Engus lifted the hinged lid to display the gleaming set of silver spoons that lay within, gracefully curving implements each fashioned in the shape of a diving dolphin. It was a gift of considerable charm. The workmanship was without equal; Nessa had heard her uncle say so when he took them out of storage on the chance that this difficult chieftain might at last come to the bargaining table.
“Exquisite,” Somerled remarked. “Delightful. Quite outside the usual.” He was not looking at the spoons. “Introduce me to the young lady, will you?” He snapped his fingers and one of the big, fur-cloaked warriors came forward to clasp the box shut and take it under his arm. Wolfskins: there were two of them here, both formidable men, though neither, she thought, as tall or broad as Eyvind. Nessa stared back at Somerled, willing herself not to blush, not to lower her eyes in embarrassment or shame. She would not give him the satisfaction of that. His own eyes widened a touch as she stared steadily at him; his mouth twitched mischievously, as if he wanted her to share a private joke.
“The lady’s name is Nessa,” Brother Tadhg told him direct, without translating what Somerled had said. “I caution you against speaking out of turn here. Any sign of disrespect to her, the least ill word, will stir every man present to rage.”
Somerled’s dark gaze swiveled to the Christian. “Well, well,” he drawled in feigned amazement. “So fast to the defense, so vehement. Are you not a priest, and bound to chastity? I would swear you harbored a weakness for the lady yourself, so swiftly you spring to protect her. She is rather delectable, isn’t she? I find that “touch me not” air quite irresistible.”
“I have warned you,” Tadhg said quietly. “Ignore it at your peril.”
“Ask the king if his daughter is promised in marriage.”
Nessa froze. And now Engus had turned to his translator, demanding an explanation.
“What is he saying? Why do you not translate these words? Did he speak of Nessa?”
Tadhg cleared his throat.
“I am not his daughter.” Nessa’s words came clear and confident in the tongue of the foreigners. “King Engus is my uncle. I think you know this already. And I am not promised, nor will I ever be. I am a priestess of the Folk, and sworn to a life of solitude in observance of the rituals. My future will be in my own hands, not those of some man hungry for power.” That last bit had been rather ill-advised; still, she felt a certain satisfaction for having said it.
“My goodness,” said Somerled, his smile widening to something that seemed for a fleeting moment quite genuine, and not at all part of the game he played. “Beautiful, untouchable, and clever as well. A voice like sweet music, and speaking in our own tongue. I’m impressed. I wish I had met you earlier. Sworn to a life of solitude, you say. That’s somewhat hard to believe.”
“It is true.” That would be the difficulty, she could see it: not the times when he twisted and manipulated things, not the times when he was openly unpleasant, but those rare moments when one wondered if there might be a different person here, hidden somewhere deep. For a man like Eyvind, that would be the hard part.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. Someone did tell me a little something about the female line, and the need for an heir, quite a desperate need in view of your people’s recent losses. You may find your uncle has something different in mind for you, I think, something a great deal more down to earth. That’s a pity. Such a rare creature should not be wasted.” He glanced at Brother Tadhg. “Tell the king I, too, have come with a gift: a very special gift. I doubt if he has ever seen its like before.”
Tadhg translated, stony-faced. As he spoke, one of Somerled’s warriors stepped forward with a roll of parchment, which he passed to his leader. It was fastened with a length of silken cord. Somerled’s fingers moved deftly, untying the knot. He unrolled the document on the table before the king. The corners curled up; Somerled reached across to hold them down, and Nessa saw, clear and straight on the flesh of the left forearm, the mark of the knife: the pledge of a lifetime’s loyalty. He was my dearest friend. A shudder of disgust ran through her body; she caught his eyes sharp on her face, as if he knew what she was thinking. Nessa looked quickly back at the map. For that was what it was: a map of the islands, drawn neat and precise with quill and colored inks, complete to the last line of cliffs, the last tiny rush-fringed lake, the last small clinging grove of prostrate trees. There was High Island, you could see the two great peaks, even the giant-hewn stone lay in its lonely vale. There was the southern coast of the Queen’s Isle, and Gartnait’s Isle, and Little Spear, and there the small oval of Holy Island, and a house marked with the sign of a cross.
