The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One by Jules Watson Page A
Authors: Jules Watson
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all,’ Eremon continued, smiling. ‘We have plains of barley and rich cattle herds, for our land is warmed by milder winds than yours. And we make many other things: our craftsmen are famed the world over.’
At this, Talorc could not help himself. ‘So! We have the best deermeat, the finest hunting dogs, and the warmest hides!’ He thumped his chest. ‘Our sheep give much better wool than yours – and our women are, of course, the most beautiful.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that!’ Conaire broke in, grinning. ‘How about I show you the quality of my sword – and your women the fineness of another weapon altogether!’
Talorc’s face twitched, then he chuckled and slapped his leg. ‘You jest well for a gael ,’ he laughed. His eyes gleamed as he took in the breadthof Conaire’s sword-arm. ‘I wonder if you can fight as well as you make jokes, young colt! I was cattle-raiding when you were pissing in your bracae ! What say I give you your sword back, and—’
An abrupt movement from the druid silenced him. Gelert was raising himself to his feet with his oak staff, frowning. Eremon saw the knobbed end was carved as an owl’s head, with eyes of glittering jet, and as the druid leaned on it, two pairs of pupils seemed to fix on the prince. ‘I’m sure my cousin appreciates how little time we have for such … pleasantries. Come with us across the water to Dunadd. There we can feast you, and talk more.’ His cold gaze swept Eremon from feet to head.
Caught in that druid net, Eremon felt a sudden, childish impulse to take his men and run. Run where, though? Such discourtesy would win him nothing except suspicion. No, he was being foolish. He must trust to the Boar. The breaking of hospitality laws was unheard of, and these people were not savages, plainly, no matter what the fisherman had said.
‘Thank you, we’ll come gladly,’ he found himself saying. ‘But … you go by sea?’ He could not hide his body’s sudden remembrance of that roiling hull.
Gelert smiled thinly, as if he sensed the sickness that lurched into Eremon’s belly. ‘This is only an island: Dunadd lies across the strait to the east. We’ll give you guides for your boat, for there are many rocks in the Bay of Isles. Talorc will see to it.’ He turned to go, and then paused. ‘One more thing. We cannot speak of the dead man for one moon. Respect this, and ask no questions.’
Eremon nodded, his face stiff.
Once Gelert was gone, the air seemed lighter. Talorc clapped Conaire on the shoulder and jumped to his feet. ‘Come,’ he said. In contrast to the druid, his eyes were guileless; the pale blue of a winter sky. ‘Our servants will make ready for a while yet. Let’s not waste the ale!’
Chapter 7
E remon was glad the day had unfolded so fair, for his men came close to mutiny when he said they must take to the water again.
‘It is an island,’ he explained, as they clustered around the hearth in the hut, cups in hand. Talorc had left to speak to the Epidii nobles. ‘There is no choice.’
‘How do we know we can trust them?’ This was Finan, gruff as ever.
‘We’re under guest laws now,’ Eremon replied, with more confidence than he really felt. ‘They will hold to this, as we do. And there’s another thing.’ He drained the dregs of his ale. ‘They think I have more men coming, and that my father is a powerful ruler. They wouldn’t risk a blood feud with a king.’
‘They will when they find out there’s no king.’ Colum rubbed ale-foam from his stubbled chin.
‘Then we make sure they don’t find out. Look, without allies, the Boar knows how long we might remain fugitives, fighting for our lives instead of building our strength. How can I win my kingship back then?’ His eyes rested on them all, one by one. No one argued.
They left the hut and crossed the sands to their battered boat, past the suspicious eyes of the Epidii warriors, and the speculative looks of their women. On the way,
At this, Talorc could not help himself. ‘So! We have the best deermeat, the finest hunting dogs, and the warmest hides!’ He thumped his chest. ‘Our sheep give much better wool than yours – and our women are, of course, the most beautiful.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that!’ Conaire broke in, grinning. ‘How about I show you the quality of my sword – and your women the fineness of another weapon altogether!’
Talorc’s face twitched, then he chuckled and slapped his leg. ‘You jest well for a gael ,’ he laughed. His eyes gleamed as he took in the breadthof Conaire’s sword-arm. ‘I wonder if you can fight as well as you make jokes, young colt! I was cattle-raiding when you were pissing in your bracae ! What say I give you your sword back, and—’
An abrupt movement from the druid silenced him. Gelert was raising himself to his feet with his oak staff, frowning. Eremon saw the knobbed end was carved as an owl’s head, with eyes of glittering jet, and as the druid leaned on it, two pairs of pupils seemed to fix on the prince. ‘I’m sure my cousin appreciates how little time we have for such … pleasantries. Come with us across the water to Dunadd. There we can feast you, and talk more.’ His cold gaze swept Eremon from feet to head.
Caught in that druid net, Eremon felt a sudden, childish impulse to take his men and run. Run where, though? Such discourtesy would win him nothing except suspicion. No, he was being foolish. He must trust to the Boar. The breaking of hospitality laws was unheard of, and these people were not savages, plainly, no matter what the fisherman had said.
‘Thank you, we’ll come gladly,’ he found himself saying. ‘But … you go by sea?’ He could not hide his body’s sudden remembrance of that roiling hull.
Gelert smiled thinly, as if he sensed the sickness that lurched into Eremon’s belly. ‘This is only an island: Dunadd lies across the strait to the east. We’ll give you guides for your boat, for there are many rocks in the Bay of Isles. Talorc will see to it.’ He turned to go, and then paused. ‘One more thing. We cannot speak of the dead man for one moon. Respect this, and ask no questions.’
Eremon nodded, his face stiff.
Once Gelert was gone, the air seemed lighter. Talorc clapped Conaire on the shoulder and jumped to his feet. ‘Come,’ he said. In contrast to the druid, his eyes were guileless; the pale blue of a winter sky. ‘Our servants will make ready for a while yet. Let’s not waste the ale!’
Chapter 7
E remon was glad the day had unfolded so fair, for his men came close to mutiny when he said they must take to the water again.
‘It is an island,’ he explained, as they clustered around the hearth in the hut, cups in hand. Talorc had left to speak to the Epidii nobles. ‘There is no choice.’
‘How do we know we can trust them?’ This was Finan, gruff as ever.
‘We’re under guest laws now,’ Eremon replied, with more confidence than he really felt. ‘They will hold to this, as we do. And there’s another thing.’ He drained the dregs of his ale. ‘They think I have more men coming, and that my father is a powerful ruler. They wouldn’t risk a blood feud with a king.’
‘They will when they find out there’s no king.’ Colum rubbed ale-foam from his stubbled chin.
‘Then we make sure they don’t find out. Look, without allies, the Boar knows how long we might remain fugitives, fighting for our lives instead of building our strength. How can I win my kingship back then?’ His eyes rested on them all, one by one. No one argued.
They left the hut and crossed the sands to their battered boat, past the suspicious eyes of the Epidii warriors, and the speculative looks of their women. On the way,
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