Dawnflight (30 page)

After breaking fast, she took her sword and spear down to the training ground to practice her drills. Amidst the other warriors, she noticed Angusel, honing his martial skills under Elian’s supervision. She soon found herself watching with interest.

Angusel seemed remarkably strong for his age; he swung his sword as easily as though it were a stick. Yet inexperience was equally evident. With each stroke, his head betrayed his next attack. This common mistake often went unnoticed by the common opponent. Against an uncommon foe, it would be fatal.

Elian did not miss a parry and answered with staggering blows. It didn’t take long for the veteran to dump his pupil into the dust.

Gyan’s smile sprang to life in remembrance of the countless sessions with her father and brother that had ended with the same result. Although it had been a victory, the memory of her most recent match caused the smile to fade. Determined not to let these feelings overwhelm her, she set a brisk pace toward an unused practice post.

“Chieftainess!”

She halted and turned. Looking as if he were carrying half the dirt of the training ground with him, Angusel was hurtling toward her, sheathed practice sword jouncing against his leg. Elian was following at a more dignified pace, some distance behind him. As Angusel arrived, panting and beaming, she greeted him with a clap on the shoulder. “And good day to you, Angusel.”

Gyan didn’t think it was possible, but his grin widened. “Chieftainess, what did you think?”

“Of your match with Centurion Elian?” By this time, his mentor had joined them. She gave him a nod and returned her attention to Angusel. “You have strength and agility. I think you show a lot of promise. But no lann-seolta—” For Elian’s benefit, she amended, “No blade-cunning, yet. You need to concentrate on your opponent’s elbow, not where you plan to strike next with your sword.” As disappointment began to cloud his features, she said, “I will demonstrate.” She drew her sword. “If you don’t mind, Centurion?”

“My pleasure, Chieftainess.” Elian glanced at Angusel, then at Gyan. “It’s something I’ve been trying to teach him for weeks. If you can pound it into his skull, my lady”—he gave Angusel’s head a good-natured scrubbing, to the lad’s laughing protest—“then more power to you.”

She explained to them the drill Ogryvan had used with her, which started with a short, simple series of prearranged thrusts and parries, to accustom the student to the idea of watching the opponent’s elbow and relying on peripheral vision for the rest. As the student’s aptitude increased, so did the length and complexity of the routine. Gyan and Elian performed the novice series, then she invited Angusel to try it against her. Though the drill looked awkward for him at first, she was pleased to note that he was a quick study. Before long, his head was scarcely moving at all, save to the rhythm of her sword arm’s movements.

“Very good, Angusel,” she declared. “Keep this up, and you’ll be besting the centurion here before you know it.” And one day, she predicted to herself with a smile, nigh unto everyone else to dare crossing swords with this young warrior.

“You really think so, my lady?” Angusel gazed at Gyan with undisguised admiration. “I can hardly wait. Let’s go another round!”

Elian laughed. “My demise can wait for another day, lad. It’s time to get ready for your lessons.”

“Aye, sir.” Angusel turned to Gyan. “My lady, may I escort you to the monastery? Show you around and introduce you to the brothers?”

“Excellent idea, Angusel,” Elian said. “After putting away your weapons, you can meet down at the boats.”

“And I can paddle us both over,” Angusel offered. “The tide can be tricky at this time of day.”

Gyan began to voice disagreement. After all, how would she ever learn the tides if someone else always managed the boat? Yet Angusel’s concern was charmingly sincere. She smiled her acceptance.

As she moved to follow Angusel to the living area, Elian drew her aside. “I’m glad you’re here, Chieftainess. It’s not easy for him, being alone among strangers.”

“I’m not exactly what you would call an old friend, either.”

“No? Well, I’ve never seen him happier. It was beginning to affect his studies, here”—his gesture encompassed the training ground—“and at St. Padraic’s.”

“I’ll be pleased to help any way I can, Elian.” Morghe’s comment came to mind, and she gave a rueful laugh. “If not for the betrothal clause in the treaty, I’d probably be in the same position.” That was the only fraction of the truth she dared to admit to Urien’s kinsman.

After returning to her quarters to leave her weapons and shield, she found her way down to the small inlet where the currachs were kept. Angusel, paddle in hand, was standing next to the two-person craft he’d selected for the short trip.

