The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One (51 page)

The King’s golden eyes looked long at Eremon. ‘Then we are relying on your word only.’

Eremon raised his chin. ‘Yes.’
And your own brains
! he wanted to cry. How could people be so blind to what was obvious to him? And yet, deep in Calgacus’s eyes, there was a hint of regret. Perhaps he did see.

‘My King.’ The stooped druid broke in then. ‘We have sacrificed a lamb and read its entrails. We have studied the pattern of birds flying from the south. The man speaks what he knows, but the gods know more. They are not alarmed.’

Stung, Eremon glanced at Gelert. Yellow eyes were fixed on him, sharp and hard. The druid had obviously not been spending his time pleading Eremon’s case.

‘What are you asking of us, prince?’ the gruff man demanded.

‘I think we must pool our strength now, while we have the breathing space. If we forge an alliance of tribes, then we can train our warriors as one. It is the only way to create an army to match his.’

Several of the nobles snorted.

‘What you ask is impossible,’ someone said. ‘We don’t fight like this. Our warriors are the best and bravest in Alba. We are strong enough alone. An alliance!’ He shook his shaggy head. ‘Just the excuse to let those cursed Decantae and Vacomagi overrun our lands.’

‘If we don’t ally, then Agricola will pick us off one by one. That is how the Romans work!’ Eremon let his frustration show in his voice, and Calgacus stood up.

‘We will debate your news among ourselves, prince of Erin, and give you our answer in two days.’

Eremon kept an impassive face, but inside he was heartsick. He caught Gelert as he was returning to his quarters. ‘Why did you not convince the Caledonii druids that my plan had merit?’

Gelert spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘I tried, but as he said, the Otherworld signs did not comply.’

‘But you know how important this is!’

Gelert looked down his nose at him. ‘You have done an able job of strengthening our warband. And yet, so far, your success has rested on reckless attacks that endanger our men, and not on defending our lands. Perhaps you should keep to the role that we charged you with, prince, and leave the rest to those who know better.’

Eremon watched his retreating back with gritted teeth.

And then he realized that the druid had never supported him publicly. Gelert had not opposed the attack on the fort … yet neither
did he support it. It was Declan who convinced the council to let him come to Calgacus. Eremon had taken Gelert’s silence as a sign that the druid would stay out of military affairs. But suddenly he wondered at the hint of triumph in those yellow eyes, and when he would find out what it portended.

The shores of the Western Sea were lashed by strong winds, even in sunseason. Agricola liked Samana’s hair down from its braids, but the breeze whipped the black strands across her eyes, and made it hard to see. She brushed it from her face.

From the saddle, she could see the soldiers marching out the Damnonii tribesmen and throwing them to their knees on the ground. Screaming women were dragged by their hair, children by any limb that came to hand. Behind the red rows of shields, the burning houses billowed clouds of black smoke into the blue sky.

Samana swallowed and looked away, out to sea. She loved the thrill of plotting, of wielding power over people’s lives, of dreaming when she would be Queen of all Alba. But to see these plans turn into action, and then to see these actions
in person
was an unnecessary and vile imposition. She glanced at Agricola angrily, but he was not watching the destruction of the village, either.

From their vantage point on the edge of the headland, the sea beckoned to her. Erin was just over that horizon somewhere, the place
he
had come from. The man who kept disturbing her dreams.

She had never cast any spell that ensnared her own self, and yet this must be why, despite trying to hate him, she could not. Or was it because he’d thwarted her, and the ceaseless burning of her rage bound them even though moons had passed? For she could find no hiding place from the memory of his lips, his smooth muscles under her hands. Curse him!

‘Soon you will see the reason for our journey!’ Agricola smiled at her, raising his voice over the crashing of the surf on the rocks below.

She swallowed her thoughts and admired her nails, affecting boredom. ‘So the slaughter of these rebels was not the reason?’

‘Not entirely. But finding the standards of my missing regiments here was an unexpected bonus. It seems these dogs were part of the raid on my fort.’

