Lady Ilena (11 page)

Macaulay, whose father made most of the shoes and leather goods for the village, gives me a startled look, but listens as I continue. “Has your father taught you how to work leather?”

He nods slightly. “My mother knows more about it than I do.”

“I'll talk to her. Between you, I hope you can furnish us with more slings and pouches.

“All of you must make sure that there is a pile of slingstones inside every door, every barn, and every compound gate. You should collect as many round stones as you can find, and, to be sure we have enough, Nessa will help us make more out of clay.” Nessa is a tiny child, but I know that she has at least eight summers already. She keeps her round blue eyes on my face as I speak. “Nessa's father was…is our potter, as you all know. Nessa, did you help him find clay?”

“Yes, often. The best is outside the vale, along a stream to the west.”

“Good,” I say. “Calum will assign others to help you gather clay, and Eogan will go with you for protection. Then everyone will help make slingstones—perfectly round, remember—to be fired in the kiln.”

“I'm not allowed near the kiln,” Nessa says. “Though I've often watched from a distance.”

“Your mother will help fire them, I'm sure.” I look from one to another. “Does everyone understand what is to be done?” They all nod. “And how important it is that you get ready to defend our village?” They nod again. “Take the livestock out now, but don't forget to practice slinging and to look for stones.”

When Eogan returns with the women, I explain what I've asked the children to do and remind them also to carry slings and pouches of stones wherever they go. “We must be ready to defend ourselves if we are attacked.”

“Are slings enough?” Kenna asks. “I'm sure that we couldn't have stopped the war band that took Jon and the others with a few stones.”

“No,” I agree. “Probably not. But I don't think a band like that will come again. Most likely, their fortress needed extra workers during the battle season, and they found them here. They'll no doubt release everyone at summer's end because they won't want to feed extra people through the winter.”

“I hope so,” Fiona says.

“You must be able to fight off the raiding parties from
Eriu, who sail their leather boats into our waters and come ashore to plunder and to take slaves to sell in their country,” I say. “That is a danger every year.”

“And they do not return the children they steal!” Delya says.

“What about the watch?” Aten asks. “We haven't had one since the men left.”

“I've tried,” Eogan says. “I've slept up on the pass most nights, and I stayed during the day when I didn't need to hunt.”

“Eogan will plan a schedule so that two people are always on sentry duty. He'll tell you your times,” I say. “I know we must be in the fields soon, but I'd like you all here again after dinner for weapons practice—if you want to learn more about defending yourselves.”

“I'll be here!” Aten says. “When I think of Jon and the others…”

“Aye,” Kenna says. She puts her hand on her belly. “I will fight to keep my babe from harm.”

“Then I will meet you here when we have eaten and cared for the animals. We'll work with staffs today, so bring a stout stick of some kind.”

Fiona stays behind when the others leave. “It is good to plan what we can do. I've felt so helpless since the men left.”

“Just organizing ourselves will help,” I say. “I think the roan's getting used to you. Can you harness her and try to coax her along the furrow?”

“Of course,” she says. She starts to leave, then turns back and embraces me. “I'm glad you'll stay.” As she walks away, there's a bounce in her step that I haven't seen since last fall.

I'm smiling when I turn back to Eogan. “Do you need to hunt today?”

“No.” He nods toward a deer carcass hanging high in a tree inside his fenced yard. “That should give us all a good meal tomorrow if we can spare youngsters to turn the spit. And everyone has grain and salmon from the stream.”

“Then let's get you up to the pass to watch for trouble. I'll go along.”

The rocks that tower above the trail hold passageways and nooks on both sides. One recess in the stone is larger than the others and gives a good view down onto the pass; sentries from the village have used it as shelter and lookout for generations. A cooking pot and a pile of bedskins are hidden under a ledge in the farthest corner.

“Will the women be able to stand watch?” Eogan asks.

I laugh. “Women can handle most tasks if they try.”

He ducks his head sheepishly. “I guess you do everything any other warrior does.”

“Aye,” I say, but I think for a moment of the time I failed to do a warrior's duty.

