The Legend of Lady Ilena Read online

  THE STORY MAKES ME WEEP. I TRY TO STOP THE TEARS that overflow and streak my cheeks.

  “Are you well, Ilena?” The chief’s wife lays a gentle hand on my arm. “Do you have ties to Dun Alyn?”

  “Yes. I have kin there,” I say. At least I think that’s true.

  The bard strums quietly as the hall continues to buzz with the news. At last he plays a loud chord to get attention and starts the familiar story of the first Saxons in the South and the alliances that gave them territory.

  I let my mind wander back to the story of Cara and Miquain. Moren must have arrived at Dun Alyn soon after the battle. Would the deaths have had special meaning to him?

  A movement in the center of the hall catches my eye. A man is walking between tables. There is something familiar about him. The set of his shoulders, perhaps. He turns, and I see a full black mustache and heavy brows. He looks like the traveler who rode into the Vale of Enfert the morning after Moren’s funeral. I peer through the haze in the hall, but I cannot see clearly enough to know if it is the same man.

  The music stops, and Perr rises to offer one last salute—to Arthur and his latest victory against the Saxons. Most remain standing after the toast and begin the bustle of leavetaking, gathering up dirks, bidding table-mates good evening, making a courteous comment to Perr or his wife.

  I move away from the head table to find Gola at my side. “Can I do anything for you, lady?”

  “Thank you, Gola. I would like to visit Durant. Can you show me where he is?”

  “Let me ask Elban.” She hurries away in search of Perr’s doorkeeper.

  “We’ve tucked him here in the men’s hall.” Elban leads me to a building behind the Great Hall. It is much like the women’s quarters, with a fire in the center and sleeping spaces partitioned off around the sides. Most doorskins are pulled aside to let heat into the cubicles. Elban points to a door along the wall to the left of the entry. Its entrance skin is closed.

  “Durant. Durant, are you there?” I call quietly, so as not to wake him if he sleeps.

  “Ilena. Pull the doorskin aside and come in. Forgive me for not getting up.”

  I jerk the large deer hide to one side and enter.

  Durant is propped against bedskins on a wide sleeping bench. His head is wrapped in a large bandage that covers his swollen eye. The window has been closed against the evening cold, and a fire is crackling in a three-legged brazier.

  His greeting is unexpectedly sharp. “Stand over there. By the fire.”

  I step obediently into the light cast by the flames.

  He turns his head in order to see me clearly with his good eye. “By the gods. No wonder!”

  I wait, not sure what reply to make to that.

  “Two visiting chiefs already. Asking about you. One for himself and another for his son.” He sounds more amused than irritated. “And do you wish marriage to an old man or a young?”

  “I do not wish marriage at all,” I say. “And why do you think I do?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it. The two who’ve come were in a hurry to be here before others. Now that I see you out of leather armor and helmet I know why.”

  I move away from the fire. Even in its dim glow, my red cheeks may give away my embarrassment. “This is the only gown I carry with me, and the jewelry seemed appropriate for a banquet.”

  He starts to laugh, then clutches his head. “Do not amuse me, Ilena. My head can’t stand it. Of course it’s appropriate. Did you have doubts?”

  “I’ve never been to a banquet before.”

  He is silent for a time. I can see the questions he wants to ask. Instead, he says, “Someday I hope you’ll tell me about yourself.”

  My body trembles for a moment, much as it did when he held my arm in the clearing last night. I manage to sound calm. “There is little to tell.”

  “Those who came asking your status wanted your lineage. I told them they would have to talk with you.”

  I take a deep breath. It is one thing to play at being a noblewoman with strangers. I want Durant to know the truth. “I do not know my lineage.”

  He considers this in silence for a few minutes. Then he asks, “Where were you born? There is no fortress that I’ve heard of in the Vale of Enfert.”

  “I don’t know. I was only a few days old when my parents carried me into the Vale of Enfert.”

  “Have you visited in the East before?”

