Chapter 20
‘My liege,’ said Kerin Goffarsunu as they entered the hill fort, ‘we are honoured to welcome you and your new wife.’
Aganippus climbed smoothly down from his horse and helped Cordelia to dismount.
‘The honour is ours,’ he replied, clasping hands with his stepfather. ‘This is Cordelia Leardohtor.’
Kerin bowed and Cordelia, unsure how to respond, bobbed a curtsy in return.
A woman hurried towards them through the eager crowd. She was tall and slender with an abundance of silver-white hair flowing down her back. Her dark brown eyes were alight with excitement, the fine wrinkles and laughter lines around them adding to, rather than diminishing, her beauty.
‘My son,’ she exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms. Aganippus spun her around as they hugged each other tightly.
Cordelia stood beside Kerin, watching this display of family affection, and felt her own father’s betrayal sting a little deeper.
‘My dreams were correct,’ Margan said, releasing Aganippus and embracing Cordelia. ‘My son has found a new wife, one fated with a great destiny of her own. You are welcome here with the Belgae, my daughter.’
As Margan’s arms tightened around her, Cordelia’s reserve almost cracked.
She had not acknowledged that, throughout her journey, she had been banking up her emotions – her anger, her fear, her sadness – against her father and his behaviour.
Margan’s maternal hug, the first she remembered, nearly broke her.
‘Come, my dear,’ Margan said, ‘let us find somewhere cool for you to recover while Aganippus and Kerin deal with the horses and baggage. You must tell me about your skills and I shall endeavour to learn all I can while you are my guest.’
Cordelia beckoned to Becuma, who stood watching this exchange and, together, the three women walked towards a large roundhouse.
* * *
Several hours later, Cordelia sat in an ornate chair as the official ceremony of welcome began. She had not expected their arrival to be greeted with such enthusiasm but Kerin and Margan had insisted upon it.
‘Not only is Aganippus my son,’ she had explained, ‘he is the liege lord of the Belgae and, therefore, tribute and welcome must be made in full. Tonight, we shall celebrate your arrival with traditional honours.’
Cordelia adjusted the ornate dress she wore and glanced over to Becuma, who sat on a nearby bench beside Buel.
Her friend blushed as Buel leaned over and whispered in her ear.
She ran a hand over her dress and smiled.
As the afternoon had progressed, Aganippus had shown Cordelia and Becuma to a separate roundhouse with a core of women to care for their every need.
As they had washed away the dust of the road and were given an array of food and drink, another parcel of clothing had arrived, this time with robes for both women.
Cordelia had seen the delight in Becuma’s eyes when she had given her the vivid orange dress.
‘I’ve never worn anything this beautiful,’ Becuma had gasped as Cordelia laced her into it.
‘Let me arrange your hair, too,’ Cordelia had said. ‘I think it might have been Buel who sent this rather than Aganippus.’
Becuma had blushed.
Now Cordelia watched as the Belgae took their place in the central hall of the oppidum.
She had been surprised at its shape, it was square with wooden posts at each corner and was used as a central meeting place for the tribe.
The walls were made of closely woven sticks covered in a form of red clay or mud.
Aganippus had called it ‘mud and stud’ but said it was based on the Egyptian technique known as ‘wattle and daub’ or ‘wattle and reed’.
The roof was thatched and the interior was divided with screen walls made from more woven sticks, covered with animal skins and heavy fabrics.
‘Are you comfortable, wife?’ asked Aganippus, arriving by her side, a goblet of mead in each hand.
‘Thank you, husband,’ she replied, taking the drinking vessel he proffered. ‘I’m most well. Will you be joining me?’
‘Of course, we are guests of honour, and even if we weren’t, the pleasure to sit beside you will always be mine.’
‘You are too kind, sir,’ she said as he took the large chair to her left.
He sipped his mead, then reached over to grasp her hand.
Cordelia did not resist, she was his wife, it was her place to welcome his advances.
However, she had noticed a growing and pleasurable tingle on her skin whenever Aganippus touched her; a feeling she was beginning to crave when they were apart for too long.
‘My mother is delighted we have wed,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Did she say anything to you about her dreams?’
Cordelia shook her head. ‘We spent very little time together. Your mother was very welcoming, but we were always surrounded by others. All she managed to whisper was a message that Becuma and I have yet to discuss or understand.’
