The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One (68 page)

Maelchon stood for an endless time in the centre of the house, as the rage erupted and boiled over inside, drenching his body in a flood of sweat, though he moved not a muscle.
If I can’t have her, then, by Taranis and the Dagda and dark Arawn himself, the Erin cub will not
.

And the way had already opened before him.

Chapter 67

C
algacus spent the last days of council feasting the kings even more lavishly, mending what bonds had been weakened, trying to create bonds when there were none.

The time would come, he explained to Eremon, when there would be no choice but to fight. And then, it must be Calgacus those kings ran to in their fear. He must rebuild any bridges that had been weakened by Maelchon.

The Orcades King himself left immediately after his confrontation with Rhiann, not even taking his leave of Calgacus – although the Caledonii King was grateful for this.

‘After knowing his treatment of his wife and people, I don’t wish to look in his face again,’ Calgacus said to Eremon, as they stood on the walls of the dun and watched Maelchon and his followers ride away.

‘Is there nothing we can do to find out more of him?’ Eremon asked.

Calgacus pursed his lips. ‘He patrols his sea-lanes well, and guests are not welcome. Yet I will think on it.’ He sighed as the Creones King also rode out close behind Maelchon, his back stiff, his eyes covered by his helm. ‘So you taste the bitter cup of a king, Eremon. Men’s anger, men’s distrust, men seeking to bring you down.’

Eremon glanced at him, and noticed for the first time the deep furrows that ran from that hawk nose to a decidedly grim mouth. The council and his son’s treachery had taken a great toll on the King; Eremon remembered suddenly that he was not a young man.

‘But there are other things too, lord,’ he murmured now. ‘The respect of those who … who look up to you. Pride, admiration …’ He fixed his gaze on his own hands, clenched on the palisade. ‘Where you lead, there are those true of heart and mind who will follow. Believe it. Alba needs you.’

The King’s hand came down on his shoulder. ‘I once said you were a poet, prince. As you bend hearts to war with your talk, so you can bend
mine to hope. Don’t listen to my old man’s weariness now; your youth and fire will lead us too, as mine did me.’ Eremon looked up to see that the grimness had lifted from the King’s face. ‘My uncle, a great king, said something to me once that I have always remembered: Be true to yourself and your path will always lay straight as a new spear, no matter how twisted and beset by troubles it seems to others.’

Eremon smiled. ‘That is sound advice.’

‘It is. And I have also learnt that as a king, you walk that path alone. It used to seem a harsh choice when I was young, but only alone can you hear the deep music of your heart, and then it will guide you more truly.’

Eremon thought for a moment. ‘So something I see as a burden is also a source of strength.’

‘Yes, it is the making of a great king.’ Calgacus grinned. ‘And there is always time for mead, and tales; never forget that, Eremon! The love of your brother and your men … and your wife … will always be waiting when you return.’ Something deep in the King’s eyes twinkled at mention of Rhiann, and despite the solemn words, Eremon felt himself flush.

On the morning of their own departure, Calgacus asked to take his leave of Eremon and Rhiann in private, in his hall. When they entered, Calgacus was sitting on his throne, his gold circlet in his hair, his jewelled sword across his knee.

Eremon glanced down at his own plain tunic and trousers. ‘I fear we have not dressed for such a formal leave-taking, lord.’

Calgacus smiled, rising to his feet to kiss Rhiann. ‘I am dressed in state because I have a matter of state to address.’

He beckoned to two servants standing against the walls, and they came to him. One held the great, jewelled mead cup that was passed around at every formal feast, to join honoured guests together as kin. The other held an intricately carved box made of cedar, a fragrant and costly wood from the other side of the Middle Sea, in the desert lands.

Eremon and Rhiann exchanged glances.

A third servant, a girl, glided forward with a pitcher of mead, and filled the jewelled cup as the King held it in two hands. Calgacus fixed them both with his golden eyes. ‘I come to offer you a formal alliance with the Caledonii.’

