Edith Pattou - Hero's Song

"Nonsense, Bricriu," interrupted the queen with a laugh. "I do not require a keeper. Indeed, Gwynn and I argued far into the night over who was to go to the border and who was to stay behind—next time I will go. You must do as you choose, son, but I believe your place for now is here. Should the news from the border be dire, we would need to mount an army quickly."

"Perhaps, but no doubt you would say I was too young to fight," replied the prince, a stubborn set to his jaw. "What say you, Collun?"

Collun, his mind in turmoil, did not know how to reply. He found himself nodding, a stiff smile on his face. What else could he do? The prince was indeed generous, offering himself as companion on a difficult journey. Collun knew he should be grateful.

"That's settled, then," said the queen, darting a last look at her son. "Shall we eat?"

The food was extraordinary. Collun sampled many dishes he had heard of but never tasted and many more that were completely unknown to him. There was honey-roasted lamb served with sloe preserves; there were succulent artichokes to be dipped into sunflower oil mixed with chervil; and there was a whortleberry fool tart with buttercups on top for decoration. Talisen had three servings of the tart. The violet-and-elderflower wine was delicious, and Collun drank more than he was accustomed to. It made him sleepy. He found himself leaning back in his chair and listening with only half an ear to the lively talk that swirled around him.

Rumors of war with Scath formed the main topic of conversation. The Eirrenians feared Medb was once again planning to invade their country.

"It is unfortunate that Cuillean has disappeared. We may need him in the months to come," said Lord Bricriu grimly.

"I fear Cuillean must be dead," stated a man with a thick russet beard. "Otherwise he would be here."

"I don't know," responded a second man. "In the months before he disappeared, Cuillean used to stand in the ramparts of his dun looking out at the sea. I saw him there myself, and I say he may have built himself a boat and set out to explore the western waters."

"Aye," said yet another man.

"And mark my words," continued the second one, "he will return to Eirren when we need him most."

Voices began to rise in heated debate over whether the hero Cuillean was alive or dead.

"There is yet another possibility," cut in Bricriu's smooth voice. "It is a rumor I have heard among my men, though I for one do not believe it for an instant."

"What is that?" queried the man with the russet beard.

"That Cuillean has betrayed Eirren and gone to Medb, the Queen of Ghosts."

This provoked a chorus of outraged dissent, and the queen's steady voice finally cleaved through the uproar.

"Such rumors do not deserve the dignity of a response, much less a public airing." She cast a quick, reproachful glance at the elegant nobleman.

Bricriu bowed his head deferentially. "I am in full agreement with you, my queen, but is it not true that a rumor ignored will run wild like heathfire? Is it not better to acknowledge it right away and put a stop to it?"

The queen replied evenly. "Perhaps. However, I cannot see that, in this case, your gossip has served any useful purpose. Cuillean was our friend." She paused, and a smile replaced the stern look on her face. "But enough solemn talk for one evening. Shall we have music?" She turned to the Ellyl. "Perhaps you would honor us with a song? We have heard much of Ellyl music."

Silien shook his head slightly with his usual half-smile. "I think not, Your Majesty, though I do not wish to appear ungrateful. I am weary and out of practice. Perhaps another time." The queen nodded graciously and gestured to the court bards.

The rest of the evening was filled with song and story. The bards were gifted with dazzling skill, each one with a repertoire that amazed Collun. He noticed Talisen was unusually silent; his face wore a fierce look of concentration.

Later, as they made their sleepy way back to Fial's quarters, Collun asked Talisen what he had thought of the night's entertainment.

"Oh, they were fair enough," Talisen responded breezily. He lapsed into silence for a few paces, then burst out, "That's nonsense, of course. They were extraordinary! But Collun, I have found out tonight from that posturing prig I was seated next to that to truly become a bard one must attend a special school called the Eisteddfod. It is only after four years of lessons, seven days a week from dawn until dark, that one can presume to call oneself a bard. Most of those bards who traveled through Inkberrow are called gleemen here in Temair, and they are much scorned. They cannot make songs and have never been to this accursed Eisteddfod." Talisen's face was more downcast than Collun had ever seen it.

"Not that I haven't the talent to be a true bard," Talisen added with a flash of a grin. "That goes without saying. But to spend four years shut inside some gloomy school building! I might just as well be back in Farmer Whicklow's pigsty."

***

The next morning Collun rose early. At Quince's request, he prepared several batches of the herb posset with which he had been treating Fial. He worked in a corner of the sick woman's room while she lay in her bed, still lost in a restless half-waking, half-sleeping state. A knock came at the door. Quince entered with a thick, folded piece of vellum in his hand.

"This has just arrived for the mistress. It is from Inkberrow. I thought you should be the one to open it."

Drying his hands on a cloth, Collun took the folded vellum from Quince. He recognized Goban's handwriting and got a queasy feeling in his stomach. His hands shook slightly as he broke the seal. He opened the letter.

"Fial," it began in Goban's awkward hand, "Emer is dead."

ELEVEN

Lord Bricriu

The room suddenly tilted, and Collun had to put a hand on a nearby table to steady himself. He stared blindly at the vellum. He thought of Emer's face as it had been the last time he saw her. He had known then that she was dying. He should not have left Aonarach. Now both Emer and Nessa were lost to him.

Collun focused his eyes to read the rest of the letter.

Fial,

Emer is dead. The boy Collun left here several

weeks ago, bound for Temair. If he should arrive

there, tell him what you will. It is no more a

concern of mine.

Goban

Collun's limbs felt frozen. He rubbed the numb spot on his forehead and wondered why he could not cry.

He suddenly became aware of Quince's voice. "What is wrong?"

"It is bad news," Collun replied, his voice sounding faint and high-pitched in his own ears. He cleared his throat. "My mother, Fial's sister by marriage, is dead." He walked woodenly to the small fire burning in Fial's fireplace. Collun thrust the thick goatskin vellum into the embers and watched, clenching his ice-cold fingers as it smoldered and finally burst into flames. A rancid smell permeated the room. On the bed nearby, Fial moved restlessly, but she remained unconscious.

Quince watched Collun, sympathy in his dark eyes. "May I bring you something?"

Collun shook his head. He turned and slowly walked into the outer room where his friends were gathered. Talisen and Silien were playing a game with dice, and Brie stood by the window gazing out.

Talisen looked up and, alarmed by the sight of Collun's chalk white face, laid down the dice he held. He quickly crossed the room to his friend's side. "What is it? What has happened?"

"She is dead," Collun replied dully.

"Who? Nessa?"

"No, Emer. My mother is dead."

From her spot by the window, Brie swung around to face Collun. "Emer?" she said sharply. Her face was almost as white as Collun's, and she stared at him as if at a ghost.