A Dance with Fate Read online

  “Dau!” My tone is sharp this time. “It’s Liobhan. Your friend. I’m here to help you. But I can’t do that if you keep trying to kill me. Stop fighting me or I’ll feel obliged to knock you out so I can give you a bath and get this room cleaned up. If you don’t believe it’s me, here’s proof.” Somewhat breathlessly, I whistle the first few measures of the jig we both know well, “Artagan’s Leap.” Then I sing part of the song I made up for him on the journey. It’s something of an effort to do this while holding him down. If he’s been like this with Corb, no wonder the poor lad was feeling so helpless.

  Often he mourned the loss of light

  The blaze of sun, the candle bright

  Yet there was joy in touch and sound

  The wet nose of a loyal hound . . .

  “Aaargh!” groans Dau, with one last, straining effort to break free of my grip. Then, abruptly, he stops fighting me and goes limp. I don’t let go. I’m used to all kinds of tricks. “Liobhan?” he whispers, and I know straightaway that this is no trick. Nobody could fake that haunted voice. It’s as if the man is emerging from an unthinkable nightmare. “Is that really you?”

  “Who else is strong enough to hold on to you and sing at the same time? Yes, I’m here, but I don’t have much time. Corb is here, too, the boy who was looking after you. Or trying to. Dau, I need you to help me. I know you’re in pain, and I’ll do something about that as soon as I can. I’m letting go now. I’m trusting you to cooperate.”

  I release my hold. At that moment Corb comes back with the items I requested.

  “Who’s that?” Dau turns his head sharply from side to side, sits up, then curses.

  “It’s Corb. He’s helping me.” How long before the fire at St. Padraig’s is under control and the house fills up with people again? How long before someone comes marching in here and orders me out? “Corb,” I say, “we have to get this room cleaned up. I need to make a draft to relieve the pain. As quickly as we can.” Corb hands me the cup of water and I coax Dau to take a sip. He drinks, shudders, drinks again. I take the wet cloth but don’t apply it yet. Best if I get him out of this filthy room. “I’ll help Dau up and walk him through to the stillroom. Can you fetch enough water for him to have a good wash? A couple of half buckets of cold and top them up from the kettle. And he’ll need some clean clothes to put on afterward.”

  Corb may be exhausted, but he’s doing a good job now. Perhaps useful instructions were all he needed. I get Dau to the stillroom; he’s able to shuffle along, leaning heavily on me. In better light I’m appalled by his eyes, which are swollen and reddened. He’s been scratching around them, grinding his face against the pillow or rubbing with his knuckles, and he looks the worst I’ve seen him. Fergus and Jabir would be horrified. I feel red fury rising and make myself breathe slowly. One step at a time; it’s the only way to handle this. Just let someone try to order me out. I’ll kill them on the spot.

  I settle Dau on a bench. “Stay there and don’t move. Corb’s fetching water for a bath, and I’m having a look around this stillroom. It seems quite well stocked. I’ll find something to help with the pain and something to relieve the swelling. While I do that, hold this cloth against your eyes. Two hands. That’s it.” He gasps with pain. “It hurts, I know. But just do it, please.” He sits with elbows on the table and hands against the wet cloth, holding it in place. His whole body looks tense. As I search the stillroom shelves I keep on talking. “We have work to do. Not just me, both of us. Do you know what Archu told me before we left? He said I’m not the only one who needs to keep up my fitness while we’re away from Swan Island. He told me to remind you that if your eyes get better you’ll be wanting to step right back into your place there.”

  “Bollocks,” Dau says from behind the cloth.

  I find this oddly reassuring. “No, absolutely true. Just think how annoyed you’d be if you were cured but found yourself so much weakened that you couldn’t go back when they had a place for you. All because you didn’t bother doing a few exercises every morning. Ah!” A lucky find: not simply the herbs I want, but a dry mixture ready blended, so all I need to do is brew some of the stuff. I wish my mother were here. She’d know the safe dose so I don’t end up killing my comrade. I remember the bath water and set a big kettle on the fire, taking off the small one.

  “Ah, what?”

