The Forbidden Land (8 page)

‘That it could,’ Enit agreed. She beckoned to Nina and Dide, who seized the arms of her chair and carried her back to her caravan. Dide then bent and gathered the frail form of the old woman in his arms and carried her in through the door, leaving the chair at the foot of the steps. Nina waited till Dide had emerged, then bounded up the stairs to assist her grandmother, shutting the door behind her.

Finn sighed. Seeing a little smile on Brangaine’s face she scowled, shoved her fists into her pockets and slouched off to help Morrell polish the horses’ tack.

‘Ye could groom the horses for me, lassie,’ he said with a grin. ‘It’s been a while since they’ve had a guid spit and polish, and we want them looking their best for the thigearns, that we do.’

‘What’s a thigearn?’ Finn asked curiously, seizing a currycomb and beginning to worry out the burrs from the brown mare’s mane.

‘An’ ye a banprionnsa wi’ your own governess,’ Morrell mocked. Finn scowled and said nothing. He grinned at her. ‘The thigearns are the horse-lairds,’ he said. ‘They tame and ride flying horses, which is something no ordinary man can do. For one thing, the flying horse is hard indeed to catch and for another thing, they do no’ submit easily to a man’s will. A thigearn must ride his flying horse for a year and a day without ever dismounting afore the flying horse will accept him as master.’

‘A year and a day?’ Finn’s eyes rounded in amazement.

‘Aye, a year and a day without ever putting foot to ground.’

‘How do they sleep?’

‘Lightly,’ Morrell grinned. ‘As soon as an untamed flying horse feels its rider’s control relax, it does its best to buck him off. When ye think the beast can fly high into the sky, this is no’ something ye want to have happen to ye, men no’ having wings. They say a thigearn learns to sleep for mere seconds at a time and with his legs always clamped tight.’

‘How do they go to the privy?’ Finn demanded.

‘With great difficulty,’ Morrell chortled. Finn laughed too and the fire-eater leant close and said, ‘Ye should always watch where ye put your foot near a thigearn.’

‘Yuk!’ Finn cried and instinctively glanced at the sole of her boot. Morrell laughed out loud and tossed her a soft brush to sweep out the sweat and grime from the mare’s coat. Finn caught it deftly and worked with a will, sweeping the brush down over the mare’s withers.

‘Are there no’ any lassies who ride flying horses?’ she demanded after a while.

‘No’ that I’ve ever seen,’ Morrell answered. ‘It takes much strength o’ will and body to be taming a flying horse.’

Finn gritted her jaw, immediately imagining herself soaring into the sky on the back of a winged horse.

‘I wouldna delude yourself, lassie,’ Morrell jeered.

‘Ye never ken,’ Finn said loftily. ‘Casey Hawkeye says I’m a bonny rider considering I dinna learn to ride till I was thirteen.’

‘And I’m sure that ye are,’ Morrell replied with mock-seriousness. ‘The lassies in Tìreich are riding afore they can walk, though, my bonny banprionnsa.’

‘I thought we were meant to be keeping all that a secret,’ Finn said rudely. ‘I’m naught but a jongleur now.’

‘No naught about it,’ Morrell protested. ‘There be no higher calling than that o’ a jongleur, my proud lassie. Travelling the land, free as a bird, bringing song and laughter into people’s miserable drab lives. Och, it’s a grand life.’

‘Better fun than being a banprionnsa, that I can testify to,’ Finn replied rather morosely.

‘Aye, I’d wager it is,’ he answered. ‘Och, well, lass, ye’re a jongleur now and ye’re right, we’d better no’ be forgetting it. Ye never ken who may be listening.’

Finn had just finished grooming Morrell’s mare when a wild calvacade of riders suddenly careered over the hill, galloping down towards the camp. Neighing and tossing their manes, the horses swept round the half-circle of caravans, the riders on their backs shouting and waving their hats. They all rode without saddle or bridle, though some of the horses wore halters with one long rein. They came to a snorting, sweating halt and one of the riders called, ‘By my beard and the beard o’ the Centaur, if it be no’ the fire-eater himself. How are ye yourself, Morrell, my lad?’

‘Balfour, ye auld rogue! Guid it is indeed to see ye. I be just grand, though sorry I am to be seeing ye looking so grey. Your new wife riding ye hard?’

‘Och, indeed, canna ye tell by the grin on my face? I think ye’re in need o’ a young wife yourself, Morrell, so fat and lazy ye’ve grown. Look at that paunch! Too much o’ the water o’ life and no’ enough exercise, that be your trouble.’

