Dreamer's Pool by Juliet Marillier
‘By successor you mean a student, not a son or daughter, I imagine,’ said Nuala. ‘Can wise women marry?’
Seems my attempt had failed. ‘We usually don’t. Best if our whole energy is devoted to our craft. Besides, the work of a healer requires her to be often away from home, and calls for our help can come at any time of the day or night. Babies are born in their own time; old folk often pass away at dawn. Accidents happen when they happen. We must be able to drop everything and go.’
‘Not easy for a mother, then.’
‘As you say.’
‘But aren’t you and Grim . . . ?’ This was Mhairi.
I turned a level gaze on her. ‘Aren’t we what?’ I asked coolly, taking a certain pleasure in her surprise. She had expected me to blush, perhaps, and mumble an awkward response.
‘Perhaps I am wrong,’ Mhairi said, ‘but as you both live in the cottage, and as you’ve moved in here together, I assumed . . .’
I lifted my brows in query and waited for her to finish.
‘Mhairi,’ murmured Deirdre, frowning.
‘Assumptions can be dangerous,’ put in Lady Sochla, looking up from her handiwork. ‘They can lead us down pathways we’d be better to avoid. I’m sure Mistress Blackthorn has better things to do than answer a lot of personal questions.’
‘Blackthorn is a stranger among us, Aunt.’ Flidais’s tone was sweet. ‘We know little about her. Mhairi wants to fill in the gaps, that is all.’
Lady Sochla had provided me with time to gather my wits. ‘Why don’t we do it this way?’ I asked. ‘I answer your question, and then you answer one for me.’
‘I?’ Lady Flidais sounded shocked; clearly she thought this most inappropriate. Or she was afraid.
‘You, my lady, or Mhairi, whichever wishes to reply.’
‘Go on, then,’ said Mhairi.
‘Very well. The answer is, Grim and I met on the road here. We are travelling companions.’
‘But you’re not travelling now.’
‘Is that another question?’
The whole chamber had gone silent.
‘If I answer two,’ I went on, ‘then you must answer two as well.’
Mhairi tossed her head. ‘This is silly.’
‘It sounds perfectly fair to me,’ said Lady Sochla. ‘I would most certainly count that as a second question.’
‘I have stayed in Winterfalls because there’s a need for my services here,’ I said. ‘It helped that there was also a place to live: the old cottage. Grim stayed on to help make the cottage habitable. It turned out there was work for him in the district as well. There’s your answer, and now it’s my turn to ask. Mhairi, what does the work of a lady’s personal attendant involve? See, I am only asking you the same question you asked me. Absolutely fair.’
‘Surely you can guess the answer.’
‘Maybe so. But it’s for you to tell me.’
‘I look after Lady Flidais’s clothing. I help her dress and bathe. I’m on hand whenever she needs me.’
‘Mhairi took over all of Ciar’s duties,’ said Nuala. ‘She’s with Lady Flidais night and day.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, giving her a smile. ‘My second question is for Lady Flidais. My lady, I have noticed you are often indisposed with headaches. I am expert in dealing with such maladies. It is very likely I could help you. But your personal attendant has not sought me out on your behalf. I will not risk offending anyone by asking why not. I will simply say that I am well qualified to help, and that my services are at your disposal if you wish to use them. I believe I could cure the headaches quite quickly, allowing you to live your life to the full, as before. Would you allow me to try?’
Lady Flidais turned her wide blue gaze on me. ‘I have no faith in old wives’ remedies,’ she said.
There were a few gasps around the chamber – the barb in this comment was hardly subtle. Lady Sochla opened her mouth, then closed it again. She might have reprimanded one of the waiting women if she’d spoken with such discourtesy, but she would not do so to the lady of the house. And, hard as it was to believe, Flidais was that lady.
