Heart's Blood

“Whatever you did, or think you did,” I said, “it’s in the past now. We all make mistakes. Sometimes we can compensate for them later. Or we can come to terms with our errors and move on.”

Rioghan gave a great sigh, spreading his pale hands in a gesture of helplessness. “My deed cannot be made good,” he said flatly. “My lord is gone. He is dead, long dead, and the sward green over his dear bones. I held him in my arms as his lifeblood ebbed away; I wear this cloak in token of that. I cannot bring him back. I cannot expiate my sin, yet I am compelled to try. My mind will not let me rest.There must be something I could have done, some way I could have acted, something I could have changed to snatch victory from bitter defeat. I was his most trusted adviser. How could I have got it so wrong?”

“What happened? Who was your lord?”

“Ah, Caitrin. A precious jewel, a man who blazed like a bright star in the firmament. His name was Breacan, and he was king of northern Connacht. Long ago, you understand. Long, long ago.This region was Breacan’s home territory. The kingship was his by force of arms, but he was a good man. He ruled with justice and compassion. Many was the encounter I planned for him, the strategy I devised for him, and all executed with the brilliant flair and perfect judgment that were part of his very being. As a team we were unbeatable. Until that day.”

“He fell in battle?” I knew little of the history of this region. I could not work out how many years had passed since the events he referred to. Rioghan’s age was hard to guess; it could have been anything from five-and-thirty to perhaps fifty.The curious pallor of his skin and the sorrowful lines of his expression gave him something of Anluan’s look. Perhaps the entire household was bonded by sorrow.

“Let me show you.” Rioghan squatted down and, by moonlight, proceeded to lay out a miniature battlefield with sticks, stones and little mounds of earth. Despite the lateness of the hour and the fact that I was cold and damp, I soon became fascinated. I watched Breacan’s forces advance down a broad valley, advance intelligence having told them their enemy would be encamped near the far end and ill prepared for their arrival. I saw, at the same time, how the enemy had secret lookouts high on the flanking hills and a message system involving the flashing of silver discs in the sunlight, something Breacan’s men did not detect until they were trapped between two parties of assailants, summoned by this method from hideouts at either end of the valley.

“It was a rout, Caitrin,” Rioghan said. “And I was the one who led them into it. Mine was the counsel that told my lord, This is safe; we have the numbers.When others advised casting an augury to determine the wisdom of the advance, or recommended desisting from the maneuver until we had obtained clearer information from certain captives, I insisted we continue. I was so sure my plan was right. I was duped. A man I had trusted had lied to me. That, I did not learn until my lord had been cut down before my eyes, and his loyal men, men who had been my friends, lay slain by his side. The enemy spared this wretched councillor. They wanted one left to tell the sad tale. I laid my lord over his saddle and conveyed him home. I was alive where so many better men had perished through my ineptitude. I wished with every breath that I, too, had been slain on that field of bloody sacrifice. But it was not yet my time.”

“It’s a sad story,” I said. “But you were not the only one responsible. If someone gave you false information, the blame was partly his. And folk didn’t have to listen to you; they didn’t have to do what you said if they disagreed with you. Everyone has responsibility for his own actions.” I saw myself crouched helpless and silent under Cillian’s blows. “But sometimes we can lose ourselves. Out of fear or sadness or guilt, we become less than we should be. It can be hard to find the courage to move on.”

“There now,” Rioghan said, rising to his feet and reaching out a hand to help me up.“I should not have troubled you with this, Caitrin. My sorry tale has made you sad. Or is it your own woes that weigh you down? You are safe here. Anluan looks after all of us.”

“Your story made me think, that was all. Uncomfortable thoughts. I’ve wanted so much to be brave, and I can’t always manage it.”

“Dear lady,” Rioghan murmured. “Nobody at Whistling Tor means you any harm, you must believe that. Your presence is like a sweet fresh breeze blowing through this weary old place.”

This made me smile. “Rioghan?”

“Yes, Caitrin?”

“You have a new lord now. Breacan is gone. I know Anluan isn’t a king or a warrior. Perhaps he has some disadvantages. Some flaws. But he is worthy of your loyalty.”

“He has it,” Rioghan said. “Don’t doubt that.”

As I went back to my chamber, I realized this was true. Anluan’s tight circle of retainers had all chosen to share their damaged lord’s lonely existence on the hill. Magnus had been a warrior. He could have left when Irial died. Instead, he had stayed to help his friend’s son grow to be a man. At some stage, perhaps loyalty had become love. Whatever it was, it had endured some sorry times. I recalled the lines I had read in Irial’s notebook after supper, by lantern light.

One touch, that is all I ask. One touch; one embrace. Reach out to me, beloved. Where are you? The ninety- first day.

Day two hundred and sixty. Winter. In the garden the birch twigs glitter with frost. My heart will see no spring.

I had not been long at work the next morning when Anluan came into the library, moving to stand by the window and gaze out into the garden. “Magnus said I must apologize,” he said abruptly.

I was too surprised to respond.

“He says I misjudged you. If I did, I am sorry.” His tone was all sharp edges.

I drew a deep breath. “You were so angry,” I said. “It frightened me, and when I’m frightened I find it hard to speak properly. I didn’t mean any insult to you last night when I spoke of writing.” I chose my words carefully. “I’m a scribe. I’ve worked very hard to learn my craft over the years. I consider a page of script one of the finest things a person could wager.And I would never mock a man for the fact that his writing was a little irregular. Besides, that could be remedied.”

“Huh!” Anluan turned on his heel and stalked away across the library. “You think a bunch of old rags can be made into a silken robe? A worm-eaten apple into a glossy, perfect fruit? Impossible. Why do you imagine I’ve employed you?”

I took a deep breath and then another.“As an apology, that was somewhat lacking,” I said, forcing myself to challenge him. “I doubt Magnus would be very impressed by it. If you don’t like the way you write, learn to do it better. I could teach you. It would require concentration, calm, and regular practice. I suppose you might find that difficult, but once you mastered the technique, I believe it would come quite naturally.”