‘Obh obh! I get enough nagging from my mam and my daughter to be needing more from a wife. Will ye no’ stand down? All this talk o’ the water o’ life has made me thirsty. Come share a wee dram wi’ me and tell me all the news.’

‘Whiskey afore noon? Och and why no’?’ Balfour dismounted gracefully. As soon as his foot had touched the ground, the rest of the riders sprang down. They made no attempt to bind the horses, who put their heads down and began to crop the grass contentedly. They all sat near the fire, shouting greetings to Dide and Nina, and drinking from pewter mugs which Morrell filled up from the barrel slung to the underside of his caravan. Finn sat with them, staring at the riders in fascination. They were all tall and brown-faced, wearing leather boots that reached above their knees and wide-brimmed hats decorated with plumy feathers. Their clothes were drab in comparison to the jongleurs, being the same dusty colour as the plains, and both men and women wore breeches, a fashion Finn heartily approved of. All had long hair tied in plaits and many of the men wore their beards split into braids or bunches.

‘Where is Himself?’ Morrell asked, replenishing Balfour’s mug. ‘Ye still ride wi’ the MacAhern, do ye no’?’

‘O’ course,’ Balfour replied. ‘He’ll be here soon.’ He shaded his eyes with his hand, looking out to the far distance. ‘Here comes the rest o’ the caravan. Himself will no’ be too far behind. His wife is close to her birthing time and he does no’ wish to fly too far from her.’

Finn followed his pointing finger and saw a long procession of caravans winding their way down the slope towards them. She jumped to her feet and went to stand at the edge of the camp, staring at the procession with curious eyes. Unlike the carts of the jongleurs, these were not decorated with fancily carved wood and brightly painted pictures, but were low and long with curved roofs. Painted in varying shades of pale grey-green and yellow-brown, they were almost invisible against the blowing grass. As they came closer, Finn saw with surprise that they were pulled by teams of two huge dogs.

‘Look at the size o’ those dogs, my lady!’ Ashlin said shyly, coming up to stand by her side. ‘They’re as big as ponies.’

‘Aindrew could ride on their backs,’ Finn replied with a little pang as she thought of her young brother. She hoped he was safe in the hunting-lodge and that her father had driven away the Fairgean. She pushed the thought away from her, not liking to think of the alternative. ‘Ye shouldna call me that, though, Ashlin. I be just Finn now.’

He nodded his head, abashed. ‘Aye, I be sorry, my … I mean, Finn.’ He blushed, blurting out again, ‘I be sorry, it just sounds so …’ He came to a stop, unable to express his feelings.

She grinned at him. ‘Say it over and over to yourself, ye ken, like, “Finn, Finn, Finn”. Ye’ll soon remember.’ She laughed at the wave of hot colour that scorched his face. ‘I did no’ ken ye blushed like a lassie,’ she teased. ‘Nay, nay, do no’ look so mortified. I like it. I think it’s sweet.’

He struggled to find some answer but could think of nothing and so stood back, blushing harder than ever. Finn gave his arm a little pat. ‘Now I be sorry,’ she said. ‘I was only teasing.’ She smiled reassuringly and looked back at the caravans, giving Ashlin a chance to recover his composure.

Riding near the caravans were a number of outriders, and horses of all colours and sizes ran loose on either side. Suddenly one of the horses spread a pair of rainbow-coloured wings and soared up into the sky. Both Finn and Ashlin cried aloud in amazement and even Brangaine gave a little gasp of wonder.

It was a huge creature, as tall and powerful as a carthorse, with a thick honey-coloured coat. Its mane and tail were pale gold and very long and luxuriant, and from its noble brow sprouted two widely spreading antlers. As it flew it tucked its legs up under its body. Its feathered wings were very broad, tinted honey-yellow and crimson near its body and darkening through shades of green and violet to an iridescent blue at the wingtips. On its back a man was crouched, dwarfed by the flying horse’s immense size.

Those on the ground watched in awe and envy as the magical creature frolicked through the air, folding its wings and plunging at a terrifying speed, stretching them out to soar up again. At last it came gliding down to land near the caravans, the great beat of its rainbow wings causing dust and leaves to blow about madly, stinging their eyes.

Morrell had leapt to his feet to watch, just like everyone else in the camp, and now he bowed low to the winged horse’s rider. ‘Ye honour us, my laird,’ he said. ‘Will ye no’ stand down?’

