The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (43 page)

There was the sound of footsteps as the guard descended the stairs. He approached her, wearing a look of puzzlement. “Lady Dessia. I didn’t expect to see you up from your bed. The bard said you were ailing. He went to fetch you something for your stomach.”

“I know. I hope to catch him before he’s gone all the way to the healer’s. I’m feeling much better.” She smiled what she hoped was a sheepish, apologetic smile. “Bridei is too good to me. He indulges my every whim. But I regret sending him out so late. I don’t want him to waste his time searching for medicine I no longer need. I thought I would go after him.”

The guard stepped nearer, as if he meant to bar her way. “I’m not certain I should let you leave. For a man to be out in the settlement at night is one thing, but it might be hazardous for a woman.”

“Oh, I’m certain I would be safe,” Dessia responded. “We’re guests of Lord Conla and he has a very formidable reputation. I can’t believe anyone would risk angering him by harming anyone under his protection.”

“That’s likely true.”

The man was wavering. Dessia knew she must not let up. “Please let me leave . . . for Bridei’s sake. The sooner I find him, the sooner he can return to the hillfort and to his bed. Conla wouldn’t want Bridei catch an ague from the cool night air. Then he wouldn’t be able to sing and your master would be deprived of his artistry.”

The man nodded. “Lord Conla was most impressed with the young bard’s skills and hopes to hear him sing every night. In light of that, perhaps I should let you go. But hurry, and bring him back as soon as you can. Now that you remind me of my lord’s interest in the bard, I see I should never have let him leave at all.”

The guard opened the gate for her, and Dessia hurried out. Her heart was pounding and her skin sticky with sweat. It had been a very unnerving to spin lie after lie, but somehow she’d managed it. Now, she must find Bridei and hope they could escape Ath Cliath before morning.

* * *

Bridei shifted back and forth and rubbed his hands together in an effort to stay warm and to deal with his growing agitation.
Where was she? Was she having trouble getting through the gate?

He’d no sooner had the thought when he saw a cloaked figure hurrying toward him. Rushing to meet Dessia, he pulled her into his arms. “
Cariad
,” he murmured in relief. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to get away.”

“It wasn’t easy,” she responded after kissing him. “I had to argue with the guard. I finally convinced him to let me fetch you. Which means he expects us back soon. We don’t have much time.”

Bridei nodded.

Although the moonlight illuminated the many buildings around them, it was difficult to see where they were going. Dessia followed after Bridei, wondering how he knew where to go. “How will we find our way?” she asked breathlessly.

“It’s easy. If you want a boat, you must head toward the water.”

Even as he answered, Dessia realized she could hear the lap of waves. The next moment she smelled the odor of fish and garbage. The people of the settlement probably discarded their waste in the river, depending on the current to wash it away.

At last they reached an open area.. Dessia could make out the glint of water and along the bank, several boats. There were some daub and wattle dwellings nearby. Bridei raced to the nearest one and rapped sharply on the wooden door frame. “Ronat!” he called out. “I’m looking for Ronat!”

They could hear noises from inside the roundhouse. After a time the door covering was pulled aside and a sleepy woman’s voice said, “Ronat’s house is the last one up the hill.”

“Thank you,” Bridei responded.

They hurried up the slope. Reaching another roundhouse, Bridei called out for Ronat. This time it was a man who came to the door. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

“We need you to take us across the sea to Britain,” Bridei responded. “We must set out tonight.”

“Tonight?” The man snorted. “You must be mad.”

“Not mad. Desperate. Don’t worry. I’ll make it worth your while. I have near five hundred drachmas worth of gold sewed inside my tunic.”

“Five hundred?” Ronat sounded incredulous. “Where did you get such wealth?”

“I’m a bard, and I had a patron who was willing to pay dearly for me to entertain him.”

“Who was your patron? There’s no chieftain in Ireland with such resources, unless perhaps the high king.”

“Nay. It was a man in Gaul. A merchant named Atharaxis.”

