it. It looks as if he is trying to control the kingdom."
"Why ever would he need to bother to?" I threw up my hands. "When I heard, I thought it was another burden he was putting onto Glyn and Garah, and I wondered that he was prepared to manage without them at Caer
Page 21
Tanaga."
Veniva gave a brief choked laugh, and turned to look out of the window. "You may be sure this is not what
Cinvar of Tathal or Cinon of Nene thought when the news reached them. They know their fathers and grandfathers back to the days when they married the trees. Glyn is being raised to be their equal, and he is
Urdo's own man and his wife was a groom and the daughter of a farmer. I knew the kings would hate it. But whatever Urdo is doing, there is no choice but to support him."
"Is it better to argue it in the letters to Cinvar and Cinon or not?" I asked.
"There is no use writing to Cinvar at all," she said, turning to look at me. "If Uthbad One-Hand were still alive he might pay attention to you, but Cinvar will not. We have killed Daldaf ap Wyn, who he considers a kinsman. He and Marchel will never forgive us for that. But if it is only Tathal and Magor that is not so bad.
Magor will be safe in any case; Aurien will have been careful to make sure the boys know nothing."
"Good," I said, and meant it. I took up my pen and a fresh parchment, fit for writing to kings.
"So should I
mention Bregheda, and my friendship with Glyn?" I hesitated, looking up at her. "Oh Mother, will you write as well?"
She blinked at me, surprised. "What good would that do? I am not a king. I am not your father."
I smiled. "No, but there is power in your name. There are those among the kings who may pay more attention to you than to me. You know what arguments will move them. You are respected, and you are one of them."
"One of them?" She stared at me across the little room as if I had gone mad. "I have never been one of them.
I was born in Rutipia, in Bricinia that is now Cennet, in the year the last Vincan legions left Tir Tanagiri. When
I was twelve years old Avren banished us from our land and our towns and gave all of Cennet to his new
Jarnish father-in-law, Hengist. He made an alliance with the very Jarns we had been fighting outside our walls
all my life. The Tanagan lords fought Avren and each other but cared nothing for us, no more than Avren did.
They gave us no help at all. My father was the magistrate of Rutipia; he was killed when we opened the gates to leave. The people scattered like chaff. There were no towns left. Towns need so many different kinds of people, and they were all scattered and helpless. Gwien ...
your father—" She hesitated, and clearly thought better of what she was going to say. "They call me the last of the Vincans. There are none of my people left now. There are monasteries instead of schools, clusters of farmers' houses around lords' houses instead of towns. My own child thinks it is splendid that there is acknowledged law and very few people actually die fighting before they are grown up, at least most years. And what is worst, you are right!"
I didn't know what to say. "You never told me any of that," I said, at last.
She laughed. "What good would it do you to know? I brought you up safely and properly and taught you as well as I could. And I never think of any of that, never think about the time before I came here. For years I
believed the Vincans would come back one day, but now I know they will not. Only the raiders come from over the sea. Narlahena is fallen and Lossia is overrun and Vinca itself is fallen to the barbarians, and there are only Caer Custenn and us with a sea of them between us, squabbling and killing the people who know and care what civilization is."
Page 22
I had never really thought about where Veniva had come from. She was my mother. She was a Vincan, yes, I
knew that, but I had not thought she meant it so literally. All my life she had always been at Derwen. "You could still write
"Why ever would he need to bother to?" I threw up my hands. "When I heard, I thought it was another burden he was putting onto Glyn and Garah, and I wondered that he was prepared to manage without them at Caer
Page 21
Tanaga."
Veniva gave a brief choked laugh, and turned to look out of the window. "You may be sure this is not what
Cinvar of Tathal or Cinon of Nene thought when the news reached them. They know their fathers and grandfathers back to the days when they married the trees. Glyn is being raised to be their equal, and he is
Urdo's own man and his wife was a groom and the daughter of a farmer. I knew the kings would hate it. But whatever Urdo is doing, there is no choice but to support him."
"Is it better to argue it in the letters to Cinvar and Cinon or not?" I asked.
"There is no use writing to Cinvar at all," she said, turning to look at me. "If Uthbad One-Hand were still alive he might pay attention to you, but Cinvar will not. We have killed Daldaf ap Wyn, who he considers a kinsman. He and Marchel will never forgive us for that. But if it is only Tathal and Magor that is not so bad.
Magor will be safe in any case; Aurien will have been careful to make sure the boys know nothing."
"Good," I said, and meant it. I took up my pen and a fresh parchment, fit for writing to kings.
"So should I
mention Bregheda, and my friendship with Glyn?" I hesitated, looking up at her. "Oh Mother, will you write as well?"
She blinked at me, surprised. "What good would that do? I am not a king. I am not your father."
I smiled. "No, but there is power in your name. There are those among the kings who may pay more attention to you than to me. You know what arguments will move them. You are respected, and you are one of them."
"One of them?" She stared at me across the little room as if I had gone mad. "I have never been one of them.
I was born in Rutipia, in Bricinia that is now Cennet, in the year the last Vincan legions left Tir Tanagiri. When
I was twelve years old Avren banished us from our land and our towns and gave all of Cennet to his new
Jarnish father-in-law, Hengist. He made an alliance with the very Jarns we had been fighting outside our walls
all my life. The Tanagan lords fought Avren and each other but cared nothing for us, no more than Avren did.
They gave us no help at all. My father was the magistrate of Rutipia; he was killed when we opened the gates to leave. The people scattered like chaff. There were no towns left. Towns need so many different kinds of people, and they were all scattered and helpless. Gwien ...
your father—" She hesitated, and clearly thought better of what she was going to say. "They call me the last of the Vincans. There are none of my people left now. There are monasteries instead of schools, clusters of farmers' houses around lords' houses instead of towns. My own child thinks it is splendid that there is acknowledged law and very few people actually die fighting before they are grown up, at least most years. And what is worst, you are right!"
I didn't know what to say. "You never told me any of that," I said, at last.
She laughed. "What good would it do you to know? I brought you up safely and properly and taught you as well as I could. And I never think of any of that, never think about the time before I came here. For years I
believed the Vincans would come back one day, but now I know they will not. Only the raiders come from over the sea. Narlahena is fallen and Lossia is overrun and Vinca itself is fallen to the barbarians, and there are only Caer Custenn and us with a sea of them between us, squabbling and killing the people who know and care what civilization is."
Page 22
I had never really thought about where Veniva had come from. She was my mother. She was a Vincan, yes, I
knew that, but I had not thought she meant it so literally. All my life she had always been at Derwen. "You could still write
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