As much as I hated to praise Vintel for anything, I answered honestly, "I believe so."
"Why?"
"When she walked alone into the northerners' camp, I was so proud of her courage that I would have followed her into battle without a second thought."
Maara nodded. "Vintel is powerful. Her warriors trust her power. They understand it. Her power comes from her hatred of the enemy and from her love of war. That's why it will never mislead her."
Something uncomfortable prickled at the back of my mind.
"Vintel will never make the mistake of feeling pity or compassion for her enemies," Maara said. "Deciding who is her enemy and who is not will never give her a moment's pause. To Vintel, the stranger is always the enemy. She will never doubt herself, and so she will never hesitate to act."
Now I thought I understood what she was getting at.
"Are you afraid I will?"
"I know you will."
"Yesterday I didn't hesitate."
Maara brushed my words aside. "Your power is nothing like Vintel's. Her desire is to match herself against the power of her enemies. Her power comes from that desire and from her determination to prevail. Your power comes from something very different."
I was a little relieved that she thought I had a power of my own, but the suspicion that she found me wanting in some way unsettled me.
"Tell me," she said. "If you had been our war leader yesterday, what would you have done when the scouts told us about the northerners' camp? Would you have led your warriors against them?"
"I don't know," I said. "I suppose so."
"So you think Vintel did the right thing when she decided to attack them?"
It had never occurred to me to question Vintel's decision. "What else could we have done?"
"We could have done nothing. It was clear that they had laid a trap for us, but we didn't have to fall into it."
"We didn't fall into it," I said.
"Didn't we?"
Then I remembered, and a chill ran down my spine. Though in the end we put the northerners to rout, they had very nearly routed us.
"Vintel took a risk," she said. "It may have been too great a risk. But for you and Taia, I believe the day would have gone against us."
"Then Vintel made a mistake?"
Maara shrugged. "The day didn't go against us, did it? And there's something else to consider. What if Vintel had decided against the attack? Could she have kept control of her warriors once they knew of the northerners' arrogant display of Breda's shield?"
I hadn't thought of that. I doubted that even Vintel could have held her warriors back from answering such a provocation. Surely it was better for them to fight together under Vintel's leadership than as an angry rabble.
"Then Vintel did the right thing after all?"
"Whether by cleverness or luck," she said, "Vintel led her warriors to victory."
I nodded, but something in her voice made me doubt that she was agreeing with me. I gave up trying to decide if Vintel had been right or wrong.
"Is all now well?" she asked me.
"Sparrow said the northerners will go home. She said their hearts are defeated. If she's right, then all is well."
"I believe she is right," Maara said. "The northerners will go home. But of course that's not the end of it."
"It's not?"
"What about next year?"
"Next year we'll fight with them again. Next year it will be the same as it is every year."
"Will it?" said Maara. "The northerners have gone home empty-handed and with hearts filled with grief. All winter, along with their empty bellies they will nurse their grievances, and in the spring, not only their hunger, but their hatred will drive them when they make war on us again."
Her words frightened me. For all our speculation about what we could have done differently, what had happened seemed inevitable. Until then I had believed that everything had happened for the best. Now I began to doubt.
"What should we have done?" I asked her.
A gust of wind stirred the branches of the trees. I looked up and caught a glimpse of the night sky, splendid with stars, through the canopy of leaves over our heads. When I looked at Maara again, I saw that she wasn't going to answer me, not because she wanted me to find the answer for myself, but because she didn't know the answer. I felt the earth shift under me, leaving me off balance.
"I sometimes think I'm not the best teacher for you," she whispered. "I ought to be teaching you to be more like Vintel."
"I don't want to be like Vintel."
"I've known only one other person who had the kind of power I feel in you," she said. "She was very old, a great leader in her time, not a war leader, but a woman of great wisdom. I wish you had someone like her to teach you, because yours will be a difficult power to master, and if you fail to master it, it will be a dangerous power."
Another gust of wind rattled the leaves overhead, and a scattering of rain pattered down around us. I shivered, chilled not by wind or rain, but by fear awakened by her doubts. It took me a few moments to recover my courage and to remember how I had felt when I asked her to apprentice me. I had been so certain of her then, that she should be my teacher, that she already was my teacher, and the power of the oak grove had agreed with me.
"When I chose you, I chose well," I said.
She said nothing.
Once my fear had subsided a little, I began to resent her for having caused it.
"You frightened me," I said.
"Good." She turned suddenly to face me and gripped my shoulder hard and shook it. "You ought to be afraid."
At first her fierceness startled me. Then I saw her fear.
That night I lay awake for a long time. A hard wind was blowing, sending leaves down upon us in showers until we were all but covered by them. Before morning the rain would come.
Maara's sleep was restless. As she always did, she lay with her back to me, and I snuggled against her for both warmth and comfort. Once or twice I drifted into a half-sleep in which it seemed that Maara and I were having a conversation that went round and round in circles, never making sense and never reaching a conclusion.
At last I slept.
