Page 9 of Queen of the Hollow Hills (Eagles and Crows #3)

CHAPTER 8

T he scene in Rigodonum was a festive one. A thin blanket of pristine white snow settled over the village on the morning of Yule eve. White snow trimmed the roofs and surrounding fields. It was cold, but beautiful.

Leaving the fort, we made our way into the new section of the city on foot. Along with us, servants carried baskets in which the small gifts Cormag had arranged were bundled. I felt festive dressed in a ruby-red gown and matching fur-trimmed cloak embroidered with white mistletoe berries and sprigs of green ivy—all Hilda’s creation. My arm linked with my husband’s, I carried a greenery-trimmed basket as we made our way.

To our delight and surprise, Fabius had dressed in a festive red-and-green outfit, the costume of the theater’s rustic fool, or so he told us. With a hat trimmed with feathers and bells, his face painted white—one eye decorated with a heart, the other with a diamond—he bounced around behind us rattling off jokes and puns, playing a flute, and juggling balls to entertain the children.

“It is also the feast of Saturn,” he told us. “We would have great fun in the streets of Capri, drinking, making merry, giving away candies and small wax figures. Today, I bring Saturnalia to you!”

The serious Brigantes people eyed him skeptically at first, but after watching a few of his antics, he had them laughing.

Corva merely shook her head as she watched.

The people called to us as we made our way to the center marketplace. There, bonfires burned. A single, massive fire sat at the center of the square. Beside it, the two Yule logs, one carved in the visage of the Cailleach, the other in the face of Brigantia, waited. Tonight, when the sky grew dark, the fire would be lit, and our twin goddesses would burn. So doing, we would welcome the return of the sun. Later, the people would take home the embers so the sacred fire might bring warmth to the homes of all Brigantes.

Music, mead, and merriment were seen everywhere. We had arranged two full days of feasting, frivolity, and winter games with prizes. As we went, I saw men engaging in the games. Archers shot their bows at targets, men threw axes, and a merry game of hand pie eating was getting underway. I paused to watch two very round men and one lanky youth compete to see who could devour the greatest number of pies.

“Queen Cartimandua,” the largest of the men called to me. “My belly is rounder than yours, and I don’t carry the weight of the Brigantes! Stay a moment and watch me win!”

I laughed and waved him on.

“Ready, gentlemen?” the gamemaster called.

The large man roared loudly, causing the crowd to laugh, and then the three competitors settled in before heaping platters of pies.

“Will they try to eat all of that?” Fabius asked.

“Try, yes. Let’s see who succeeds.”

“Now!” the gamemaster called.

I watched in fascination as the men worked. Despite his boasting, the very round man slowed, his pallor turning ashen after the twelfth pie.

“Your man will vomit,” Fabius told me with a laugh.

“He is not my man. My bet is on the thin lad,” I said, gesturing.

At the end of the table, as the countdown neared, the lanky young man began eating faster than ever, devouring pie after pie, food flying everywhere.

“How vulgar,” Fabius said, making a disgusted face.

I chuckled.

“Three…two…one! And we have our winner!” the gamemaster called, lifting the hand of the boy.

Corva laughed. “His stomach will ache until Beltane.”

The gamemaster rewarded the winner with a carved wooden platter, and the two runners-up were given baskets of hand pies. The very round man groaned when he saw them, much to everyone’s amusement.

We left the games then and passed through the tents where artisans displayed their best handiwork—be it weaving, woodworking, or otherwise—for a chance to win a new cloak or other prizes.

A group of children passed by as we made our way through the crowd.

“Little ones,” Cormag called. “Come, your queen has gifts for you.”

The children stared at him briefly—that glint of suspicion of the Votadini prince in their eyes—but it disappeared quickly, and they raced to us.

“A blessed Yule from the king consort and me,” I told the children, passing out the little parcels Cormag had seen prepared.

“A ribbon!” one little girl cried in delight. “It’s red!”

“And a buckle! I must show my mother,” another small child added before they raced off. “Thank you, Queen Cartimandua, King Consort Cormag,” they called over their shoulders.

A chorus of other thanks greeted us as we made our way through the crowd, dispensing gifts. Cormag enlisted Brodi and Damhan’s help passing out the gifts while Fabius juggled balls, making the children laugh.

Corva and I carried on, stopping to eat roasted hazelnuts—still no walnuts—sample crocks of honey and jams, admire cattle and horses, and more.

When the men rejoined us, the sun had sunk low on the horizon. My feet and lower back began to ache.

“Where is Fabius?” I asked, eyeing the others.

“By the bonfire,” Brodi told me. “He is swallowing balls of fire.”

“He’s what?” I asked.

Laughing, Brodi gestured for me to follow.

