The Well of Shades (74 page)

Bridei had a sound grasp of the Gaelic language and could speak it with reasonable fluency, thanks to Wid’s tuition in his early years. He seldom revealed this ability, and never in such situations as this. Had Faolan not been off rearranging
the night guards, he’d have used his right-hand man as both protector and translator. As it was, Keother’s two men-at-arms were the only minders present, and it was Brother Suibne who rendered the conversation into Gaelic and back again. Bridei knew him of old. An astute man, clever, subtle, and possessed of a dry sense of humor. For all their differences, Bridei liked him. But you could
never trust a Christian, not fully. Bridei listened closely to both original and translation, knowing how slight the nuance required to cause a major misunderstanding. That, too, was something he had learned from Wid.

Aniel, well prepared, proposed a day and time for the formal audience and suggested all parties give him an idea, in advance, of what matters they wished discussed there. He stressed
that, although the delay might inconvenience the brothers, all the amenities of White Hill would be open to them in the interim.

“On the understanding, of course,” Bridei put in, “that there will be no public prayer or religious teaching within these walls. We have tolerated your progress across Fortriu, word of which has reached us by various messengers. A journey attended by dramatic encounters
and wondrous deeds, we are told. It is a long way; a taxing experience. It seems to me it would be wise of you to allow for recovery before you must repeat it. Eat, drink, rest. Take time for yourselves.”

Brother Suibne altered this subtly on relaying it to Brother Colm. Somehow, the opportunity for recovery became less a matter of good beds and fine food, and more one of time to pray and reflect
in this season of change. Perhaps that was a wise mistranslation. Colm agreed, with visible reluctance, to the delay.

“Also,” said Aniel, “should this matter of the king’s son develop in any way unexpectedly, Bridei may need to delay the audience longer or to cancel it.”

Colm raised his brows as Suibne rendered this.

“The fact is,” said Tharan, “we don’t know if we’re dealing with a mishap
or an abduction. If your own countrymen are involved and we need to exert pressure to have the child returned, you may find yourselves enjoying White Hill’s hospitality for longer than you intended. King Bridei has authorized me to tell you this.”

Suibne translated Colm’s reply. “We do not condone the abduction of children. We appreciate your candor and will pray for the boy’s safe return. If
King Bridei wishes, Brother Colm says he will keep vigil by the king’s side tonight and offer up prayers for the child. What is his name?”

“Derelei.” Bridei found it hard to get the word out. “Thank Brother Colm from me. I know he means well. There is no need for him to lose sleep over this.”

They spoke of other matters. It was clear Colm wished the formal audience to cover assurances of safety
for the Christian hermits of the Light Isles, not just from Keother but from Bridei as Keother’s overlord. Then there was a question of Gaels whom Colm had seen among the serving people at White Hill. He wished to know the fate of last autumn’s captives, those of the defeated Dalriadans who had come here in Priteni custody. How many were slaves? What would their future hold? What of the fate,
in the longer term, of Gabhran, deposed king of the Dalriadan Gaels, now locked up in his own old stronghold of Dunadd?

The list was thorough. Bridei remembered that this
man, as an Uí Néill, was kin to Gabhran. It was powerfully apparent to him, even through the fog of exhaustion and anxiety, that when the formal audience did take place it would range far beyond matters of religion. He began
to revise his idea of exactly why this Colmcille had made his arduous journey all the way to the heart of Fortriu.

“And lastly,” Brother Suibne said, “there will be a matter of which you already know; the matter central to our mission. It concerns the island of Ioua, in your westernmost territory. We visited that place. It is beautiful, remote, and wild, with few inhabitants. We have hopes you
will reconsider those words you spoke at the moment of victory over Gabhran’s forces last autumn. We have hopes you may, after all, grant us sanctuary in that place.” It was a more poetic, and humbler, rendition of his superior’s closing speech.

“You are a clever translator, Brother Suibne,” Bridei said.

“And you an astute listener, my lord king.” Suibne smiled. “I’m so sorry about your boy.
How is your wife taking it? I remember her from Caer Pridne. A fey, small thing, but strong-hearted. I assume it is the same.”

“Tuala. Yes. I cannot speak of this here. But I thank you for your concern.”