He floated the boat into the shallows and motioned her aboard. “You need to sit with a foot in each corner, my lady, for balance.”

When she was settled, he climbed in, facing her with his back against the opposite side. Runnels of seawater that had stowed away on their boots collected around their legs. While the water could not penetrate the tough leather leggings, the coldness did. She could not suppress a shiver.

“You did this all winter? Wasn’t it too cold?”

“Maybe a little, at first. I don’t feel it so much anymore.” He pushed the boat through the choppy waves with short, powerful strokes. “You’ll get used to it soon, my lady.”

Upon reaching the islet, they disembarked, and Angusel carried the craft across the finger-size beach to a popular stowing area, well above the tidemark. Several similar boats lay there, wicker-framed cowhide bottoms turned skyward like a conclave of sea turtles.

Angusel led Gyan up the path through the rocks toward the monastery.

Inside the perimeter of the earthen enclosure sat dozens of beehive-shaped, mud-daubed wattle huts that served as the monks’ sleeping quarters. Though far smaller, the huts bore a striking similarity to the Commons at Arbroch. She paused at the closest hut to run reverent fingertips over the rough red-brown wall. Everything seemed destined to remind her of what she’d left behind. A sigh escaped.

“Something wrong, my lady?” Angusel’s brow furrowed.

“I was just thinking.” As her hand fell away from the building, the smile she showed her companion hinted at her sadness. “About home.”

“I know how you feel,” he said quietly. “I think about it a lot too.” Turning his head, his gaze grew distant, and she realized he was looking northeast, toward Caledon.

She murmured, “Do you ever think about…him?” And could have bitten off her tongue for making such a stupid remark. Many more slips like that, she chided herself, and all Breatein would know how she felt.

“My lady?”

Trying to make her voice sound as brisk as possible, she said, “The man responsible for you being held captive here: the Pendragon.”

“Oh, him. Aye.” The fingers of his sword hand curled into a fist. “Do you think Caledon could have won at Abar-Gleann if we’d done anything differently?”

What a question! And only the One God knew the answer. She didn’t believe the Caledonach host had had much of a chance, based on what her father and brother had told her afterward. But for Angusel’s benefit, she said, “I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”

His fist clenched tighter. “Neither was I. Do you think if we—you and I—had fought—”

“Ha. Battles don’t hinge on the performance of individual warriors, despite what the storytellers would have us believe.”

Angusel stated quietly but firmly, “Someday, mine will.” To her surprise, she found herself believing him. His intensity died as he relaxed his fist and sighed. “But I suppose if I’d been in the Pendragon’s position, I’d have done the same thing. Taken hostages, I mean.” His expression grew thoughtful. “My lady, I know you had a practice match with him, but you did speak to him too, didn’t you? Did you ask him how much longer I have to stay here?”

“We spoke.” Ruthlessly, she suppressed the memories of those conversations and the feelings those memories elicited. “But the subject of your captivity never came up. I’m sorry.” In truth, it might have, if she hadn’t been so tightly focused upon her dilemma about Arthur and Urien, but she couldn’t admit that to Angusel. Instead, she said, “Arthur the Pendragon seems like a reasonable man.” Angusel snorted, but she refused to let that put her off. “I’m sure that if we—you, me, and all Caledon—prove that we can work with him rather than against him, he’ll set you free soon.” She harbored no illusions that her own “captivity” could end so easily, but for the lad’s sake, she hoped she was right. “Angusel mac Alayna, Exalted Heir of Clan Alban, are you willing to try?”

His grin flashed as bright as the morning sun. “If you are, Chieftainess, then so am I!”

She nodded her satisfaction with his answer. It was all she—or Arthur, for that matter—could ask of him.

Resuming their pace, they twisted through the unruly semicircle of huts toward the compound’s center. Once clear of the closely spaced sleeping quarters, they stopped beside a tall, intricately carved stone cross, one of many scattered throughout the compound. Angusel wrapped an arm around its tapered shaft, his ebony hair brushing the bottom of the cross’s nimbus as he began to point out the other buildings.

