Skin (37 page)

‘It would not be a peaceful night,' Bebin said. ‘I am roused twenty times in the
night to the piss pot with this—' She motioned to her giant belly. ‘And besides—,'
she looked to me, ‘—you know you must pass this night in her bed.'

I nodded and we walked on in silence.

‘But come for food at least,' she said, taking hold of my arm.

It was still early evening when I returned to the kitchen from Bebin's fire, having
eaten little. Ianna was visiting her family and had taken Cah. Heka was nowhere to
be seen. Bebin had told me she was often out, back with those of the fringe fires,
making kin of drink. I sat down at the fire. Its light on the walls made the red
spirals dance. They at least still spoke of Cookmother. For the thousandth time,
I pored over the shape of her illness. How could I lament her death when I chose,
by absence, not to prevent it?

A dark weight descended as I sat slumped at the table. It seemed that I was knowledge-gifted
without sense or instinct to use it well.
The purpose of journeying was the pursuit
of light. Yet by my journeys, light was lost. It was all for the lack of skin that
I failed. Skin would have held things firm. If Heka would not grant it to me before
I left Cad, then I would be destined for this darkness.

I stood up and walked to Cookmother's bed. The bedding was worn and old, still soaked
with the smell of her nightsweats. I lay down and rolled myself in its familiar comfort.
Here, at last, I let myself cry. I cried from my bones, for the mother she was and
the mother I missed, for Taliesin, who would never see her, and for the flaw in me
that kept us apart.

Through my sobs I heard a shuffling in the dark. ‘Who is there?' I called, sitting
up.

Heka walked, bleary-eyed, into the firelight. ‘I was asleep,' she said, ‘until your
noise woke me.'

‘I did not see you.' I straightened my dress and wiped my face. ‘Why do you sleep
so early? Why did you not announce yourself?'

‘Announce that I am sleeping?' She walked to the breadpot, pulled out a loaf and
sat by the fire.

So quiet was the kitchen that I was almost glad to see her.

She tore the loaf and passed me half as I joined her. The oat bread was fresh and
I realised how hungry I was. We sat, chewing in silence.

‘Your loss is deep and I am sorry for it,' she said.

I looked at her in surprise.

She wore a winter shawl dyed a deep blue. She was fattened by her time in the kitchen,
her body strengthened by the work. There was something close to beauty in her face
in the firelight.

‘Thank you,' I said, ‘for what part you played in her care.'

‘She called for you,' Heka said, staring into the flames. ‘Ianna will not confess
it. But I thought you would like to know. Especially on her last day.'

My stomach constricted. ‘I could not hear her.'

‘She was in much pain.' Heka looked up from the fire, her beauty gone. ‘She asked
many times why you did not come. I tried to reassure her. But she died with your
name at her lips.'

I stared back at her. I saw her savagery, how she stabbed at my softest parts. I
was suddenly desperate to be gone from her. But this pitiless woman held the secret
of my skin and if I was to learn it, I had to stay. I was coming to know now that
Heka could not be matched by force. Only by cleverness would I gain what I sought.

I drew my shawl around my shoulders. ‘You have done well here in my absence,' I said.
‘I will speak to the Tribequeen about keeping your place in the kitchen.'

‘Ay, I was going to ask you to ensure it.'

‘And I will.' I placed two large logs into the fire and we watched the flames rise.
‘Are you content here, Heka?'

‘Ay.' She looked at me warily.

‘It has been fortunate for you that our paths crossed.'

Her chin lifted. ‘My contentment is deserved.'

‘I have given you all you have asked of me. Do I not deserve some repayment?'

She smiled, as though expecting the question. ‘Not yet.'

‘Why not?' My battle plan fell away. ‘I have helped you. I help you still!'

‘And yet look.' She stretched out her arms, each weighted with metal armrings of
Fraid's favour. ‘You are losing your power to help me now.'

She was right. Ianna had told me that she had worked hard in the kitchen and Fraid
was pleased with her. My ability to shape her life was weakening.

