The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (40 page)

Her distress over this part of the tale distracted her, and it wasn’t until some time later that she really began to pay attention again. Now Bridei was explaining how Arthur had wed a northern chieftain’s daughter because she brought him a dowry of warriors. But what started out as a marriage of convenience had eventually become a lovematch, Bridei added. The only thing marring it was that the woman, called Guinevere, was apparently barren. It was a great blow to Arthur that he couldn’t sire an heir, but he refused to blame Guinevere. There were even tales he suggested she lie with one of his warriors and try to beget a child, a child who he would claim as his own son.

This part of the tale shocked Dessia. She couldn’t imagine a man deliberately asking the woman she loved to lie with another man. Nor could she imagine any man claiming a child he knew wasn’t his own. She couldn’t help blurting out, “Why would Arthur do such a thing? It makes no sense.”

“It made sense to Arthur,” Bridei answered. “For you see, he cared more for his goal of preserving Britain than he did for his own pride. He felt if Guinevere had a son he could claim as his heir, it would give his people hope for the future and keep his dream alive.”

“A son?” said Dessia. “What if Guinevere gave birth to a daughter?”

“Although I have no doubt Arthur would have loved her well, a girl child would never have served his plans. The British tribes aren’t like those in Ireland. They would never have accepted a woman as a leader.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the influence of the Romans, I suppose. Before they came to Britain, there was a tradition of powerful queens. Indeed, a woman named Boudica once led a huge army against the Romans. But after the Romans came to power, women ceased to train as warriors, and because of that, they were no longer seen as viable leaders.”

His words outraged Dessia, but she realized Bridei wasn’t describing his own feelings, but those of his countrymen. She had to admit Bridei had never exhibited anything but admiration for her abilities. She said, “The idea that a woman can’t rule as well as a man is absurd. But I have to wonder why you don’t share the belief. I’ve never felt you considered me unfit as a leader.
At least until now, when I am pregnant with your child,
she added in her thoughts.

“I suppose it doesn’t bother me because I have no aspirations to possess that kind of power for myself,” answered Bridei. “I’m content to be a bard and let others—male or female—fight the wars. Yet, I like to think that as a performer and storyteller I have a kind of power in my own right. I’m able to influence the men who make the decisions and wield the weapons—not always, but sometimes.”

Aye, you have influenced me,
Dessia thought.
You’ve stolen my heart away.

A tremor of emotion went through her as she considered the truth of this. What she felt for Bridei was too powerful to be denied. She’d sought to hate him, but always failed.

Bridei continued the tale, saying, “The story grows sad now. For unbeknownst to Arthur, he had an heir all along. When he was very young and living at the court of Uther, he became close with a young woman named Morguese. Arthur knew she was kin of Uther, although he didn’t realize she was his daughter. Nor did he know, at that time, that Uther was his father.

“Some people say that Morguese knew Arthur was her half-brother and she deliberately seduced him so she would have a hold over the future high king. I don’t believe that. I know Morguese, indeed I once knew her quite well. It’s true she’s manipulative and calculating, but I think that came later, when she was married off to much older man and sent away to the far north. When she and Arthur knew each other—and loved each other—I think her affection for him was genuine. And innocent. They were drawn to each other because they shared similar traits from their sire. Like Uther, they were both passionate and driven. Arthur’s passion led him to greatness; Morgeuse’s to despair.

“Perhaps that was because she was a woman and, therefore, could have no say in her destiny. Perhaps that’s what turned Morgeuse against Arthur,” he continued. “At any rate, she channeled all her frustrated ambition into the son she bore him, named Mordred. All that attention seemed to warp Mordred, made him shortsighted and foolish, yet cunning. But Arthur made mistakes as well. He never recognized Mordred’s abilities, nor gave the youth the love he craved. And so, the son who Arthur so longed for became the instrument of his death.”

“What?” Dessia found herself exclaiming. “I thought you said Arthur died in a battle with the Saxons.”