Ronat grunted. “I’ve never heard of him. But I know there are men in the markets there who are rich beyond imagining. Come in, then, and let me see the gold.”

“There isn’t time. We must leave now.”

“Why? Who are you trying to get away from?”

“Conla,” Bridei answered. “He wants me to stay in his household and be his personal bard. But I have no desire to settle here. I’m trying to get back to my father’s household in Gwynedd.”

“Who’s your father?”

“Maelgwn the Great.”

“You claim kinship with the Dragon?”

“Aye.”

Ronat grunted again. Then he said, “Give me a moment. I’ll have to dress and grab a few provisions.” The flap door fell back into place.

“He’s going to help us!” Dessia said excitedly.

Bridei released his breath in a sigh. “Aye. I think so.”

A few moments later, Ronat pushed through the doorway carrying a torch. He handed the torch to Bridei, then went back in and returned with two heavy leather bags. Now that they could finally get a good look at Ronat, Dessia was surprised to discover he barely reached to Bridei’s shoulder. Even so, the seaman appeared wiry and strong.

Ronat motioned to Dessia. “You said nothing about passengers.”

Bridei moved nearer to Dessia. “This is my lady wife, Dessia.”

“I don’t usually allow women in my boat,” said Ronat. “But with the sum you’re paying me, I guess I can forgo my usual precautions.”

“I know some seamen think women bring bad luck.” responded Bridei. “But I can assure you, my wife has only brought me good fortune so far.” He smiled at her reassuringly. Dessia smiled back, although she still felt irritated by Ronat’s attitude toward women.

Ronat led them down the hill. Halfway to where the boats were kept, he stopped at another roundhouse. He banged on the doorframe and called out, “Ollam! Wake up, Ollam.”

He turned to Bridei. “My son. I’ll need his help. Unless you want to take turns rowing all the way across.”

“Whatever will get us there the fastest,” Bridei responded.

Ollam came to the door and Ronat gave him terse instructions. A few moments later, he came out of the dwelling. He was the same size of his father. Ronat motioned and they all followed him to the boats.

Dessia expected he would take them to one of the larger vessels, but Ronat picked out one of the smaller ones. As Bridei helped Ronat and Ollam launch the boat into the water, Dessia felt a sudden surge of panic. The boat seemed so tiny compared to the vast, wild sea.

Bridei reached for her hand, clearly intending to help her into the vessel. Dessia took an involuntary step back. “Are you certain . . . it’s . . . safe?” she asked.

Bridei glanced in the direction of the boat and nodded. “As safe as any means of crossing. Now we just have to pray to the gods for good weather.”

Dessia’s stomach clenched with another wave of dread. “I’ve never been on a boat before.”

Bridei pulled her close. “Don’t worry, sweeting. We’ll make it. We’ve come this far, haven’t we?”

Dessia nodded, trying to swallow her fear. She let Bridei lead her down to the water. He picked her up and waded out to the boat, where Ronat and Ollam helped her climb in. Dessia stood frozen for a moment, feeling the boat sway beneath her.

“Sit,” Ronat ordered.

Bridei climbed in the boat. Dessia gestured to his soaking trews. “You’re going to freeze.”

He shook his head. “In short while, I vow I’ll be too ill to care if I’m cold.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m afraid you're about to discover one of my most embarrassing frailties. I suffer terrible seasickness.”

The sky was lightening in the east as Ronat and Ollam rowed the boat toward the sea. When they reached the river mouth, the two seamen pulled in the oars and raised the sail. Dessia watched, amazed by the balance and agility of the two men as they maneuvered in the swaying leather and wicker craft. They seemed to be able to adjust to every pitch and toss of the boat. The boat’s movement made her faintly queasy. As for Bridei—a quick glance revealed his face had turned the same grayish white as the sail. He was slumped against the side of the boat, eyes closed, jaw clenched, looking like a man being tortured.

