Dreamer's Pool (8 page)

6

~ORAN~

I
was with Donagan in the yard when my father’s messenger came to Winterfalls. Knowing he would not send a rider in haste unless the matter was urgent, I told my companion to continue the task in hand, which was to check on the progress of the stable extension. I sent the messenger off to the kitchens for refreshment, and took myself into the house to read the missive in my private quarters, alone. It could not be a death, a grave illness, a serious accident; news of that kind would not come in writing, nor would it be delivered by anyone but a senior councillor.

I sought to identify the cause of my churning belly and thumping heart, and deduced that I was terrified Flidais’s father had gone back on his word and decided to marry his treasured daughter to another, despite our families agreeing to the match. With Father’s letter in my hands, still sealed, I bade myself behave like the prince I was and not some foolish youth. I looked at the picture hanging above my bed, and the calm eyes of my beloved gazed back at me as if to say,
Do not fear, Oran.
All will be well.
I opened the letter.

There were the usual preliminaries; those I scanned quickly. Ah! Here was the meat of the message. It threw me into a whirl, for it was nothing I had expected, news that was indeed urgent, but not in the way I had dreaded.

The disturbances in the south-west have now become such a threat,
my father wrote – or rather, his scribe wrote for him –
that Lord Cadhan fears for his daughter’s safety. He requests that you do not travel to Cloud Hill to meet Lady Flidais as planned. Instead, he suggests that the lady should ride north to us more or less immediately, accompanied by her attendants and an escort of men-at-arms. Lord Cadhan believes his holdings may come under direct attack. His wife wishes to stay by his side and support him through what may well become a significant conflict. Oran, I do not know whether his reading of the situation is accurate. However, I must offer Lady Flidais the sanctuary of our home. Since Cadhan and I have reached agreement on the terms of your marriage, your mother believes my reply to him should include the suggestion that the formal betrothal take place as soon as Lady Flidais has recovered from her journey. This should send a strong message to Cadhan’s enemies that he has friends in high places, though, in truth, both distance and my existing alliances make it unlikely I could provide much in the way of practical support to him in this matter. The king of Laigin is overlord to both Cadhan and his troublesome neighbour; it is for him, not me, to intervene in their dispute should that become necessary. But this betrothal will, at least, reassure Cadhan that his daughter is safe and that her future remains secure.

Custom requires two turnings of the moon to pass between the betrothal and the hand-fasting. Allowing for the significant time it will take Lady Flidais’s party to ride to Dalriada, you should still be able to have Winterfalls refurbished to your satisfaction before your bride moves there – she would, of course, be with us at Cahercorcan until the hand-fasting. It seems unlikely Lord Cadhan and his wife will be present for the occasion of their daughter’s wedding, which is unfortunate, but I see no other alternative.

Please attend court immediately, as arrangements must now be made in some haste. In particular, a response to Lord Cadhan’s message must be despatched within a day, and as you have proved stubborn on other aspects of this marriage, I want us to be in complete agreement as to that message’s content. I will expect you tomorrow.

My father’s signature sprawled across the page above his scribe’s neat rendering of his name: Ruairi, King of Dalriada. King first, father second, always. One day I would be king. And Flidais would be my queen. If we had children, I hoped I would make time to listen to their hopes and fears, share with them my love of poetry, teach them the secret ways of wild creatures, let them follow their dreams. But perhaps, when I became king, all those things would be lost to me. Perhaps, the moment I donned the crown, I would cease to be the man Flidais had agreed to wed and turn into a younger version of my father.

A tap at the door, and Donagan let himself in.

‘Something wrong?’ my body servant asked.

‘Not exactly. Here.’ I passed him the letter. Donagan was no ordinary serving man. He had been with me as companion and attendant since we were twelve years old. His father was one of my father’s councillors; his mother was one of my mother’s personal attendants. We had shared an education, both in book learning and in sports and games; we had done everything together. I trusted him more than anyone.

