Chapter 10
The summer passed in a haze of concern. Each day, the high priestesses prayed, while Locrinus and Angarad trained more people to help care for their leader.
He was never alone and, with the dutiful tending and devotional prayers from the temple, Lear Bladudsunu began to heal.
Cordelia had taken henbane and travelled to the Everywhen but had been unable to converse with her father’s soul.
‘He was shaded,’ she told Angarad afterwards. ‘Whenever I tried to make contact, he stepped into the shadows as though he didn’t recognise me.’
His spirit animal, the brown bear who paced beside her father in the Everywhen, had not challenged her, but he had been blurred around the edges as though he too was confused. The other troubling part of her walks into the dreamworld had been more glimpses of the woman with her face.
‘Why haven’t you spoken?’ asked Becuma when Cordelia confided in her. ‘Do you think she’s a shade?’
‘No, her light is clear and pure, a shimmering amethyst similar to my pendant.’ Her hand strayed to the necklace that had once been her mother’s.
‘Perhaps she’s a new guide,’ Becuma suggested.
‘It’s possible,’ Cordelia replied, ‘but the time doesn’t feel right to speak yet. We’ll both know when to communicate.’
What she did not confide to Becuma was the way her trips to the Everywhen had begun to blur with a recurring and confusing dream.
She would find herself in a strange building made from stone, inhabited by people wearing clothes she had never seen before, her consciousness shifting from her own mind into that of the other shadowed woman, who, like her, watched from a distance.
Each time she dreamed about her, Cordelia awoke with the sound of lazy summer bees buzzing in her ears.
The hives had always been the domain of the bee maidens, Becuma and Oudar, but each day she was drawn to them more and more, watching Oudar in particular, who seemed to communicate with the insects as though she could speak their language.
Cordelia had begun offering to help gather the honey and, whenever she did, she felt a sense of intense peace.
Her father continued to make good progress.
After the first terrifying days, when the entire settlement had prayed to the gods and goddesses, he began to show signs of recovery.
Each day, his dressings were changed and, despite not having spoken since his apology to Locrinus, as the wound healed, he began to speak again.
Although these were monosyllables rather than recognisable words, Locrinus believed this was a good sign.
‘He knows us,’ Locrinus said, after another day of smearing honey and witch hazel on Lear’s wounds. ‘Lagon and me, he said our names. His mind is returning from the Everywhen where it has been healing.’
There was a setback when Cordelia noticed a fungus growing on the two wounds.
Her father’s health sank to its lowest ebb and as the tribe prepared to hear the worst possible news, she prayed to the goddess to guide her as she cut away the growths, covering the wounds in the purest honey they possessed.
She helped Oudar to gather it, whispering incantations as they scooped it from the combs, entreating the bees to add their healing powers.
Three days later, her father spoke her name for the first time since his accident.
‘Cordelia,’ he whispered. ‘Am I alive?’
‘Yes, Fa,’ she replied, tears of joy in her eyes.
‘You are my favourite child,’ he said. ‘You would not lie. This is not one of your journeys?’
‘No, Fa, we are in your roundhouse in the oppidum,’ she answered, and with a smile he sank back into sleep.
It was when he awoke the next time, the trouble began.
* * *
The decree had been read by Dardan, Lear’s chief steward and advisor.
‘All members of the oppidum will gather in the meeting place tomorrow at the height of the sun to give thanks for the recovery of our great leader, Lear Bladudsunu,’ he announced, and all around had cheered in relief and delight.
Now, as the sun reached its zenith in the cornflower blue sky, a party atmosphere pervaded.
Cordelia made her way through the throng, laughing and joking with friends, acquaintances and cousins as she headed towards her sisters.
Locrinus waved to her from the other side of the square, his sons, Lagon and Ivor, either side of him.
Ivor’s betrothed, Gael, was with them, while Lagon beckoned to Cordelia to join them, but she pointed to Goneril and Regan and blew him a kiss instead.
The two women were smiling and chatting to Aganippus and Ebraucus, evidently relieved the danger to their father had passed.
The suitors had remained, at the request of Angarad, Dardan, Locrinus and the council of elders.
‘Your father’s weakened state could put the village in a vulnerable position,’ Angarad had explained to Cordelia.
