The Well of Shades (81 page)

“Ashamed?” He looked up at her as the fire began to catch. “Why? You haven’t a single thing to be ashamed about, Eile. Your actions have been selfless. Heroic. You are your father’s daughter. What advice do you think Deord would offer right now?”

Eile gave a wan smile.
“Fight,”
she said. “But I’m afraid, Faolan. This is a great deal to ask.”

“I’ll be there. I’ll stand by you;
I’ll help you tell it.”

“I don’t know enough of the language yet. And if you translate for me, people will say you can twist the story any way you want.”

“Then we will ask for another translator. I know one who will do very well.”

“When? When would we do it?”

She looked frail and wretched, her hands shaking, the wound fresh and livid on her temple. Faolan would have given much to be able to
say, honestly, that he did not care if she never told; that all he wanted was to wrap her up, hide her away, keep her safe. But when he looked at her huddled there by the fire, it was not an injured
woman he saw. It was the daughter of Deord; Deord who had only once in his life run away, and who had paid a terrible price for it. Deord who, he sensed, was still watching over them.

“Tonight,” he
said. “We should do it tonight.”

E
ILE ALREADY KNEW
that Faolan’s self-control was formidable. She did not think she had ever been so impressed by it as she was that evening. Saraid had gone to her supper with Gilder and Galen; brows had been raised when Faolan and Eile appeared in the Great Hall to take their places, but he had acted as if there were nothing untoward
about her attending supper so soon after what had happened.

Garth was on duty, guarding the king. Faolan and Eile were flanked at table by Wid and Garvan. Dovran had placed himself opposite, next to Elda. Beyond that small circle of safety lay the unknown. Eile saw the looks, observed folk whispering to one another, and wondered if they were discussing her probable guilt, though it seemed to
her the wound on her head should be some indication of innocence. She could hardly have inflicted it on herself. Her stomach was churning; she could not touch her food. Faolan ate his roast meat and pudding, and chatted to Wid about navigation and to Dovran, guardedly, about the finer points of swordplay.

At the high table Bridei sat ashen-faced, contributing the occasional word to a conversation
between his councillors and King Keother. Another day, another fruitless search. Eile had seen how much the king of Fortriu loved his children, how close he was to his wife, and her heart bled for him. She had Saraid. She had Faolan. Against what the king must be feeling, the trepidation that now gripped her, making her dizzy and nauseous, was nothing at all.

“Not eating?” Wid asked her. “You
look as if you
should still be in bed, young woman. Faolan, what were you doing, letting her get up?”

“I’d rather be here than in my chamber,” Eile said. “Besides, we have something to do.”

“Oh?”

She did not elaborate. Most folk had finished eating; Faolan was looking over toward the second table, where Brother Colm sat with his brethren, a small sea of brown robes topped by gleaming tonsured
heads.

“Are you ready?” he asked her in an undertone.

I could never be ready for this, not in all my days.
“If you are,” she said.

It was customary, before or after the meal, for Bridei to say a few words to the household. In good times it might be thanks for certain work done or news that could affect them. Bridei’s speech might be followed by music; there was usually a court bard in residence.
Or, if anyone had a matter of general interest to raise, Bridei might invite him to air it. In bad times folk expected little. Faolan had told her that tonight the king would wish to advise his household that the full search for his son was to be called off, leaving the task of tracking Derelei to a few specialists rather than taking so many of the household’s men away.

“I won’t wait for him
to speak,” Faolan whispered to Eile. “I see on his face that he can’t bear to declare the full search over.” He rose to his feet, took Eile’s hand and led her out to the open area before the dais.

Folk took some time to notice. Talk buzzed around them until the king stood and raised his hand.

“You wish to speak, Faolan?” Bridei’s voice was level and quiet.

“If you permit, my lord.”

“Of course.”

“My lord king, I wish to start with an apology for my breach of protocol last night. It will not happen again.”

Bridei inclined his head in a spare indication of forgiveness.

“With your approval, I will speak to the household about today’s search. After that, Eile and I have a matter to set before all present. We have a tale to tell.”

“You have my approval.”

Dizziness came over Eile again.
The walls were moving about; the torches went double. The sea of faces around her was turbulent, the hum of voices strangely remote.

“Eile?” A concerned voice: it was Dovran, beside her with a stool. She sat; Faolan nodded to the other man, expression somber, then put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Tell me if you feel faint,” he murmured. Then, raising his voice again, he said the words
Bridei had not been able to get out. “You will all know by now that today’s search was unsuccessful. That is not through any lack of effort or of heart on the part of those who have worked so tirelessly these last days and nights, both those who went out to search and those who performed extra duties here at court so that could happen. Garth and I have concluded, with great reluctance, that there
is no longer any chance a search of this kind will be successful. It seems likely King Bridei’s son has been taken far beyond those territories that lie within a few days’ reach. We will not require the men of the household any longer for these duties.” Muttering had broken out and he raised a hand to silence it. “That doesn’t mean we’ve given up. We’ll be adopting a more strategic approach. We may
call on some of you as required.”

“Who’s we?” someone called out.

“Garth and I will handle the practical arrangements. Decisions will be made in consultation with the king and his councillors.” His tone was coolly controlled, his hand steady on Eile’s shoulder.

