The Fathomless Caves (16 page)

They came over a hill and saw a great city laid out on the shores of a wide harbour. It was crowded with spires and towers, many gilded so that they gleamed in the fitful sunshine. Isabeau leant out of the window of their carriage, fascinated. The twins hung out beside her, clamouring with excitement, and Donncan and Bronwen hung out the other side. Even Meghan leant forward to see the fabled city of Bride more clearly. The cavaliers rode close on either side and she waved them away irritably. ‘Move over, man! I’ve seen enough o’ your horse’s rump this past month, let me see the view, for Eà’s sake!’

The cavalier spurred his horse away with a grin and Meghan stared out for a long time, unable to help showing her amazement and wonder. Bride had been hidden beyond the Great Divide for most of her supernaturally long life. She had never thought to see it. At last she sat back with a sigh and said to Isabeau, ‘Well, the Mesmerdean could take me now and I wouldna mind a bit. To think I’d live to see Bride!’

Isabeau smiled and nodded, even though the old sorceress’s words cut deep. Meghan read her thoughts as always and smiled grimly. ‘Och, ye have a few more months o’ me yet, my bairn. Make the most o’ it!’

The long cavalcade of infantrymen, cavaliers, supply wagons and carriages clattered in through the city gates and through a long, heavily guarded tunnel. Beyond the high, grim walls, houses crowded onto the streets, which were filled with garbage, sewage running down the gutters. Although the main thoroughfare was wide, a tangle of dark, mean-looking streets twisted away on either side, all overshadowed by the immense spire of the High Kirk which crouched on a hill in the centre of the city surrounded by yet another high, heavily guarded wall.

Many curious, anxious faces stared at them from windows and doors. At first the mood was one of trepidation but as the soldiers waved and smiled, the bagpipes skirled and the drums boomed, the people of the city began to come out to look and marvel. Quite a few waved their aprons and cheered, and children ran alongside, shouting with excitement. All were dressed very plainly, in black or grey, with their hair dragged back and rough wooden sabots on their feet.

Lachlan’s piper led the procession, playing a martial tune, followed by a small marching band of drummers and fiddlers, Dide and Jay among them. Lachlan’s squire Connor proudly carried the Rìgh’s standard, a crowned white stag on a green background, while the Rìgh rode slowly forward on his great black stallion, his magnificent wings folded, the white gyrfalcon riding on his gauntleted wrist. Iain and Elfrida rode beside him, waving to the crowd and accepting their accolades with smiles and nods. Elfrida looked very young and beautiful upon her dainty white palfrey, and the cheers grew
loudest as she passed. Her standard-bearer was a local boy and he was swollen with pride as he held high the flag of the MacHildes, a golden sword held aloft by a gauntleted fist on a scarlet background.

The deeper into the city they marched, the more joyous grew the reception. Hundreds of people thronged the highway, making the army’s progress very slow indeed. Dusk pressed down upon them. Lanterns were kindled along the road and on the sides of the carriages. The roofs of the houses pressed so close over the street that no moon or stars could be seen. The air was fetid, causing Donncan and Bronwen to choke and cover their noses as they peered out the windows. The twins fell asleep with their heads on Isabeau’s lap, and at last even the older children drooped and rested their heads against each other’s shoulders.

At last they came to another high wall, as strongly protected as those encircling the city. Beyond that wall were many parks and fine mansions, their windows all blazing with lights. Although crowds lined the avenue or leant out of the windows, throwing streamers and flowers, the road was much wider here and so the cavalcade was at last able to pick up speed. They came to the last of the city’s three walls and passed through yet another dark tunnel, the horses’ hooves booming. By now Isabeau was yawning so widely her jaws cracked, but still she peered out the carriage window, eager to see everything. They passed the High Kirk, its hundreds of spires all lit up against the night sky and then, some time later, drove through a magnificent set of gates, with the shield of the MacHilde clan set upon
them. Beyond stretched only darkness, though in the flickering light of the torches carried by their outriders, Isabeau could see they were driving down a long straight avenue lined with blossoming trees.

At last they came to the palace. Isabeau received a confused impression of many tall turrets, all topped with cone-shaped roofs, before the weary horses dragged the carriage in through the castle gates and into the gatehouse. Here they were asked to step down out of the carriage. Rather hesitantly they did so. The buildings towering about were so grim and militant-looking, the guards in their white surcoats so stern, that even Isabeau could not help feeling a little apprehensive. Meghan stepped down willingly enough, though, scorning the hand offering to help her, and so Isabeau clambered down too.