“He did. But it was Mordred’s hand that slew him. For Mordred had chosen to fight on the side of the enemy. It was a great humiliation to Arthur. He could win thousands to his cause, but couldn’t convince his own son to fight at his side.”

“That’s outrageous!” exclaimed Dessia. This twist of the tale struck her as very far-fetched. And yet, the rest of it had the distinctive ring of truth.

“Sons and fathers don’t always see eye-to-eye.” Bridei responded, a hint of wryness in his tone. “I’m living proof of that.”

Dessia recalled all he’d told her about his father, the great Dragon of the Island. There was much bitterness there. And yet, despite his estrangement from his sire, Bridei was willing to return home, because he believed she would be safe and cared for there. Thinking of it, Dessia’s anger weakened further. Bridei was willing to sacrifice a great deal for her sake. He’d already risked his life on her behalf. And he’d done so before he’d known she was carrying his child. It was unfair of her to think of him as selfish and uncaring. To blame him for her losing control over her lands. That was O’Bannon’s doing.

All at once, she felt a deep urge to have Bridei hold her in his arms. To soothe her and love her and call her
cariad
. But, she didn’t think he was ready for that. Some of the things she’d said to him had hurt him deeply. She must give him time to heal. He also needed to feel they were safe from O’Bannon. Although they’d left her enemy’s territory far behind, she knew Bridei worried their enemy would follow them. Perhaps when they reached Ath Cliath, Bridei would relax and she would have an opportunity to tell him what he meant to her.

* * *

Bridei pulled the stallion to a halt and inhaled deeply. “I can smell the sea. We must be close to Ath Cliath.” He glanced over at Dessia. She appeared deep in thought, as she’d been on much of the journey. He wondered what she was thinking, if her anger over leaving Cahermara had begun to ease. His own bitterness had certainly ebbed. Although he might regret falling in love, there was nothing he could do to change it. He cared for Dessia and the babe she carried more than he did for his own life, and that was the way it was.

Gradually, the oak and elm forest they were riding through thinned, and they could see a river ahead. Observing dozens of buildings on their side of the water and many more across the waterway, Bridei’s heartbeat quickened. This was surely Ath Cliath. Now all they had to do was find someone to take them across the Irish Sea and Dessia would finally be safe.

“How many people live in Ath Cliath?” Dessia asked as they approached.

“I would guess several hundred,” he answered.

“So many.” She shook her head. He could tell she was amazed. For someone who’d never visited any sort of large settlement, it must seem overwhelming.

“Not all these buildings are dwellings,” he told her. “Some of them are probably workshops where they make jewelry, metalware and other valuable items. Or storehouses, where they store trade goods. And up there . . .” He pointed to the timber-walled palisade built on a hill above the river. “That must be the fortress of the chieftain who rules this place.”

They rode near a group of roundhouses and a man came out of one of the dwellings and hurried toward them. He was bowlegged, with thinning brown hair. “Welcome,” the man called. “I’m certain you’re hungry and thirsty after your journey. My wife, Catrina, was just cooking some oatcakes. Let me see to your horses, while you go inside and eat.” He gestured to the roundhouse.

Something about the man’s enthusiastic welcome made Bridei uncomfortable. “Thank you for your offer,” he said, “but we want to cross the river before we stop.” Bridei nodded to the man, then turned the stallion toward the ford.

“It won’t be low tide until tomorrow,” the man called. “You might as well eat while you’re waiting.”

“Why didn’t you stop? asked Dessia when they’d traveled a little further.

“All I have to pay for the food is gold, and I don’t think oatcakes are worth that much.”

Dessia gave him a surprised look. “Gold? Where did you get gold?”

Bridei wondered if she would be angry at him for cutting up the torc. Surely she would see he’d had no choice. He met her gaze. “I thought I might need some wealth to bribe someone at Dun Cullan to help me in freeing you. When I mentioned this to Aife, she told me about a stash of valuables buried near the wall at Cahermara. We found it and dug it up. I cut up one of the torcs and had Aife sew the pieces into my tunic.”

