voice. She was silent for a little, then began again. “Of course, the quiet, closed-up ones can be the most exciting, if you can get them interested in the first place. I know which one I’d really like to spenda night alone with. That Faolan, I reckon he’d be a stayer.”
There was something in the quality of the silence beyond the opening of their tent, after this speech, that told Ana she must produce an answer that was both quick and quelling. “Faolan is King Bridei’s personal emissary. He’s the king’s trusted friend. You will not speak of him thus again, Creisa. I hope I do not have to tell you twice.”
“No, my lady.” It was evident in Creisa’s tone that she was smiling in the darkness. “All the same—”
“Enough!” Ana snapped, loudly enough to be heard by anyone outside who happened to be listening. Creisa fell silent at last, and not long after, the sound of her breathing told Ana she had fallen asleep.
Ana herself did not sleep. She pondered Creisa’s life growing up on Ged’s home farm, workingin kitchen and vegetable gardens and, from the sound of it, forming casual alliances with any number of lusty young men. Questions came to her: wasn’t Creisa worried she might conceive a child? Would not such wanton behavior damage her chances of attracting a reliable husband? Above all, among the confusion of thoughts and feelings Creisa’s whispered foolishness had awoken in her, Ana recognizedthat she was envious: envious of the ease with which Creisa spoke of the congress between man and woman, and still more envious of the fact that, if Creisa were to be believed, such congress was for her not brutal, arbitrary, a thing to be endured, but entirely pleasurable, easy and natural. For a woman of her own status, Ana thought, it could hardly ever be so simple. To wed for love, as Tualahad done, was an opportunity rarely afforded those of the royal blood. Ana could almost wish she had wed kindly, courteous Bridei herself, as many people, the king’s druid Broichan among them, would have preferred. She had, indeed, considered that prospect seriously for a little, but only until the moment she first heard Bridei utter Tuala’s name, and Tuala his. From then on, Ana had recognized theinevitability of things, for there was a bond between those two that transcended the ordinary. A tiny, hidden part of Ana still longed for a love like that in the grand tales of old, powerful, tender, and passionate. Before they got to Briar Wood, she told herself grimly, she’d best quash any trace of that yearning, for such a foolish fancy could only lead to grief.
AS THE JOURNEY woreon they all became progressively dirtier, wearier, quieter: even Creisa. There was no opportunity for clothing to be washed, and scant facility for personal ablutions. For Ana, who was accustomed to bathing in warm water with reasonable frequency and to other folk bearing her tunics, skirts, and smallclothes away for regular cleaning, the days were spent in an uncomfortable awareness of the layerof dirt and sweat clogging her skin, the itches and crawling sensations, the mud stains around the hem of her skirt, and, worst of all, the lank, greasy texture of her long hair; the only way to wear it now was plaited tightly and coiled atop her head, fastened with pins, for she could not bear the touch of it against her neck.
They stopped late one afternoon close to a deep forest pool set amongrocks, and Ana was seized with the urge to bathe. Creisa was all for stripping off and plunging right in. Faolan would not allow it. When Ana tried to argue, he cut her off sharply.
“It may be springtime, but the water’s cold. What if you came down with an ague? We can’t take that risk. Besides, this would leave us vulnerable. If we were attacked while the two of you were disporting yourselves,we’d be at a disadvantage. The men have enough to attend to. Don’t make their job any harder.”
“The men could do with a bath
There was something in the quality of the silence beyond the opening of their tent, after this speech, that told Ana she must produce an answer that was both quick and quelling. “Faolan is King Bridei’s personal emissary. He’s the king’s trusted friend. You will not speak of him thus again, Creisa. I hope I do not have to tell you twice.”
“No, my lady.” It was evident in Creisa’s tone that she was smiling in the darkness. “All the same—”
“Enough!” Ana snapped, loudly enough to be heard by anyone outside who happened to be listening. Creisa fell silent at last, and not long after, the sound of her breathing told Ana she had fallen asleep.
Ana herself did not sleep. She pondered Creisa’s life growing up on Ged’s home farm, workingin kitchen and vegetable gardens and, from the sound of it, forming casual alliances with any number of lusty young men. Questions came to her: wasn’t Creisa worried she might conceive a child? Would not such wanton behavior damage her chances of attracting a reliable husband? Above all, among the confusion of thoughts and feelings Creisa’s whispered foolishness had awoken in her, Ana recognizedthat she was envious: envious of the ease with which Creisa spoke of the congress between man and woman, and still more envious of the fact that, if Creisa were to be believed, such congress was for her not brutal, arbitrary, a thing to be endured, but entirely pleasurable, easy and natural. For a woman of her own status, Ana thought, it could hardly ever be so simple. To wed for love, as Tualahad done, was an opportunity rarely afforded those of the royal blood. Ana could almost wish she had wed kindly, courteous Bridei herself, as many people, the king’s druid Broichan among them, would have preferred. She had, indeed, considered that prospect seriously for a little, but only until the moment she first heard Bridei utter Tuala’s name, and Tuala his. From then on, Ana had recognized theinevitability of things, for there was a bond between those two that transcended the ordinary. A tiny, hidden part of Ana still longed for a love like that in the grand tales of old, powerful, tender, and passionate. Before they got to Briar Wood, she told herself grimly, she’d best quash any trace of that yearning, for such a foolish fancy could only lead to grief.
AS THE JOURNEY woreon they all became progressively dirtier, wearier, quieter: even Creisa. There was no opportunity for clothing to be washed, and scant facility for personal ablutions. For Ana, who was accustomed to bathing in warm water with reasonable frequency and to other folk bearing her tunics, skirts, and smallclothes away for regular cleaning, the days were spent in an uncomfortable awareness of the layerof dirt and sweat clogging her skin, the itches and crawling sensations, the mud stains around the hem of her skirt, and, worst of all, the lank, greasy texture of her long hair; the only way to wear it now was plaited tightly and coiled atop her head, fastened with pins, for she could not bear the touch of it against her neck.
They stopped late one afternoon close to a deep forest pool set amongrocks, and Ana was seized with the urge to bathe. Creisa was all for stripping off and plunging right in. Faolan would not allow it. When Ana tried to argue, he cut her off sharply.
“It may be springtime, but the water’s cold. What if you came down with an ague? We can’t take that risk. Besides, this would leave us vulnerable. If we were attacked while the two of you were disporting yourselves,we’d be at a disadvantage. The men have enough to attend to. Don’t make their job any harder.”
“The men could do with a bath
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