She had first to wake the children, the twins beginning to wail from tiredness. Maura Nursemaid, the bogfaery hired to attend them, tried without success to quieten them. She was only young, born and bred in the marshes of Arran, and she had never before left her home. As shy and timid as most bogfaeries, she found her new role very intimidating indeed. Isabeau took Olwynne into her arms and patted her back to sleep against her shoulder. Maura tried to imitate her, but Owein’s wails turned into angry roars.

The cavaliers were milling about on one side of the courtyard. Isabeau saw Lachlan among them, his dusty cloak flung back, his sweaty curls hanging on his forehead. He turned at the sound of Owein’s angry cries and started towards them, Isabeau’s heart lifting at the
sight of him. He took Owein in his arms, rocking him gently, and the little boy at last stopped crying, though he clung very tightly to his father’s neck.

‘How are ye yourselves?’ the Rìgh asked tersely.

‘Stiff, tired and very, very hungry,’ Meghan replied, just as curtly. ‘Could we no’ have stopped for some tea at least?’

‘Bride was so close, I wanted to get here afore dark,’ he answered. ‘I did no’ expect it to take so long coming through the city. We’re here now though. Come on in. Hopefully they’ll be ready for us.’

‘Where are we?’ Isabeau asked, stumbling a little in her weariness.

He cast her an oblique look from his falcon-yellow eyes. ‘This is Gerwalt, the palace o’ the MacHildes. It was until recent times the home o’ the Fealde and the berhtildes, but the new Fealde, Killian the Listener, prefers to live and work among the people.’

‘It’s no’ very welcoming,’ Isabeau said.

‘Nay, I suppose no’. Still, it is Elfrida’s home now and the only place large enough to house most o’ our men. The others shall be lodged in the city. Come in, there’ll at least be hot food and a bed o’ sorts.’

He strode off, giving his instructions to the tower guards, handing over his white gyrfalcon to the falconer and giving his big black stallion one last caress on his velvety nose. Then he led the weary travellers through the gatehouse into the outer bailey, through another stout barbican, and then into the inner bailey, Owein asleep on his neck.

The palace soared above them. Within its formidable
walls it was a building of great elegance and beauty. Isabeau found its many round towers very restful to her eyes, after all the square corners and sharp-pointed spires of the city. They climbed the stairs and entered through an enormous fortified door of ancient oak.

The luxury within astounded her. She had been amazed at the magnificence of Iain’s palace but Gerwalt’s entrance hall far overshadowed it. The floor was fully carpeted in an intricately woven rug of blue, pale green and crimson, while huge tapestries depicting scenes of battle hung on the walls which rose over a hundred feet high. An enormous crystal chandelier hung down from the domed ceiling far above, dazzling Isabeau’s tired eyes. Shields and swords and axes hung on the walls, and suits of silver armour stood on the landing of the grand staircase, which swept up from the far end of the hall, dividing in two to lead up to galleries on either side.

Above the galleries were tall lancet windows filled with stained-glass pictures. Isabeau saw a man in armour receive a sword from an angel with wings of gold and crimson. She saw roses and black crouching devils, books inscribed with strange letters, a child floating in a halo of golden light, white doves carrying twigs, a woman in a blue dress weeping by a grave, and men fighting while angels sang above. Her mind could not take it all in.

‘Gracious alive!’ she said.

‘Look at that one!’ Donncan cried. ‘It looks just like
Dai-dein
.’

She stared where he pointed. In the round window
above the staircase was a black-winged angel kneeling before a throne, holding aloft a golden sword. On the throne sat an old man, robed all in white, with a stern bearded face and one finger raised above a huge book. The angel’s hair curled blackly, his face was cleanshaven, and his eyes were as gold as the halo of light about his head.

‘No wonder they fall to their knees when he rides by,’ Meghan said crossly. She looked about her irritably then picked up a solid gold bowl, set with gems. ‘I thought the Tìrsoilleirean believed luxury and comfort the work o’ their Arch-Fiend?’

‘The former Fealde was rather too interested in luxury,’ Lachlan said with a grin. ‘That was why the people were persuaded to rise up against her. Luckily Elfrida finds all this rather daunting.’

Meghan limped forward, saying caustically, ‘I’m as dry as a Clachan salt basin. Is there no-one to offer us some tea?’