The horse beneath her shifted, and Samana patted it gingerly. ‘What are we waiting here for, then?’

‘Watch!’ Agricola urged.

Off the rocks, something caught her eye. White wings, moving on the sunlit sea. Birds? But then the wings became sails, and rounding the point to their south glided a flotilla of ships, double-sailed, the oars rippling like the legs of some exotic insect.

Samana clapped her hands. ‘Boats!’

‘Ships,’ Agricola corrected. ‘The front lines of my new fleet.’

They watched the pointed prows nose into the bay, where the pall of smoke now hung heavy over the destroyed village.

‘Do you want to see them?’ Agricola’s eyes were fierce with pleasure.

‘Oh, yes!’

A tour of the command ship soon made Samana forget the scenes taking place onshore. Her own people built
curraghs
and traders, but nothing so lean and quick and fine as these ships – or so deadly. Her eyes devoured the catapults lined up on the deck; the attack towers from which soldiers could leap to shore.

‘The keels are sheathed in bronze,’ Agricola added. ‘For ramming.’

Yet the most exciting thing was how many soldiers each ship could hold. ‘You can discharge soldiers anywhere along the Alba coast!’ Samana marvelled.

‘And quickly,’ Agricola remarked, inspecting the troop lists with the ship’s commander.

‘Then what holds you back?’

Agricola dismissed his officer and came to join her at the stern. ‘I am not ready for a full-scale invasion, not yet.’

‘You’re all caution,’ she mocked. ‘Our warriors have no thought for it. If they could command such a fleet, they would fling it against every town on the coast of Alba!’

‘Which is why I will win and they will lose.’

‘But there is a time for action, or have you forgotten?’

He did not reply as they were rowed back to the shore. Then, once they were alone on the sands, his hand gripped her wrist. ‘And are you having second thoughts about allying yourself to me, Samana? Would your hot-headed Erin prince be less cautious?’

Samana forced the flush from her cheeks. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

But as she followed him up the beach, her eyes strayed to the west again, until she bit her lip and forced her gaze away. If the cursed prince died, would his voice leave her mind?

‘Sir.’ One of Agricola’s centurions strode up to them. ‘We obtained the required information.’

‘And?’

‘The raid was organized by the Erin exile, as you thought. He brought his men from the north and allied with the tribal chieftain. That is all the man knows; he was not part of it.’

‘Good. You can dispose of him now.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Agricola resumed his pace, but this time Samana could not hold her tongue. She ran up beside him, pulling on his arm. ‘By sea, you are not far from Dunadd, my lord.
Dunadd
. You could catch the fox in his den.’

Agricola stopped and looked down at her, frowning. ‘It is heavily defended, so you have said. Nor is it directly on the coast.’

‘No, but very close. And you would have the element of surprise.’

He scratched his chin, which meant that he was thinking. She held her breath.
I will rid you from my heart, prince!

‘A sea attack on a well-defended fort would be too dangerous.’

‘But you could capture Eremon in his bed!’

‘I will not risk my troops for one man, Samana. You forget my words about revenge. But …’

She was poised on her toes, pressing against him.
Say yes!

Agricola thought out aloud. ‘I need to test my new crews. Something quick and small would do, with no protracted fighting.’ He came back to himself, nodding. ‘A warning for our prince. Yes – that could be just the thing.’

She smiled, and rubbed her breasts up against his arm, slowly. ‘Are your inspections over for the day?’

His eyes darkened with desire. ‘Most certainly. And I expect you to be very grateful for my indulgence.’

Later, as they lay in his camp bed among rumpled blankets, she said: ‘You will take me with you, won’t you?’ She rolled over and rested her chin on his ribs.

‘Who says I plan to join this expedition?’

She stroked the hair on his chest. ‘I do not believe you are as patient as you appear.’