I held my tongue. In this girl’s opinion I was a crone. I could have protested. I could have told her that despite appearances, I was still of child-bearing years. I could have said that under the worn-out, beaten-down exterior, the woman I might have been still lingered. An old wife would not have cared about Mathuin’s crimes. An old wife could not have contained such a burning will for justice. But what was the point? Flidais and her kind would care nothing for that. She would still see me as the shrivelled, desperate hag of Branoc’s unsavoury speech. If I argued the point, I’d be letting her know that her comment had struck home. And while I might be physically capable of it, I had no intention of ever lying with a man or bearing a child again. There was only so much heartbreak a person could carry.
‘That is your choice, of course, my lady.’ With some difficulty I kept my tone coolly courteous. ‘If you change your mind, please let me know. It seems I will be staying here until the cottage is fully rebuilt, and since Brid has so kindly allowed me to set up my stillroom near the kitchen, it’s now easy for anyone in the household to consult me. It would be sad if you were still afflicted in this way at the time of your hand-fasting.’
‘It’s not for you to express an opinion on the matter.’ Flidais rose abruptly to her feet; Mhairi caught the embroidery as it fell from her lap. ‘Tend to the grooms and kitchen folk and gardeners, of course, if they want you. As for the headaches, I need no remedy. They will pass.’
For a moment, looking at her, I wondered if she could possibly be with child. Some women did suffer headaches in the early stages; could that be the cause? But no. A high-born lady, young, unwed and always surrounded by serving women – it could hardly be so. I could not for the life of me imagine Prince Oran, that poetic dreamer, anticipating his wedding night. And if Flidais had been despatched from home already pregnant, which would have provided the prince with the perfect justification for cancelling his wedding, she would by now have been showing.
‘If my offer of help offended you in some way, Lady Flidais, I am sorry.’ The words stuck in my craw, but I got them out. There was indeed something very odd going on here. Why would she refuse the only help on offer? Maybe, many years ago, her old nurse had been poisoned by a wise woman’s remedy gone wrong. I looked around the chamber, where most of the women were again industriously bent over their work, no doubt wishing the awkward conversation was over. ‘Of course, anyone in the household is welcome to consult me if they wish, or not to do so. I do not pretend to have the answer to every question, or to be able to effect a complete cure for every ailment. But folk will tell you I do a good enough job.’
‘That is indeed so,’ said Fíona, after a nervous glance at Lady Flidais. ‘I’ve heard nothing but praise for your efforts in the district, Mistress Blackthorn. Folk are very pleased you’ve come to settle at Winterfalls.’
‘Thank you. That is most kind. And while we’re speaking of efforts, I have a visit to make this morning to an old man with a wheezy chest. So I will excuse myself, Lady Sochla, Lady Flidais.’ I capped my ink pot, wiped my pen, closed my book. As I left the chamber, I thought that if matters progressed at this snail-like pace, I had no chance at all of solving the prince’s mystery before he was wed. Maybe Grim was having better luck.
28
~GRIM~
Isn’t so bad when I can put in a good day’s work on the house. Easier to get through supper and the time after. I can think, job well done, things moving along all right. Doesn’t help much with the nights. One thing I know, Prince Oran won’t be wanting me in his men’s quarters babbling away half the night and keeping them all awake.
Season doesn’t help. Rain, wind, sometimes snow. Have to grab the bits in between, when it’s dryish. Need to work in a hurry. Not the way I like doing things. Pl
There’s sleeping quarters with pallets against the walls, and there’s another place with a long table and benches, where they go after supper. Guards clean their weapons, fletch arrows, sharpen knives and so on. The fellows from the house talk, sit around, drink ale. Grooms and farmhands have got their own quarters out near the barn. Sometimes they drop in for a drink with this lot. Don’t see much of Donagan. He’ll come and sit with us for a bit, then he’s off to bed. Odd that he sleeps in here. Would’ve thought he’d have a bedchamber of his own. Not something I can ask about.