They were seated in a chamber not far from the Great Hall, in order to be able to continue talking until the meal was about to be served. Bridei had become aware, over the course of the last
few interchanges, that there was a level of disturbance outside well beyond anything one might have expected: shouts, scuffling, many voices raised. He thought perhaps one of them was Faolan’s.

“Tharan,” he said calmly, “you’d best go out and discover what that is about. Take one of the guards.” Then, turning to his guests, “We’ll go to supper shortly. I regret that my court druid, Broichan,
is unable to be with us tonight. He is currently away from White Hill. I hope he will be able to join us for our official discussions. It is another reason a delay will aid us.”

“You hope?” Colm raised his brows. “Cannot you command his return? I’m told Broichan wields great power within Fortriu and strong influence here at your court. My belief is that he should be present.”

“I am my own man,”
Bridei said quietly, using one of Broichan’s techniques to set his anger aside. “Broichan is one of those who advise me. Where the welfare of my people is concerned, the final decisions are mine. Does the high king in your homeland command your movements, Brother Colm?”

The translation provoked a wintry smile. “What can I say?” was Suibne’s rendition of the reply. “He is in Tara, and I am here
in heathen Fortriu.”

It was at that moment Bridei decided that either Suibne was too clever for his own good, or Colmcille was no different from the rest of them: for all his miracle-working, a real human being.

“Then welcome to Fortriu,” he said. “Now let us go to supper—”

The door opened and Tharan came back in, his features carefully arranged into an expression of calm. “My lord king,” he
said, “there’s something of a… spirited discussion taking place among those in the hall awaiting their meal. It involves Lady Breda and certain accusations. And also—”

Keother was on his feet. “I’ll deal with it,” he said, “if I may be excused.”

“—the matter of Eile, and the search,” Tharan went on. “This requires your personal intervention, my lord king.”

Bridei could hear Faolan shouting.
“Very well, we’ll go through,” he said, wishing he could achieve Tharan’s self-control. “Brother Colm, Brother Suibne, it will be best if you remain here until this is dealt with. I regret the inconvenience.” He nodded to the remaining guard to stay with the Christians. The shouts were getting louder; he could hear Breda, her voice rapidly rising. And one of Talorgen’s boys. Abandoning protocol,
the king of
Fortriu strode out the door and down the passageway to the Great Hall.

There was no way to tell exactly what was going on. The hall was full of folk, and ale had been served while they waited for their supper. Most were seated, but Faolan was on his feet, pointing an accusatory finger at Breda. He was enraged; his face was flushed, his scowl thunderous. Whatever this was, it must
be serious to rob Bridei’s self-disciplined spy of his well-known equanimity in public. At the king’s table Breda, too, was standing, hands on hips, head high, her elegant attire a stark contrast to the shrillness of her voice.

“What are you saying?” She was glaring at Faolan. “Are you calling me a liar?
Me?”

All around the hall voices were buzzing and eyes were turned on this battle with keen
interest. For entertainment, it seemed it far surpassed what could be achieved by a bard with a harp.

“Sit down,” Bridei said, aiming his command halfway between his right-hand man and the princess. “You, too,” he added as he noticed both Bedo and Uric standing at the front of the hall, beside the dais that held the high table. “If there is a dispute to be settled, it should be behind closed
doors, not here in the hall as if you were a mob of brawling drunkards.”

“My lord—” Faolan began. Bridei heard a note in his friend’s voice that sent a chill through him. This was something serious.

“I won’t just let this go!” Breda snapped. “You can’t expect that, not after the vile things you’ve been saying!” The big blue eyes turned to Keother, a step behind Bridei. “Cousin, this man—this
Gael
—is trying to accuse me of some kind of misdemeanor. I want him thrown out of the hall. I won’t tolerate this.” She tossed her head; the artful curls at her temples quivered.

“Cousin, take your seat.” Keother moved to stand beside her. Something in his tone made Breda obey. Her
eyes were venomous; there was no telling if that look was all for Faolan, or half for Keother himself.

“My lord—”
Faolan tried again, and this time his voice cracked.

“Let us take this to a council chamber,” Bridei said. “Who is party to the dispute? Lady Breda? Uric? Bedo?”

