so heavy … she blinked, trying to force them open. ‘You, heat her a stone for her feet.’ People shuffled around her in a confusion of dark shapes, the edges blurred by firelight.

‘Three nights and four days with no sleep, they tell me!’ Cahir muttered. ‘Foolish!’

Minna pushed at his hands, plucked feebly at her neck-ring. ‘The babies …’ she whispered. ‘No time for sleep.’

‘Perhaps not then, but now there is nothing more you can do. Sleep and get well, please. You’ve done us a great service.’

She was tucked under furs; a hot stone was pressed to her bare feet. Then the feverish sweat turned to shivering, and a hand came down over her eyes, pushing them closed. ‘Come, you must sleep. Gods, how contrary you are. You remind me of Orla.’

The words were gentle, just like Mamo spoke to her when she was sick. The smell of the fingers was different, but they urged her to rest. So Minna surrendered at last, tumbling down a deep hole.
A little sleep, a few moments, and then I can rise.

The large hand moved from her eyes to cradle her forehead, and stayed there.

She was stumbling through a snowy wood on a moonlit night.

Ahead, the person she was chasing whisked out of sight whenever she turned towards her, melting away behind the bare, black trees. Minna tried to run faster, but the figure almost flew along the paths that wound in white scars through the undergrowth.