Chapter 19
Cordelia sat astride the chestnut mare her husband had assured her was worthy of the new queen of Gallia.
She wore robes he had presented and, while they were beautiful, she was no longer her own woman; these lavish gifts marked her as belonging to Aganippus.
The fabric of her gown fell in soft folds either side of her saddle.
Her dress was a cool, finely woven cream linen with a blue flower printed on the hem, over this was a long sleeveless tunic in the unusual silk which had made up her wedding gown but in a colour she had never before seen in clothing.
Cordelia had been dazzled by the shimmering green-blue fabric.
‘The colour is called blaehaewen-waeter,’ Aganippus had explained. ‘It’s named after a stone found in many places to the east.’
He had then placed a golden ring set with a glinting green-blue blaehaewen-waeter stone onto the third finger of her left hand. It caught the light and made her think of water made solid but without the freezing pain of ice; this stone was summer captured by nature.
‘Why do you ask me to wear it here?’ she had said.
‘A line runs from this finger, under your skin, to your heart,’ he had replied. ‘In Egypt, it’s a custom for spouses to each wear one to indicate their devotion.’
‘I have nothing to give you in return,’ she had said.
‘When you’re ready, you’ll find the correct present,’ he had replied enigmatically and once again she had wondered about this man, her husband.
My husband, she thought as the mare clopped forward, jolting her back to the present. The words felt unfamiliar in both her mouth and her mind.
Becuma rode beside her on a smaller pony, several of the bags holding the treasures they had rescued from the temple were tied to her saddle.
Cordelia glanced at her friend, it was strange to see her dressed in the clothes of their tribe rather than the white robes of a priestess.
Becuma’s long, light brown hair was captured in a plait that snaked down her back, her face was relaxed but determined as she concentrated on guiding her pony.
This was the first time Becuma had ridden any distance and Cordelia knew she was nervous.
When she had mentioned this to Aganippus, he had enlisted his second-in-command, Buel, to ride near Becuma to ensure her safety.
Cordelia gazed around, the hill fort was already changing, the people no longer smiled and laughed spontaneously, instead they were wary, nervous of the new men who strode around, shouting instructions and bristling with aggression.
The villagers moved aside as Aganippus, who headed the procession, led them towards the gates.
As they passed, the women touched their foreheads to Cordelia and Becuma, who responded in kind from their position in the centre of the Gallian men.
When they left the hill fort, Cordelia did not look back. Goneril and Maglaurus remained to assist their father, while Regan and Henwinus had travelled to his tribal lands in Dvmnonii the previous day.
This is no longer home, she thought and an unexpected wave of gratitude to be leaving swept through her.
As they made their way down the well-worn paths through the fields, she saw a man waiting at the bottom of the hill.
It was Lagon. Although they were a short distance from him, when he raised a hand to touch his forehead, both she and Becuma returned the blessing.
A moment later, Aganippus drew level with Lagon and paused to speak.
Cordelia could not hear the conversation, but she watched their faces and saw friendship and respect.
They clasped hands in a gesture of brotherhood, then Lagon stepped back.
She wondered what had passed between them.
* * *
It was three days since the humiliation and horror of the wedding day.
The tribe had erupted in fury and shock at Angarad’s violent death, swarming towards both her and Lear with shouts and screams, whether to offer solace and help or to challenge their chief’s rule was uncertain.
Lear had screamed abuse at them all, standing behind his new soldiers, whom he had instructed to rebuff the villagers with unnecessary violence and force.
‘Move her body!’ Lear had yelled and the women had run forward to gather Angarad to them, taking her to the nearest roundhouse, where they refused entry to any man.
‘It is a woman’s duty to prepare another for the path to the Everywhen,’ Sadiald had said, blocking the entrance.
Lear had ignored the fury of the mob, leaving it to the soldiers to quell the reaction of the villagers, instead he had shouted to his daughters and their husbands, ‘Go now! Your roundhouses are waiting. I need heirs.’
‘Fa, what are you saying?’ Goneril had gasped.
‘No consummation, no wedding feast,’ he had growled.
‘You think we want a wedding feast—?’ Cordelia had begun, but Aganippus had grasped her hand and dragged her away.