I could not seem to gather my scattered thoughts. While he stood there reading, I paced the bedchamber, picking up small objects and setting them down, folding my arms and unfolding them. I thought of Flidais in peril, Flidais undertaking a long journey on which she might at any time be attacked by her father’s enemies, Flidais coming here under circumstances more likely to make her tearful than joyful. What woman would want to be betrothed without her parents present at the ritual? What woman wanted to be sent off to her marriage in fear and haste? Could our letters, tender and honest as they were, really be sufficient to make up for my failure to visit her, to meet her in the flesh and talk to her before she left home?

On the other hand, this crisis meant I would see her soon, and that filled my heart with a sensation like sunlight, like gold, like a warm bright fire. She was coming here! I imagined the betrothal at Cahercorcan, seat of the Dalriadan kingship. The cavernous hall; the shadowy corners; my father’s advisers lined up in their formal robes; my mother taking charge of everything, including poor Flidais. Then I imagined the ceremony as it might be at Winterfalls. Outside, perhaps, in the garden on a sunny day. Only our trusted attendants would be present. I would pick flowers for Flidais to wear in her hair. Bramble would wear a little garland around her neck.

Donagan cleared his throat and I came back abruptly to the here and now.

‘How serious do you think it is?’ my companion asked, rolling the missive and setting it down on my writing table. ‘The conflict in the south?’

‘If it were very serious,’ I said, still pacing, ‘I imagine Father’s tone would be different. But it must be serious enough, if Cadhan wants to send his daughter away. One thing I do know.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The betrothal won’t be at Cahercorcan, and nor will the hand-fasting. Flidais is not the kind of woman who enjoys grand formal occasions, lavish feasts, complicated entertainments. I’m quite sure of that. Her party can ride direct to Winterfalls. We’ll have both events here, as well as the waiting period in between. Provided Cadhan doesn’t send an army of folk, we should have room for all of them. If we require additional serving people I will throw myself on Mother’s mercy.’

Donagan gave me a familiar look. While he did not say it, I knew he was thinking,
Your imagination is running away with you, Oran.
‘You’ll want your own family to be present for the hand-fasting,’ he said.

‘In fact, I’d be delighted if they absented themselves entirely. It would be so much easier. But yes, my parents must be there, of course; I can hardly deprive them of the opportunity to see their only son wed at last. As for the aunts and uncles, the cousins, the nephews and nieces, the court officials, the hangers-on, if they want to ride here for the event, I won’t turn them away.’

Donagan went on looking at me, not offering anything.

‘What?’ I used my most princely tone, the one that sent servants scurrying. It had no effect whatever on my friend.

‘If I may make a suggestion,’ he said, giving me his half-smile.

‘You’ll do so anyway, I have no doubt.’ I heard myself sounding like a spoiled child – perhaps, when Donagan had first come to live with me, I had indeed been one – and added more mildly, ‘Please do. But remember, Flidais hasn’t grown up in a king’s court; her father is a local chieftain. She’s a woman who likes solitary walks, poetry, music, quiet conversation.’

‘I know that very well, Oran. You’ve spoken about nothing but the lady since we moved to Winterfalls. As that was well before midsummer, I believe I’ve been hearing her praises sung for nearly two turnings of the moon. My suggestion does not relate to Lady Flidais’s preferences, but to how you might best present this to your father.’

‘I’m listening.’ I studied Flidais’s picture while Donagan talked, wondering how well Bramble tolerated going on horseback.

‘Offer a compromise: ask for the formal betrothal to take place here, but agree that the hand-fasting should be at court.’ When I made to interrupt, he raised a hand. ‘Hear me out, please. You’re the future king of Dalriada. You must be wed at court; it’s expected, and nobody is going to listen to your protestations about Lady Flidais’s sensitive nature. I’d be surprised if your future wife weren’t expecting a ceremony befitting her new status. And who knows, if this territorial dispute dies down soon her parents may even be able to travel in time to attend. They would most certainly expect the hand-fasting to be at Cahercorcan.’

‘Is that it?’

‘You should approach this with subtlety, Oran. Don’t let your feelings overwhelm your sense of what is appropriate.’

‘Appropriate? You must know my mother would take charge of the whole thing, bully Flidais into agreeing with whatever she wanted, make this into a grand spectacle.’

‘I believe that is what most mothers do when their sons marry. And you are an only son.’

‘Don’t laugh at me, Donagan. This is important to me.’