  “Ah, I found what I was looking for. I’m going to make a draft and you’re going to drink it. Also, from now on you’re to leave your eyes alone. No rubbing or scratching. Don’t even touch them. Your hands are filthy, and you’re making things worse. The draft will relieve the pain and help you sleep, but you can’t have it whenever you want. It’s too powerful for that.”

  There’s a silence, in which the only sounds are of me scooping out a cautious amount of the herbal mix, finding a cup, and pouring hot water over the dried leaves and berries.

  “What happens if I drink it whenever I want?” Dau inquires.

  “I’m not having that discussion. You drink it when I say you can, in quantities measured by me. When a person can’t see, he shouldn’t play apothecary. End of story.” Maybe that’s harsh, but this is Dau, and under present circumstances it wouldn’t surprise me if he decided poison would be a quick way out. “You can take that cloth off your eyes now. I’m straining this so you don’t get a surprise mouthful of vegetable matter. It needs to cool before you drink it.”

  “It smells vile.”

  I refrain from giving him the obvious answer to this. Instead I observe Dau’s strikingly handsome features with their mask of reddened, puffy skin. He’s a shadow of himself, hollow cheeked, the bones prominent. I’m not letting anyone but a skilled healer look after him from now on. Just how I’ll manage this when I’m the lowliest person in the entire household remains to be worked out.

  No sign of Corb. Where’s that water? I need to get Dau clean and dressed.

  “Liobhan,” he says.

  “Mm?” Gods, those eyes look bad. I wonder if Master Naithí would get a healer if Dau swallowed his pride and asked for help. I wonder if Lord Scannal doesn’t realize how sick his son is. Surely he would have provided Dau with better care.

  “I can’t do this anymore.” Dau’s voice is flat, exhausted. “I can’t pretend that things will get better. That I’ll one day have my sight back. That I’ll be what I was. I’m tired, my head aches, I just want to go to sleep and never wake up again.”

  “Bollocks,” I say in my turn, thankful that he can’t see me wiping away sudden tears. “What kind of attitude is that for a Swan Island man? How about a wager?”

  Wan and hopeless as he is, Dau can’t keep a fleeting smile from crossing his features. “Don’t you ever give up, Liobhan?”

  I count silently to five. “You know me, Dau. You don’t need an answer to that.”

  “What wager?”

  I must word this carefully. “I wager that if you cooperate, I can get you back to perfect fitness in—let’s say two turnings of the moon.”

  “That doesn’t include my eyes, I assume.”

  “I’d be stupid to promise that, Dau. Stupid and cruel.”

  A silence. “You forget one important thing,” Dau says. “And that’s my brother Seanan. I don’t know where you’ve been all this time, but I’ve been stuck in that chamber, under orders to stay there. I had one or two visits from my brother. They were not exactly pleasant. When the boy was occupied elsewhere I did some blundering about on my own, with not very successful results. Stuck my hand in the fire at one point, and the boy burned himself helping me. As for the wager, there’s no way in the world you could win. Seanan wouldn’t let you anywhere near me.”

  “Dau.”

  “What?” He’s drinking the draft now, making faces as he does so, but getting it down.

  “Where is your other brother? Ruarc, is it?”

  “Hah! I can tell you, but you
won’t believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  “He’s a monk. At an establishment close by, St. Padraig’s. My father must have offered a hefty bribe for them to accept him. I could hardly believe it when they told me, but it’s true.”

  St. Padraig’s. Which is currently on fire. I’m searching for the right way to tell him when Corb returns with a bucket in each hand and a garment of some kind over his shoulder.

  “Dau, Corb is here. He’ll help you have a good wash. You’re to let him do it, understand? I’ll be in the other room cleaning up, and I’ll hear if you cause trouble. Corb, quick but thorough, all right? With soap. Any sign of folk moving about outside?” I’ll have to say it. “Does it look as if the fire’s under control?”

  “What fire?” asks Dau.

  “Still a lot of smoke,” says Corb. “I couldn’t see much. A girl told me what happened. Doesn’t look as if the fellows are back yet.”