‘There are always those, both inside and outside the oppidum, who might try to use your father’s ill health to their advantage and attempt to seize power.
The suitors have all sworn to protect the hill fort if this should happen.
I believe the younger men remain hopeful of a match with one of your sisters and, as such, have offered to help with the administration of our home.
These men represent powerful tribes, it is better to keep them as friends, rather than risk losing their goodwill and facing a coup within our own walls. ’
Cordelia had found the conversation uncomfortable but had understood the reasoning behind the invitation for the men to stay.
She did not trust Ebraucus, but she felt a sense of relief that Aganippus, with his wisdom and years of experience ruling his kingdom, was available should any squabbles or altercations erupt.
Maglaurus and Henwinus had remained loyal and considerate too.
‘Cordelia,’ Goneril called, beckoning her over.
Goneril wore a headdress of pink harebells, while Regan’s fair hair was adorned with deep purple loosestrife, and as Cordelia arrived, with much laughter, they adorned her head with a circlet of bright yellow marigolds and camomile flowers.
‘These are beautiful,’ she said, adjusting the willow frame on which the flora had been woven so it sat more comfortably.
‘Regan made them,’ said Goneril. ‘We thought they were a suitable way to celebrate Fa’s recovery.’
‘Thank you, Regan,’ Cordelia said, squeezing her sister’s hand. ‘You have such skill with flowers.’
Regan smiled in response, then turned as Ebraucus called her name. Cordelia felt her shoulders relaxing for the first time since her father’s accident. The danger had passed and the world would return to normal.
Above her, a rook cawed and she sent it blessings, wondering if the shocking images of her father’s violence had been a result of her fear for his recovery.
The messages she encountered during her dream-walks were often difficult to interpret: had her terror at the thought of losing her father caused her to believe they were prophetic when they had in fact been a manifestation of her own emotions?
It often made her doubt her abilities if she did not take the true meaning from her visions, but this time, she was delighted to have been mistaken.
The meeting place swarmed with people. It was a wide area in the centre of the hill fort and was the hub around which all activities revolved.
A menhir marked the very centre and the tribe’s history claimed this stone had been flown there by the Triple Bee Maidens – Corycia, Kleodora and Melaina.
Legend said the bees had led their ancestors to the hillside and told them it was a safe and prosperous place to build their homes.
Cordelia watched as the children skipped around the menhir, garlanding it with flowers, laughing at their antics.
All around, the tribe was celebrating, their happiness and excitement rippling through the air.
Her emotions were heightened and she sensed Aganippus moving towards her even before he spoke in her ear.
‘This is a joyous day,’ he said and again Cordelia was unable to halt the shiver of excitement in her heart at the overwhelming intensity of his nearness.
‘One I was scared we might not reach,’ she admitted, trying to keep the tremble of desire from her voice.
‘But you have the sight,’ he said. ‘You must have seen this…’ He gestured with his hand towards the party.
‘No,’ she admitted, ‘I was shown fear and despair. It scared me for the future, but I now believe they were warning me of my father’s accident. Instead, I took them too literally, concerning myself that we would be forced into war and the poverty which inevitably follows a bloody siege.’
‘Are you often wrong?’ asked Aganippus.
‘No,’ she replied, ‘but things have felt different this summer.’
‘Different?’ he said and held her gaze. ‘How?’
Before she could reply, drums sounded and Dardan called for attention.
As he waited for the crowd to quiet, with a sickening realisation Cordelia understood her inability to contact her father in the Everywhen.
Her powers had dimmed because she had allowed her focus to be distracted by her unexpected feelings for Aganippus.
I am the shaman, she reminded herself. Love is for others, my duty is to the tribe. Whereas this status once filled her with joy, now she was suffused with sadness.
‘Our leader, Lear Bladudsunu,’ Dardan announced and, once again, there was a roar of appreciative noise, drawing Cordelia from her teeming thoughts.
* * *
The door to the central roundhouse was flung open and Lear appeared.
His robes were light, flowing in the gentle breeze from the hillside, the delicacy of the fabric a contrast to his gnarled hand on the thick walking stick.
Although Lear’s eyes had not been damaged, the left eyelid now drooped and he had demanded a decorated patch as he did not like anyone to see this imperfection.