He looks puzzled by my silence, and I hurry to go on. “The women of Enfert have always had enough work to do without attempting things that men did. Now that there is no choice, they'll watch, and they'll fight, and they will do
whatever else they must. But we have no trained warriors now—except for you. It seems from your success at hunting that you can handle a spear.”

“Aye. And a sword, too, if I had one.” He sounds confident.

“When did you learn sword fighting?”

“When you did. I watched almost every day. I'd hurry with my chores and then hide behind the bushes near your barn. I'd watch Moren show you how to hold the sword and how to fool your opponent and switch hands. Then I'd take a piece of wood and practice by myself in the forest. I wanted to fight and ride like you and Moren.”

“Show me.” I take my sword out of its sheath and hand it to him, hilt first.

He hefts it for a moment to get the feel, then tosses it from hand to hand. His smile grows broader and broader as he demonstrates the footwork and thrusts of a swordsman. I pick up a piece of firewood and engage him in a mock battle. He parries my moves, ducks under my thrusts, then turns away from me and comes back with the sword in his other hand.

I toss away the firewood and reach out for my sword; he hesitates for a moment, looking down at the blade, before he hands it to me. After I replace it in its scabbard, I grasp his wrists and study them. “You need practice for endurance. Look at my wrists.” I drop his hands and hold my arms out
before him, turning and flexing them so that he can see the way muscles build up in a true warrior.

His smile fades. “I tried, but wood isn't very heavy.”

“Of course not,” I say. “You are as accomplished as my best students at Dun Alyn.” I think of Sorcha and wonder where she is and what she is doing now. “I was not criticizing; I'm amazed at your ability and at the fact that you have done all of this by yourself.”

His smile returns. “I'll look for heavier wood.”

“Use this for a while.” I slip my sword belt off and put it over his head so that it lies properly across his chest. He is taller than I am, so I adjust the belt to put the hilt in the correct position. “You have learned all that you can from sticks. You must practice now with a real sword. While you are up here on watch, you can use your time well.”

I leave him holding my sword across his palms and staring at it in awe.

On the way down to the village, I ponder the problem of weapons. Another swordsman would be a help, but swords cost a great deal, and few smiths in Britain make them. I know of no one in this area who can forge anything but the plainest iron tools and spearpoints. My sword was made by the greatest sword maker in Britain at his smithy far to the east.

I stop beside our old homeplace and inhale the sharp smoke smell that still hangs in the air. A few posts stand to
mark the shape of the house and the position of the barn, but everything else is gone, reduced to black ashes that rustle and turn to powder in the breeze.

I search Aten's barn and find a wooden spade. She must have their good iron-shod one at the field, but this will do. Machonna whines from the doorway, and I stop to scratch his ears. The wound is healing well, and he is no longer feverish. I let him roam around the yard for a few minutes, then close him in the house. I'm happy to hear a few mournful howls as I leave. Soon he will be able to follow me around.

When I reach the high place where Moren's and Grenna's graves lie, I see another pile of rocks atop a new patch of disturbed earth. This must be Cryner's grave. I search about the area and find a suitable stone to add to the small cairn that Jon built for him.

I sit on a sun-warmed rock, thinking of my foster mother and father. It has been less than a year since we carried Moren's body up here to lie beside Grenna's, but it seems a lifetime. I feel close to them in this spot. How I wish I could talk with them, tell them my problems, hear the advice they would give me.

“I failed to protect my chief,” I say. “I was startled by the sight of Durant and froze while others pushed forward.”

The only response is the gentle sound of wind in the trees on the hilltop. If Moren could hear me, I do not know what he would say. Perhaps it is just as well that I do not have to face him.

Finally I take a deep breath, shove aside the pile of stones on top of his grave, and plunge the wooden spade into the soil that covers his body. On the third stab I hit something hard and put the spade aside to scoop soil away from the spot with my hands. A dank smell of decay wafts out of the darkness, and I turn my head to gulp fresh sweet air. When I feel metal against my fingers, I grasp it carefully and tug. It catches on something, and my stomach lurches as I picture Moren's arms over the sword. I cannot avoid the stench now, and I try to hold my breath as I keep tugging and turning the blade to free it from whatever holds it in the grave.