She sat up and inhaled deeply, which seemed to ease her nausea. The air was fresh and invigorating and she was relieved they were finally on their way. The wind caught the sail and the boat moved in a swift, straight course. She watched as the sun began to come up. In moments the sky was radiant with shades of pink and lavender, and the waves gilded a gleaming gold.

As the boat picked up speed, she knew a surge of excitement. Then she turned and looked back at the shores of Ireland, receding in the distance. “I’ll come back,” she whispered. “Someday I’ll return and claim what is mine.”

As she was making her vow, Ronat leaned near. “I guess Bridei was right. The gods appear to favor you.”

“You mean, otherwise I’d be sick?” Dessia asked.

“Aye,” said Ronat. “Or we might have encountered fog, a storm, or unpredictable winds. ‘Tis a gorgeous day. We couldn’t ask for better sailing weather.”

“How long of a journey is it?”

“’Twill take us all day, and that’s if the wind holds.” He pointed. “See? That’s where we’re headed.” Dessia strained her eyes to make out the blue-gray blur in the distance. “The first land we’ll encounter is Mona, the sacred isle. Our destination is Deganwy, east of Mona on the northern coast of Gwynedd. That’s the stronghold of Maelgwn the Great.”

Hearing Bridei’s father’s name, Dessia felt a twinge of apprehension. “I know they call him the Dragon of the Island. Is he truly that formidable?”

Ronat shrugged. “Many of the traders I’ve carried across like him well enough. He has the resources to buy luxury goods and is willing to do so. Now, if you’re planning to raid, that’s another matter. He’s killed more than a few slavers in his day, which is why the people living on the coast revere him.”

How ironic it was, Dessia thought. Maelgwn the Great had freed his people from the threat of enslavement, yet his own son had ended up in servitude. She glanced over at Bridei. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep.

* * *

“Wake up, Bridei!” Bridei roused to the sound of Dessia’s excited voice. He sat up slowly, startled to realize he’d actually slept.

“Ronat says this place is called Mona,” she said. “We’re going to spend the night here, as it’s getting too dark to continue on.”

Bridei watched the approaching shoreline, barely visible in the fading light. Ynys Mon, the sacred isle. The ancestors of his people had once considered the island sacred to the old gods. There were still traces of their worship: an ancient burial mound, some standing stones, a lake from which fishermen still pulled weapons and jewelry, offerings made to the deities many years ago. Now, rich grainfields covered much of the island, the source of most of the wheat that fed the Cymry.

Ronat and Ollam had lowered the sail and were rowing hard toward a broad, sandy beach. On the high hill beyond the beach, Bridei could see the glow of torches from the watchtower. As the lights glinted in the purple twilight, he wondered if he knew any of the men garrisoned at the small fort located there. One of them might be looking out at the sea even now, watching their approach.

As they neared the beach, Ronat and Ollam drew in the oars, jumped in the water and guided the boat toward shore. Bridei stretched his stiff limbs and climbed out to help drag the currach onto the beach. When it was grounded, he turned to aid Dessia, but she was already scrambling out of the boat.

The next moment they heard hoof beats and saw a half dozen mounted warriors riding down the hillside carrying torches. As Bridei watched them approach, his stomach clenched with warning. He reminded himself that these men were his people; he and Dessia should have nothing to fear from them.

The horsemen halted a few paces away and the lead man called out, “Where do you hail from and what’s your business here?”

Bridei hesitated, still not quite prepared to confront his past. But he had to say something. “We’re from Ireland,” he called out. He motioned to Dessia. “This is Queen Dessia of the Fionnlairaos. Her lands have been overrun by her enemies and she seeks refuge here in the lands of Maelgwn the Great.”

As the band of horsemen drew nearer, Bridei shifted uneasily. There’d always been tension between his people and the Irish. Would these men perceive anyone from Ireland as an enemy?

The warrior who’d hailed them spoke. “The woman may be Irish, but I doubt you are. Tell us your name and what you want.”