Yet Taliesin's future hung on my skin. Albion's Kendra hung on my skin. I drew the
one tool I had not yet used: the truth. I told Heka what I had told no other. ‘There
is a knave—a man—I have met in my
learning time. His name is Taliesin. He is of the
hardworld, but he is trapped, by birth mischief, with the Mothers.'

Heka watched me with a faint scowl.

‘He is skin to the salmon and by salmon flesh he travels here for just a day's journey
or less. With knowledge of my skin I could aid his return—' I paused, ‘—through marriage.'

Heka's eyes widened and I saw she was caught in the tale. ‘You love this man.'

‘With all my being.'

She nodded, slowly. ‘A pretty problem.'

‘Will you help me?' I whispered. ‘Will you give me my skin?'

Her face twitched. ‘No. I shall not. You have been truthful with me and I will return
it.' She wiped her nose with her hand, her manners still of the fringes. ‘Your skinlessness
has bought my comfort. And your skinlessness preserves it. While I have your skin,
I have your protection. I am not stupid. If I gave it to you, you would cast me away.'

‘I will protect you!' I cried. ‘You are safe, I can promise you this.'

‘Your promise is strong but my knowledge is stronger.'

My balled fist slammed down on the bench beside me. ‘I will speak to Fraid. I will
tell her to exile you from Cad. She will heed my command. I am the Kendra in training.'

‘Do so if you will,' she said, unflinching. ‘But you know, as I do, that if I am
cast from Caer Cad you will never have the knowledge you seek.'

My shoulders fell. ‘When will you tell me?'

‘Perhaps I will never tell you,' she sneered. ‘That is the chance you take.'

A vast depth opened beneath me. I had not imagined that Heka might never tell me.

The doorbell clattered.

‘Who comes?' Heka and I both called at the same time.

‘It is Llwyd's manservant.'

I straightened.

‘The Tribequeen and Llwyd require Ailia in the Great House as soon as she is ready.'

We are each responsible for our own enlightenment.

Praise and honour go to those
who possess sovereignty of self.

D
ESPITE
A
WELL
-
BUILT
fire, the cold seeped into the cavernous room. Fraid and Llwyd
huddled under heavy blankets and I drew a deerskin over my legs. They told me how
Roman rule was now well established in the eastern tribelands and how the campaigns
to the west and north had moved forward. I was tired to the marrow with no hunger
for talk of Rome.

‘Strong tribes have submitted,' said Fraid. ‘Even Cartimandua has made a treaty.'

My eyes widened. I knew Fraid looked to this powerful tribequeen of the north in
matters of queenship. ‘And what of Caradog?' I asked. ‘Does he submit?'

‘Not him,' said Llwyd. ‘He runs free and attacks the Roman camps by stealth.' He
gave a small chuckle. ‘The Romans hunt him
like a pack of wolves. Plautius has set
thousands of men to the task. But none can draw him from the forests.'

‘He gathers his own army,' said Fraid. ‘He incites breakaway forces among those tribes
whose leaders favour Rome.' She worked a gold-knotted ring over her middle knuckle.
‘This war is turning tribesman against tribesman.'

‘He must be well spined,' I mused, ‘and steadfast in his bonds to Albion.' I warmed
to the image.

Llwyd nodded. ‘He is a true leader.'

‘Or a leader of trouble,' said Fraid. ‘He is not far from Cad, at this moment.'

‘Will he come here?' I asked, curious to meet such a man.

‘No. He heads west for the mountain tribes, who offer him their fighters,' said Fraid.
‘He has asked if the warriors of Summer will join him.'

‘And what have you answered?' I said.

‘I will supply him with weapons if he needs them,' said Fraid. ‘But I cannot grant
him our fighting men. I will give Rome no good reason to enter our tribelands.'

‘But is it not certain that they will enter?' I asked. ‘Ruther has said that they
seek Durotriga.'

