A Dance with Fate Read online

  “In consultation, Master Fergus and I drew up a plan for treatment: compresses, drafts, bed rest, and so on. I examined Master Dau’s eyes several times daily. I can see no obvious wound to either eye. I believe the damage is internal. For that, we have no answers.”

  Beanón raises a hand. “Master Jabir, can you state whether this condition is permanent, or whether it might respond to other treatment, perhaps by someone more expert than yourself?”

  If he’s insulted, Jabir gives no sign of it. “All I can tell you is that there has been no improvement in Master Dau’s vision since the injury occurred, although there has been a reduction in the swelling around the eyes and his headaches are no longer constant. As I said, we have no remedy for this sort of injury. I do not know of any physician with the expertise to offer another opinion, Master Beanón. I wish I did. But perhaps Lord Scannal has the resources to search more widely. Beyond the shores of Erin, if necessary.”

  Seanan folds his arms. “Is my brother likely to have other problems in the future? Is his mind impaired? His judgment? His temper?”

  There’s a silence. I’m glad I can’t see Dau’s face; I’m sitting behind him. He’s holding himself as straight as a young birch.

  “When Master Dau speaks, you will have the opportunity to assess the capacity of his mind,” Jabir says quietly.

  Seanan and his lawman consult again, in lowered voices. Then Master Beanón speaks. “In your expert opinion, Master Jabir, what effect will this injury have on Master Dau’s future?”

  I’m still watching Dau. I see him take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Count to ten, I will him. Then do it again. You’ll get your turn to speak.

  Jabir takes his time to answer. I suppose it’s a reasonable question, one that would be asked in a formal hearing, but it’s a cruel one to respond to when Dau is present. “A man of good family, with folk to assist and sustain him, could lead a satisfactory life despite being blind. In all other respects Master Dau is a fit, healthy young man, strong and able. Those who love him could find opportunities for him.” He hesitates. “Such a man might do well if he had a personal servant to assist with day-to-day challenges. Or a dog. A well-trained dog as helper and companion, acting as a blind man’s protector—his eyes, one might say—can be extremely effective.”

  A burst of sound comes from Seanan, like muffled laughter. Dau flinches.

  “My apologies,” Seanan says, recovering his composure. “This is so deeply distressing that I hardly know how to respond. A dog, yes, that is an excellent idea. My brother has always been good with animals.”

  Morrigan’s britches! I want to stride over there and slap the man in the face. I see exactly what he’s doing—unsettling Dau before he has to get up and speak, trying to distress him, or frighten him, so he can’t be the strong and able young man of Jabir’s statement. I can read those eyes like an open book. This is the brother who killed Dau’s childhood dog and made him watch. This is the man who took away the only thing Dau loved and scarred him forever. How dare he!

  Brigid lays a steadying hand on my arm. I realize I’ve had my fists clenched hard and my jaw tight; her touch is a reminder of how important it is to stay in control. I give her a little nod and start silently counting.

  “If there are no further questions for the healers,” says Saran, “we’ll move on.” He glances around the room, as cool and calm as if the odd little episode had not happened. “Master Dau, we’ll hear from you now. You may remain seated.”

  “I believe my legs are still working.” Dau gets to his feet. Now he’s looking down at his brother, across the round table. Probably just as well that he can’t actually see Seanan. “I’ll stand, thank you, Master Saran.”

  “As you wish. Please let me know if you feel unwell at any point. Go ahead when you’re ready, Master Dau. Take us through what happened on the day you were injured. Step by step.”

  “An unarmed combat display, myself against Liobhan. Three rounds, so whoever prevailed twice would be the winner. We are quite evenly matched; for that reason, we fight frequently and know each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and each other’s particular tricks. I won the first, she the second round. In the third and deciding round there was a point where Liobhan came forward in attack, aiming for my leg. I skipped back, tripped, and fell. I remember nothing after that, until I woke much later to a splitting headache and . . . darkness.”