He put a hand on my shoulder. ‘I know. But I do believe you have a better chance of convincing your father if you approach this in a spirit of calm compromise. You might use this argument . . .’

The following day, I sat with my father in the royal council chamber and presented my case. Not alone, sadly; my father had six councillors, and all of them were present. Over the years I had come to view these advisers as more hindrance than help. Decisions were made far more quickly and easily in their absence. Here at Cahercorcan, the trappings of nobility sometimes strangled one’s capacity for rational thought.

‘Father, I hope you will consider that Lady Flidais has not grown up at a king’s court, and may at first be overawed by the scale and formality of Cahercorcan. Not only that – she will travel from her home under circumstances quite different from those she expected: in haste, in fear of attack, and without her parents to accompany her, though I imagine there will be a chaperone, perhaps a kinswoman, as well as other attendants. Flidais’s letters show her to be a young woman of some sensitivity. I believe accommodating her and her party in the smaller, quieter household of Winterfalls would be a far kinder choice. And it would mean Flidais came straight to what will be her new home. We would, of course, travel together to Cahercorcan for the hand-fasting when the time came.’

On reflection I had seen the wisdom in Donagan’s arguments. Provided Flidais had time for rest and recovery at Winterfalls for those two months, she would cope with the stuffiness of my father’s court for the hand-fasting ritual and subsequent celebration. I would support her; I would make sure my mother did not bully her.

Father scratched his beard, then glanced at his chief councillor, Feabhal. ‘There’s a question of propriety,’ he said.

‘Indeed, my lord.’ Feabhal fastened his chilly gaze on me. ‘Prince Oran, housing the young lady under your roof before the two of you are hand-fasted might be seen in some quarters as . . . unseemly. Inappropriate. I’m sure you understand.’

‘I’m not sure I do, Feabhal.’ I made sure my own gaze was steady. ‘If you are suggesting my behaviour would be anything but perfectly seemly, you offend both me and Lady Flidais. Winterfalls is a spacious residence. The lady will have her own private quarters; they are even now being prepared. And if she does not bring a chaperone, no doubt the queen can find any number of aunts or cousins to do the job of safeguarding her virtue. If that is what you mean.’

Feabhal cleared his throat, but did not speak.

‘Nobody would dream of suggesting you would act anything but correctly, Prince Oran,’ said one of the other councillors quickly. ‘It’s more a matter of what folk might think.’

‘Let them think what they will. A virtuous man is beyond gossip.’ I found myself on the brink of laughter, and forced my features into an appropriately princely expression. ‘Father, the territorial dispute faced by Lord Cadhan – did he provide details?’

‘Some. Why do you ask?’ I had my father’s full attention at last.

‘Cloud Hill lies in the far north of Laigin, does it not? On the border with Mide, which is ruled by one of our own kin.’

‘Distant kin,’ my father said. ‘But yes, Lorcan is a family connection of sorts. That particular area of the border has seen many disputes over the years. Raids, challenges, petty wars. More or less inevitable, since it’s fine grazing land.’

I had studied the maps, counting the miles between Cloud Hill and Winterfalls over and over. ‘I deduce that Lord Cadhan’s territorial issue does not relate to cross-border incursions from Mide, since we know Lorcan to be a peaceable leader whose authority is seldom challenged. I suspect the threat comes from a certain powerful chieftain named Mathuin, whose holdings lie to the south of Cadhan’s.’

‘I had come to the same conclusion,’ my father said. ‘That is not something Cadhan would put into a letter, of course.’

‘Mathuin of Laois is a known troublemaker.’

‘What foundation have you for such a claim, Prince Oran?’ The scorn in Feabhal’s voice was ill-concealed. His opinion of me had never been high.

‘I have learned a great deal from this present wise company, Feabhal.’ I looked around the council table, making sure I met each man’s gaze in turn. ‘Some, I know, believe I am too fond of music and storytelling. A man can learn much from monks, scribes and scholars. From wandering bards and druids: folk who travel widely and keep their ears open. I have heard that Mathuin is intolerant of opinions other than his own. He has his ways, sometimes brutal ways. If he wants something, he takes it without waiting to seek advice or weigh up the consequences. I have heard, also, that the king of Laigin shows some reluctance to become involved in disputes between his chieftains.’