Queen Hereafter, page 13
I was giddy to have found someone who had so thoroughly deceived Bethoc, and I clung to Ardith’s arm a bit tighter.
“In truth, I don’t know what I am,” I said.
“That’s all right,” she said. “We will find out in time.”
A thousand questions crowded my mind, but Bethoc and Sinna approached and Ardith took her arm from mine.
“Ah, I see you have befriended Ardith at long last,” Bethoc said, and smiled at her with something like pride. “We have high hopes for her future at Dunkeld.”
“Lady Crinan,” Ardith demurred, “you are too kind. I only hope I might serve the Lord in some small way.”
I searched her face for some crack in her deception but found none. Her commitment to the charade was alarming.
“Gruoch, you would do well to learn from her,” Bethoc said. “Perhaps she can help you where you struggle with the Christian texts.”
“Aye,” was all I could respond.
“You may leave now. Crinan is nearly done, and I know how you despise these gatherings,” Bethoc said.
“May I stay?” I blurted. “I’d like to talk with Ardith a bit more.”
“No, there will be time for that later,” Bethoc said. “Sinna, take Gruoch back to her room and prepare her for evening prayers.”
Sinna bowed and followed me out of the hall.
Ardith had given me a little moment of freedom, of friendship, and excitement coursed through me. Sinna and I walked wordlessly back to my room. The splendid dress I wore for the council was to be replaced by a plain shift. The Christian God did not appreciate displays of wealth and preferred us to come to Him simply.
Worried that Ardith would soon lose interest in me, I found every opportunity to be by her side and tried to make myself as charming as possible. I asked questions and listened in appropriate wonder as she told me the story of how she came to be at Dunkeld. Her mother has been a pagan like Grandmother but had died in childbirth. Her father’s next two wives had also died in the pains of labor, giving birth to dead sons—a terrible omen. People began to suspect that Ardith’s mother had cursed her father.
“People can be so foolish,” I said by way of encouragement.
“I spread the rumor myself,” Ardith said.
“Why?”
“I knew I was destined for greatness and that I would not find it as the daughter of an heirless nobleman.”
“Of course,” I said. “I understand what it is to sacrifice for your purpose.”
She cocked her head to the side, but I was not yet ready to tell her of my grandmother’s prophecy, or of MacBethad.
“But why spread that rumor?”
“Dunkeld Abbey is one of the most powerful centers of Alba. It would be impossible for me to find a position in Scone, but if I could convince Father to hire tutors to instruct me in Christian prayers, under the guise of combating the curse . . .”
“Did it work?” I asked, but immediately regretted being so stupid. Ardith smiled, glossing over my ignorance.
“I learned Latin quickly and drew the interest of the abbey.”
“I can’t imagine Bethoc taking an interest in anyone.”
“It was Crinan who saw my potential. He offered to bring me to Dunkeld. Father was pleased to have garnered his favor, and so my fate was set. I was to remain unmarried and serve God.”
Unmarried.
All my life, I had thought marriage was the only way to secure any kind of power, but Ardith had carved a different way for herself.
“Do you mind it? Do you never wonder what it might be like to be married?”
“Of course not,” she laughed. “To remain unmarried is the greatest gift my father could have given me.”
I frowned, but she took my hand and squeezed it.
“I could never hope to marry a king and become a queen such as you. Marriage to a nobleman, a mormaer even, would have been incredibly dull. I think I would have killed myself.”
I winced.
I knew she saw it, but she didn’t press me further.
I soon realized she saw everything about me. She was like Donalda in that way: detecting the slightest expression and interpreting its meaning.
As winter warmed to spring, Ardith became my constant companion. Despite her masterful pretence, she was a true pagan and celebrated all the festivals in the secrecy of her room. Though her commitment was fierce, I suspected she would have adopted any religion that promised her enough power.
Still, I was amazed by her ability to shift effortlessly from pagan druid to humble Christian. For her great show of piety, she was often granted leave to wander into Dunkeld, or ride into the forest along the Tay, if accompanied by a guard. I was allowed to join her sometimes, for she was considered a good influence on me. Such glimpses of freedom slowly brought me back to myself.
Under her tuition, my learning in Latin and the Christian prayers flourished. She did not teach me like the nuns had, laboring over the letters, trying to impress them into my brain by repetition. Instead she wove the prayers into stories and taught the language to me in a way that was easy to remember, as if I were simply recalling words to an old song.
Latin was not her only auxiliary language. She was prolific in the tongues of all the merchants and traders who came to Dunkeld. She knew the language of the Irish and even the thick language of the Saxons in the kingdom to the south. I asked her once how she learned the words so quickly.
“Brighde has blessed me with the secret of languages,” she said simply, touching the pouch of dried coltsfoot I knew she hung under her dress in thanks, a herb sacred to the goddess of poetry. She wore it throughout the winter to keep sickness at bay. I refused her offer to make me one, finding the smell of it too similar to mugwort.
Though I often asked her to teach me her druidic arts, she always refused.
“What need have you to know when you have me?”
I knew she meant to bind me to her, and I did not mind being bound.