  Everyone’s captured by this account. They’re seeing the fight in a way they probably didn’t when I gave my version. Seanan’s councilor, Naithí, puts up a polite hand.

  “Questions when Master Dau is finished, Master Naithí,” says Saran, but Dau says, “Ask now, if you will.”

  “Master Jabir described you as a strong and able young man,” the councilor says, “and I see this is so. How was it that you could be brought to the ground by a female?”

  “Liobhan is a strong and able young woman,” says Dau. “Tall. Broad in the shoulders. Quick thinking. You were perhaps not attending when I told you we were evenly matched.”

  “But—”

  “May I respond to the question, Master Saran?”

  “Yes, Master Archu. Keep it brief, please.”

  “We selected our most recent group of new fighters by a lengthy process of training and evaluation, including bouts of the kind both Liobhan and Dau have described to us. If an aspiring trainee shows the right combination of physical and mental strength, along with good judgment, that person is a strong contender for a place among us. Whether that individual is male or female makes no difference to the choice. True, our team is predominantly male. But not exclusively.”

  “Thank you, Master Archu,” says Saran. “A comprehensive answer. Master Dau, please continue your statement. You returned to consciousness to find that you had lost your vision. What then?”

  “I was in pain. Confused. Drifting in and out of reality. I failed to act with due respect for the healers. Folk were trying to help me. But it seems that for this condition, there is no help.”

  Another hand goes up. “Master Dau, I am Master Beanón, your father’s lawman. I understand you were not wearing your protective helm during this bout. Why not?”

  My gut tightens in apprehension.

  “Those things are hot,” Dau says. “Uncomfortable. When you’re fighting with weapons, staves especially, you keep them on regardless. But for a display fight, unarmed, they’re optional. We both took them off after the first round.”

  “Who was first to do so?” Master Beanón’s tone is sharper now.

  A moment’s silence. “Liobhan was first. A practical decision.”

  “And you followed, thinking that otherwise she would be at a disadvantage.”

  Another pause, as if Dau is counting again. “Thinking the helms were uncomfortable.”

  “You’re defending her.” Seanan is incredulous. “You’re defending the woman who did this to you!”

  Saran opens his mouth, no doubt to remind all parties to stick to the facts, but Dau speaks over him. “I’m responding to the question that was put to me. I’m speaking simple truth. What happened was an accident.”

  After a moment’s charged silence, Saran speaks as if the interchange had not happened. “Thank you for your clear account of the events of that day, Master Dau. You may be seated now.” Dau sits, and Saran goes on, “I understand Master Seanan wishes to present a statement on his father’s behalf. Before we move on to that, are there any further questions? Please raise a hand if you wish to speak.”

  Nobody does. The question of Dau’s future hangs in the silence of the room. My heart is drumming. If I’m wound up as tight as this, how must he be feeling? He’s still sitting very straight. Seanan, opposite, is staring at him with a strange look, almost hungry. If I didn’t know their story, I’d think that was the face of a man longing to look after his youngest brother, to take him home and c
are for him in his time of need. If Seanan is anything, he’s an expert dissembler.

  “I have a suggestion, Master Saran,” says Beanón. “I believe we’ll need to move into a discussion of the law as it applies to this situation. It might be useful if you and I can speak informally on that subject before we continue. And I wish to have a word with Master Seanan and Master Naithí in private.”