Beyond the last hut on their far left stood the flower-framed, whitewashed, thatched cottage where the abbot lived. The cottage’s nearest neighbors were the guesthouse and the square refectory where the brethren met for every meal. The livestock pens were hidden behind the refectory’s kitchen. Lowings and bleatings and squeals and squawks announced the presence of at least a pair of cows and more than a few sheep, pigs, and chickens. Around the far side of the enclosure ranged storage sheds of various sizes.

Set against the earthen embankment, well apart from the other buildings, rose a wide, round, reddish stone tower showing a timber roof and three levels of slotted windows. This was the library and main study hall. To the right of the library stood a small apple orchard. The boughs were smothered with blossoms, delicately tinted like clouds at dawn. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the popularity of the place when the temptation of being outside on a fine summer afternoon became too great to resist.

At the center of the monastery, dwarfing every other structure except the tower, stood the church. Shaped like a cross, its timber-topped, ivy-clothed stone arms seemed to reach out to embrace Gyan and Angusel as they drew near.

Wisps of smoke curling from the kitchen’s chimneys and the faint sound of chants drifting through the church’s walls were the only signs of human habitation in the compound.

“The monks are all inside?”

“In their temple, aye, my lady. It’s midmorning prayer time for them.” They paused near the church’s rounded oaken doors. “I’d hoped they would be done by the time we got here.”

The chanting stopped, and the doors swung open. The black-robed monks poured quietly forth into the sunlight. Most of the monks greeted Angusel with friendly warmth, but the reaction to Gyan did not seem nearly as favorable.

“It’s because you’re a woman,” Angusel explained in a whisper after one particularly chilly reception. “Some of them still aren’t used to having women students. My friend Morghe studies here too. She’s probably in the library. Shall we go look?”

Gyan found it hard to believe Morghe could befriend anyone. Then again, it was equally hard to believe Angusel’s disposition could fail to sway even the toughest cynic. But rather than raise those issues with Angusel, she said, “I ought to meet the abbot first.” After the outcome of yesterday’s meeting, Morghe ferch Uther was the last person Gyan wanted to see, Urien included.

“Oh. Of course.”

He waited until the exodus had ended before motioning her to follow him into the church.

That this was another dwelling-place of the One God there was no doubt. In comparison with Bishop Dubricius’s church at Dùn Lùth Lhugh, this sanctuary was much smaller, lending it a more intimate feel. Holiness pulsed in the myriad candle flames, drifted on the sweet wings of incense, whispered in the air, nestled among the stones.

Reluctant to shatter the sanctity of the chamber, Gyan stopped. Angusel obediently followed her example.

Her gaze traveled to the pair of statues flanking the altar. One she recognized from her talks with Dafydd: Màiri cradling the infant Iesseu. The other statue, a man wrestling a great, dagger-fanged serpent, was unfamiliar to her. Both were crafted of unblemished snow-white stone with the same remarkably lifelike detail she had seen at Dùn Lùth Lhugh. Candlelight shimmered at each statue’s base. The man’s sandaled feet and the hem of Màiri’s mantle seemed smoother and shinier than the upper portions of the statues—why, Gyan couldn’t begin to guess.

Before the altar knelt an age-bent man. Two boys knelt to either side. Heads bowed, the figures were almost as still as their stone companions. Behind the altar loomed the wooden cross with its mortally wounded Prisoner, captured forever in dying agony.

The altar was draped with undyed, unadorned linen. On a gilt platform in the center, encircled by glowing tapers, stood a small, white cup. Whether empty or full, Gyan couldn’t tell. It seemed odd for the humble-looking vessel to occupy such an exalted position.

As she contemplated the mystery, the priest lifted his frost-white head. The boys rose as one to help him to his feet. With a trembling hand resting upon each young shoulder, the man turned.

Gyan stepped forward. Assuming a pace that pushed the limits of decorum, Angusel moved to catch her.

“Ah, Angusel, my son.” The priest’s ancient voice crackled like autumn leaves. “And—Morghe?” He squinted at Gyan, wagging his head. “No, you’re not Morghe. You’re much too tall. That much I can see. Who are you, my child?”

Gyan opened her mouth to speak, but Angusel said, “This is your new student, Father Lir. Chieftainess Gyanhumara.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. Now I remember. Welcome, my daughter. Welcome. I am Abbot Lir. The students call me Father. Pilgrims call me the Keeper of the Chalice.”

“The little cup on the altar?” She tried to curb the incredulity.