Another voice came from the rear of the hall. “You say the boy’s been taken away. That’s no surprise; everyone knows children don’t
wander off from places as
well fortified as White Hill. What does come as a surprise is to find a Gael taking charge of the search, giving orders, telling us what’s what. It’s no wonder we’ve hunted until we’re dead on our feet and not found a trace of the lad, even with the dogs on the job. You were perfectly placed to allow his abductors time to get away.” A hubbub of talk broke out as the man,
invisible to Eile, got into his stride. “It makes me wonder how you’ve got the gall to stand up there with your woman beside you. My lord king, surely you must see the likeliest explanation here—”

“Stand up,” Bridei said, his eyes like flint. “Identify yourself before the court.”

“Mordec, my lord king. I have a holding south of Mage Lake. No offense intended. I simply want to put in the open
what many folk are saying in private: that Gaels at the heart of a Priteni court are trouble, unless they’re hostages or slaves.”

“Very well.” The king’s grim expression did not change. “Your suggestions offend me, but at least you are prepared to speak out openly. I will not have the court of Fortriu polluted by gossip.”

Eile found herself unable to keep quiet. “My lord king, it is wrong for
folk to accuse Faolan of treachery. He’s completely loyal. If it weren’t for me, nobody would be saying these terrible lies.”

“Faolan,” Bridei said quietly, “do I guess correctly that you stand before us tonight not only to assist your king with a difficult duty but also to defend yourself and Eile against such accusations?”

Eile put her hand up to cover Faolan’s.

“Yes, my lord,” Faolan said.
“We know of the rumors. They are hurtful untruths. I won’t have Eile subject to that kind of foul suggestion. We come before you tonight to tell our story; to show every man and woman here present that our journey from our homeland to White Hill had nothing at all to do with the struggle of Priteni against Gaels. It was unrelated to political machination
or strategic plotting. We made a journey
into the past and back again; we followed a long path through pain and endurance, blood and hurt.”

“A path from darkness to light,” Eile said in the Priteni tongue. “My lord king, I wish to tell my part. But I lack sufficient words…”

“Faolan can translate for you.” Bridei was leaning forward now, forearms on the table, clearly both surprised and intrigued.

“Oh, yes?” could be heard in the crowd,
and, “I know what sort of translation that’d be.”

“My lord,” said Faolan, “with your permission I will ask another man to do so; one who may be judged as impartial. That way nobody can accuse me of twisting Eile’s words.”

“Whom did you have in mind?” the king asked.

“Er…” Brother Suibne was on his feet. “I’ll volunteer my services, my lord king.”

“He’s a Gael, too,” commented one of the lesser
chieftains. “We’re overrun with them.”

“Brother Suibne is indeed a Gael.” Aniel spoke calmly from his place beside the king. “You have a short memory if you have forgotten the part he played in Bridei’s election to kingship. It was Suibne’s impartiality and impeccable sense of fairness that made him abstain from casting the vote he was entitled to as spiritual adviser to the king of Circinn.
That was the vote everyone expected would win the kingship of Fortriu for Drust the Boar. That, and the late arrival of Umbrig there,” he nodded toward the huge Caitt chieftain who sat along the table from the Christians, “secured the crown for King Bridei. Let Suibne do the job tonight. There are few men here fluent in both Gaelic and our own tongue, and the rest of them must be judged less than
unbiased, I believe. Eile has many friends at White Hill.”

“Thank you, Brother Suibne,” Bridei said as the priest came forward. “Once again you prove indispensable.”

Eile prayed the Christian would not mention that he
knew her well already; that she and Faolan had spent a good part of winter lodged near Brother Colm’s house of prayer at Kerrykeel, and had shared with these selfsame clerics the
perilous sea voyage to Dalriada. She cleared her throat, glancing up at Faolan. “Should I begin?” she asked, her voice coming out as a strangled whisper, now the time was actually here. She could not believe she had agreed to this; she must have been crazy.

“Begin, dear heart,” he murmured. “I’m with you.”

I
T WAS INCONVENIENT
that the little Gael had survived her
sojourn in the well without serious damage. Fortunately, Eile could remember nothing of what had happened; at least, that was what folk were saying. The child was another matter. Now that her mother was back safe and sound, there was nothing to keep her from blabbing out a story that included Breda and an iron chain and a certain threat. Saraid must be silenced.

Breda made her plan with care.
The little ones ate their evening meal in a separate area, and there were only a couple of maids to watch all of them. As long as Breda was quick enough, she could get Saraid out and away before the stupid servants even noticed they had one child less at the table. It would be nearly dark. Most folk would be at their own meal in the hall. She could get it over with and be back in the isolated chamber
that witch Dorica had allocated her before the alarm was raised.

She only had one guardian: a hag chosen by Dorica to watch her. The woman was sour-faced and fat, with a bloated stomach and sagging breasts. Why did old people have to be so ugly? Her minder’s constant presence was intolerable. They could at least have let her have one of her own maidservants who, although tiresome and disobedient
at times, did not offend the eye and needed only a whipping to keep them in order. But Breda hadn’t seen a single one of them since Cria—wretched girl—had
led them in their ill-considered and embarrassingly public revolt. What her attendants hoped to gain from that, Breda couldn’t imagine. They owed their positions at Keother’s court to her; without her, they wouldn’t be here in Fortriu. Indeed,
without Breda they’d be nothing at all.