  Saran glances at Dau, probably thinking a break would be good for him at this point. “That is acceptable, Master Beanón. Your party may remain in this room—I expect the household can send in some refreshments—and Master Cionnaola’s people can retire until we’re ready to resume.” He stands, and so do we. “Thank you, all, for keeping these proceedings orderly. Let us continue as we began.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Dau doesn’t want to rest. He doesn’t want to sit down. He doesn’t want to talk. It’s only after Brigid has a few stern words with him that he settles on a bench, arms folded tightly, jaw clenched, eyes furious. Fergus and Jabir sit on either side of him. I go to the kitchen with one of our guards and find fresh food and drink all ready; whoever is in charge of this place is doing a fine job of being both efficient and invisible. But then, it seems to be a Swan Island safe house, so that shouldn’t surprise me. The guard takes a supply to Seanan’s people and I do the same for ours. A little later the two lawmen emerge from the smaller chamber and make their way outside, where I assume they’ll go through the provisions of the relevant law and perhaps try to reach agreement over whatever it is Dau’s father is demanding in compensation. I hope the figure is not impossible. I wish I could go outside myself, not to listen but to run, scream, climb, do anything to still my thoughts. I wish I could take Dau out there for a while. He looked and sounded calm and confident in the hearing. The cost of that is showing now.

  “You could go and rest, Dau,” Fergus says. “Who knows how long they will be? We could call you when they’re ready.”

  “No!” Dau snarls. Then adds, in calmer tones, “I would prefer to remain here. To stay with you all, for as long as I can.”

  Nobody speaks. Archu looks stricken. Brigid, who’s as tough as boot leather, puts a hand up to shield her face. Cionnaola doesn’t move, but I see the pain in his eyes.

  “Archu? May I have a word with you privately?”

  We go outside, just far enough from the door to be sure nobody can hear.

  “What is it, Liobhan?”

  “I don’t know what Seanan’s planning to say. But the payment to Lord Scannal—that would be calculated as sick-maintenance, wouldn’t it? The cost to his family of a physician, attendants, and so on?”

  “I believe so. We’ll have to wait until Dau’s brother sets out Lord Scannal’s terms.” He gives me a very direct look. “Don’t trouble yourself about the payment. Provided it’s not an unreasonable amount, we can meet it. We keep funds for this kind of thing.”

  “Archu, I can’t betray a confidence. But Dau shouldn’t go back to Oakhill. The situation there is . . . If he’s forced to go back, he’ll be alone in a household of people who don’t care about him. Worse than that. They’ll be cruel to him. And however physically strong he may be, now that he’s blind he’ll be vulnerable. I think—” I choke over the words, clear my throat, try again. “I don’t think he’ll last long. I can’t say more without—I’m just saying, I fear for him.”

  Archu is silent. I’ve as good as told him Dau will kill himself rather than stay at his father’s house. Archu probably doesn’t believe it will come to that. He doesn’t know Dau as well as I do.

  “We should wait to hear what Lord Scannal is demanding,” Archu says eventually.

  “Couldn’t you offer Dau a place somewhere else? At one of the safe houses, maybe? Anywhere away from his brothers.”

  “We should wait,” he says again. “Wait to hear what Lord Scannal wants from us, and what he’s able to offer Dau. Our resources won’t stretch to searching for an expert physician beyond the borders of Erin. His may well do so. The situation may not be as dire as you suggest, Liobhan. Both Master Beanón and Master Naithí seem to be reasonable men.”

  He hasn’t understood me. He doesn’t realize that rather than accompany his brother to Oakhill, Dau will make an end of himself. “Dau hasn’t a single friend in that place,” I tell him. “Going back would finish him.”

  Archu gives me a strange look. I have no idea what he’s thinking. “If I could provide him with that friend I would, believe me. Now come, we’d best return indoors. Is it not possible that Dau has learned enough since he left home to cope even with the dire situation you suggest is waiting for him? I think you underestimate him, Liobhan.”

  9

  DAU

  Hold yourself together, Dau. This day will end sometime, the words will all be spoken, the sun will go down and night will fall. And there will be an opportunity to make an end to the pain. The moment we hear what outrageous price my father has put on my future, my promise to Liobhan is void. I will not get on a horse and ride home with my brother. I will be gone before he can step forward and, sneering, offer to help me mount. I will find a way. A knife would be best. No chance of taking one off Illann or any of the Swan Island team. Seanan’s guards might be less expert. Ask for a shoulder in support, snatch the weapon from his belt? Possible. It’d need to be quick. Or wait until suppertime. If a knife can cut roast meat it can cut a man’s throat.