I fell into a dark dream. I was lost, alone in a wood. A raw wind drove the rain through my cloak until I shivered with cold. I looked for shelter, but there was none. Then my warrior stood before me. She lifted a corner of my cloak, and as if she had lifted a veil from a lamp, a light shone out from under it. I felt its warmth envelop me.
When I woke, I found I was wet through.
"We might as well go home," Maara said when she saw I was awake.
"Now?"
"Would you rather lie here in the rain? We can be home in a few hours."
"Let's go," I said.
As cold as I was, my dream had left a warm glow around my heart.
40. Spoils of War
We arrived at Merin's house not long after sunrise. If it hadn't been raining, I would have suggested that we bathe in the river. We were both filthy with the dirt of camp life, our hair too tangled even to be finger-combed. Maara's clothes were bloody from the battle. So were mine, from nursing the wounded. Both of us still had on our faces traces of the blood of dead men, but I had begun to shiver, and all I wanted was a bath in warm water, dry clothing, and a seat by the fire.
Before we went inside the earthworks, Maara stopped.
"We will enter Merin's house through the front door," she said. "The household will be at breakfast. Go directly to the Lady and offer her the northerner's shield."
"What if she's not there?"
"Then find her."
"What shall I say?"
"You'll know what to say."
I followed her through the maze of earthworks and through the yard, until we stood before the door of Merin's house. Maara stepped back and gestured to me to go ahead. The heavy door was closed against the rain. I had to throw my whole weight against it before it yielded and swung open.
The Lady was still at table, and it seemed that all the women of the council were breakfasting with her. I almost asked Maara if I might wait a while before I approached her, but she gave me a gentle push in the direction of the high table. I had to walk from one end of the great hall to the other. Heads turned as I passed. The shield weighed heavy on my shoulder. I could hardly wait to put it down.
Before I was halfway across the hall, the Lady saw me. Our eyes met, and she never took her eyes from me as I approached her. When I stood before her, I set the shield down in front of me and turned it so that she could see the design painted on its face.
Before I could think of anything to say, the Lady asked me, "What is this?"
"Your enemy's shield," I said.
She looked displeased. "If your warrior wished to present me with this gift, why didn't she offer it herself?"
"It's not her gift," I said.
"Then whose gift is it?"
"Mine."
A woman cried out. It sounded like the cry of a woman who sees her child in danger, and that's exactly what it was. It was the voice of the woman seated at the Lady's right hand. It took me a moment to recognize my mother.
In spite of my bedraggled appearance, my mother recognized her child. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again when Merin put a hand on her arm.
"This is your gift?" the Lady said.
I nodded.
"How did you come by it?"
Before I could answer her, my warrior spoke. She was standing right behind me.
"Tamras offers you the spoils of war," she said.
The Lady's eyes went from my face to hers. "Have you any idea what you've done?"
I started to protest, but Maara spoke first.
"I think you had better listen to what we have to say before you lay blame," she said.
In the silence that followed I heard my own heartbeat. Then there was a commotion at the far end of the table. Suddenly, all by herself, Namet created a bustle of activity. She got up from her seat, hurried over to me, and swept me away, calling to one of the servants to attend to me. Together she and a very strong, very stout kitchen servant hustled me toward the warmth of the kitchen.
When my mother would have followed, Namet let go of me and took her arm. She drew it through her own and led her back into the great hall.
"First let's get her warm and dry," I heard Namet say as I was led away. "Time enough later for a nice long talk."
"Maara did the right thing," said Namet, "although her timing could have been better."
"Is my mother angry?" I asked her.
"No, not angry. Worried. In a little while we'll all sit down together and try to put her mind at rest. Are you tired? Would you like to sleep a little?"
"I want to see my mother," I said.
We were in Namet's room, where I had been taken after the servant gave me a thorough bath. I was sitting up on the foot of Namet's bed wearing nothing but a blanket. Maara had gone to find some clean clothes for me.
Someone pulled aside the curtain covering the doorway. I looked up, expecting to see Maara, but it was my mother who came into the room.
"I'd like to greet my child, Mother," she said to Namet.
Namet sighed. "And I must go and give my child a bath."
When we were alone, my mother sat down beside me. "Are you too big now for a hug?"
I shook my head and fell into her arms. Nothing could have pleased her more.
"Have you missed me?" she asked.
I nodded. Seeing her was like finding a part of myself that I had misplaced without noticing its absence until I discovered it again.
"I've missed you so much," she said. "I came with the wool wagons. I couldn't wait until springtime to see you."
"How long can you stay?"
"Not long. We would have left today if the weather had been better. We'll be on our way once the roads are dry enough for the wagons."
It had been worth my getting soaked if the rain had kept my mother in Merin's house until I arrived.
"It's a good thing we came home then," I said.
My mother frowned. "Why did your warrior bring you home? None of the others have come home yet. Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," I said. "See?"
I opened the blanket so she could see for herself that I was unscathed.
"Then it must have something to do with the shield you brought to Merin."
It was not a question, but I knew she was waiting for me to explain to her why we had left Vintel's band and come home alone. It was such a long story, I hardly knew where to begin.