Elfrida had been busy talking with some servants at the foot of the stairwell. She hurried over, looking tired and harried. ‘I am so sorry, Keybearer. All is still in disarray. We left here so suddenly when we heard o’ the bairns’ kidnapping, and there was no time to get things into order. Will ye no’ come through to the red drawing room, and I’ll try to have some tea sent up? Ye must all be tired, we’ve all been on the road since dawn.’

Meghan allowed herself to be led to a large but comfortable room where a fire had been lit and the dustcovers shaken out and thrown into a heap in the
corner. The old sorceress looked very drawn indeed and Isabeau made her sit down and drink some
mithuan
and warm herself by the fire, while she calmed the fractious children and set them to playing spillikins on the hearth. The sleeping twins were laid down on the red brocaded couch and covered with a plaid.

The team of healers came in rather hesitantly, all looking tired and rather overwhelmed by the grandeur of the palace. Johanna the Mild, who had once been part of the League of the Healing Hand and was now the head healer, was among them. Isabeau spoke to her swiftly and Johanna took one look at Meghan’s grey face and busied herself making up a restorative tea of skullcap, valerian and rue for the old sorceress. Tòmas the Healer clung close to Johanna’s side, a thin little boy with arms and legs like sticks below his gaudy blue-and-gold surcoat, and deep shadows under his eyes. Johanna gave his fair head an affectionate rub, saying, ‘Why do ye no’ go and play wi’ the other bairns, dearling?’

He shook his head and pressed even closer, greatly hampering her movements. She did not protest, however, bending over Meghan with the cup in her hand. From the shelter of her long green robe he stared round the room with enormous blue eyes, ducking his head back when Donncan smiled at him. With his small stature and shy ways, Tòmas seemed much younger than his thirteen years, making the power he carried in his two small hands seem even more incredible.

It was not until Johanna’s younger brother Connor came, the Rìgh’s hat and cloak in his hand, that Tòmas grew more animated. The two boys were the same age
and had been friends for many years. Connor greeted him affectionately and, after a curt jerk of the head from Meghan, tenderly laid down his burden and drew the other boy into conversation. Soon they were both sitting by the fire with Donncan and Bronwen, playing at spillikins with great enthusiasm.

Lachlan came striding in, followed as usual by his retinue, all talking and laughing, shaking out their dusty cloaks and calling loudly for whisky and food. Dide set himself to amuse them, saying in an undertone to Isabeau, ‘Ye willna find whisky here, but the quartermaster will have some wine somewhere and some food too, if there’s none in the house. I’d be quick about it though, we’ve all been riding hard since dawn and everyone’s tired and a wee cantankerous.’

Isabeau nodded and went in search of the kitchens. Here all was confusion. The cook was in hysterics, the oven unlit, and the servants all milled about, gossiping and exclaiming. Isabeau was tired and very hungry. With a few sharp well-chosen words she sent the servants running to turn out bedrooms, air all the sheets, light the fires and carry up the baggage, which was still piled about in the entrance hall. She lit the oven with a snap of her fingers and rummaged through the cupboards, emerging hot, dirty, empty-handed and very angry.

‘Why is all in such disorder?’ she demanded. ‘Did ye no’ receive the message that we were coming?’

‘But we were only given a day’s notice and none kent how many would be coming,’ the chamberlain protested. ‘And no money was sent and we had none
here to buy supplies with, for the Fealde cleaned out the treasury when she fled …’ The old man was almost in tears.

‘How like a man!’ Isabeau snapped. ‘So bloody impractical.’

The chamberlain stepped back a little and she said, ‘No’ ye! I meant the Rìgh. Never mind. Send one o’ the potboys down to the quartermaster and tell him we need potatoes and leeks, some flour, butter, milk and eggs, if he has them. Oh, and wine. Do no’ forget the wine!’

‘Wha’ about some meat?’ the chamberlain asked nervously.

‘If I have to cook them all a meal, they must eat what I choose to cook and I shallna cook them meat!’ Isabeau exclaimed.

In too much of a hurry to worry about what the servants thought of her, Isabeau brought pots and spoons whizzing out from the cupboard. She started chopping vegetables furiously with six large knives all working away at once, while a cauldron waltzed itself out to the well to be filled with water. Salt rose up from its sack in a tiny tornado, and threw itself into the water as the cauldron swung itself onto the fire which had leapt into life on the hearth. Isabeau did not wait for the water to boil by itself but stuck her finger into the water, which bubbled up, hissing and steaming.