The Boar Stone: Book Three of the Dalriada Trilogy (56 page)

Minna waved a hand. ‘An escort from the westlands, where my uncle lives. At heart they are all still savages, but useful enough, my father says.’ Her voice was faint, but it won her a thin smile. ‘They
are
rough …’ She let her nose wrinkle a little, her mouth turn down, as she had seen well-born ladies do in Eboracum, ‘but good in boats, you see.’

The commander snorted, but just then was interrupted by a shout from the opposite side of the river. A soldier was galloping towards them on a black pony which foamed at the mouth. Hooves clattered over the wooden bridge, before the man reined in. ‘Sir!’ the rider cried. ‘There’s been another attack on the south side of Luguvalium. The barbarians are advancing again, and all units have been recalled to the defences.’

The leader cursed and turned to Minna. ‘Then we had better get you inside the town walls, and quickly. And make sure you stay with your family, then, and keep that pretty head down!’

She was staring wide-eyed at a baffled Donal. If Luguvalium was no longer under Cahir’s control, it was the last place she wanted to go. ‘I … can’t,’ she blurted.

The soldier’s head swung around.

‘I must get home, and I live … that way.’ She pointed towards the east, not the south.

His eyes grew suspicious. ‘We’ve been roaming these lands for weeks, and I can tell you there are no steadings left untouched. Everyone is either dead, fled, or tucked up behind the walls of Luguvalium. We’ll escort you there, and that’s my final word.’ She closed her mouth, unwilling to provoke more questioning.

As the Romans formed up, Donal held Minna’s eyes, unable to understand their speech and so confused at the change in her. ‘Hurry, then,’ she stammered in Latin, tossing her cloak over her shoulder and pointing for his benefit. Nodding grimly, Donal followed as she trailed behind the Roman guard.

As Minna walked in silence amid the muttering pack of soldiers, her mind skittered over many things. But one thought haunted her.

How would she ever warn Cahir now?

Luguvalium had seen better days, and was now an ageing matron of a town squatting between the two arms of the river. The walls encircling its bluff were mottled rock, and inside rose the bulky outlines of an old stone fort and houses. On the other side of the river loomed the shell of an abandoned fort on the Wall itself, which marched in from the east and passed over the water on an arched bridge before continuing to the coast.

In the lowering sun the town was hazed by smoke, its sandstone walls covered with moss. Campfires were scattered about temporary defences of thorn brakes, ditches and sharpened stakes. They negotiated all these obstacles – and many hard-eyed soldiers – until at last they were prodded through an enormous double gateway into the town.

Inside, wooden houses leaned against the old Roman walls, sprouting in abandoned courtyards and among the ruins of once-fine townhouses. Mules and goats crowded yards that had once been tiled rooms.

‘Here.’ The soldier nearest Minna lowered his sword. ‘You’re on your own now. Your guards’ weapons will be held by the garrison at the gate. They can have them back when all this is over.’

She spun around with dismay, then forcibly softened her eyes and voice. ‘But sir, with matters so unsettled I need protection. My uncle is wealthy and paid much to have these men accompany me home.’

The soldier’s lip curled. ‘No weapons are allowed inside the gates. And it was barbarian lovers like your uncle that got us into trouble in the first place.’

Helplessly, Minna watched the soldiers march back out of the gates, which creaked and thudded closed, with soldiers racing to draw heavy cross-bars. Then she turned and surveyed their prison.

In the central market, an enormous yard surrounded by shops and crumbling arcades, people had set up camp beneath anything they could scavenge: branches, sawn planks, sodden blankets. Geese honked in cages, and chickens flapped with tied feet. Mothers nursed dirty babies beneath dripping shelters. Some of the timber shops were open, trading in boiled mutton, cheese and bread, their smells overpowered by the stench of open waste pits.

‘Now what?’ Minna muttered to Donal. ‘They said the Dalriadans had attacked again, advancing from the south. They’ve all gone out to defend the town.’