“No, my lord.” The uncharacteristic flush in Faolan’s cheeks had faded; now he was white. “The matter concerns Eile and this story that’s being put about. I need it resolved straightaway. It’s possible we’ve been searching in the wrong
place, based on misleading information. This must be settled now, quickly and publicly. I won’t have Eile made the subject of lying gossip.”

“I see.” Bridei moved to his place at the royal table and sat. The hubbub died down. Keother seated himself between the king and Breda; Aniel and Tharan took their seats on Bridei’s other side. Faolan made no move; nor did Uric and Bedo.

Out of the corner
of his eye, Bridei could see the two Christians entering the hall with an irritated-looking guard behind them. It was not possible to order them out. “Seat them at the end of this table, one on each side of Queen Rhian,” he murmured to Aniel. “I don’t want Suibne to do too much translating.” He turned to Faolan. “Very well,” he said, “I will hear the matter of this dispute now. Keep it brief and
to the point. If it concerns my son and Eile, we need it set out quickly so we can take appropriate action. Who will speak first?”

“Talorgen’s sons.” Faolan was in better control of himself now, his voice level, his eyes grim. “There are two stories here, my lord, and the one feeds into the other.”

“Step forward, Bedo, Uric. What is this?”

“It relates to the hunt, my lord king…” The two boys
told their tale well, with calm logic, plain though it was to Bridei that they were strung up with tension. For all his own nervous anticipation, he was struck by their maturity and self-control. Talorgen would be well pleased if he
could see them now. Bedo related how, at the moment before Cella was struck, there had been a scream, and that the horse then reared up and descended in a flurry of
lethal hooves. Uric related the same sequence: the scream, the movement of the mare, and added one more detail. There had been something flashing in the sunlight, something Lady Breda had been holding in her hand. Then the mare had bolted and taken Lady Breda with it.

“This is stupid—” Breda began.

“Please be quiet, Lady Breda,” Bridei said. “You will be given the opportunity to speak.”

“But—”

“Hush.” Keother’s tone was a hiss of rage. Glancing sideways, Bridei was alarmed by the expression in the other man’s eyes. He read there horror, shame, and something that suggested this was perhaps not as much of a surprise as it might have been.

“I don’t see the relevance to the other matter, the search, Eile, my son,” he said to Faolan.

“It will become apparent, my lord,” Bedo said. “My brother
and I had certain suspicions as to what had made Lady Breda’s horse shy. A scream might have done it. A scream and a sharp goad would certainly have frightened the most placid of creatures. Uric thought he saw something flash downward just before the… accident. He has been searching the place of the hunt for that item. A day or two ago he found it.” The hall was completely silent.

Uric held up
a jeweled pin. “The mare sustained no major injuries that day, but she did come back with many scratches and abrasions from her headlong flight,” he said. “If one of them was a deliberate wound, inflicted by this silver hair ornament, the grooms would not have singled it out for particular notice. I found the pin—or, at least, your dog found it—in a part of that field where only Breda and the two
men who rescued her had ridden that day. This ornament bears the royal insignia of the Light Isles. It belongs to Lady Breda.”

“Nonsense!” She was on her feet again, hands clenched. “Yes, maybe it is mine, but what you say is just silly! Why would I do that? Anyway, I wasn’t wearing it that day. Ask my attendants. I had quite another hair clasp on, the gold one with little chains. You’re just
making this up!”

Keother looked down toward the table where Breda’s handmaids were seated in a huddle. “Who can support my cousin’s version of events?” he asked. “Do you recall what she was wearing on that day? The young men’s story is somewhat flimsy, there’s no doubt, but we owe it to them to respond to their questions. A girl died.”

The young women looked into their ale cups, at their hands,
at the floor.

“We require an answer,” Bridei said. “Faolan has indicated lives may be at risk. Does this silence mean yes or no?”

A fair-haired girl half rose to her feet. “Lady Breda was wearing what she just said. Gold, with chains.”

“That’s right,” muttered a second girl.

The third girl stood up slowly. She was a little thing. Her face was white as linen. “No, it’s not,” she said in a shaking
voice. “Breda was wearing the silver pin. I know because I did her hair that morning. I’d swear to it. Amna helped me.”