At the long pine table the warriors’ conversation resumed in a respectful hum to allow the newcomers to seek my father’s audience in private. Father smoothed the thick purple tunic that set off the burned copper threads of his hair, and the first woman in line approached, head bowed, and began to speak.
“I’m a weaver,” she said in her east-country lilt. “I made wall hangings for warmth and rugs for the king himself. I can help with the shearing and dyeing—spinning, too. Vortigern’s queen always praised my work.”
Ariane stood next to me, waiting her turn. She wore the same blue cloak she wore each day, regardless of weather, her black hair coiled neatly at the nape of her neck. She would come forth last, as Cathan must question her, and at present he was needed to bear witness to the oaths sworn by those who wished to come under Father’s care. One by one the people of Bryneich approached, some proud, some with tremors in their voices. In the end, oaths were taken by the weaver, two new grooms—brothers—a blacksmith’s apprentice, and a cowherd.
I searched the room until my eyes fell upon the girl named Desdemona, who was not so much standing beside the wall as being held up by it. She’d combed her brown hair and washed her face. Her knuckles pearled white where they gripped her soiled doll. She looked to be my age, old enough to know that you should not bring your doll when you speak with a king. But as I looked at the stitched mouth of the doll with its straggles of yarn hair, it occurred to me it must have been made by her mother. A mother who would never come. Father would not turn her away, but when her time came, I spoke for her. We agreed to make a place for her with Agnes in the kitchens.
At last Ariane stepped forward, and the room fell silent. She nodded to Father, but it was to Cathan she spoke.
“Question me. I am a Keeper.”
These were the old words spoken by any Wisdom Keepers seeking entry into a faraway court. Just as a smithy must dazzle with a sampling of his work, or a Song Keeper must impress with his or her knowledge of the epics, Wisdom Keepers must submit themselves to questioning and so prove their station. Cathan had turned away musicians who faltered at their strings. He had turned away inexperienced smiths who professed to be masters at their craft. But if Ariane could not prove her claim, she would not receive the mercy of being turned away. She would lose her life. Cathan looked Ariane over now with curiosity.
“You come forth to pledge your oath to Morken?” he asked.
“No. I come forth to pledge my oath to the king’s daughter, Languoreth.”
Cathan and my father exchanged a glance.
“Languoreth? The lady Languoreth has many protectors, of which I am only one,” Cathan said. “What benefit do you propose to bring to her service?”
“I will act as her counsel,” Ariane answered. “And I will act as healer for the people of Morken until another can be sought.”
“Languoreth is but a child, and I am her tutor. She has no need of counsel.” Cathan frowned. “Surely you must see the unconvention in this.”
Ariane drew herself up, her willowy frame growing regal. “You may believe this to be unconventional. But I am a Keeper. Am I not free to pledge my services to whomever I please?”
“You say you are a Keeper, yet you wear no robes.” Cathan’s voice held a note of warning. “You do not speak as if you hail from our lands. Here among the Britons, to pretend the title of Keeper is a crime punishable by death.”
I broke my silence. “She wears no robes, but Ariane is as skilled a healer as Mother ever was. She knows the kennings and—”
“Languoreth.” Father held up his hand to silence me. “If she is indeed proven to be a Keeper, would you accept this Ariane’s service?”
Ariane looked at me without expectation, as if the fact she might stay or go was of little consequence. I envied her the freedom I would never have. I had already learned much from her in only a fortnight’s time. And she had promised to teach me the kennings.
“Yes,” I said. “I would accept her service, Father.”
Cathan’s face was grim. “Very well. Then we will see. Ariane, you will follow me.”
They were absent for what seemed like hours. At last, when they returned, Ariane gave me a reassuring look as Cathan strode to speak with my father, murmuring something low in his ear.
“My counsellor Cathan has questioned this Keeper and found her claim to be true,” Father said. “I would no more begrudge my people a healer than I would begrudge my daughter an advocate all her own. I trust you and my daughter have settled the terms?”
Ariane looked to me.
“Yes,” I said.
“Then it is settled. Whatever the terms may be, I will pay them. Welcome, Ariane, Wisdom Keeper. To my household and my chiefdom.”
Father stood and reached to clasp Ariane’s arm as he would do a man’s.
Ariane came to sit beside me. “It is done, then,” she said. “I am to be your counsellor.”
“Are you to be like Cathan, then?” I asked.
“No, not like Cathan.” She frowned. “I am always myself.”
“I mean,” I said, “what will we do together? What will you teach me?”
She studied me. “I will be your companion. I will talk, and you will listen. And it will go on like this until I decide that you are ready, that you need my service no longer.”
“But when will that be?”
“I cannot say.” Ariane gave a little smile as she looked to the shuttered window. “Perhaps we must ask the wind.”
CHAPTER 6
* * *
Spring came in earnest, and with it lambing season.
It was late afternoon, coming on evening, and the sweet char of roasted meat drifted from the kitchens high above the cliffs as Gwenddolau, Lailoken, and I squatted at the river’s edge below, cleaning our catch from the day.
“Languoreth caught the biggest brown. Well done, little sister.” Gwenddolau grinned at me. “Where’s your knife? Shall we see how it fares when put to a task?”
I drew my blade from my hip. The leatherworker had stitched the tooled leather sheath to a soft belt stained to match. Fastening the buckles round my waist had become as natural as breathing.
The trout’s eyes were lifeless, but Gwenddolau still drew it gently from the pail. “Have you thanked it?” he asked, as he always did.
“Before I struck it,” I said. But now the sun shimmered off the yellow belly of the fish as if it had been dipped in gold, and I wished I could plunge it back into the river, where it could retreat under the shadow of a rock.
Gwenddolau must have noticed my hesitation, because he asked, “Do you want me to clean it?”
“No,” I said. “It’s my catch. I’ll clean it. That’s what we say.”
“Yes.” He smiled. “That’s what we say.”
I took the fish and slit its belly from tail to lip, the knife slicing as if through butter. As I scraped my finger along the slippery innards, Lail came to stand next to me.
“I’ll wager you’re the only daughter of a chieftain who knows how to gut a fish,” Lail said, looking proud. But then, as he gazed at the trout, something shifted in his eyes and he blinked.