  “No. This is the first time I’ve been in a fortress or a great hall or a house with separate rooms.” It does not seem so difficult to speak with Durant about this.

  His voice is soft. “We will go to Dun Alyn as soon as I can travel.”

  “I will leave tomorrow,” I say. “You must wait for word from Arthur, and his orders may not let you travel to the East.”

  He sighs. “That is true. My first allegiance is to my chief and whatever task he assigns me.”

  “I wish to go on at once. Snow is expected, and the high passes fill quickly.”

  “I will ask Chief Perr to send someone with you.”

  “That is not necessary.”

  “Do you know the route through the mountains?”

  I admit that I do not.

  “The road is said to be easy to follow once you are over the last pass. Perr should be able to send someone that far with you.”

  “I would welcome help.” The trip had seemed simple enough at first. I planned to keep moving east on the main trails and hoped to find a farm or village if I needed to ask directions. It would be a great help to have a guide lead me through the mountains and point out the trail the rest of the way.

  There are voices outside, in the central portion of the house. The men who have come in are talking about Dun Alyn. I step close to the doorskin to hear better.

  “And Belert can’t stay in charge anyway.”

  “Who is next with Miquain gone?”

  “Ogern has a granddaughter.”

  “Bad luck, that.”

  Durant asks, “What are they saying?”

  I repeat what I’ve just heard and then tell him what the bard sang about the ladies of Dun Alyn. I can hear the men settling in beside the central fire. It is time for me to return to the women’s quarters, but I hesitate for a moment. It is pleasant here with Durant, and I realize I’m not eager to leave alone in the morning.

  “I will come back before I ride out tomorrow.” I reach for the doorskin.

  “Ilena.” His voice sounds like Moren’s when he wanted to order me to do something but knew I would rebel. “I wish you would wait here for me. Arthur may send word that I should go to Dun Alyn. Even if he does not, I will go with you if I can.”

  I hold the edge of the deerskin and rub my thumb over the sleek fur while I think. It is warm here, with good food and a soft bed. A companion on the trail would be wonderful. But I remember Moren repeating over and over, “Plan carefully. Then don’t let anything lead you astray.”

  I force myself to speak firmly. “That is two ifs, Durant. One that you would be free to go and the other that snow will hold off to allow travel.”

  “You would be safer.”

  “And I might be trapped here as a guest all winter.”

  “Well, there are those who would welcome your company.”

  I laugh. “That is ridiculous. I’m not looking for a husband.”

  I drop the doorskin behind me and hurry across the center of the house. The conversation by the fire stops as I walk past and resumes as I go through the outer door.

  I sleep well, and when I awaken, I can see morning light around the shutters. I’d like to slip out quickly to Rol and be on my way, but leaving without goodbyes to my hosts would be rude. And I want to see Durant again.

  I open the shutters and look out to brisk sunshine. The building across a patch of courtyard must be a stable. I hear a horse and the jingle of harness. A man in a checked cloak rides a tall black horse across the far end of the courtyard. I lean out the window, but he is gone from my
sight almost at once.

  The doorskin moves behind me, and I hear Gola’s cheerful voice. “Good morning, lady. Chief Perr and his wife ask that you join them, and Durant sends word that he waits for you.”

  “Am I the last one abed in the fortress?” It must have been the ale or two days of travel. I remember nothing after slipping in as quietly as possible last night and removing my dress and jewelry.

  “Not quite. Some still sleep, but most have risen early and gone on a hunt.” This morning she is dressed in leather trousers and a short tunic. Her hair is braided into a tight plait down her back.

  I yawn and stretch. “I hoped for an early start myself, but I have missed it.”

  “Perr has asked us to ride with you through the high passes,” she says. “My husband knows the trails well and will set you on the track to Dun Alyn before we turn back.”

  “That is good news indeed.”

  “We’ll spend two nights on the trail, and you’ll arrive at Dun Alyn in early afternoon the day after tomorrow.” She picks up my blue gown and shakes it smooth, then folds it into a tidy bundle for my pack. “Can I do anything to help you?”

