Brigid of Ireland (Daughters of Ireland Book 1) (18 page)

Chapter 17

“‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’”

Jeremiah 29:11

The women were quiet but soaked to the bone when Ardan returned for them. “We’re going inside. Ye must be silent. The servants will provide ye with a warm meal and dry clothes, but ye must not speak. Not without
my
permission.”

They were calm and cooperative, not at all what he expected. The gods were pleased with Ardan, the great druid of Leinster.

Before he left the women for the night, Ardan passed the head maid a silver coin to buy silence. He still feared the presence of the Christian king. He’d need a plan to budge Dunlaing from Cashel. He had previously thought he’d send for Troya, and have the matter settled before King Aenghus knew what happened, but he thought better of it. Troya was impetuous. Better that she stay in Leinster and he bring Brigid and Brocca to her.

Now, how to handle the Brehons? Dunlaing had already called for them. He sent his young attendant – of course! Dunlaing had said the boy was unreliable.

Ardan found the lad crouching in the dark threshold of Dunlaing’s chambers. He smiled at the pitiful creature. “Why do ye sit here?”

The lad held his head in his hands. “The king will be angry with me.”

“Dunlaing? Why? Have ye disobeyed him?”

He turned his sad chestnut eyes toward Ardan. “I did not mean to disobey. ’Tis just that I don’t know who to ask.”

Ah, the boy’s incompetence would serve Ardan well. “Do ye speak about the order to convene the Brehons, lad?”

“Aye. Can ye tell me how to carry out the king’s wishes?”

Ardan glanced around them. The halls were quiet. He hadn’t seen any of the reigning king’s attendants since he arrived. Dunlaing occupied a separate wing of the castle. “I cannot. Have ye sought out the attendants to the ruling king?”

“That’s what I intended to do. But they’ve all left.” Could it be true? “Explain, lad.”

“The king of Munster and all his attendants. They’re gone to the place of kings in the east. The guards will not speak to me, so I have no way of finding the Brehons.”

Ardan would have danced a jig had he been alone. “I will speak to King Dunlaing on yer behalf. He’ll not punish ye. He convenes the Brehons at my request. If I ask him to delay until we reach Leinster, he will, especially since the king of Munster cannot be entertained at the gathering here.”

Ardan sent the lad off and hurried to speak to Dunlaing. He found him pacing the room. “Ah, Ardan. Have ye heard? King Aenghus of Munster, satisfied with our truce, has journeyed… ”

Dunlaing seemed to be struggling with whether or not to tell Ardan the whereabouts of the king. He must not trust Ardan with that confidence. But Ardan already knew. The boy had told him. “To Tara.”

Dunlaing’s jewel-like eyes flashed. “That’s right. My druid knows these things.”

Ardan smiled. “Shall we convene the Brehons in Leinster, then?”

“’Tis too late. My boy has… unless he has failed me again.” “He has, king. The Brehons have not yet been summoned.

But do not blame him. This has worked out for the best.”

Dunlaing rubbed his fingers through his coarse hair and sighed. “I grant him mercy because he’s young and still learning. We will leave for Leinster at the dawning of the new morn. I tire of this place, and it will be good to be home. Bring along the women, and my naive new servant. I will speak to the women after we arrive. If you also summon Troya, perhaps we will not need the Brehons after all.”

Ardan made a polite exit from the king’s presence and praised the gods all the way to his sleeping chamber. Now all he had to do was to convince Dunlaing that his plan was best for the kingdom, and Troya would take care of the rest.

Ardan disliked traveling with the women, but he dared not trust their care to anyone. When they arrived at Dunlaing’s castle, he secured them in a cell and then steered the bishop’s horse to the woodland home of his student Troya.

She welcomed him into her hovel.

The old woman cocked her matted head toward Ardan as he sat at her cooking fire. “She’s here? In Leinster?”

Ardan wiped his weary eyes. “Aye, she is.” He glanced around the woman’s pit of a home. There was but one sleeping mat, but she had coated the floor with rushes in an attempt to make her dwelling comfortable. The walls were made of stone, an extravagance. Perhaps the home had been nice once, but no longer. The place lacked the amenities Ardan required in his own abode.

Ardan stared at his pathetic apprentice. “Did Brigid’s friends give ye any trouble?”

Troya’s toothless mouth gaped open. “Hah. No trouble at all. Cook and her young lad – Brian, is it?”

Ardan stirred the fire with a birch twig. “That’s right. I’ve not seen them. Ye did well keeping them away.”

Troya scrambled to a worm-eaten wooden cupboard and retrieved a stone canister filled with tea leaves. “They did come by. Cook ranted and shook her fist at me.” Troya tilted her head back and cackled like a happy seabird. “I said nothing, though they thought they’d scared me stiffer than a crow on an ice-topped lough.”

She sprinkled the dried tea into a cooking pot and stirred the concoction with a long-handed wooden spoon. She winked at him. “I knew ye’d take care of Brigid. That’s why I let them think I was weak. And have ye done it, then?”

“Aye, King Dunlaing will hear yer request for an honor price in the morning.”

Troya stroked a long fingernail across her crumpled chin. “This girl, does she own any property? Does her mother?”

“They say they own a cow, but ’tis in the hands of Brocca’s former master. There’s no proof they are anything but poor freewomen.”

Troya stared at him with red-streaked eyes. “They are freewomen? How did this happen?” She stirred her pot of porridge and disregarded her own question. “’Tis better they are, aye? Their master cannot pay the honor price for them. They own nothing. So Brigid will pay with her life.”

Doves from the rafters hummed approval.

