Winter Serpent (38 page)

“You have complained that the judging moves slowly,” the Macoul said, leaning forward. “It will move more slowly still when these things are brought out and argued back and forth. Can you speak truthfully and still win?”

“Yes!” she cried.

“But consider,” the Macoul went on. “You have the child with you. Do you think the brehons will set you over the clans in the Coire? What if the Northmen come here and murder many of your kinsmen?”

“Consider,” Alpin said quietly, “that you may have many strong sons by Comac Neish. There can be no place for a Northman’s bastard among the clans.” “Are you my reward for submission?” Doireann cried, turning on
Comac Neish.

“God, woman, I say that I love you!” he shouted angrily.

“Is this not fortunate! Would you have said the same if I had been plain-looking and ungainly?”

“Now, now, children, softly,” the Macoul murmured. “We have put on a bad face before you, Doireann nighean Muireach, but we are not your enemies. I have known you since you were a wee girl. I was your father’s good friend.”

“Were was your concern for me when I was alone and in the power of Calum macDumhnull? Do not pretend these things to me. Tell me in plain words what it is you have patched between you.”

“We have patched nothing between us,” Alpin said. “The loyalty of the clans in the Coire is yours for the taking. There are many who favor you because they think you are like your father before you, with a love of the land and a feeling for the welfare of the tribes. I think they have had it in their minds to take the good with the bad if you would accept Calum macDumhnull as your husband. It is said he desires you greatly. But if you have a bitterness toward him and feel that he has abused you, then I do not think they would reject Comac Neish as your mate and chieftain apparent.”

“And what will become of Calum?”

“He would be tanist, and chieftain if your husband died without heirs.” “How long do you think Calum would be satisfied with this?”

The Ard-Ri laughed.

“Comac Neish is no weak woman. He will hold what he takes possession of, and Calum macDumhnull will never challenge him.”

“You do not know Calum macDumhnull. He would spend his days plotting his revenge, and his crafty brother Donn with him. It is a bad thing you put before me, and it only means trouble again in the Coire. Yet I think you would have me send away my child and settle for a bad bargain.”

“It is no bad bargain,” Alpin insisted. “Calum need not be tanist long if he is troublesome. I leave this to Comac Neish. He knows how to keep the peace against the intrigues of others. And I would not allow warring in Cumhainn over disputed claims. This is a perilous time, Doireann nighean Muireach. The Vikings are not only raiders; they have brought war to the western isles, and the Christian peoples must now fight to throw them off. We must be
united. But if we bring peace in Cumhainn it will not be with a Northman’s son. True, he is but a babe in his mother’s arms now, but what of his manhood? Will he seek out his father and bring him to Coire Cheathaich? This is in men’s minds when they look at him. You must consider the things which will work you well and not ill.”

“I will not give up my child,” she said stubbornly. They looked at her in silence.

“Doireann nighean Muireach,” Comac Neish said softly, “would you throw away all that could be yours? Shall I have to say to you that I do not want another man’s son?”

“Put your faith in my word that I will do the honorable thing,” the Ard-Ri said. “Have confidence in Comac Neish, who is my trusted captain. It will be hard at first for you to give up the child, but you will have many rewards. In some ways you are a fortunate woman. You have great beauty. Your kinsmen in the Coire accept you despite your notoriety. Comac Neish has asked you to be his wife. This last is no small thing. He has great pride in his royal blood, and yet he would have it joined with yours.”

“It has been suggested,” the Macoul said, “that since the bishop of Druiminn supports you and shows his interest, perhaps he would accept the Northman’s child as his ward.”

“And raise him a priest? Why should he pay for Calum’s cruelty to me?” “What is wrong with priests?” they asked her.

“No, no, to everything you proposed!” she cried. “I do not weep before you now, because I am proud, but I could shed many tears in anger seeing that I have found no pity, no honor, among my father’s friends, only treachery and self-seeking. I could weep in sorrow for my child because none will defend him, because he has no land or riches to buy his way into your hearts. Console yourselves that my child lies ill. Perhaps death will come to him and remove him from your path! As for this Irish captain here… you may take back your male whore! I give him to you willingly.”

She flung herself from the tent and ran stumbling across the dark yard. She was quickly followed by Comac Neish who overtook her, grabbing her arm. “God help you, Doireann nighean Muireach!” he shouted. “God help you for
the words you have spoken. If you were a man I would cut your belly open for it!” She jerked away from him. He raised his hand as if to strike her.

“No, I cannot,” he groaned. He turned his head away. “What kind of devil is in you, woman, that you can speak such things?”

She did not answer him.

“Ochone,” he said quietly, “I have a love for you that is great enough to break me. You are a witch, for not just beauty alone could snare men so and tie them to your skirts. You will destroy us all.”

Her face was still silent and unyielding.

“I have no part in the plans of the Ard-Ri and the Macoul,” he protested. “I have declared that I will marry you and my word is my honor. I will marry you now, tomorrow, before there is any judgment on your fortunes.”

She considered this.

“And if I am turned out of the Coire with my claims refuted?”

“Then your lot will be as bad as my own, for we will share it. But I will not take your complaining, for it will be your stubbornness which decides it for us.”

“And you will never lift your hand to my child or do aught to hurt him?” “I do not revenge myself on children, Doireann. I will treat him fairly,

although he will be like a dead rat hung about your neck and mine. I will not say that I could love him, for I could never love the child you have borne another man.”

She thought this over.

“This is fair enough,” she allowed.