He laughed softly. ‘In my heart, no. But in my mind, yes. One of my most trusted officers will lead this raid. When
I
set foot on the soil of these Highlands, I aim to do it with twenty thousand men at my back. And no intention of retreat.’

Chapter 49

W
hen Drust returned from his trip to the south, he asked Rhiann to ride out with him in his chariot. Eremon was stamping about the guest lodge like an angry bear, and after one look at his taut mouth and hard eyes, Rhiann sent a message back accepting Drust’s offer.

She did, however, ask Caitlin to ride alongside on her mare, so that Rhiann had the opportunity to see more of Drust without being betrayed by her body.

For ever since the kiss, her skin had come alive. When Eremon touched her accidentally in bed, she jumped, and he looked at her long and hard before she dropped her eyes. She felt she didn’t fit her bones any more; she was restless, even as her mind floated far away in dreams.

Their ride took them through a land that was coming into the full ripeness of sunseason. The barley drooped its golden heads in the heat, and clouds of bees hovered over the meadows. The oaks along the river cast pools of shadow across their burning faces.

Drust took them on a tour of his carved stones, which had been set up at many points on the main trackways between the Caledonii duns. Rhiann and Caitlin murmured appropriately at the scenes of hunting and war, and the symbols of leaping salmon and fighting stags. Many of the stones bore the sign of the eagle, of course, although none in bronze like the stone they had first seen.

‘They are the same symbols I paint on skin, do you see?’ Drust’s chariot horses were a matched pair of roans, and they tossed their heads gaily as they trotted on, ringing the tiny bells on their enamelled harness. The chariot bumped on the uneven ground, and Rhiann was thrown against Drust’s arm. He grinned, and holding the reins with one hand, curved his free arm around her waist.

Rhiann glanced at Caitlin, but she was absorbed in racing around an
old stump ahead, shooting her new arrows into the gnarled trunk from every direction.

‘I have travelled far in the south, seeking out Roman milestones to study stone carving, and even meeting some of their carvers.’

Rhiann looked up at Drust in surprise. ‘You have been to Roman lands?’

The chariot bumped again, and Drust released her and grasped the reins with both hands. ‘Of course! That is not forbidden, is it?’

Rhiann’s eyes rested on the tattoos curling over Drust’s soft cheeks. He was marked as one of the barbarians of the north. It must not have been easy to gain safe access to Roman towns.

‘I am much better than they,’ he added. ‘They carve numbers and dead people’s names … and gods’ faces. But they all look the same.’

‘I hope you will not carve our gods’ faces,’ she said. ‘They can only be rendered in living wood.’

‘Yes, oh high priestess,’ he intoned, smiling. He pulled the chariot up and waved at Caitlin, who had now dismounted to pull her arrows from the tree. ‘And here is a fine place to eat.’

They spread out a deer hide by the river, and Caitlin tethered her horse and unslung her quiver before bounding up with a flushed face. ‘Isn’t it wonderful, cousin! I have never been to such a fertile land!’

‘Of course not,’ Drust answered. ‘You are from the mountains.’

‘Dunadd is also on a plain,’ Rhiann put in, suddenly feeling defensive. ‘Our valleys may not be as good as yours for grain, but we raise fine sheep and cattle.’

But Drust seemed bored by that, too.

There was smoked beef and bread and soft cheese, and wine and a strange kind of nut – a walnut, Drust said. Everything was served on Roman plates and in Roman cups. ‘Look at the workmanship.’ Drust held up a silver goblet set with carnelians. ‘And the Samian pottery. See – they carve in clay!’

‘You sound as if you admire the Romans,’ Rhiann remarked.

‘Taste this wine, lady.’ He rolled it around on his tongue. The sun picked out the gold sheen in his brown eyes. ‘How can you not admire a civilization that produces this!’

‘You do not act like your father’s son.’

Drust picked a shard of nut flesh from his teeth with his meat-dagger. ‘I must find my own place in the world. Yes, we must defend ourselves from Roman expansion. But in the meantime, why can’t we enjoy what they have to offer?’