Ardan knew at that moment, as if someone whispered in his ear, that ridding himself of the women would be much easier than convincing them to use their influence to advance his cause. He had to make sure the outcome was in his control. “Aye, so it would seem. But then… my sticks seem to say something different.” He held out his druid fortune sticks for her to examine.

“Ardan! It cannot be. Is that truly how they fell?” She reached for them with fingers that had been burned and healed over and over – the hands of a woman who had stirred many cooking pots.

He jerked the wands away before she could look too closely and stuffed them inside his cloak. “I’m afraid so. Perhaps the gods are angry with ye.” He knew she believed him.

Troya’s chin quivered. “They’re always angry.” She held her arms over her head and leaned toward the floor. “No matter how much I sacrifice, no matter how many sprigs of mistletoe I cut from the oak with my golden sickle. Only human blood will end my suffering.” She crept to her bed and lay down.

Ardan retrieved a bear pelt from a log seat by the fire. Troya was in the winter season of her life, and she had taken to carrying the bone-warming cover wherever she went, saying her scrawny limbs could no longer produce their own heat. In her misery, she had forgotten to bring the cover to her bed.

He draped it over her the way he’d seen mothers tuck in children at night. His gentleness would help her trust him. “There, there. ’Tis possible Dunlaing will not consent to the honor price, but do ye really need him, Troya? Do ye need me? Ye know where Brigid sleeps. If I should leave the key to her cell in yer cabin by mistake, no one would know.”

She rolled over and wrinkled her pointed nose at him. “Ardan, ye would do that for me?”

“I hate to see ye tormented by angry gods, old one. ’Tis time ye had relief. Yer days on the grassy plains of Ireland have been overflowing with torment. I cannot bear to know ye’d have the same when ye pass below.”

Tears streaked down her pasty face. “Nay. I want to live in peace. They speak to me day and night, like a banshee who never comes.” She held her hands over her ears. “I cannot bear it.”

He pulled Troya’s arm away and pressed the key into her palm. “Below the king’s great hall lies the cell where Brigid sleeps with her mother. If ye do away with them both, won’t the gods be doubly pleased? Tomorrow night, after the sun sets. The castle will be feasting and no one will pay ye heed. Come before the moon rises. Come and take vengeance to please the gods and relieve yerself of their eternal punishment.”

Ardan rode into the night on the bishop’s horse he now called his own. Troya would kill both women. He would wait in the shadows until the act was completed and then call for the guards. But first, he would prophecy the event to Dunlaing at a banquet attended by all of Leinster’s landowners who would be assembled to welcome the king home. When they saw how powerful he was, and noted the inability of Brigid’s god to come to her aid, Ardan would grow in favor. It would not be long before Dunlaing was ousted and the great Ardan exalted. Ardan returned to the castle serenaded by crickets.

Candlelight glowed under the waxed wooden door of the king’s chamber. He tapped his knuckles lightly on one panel. “King? ’Tis I, Ardan. If yer awake I have news.”

The bolt slid back from the inside and the door swung wide. The king stood before him in a linen undergarment. The sudden clinking of metal meant guards were approaching from down the hall, their weapons clattering in their haste.

Dunlaing shouted toward the noise, “Go back! ’Tis only my druid.” He welcomed Ardan into the room, which smelled of spice. “They want to watch over me in my chamber, but there’s no need in my own castle. What news have ye?”

“The gods have spoken to me on the wind.”

Dunlaing touched Ardan’s white woolen cloak and rubbed his fingers on his walking stick. “Yer cold. Ye’ve been out long.”

“Aye, king. I have walked among the oaks tonight and I bring ye the message.”

“Speak it, then. The hour grows late.” “Tomorrow there shall be a large feast.”

Dunlaing’s face brightened. He had desired such a celebration back in Munster.

Ardan continued. “The gods want offerings in appreciation for yer alliance with the king of Munster. They do not blame ye for joining forces with a Christian king.”

Dunlaing scratched his coarse graying beard. “Blame me?” “Aye. They understand that ye did this for the good of yer people, King Dunlaing.”

“That I did, and we will celebrate. ’Tis time all the lairds came to hear of my journey.”

Ardan stood at the highest point of the castle and lifted his face eastward. Troya was approaching in the night – he could feel it. The guards would not detect her presence because he had instructed her on the fine points of moving about unnoticed. She was old, but still as crafty as a crow, and she was a crazy old witch. When Ardan had first discovered her living alone in the forest, he knew she would be of value to him someday.

He searched the sky for the first evening star. The heavens were orderly. Everything was unfolding as it should. He chanted toward the hills. The Others living there would hear his plea, take notice of his outstretched arms, and endow him with power. He closed his eyes and inhaled the night scent, breathing in the spiritual essence. His eyes popped open. Troya was nearly at the rear entrance.

Ardan threw off his white cloak and lept down the steps leading to the dining hall. There was little time to waste. He slid into his place beside the king just as Dunlaing was finishing his tale of successful talks with the king of Munster.

Dunlaing pointed his cup toward Ardan. “Have ye a story to tell, druid?”

Perfect.
“I do, king.” Ardan rose and straightened his torque, which had shifted off-center in his haste to join the banquet. “There will be a murder tonight.”

The feasters gasped and murmured among themselves.

The king hollered over the din. “Tell us! Who should be concerned for his life?”

Soldiers whisked out their dirks and pointed their spears at Ardan.

He held up his hand. “Not the king.”

Relief washed over the crowd like a breeze on a hot day. The king’s cheeks flushed. “Who then, Ardan?”