First few days I’m trying to sort them all out. Who knew Lady Flidais before she came here, who didn’t. Who’s likely to talk to me and who isn’t. It’s not like the village in here, not at all. Folk that belong in the house are friendly enough. Grooms aren’t bad either. But the men-at-arms . . . something wrong there, can’t quite put my finger on it. Even when they’re all drinking and laughing, nobody’s at ease.
Doesn’t help that I’m awake all night. Wishing I’d never agreed to this, knowing I have to do it, for Blackthorn. Be easier if there was a light in the sleeping quarters, a lamp that could burn till dawn. But no. Aedan comes around, same time every night, and puts the lamps out, then goes off with his candle. He’s married, got private quarters. And once he’s left, it’s pitch dark.
First few nights I get through all right. But each night it’s harder. Comes a time when it’s too much. I hold the blanket over my mouth and whisper the words into it. I make myself hold still though I’ve got aches and pains all over. But the whisper’s building up, getting louder and louder. I have to move. I have to get outside before it grows into a scream. I stand up, quiet as I can, and head for the door. Or where I guess the door is. Blunder into one or two things on the way. Fellows grumble and swear. I manage to slip the bolt and go out into the yard, and it’s not black dark anymore. There are lights by the main entry.
It’s raining. I’ll soon be soaked through. But I’m not going back in there, not before dawn. I find a spot behind some barrels and hunker down. Should’ve brought a blanket. Though that would get wet soon enough. I put my head on my knees and start the words again. No Slammer here, no prison walls. But I still need the words. Seems like I’ve brought Mathuin’s lockup all the way to Winterfalls with me, in my head. Not only that, the old stuff, the hidden-away stuff, is still in there. Just waiting for the dark. And no Blackthorn to keep me brave.
Didn’t want to disturb anyone, hoped they’d drop off again once I was out. But not long after I’ve settled in my damp corner, someone comes out after me. He’s got a cloak on with the hood up. Comes over and squats down beside me.
‘Grim?’
Donagan. A pox on it. Sure to report to the prince in the morning, tell him I’m too crazy to be allowed here. I’ve ruined Blackthorn’s mission already.
‘Grim? Are you ill?’
‘Can’t sleep, that’s all. Go back in, no need for you to get wet.’
‘You’re soaked through. Come with me, let’s find you some dry clothes –’
‘I said leave it!’ This bursts out of me.
He goes quiet. But he doesn’t get up and head off. The rain keeps on falling, and the two of us get wetter.
‘Didn’t mean to snap,’ I say after a bit. ‘Can’t sleep in there. Don’t want to keep the rest of them awake. Best out here.’
‘Soaked through and shivering? Nonsense. If you’re worried about waking the men up, we can go in through the kitchen. The night guard will open up for us.’
I want to explain, but I can’t. The thing’s too big, too dark, and in his eyes too stupid. I shake my head. Wish I could shake all the bad stuff out and have it gone forever.
Donagan sits down on the ground next to me with his back against the wall. ‘Sleepless nights, that’s not so good,’ he says. ‘Is something troubling you? Or is it only the need to share the quarters with so many others?’
I wish he would go away and leave me alone. But I want him to stay, too. Since he came out the bad stuff’s faded a bit and I don’t need to keep saying the words. ‘Sleep better in our own place,’ I say. ‘Be all right when we can move back in.’
‘Didn’t Prince Oran offer you and Blackthorn the empty cottage here? That would give you some privacy.’
‘No!’ I say, too sharply by half. ‘That is, he did, but we said no. Need to be here, with the others.’ Now I’ve said too much. A pox on night, and the dark things, and the way they mix up my head.
Donagan keeps quiet for a while. Then he says, ‘Why don’t the two of us go in and sit by the kitchen fire awhile? We could share some mead. You’re right, the fellows won’t appreciate being woken. If you want to sleep, you can roll up in a blanket on one of the benches there. If you want company, I’ll stay with you until morning. Brid’s usually in pretty early, and no doubt she’ll sweep the two of us out the door.’ And when I don’t say anything, because I’m wondering why he’d bother doing this, he goes on, ‘You’ve got a job to do, haven’t you? Spend the night out here, and you’ll be too sick to do it.’