People were breaking off their squabbling and crying to stare at them, and Donal drew their men away somewhere quieter. ‘If the Romans lose, we wait here for our lads to rescue us. If they win, we need to come up with some reason why you must leave. Perhaps your family isn’t here and you have had word they
are
holed up on your farm.’

Minna nodded, and Donal squeezed her arm.

Soon they needed to eat. A search among the warriors turned up three bronze armbands to trade. As Minna began to draw her beads over her head, Donal stopped her. ‘Nay, lass.’ He had an odd look on his face. ‘It is bad luck to give away the king’s gifts, since it’s him we’re trying to get to, see?’ He closed her fingers around the beads with his fist.

She went light with relief. ‘Then let me get you all some food now, at least.’

The armbands were scrutinized by a weasel-faced baker in a stall beside the square. ‘Barbarian make, are they? Very nice, very nice.’ The bands disappeared into the cavernous pocket of his apron, and he proffered five buns in return.

‘I have ten hungry men,’ Minna responded, remembering her days in Eboracum. ‘If the armbands are so nice, could you be a bit more generous?’

‘Oh, no, no.’ The man shrugged. ‘With all the fighting, who knows when I’ll be able to offload them – or to whom!’ He smiled ingratiatingly at someone waiting behind her. ‘Take it or leave it,’ he muttered to her, sucking his tongue through missing front teeth. ‘Only fresh bread here today.’

With a dark look, Minna took the buns and split them among the men, who wolfed them down in one bite. Her land legs hadn’t returned yet, and she was nauseous rather than hungry. Instead, eyes cast down, she lined up at the fountain in the square’s centre. It was marble, but the bowl was cracked and the leaping water nymphs that graced it were headless. When her turn came she cupped her hands under the trickle of water.

‘Here.’ A young woman behind proffered a wooden cup, one babe on her hip and another clinging to her muddy skirts. Her pale face was pinched. ‘Had to leave everything, did you?’ she asked, as Minna filled the cup and drank, then nodded.

The woman sighed and jiggled the baby. Her eyes were haunted, and there were bruises along her jawline. ‘So did we. They killed my da, and my man’s been wounded.’ Her blistered lips drew back, and she said with vehemence. ‘I
hate
them, the heathens. God will curse them, though, in time.’

She handed the cup back, avoiding the woman’s eyes. ‘Thank you,’ was all she could get out, before she made her way back to the men. They had removed themselves from public view, crouching on the remains of an old stairway that led halfway up a stone building. Minna, worn out by seasickness and worry, curled up in her cloak and was instantly asleep.

She was woken by a disturbance at the gate. The sun had faded now into the long twilight of a northern summer. Rubbing her face, Minna roused herself. Whispers were hissing through the crowd, becoming mutters and then chatter. She rose and caught the arm of a boy running past, his face puce with excitement.

‘What is it?’ she asked him. ‘What has happened?’

The boy’s eyes darted swiftly over Minna’s fine dress and beads. ‘The soldiers are coming back,
domina
,’ he said, hopping from foot to foot. ‘A whole regiment of them, marching over the hills.’

‘And do we know who had the victory?’

‘Not yet!’ the boy cried, scampering off. ‘But it looks like us!’

Slowly, Minna sank to the bottom step beside Donal and told him what was said. ‘Do you think …?’

Donal’s face was grimmer. ‘I think if our lot had won they’d be chasing those soldiers back here, screeching like
banshees
.’ He sighed heavily, then got to his feet and helped her up. ‘Come. When they open the gates there might be a good deal of confusion, with cheering and crying, and perhaps we can slip out. You never know.’

He dispersed their men among the crowd, then drew Minna along with him. Together they pushed their way out of the square and down the narrow roads to the rabble gathering around the gates. Voices clamoured for news, people yelling to the stony-faced guards. ‘What has happened?’

‘Have we won? Are they dead?’

‘Are the savages coming?’

At this last, delivered in a wail, people cried out and began to jostle each other, panic-stricken. Donal and Minna were shouldered aside, dragging her hood from her hair.