  “The fire is at St. Padraig’s,” I say, watching Dau’s face. “Just about every man from the household has gone out to fight it. That’s the only reason I was able to get in here and find you. And the only reason Corb and I have been able to help you without interruptions.”

  Dau says nothing. He looks as if someone has hit him.

  “I didn’t know your brother was there,” I go on. “At the monastery. They’ve put me right at the other end of the place, with strict rules about where I can go and what I can talk about. People don’t tell me anything. I didn’t know where you were, Dau. I didn’t know what arrangements they’d made for you. Someone said the healers from the monastery come over regularly to tend to anyone sick in the household. But they can’t have seen you or your eyes would have been treated properly.”

  Corb makes to interrupt, but I forestall him. “I know you did your best, Corb. They shouldn’t have asked this of you. Now get on with the bath, you two, and I’ll tackle the other room. Is there a mop? Out there? Thanks.”

  The bedding’s in a vile state. I bundle everything up, haul it outside, and leave it lying for now. I get the chamber as clean as I can. By the time I go back to the stillroom Corb is doing his own mopping up, while Dau has moved outdoors to sit on a low wall in the sun. He is clad in a nightshirt, with a blanket around his shoulders. His hair is damp and stands up in little spikes, dark gold in the sunlight. Corb comes out to empty his buckets over the vegetable plot. I stretch my arms and ease my shoulders. I’m weary all through. I have no idea what to do next.

  Men’s voices, approaching fast. I move quickly to stand beside Dau, trying to look as if I have every right to be here. “We have company,” I murmur. “Stay calm.”

  A group of men appears, heading straight for us. In the lead is a tall person in a monk’s brown robe. Apart from his tonsured red hair, he’s the image of Dau. This can only be the missing middle brother, Ruarc. Right now he looks harried, as well he might. It’s clear he’s not expecting to see Dau; he stops short in shock. Behind him are two other monks and a couple of guards wearing the blue tunics denoting Lord Scannal’s household.

  “By all the saints! Little brother!” Ruarc does not stride forward to offer an embrace, just stands there staring.

  Dau rises to his feet. The night-robe and blanket don’t make the most dignified of attire, and I know he’s still in terrible pain; the draft doesn’t take effect so quickly. But I see my friend doing precisely what he’s often counseled me to do in difficult situations. He straightens his back; squares his shoulders; lifts his chin. It wouldn’t matter if he was in rags or naked. He’s a warrior through and through. “Ruarc,” he says calmly. “I heard there was a fire. Is all well?”

  “It’s Brother Íobhar now. I’ve set the old life behind me. As for the fire, we’ve lost several buildings, including the infirmary. Two men killed. Who’s in charge here?”

  A tense silence. I swallow hard, then say in my most courteous tones, “Corb here and I are looking after Master Dau, Brother Íobhar. I believe most of the men of the household went out to fight the fire.”

  “And you are?”

  “I’m Dau’s friend. Liobhan. I came to Oakhill with him.”

  Brother Íobhar’s eyes widen. One of the blue-clad men comes up and murmurs something in his ear. The monk looks from me to his brother and back again. “You surprise me,” he comments. “Never mind that now, we need these premises to house the folk displaced from St. Padraig’s, including a number of old and infirm men. The stillroom, the chambers beyond, pallets, bedding, serving folk to tend to the sick and injured. If you’ve been accommodated here, Dau, you’ll be moving elsewhere, and your attendants with you.” He turns to me. “Clear his belongings out now and find somewhere else to take him, will you? We have folk in great need.”

  I open my mouth, then close it again. Dau hasn’t said a word. What am I supposed to do, leave him here on his own while I run around following orders that will enrage Master Seanan? I can hardly take Dau to the hut by the cesspool.

  “I’ll clear things out, Mistress Liobhan.”

  Bless Corb, who goes quietly back inside to fetch the saddlebag containing what’s left of Dau’s possessions.

  Brother Íobhar is consulting with the other monks, making plans to turn this whole part of the house into an infirmary until a new one can be built at St. Padraig’s. If that means we’ll have a skilled healer at Oakhill, it’s a good thing. But where am I to take Dau, and how long before someone realizes I’m not meant to be with him at all? “Dau?” I murmur. “Got any ideas?”