‘My hope is that they will desist,' said Fraid. ‘The Empire now has full control
of the eastern tribelands, the gateway for all the wealth of Albion. We do not threaten
their position. We are peaceful. There has been little fighting in the past few months…'

Her frantic tone made me fearful. Fraid had always been clear-eyed about danger.
It had been one of her greatest strengths. Her denial now made me realise how afraid
she was.

‘We have both heard the messages, Tribequeen,' said Llwyd gently. ‘Vespasian's Second
Legion camps at the southeast border, building supplies—'

‘Perhaps if I offer more generous terms for our tin—' Fraid rubbed her eyes.

‘They do not want better terms,' I said, turning to her. ‘They want the country.'

‘But already they take our metals—' said Fraid.

‘Not our metals…' As I spoke, an understanding was finding shape in my thoughts,
faint, yet alive as an image in the visioning pool. I closed my eyes, willing it
to come clear. ‘They want our waters.'

‘Speak, Ailia,' said Llwyd, seeing my knowledge form.

‘We are the most richly veined country in Albion,' I said. ‘Rivers run from the south
to the north of us. With control of our waterways, they would not have to sail the
cliffs of Dumnonia to supply their armies in the north and west, would they?' I asked.
‘And are those tides not the death of ships?'

‘You are right,' said Fraid. ‘They need our rivers to take the furthermost parts
of Albion.'

‘But the waters are sacred,' said Llwyd. ‘They cannot fall to such a purpose. If
you are right, Ailia, then we must protect them.'

I nodded. ‘When is it thought that the legion mounts the next drive, Tribequeen?'

‘Preparations are slow because their supplies come south by the Avon—'

‘And the current works against them,' I finished.

‘Yes,' said Fraid, her brows raised at my statecraft. ‘Cun believes Vespasian will
make his attack this spring.' She met my eye. ‘We still have the choice to resist
or submit.'

‘This is no question,' said Llwyd calmly. ‘We do not submit our knowledge. We do
not betray our Mothers.'

‘An heroic stance,' cried Fraid, ‘but look at the two paths before us!' She steadied
herself with a breath. ‘This is an invasion like none we have ever seen. Their numbers,
their battle plan, their weaponry—'
She grimaced. ‘We are told of attacks where arrows
rain down from over one thousand paces.'

‘No man can strike an arrow that far,' I said.

‘It is not the work of their bowmen,' she said. ‘It is machines that do their bidding.'

‘Machines?' I asked, disbelieving.

‘And the arrows carry flame.' Fraid looked to Llwyd. ‘How can we defeat such an attack
on Caer Cad? Would you have me lead our tribespeople to their death?'

‘Would they not be glad to die for their freedom?' Llwyd's voice was calm but the
hand that clasped his staff was shaking. ‘These are the Mothers' tribelands. They
will not fall to Rome under the Mothers' protection.'

‘Why did they not protect the eastern tribes?' cried Fraid.

‘Where they are not honoured, they cannot be strong.' His fingers whitened on his
staff. ‘We are among the strongest tribes in Albion. The Mothers will protect us
if we give them the chance. Why do you doubt them?'

Fraid lowered her head. She deferred to Llwyd but I felt the doubt in her silence.
This faultline between them was not good.

Llwyd rested his staff against the bench and leaned forward. ‘The Romans are skilled
soldiers, it is true,' he said, ‘but their sharpest weapon is not their blade. It
is their scorn of our knowledge. Warriors of Albion have always lived and died by
the truth of their tribelands. Now the Roman leaders tell them a different truth.'
He looked to Fraid, to me. His faded eyes blazed. ‘This is a greater death than any
death by arrow. It is the death of our Mothers, our skin.'

‘You are right,' whispered Fraid, her shoulders slumping.

I watched her thin wrists below her heavy cloak. She looked like an old woman now
and I had never thought her so. ‘You are frightened,' I said. I meant no insult
to her Tribequeen's courage; it was our
kinship to these ancient tribelands that
suddenly seemed as fragile as a first green shoot.