‘Which was?’ asked Aganippus.
‘She said, “You are the beginning, Cordelia, but you are also the end; great healing will come when your heart connects with the Charmed One”.’
As she spoke the words, Cordelia felt again the cold rush of confirmation flash through her, a direct repetition of the afternoon.
‘“Charmed one”?’
‘Yes, these were the words Angarad used before she drank the hemlock,’ said Cordelia, relieved to have finally shared this aloud.
‘And this was all my mother said?’
‘Yes, she had no further insight.’
Aganippus sipped his mead and Cordelia watched as his eyes narrowed in thought.
‘What does Becuma make of my mother’s comment?’
‘She has yet to study the words in detail,’ replied Cordelia.
Aganippus gave a slow nod, his face serious.
‘Will you share her thoughts with me when she reveals them?’ he asked. ‘I would be most interested to discover more.’
‘Of course,’ said Cordelia, even though the idea of discussing prophecies with a man felt strange.
As the tribe’s shaman, she had divined the meaning of her walks with Angarad and the other priestesses before delivering the prophecies to her father and the elders.
Her word had been accepted without question by the men; to hear Aganippus’s request felt peculiar but not uncomfortable.
She realised she was eager to hear his views and, again, she wondered at herself and these unexpected reactions and emotions to the man whom she had known for such a short time.
‘As part of this evening’s celebrations,’ Aganippus continued, ‘my mother has invited our favourite bard to tell us a tale. He travels far and wide but often winters with the tribe. He arrived two days ago and claims he was drawn back as there are a myriad of new stories rich in his mind which are desperate to be told. He is a wise man and I wonder whether he might have knowledge of this story weaving itself around us.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Cordelia with a sinking feeling in her heart. ‘Do you know the name of the bard?’
Her father’s hill fort had often hosted bards and there were numerous occasions when the yarns told had been based on mythical versions of herself and her sisters.
She had never understood why they were of interest, but the stories always proved popular.
Bards were notorious gossips and scandalmongers and she had no desire for her family to become a source of ridicule when news of her father’s behaviour began to travel.
In her heart, she continued to believe her father would regain his senses and send messengers with tidings of forgiveness and love, but she wondered whether this bard had arrived in order to try to discover more about the upheaval in Dobvnni.
‘His name is Spaden the Gaul and he has been bard to our family for many years,’ said Aganippus, ‘although I believe he is from Brittany, rather than Gallia. He has adopted the name in order to appear more exotic.’
Cordelia had never heard of this man. She waited for her shamanic senses to offer advice on whether he might be friend or foe but, to her surprise, saw and felt nothing unusual.
This confused her; ordinarily when someone new was presented, she had a flash of insight, but to experience no reaction was unnerving.
She wondered if her shamanic skills had fled into the knot of the handfasting; as she became bound to Aganippus, perhaps her abilities had also been curtailed?
It was a concerning thought, especially as the person to whom she would have turned for advice, Angarad, was dead.
‘Here,’ said Aganippus, taking a small bowl of food from a passing servant and handing it to Cordelia, ‘relax and enjoy the entertainment. My mother has assured me the lore Spaden intends to tell is one of wonder.’
‘Is it about my father?’ Cordelia asked, no longer able to contain her fears.
‘No, my love,’ Aganippus replied, ‘it is about a triple quest. He speaks often of the trinity of magic and its power to heal. Now, eat while the food is hot and let me look after you for a change.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Cordelia, noticing again his use of the term of affection and having to suppress a smile of delight.
‘When we were at the Golden Fort, I watched you and no matter the time of day you were always alert to the needs of others. You smoothed over countless issues between your villagers, halted a hundred potential feuds before they began, negotiated with traders, helped Angarad with the temple duties, yet you allowed your father to take the accolades for the management of the camp. Many will no doubt have noticed the change since you left.’
‘You’re mistaken,’ she said. ‘My input was minimal, my sisters and father always commented that my commitment was to the goddess rather than family.’
‘Your father and sisters were wrong,’ he replied.
Cordelia was about to defend them but was silenced as the loud beating of drums filled the air.
‘My mother arrives,’ said Aganippus with a grin that made him look years younger. ‘She loves to make an entrance.’