Eremon heard Rhiann gasp. A formal alliance! Up until now, Calgacus had spoken only of his personal support. This was something entirely different.

‘I hereby bond my people to you as brothers and sisters against our common enemy – Rome. We will share our forces, our intelligence, our ideas. And perhaps, our blood.’ Calgacus held Eremon’s eyes as he said this. ‘What is your answer?’

Eremon cleared his throat. ‘I cannot accept on behalf of the Epidii, in the absence of the council. But I can, and do accept gladly, on behalf of my men and my own people. We will be as brothers, bonded by oaths that cannot be broken.’

Calgacus smiled. ‘Then pledge with me now, that we will fight together, to do all we can to rid Alba of these invaders. Wherever that may take us, to whatever battlefield.’ He raised the cup and sipped from it, then handed it to Eremon.

‘I pledge myself and my own forces and, the gods willing, those of the Epidii to fight with you, wherever it may take us.’ Eremon sipped and passed the cup to Rhiann.

‘And I pledge my support to both the Epidii and Caledonii as Ban Cré,’ Rhiann added softly, ‘in the defence of my land.’ She took a sip of the golden mead, and the servant took the cup from her.

Now Calgacus reached to the cedar box and lifted the lid. Eremon caught his breath, expecting to see the glint of gold or bronze; the shine of gems.

But instead, there on a finely-embroidered cushion lay a stone. It was a disk of polished, dark granite, the size of an apple, though flat, perforated by a hole through which an ochre-stained leather thong was threaded.

Calgacus lifted the stone by its thong, so it swung in the light, turning around and around. They could just see the lines of carving on both its surfaces.

‘I had this made for you by my best stone carver – my best carver
now
,’ he amended, and for a moment, his mouth tightened. ‘It is not of iron or bronze, for they rust. It is not of gold, for gold is soft. It is of stone: hard, unbending, true and unchanging. It will not perish, or lose its lustre.’ He looked directly at Eremon. ‘It represents my bond to you, for that will be eternal, and never falter.’

Eremon’s throat seemed to close over, and he swallowed.

‘Look closer,’ Calgacus said. On one side of the disk there was the familiar carving of the eagle, its head noble, its eye sharp. And on the other was the most beautiful carving of a boar that Eremon had ever seen. The fierceness of its crest had been caught in stone, its bunching muscles flowed like a song.

Around the edges ran lines of symbols sacred to the druid kind.

‘My personal totem, and yours,’ Calgacus explained, ‘joined together on a message stone. This declares to all who see it that we are allied in soul, for ever.’

Eremon’s voice came out as a croak. ‘What does the writing say?’

Calgacus turned to Rhiann, and she also cleared her throat before speaking. ‘It says: Calgacus of the Caledonii, son of Lierna, pledges allegiance and brotherhood to Eremon, son of Ferdiad, of Dalriada.’

Calgacus smiled. ‘No untruth can ever be written down this way, so no man will ever be able to dispute that you speak in my name.’

Eremon took the stone from Calgacus, and slowly, reverently, placed the leather loop over his head. When it was settled, the boar stone lay on his breast, below his torc. ‘I thank you, lord. I have no gift in return, but that of my own oath.’ Eremon clasped the King’s arm, wrist to wrist, and looked in to the gold-flecked eyes. ‘Yet I tell you now: it is as eternal as this stone.’

Calgacus furnished Eremon and Rhiann with a large
curragh
, for they were to stay close to inland waters, and the hide boats were the most versatile craft, able to navigate river and loch as well as sea if need be.

Yet it could only hold twenty, so she and Eremon decided to send Eithne and a still-silent Didius back to Dunadd with Declan, Rori, Aedan, and the horses. The Epidii warriors would be their escort.

Rhiann insisted, however, that they take Dala and her guard, Rawden on the voyage, for even though Maelchon had gone, she wanted to keep a close eye on the fragile young girl.