  “One thing. Someone rode out this morning on a tall black horse. I thought I saw him last night. He wears a cloak with large brown-and-black checks.”

  She nods. “I know the one you mean, a stranger to us. He arrived soon after you came yesterday and asked hospitality. He was in the hall for dinner but left early.”

  “I thought I saw him there.”

  “You have seen him before?”

  “Yes. He passed by the Vale of Enfert several days before I left.”

  “A traveler from one place to another,” Gola says.

  I remember the way he stared at me that morning, but I say only, “Perhaps. It is of no matter.”

  Gola takes my pack and my sword and shield to the stable for me while I head for the Great Hall.

  My farewells and thanks to Chief Perr and his wife take time.

  “You’ll give our regards and our sympathy to Belert?” Faren asks.

  “Of course,” I answer, though I doubt that I will be talking with the chief of Dun Alyn for any reason.

  I assure them that I will return to Dreug again as soon as I can. At last I leave them and hurry to Durant’s quarters.

  Sun is streaming through the window onto his bed, and he sits with his back against the wall. The bandage over his eye is smaller today.

  “You look well,” I say. “The swelling is down.”

  “Perhaps I will return to normal. I would like to go with you today.”

  “Gola and her husband will take me through the high passes.”

  “That will put you a few hours from Dun Alyn. I am worried about what you will find.”

  “Why?”

  “The bard you heard at dinner came to talk with me last night after you left. He is a friend to Arthur’s cause. He spoke of turmoil in Belert’s hall. There is a fight brewing over Belert’s claim as chief.”

  “How could that be?” I have heard many stories of disputes over a chief’s right to rule but rarely understood the issues clearly.

  “Belert has two claims to the leadership of Dun Alyn. One is simply the agreement of those he leads. Any strong protest by the warriors could displace him. Belert pleases his followers; he is brave and wise. The war band follows him gladly.”

  “What is the problem, then?”

  “The second claim is by succession. As long as the woman who inherits the land and all its buildings and cattle grants him the position, he is chief. Belert’s wife, Cara, was the true owner of Dun Alyn. Her daughter, Miquain, would have succeeded her. As her father, Belert would still be chief until Miquain chose a husband.”

  “Of course,” I say. “Succession is always from the mother to the daughter.”

  Durant smiles. “Well, not always. Britons in the South follow the Roman ways. Men own the land and leave it to their sons.”

  I am surprised. “That is a strange custom.”

  “That is what those in the South say of the northern ways.”

  “Who, then, owns Dun Alyn with Cara and Miquain dead?”

  “That is the problem. Dun Alyn’s Druid, Ogern, is uncle to Cara. He has a granddaughter. The bard says Ogern will push her claim.”

  “And what would happen to Belert?”

  “He might go back to his own people. But there is no guarantee that Ogern would allow him to leave Dun Alyn alive.”

  “You mean, he would keep him prisoner?”

  “Or send him to the Oak Grove for the sacrifices. Belert is a Christian and supports all who practice the faith. If Ogern can get rid of him, many would return to the old ways.”

  I remember the stories I heard as a child and feel a shiver through my body.

  “Will you wait till I can go with you?” Durant asks. “Perr would welcome you here all winter if the snows come.”

  I speak as firmly as I can. “No. I must go.” Two emotions battle inside me. I am eager to be on my way, but leaving Durant is difficult.

  “Then God be with you.”

  “And with you,” I respond. I turn to the door but stop when he speaks again.

  “I owe you much, Ilena. If you had not come along when you did …”

  “Bork was doing well.”

  “He could not have held them off forever. Wherever I live the days of my life, I will know that you have given them to me.” He stops, looking, it seems, for words. “We are bound, you and I. Between God and myself, I am from this day your brother. Whatever my sister needs, I will give; whenever you call, I will come. Wherever you go, know that Durant, Chief of Hadel and liege to Arthur, is your foster brother and protector.”