“This is a fine piece of work,” Engus said slowly, tracing the coastline with his hand, “very fine. You have a skillful draftsman in your household, that is evident.” His fingers stopped; they rested against the northwest margin of the home island, where a little circle showed off shore, with a tiny thread of ink joining it to the coast. The map was meticulous in every detail: cliffs, bays, fissures. Moorings, barns, settlements, storehouses. Stone walls, fortifications, hiding places. “What is written here?” asked the king.
Somerled gave a slow smile. “Have you no men of learning here,” he asked softly, “who can read the truth for you?”
“It says Hrossey, my lord king,” Tadhg said, looking at Somerled. “That could be translated as Island of the Horse. This name is written across the whole of the northern part of this island; it encompasses the Whaleback, and your own farms, and also the lands you granted to Ulf’s people. It stretches as far south as the safe harbor, and to Silver Bay in the east. The great stone circle lies within this territory.”
“I thought the name apt,” said Somerled, unsmiling.
Engus rose slowly to his feet. “What is this?” he asked, and something in his voice made Nessa’s heart lurch. There was a jingling, scraping sound in the hall as every fighting man put a hand to his weapon.
“My terms for peace,” said Somerled smoothly. “You wanted a treaty, and that’s exactly what I’m offering you. You need lose no more men. I can be magnanimous. I understand you have barely enough folk left to survive. This chart shows how it will be when we reach agreement. These islands are small. There simply isn’t room for two leaders here.”
Nessa could no longer hold her silence. “This is—it is outrageous!” Her voice shook with fury. “It is an insult, a mockery which no true leader could suggest without deepest shame. You know what your brother wanted for the islands, for our own people and yours. How dare you bring this travesty of a bargain to the king? You disgust me!”
Somerled put his hands together; she thought he was on the verge of applauding her. “Well done,” he said, and he was not smiling now. “Such passion, such fire! We must ensure that is not wasted. And such command of the language, too. I cannot imagine where you have practiced, to become so fluent.” There was a question in his tone.
“She learned from me.” Brother Tadhg spoke evenly; his eyes carried another message. “And do not forget what I said before. There are those who will not accept lightly your veiled insults to this lady. Now I think you must explain clearly to King Engus what you intend by this. In plain words, and to the point. There are angry folk here, my lord; I hope this does not mean what the lady Nessa thinks.”
“Don’t try to play games with me, little priest,” Somerled said. “Stick to your job, will you, and stop meddling? Now, my lord, it’s only fair that I set this out clearly, as I’m bid. I see that. The fact is, I’m afraid your situation is very grave, King Engus. You saw the evidence of that at Ramsbeck. We have superior numbers of fighting men, greater skills on the field, more advanced weaponry. We have mapmakers. We have scholars. We have strategists. What do you have? A handful of would-be warriors with ill-made spears and a whole lot of anger. Perhaps I need to make something else plain to you. Ulf is gone; I am not my brother. As chieftain, I’ve my own way of conducting my affairs. And in my vision for Hrossey, there is no place for you.”
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White-faced, Tadhg rendered this speech for the king; he softened it somewhat, to Nessa’s great relief, for it seemed to her they were a hair’s breadth from a bloody explosion of violence.
“Leave my hall.” Engus did not shout, he did not thump the table in his anger. He spoke the words with quiet dignity. “Leave my hall, and leave my lands. I will hear no more.”
“I did say,” Somerled raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness, “I did say you need lose no men. Or women, or children. If you won’t listen, so be it.” He turned to go; the two Wolfskins closed in at his sides.
“Uncle,” Nessa said urgently, “you should hear him out. Whatever it is, perhaps it is better than a massacre.”
There was a silence.
“Very well,” Engus said heavily. “Tell us. In this grand plan of yours, where are the Folk? Where are we on these islands that have been our home since the time before memory?”
