The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (31 page)

Dermot gave Bridei a canny look. “At least a man knows where he stands with you.”

“Aye. And I’m more than willing to return favors done for me. If you were to put in a good word with Dermot as far as having me stay here for a time, I might be able to make it worth your while.”

“How?” Dermot asked.

“That’s for you to decide. Bear in mind, as an outsider, I might be able to do something that your relationship to O’Bannon wouldn’t allow you to do. For example, if I were given the opportunity to visit Queen—Lady Dessia, and something were to happen to her, it couldn’t be linked to you.”

“Are you offering what I think you are?” Dermot asked, sounding surprised.

“Perhaps. I would, of course, expect to be compensated for anything I did. And I would need a means of getting away from this place before what I’d done was discovered.”

Dermot nodded slowly. Bridei watched him, thinking how easy most people were to manipulate. “But if I’m going to be of any use to you,” he added, “you must make certain that O’Bannon lets me stay awhile.”

“How will I do that?” Dermot asked.

“Convince O’Bannon to let me perform at the meal tonight. I’m very good at what I do. I’ll make certain O’Bannon won’t be able to send me away for awhile.”

Dermot looked at him. His expression was wary and suspicious, but also intrigued. Bridei flashed him an easy smile, then went into the guest house.

Bridei glanced around the crowded feasthall. The cavernous room was smoky and close, the scent of the turf fire mingling with the odors of damp wool, sweat and cooking food. The people were dressed in plaid garments, many woven in a similar pattern: blue and green with a few thin bands of red. As they found their places at the plank tables, their faces shone with expectation and excitement. Dermot had obviously done his part and spread word that a bard was going to perform.

Bridei was elated. The first part of his plan was falling into place. He would sing for awhile, then set aside his harp and begin a long story. After a time, he would claim he was tired and his voice failing. Desperate to know how the tale ended, the people would demand he return the next night to finish it. O’Bannon would be forced to allow Bridei to remain there for several nights.

Bridei had given a lot of thought to what story he would tell and decided on the tale of King Arthur. The life of the former high king of Britain was a dramatic one, with plenty of twists and turns. Tonight, he would describe Arthur’s humble beginnings. In subsequent nights he would detail his exceptional rise to power, the battles he fought, the passion he aroused in his followers and finally, his tragic end. The story lent itself well to the sort of exaggeration and embellishment that would hold his audience’s interest. There were those who said Arthur was fast becoming a legend even before his defeat at Camboglanna. Bridei meant to develop that legend even further, to transform a mortal king into an almost godlike hero.

Inspired and confident, Bridei struck the first chord on his harp and began singing. It was a ballad in his native tongue, which meant his audience wouldn’t understand the words, but only experience the emotion. He knew they would grow restless soon, but he wanted to start off with something simple so he wouldn’t have to concentrate.

As he sang, he sized up the crowd. Although his conversation with Dermot had given him an obvious plan, he wasn’t comfortable with it. He might able to use the pretext of killing Dessia to get in to see her, but it wouldn’t go very far in setting her free. It seemed better to stick to his original idea of bribing someone to help him get Dessia out of the hillfort. Such a scheme appeared much less risky as it didn’t involve double-crossing his accomplice. Dermot was a man of strong passions, and wouldn’t be pleased to have his plan to murder Dessia thwarted. O’Bannon made a formidable enough opponent; Bridei didn’t need a vengeance-crazed warrior after him as well.

Scrutinizing the people gathered in the hall, Bridei noted once again the contrasts between them and Dessia’s subjects. At Cahermara, most people were tall and long-limbed and almost all of them had at least a tinge of red in their hair. This tribe ran to short and stocky, with brown and black tresses predominating.

Finishing the first song, he began another. This was in the Irish tongue, and people began to take more interest, the crowd quieting so they could hear the words. The next song was a tune he’d learned since arriving in Ireland. As he’d hoped, people responded by mouthing the words along with him. Good, he thought as glanced around and saw he had the crowd’s attention. Now he must stop singing and still manage to keep them interested. As he played the final chord of the melody, he sent a silent prayer to the goddess Rhiannon, asking her for aid.

