And they looked at each other, in the first firelight, both aware of having been joined in something potent and lovely.
‘Blai,’ Drem said after a while. ‘Blai, why were you here?’
‘I—saw you come back with the New Spears.’ Blai set a piece of wild pear branch with infinite care in the midst of the fire. ‘And then I came away. I had things to do.’
‘What things could you do, without fire to see by?’
‘The moon is very bright,’ Blai said.
There was a small silence. The new flames fluttered on the hearth, and a long sigh of wind came over the shoulder of the Chalk and brushed across the thatch, and Whitethroat, who had settled himself beside the hearth, stretched out and began to lick his paws. At last Drem said: ‘You were not doing anything when I came.’ And then, as she still remained silent—‘Blai, why did you come away?’
She looked up then, but the stillness in her never stirred. ‘What place have I yonder with the Women’s side? I have no place among the maidens of the Tribe. I am not one with them, I am not one with the Half People either. It is better that I come away . . .’
It was as though her words called to something in Drem; something that called back in recognition and greeting. Suddenly he was aware of her as he had been only once before, but more strongly and clearly now, out of a new compassion, a new power of seeing that had grown in him through his outcast year: Blai, who was not quite a handmaid nor yet quite a daughter in his home, who had no dowry of cattle nor any beauty to take its place and make her desirable in the eyes of some young warrior. For a moment it was only compassion, and then quite suddenly and simply he understood that he and Blai belonged together, like to like; that no other girl could ever come as near to him as Blai could do, because she knew the things that he knew.
‘They were still leaping through the flames when I came away,’ he said; and then, as she did not answer, ‘Vortrix leapt through with Rhun the daughter of Gwythno of the Singing Spear, when the flames still burned high, and neither of them was scorched. That means many sons for them by and by.’
Blai was watching him, but still she did not answer.
He drew his legs under him and made to rise. ‘This fire is well enough now; if we bank it up, no harm will come to it. Blai, it may be that there will still be some fire left up yonder, if we go back now—if we run very quickly.’
Blai sat and looked at him, her face whiter and narrower than ever, in the black smoke of her hair. ‘You are kind,’ she said wonderingly. ‘You did not use to be kind.’
He had sprung up, and taken a long pace towards the doorway, followed as ever by Whitethroat; but he turned, and stood looking at her across the hearth that was alive with fire again. He was understanding more things now. He was understanding why Blai had not looked at him these past moons; that it was not that she hadn’t looked at him since he began to get well, but that she hadn’t looked at him except when he was sick since last sheep shearing. He remembered with sharp-edged clearness that small bitter scene at sheep shearing, and the white blind look on her face; the look that he had seen there once before—when the bronze-smith came with his magic dagger.
He thought he had left it too late. And as always with him, he met fear with anger. ‘I am not kind!’ He flung the word away as though it were a wasp that had settled on him, and swung round to the doorway; then checked again to look back at her. ‘Well, are you coming, or is it that I must go back alone? There are other girls on the Hill of Gathering tonight.’
There was a sudden white flash of anger in Blai, answering his own as the fire in the grey dagger answered to the flint. ‘Then let you take one of them to leap through the fire with you, my young Golden Lord!’
But Drem’s anger had escaped him. He shook his head. ‘I do not wish for any of them, Blai.’
She looked at him in silence, a long, clear look; and for a moment he was still afraid that he was too late. Then she smiled, and still without a word, began to tend the fire, so that it could be safely left. When that was done, she sprang up and came to Drem where he waited in the doorway; and he caught her hand in his sound one, and they ducked out into the moonlight and the blustering spring wind, and ran laughing, with Whitethroat at their heels, back towards the Beltane fires.
About the Author
Rosemary Sutcliff was born in 1920 in West Clanden, Surrey.
With over 40 books to her credit, Rosemary Sutcliff is now universally considered one of the finest writers of historical novels for children. Her first novel, The Queen Elizabeth Story was published in 1950. In 1959 her book The Lantern Bearers won the Carnegie Medal. In 1974 she was highly commended for the Hans Christian Andersen Award and in 1978 her book, Song for a Dark Queen was commended for the Other Award.
In 1975, Rosemary was awarded the OBE for services to Children’s Literature and the CBE in 1992. Unfortunately Rosemary passed away in July 1992 and will be much missed by her many fans.
Also by Rosemary Sutcliff
Beowulf: Dragonslayer
The Armourer’s House
The Capricorn Bracelet
The High Deeds of Finn MacCool
The Hound of Ulster
The Sword and the Circle
The Light Beyond the Forest
The Road to Camlann
The Shining Company
Sun Horse, Moon Horse
The Witch’s Brat
The Chronicles of Robin Hood
Bonnie Dundee
The Mark of the Horse Lord
Frontier Wolf
Knight’s Fee
Blood Feud
Simon
Song for a Dark Queen
Tristan and Iseult
Brother Dusty-Feet
Sword Song
WARRIOR SCARLET
AN RHCP DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 448 17302 0
Published in Great Britain by RHCP Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Publishers UK
A Random House Group Company
This ebook edition published 2014
Copyright © Sussex Dolphin Limited, 1957
First Published in Great Britain by Oxford University Press, 1957
The right of Rosemary Sutcliff to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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Rosemary Sutcliff, Warrior Scarlet
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