‘There is darkness in your father’s mind,’ he had said as he lowered the curtain and fastened the wooden panel used as a door. ‘Don’t try to reason with him.’
Cordelia was about to retort but Aganippus was unlacing his tunic and had pulled it over his head. She had backed away, her heart pounding in fear, but rather than turning to her, he had peeled away a small dressing on his side.
‘I cut myself a few days ago,’ he had said, worrying at the scab until it began to ooze droplets of fresh red blood. ‘I’m trusting you will ensure this wound won’t fester and kill me.’
He had smeared the blood he had encouraged from his cut onto a waiting white cloth, then turned to Cordelia.
‘Would you redress my side, please?’ Aganippus had said, nodding towards a table where dressings and balms lay waiting. ‘Becuma gave them to me.’
Cordelia had stared at him. ‘Don’t you wish to consummate our marriage?’ she had asked, annoyed with herself when her voice trembled. ‘All men desire sons.’
‘I have three sons and two daughters,’ he had replied.
‘My wife, Edra, died two winters past, but my children are strong and healthy. You needed protection and I wished to offer it. Your shamanic skills are of more interest to me than forcing myself upon an unwilling participant. We shall be married in name only. I will never expect access to your body. Should you ever wish to make our marriage more, then the decision will always remain yours.’
Cordelia had allowed the words to filter through her panicked mind; these were promises of calm and reason, but to her surprise, she felt the smallest stab of disappointment.
A feeling she hastily quashed, instead busying herself with the application of the ointment made from honey and oats left by Becuma.
She had smeared a scoop onto a soft, clean square of fabric before winding a bandage around Aganippus’s middle to secure it in place.
As she had worked, she had breathed in the scent of his skin, a musky smell, sweetened with the freshness of mint, and for a fleeting moment, she had longed to press her lips against his bare chest.
An hour later, during which time, they had discussed the horror of Angarad’s death, they emerged from the tent and Aganippus had passed the blood-smeared cloth to Lear.
Her father had given a coarse laugh, before demanding food for a feast. Angarad was not mentioned and her father gave no suggestion he had noticed anything unusual.
A flushed Goneril and a furious Regan had followed after another hour.
Maglaurus exuded smugness and satisfaction, but Henwinus was wary, staying as far from Regan as possible; Cordelia did not need her shamanic gift to understand things had not gone well.
For the rest of the evening, throughout the strange, tense celebrations, Cordelia had sat at her husband’s side.
It was a stark contrast to the light and joy of the night of the solstice.
When Aganippus had stood, taking her hand and leading her to their quarters, the rook had cawed above her, and when she had looked over, it had bowed before taking flight. She knew it would never return.
The next few days had been the strangest Cordelia had ever experienced.
Her father began stalking the hill fort, issuing commands, confiscating weapons and tools, ordering the farmers to train as soldiers and undoing the usual routines of the tribe which had made the settlement so successful.
It was a relief when Aganippus had announced they were leaving.
‘We shall travel to the Belgae tribe, not far from here, where we will stay for a while before continuing to the coast and sailing across the Dogger Sea to Gallia,’ he had said.
‘The journey will take many weeks, but with luck, the weather will be kind and we shall be home before the winter storms arrive.’
* * *
Now, as they made their way down the hill, away from the oppidum, Cordelia allowed her mind to empty, to brush away her fears of what the future held.
In all her walks in the Everywhen, leaving her father’s home was not a path that had ever been shown and she could not understand why such a huge change had been obscured.
What else have I missed? she thought. Perhaps my skills are not so sharp as once they were, perhaps I need a new teacher and this quest will lead to enlightenment?
Her eyes flickered forward to Aganippus. Was he the person intended to steer her along new avenues of discovery or was he the conduit? Her mind flickered towards the strange dreams she had been experiencing – of the three women and the unusual stone-built dwelling filled with many people.
‘Why are we visiting the Belgae?’ Becuma asked and Cordelia started, dragged from her thoughts.
‘Aganippus has family there,’ Cordelia replied. ‘The Belgae have links with tribes in Gallia and Belgica. He is king of Gallia, perhaps they owe him fealty, too.’
Before Becuma could respond, Aganippus appeared at Cordelia’s side.
‘My lady, how fare you both in this heat?’ he asked.