Finishing the song, he set his harp in his lap and cleared his throat. “My apologies. I’m recovering from a slight ague I caught while imprisoned at Cahermara and my voice isn’t as strong as it usually is.” He raised his brows meaningfully. “The Lady Dessia is a harsh critic. If she doesn’t like what you play, her response is quick and certain.” Hearing twitters of laughter, he continued, “Although now it seems the proud wench is experiencing some ill favor of her own.” He quirked his mouth into what he intended as a bitter, satisfied smile. Then he added, “Since my voice isn’t strong enough to keep singing all night, I’ll tell you a tale instead.”

After taking a deep breath, he plunged in: “It’s a long tale, and to be told properly, I must start at the beginning. Although it’s a story of glory and greatness, it begins in very humble and human fashion.

* * *

A long time later, Bridei paused and took a drink from the cup of ale beside him. Finishing it, he spoke in faint tones. “My apologies, but it seems my voice is failing. I guess I’ll have to finish the story tomorrow night. That is, if Lord O’Bannon allows me to remain here.” He gave the chieftain a questioning look.

There were exclamations of dismay from the crowd, while others muttered things like: “He can’t stop now.” “Oh, no! He must tell us the rest of it.”

O’Bannon fixed Bridei with a hard expression, and Bridei sought to appear genuinely wan and weary. As O’Bannon continued to glare at him, Bridei found himself holding his breath. It was clear the chieftain knew he was deliberately stringing along the audience. Would O’Bannon’s anger at being manipulated override his desire to keep his people content?

The chieftain smiled sourly. “You’re a sly, cunning sort, Bridei ap Maelgwn, and I don’t usually tolerate such men around me. But you’re also a fine bard, and it’s obvious my people desire to hear the end of your tale. For their sake, I'll let you stay one more night.”

The emphasis O’Bannon put on “one more night” made it clear that Bridei would be expected to finish his tale within that time period. But he felt confident he could delay his departure even longer. There was much left to tell about Arthur’s story, and if he continued to embellish it, finishing tomorrow would require he continue long into the night. Too long for people who had to get up and go about their usual duties the next day.

Keeping with his claim of being tired, Bridei sluggishly got to his feet and made his way through the crowd. Some of the older children try to stop him and have him tell them more about Arthur, but their mothers drew them away. He was alone as he left the hall, or at least he thought he was. As he reached the guesthouse, Dermot slipped out of the shadows to confront him. “I did as you asked,” he said. “Now you’re in my debt.”

“Aye, that’s true,” Bridei answered agreeably. “But whatever you want in payment, can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“I suppose it can,” Dermot responded. “But come tomorrow, you must do as I say.”

“And what is it that you intend me to do?”

“Kill Queen Dessia,” Dermot said in a voice harsh with loathing.

“And how am I supposed to do that when I don’t even know where she is?”

“I will take you to her when the time comes.”

“And how will I kill her?” Bridei asked. “I’m no warrior, and she’ll be suspicious and wary. It might be difficult for me to overpower her, even if I had a weapon.”

Dermot snorted contemptuously. “I’ve considered that. Clearly, we must use a more subtle means of ending her life. To that end, I’ve obtained some poison. I’ll put it in some wine. You’ll take it to her and pretend to share it with her. But of course, you must not drink any.”

“What makes you think she will trust me enough to accept the wine, even if I pretend to drink it? The lady and I didn’t part on the best of terms. I doubt she’ll accept any gifts from me, no matter what the circumstances.”

“You convinced her to let you share her bed. I feel certain you can manage this.”

Bridei pretended to nod resignedly. In fact, he was pleased with Dermot’s plan. It would be easy for him to fail to kill Dessia, yet still appear to have tried to do so. “What sort of poison is it?” he asked. “Does it contort the limbs and make the victim foam at the mouth?”

“I don’t know what it will do,” Dermot responded. “I didn’t ask about that when I got it from Emer.”

“Who is Emer?”