“Oh, you’d be gone.” Somerled’s tone was light. “You and your son. I’d be very foolish to let you stay on as a rallying point for the shreds of your tribe, and I don’t think I could send you off to these folk you call the Caitt, either. Distant relatives, aren’t they? There’s always the possibility you might bring back unwelcome visitors. You would, however, make excellent hostages. Rogaland would be a good choice: far enough away, and containing many folk with an interest in the opportunities this place can offer. Your people? You would take any fighting men with you into exile; we couldn’t have them here. The boys could make themselves useful on the land. The women would stay; their beds wouldn’t be cold long. You see, it’s a neat and simple solution, and not a drop of blood shed after today. Ulf would be proud of me.”
Engus’s face was like a carving in granite. “Your brother would turn in his grave if he could hear you today. He was a peacemaker. You are nothing but an opportunist upstart. Now get off my land and take your thugs with you. The sight of you turns my stomach.”
Tadhg rendered these words very precisely.
Somerled laughed. “Family habit, is it, cheap insults? Don’t worry, we’re going. I have no intention of being trapped here by the tide; I wouldn’t answer for what might happen then. Your son is straining on the leash like a hunting dog. Oh, and that reminds me. Whose is that fine hound I saw outside the hall? It looks uncannily like one of my brother’s pair, which went missing on the day of his funeral. Sure your people haven’t added theft to their catalogue of misdeeds?”
“The dog is mine.” Nessa spoke as firmly as she could, though she was shaking with fury.
“Really?” That little smile was flickering again. “I cannot argue with a lady. Keep him, by all means. Consider it a gift from an admirer. And of course, I had forgotten something.” He turned back to Engus. “My generosity in sparing your life and those of your followers is dependent on one further condition.”
Nessa felt the blood drain from her face.
“I have need of an heir, and I am as yet unwed,” Somerled said smoothly. “I’ve heard this young lady is not yet promised. I want her hand in marriage. That should please you; it befits her status as a royal princess. Indeed, it’s very neat. I rule the islands; the lady becomes a queen. In time, my son takes my place as leader here. And, just think, the little fellow is the rightful heir under your own rules of succession as well. A king of the Folk and Norse ruler of Hrossey, all in one. Ingenious, though I say it myself.”
Nessa stared, unable to speak her revulsion. Somerled was most certainly a quick thinker: a formidable opponent. Perhaps this had been part of the plan all along, and his words to her mere playacting. Tadhg’s hands were balled into angry fists. His translation of Somerled’s speech was a masterpiece of tactful rewording. But he could not disguise the message.
“You misjudge me badly,” Engus said quietly, casting a stern glance around his restless warriors. “My niece would not give such a proposal even a moment’s consideration, and nor would a single one of our folk. This land has been in our custody since the time of the oldest ancestors. We will perish to the last man rather than sacrifice it. If you have chosen not to heed my warnings, let it be on your own head. Make war against us if you will. March through the sacred places, set your boots on the bones of memory. We’ll lay down our lives for the islands, every one of us. You are nothing, Somerled. You are a rat with ambitions, a runt who strives and strives to be his brother’s equal, knowing he can never come close. You think the lady Nessa would ever stoop to ally herself with such scum? You think I would condone that? I am king here, and these islands are my sacred trust. Now get yourself and your butchers off my lands, and never set foot on the Whaleback again.”
“My lord says he scorns your offer. He will fight to the death sooner than accept,” said Brother Tadhg. “And he asks that you leave now.”
“That much I worked out for myself,” said Somerled, “and a little more besides, for I too have a talent for languages. Please say to King Engus that I find his precipitate decision unfortunate, and that, being the thoughtful fellow that I am, I plan to give him time. Limited time. Winter is less than ideal for major battles; the weather’s so unreliable. Please tell the king I will hold off until we feel that first hint of spring warmth in the air; he’ll know when. I’ll send a messenger for an answer then. Goodbye, Nessa. I look forward to meeting you again, and getting to know you much better.”
Nessa looked him straight in the eye, keeping her voice level at some cost.
“Most unlikely, I should think,” she said. “Of course, you will not accept my uncle’s gift now. I’m sure you can see that would be entirely inappropriate.”
Somerled gave a wintry smile; the look in his eyes disturbed her deeply. “Put the spoons back, Erlend,” he said. “As for our own gift, your uncle may keep that, Nessa. Let it not be said that Somerled of Hrossey was a petty man. This map, I think, will serve as a reminder of the likely future if he remains obstinate on this issue. That would be foolish. Very foolish.”