Though only the Epidii party knew in advance of their leaving, on the day of departure the pier was swarming with people. Rhiann stood in the bow of the boat, her eyes narrowed against the sharp glint of sun on the sea, watching the crew hoisting barrels of water and food and storing them between the ribs of the hide hull.

The captain, a wiry, salt-swept man, was bustling up and down the pier with vexation because one of his crew had suddenly been taken ill. But a man loading the stores immediately volunteered in his stead, and after scrutinizing his height, the captain took him on, relieved at the presentation of an easy solution.

When all were aboard, the oars lifted and dipped, and the boat slid away over the mirrored water, the clear sky above captured in its smooth net. Rhiann cast only one glance back, with great relief, for she wanted to be free of the disturbing emanations from the dun, which had been plucking at her senses for days.

But then … her gaze was caught and held by burning, yellow eyes, fringed by straggling hair. Gelert, standing alone among the sea-grass, on the slope above the pier. Across the stretch of water between boat and land, she felt a faint last groping of his will. Yet, though the distance widened by the moment, his mouth quirked in that way that she knew so well: calculation, and a hint of … triumph?

Icy dread pierced Rhiann’s belly, and she turned, seeking Eremon, close behind her. ‘Rhiann,’ he said, biting his lip. ‘In the rush, I forgot to tell you that he was still here, being cared for by the druids. I’m sorry.’

He must have recognized the surge of fear in her face, for now he
took her hand, rubbing her fingers. ‘No, Rhiann, he cannot hurt us here. For we are gone, and he is left behind. Look!’

‘His reach knows no bounds,’ she answered, her voice high and strained.

Eremon smiled reassurance and moved to block her view of the pier, speaking of calm things until he was called away to the captain.

But though the day remained fine, Rhiann had to wrap her cloak close against the chill that invaded her, until the Dun of the Waves fell far behind and was lost against the shore.

They made good time under sail, with a blustery south wind skirting them along Alba’s coast. The captain hugged the high cliffs closely, never straying too far from land, and when the water ran out after three days, he put in to the slivers of beach that edged the rocks and hauled barrels up and down the steep cliff face.

It was when they rounded the first cape and began heading west, that the brisk wind died, slowing their advance. Rhiann mostly sat with Dala and Caitlin in the bow, where the men had erected a small shelter from the sun. For a few days the water was as still and green as Roman glass, and they were forced to travel solely under oar, the sail furled and tied away.

Yet despite the unseasonal calm, Rhiann’s unease grew, rather than faded.

Dala, too, became restless, as soon as they reached the strait between the Orcades islands and the mainland. She withdrew into herself, her head sunk into the hood of her cloak, and did not respond to Rhiann’s gentle ministrations. Only when Rawden came did she look up, and then only to hold him and weep.

The scars were yet so fresh, Rhiann thought with pity, and one day she left the two lovers together and went aft to speak to Eremon. He had taken a place next to Conaire at the oars, and Caitlin was endeavouring to goad them into a race.

Standing by the mast, Rhiann watched Eremon, noting that, as usual, he knew how to win over the handful of boatmen that Calgacus had provided. His broad back strained, as he encouraged the others to pick up their speed, and Rhiann saw the sidelong looks he received, the dawning respect on salt-rimed faces.

All except one man – tall and, black-haired with a pock-marked face – the man the captain had taken on as they left. He never smiled or spoke, but hunched his thin frame over the oar, avoiding the other men’s eyes.

Rhiann turned back to Eremon, putting the dour man out of her mind. Eremon did not seem to share her unease. Indeed, although he
was initially downcast at the failure of the alliance, the further they sailed from the Dun of the Waves the lighter he became.

Has this to do with me
? Rhiann doused the idea as soon as it came. She truly had no say over Eremon’s happiness – and even if she did, what had happiness to do with life when it was duty and threat that called to them both?

Now Eremon caught sight of Rhiann, and joined her by the mast. He had stripped off his tunic to row, and she saw the beginnings of sunburn across his shoulders. ‘I shall have to put an elder salve on that.’ She touched the flushed skin.