“A wisewoman. Although she’s very young, she knows all about herbs and potions.”

“Was she in the hall tonight?” Bridei asked.

Dermot shook his head. “The little rat-faced wench knows better than to show her face in the hillfort.”

Bridei was taken aback by Dermot’s cruel description. If other people at Dun Cullan had the same attitude toward the young woman, she couldn’t be happy living here, which meant she might be a useful ally. Perhaps he should seek her out on the morrow. For now, he needed to know more of Dermot’s plan.

“I’m curious,” he said. “Once I’ve administered the poison to Dessia, how long do you think it will be before her death is discovered? Someone must take her food and water every day. They’ll certainly notice if she’s succumbed. They’ll tell O’Bannon, and he’ll be furious. Even if no one knows I’ve visited Dessia, I’ll be under suspicion. I’m a stranger at Dun Cullan and I’ve made it clear I bear her a bitter grudge. If I leave as soon as I’ve made certain Dessia is dead, I’ll have at best a day’s start. If O’Bannon decides to track me down, it will be relatively easy for him to find me and vent his rage on me over the loss of his prize. I may be in your debt, and I may want Dessia dead, but I’m not willing to throw my life away. If I agree to your plan to poison Dessia, you must come up with a scheme that allows me to get away safely.”

“You’ve already agreed to do this!” Dermot said hotly. “Now you’re trying to back out!” He took a threatening step toward Bridei. “It’s too late for you to change your mind. If you don’t do as I say, I’ll go to O’Bannon and tell him of the plot and claim it’s all your plan. If it comes down to your word against mine, who do you think he’ll believe?”

“He’ll believe you, of course,” Bridei answered calmly. “But I think I can convince him you also had some part in the scheme. I’ll make him doubt your loyalty from now on. Is that what you want?”

Although Bridei couldn’t see Dermot clearly, he had a strong sense he was glaring furiously at him. Bridei’s muscles grew taut with tension, but he stood his ground. He didn’t think Dermot was enough of a hothead to attack him.

“You’re a sly, slippery one, aren’t you?” Dermot sneered.

“I don’t see why looking after my own skin is something to be ashamed of. Although I bear no love for Lady Dessia, that doesn’t mean I despise her enough to imperil my own life in order to end hers. If you want me to help you, you’ll have to come up with some means of assuring my escape. You’ll also have to tell me those means in advance.”

“Very well. I’ll think of some way to give you time to escape. But you’d better not fail me, or there’ll be one less bard in Ireland,” Dermot said in a voice edged with menace.

“I’m very weary,” said Bridei. “I would ask your leave to seek my bed.”

“Until tomorrow,” Dermot growled. “The day that Lady Dessia dies.”

Despite the comforts of the guest house, Bridei slept poorly that night. It wasn’t so much that he feared Dermot, but the strain of this deception. It wasn’t easy to pretend to hate the woman he loved. “Ah, Dessia, you will forgive me, won’t you?” he whispered into the darkness. “If I get you free of this mess, you’ll have no reason to complain of anything I did to bring about your escape.”

He slept for a time, then toward dawn, woke and instantly knew an aching sense of loss. Although he’d only slept with Dessia one night, now every morning he felt a deep yearning to find her beside him.
Soon
, he thought as he rose and dressed.
Soon I’ll hold my beloved in my arms once again
.

After dressing, he left the guest house and went immediately to the kitchen. The cook and serving maids were startled to see him, but he soon put them at ease. Long ago, he’d learned that treating servants and underlings with a bit of kindness and consideration was usually all that was needed to win their undying loyalty. To that end, he complimented the cook on the excellent food of the night before and commiserated with her on how difficult it must be to serve so many people on such short notice.

She, in turn, told him that although she hadn’t had the chance to hear the tale he’d told, she’d caught a bit of his singing and enjoyed it immensely. He then offered to sing a song for her. He chose a light, playful song about a man trying to seduce a maid by offering her all sorts of silly inducements to get her to share his bed. It was a bit crude and bawdy, but he knew from experience that such frank humor was unlikely to offend those of lower status.