‘Keep it down!’ one of the soldiers on the gate snapped. His helmet cast his face into shadow. ‘We don’t know any more than you.’

For a short time the agitation of the crowd became more subdued, until some time later it was stirred by a new disturbance. On the far side, the throng was being split in two by people making their way through on horseback. Minna was jostled even more forcefully by a man who cursed her, though she ignored him, craning to see.

A soldier in polished armour came first, growling at people to get out of the way. Behind him, the plump woman on a grey horse was splendidly dressed in a pristine white robe and scarlet cloak, her hair piled in oiled yellow curls.

The air was sucked from Minna’s lungs.

‘You!’ Maeve called up to the gate-guard. ‘My father must have news at once of the outcome of battle!
At once, I tell you
!’ Her face was puffier than before, pressing her eyes into angry slits.

Donal swallowed a grunt of dismay.

The soldier glared. ‘And I tell you,
my lady
, that everything has changed now, if you had not noticed, and you’ll find out along with everybody else.’

Maeve’s cheeks wobbled indignantly, as nervous titters went around the crowd.

Minna was hunching into her cloak, hemmed in by people. ‘Move slowly,’ Donal muttered. ‘Turn around, keep your eyes fixed on the gate, face that way.’

She tried to do as he said, but just then Maeve angrily nudged her horse forward into the pressing crowd, and someone cried out in pain. Hands shoved the rump of Maeve’s mare, and she dragged the reins furiously around, unbalancing the heaving crowd. Minna was almost knocked from her feet, saved only by Donal’s hand. Breathlessly, she looked up. The yard sloped higher away from the river, and out of all those hundreds of people it was her Maeve saw. The rumbling chatter and angry cries faded from her ears as the old queen’s eyes flared with shock, then instant malice. The terrible moments unravelled one by one, while the air escaped Minna’s teeth in a hiss.

At last Maeve’s face turned from waxy to mottled red. As if in a dream, Minna watched her plump hand floating upwards, her rings flashing on white fingers as she pointed at her.

Then Maeve found her voice.

Chapter 52

B
ehind a locked wooden door, Minna crouched alone in the tiny cell, once a bedroom in a large townhouse. There was a narrow pallet on the floor, a waste pot and a thin blanket on which she sat, hands crushed over her ears to shut out the memory of Maeve’s taunts.

After the queen identified her, she was bodily dragged by the soldiers from Donal’s side. They separated her from Maeve before the older woman could do anything more than inflict one scratch down Minna’s cheek, and ignored her calls for Minna’s immediate execution. Now they knew who she was, the commander of the town’s forces wanted to question her.

She leaned back against the wall, the cold stone burning her skin, distracting her from her last sight of Donal and the others being marched away, when she saw in his mild eyes his fear for her rather than for himself.

And Cahir. She spread her trembling hands out as if she could touch him.
It was my idea to come. My choice, bold and foolish, like a tale, and now Donal … Donal …
She pressed Maeve’s scratch on her cheek and stared at the blood on her thumb. This is what impulsiveness had brought her. The men would die. She would die. Cahir would … A noise came from her throat, stopping that.

The cell was lit by a small window, and she dragged herself up and pressed her nose to it. The bubbled glass admitted only light, no detail, and at length she sank back and watched the twilight fail. She dug her nails into her palms and the tender skin of her wrists. She wrapped arms around her thighs and rocked; anything to keep herself from weeping.

When it was night, she curled up and sang little songs of Mamo’s, and when she couldn’t sing any more, she listened to the distant shouts and snatches of cheering and music. They were celebrating a victory over the barbarians. The Dalriadans had failed to retake the town. Minna covered her ears and sang again.

By morning she was suffering from a raging hunger, having retched up her food for days at sea. She was almost relieved when the door opened. It was a young soldier carrying something that steamed. ‘Here,’ he muttered, placing the platter warily down and giving it a push with his foot, then closing the door.