Jack Whyte - The Eagles' Brood

"Then go your way, boyo, and let me go on mine."

I thanked him again and watched him depart, then returned to my quarters, my mind full of one single truth: the woman who had become the centre of my existence was alone in my valley, unknown to anyone else in the world except Daffyd, Mod, Tumac and my father, and she was waiting there for me.

I had loved that tiny, secret valley all my life, and now it had become the home of my love and nothing could have been more appropriate. During the course of that morning, the people I dealt with must have wondered if I was ill, for I was oblivious of where I was and what I was doing. My valley and its precious secret stole the whole of my concentration. It never left my mind for a moment, and a whimsy that I had been toying with for more than a week became a reality. It was my valley, my secret, sacred place, with its silent, sliding waterfall and its deep pool, its moss-covered cliffs, rich grass and stately, screening trees, nestled in the central bowl of the hill there, and I felt that it should have a name that reflected its peaceful solitude and its mystical seclusion. I named it Avalon, after the fabulous place of legend.

That same day, shortly after noon, filled with an almost painful anticipation that left me unable to bear the tedium of my daily duties any longer, I delegated the last of my tasks to a subordinate and left Camulod, riding far south before doubling back and around, away from curious eyes, to the valley and Cassandra.

My intestines seemed to have tied themselves in knots as I approached the entrance to the valley and began to descend between the high banks of bushes that lined the path all the way to the bottom. I had spent the entire journey trying to visualize the expression that would come into her eyes when she saw me. Would they show pleasure or anger—or indifference, Which would be even worse? The doubts that assailed me left me feeling sick. In vain I tried to reassure myself that I was merely being foolish, acting like a callow, lovesick boy. But reason had no place among my hopes and fears. At times I would imagine her face lighting up with pleasure at my approach, and then I felt light-headed and elated, but for the most part, I saw her face within my mind registering an endless range of frowns, bleak looks and glances of displeasure and resentment.

All of my agonizing was as nothing, however, beside the despair that swept over me when I reached the valley bottom, because the vale lay empty and abandoned-looking. No smoke rose from the fireplace to spread out above the water, and the entire scene had that air of emptiness that bespeaks an utter lack of human presence. Stunned with disbelief, I felt a massive emptiness within me that resonated with bereavement. My horse, sensing no guidance from my slackened muscles, moved forward slowly towards the tiny building and came to a halt some paces from the door, where he stooped his head and began to crop while I sat gazing hopelessly at the mossy red roof tiles of the hut. The sound of tearing grass was loud in my ears, amplified by the silence that lay heavily around me.

Stiff-legged, I kicked my feet free of the stirrups and dismounted, resting my full weight against my horse's shoulder before straightening up and moving to the door of the hut. It swung open slowly at my touch and I stepped into the dimly lit, shadow-filled interior, so sure of finding it barren that I almost missed seeing the cloth that lay upon the small table, tented and mounded by the shapes it covered. A half-pace took me within reach of the table and I leaned across it to remove the cloth, uncovering a wooden platter, a small, sharp knife, an earthen cup, a squat, covered jug of wine, a partial loaf of bread and a crescent of dried sausage. Uncomprehending, I asked myself why, having prepared a meal, she would have left the valley without eating it. It took some time for the realization to filter through my confusion that she had not run off, and that this meal was awaiting her return. Instantly my despair turned to elation, so that I startled my poor horse as I burst through the door of the hut again, throwing it back on its hinges with a crash. She was here, somewhere! Giddy with relief, I reeled around like a drunkard, looking upward to the summit of the hills that hemmed me in, as though I could divine her presence from the air that separated us.

Behind me, I heard a fish jump in the lake, a heavy, clean, plopping sound, and I spun to watch the ripples spreading outward from the spot where it had breached. Then as I watched, another splash occurred mere paces from the first, although this time my gaze was close enough to see that nothing had preceded the sudden, singular sound of the splash—no swirl in the water, no flash of colour, nothing but that solitary, unheralded, plummeting impact upon the water. Alert now, I watched and waited, although for what I could not have said. And then I caught a blur of movement and my eye adjusted to it in time to see the water split again, sundered by a falling stone! Someone was hurling pebbles high into the air from the deep brush on the other side of the water. Keen-eyed now, I watched carefully and saw a movement, and another stone arced high into the air and seemed to hover against the sky before beginning its fall.

I was running along the edge of the water before the stone hit the surface, uncaring that I wore breastplate and greaves. She was there, across the lake, and she was making sport of me. As I rounded the far end of the lake, just before I plunged into the dense greenery of the trees and bushes, I caught another glimpse of movement high on the hillside above me and heard what I took to be a whoop of delight and excitement. Grimly, yet wanting to sing aloud in exultation, I charged onward and up, knowing that she would hear the noise and speed of my approach, and then suddenly becoming crushingly aware that she would not. In mere moments, it seemed, I was close to the top of the steep bank, pulling myself at every step by the stems of the saplings that grew thick among the larger trees, aspen and birch. I stopped and listened carefully, but heard nothing. The silence was profound. I began to move forward more cautiously now, feeling the need to be more circumspect. A pheasant exploded almost from beneath my feet, startling me so that I slipped, lost my balance and sat down heavily, rolling legs over shoulders backward until I came to rest against the bole of a birch tree. This time I distinctly heard a feminine giggle from somewhere above and ahead of me.

Again I gave chase, but that was the last I saw or heard of my quarry, save for the impact of one hard-shot, well- aimed stone that clanged against the back of my armour, pulling me back from the edge of the hilltop surrounding the valley and directing me towards the dense bushes on the hillside at my back. An hour later, frustrated and angry, I gave up the search and made my way back to the hut. My horse was still grazing by the door, but his saddle and blanket had been removed, and now a thin haze of smoke drifted upward from the chimney hole in the roof. Mastering my offended pride and dignity, I drew a deep breath and slowly opened the door.

The hut was still empty. A small fire blazed in the brazier in the hearth. Cassandra had eaten. Now the platter, knife, cup and jug were arranged for my use on the side of the table closest to me, along with the remnants of the bread and sausage.

I ate slowly, smothering my resentment, resolved to wait her out in patience. But she did not come. Eventually, as the day began to turn to evening, I gave up and went outside to saddle my horse. A small posy of yellow flowers lay, bound in a sprig of grass, in the centre of my saddle's seat. I picked it up and sniffed at it, breathing deeply of its fragile, sweet aroma, then laid it aside as I resaddled my mount. I picked it up again before climbing into the saddle and then sat there for a short time, rubbing the silken petals against my upper lip. By the time I nudged my horse forward to make my way home, I felt at peace, satisfied on a number of points, though without proof of any of them: Cassandra was nearby, watching me; she was self-sufficient and it would be pointless to make any further attempt to find her; she would appear to me when she was ready to do so, irrespective of my desires; she was not unkindly disposed towards me; and she had no intention of leaving the valley. I whistled all the way home to Camulod.