The man inclined his head and leapt lightly down, caressing the warm honey-coloured flank before allowing Morrell to bend over his hand. ‘Welcome to the land o’ the horse-lairds once more, Morrell the Fire-eater,’ he said. ‘Where is your sweet-voiced mother?’

As if she had heard him, the caravan door opened and Nina looked out. Dide came at her call and carried the crippled old woman down the stairs, depositing her gently on her cushioned chair. Enit had changed her skirt to one of orange velvet and in her snowy-white hair she wore a jewelled comb. Nina and Dide carried the chair over to the fire, and set her down rather heavily. Enit inclined her head as far as she was able. ‘My laird,’ she said.

‘Enit,’ he replied, with a courteous inclination of his head. ‘I look forward indeed to hearing ye sing once more.’

‘I thank ye, my laird,’ she answered and he came forward to bow over her hand.

‘Who is he?’ Finn whispered to Ashlin, who gave a little shrug.

Brangaine rolled her eyes. ‘Did ye no’ hear them call him the MacAhern? Can ye no’ see his plaid and brooch?’

‘But surely the prionnsa o’ Tìreich would no’ live in a caravan,’ Ashlin said, keeping his voice low.

‘Everyone in Tìreich lives in a caravan,’ Brangaine sighed in exasperation. ‘There are no towns or villages here.’

Ashlin and Finn made a face at each other and Finn whispered, ‘Ken-it-all.’

The MacAhern had joined the others around the fire, accepting a swig of whiskey. The Tìreichan caravans pulled up in a loose circle around the jongleurs, completely surrounding them. The drivers leapt down from the driving-seats and unharnessed the big dogs, who lay down in the shade of their caravan, panting. Short-haired, with coats of grey-brown or reddish-brown, the dogs had a ridge of hair that ran down their spines, giving them an aggressive look. Their brown eyes were mild and friendly, however, and they seemed to grin as they panted, salivating heavily. The herd of horses cropped the grass all about, with no attempt made to confine them.

Children leapt down from the backs of their ponies, while those few too old or ill to ride climbed out of the caravans. The MacAhern leapt to his feet and went forward to help down his wife, who was heavily pregnant. She was near as tall as he, with a thick brown plait that fell down to her bare feet. She was dressed in a loose yellow smock and looked more like a crofter’s wife than the wife of the prionnsa of Tìreich.

‘Whiskey at this time o’ the morning!’ she exclaimed in disapproval, glancing at Morrell who was refilling a handful of mugs at the barrel.

‘Och, a thirsty man can drink a wee dram at any time o’ day or night,’ Morrell answered, bowing extravagantly without spilling a drop. ‘How are ye yourself, my lady? Bonny and blooming, that I can see!’

She smiled and thanked him and he offered her one of the pewter mugs. ‘Thank ye, but I think I’d rather share a cup o’ dancey with your mother,’ she replied with a rather tired smile. The MacAhern helped lower her to the ground and Morrell gave her his own saddle for her to lean against.

The peaceful little camp had in an instant been transformed into a bustling village, with women shaking out straw-coloured mats from the caravan steps and asking their menfolk to fetch water for the washing. The children clustered close about Dide and Nina, asking questions and begging them to perform. Obligingly Dide began to juggle with his flashing silver knives and his sister walked round the camp on her hands, much to the children’s delight.

‘What do ye do?’ a little girl with four long plaits demanded of Finn and Ashlin. ‘Can ye walk on your hands?’

Questions were fired from all sides.

‘Can ye eat fire?’

‘Can ye put your foot behind your ear?’

‘Can ye ride astride three horses?’

‘I play the bagpipes,’ Ashlin replied diffidently. The children were impressed, for the bagpipes were rare in Tìreich, and so obligingly he played a martial pibroch for them. They clapped enthusiastically, then demanded Finn show them what she could do.

‘I can climb,’ she said but received only blank looks, most of these children never having seen a castle wall or towering cliff. ‘I can steal that bracelet off your wrist without ye even realising,’ she said then. They jeered at her. So Finn amused them by pulling coins from their ears and pebbles from their boots, then amazed them by pulling out something that she had stolen from each of the children without them being aware of it.

Dide cartwheeled over to them, did a high twisting somersault, then began to juggle twelve golden balls in intricate wheels that spun high into the air. The children gasped in wonder. Catching and casting them up again with one hand behind him, then with his feet, then with his head and shoulders, then with the sharp tip of his dagger, Dide kept them in a continual state of amazement. At last he caught all the glittering balls, and bowed with a flourish. The children went running off to tell their mothers and Dide said, very low, ‘I would no’ be making a spectacle o’ your pickpocketing, Finn.’