“It is haggling over the child which brings you to me, then,” he said bitterly. “Can you say that it is not the thought of a good bargain which brings you
to me also?” she flung at him. “Let us be practical. I might yet win the Coire.” “How far will you provoke me?” he cried. He shook his fist in her face. “So now it is you who are provoked!” she shouted. “You might give some
thought to how driven I am now, and what treachery there is about me.” She put her hands over her eyes suddenly. “I am close to breaking.”

20

Comac Neish went to Alpin that night and asked for a release from his oaths. The Ard-Ri granted it. He was not in a good humor but he generously settled some gold on his captain, making it plain that he could see only a worsening of the other’s chronic troubles in this mad busi-

ness. Now that Comac had left his service it would be hard for him to provide for himself and the luckless Doireann nighean Muireach and her Viking’s child.

Comac Neish was no bo aire, the Ard-Ri complained, no born tender of sheep or crofter of some hillside farm. He was a prince of the Clanna Rury, a warrior and a school-trained nobleman, and a living was not to be had in just any place the Irishman might choose. The land of the Scots offered him no haven, for the Ard-Ri had many enemies, and they had become his captain’s also. Comac might throw himself on the charity of his Irish cousins, but Alpin had a picture of what his life would be then: a poor relation occupying a degraded seat among the hired fighting men, always open to challenge because of the woman’s beauty and desirability.

The whole affair was improvident, Alpin prophesied. It was a flying in the face of reason and sensibility, and would only bring about Comac’s and the woman’s destruction.

He gave his former captain grudging farewell and his blessing, and Comac accepted them in silence.

Doireann found her child very ill when she returned to the hall. She spent the night holding him in her arms, his hot, burning body close to hers. She passed the long dark hours staring at her thoughts, at times stirring about frantically trying to nurse him. He would not accept the breast and his usually lusty, demanding voice was only a feverish whine. In the morning Sorcha looked at him and her words were not encouraging.

“I shall have to bring you another child to nurse,” she exclaimed. “You will soon be feverish yourself with worry and no relief. You are ruining your looks. Your face is all haggard and worn.”

Doireann ran her hands through unkempt hair.

“It is of no importance to me,” she moaned. “There is nothing I would not sacrifice to see my child wake and smile at me as he did once. I would make any desperate bargain; I would gladly give my life for his. But if I did, who would care for him and protect him?”

“Ah, be still,” the woman cried. “You will bring all the household about us with your wailing! Get up and prepare yourself. It has been told that the brehons will hear what you have to say this day.”

“They must wait, then. I want you to bring some warm water. I am going to bathe the child and see if I cannot break the fever. The heat and the starving will soon kill him!”

“You will do no such thing,” the other woman told her. “If you wish him bathed then I will do it for you. But you must go with the others to the gathering place. Have you considered what will happen if you do not appear and the clansmen think you have deserted your own pleading for the sake of the Northman’s child?”

“You have heard me!” Doireann shouted. “Now do what I say!” Sorcha backed off indignantly.

“Do not speak to me thus, Doireann nighean Muireach!” she cried. “Your prospects are not such as they were the first day you came to this hall”

“The devil take my prospects!” Doireann screamed. “Will you get the water or must I fetch it myself?”

The woman flounced out, and although Doireann waited, she did not return. Barra came to the door to see what the shouting was about. “Princess, softly, in God’s name. You only make enemies in your despair.”

Comac appeared behind him, frowning.

“Barra is right,” he agreed. “If you must argue with the nursewoman then keep your voice down.”

“Why make a secret of it?” Doireann cried. “She is already taking her big mouth to the others, telling her complaints against me.”

“The boy is very ill, then?” Barra murmured. “Oh, Barra, I fear he will die!”

“Be easy, Princess; I will take care of him while you are gone.”

“No, no, I am not going to leave him! I will sit and hold him in my arms so that some of my strength will go into him. You will see this. He will not die.”

The two men exchanged looks.

“Do not argue with her,” Comac said to the short man. “She knows that the child will die and her fear rides her like a ghost. Who can say his death will not be a release for us? And for the child also.”

Barra’s black eyes filled with tears.

“It was I who brought him into the world, and it is I who will grieve also to see him leave it. I see her now, the daughter of Muireach, the old chief, and my heart weeps for her, sorrowful woman that she is.”

They left her alone with the child for the rest of the morning. At noon Comac brought her a cup of ale. The baby was stretched out on the bed in such a lifeless attitude that the Irishman thought at first that he was dead. But Doireann looked up and put her finger to her lips.

“Be quiet,” she warned. “He is asleep.”

“I want you to drink the ale,” he said firmly, “for it is you who look as if you are about to depart the world.”

She took the cup, gulping the ale carelessly. It had an almost immediate, giddying effect.

“Listen to me and be calm,” Comac said. “Can you listen without casting yourself into another frenzy?”

She nodded. She held the child’s hand, stroking it.

“When I came to the meeting place where the brehons were assembled I saw a large group about Calum macDumhnull and his brother. And seated behind their standard was the powerful chieftain of Skye, their kinsman, and also the tuath of Lorne, the Macoul. This is what was being said last night when you were so unreasonable. The Macoul has given his support to those who do not waver from their purpose. This at least is a sign of chieftaincy. Do you understand? They have all gone over to the macDumhnulls. There were few left to stand with us this morning save my warriors who have defied Alpin, and the bishop of Druiminn’s men, and one or two others who still hope to see justice for their sufferings. But even these last left to sit far upon the hillside when they saw you were not among us. Unless you come this afternoon and plead for your cause, you had better forget your hopes for fortune.”

She shook her head.

“I care for nothing now, only that my child should not die. All the rest is bitter ashes in my mouth.”