“Do you know any of our people’s ancient language?” she asked me once.
“A bit,” I replied, wanting to impress her. She waited expectantly.
I took a deep breath and sang the first few lines of Grandmother’s song, the words pulling me back to her hearth.
Cuin choinnicheas sinn a-rith’st nar triùir?
An tàirneanaich, an dealanaich no ’m bùrn?
Ardith had a strange look on her face. I vividly remembered Bethoc’s cruel laughter when I had tried to intimidate Crinan with the lullaby, and the rest of the song died on my lips. Holding my breath, I prayed that Ardith wouldn’t mock me lest I cry in front of her.
“Why did you stop?” she asked in a whisper.
“It’s a silly song my grandmother taught me. It’s not the real language. I shouldn’t have said I could speak any . . .”
My excuses tumbled out. Ardith cocked her head as she did whenever she was particularly intrigued.
“Who told you it meant nothing?”
“Bethoc.”
“And you believed her?”
I shrugged.
“It is one of our most ancient songs, said to harness the power of all the gods as a great shield around the one who sings it.”
My eyes doubled in size and Ardith laughed, taking my hands.
“Do you know what it means?”
I shook my head, too stunned to learn that all this time I had carried within me the knowledge of such a song. Ardith began singing in a low voice.
When shall we meet again?
In thunder, lightning or in rain?
When the chaos has come and gone,
When the battle has been lost and won.
We sat in silence, hands clasped, awed.
“Would you like me to teach you more?” Ardith asked.
“No,” I said. “This is enough.”
My grandmother’s song was too precious. I wanted only to know the words she had sung over me in my protection, and tether myself to that cornerstone of our history.
My lessons were not the only thing in which she instructed me. Ardith taught me how to walk into a room and command attention with only a look or a word.
“Hold your head like this when you wish to seem engaged,” she said as we practiced in my room, the warm spring air drifting through the windows. She placed her hand under my chin.
“What about when you fold your hands?” I asked. “Under what circumstances is that appropriate?”
She grinned at me, pleased by my eagerness to learn from her.
“When you wish to disarm someone.”
“Wouldn’t you want something more aggressive, to throw them off their guard?”
She only laughed and placed my hands one on top of the other, guiding my chin to rest on them.
“No, that is MacBethad’s way and only works in combat,” Ardith replied.
She had taken a great interest when I finally told her of MacBethad and my lessons with him. I never told her of our kiss or his desire for me to stay behind, but I think she knew and was always delicate about mentioning him.
“When you fold your hands, you lull the person into thinking they have your complete attention. All the while, your eyes and ears may stay sharp for their weaknesses,” Ardith continued, studying her work.
Taking her lessons to heart, I extended my study beyond that which she taught. I tried to purse my lips as she did when she wanted to communicate quiet frustration, or raise an eyebrow to convey amusement. I learned to bow my head in humility around Crinan and to nod with interest when Bethoc spoke about abbey affairs.
For my new studiousness, Crinan rewarded me with the privilege of sitting beside him during the Great Council, a privilege that only drove a wedge further between Duncan and me. If he wanted his father’s approval so badly, I did not understand why he directed all his attention in the opposite direction. But such family matters were not my burden, and I was pleased to be back in a position of favor once more.
I had expected Crinan to be a tyrant and a cruel mormaer, but while he was shrewd, cruelty did not seem to be his way. I wrestled with this new understanding and found my respect for him only grew as I witnessed how well he ruled Dunkeld.
He would listen to complaints and offer fair and balanced judgements. While his judgements might upset some petitioners, they could never be deemed unjust. If a farmer could provide a reasonable explanation for why he needed more food, funds, land, or whatever else he had been allotted, Crinan would grant it. If it came to light that the farmer had been lazy or had mismanaged what he possessed, Crinan would not only deny him assistance but increase his dues for the following year.
“You must be able to distinguish between the man who will reward mercy and the one who will only use it against you,” he advised me. “There are far more of the latter than the former.”
I shared this wisdom with Ardith who heartily approved.
Only in her druidic arts could I not follow her.
Ardith would often escape to the woods. Sometimes she snuck out at night to collect leaves or practice mixing potions. I thought her very brave, but soon learned that she had everyone fooled so well she was not in any real danger.
I often asked to accompany her on these nighttime excursions, but she always denied me, wishing to keep her knowledge to herself. Eventually, I gave up. Sometimes she would return with a sheen on her face and her eyes alight. Anyone else might think her feverish, but I knew the effect of mugwort. Only in this state did her power frighten me as I remembered how it had completely overwhelmed my mother in the end.
I refused to tell her about Mother, though she would have been the only one to understand. She knew too much about me already, and as I grew to understand her, I learned that no piece of information was ever wasted. She could twist the most obscure knowledge and use it as a weapon. No wonder the other girls feared her.
Though I longed to possess the knowledge of my grandmother, of my ancestors, I had no wish to drink the endless cordials Ardith concocted. Only once did this strain my friendship with her.