“The treasure,” said Dessia. “What did you do with the rest of it?”

“We reburied it,” he added. “The gold from the one torc should be enough to buy us passage across the sea several times over. All the pieces in the cache were enormous. I can’t imagine anyone actually wearing them. Do you know where the treasure came from? Who made it?”

“As I recall, one of my father’s bondsmen uncovered the box when he was plowing on his farm,” Dessia said thoughtfully. “This was long ago, well before I was born. The man gave the treasure to my father, and he buried it near the wall of the old hillfort. There were stories that the things must have come from the Tuatha de Danann, that they were fairy gold. I think that’s why my father reburied it. He thought keeping it inside the hillfort would bring us favor with the ancient race. After O’Bannon’s attack, I wondered if perhaps my family’s bad fortune meant the Tuatha de Danann were angry. But over time, as things improved, I forgot about the cache. Yet, I must have mentioned it to Aife at some point.”

“Aye. She remembered it. But she didn’t know it was reputed to be fairy gold. If she had, she’d never have told me where to find it. When we dug it up and saw how huge and strange the pieces were, Aife insisted they must belong to the Tuatha de Danann. She was afraid we’d be cursed if we didn’t put things back. But at the time, I was so concerned about how I would free you I couldn’t worry about fairy curses.”

“Don’t you believe in such things?” Dessia asked.

Bridei shook his head. “I believe in the forces of the land and the gods that control such things. But as for a magical fairy race ... it seems very unlikely to me. Still, I don’t understand who could have made such things. The pieces are too large to be worn by normal people. Perhaps they were made by the Firbolgs, the race of giants that used to live in Ireland.”

“You believe in giants, then?” Dessia asked playfully. “But not fairies?”

Bridei shrugged. “I suppose so. There are men, like my father and brother Rhun, who are uncommonly tall. Maybe there was a whole race like that at one time. But enough talk of magical beings. We need to cross the river.”

They reached the ford. While the man they’d met had insisted the tide was rising, it was actually going out, revealing the latticework of wood that had been laid across the river to facilitate crossing. Bridei could see why this place was called Ath Cliath, “ford of hurdles.”

“We’ll have to dismount and walk across,” he said. “Our horses aren’t going to be comfortable walking on such an uneven surface. Besides, their weight might damage the latticework.”

They waited until the tide had ebbed some more, then dismounted and started across. Reaching the other side, they led the horses down the pathway along the river. A woman came toward them with a toddler on one hip and a pottery jar in her other hand. Bridei nodded to her. “Greetings, milady. We’re travelers. Can you tell me what chieftain or king rules this place?”

“His name is Conla.”

“Does he live in the rath above the river?” asked Bridei.

“Aye.”

“And is he there now?”

“Aye.”

“What about a place to keep our horses?”

“There’s a stable that direction.”

“Thank you,” said Bridei.

“She didn’t ask your name or where you were from,” Dessia said as soon as they were out of earshot of the woman.

“I’m sure they’re used to travelers around here. They probably think nothing of it.”

“That seems so odd. To meet someone and not even exchange names or mention what tribe you’re from,” mused Dessia.

“Aye. I suppose it does to you. But in trading settlements, your name and what tribe you come from is usually much less important than how much wealth you carry with you.”

“Are you going to use the gold to pay for our stay?” asked Dessia.

“Not if I can help it,” responded Bridei. “My plan is to go to the king and offer to perform for him in exchange for lodging for a night. But first, we must get the horses settled.”

“I hate to leave them.” Dessia reached to stroke the mare’s neck. “Their coloring makes me think they might even be of the bloodline of the horses O’Bannon stole from my father.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t take them with us across the sea,” said Bridei. “Although it’s possible we could arrange to come back for them.”