Just then Maara appeared in the doorway with my clean clothes. She handed them to me, nodded to my mother, and left.
"I see you insisted on making your own choice," my mother said.
"I made the right choice," I told her, ready to defend it.
But my mother was smiling. "Merin has let me know her feelings about your apprenticeship. I wondered why she was so surprised that you insisted on having your own way, but of course she doesn't know you as I do."
"Then you don't disapprove?"
"I don't know her yet," my mother said. "It will take a while for me to make up my mind whether I disapprove of her or not."
"What did the Lady say?"
"Merin has told me a great deal," she said, "but I want to hear your side of the story before we speak of that."
"There's so much to tell."
"And plenty of time later to tell it. Let's get you dressed."
For the first time in years, my mother helped to dress me. I was surprised to find I didn't mind at all. We talked about ordinary things. My mother told me what had been happening at home, and I told her a bit about what life was like for me in Merin's house. Neither of us was ready to talk about the important things. How does a child tell her mother that she has gone into battle and killed someone?
We heard footsteps in the hallway, and Namet's voice said, "Get yourself dressed while I find a comb."
Then Namet came into the room, a broad grin on her face.
"She's as bad as Eramet ever was," she chuckled. "Fussed at everything. Now she thinks she's not going to let me comb her hair."
Namet opened the chest by her bed and rummaged through it until she found a comb. Still grinning, she went next door to Maara's room. Soon I heard their voices in amiable argument.
I was surprised that Maara had given Namet so much trouble. When I bathed her, she never fussed at all.
By the time our mothers had made us presentable, it was time for the midday meal. I was desperately hungry, and the smell of stew drifting up from the kitchen had my stomach grumbling. We all went down together to the great hall. The northerner's shield was leaning against a post near Merin's chair. No one had moved it from where Namet set it down when she whisked me away. The four of us sat at a table by ourselves. The Lady didn't show herself.
"She'll send for us sometime this afternoon, I imagine," said Namet.
"All of us?" I asked her.
She nodded. "All of us. I intend to speak for Maara. That was very nearly a disaster this morning."
"It was?"
Maara looked annoyed but said nothing.
"My darling child as good as commanded the Lady to hold her tongue."
"I wouldn't have," said Maara, "if she hadn't accused me."
"Hush," said Namet.
Maara hushed.
The four of us spent the afternoon sitting together by the fire. Although the rain had stopped, it threatened to start up again at any moment. A cold wind was blowing, and the sky was dark. I hoped the rain would go on for days. I was in no hurry to bid my mother good-bye again.
Every once in a while someone would join us for a few minutes, but mostly the folk of Merin's house left us to ourselves. No one asked us what was happening on the frontier. Namet said that the Lady should hear our news before we spoke with the others.
Maara let me tell the story of our adventures. When I came to the part
about Maara going hunting, my mother asked her, "How did you happen to have a bow with you?"
"She took my bow," I said.
"Your bow?"
"My warrior has been teaching me the bow."
"I see."
I watched her think over which question to ask me next.
"Why did you take your weapon with you?" she said at last.
"Vintel told me to bring it."
"Vintel did?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"For hunting game," said Maara. "Or so she said."
My mother turned to her. "You didn't believe her?"
Maara shook her head. "It was her way of trying to hold Tamras up to ridicule. She spoke of the bow as if it were a child's weapon, good only for hunting birds." Then she grinned. "She'll not make that mistake again."
My mother was troubled. "Why should Vintel wish to hold my daughter up to ridicule?" She turned to me. "Have you made an enemy already?"
"I'm Vintel's enemy, not Tamras," said Maara. "Vintel would strike at me any way she can, and sometimes Tamras has had to bear the brunt of her malice."
"That's not entirely true," I protested. "Vintel holds a grudge against me as well. She would have apprenticed me if I had been willing, but I refused her."
"So Merin told me," my mother said. "Why did you disregard her wishes?"
"My heart was set on someone else."
I had the satisfaction of seeing Maara's ears turn red.
"I knew Vintel when she was a child," my mother said, "and I admired her even then. She was a natural leader and clever about many things."
"And so she is still," said Namet. "Still a leader, and clever too, but not yet wise. She is blind to things she ought to pay attention to."
I was glad Namet had spoken. I had seen my mother glance at Maara with a question in her eyes.
"Perhaps this is the time to tell your mother about the cause of your quarrel with Vintel," I suggested to Maara.
Maara started to reply, but Namet spoke first. "I imagine there's little she can tell me that I don't already know."
Maara looked at her, surprised.
"She would have left you for dead, wouldn't she?"
Maara nodded. "How did you know about that?"
"I've had my suspicions for some time that there was more to the story of your wounding than we learned from Vintel." Namet's voice was soft. Only her eyes revealed her anger. "The night before you and Tamras left with Vintel's band, Laris confirmed my suspicions. She came to speak to me, hoping that I could do something to protect you, because she feared Vintel meant you harm. When I asked her why, she told me that once before, Vintel had failed to protect you as she should have."