I’m shocked. He knows about the spying job? The prince said he hadn’t told anyone.
‘Your house, I mean,’ Donagan says. ‘You want to be back in as soon as you can, don’t you?’
I let out my breath in a rush. ‘Fair point,’ I say. ‘But why should you miss your sleep?’
The torch light’s not the best, but I see the flash of Donagan’s teeth; he’s smiling. ‘Never mind that,’ he says, and I wonder if, after all, he does know the real reason we’re here. I wonder if he’s giving me a good excuse for bolting out of the sleeping quarters in the middle of the night. Because if he’s with me, the prince’s right-hand man and all, nobody’s going to ask awkward questions. Could be Prince Oran summons Donagan whenever he likes. Could be there was some reason he needed me to go with him. ‘Are you coming, or are you set on dying of cold?’ he says.
I don’t answer, but I get up, and we head for the kitchen. Fact is, the company will be welcome. Never thought, that day when I was thatching and Donagan came riding by our place with the prince, that I’d sitting up at night drinking mead with the fellow. And feeling like he’d saved me from something.
The fire’s warm, the mead’s good and the company suits me. Donagan’s not asking questions and nor am I. He finds me a blanket, I hang my wet shirt and trousers up to dry. Might look a bit odd if anyone walked in, but they don’t.
We sit there for a while, then I say, because I know I should, ‘You don’t have to wait up. You must need your sleep. Calls you pretty early, doesn’t he? Prince Oran, I mean.’
He smiles, and this time it’s a sad sort of smile. ‘I won’t sleep now. Don’t let it concern you. After the next council, I suppose I’ll have time to sleep all I want.’
No idea what the fellow’s talking about. ‘Mm-hm?’ I say. Then I remember that the prince is heading to Cahercorcan to be hand-fasted right after the next council. ‘Be busy, won’t you? Wedding and all?’ Wouldn’t that be the sort of time a nobleman needed his body servant most?
He waits so long I think he’s not going to answer. Then he says, quiet-like, ‘I won’t be there for the wedding. I’m planning to move on.’
From the way he speaks, I know he’s sad about this. Which makes two of them, him and the prince both. Sad old place. ‘That’s a change,’ I say. Hasn’t he been with Prince Oran since the two of them were lads? Where would a fellow like him go? Only done the one job all his life, and you wouldn’t think there’d be much call for body servants. But what would I know? ‘Got plans?’
Seems to me night time and firelight bring out things fol
They’ve had a falling-out, that’s plain as the eyes on his face. But it wasn’t Donagan the prince asked us to spy on. ‘Learned that early,’ I say. ‘Soon as you think everything’s going right, soon as you get content, something happens to take it all away.’
Donagan stares at me in the firelight. ‘That’s very bleak,’ he says.
I shrug. ‘Story of my life.’
‘You mean the cottage burning? That must have been a hard loss after all the work you put into it.’
‘Can’t say I was happy to see it go up. Though if Branoc hadn’t come back to do his dirty work, we wouldn’t have caught the bastard. And a house can be mended easy enough. There’s some things you can’t mend.’ And some things buried too deep to share, even in the quiet of night time by the fire.
‘Mm,’ murmurs Donagan. After a while he says, out of the blue, ‘Did he ask you to question me?’
That wakes me up quick smart. ‘What?’
‘Oran. Did he ask you to talk to me?’
Stick to the story. ‘Don’t know what you mean. We’re here, Blackthorn and me, because our house burned down and the prince was kind enough to offer us room. You know that.’
‘I know it’s the official story, yes.’
So he’s not being friendly after all. He’s done this because he’s suspicious. Gives me a bad feeling in my gut, one I should be used to by now. Could be disappointment. ‘What other story would there be?’ I ask.