  “Hah!”

  Not helpful. “Come on,” I say, taking his arm. “Let’s go.”

  But I’ve waited too long. Into the garden comes a new group of men, and among them is Master Seanan.

  “You!” He strides toward me, pointing an accusatory finger. “What are you doing here?”

  I drop a graceful curtsy and say in a voice so sweet it’s sickening, “Brother Íobhar asked me to help clear out the area, Master Seanan.”

  “You’re supposed to stay in your quarters or be under supervision. And you”—Seanan turns on Dau—“you should be in your chamber, not out here half-naked. Has this whole place gone mad?”

  Perhaps he’s forgotten about the fire and the deaths and the imminent arrival of a lot of people needing help. The man’s priorities are sadly skewed. And where is Lord Scannal in the midst of all this? Out fighting the fire himself? Or closeted away somewhere while his sons make a hash of things?

  “Master Seanan,” I venture, hoping he won’t bite my head off before I finish, “Brother Íobhar has explained that Dau—Master Dau—must be moved from this building so the sick from St. Padraig’s can be tended here. Master Dau is very unwell. He has not been adequately cared for, despite Corb’s best efforts. If the infirmarian from the monastery will be here, it might be better for Master Dau to stay close by, in one of those—”

  “What?”

  I take a step back. If Seanan tries to hit me this time, I don’t trust myself to stand here and let him do it.

  “You dare to give me instructions? Have you forgotten so soon the circumstances under which you came here, girl? Have you forgotten who is the cause of my brother’s lamentable condition? Have you? Have you?”

  Dau is about to speak, but I tighten my hold on his arm and he bites back the words. “No, Master Seanan,” I say, hoping I sound calm. “I thought you and Brother Íobhar should know that your brother has not had suitable care. I imagine you want him to get better as much as I do.”

  “Hah!” The explosive sound shocks me; for a moment Seanan sounds just like Dau. “How likely is that, young woman? You’ve ruined him. You’ve destroyed him.”

  “That’s not true.” It’s my turn to hold my head high and straighten my back. How dare he say such a thing with Dau right there listening? It’s appalling. “Your brother was a fine man before this happened, and he is still the same man. Not
ruined. Not destroyed. Fighting hard against ill fortune and now neglect as well. Does Lord Scannal know about this? Does Master Beanón know? A simpleton could see that Dau needs better care than this.” They’re all staring at me with various degrees of horror on their faces. Dau clears his throat. I interpret that as a subtle warning that it’s time I shut my mouth.

  “Seanan,” says Brother Íobhar quietly, “we have a number of sick and injured men on the way up here, and work to do before the place is ready to receive them.”

  “You’re in the way,” Seanan says, not taking his eyes off me. “And I don’t like that. Since you’re so clever that you think you can tell a man of my rank how to conduct his business, let’s see if you can do it better. You look after my wretched brother. You tend to him and see how long it is before he drives you crazy. Find some corner out of the way. Somewhere I don’t have to see either of you.” He thinks for a moment. “The stables. Down the far end. Dau’s familiar with the place. Go. Now. And don’t forget for one instant that you’re a bond servant in my household. Speak to me that way again and I’ll have you whipped.”

  It’s not the moment to remind him, again, of that signed and witnessed agreement ensuring my safety while in this house. I want to be sure Corb won’t pay the price for my outspokenness. But I think Seanan has forgotten Corb, who is pretending to pick vegetables further down the garden. I want to ask if I can use the stillroom. But if I don’t ask, I can’t be told no. “Understood, Master Seanan. I’ll do my best.”

  With a jerk of my head I signal to Corb to come with us. As we head for the stables, Corb and I supporting Dau between us as we move against the flow of people returning from St. Padraig’s, I’m thanking my lucky stars that I wasn’t ordered to look after Dau in my wretched, insect-infested hut. The area at the end of the stables is quite spacious. The lads will let Corb and me clear it out, I’m sure. It’s sheltered, there’s access to clean water, it’s well away from the main house, and I’ll be able to take Dau outside when he needs fresh air and exercise. Gaining access to the stillroom will be a challenge, but I’ll find a way.