Heart's Blood

“Rioghan.” Magnus’s tone was deceptively quiet. “That’s enough.”

“Ale, Caitrin?” Olcan refilled my cup. “How about a tale, a cheerful one for a wet night? Clurichauns, warriors, princesses enchanted into the form of birds, what’s your fancy?”

“I understand there are some things you can’t talk about,” I said, taking a risk, “but would you be prepared to tell me about Irial?” I glanced at Magnus, wondering if this might be as distressing for him as talk of Market Cross was for me. “I’ve been reading his notebooks,” I went on, “and I think he must have been a lovely person, gentle and wise and . . . sad.Were the rest of you living here when Irial was chieftain? How did he meet Emer?”

“We were here,” said Eichri quietly. “Emer’s father was Iobhar, chieftain of Whiteshore.”

“Irial must have been on better terms with his neighbors than it seems Nechtan and Conan were.”

“He worked hard at that, Caitrin.” Magnus set down his ale cup. His gray eyes were somber. As soon as he spoke the other three sat back, as if in recognition that this was his story to tell, not theirs. “He hired me in an attempt to shore up the defenses of his holding, not just the Tor but the surrounding farmland and the settlements that fall within his domain. Nechtan had lost hold. He had relinquished stock and territory along with the trust of his fellow chieftains. Conan was unable to make good his father’s losses.When Conan died and the responsibility passed to his son, Irial was determined to set things right, despite the risk. Resources were tight; he could not hire a whole company of galloglaigh, only the one warrior to help him. I had two lads with me at first, but they left; couldn’t cope with the oddities of Whistling Tor. In those first years Irial put everything he had into trying to rebuild the alliances that had been broken since Nechtan’s time. It was hard. Conan had made some bad errors. People didn’t trust Irial; they feared Whistling Tor and its dark tales. I made visits on his behalf, spoke to folk, explained what he was about. Iobhar of Whiteshore was the best of the local chieftains. He was prepared to listen, despite the barriers to trust. We managed a council, just the one, at Whistling Tor, and Emer came with her father.”

“She was a lovely girl,” put in Rioghan with a sigh. “You remind me of her, Caitrin, especially when you wear that violet gown. Emer’s hair was not dark like yours, but flame red. A sweet lady.The moment Irial clapped eyes on her he loved her, and she fell for him just as quickly.”

“Folk were surprised when Iobhar agreed to the match,” said Magnus. “He knew he wouldn’t be seeing much of his daughter once she was wed to a chieftain of Whistling Tor. She did go home a few times in the early years. She took Anluan to visit his grandparents when he was an infant. I escorted them; it was safer for Irial to stay here. Emer liked to see her family, but all the time she’d be counting the days until she got back to Whistling Tor. Irial was fortunate in her.There aren’t many women would be prepared to live in such a place, however dearly they loved a man. Emer transformed his life.They had a few good years; they had Anluan.And then she died. We won’t speak of that.” Magnus turned away, but not before I saw the tears glinting in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I said, getting up to put an arm around his shoulders. “It wasn’t fair of me to ask for the tale. Most people wouldn’t have had the courage to stay on.You did the right thing, Magnus.” I glanced at the others. “Anluan’s lucky in you, all of you.”

“There now, Caitrin,” said Olcan, wiping a hand across his rosy cheeks, “you’ll have us all blubbering like babies. Magnus, how about some mulled ale? No more sad tales tonight.”

Magnus said nothing, but he got up and set an iron poker in the coals, then began to assemble an assortment of herbs and spices on the table.

“You’ve been working hard, Caitrin,” said Eichri, changing the subject. “How is the stock of materials holding out?”

“Quite well. I will keep careful count of what I use. I know I must make the supply we have last all summer.”

“As to that,” said Eichri,“more can be procured if you require it. If you want vellum, parchment, inks, tools, speak to me.”

“You’d best watch yourself,” Rioghan said to the monk.“It ill becomes a man of the cloth to indulge in thievery. You have more than enough black marks to your name already, Brother.”

“Who said anything about stealing, Councillor? I might borrow a little here, a little there; only what can be easily spared. Saint Criodan’s will never miss it. All those monks think about is how long it’ll be until they can get up and ease their aching backs.”

“Aren’t monks supposed to regard the exercise of calligraphy as an act of worship?” I asked, not at all sure how much of this conversation was serious.

“Not being a scribe myself, I couldn’t tell you.” Eichri’s toothy grin was full of mischief.

I remember something.“Saint Criodan’s.That’s the place where Nechtan was shown a secret library. A collection of . . .” No, I did not want to speak of this after all.

“No talk of Nechtan,” said Olcan.“Magnus, that smells like spring and summer all wrapped up together. How about a song or two while we wait for it to brew? I’ve always liked that one about the lady and the toad.”

I woke late the next morning somewhat the worse for wear.The rest of the evening had passed in convivial style with the four of us offering Magnus varied advice on the preparation of the mulled ale, then trading songs and stories until the brew was fully consumed.

I made my way, yawning, to the library, but my head felt too fragile for scribing. After last night’s revelations, I was drawn to Irial’s notebooks. There was a charm about them that was soothing to the heart. If it had not been for the melancholy counterpoint of the Latin margin notes with their tale of loss, the books would have provided the perfect path to peace of mind.

Irial had labeled each drawing with various names including those used by local herbalists, such as fairy’s kiss, rat’s ears and prince-of-the-hill. Below these he had made observations on the shape, color and texture of leaf, stalk, flower, seeds and root, and had listed the plant’s uses both medicinal and magical. Some could be steeped in water to make healing poultices or restorative teas. Some might be burned on a brazier to restore calm or bring good dreams. I sat at the small table by the window, where the light was best, and read the pages properly this time. Here and there were margin notes in Irish rather than Latin. These did not form a litany of his grief over Emer, but dealt with practical matters. I have used this to beneficial effect. And next to another drawing. Olcan tells me his folk combined this herb with bay to induce a state of trance. I wondered when I might turn a page and see before me a formula for heart’s blood ink.

After some time my head began to throb. Fresh air might help; I would take a walk. I went back through the house to fetch a shawl from my chamber, then headed out into the main part of the grounds. I passed Muirne coming in.