I had resided in Dunkeld for two years and still my first blood had not come. Ardith had insisted she could perform a ritual on me that would summon the goddess of fertility. She had done it for a few of the noble girls who were desperate to be married off—masking the prayers behind Latin and hiding the liquid in Communion wine.
Perhaps the idea would not have been so abhorrent if it had not involved drinking an infusion of herbs. Just the thought of it made my throat burn with the memory of my mother astride me, prying my jaw open with her fingers as she dripped mugwort into my mouth.
“Groa,” Ardith had hissed. “Why do you refuse my help? You could be queen tomorrow.”
I shook my head stubbornly, unwilling to give her my true reason.
“What if it does not come at all?”
“Then so be it.”
“You are a fool!” she snapped in a rare display of uncontrolled anger.
I stormed off to my room and would not allow her to enter. She came often, pleading with me to open the door, but I refused. In the year of our friendship, I had never stood up to her. It gave me great pleasure to have the upper hand in our relationship. I stayed in my room for two days feigning illness.
Sinna was a comfort to me then. She brushed my hair gently and talked about the fishing village she had been taken from. Her parents had been very poor and had leapt at Crinan’s offer to house their daughter at the abbey in exchange for her service to Duncan’s betrothed. This was why she had no stories of her family or homeland. She had been five years old when she had first come to Dunkeld. She was taught to wait on a girl the same age as herself, and that had been her life now for nine years.
In return, I told her of MacBethad. I even showed her the dagger he had given me, swearing her to secrecy, and allowed her to hold it. I showed her my mother’s golden bracelet too and she marvelled at the way it shone.
It pleased me to share such moments with someone other than my mentor. When I had first met Ardith, I had needed her, but since then, in part because of her help, I had made great advances at court.
But those two days with Sinna convinced me that Ardith was now only a welcome addition to my life here, and not a necessity.
When I was confident enough in Sinna’s affection, I allowed Ardith reentry. She scowled at my maid, but when I rebuked her for it, she apologized immediately. She sensed the relationship between Sinna and me had changed, but whatever she thought of this she kept to herself.
“Might we be alone, just for a moment?” she pleaded with me, clasping her hands in a show of desperation. I nodded to Sinna, who left us alone in the room.
“I am so sorry, Groa,” Ardith said and I thought she might cry. “I never should have called you a fool. I can’t bear it if you hate me. I will give it all up for you, if that’s what you want. I will leave my pagan ways behind if I must, just please don’t shut me out again.”
She looked genuinely distraught, and I felt guilty for having denied her my friendship for so many days. I hugged her, and she began to cry.
“You are my only friend here,” she continued. “All the other girls hate me. It would be so horrid if you hated me too.”
I had never thought she cared about the other girls’ opinion. This was no doubt one of her tricks, but I didn’t mind so long as I stayed one step ahead.
“Of course I don’t hate you,” I said. “And you don’t have to abandon your ways. It would be foolish to turn away from power where you can find it. But if you won’t teach me, if you won’t show me how and why these arts work, then I do not wish to have any mention of them made in my presence.”
Ardith seemed torn, but I knew she would not give up her secret.
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll never ask you to do anything that displeases you ever again.” Her voice was shaky. I wanted to applaud her performance. “We are stronger together. Promise we will never be apart again?”
I was not sure I wanted to promise such a thing, but Ardith had been so kind to me, and if she did become a powerful druid, she would be very useful to a queen.
“I promise,” I said. “When I am queen, I will take you with me to Scone and you will be my closest adviser.” It was a grand promise, one to match the dramatic way she had flung herself at me. I wanted to teach her that such adoration would be rewarded.
Her eyes lit up then, as I promised her a future even greater than Abbess of Dunkeld.
“Will you take a blood oath?” she asked.
“Aye.”
If that was what it took to win her loyalty forever, I would do it, and happily.
I took out my blade from beneath the bed where I kept it. She raised an eyebrow in delicious wonderment but said nothing, understanding the weight of the secret I was sharing with her.
We should each have cut our palms and clasped hands while whispering the oath. At first I could not bring myself to do it, so Ardith took the blade and cut her hand then mine. We swore never to part.
With Ardith reassured, we returned to our close friendship. Though I thought I had mastered her, she remained a vulnerable point with me, perhaps my greatest weakness. But in those days, I loved her too much to live without her.
Chapter 13
My little reign at Crinan’s court lasted throughout my second year under Ardith’s careful tutelage before it began to disintegrate as steadily as it had arisen. Each month that passed without the arrival of my woman’s blood further diminished what little influence I had managed to scrape together.
Bethoc, whose disdain had cooled to intolerance, now sought every opportunity to display her impatience, as if the delay was somehow my fault. Crinan ceased to allow me a seat beside him at audiences, and Duncan had grown quite bold in his open flirtation with other young women at the Great Council. Suthan, the eager blonde, seemed to be a particular favorite of his. She was Saxon and spoke in a strange accent, which he apparently found charming.
I asked Ardith if I should make more of an effort with Duncan. We were wandering around the hall during a break in proceedings of the Great Council. The other young men and women were avoiding us as usual, a few bowing as we approached before scuttling away.