  I gulp. This is no small oath. “I have longed for a kinsman. It is an honor to be your sister.” I reach out to take his hand in the clasp of friendship. His arm is warm where I grasp it, and the curly red hairs prickle my arm where it lies against his. I try again to speak, but I cannot get words out.

  He says, “I will follow you to Dun Alyn when I can.”

  I nod and leave quickly so he won’t see my distress.

  IT IS A COOL DAY, AND THE SUN FLITS OUT OF CLOUDS overhead to gleam from time to time on the lake. Our path lies along the cliff for a short distance, then slopes down to touch the shoreline at the easternmost end of the long water.

  Gola and her husband, Cochan, lead the way. Cochan is a huge man with a bright yellow mustache and yellow hair plastered back off his face with lime in the old manner. Despite the chill wind and hint of rain in the air, he wears no tunic or shirt under his leather war vest, and his burly arms glisten with perspiration. Tattoos ripple across his chest and shoulders. A leather war helmet hangs from his saddle beside a large bronze shield.

  The brush of orange fur knotted around his left arm marks him as one who honors the fox. It would be a taboo for him to hunt a fox, as he has sworn kinship with those brave and wily creatures. Harming one, even accidentally, would bring great ill fortune to him.

  Gola wears her helmet, as do I. We have both bound our plaited hair up out of sight in the usual manner of women away from shelter, though it is hard to imagine a danger that Cochan couldn’t handle. While we ride, his head turns constantly as he watches the trail, the trees around us, and the hills above. We move single file down the steep incline to the lake shore with Cochan in the lead and Gola behind him. On level ground he falls back to ride alongside her. A trace of a smile lightens his stern face when he catches her eye, and once I see him reach out to touch her arm in a soft caress.

  Soon we are moving briskly by a wide stream that flows into the lake from a source high in the hills above. There is room now for us to ride three abreast, and my escorts fall back to flank me. They ride brown mares so alike I can’t tell one from the other.

  “Sisters,” Gola says. “Mine is the older one. They were wedding gifts from Cochan’s family.”

  “Do any mistake them for twins?” I ask. People in the Vale of
Enfert observe the taboo that forbids twins to live. When one of our cows birthed twins, Moren kept cow and calves in the barn for a time. Villagers heard about it and began coming, first in twos and threes, then all together in a large group. Moren ordered me into the house with Grenna and stalked down the path to meet them. I listened hard but could hear only snatches of conversation.

  “… curse upon us all.”

  “The Druids say …”

  “… must be killed …”

  At last Moren returned with a grim look on his face. He said nothing, and Grenna didn’t ask, but the next morning he saddled his big stallion. Grenna and I lifted the larger calf up to him; Moren held it over the horse’s withers while Grenna tied the little legs together. The animal’s piteous bawls faded as they rode over the pass and out of sight. Moren returned late that night with a crate of chickens tied behind his saddle and two bags of oats slung where the calf had been.

  I was afraid to ask what had happened, but he knew my feelings. “Don’t worry, lass. I found a farmer whose cow lost her calf just yesterday. Our wee one has a good home.” Grenna had worried as much as I; her eyes filled with tears, and she turned away quickly.

  Now Cochan laughs at my question. “No one questions me about my horses,” he says.

  The stream beside us has narrowed and splashes loudly. When our trail curves sharply away to the left, Cochan stops us and points to a faint track that continues alongside the rushing water.

  “Your well is there. I’ll wait here.”

  Gola says, “I want to visit Mona’s Well. It is not far. Will you go with me?”

  “Of course,” I answer. Grenna and I went often to the Sacred Well near the end of the Vale of Enfert. Fiona went with me the day before I left so we could ask protection for my journey.

  We ride single file alongside the stream for a few minutes and come to a dark grove. Oaks surround the space, and their branches intertwine to block out the sunlight. A slight breeze rustles the brown leaves above us. The well is deep in shadow, but I can make out a skull set just above the water.