  We’re called back in. Seems Illann’s been given the job of watching over me, since he’s the one ushering me around now. We sit on a bench against a wall. Liobhan’s on my other side. When everybody is in, the doors are shut and Master Saran recommences the proceedings with an explanation of how Brehon law deals with sick-maintenance, that is, fees to be paid according to the rank of the injured person by whoever is deemed responsible for their hurt, to cover food, drink, and the services of a healer for as long as required. Where appropriate, the fees should also pay for someone to take over the injured individual’s work. There are a few murmurs around the room when this part is read out.

  “A separate fee covers specific crippling injuries,” Saran continues, “such as the loss of a limb. The loss of one’s eyesight would come under this provision. I remind you all that this is not a formal hearing, but a discussion from which we hope to reach an agreement acceptable to all parties. Master Beanón, you have a document in which Lord Scannal’s requirements for compensation are set out. Will you read that to us now, please?”

  “I will read it on my father’s behalf, Master Saran.” My brother’s voice. He sounds calm and courteous. Confident of getting what he wants. Unchanged in all these years. He never achieved his victories by hard work or courage or spirit. Always by playing games, by artful pretense, by devious plotting. His voice makes my flesh crawl. Never mind; I will be gone soon. None of this will matter. This time I will rob him of his triumph.

  I am advised that my youngest son, Dau, has sustained a grievous injury during a fight, while under the authority of the establishment known as Swan Island, which lies within the kingdom of Dalriada. I understand that this injury has left my son blind, a condition likely to be permanent. In reference to this matter, I require the following financial compensation, to be made without delay. For sustenance in my household for the remainder of his life, along with the services of a healer or physician as required, the sum of eight hundred silver pieces.

  I hear a few gasps, a few indrawn breaths. The figure is ridiculous. My father has ample resources. The cost of my upkeep would be a drop in the bucket for him. Eight hundred silver pieces would see me fed from gold platters. Provided with a whole crew of personal attendants, each of them a trained physician. Sleeping on sheets of finest silk. It’s laughable.

  Seanan goes on—yes, astonishing as it seems, my father’s demands don’t end there.

  Further, as compensation specifically for the gross physical
injury which Dau has sustained, an injury that robbed him in an instant of his opportunity to lead a full life as a man, I require payment of an additional sum of four hundred silver pieces.

  There’s a stirring in the room; people want to speak. But Seanan continues.

  Further to the payment, I require that the individual who inflicted this injury on my son should complete a period of unpaid service in my household. The term of that period is negotiable, but it should be a minimum of one year.

  Beside me, Liobhan makes a wordless sound of shock, then stifles it. I’m on my feet, I can’t stop myself. “That’s ludicrous!” I shout. “You can’t ask for that! Everyone knows it was an accident!”

  “I am reading our father’s words, brother,” Seanan says, silky smooth. “Should the perpetrator of your injury receive no punishment at all? I think you’ll find the law provides for this.”

  There’s a buzz of talk in the chamber now, and sounds of movement. “Quiet, please!” calls Master Saran. “Resume your seats. I remind you all to raise a hand if you wish to be heard.” The noise dies down. “Master Seanan, I believe the letter sent to your father did include the fact that this was an accidental injury. Today that point has been discussed further, and the statements received have confirmed it. It is not only inappropriate to request that Liobhan provide a period of service in your father’s household, it is outside the meaning of the relevant law. This was a fair bout, performed under supervision, with many witnesses. Master Dau slipped while trying to evade a move by his opponent. He fell awkwardly and struck his head. Neither combatant wore a helm. That was unfortunate, but it does not alter the accidental nature of what occurred. Lord Scannal is within his rights to request compensation in the form of a payment, since Master Dau was hurt while working at Master Cionnaola’s establishment. The issue of the protective helm may play a part in our determination of the amount.”