At last the hilt breaks free, and I slide the sword out of the earth into the sunlight. A winter underground has not harmed it; there is a thin layer of rust over the iron blade, but a fine-grained stone will scour that away easily. The gold pommel shines as brightly as it did last fall when I placed it on Moren's chest.

“Forgive me, Father,” I say as I smooth earth back over the mound. “I know that you give up the weapon gladly for our need. Lie in peace now and let nothing else disturb you.”

I build the cairn up to its original height and stand for a few minutes thinking of the two people who lie here, and also of the good dog beside them. My tears dampen each grave before I return to the village.

I stop at the stream and wash the sword before I continue to Eogan's house. His mother, Emer, barefoot with
mud caked on her legs, is carrying a bowl of wheat and a hoe from her barn. I move the wicker gate aside and enter the yard.

“Welcome to this house,” she says. “I was just returning to the field to begin planting.”

“I won't keep you,” I say. “But if you can get something for me, I will take it to Eogan.”

She focuses on the sword, and her eyes widen in fear. Of course she recognizes it; the entire village stood with me as I placed it in Moren's grave. She glances up at the cairns and back at me.

“Moren would want us to use this.” I speak as firmly as I can. “It brings his strength and his blessing to our efforts.”

She looks relieved. “If you are certain, then I'll not argue. Eogan will do what he thinks best anyway. Grown to a man, he has.”

“Indeed he has,” I agree, “and a fine man. He said the scabbard was in the barn. Would you get it for me?”

She stands her hoe against the house wall and sets the bowl carefully on a log seat beside the door. “Do you want the shield, too?”

“No. He'll not need it today.”

When I approach the lookout station, I can hear Eogan stepping and leaping about the enclosure; I smile as I picture him practicing with my sword. The sounds stop as I
get closer, and his voice echoes out of the rocky hollow.

“Who goes?” “Ilena.” “What have you there?” He is on top of a boulder now, looking down on me.

I hold up Moren's sword. “A weapon for a warrior.”

One warm morning when I've been in the vale for nearly a month, I awaken to Fiona and Kenna's laughter over some task out in the yard. It is a good sound. Women of the village often laugh and joke now, and the children squeal and play as loudly as they used to.

Aten's voice interrupts them. “Hush. You'll wake Ilena. She needs her sleep.”

“Aye,” Kenna says. “She works hard. I don't know what we would have done without her.”

“I hope she stays,” Aten says. “This is her real home.”

“Ilena has a life in the East, Mother,” Fiona says. “She will return to it someday.”

I stretch and yawn, but I don't get up at once. I need
to think about what I should do. Fiona is right. I must leave soon.

I've tried to teach my friends here how to defend themselves, and I think I have succeeded.

The women were hesitant at first. Fiona said, “I can't get used to the thought that I'm to try to kill someone.” There was a murmur of agreement from the others.

“That is because you've never had to defend yourselves,” I said. “Think about the day the war band came and took the men away. Would you have stabbed one of those warriors with a spear to keep your husband or your brother or son safely here with you?”

“Oh, yes,” Aten answered.

Kenna's eyes widened as she looked down at her belly, and Fiona nodded vigorously.

“Then think about saving your child or your husband as you attack the straw target,” I said, “and when you face an enemy, remember that they threaten you and your family.”

The women train every day now, and their confidence increases with each session. All of them practice driving spears into the straw men that Eogan has hung from a low tree limb, and we've worked together in finding ways to use farm tools for defense. The children hold contests at slinging while they watch the livestock, and some have become skilled enough to bring down a rabbit or a squirrel for the family stew kettle.

I get up at last and saunter out into the yard. Kenna is
leading the roan out of the barn, and Fiona is leaving with Nessa for sentry duty. In the distance I can see Eogan and Legg headed toward the pass on a hunting trip.

“I want to exercise Rol this morning,” I say. “I'll come along to the fields later.”

“No need,” Kenna says. “We've nearly finished plowing the last patch, and plants are coming up already in most. There should be a good crop of wheat and oats, thank the gods.”