The Silver Witch(52)

‘Don’t tell me you’re a chef in your spare time too.’

‘I’m pretty confident I can cook anything that’s come from the village shop.’

Tilda laughs at this.

‘That’s the first time I’ve seen you laugh,’ he tells her. ‘It’s … lovely.’

‘It’s getting cold; let’s go in.’

He watches her walk toward the back door of the cottage and then asks, ‘Are you scared to be here? On your own, I mean?’

She stops on the path but does not turn around when she answers. ‘No. Of course not. Just, well, a little spooked. Sometimes.’

‘I could stay tonight,’ he offers quietly. ‘If you like.’

There is a pause. Tilda fights a confusion of thoughts and feelings. At last, she says, ‘Yes. I’d like that,’ before continuing on her way to the kitchen.





10

SEREN

A feast day has been declared. Prince Brynach is back from a trip north to negotiate a peace with the Mercian queen. The agreement reached was favorable, and a celebration has been called to mark the beginning of what is already being called ‘Brynach’s Time of Peace.’ In truth, I believe he was but a foot soldier in this war of words, for his ambassador, Rhodri, Princess Wenna’s odious brother, was responsible for setting up the meeting. He it was who brokered the deal. He who accompanied the prince to the northernmost border of the realm. He the one who wrote the words on the scroll that must bind all parties to this new peace. But the written words of men are flimsy things indeed. Cast that parchment into the waters of Llyn Syfaddan and they would melt to nothing, first the lettering, then the scroll itself, until all was washed clean away. As if none of it had ever been.

I do not trust the word of the Queen of Mercia any more than I trust that of Rhodri, brother-of-the-princess. And I trust him not at all.

The day of the feast is also the day of the first deep fall of snow this year. For hours the previous night the skies shed their burden until the ground was cloaked in white and all sounds were stilted and robbed of their echo. By morning the clouds were spent, so that the blue of the heavens could be found in the new, glittering surface of the land.

It is midday, and the revelries are set to begin. I reluctantly make my way toward the crannog. I dislike crowds. I more strongly dislike gatherings for the purpose of carousing and indulging any and all vices to excess. Man is a creature who raises himself above his base instincts with effort, and keeps himself there only with continued vigilance. What profit is there in undoing that vital restraint? Why would anyone wish to reduce themselves to their lowest state, and have witnesses to that action? I have donned my ceremonial dress, for it is as Seer I am invited. Each present must declare his or her position, to show the breadth, wisdom, and strength of our prince’s company. To have one such as me as his boon is seen as an enviable thing. Something to crow about. But the cock who crows loudest attracts not only admirers but foxes also. Prince Brynach would do well to remember that.

There is much milling about and excitement on the crannog. The whole village has come, as indeed they must. Shepherds have left their flocks. Cattlemen leave their stock to mind themselves. The blacksmith’s forge is cold. The fisherman’s nets and traps lie in the bottom of his boat. For a few hours, everything will wait on the pleasure of the prince, and it is his pleasure that everyone should have a day of rest, a day of feasting.

Without the movement of horses or the common workaday activities, the snow is largely undisturbed, save for the many footsteps of the eager villagers, so that all appears brightly garbed and fresh, without mud, nor drab gray stone, nor weathered stick fence or winter-bare tree to dull the picture. Smoke rises from the hole in the roof of the great hall, and even from outside it is possible to breathe in the sweet aroma of the roasting hogs within. I feel disquieted as I pause before entering, though I am uncertain as to the cause. I know I will face Nesta and Princess Wenna, and neither will be pleased to see me. I know that I must tolerate the unwelcome company of Rhodri and his pimpled son. I know also that I will be in the presence of my prince. I fear that this last disturbs me the most.

Inside the hall all is color and noise. The fire at the center has constructed over it two great spits, turned by damp-shirted boys who labor diligently to ensure the even cooking of the pair of pigs that will feed us all today. For a victory in battle a steer might have been slaughtered, but however festive this event, it is still midwinter, with harsh months ahead, and a few promises do not warrant the same jubilation as a triumph gained by bloody fighting. Nonetheless, many here will be more than satisfied to eat good meat for once. The women have turned out in their finest clothes, with all manner of baubles and geegaws pressed into service to dress up a tired kirtle or pinafore. The men have scrubbed themselves to a ruddy shine and all wear anything that might be classed as a weapon. For whose benefit this mummer’s attempt at a show of might is made I am not clear. Their own, I must assume. A top table has been set, with chairs and places ready for our noble family when they see fit to arrive. Down the side of the hall are benches and low tables for the lesser mortals to sit at and take their food and drink. At the far end of the hall is space for the musicians and dancing that will come later. Children dart excitedly between the adults, and there is an air of cheerful expectancy and general goodwill. I am courteously greeted and acknowledged by those who see me. They do not count me friend, for they are too afraid of what I am and what I do. Rather, they see me as a useful asset; one who might divine disaster, so allowing it to be avoided. They know I travel to places they cannot, and that frightens them. Yet at the same time they are pleased to have me act on their behalf, to risk my soul, my safety, for their protection. Do they believe I care for them, as their milksop priest would have them believe he does? He readily professes God’s love for them and his own as if they were the same. He entreats them to love one another, to forgive their enemies. I was taught to use my skills against anyone who would declare himself enemy. Forgiveness is for mothers of small children, for wronged wives to give and petty thieves to receive. It is not for rulers or warriors. I do not love mankind. I cannot view the herd as any more than that. I keep my love for those deserving of it, and they are few enough.