“We have no more to say to you.” Engus’s voice was that of a king. “Leave this hall, and leave this island. We shall not meet again, save on the field of war.”
“I wish you could understand me, Mother,” Nessa whispered, pulling her bone needle through the hem of the skirt she was mending, and fastening off the thread. They were sitting outside, the two of them together on a stone bench, for it was one of those winter days when the sun decides to show himself for all the chill, in order to remind folk that he has not quite forgotten them. Nessa ran the cloth through her fingers, searching for the other place where the garment was worn to holes. There it was; a thorough darning would be needed if she were to get more wear out of this. Once, Mother would have taken the work from her hands with a smile, and done it herself, reminding Nessa that she was a priestess. Not now. Mother sat with hands in lap, eyes watery, mouth slightly open. She did not seem to look or listen anymore, though sometimes she spoke: words not even Nessa could interpret. It was hard to see your own mother as a kind of idiot, a madwoman. It was impossible to believe that not two seasons had passed since the time before the sickness, the time when Nessa’s sisters had giggled gossip and plaited her hair, and her mother had been so strong, so loving, the sort of mother you could tell all your secrets to.
“I wish I could ask your advice,” Nessa went on. “What if you know someone has done a bad thing, a cruel thing, and yet your heart tells you that he is a fine, good man? Do you think it makes a difference, if someone does ill, believing it is right? Can his misdeeds be forgiven if they are done in ignorance?”
Mother gave a little cough and muttered something. Perhaps she said, Water. Nessa put down her sewing and fetched a cup. Mother’s features were quite vacant; she made no attempt to take it. Nessa held the cup to her mother’s lips and waited for her to sip. It was like tending to a dying child, futile and heartbreaking.
“Mother? I wonder if you can hear me, somewhere deep down. What do you think? Am I being really foolish? How can a good, ki
nd man stay loyal to a heartless tyrant? Why is it the signs tell me I am right, when it seems so wrong to care like this? I ran away, I turned my back on a friend. I’ve never done that before. Mother, please talk to me. Oh, please. All I want is a word, just one little word; just a hint in your eyes that you are there somewhere. I’m so lonely here now.” Stop this, Nessa, she told herself as tears threatened to spill. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. What about Mother, how hard is this for her? What about Eyvind, whom you abandoned? What about poor Rona? If you want answers, find them yourself.
She glanced down the slope of the Whaleback to the eastern sward, where Kinart and the other men were taking advantage of the fine weather to practice swordplay. Thrust, block, duck, turn, thrust again. To her untutored eyes, it looked quite expert. She imagined Eyvind there among them. He would be taller and broader by far than the biggest of Engus’s men, and probably a good deal more skilled. Kinart was holding his sword as if he fought demons; he was consumed with anger. They all were. When the time came at last for them to face Somerled’s men, they would see nothing but the broken bodies of Ramsbeck, the burned-out remains of Ara’s cottage. They would charge into the fray with that before their eyes. Their fury would make them blind, and Somerled’s men would cut them down like ripe grain. Her uncle would be banished, her kin enslaved. A tyrant would rule the Light Isles, and she herself would be…would be…She shuddered, unable to envisage a future in which she lay by that man’s side. And yet, there was a choice in it. Agree to marry Somerled and bear his son, and she could save the Folk from annihilation. Wed Somerled, and she would be disobeying the wisdom of the ancestors, the knowledge that ran deep in the blood. A dark choice. An impossible choice.
Kinart and Ferach were locked in close combat now; their fierce dedication to rehearsing the dances of war was driving them hard. The memory of Ramsbeck tormented them like a bloody goad. Eyvind, too, had seen his friends slain: Hakon, who had been a Wolfskin, and those Hakon had cherished. He had thought her own folk responsible. Was it the same for Eyvind, as he urged his warriors to the attack at Ramsbeck, as he sent his axe through the air in a glittering dance of death? Had he felt the same rage? She watched as Kinart put aside his sword and began to rehearse spear thrusts, eyes savage, mouth tight. Perhaps there was not such a difference between them. Perhaps it only had to do with what you believed in.