We made our way to the bonfire. There, Fabius stood telling an outlandish tale about a god named Vulcan, the lord of fire and smithcraft. He wowed the crowd, spinning a flaming baton before him, sticking lighted ends into his mouth.

“And now, let me show you the true power of Vulcan. But, first, I must have a fish. Anyone, a fish? A fish?”

The crowd laughed, but no one offered a fish.

Finally, a scowling Conall, duped into participating, handed the Roman a fish.

“To be cooked in the great Brigantes fire this night. Vulcan! An offering in exchange for fire breath!” Fabius said, setting the fish by the bonfire. Taking a swig of a liquid, Fabius then began swirling his batons once more. Finally, he put one toward his lips and blew a plume of fire above the crowd.

The children shrieked merrily.

At that, he took a bow, the people clapping for him.

We joined them.

“Conall has seen to a small canopy and chairs for us there,” Cormag told me. “Won’t you take your rest, Cartimandua?”

While my heart told me to tour the festivities more, the children within me were rolling with all the excitement. I felt tired. We went to the canopy, taking a seat on the elevated platform above which a canopy had been erected. From my seat, I could easily see the people dancing and hear music playing. I loved seeing the red-cheeked maidens and young men dancing together. In them, I saw a shadow of myself. Children threw snow at one another and played, racing through the crowd.

I smiled contentedly, setting my hand on my stomach.

“You have brought them happiness,” Cormag told me, taking my hand.

“It was hard-earned.”

“But look at them now.”

I smiled softly. “ We protected the Brigantes. We have made a better world for our children,” I told my husband, but even as I spoke the words, the whispers of the little people of the hollow hills came to me once more. Despite whispers in the darkness, I was determined to do everything I could to secure the Brigantes. To make us safe, I had to make us strong. War had done that. But so would giving the people an heir—two, in fact. There would be no question now of who would take the throne after my death. I carried the future rulers of the Brigantes and the Votadini. Our future looked stronger than ever.

“Well, it seems there is some mirth in your people after all,” Fabius said, rejoining us, a flagon of wine in his hands.

“Where did you get that?” Corva asked.

“It was a gift.”

“From whom?” she replied.

Fabius merely winked at her.

“How did you do that?” Cormag asked him, gesturing to Fabius’s unlit baton.

“Ah,” Fabius gasped, his hand to his throat. “A performer never gives away his secrets, silly,” he said, touching Cormag’s knee.

Confused, Cormag shook his head.

I chuckled.

“The sun grows low, my queen. Shall we see to the great fire?” Corva asked.

I nodded. I had sent to M?d, asking her if she would like to come to attend to the festivities, but the priestess sent back a message that her own rites would keep her away. It was no matter. The Yule festival was for the people, and I was their queen.

I rose and made my way from the podium, Cormag gently guiding me.

Conall, who had been waiting nearby, signaled to the men who sounded their trumpets. The sound reverberated across the city, calling the people to the bonfire.

We waited until all the crowd had assembled to begin.

I stepped forward.

A hush fell over the crowd.

“Brigantes,” I called in a loud, clear voice. “Let us celebrate this sacred Yule and give thanks. It is the season of the lady of winter, of the Cailleach. Tonight, as the moon turns, let’s leave the darkness of the past behind us. We have suffered this year, my people, but prevailed. We are stronger than ever. Now, we begin our slow crawl toward spring. Our mountains, valleys, rivers, and fields all sleep. They make ready for the prosperity of spring. And so shall we,” I said, putting my hand on my stomach and smiling at the crowd.

At that, they cheered.

I turned to Cormag, taking his hand and squeezing it.

“Tonight,” I said, “we shall send these effigies of Brigantia and the Cailleach to the fire. May the twin goddesses offer their blessings in the flames. Take with you the embers from this sacred fire so you may carry our divine sisters’ blessings to your own hearth and be blessed and warmed all year long. And to all Brigantes and our allies, I say Blessed Yule!”

The crowd called back to me, shouting out their blessings.

I turned to the men, indicating it was time to add the effigies to the bonfire and light the flames. The men lifted the heavy logs and carefully set them on the fire. Taking a torch from Corva and stepping around Fabius’s dead fish, I set the bonfire to light. The fire came alive with a crackle, and the small twigs and dried grasses soon caught flame.

I stepped back, joining Cormag to admire the fire. So wrapped up in the ceremony I didn’t see the commotion in the crowd until it was too late.

“Queen Cartimandua!” Fabius called, distress in his voice as he tried to push toward me.

Confused, I shifted to look toward him, hearing the whiz of an arrow and the feel of the shaft so close to my face that I could swear the fletching touched my cheek.

Cormag’s eyes went wide. He looked from the crowd to me. “Carti!” Cormag called in alarm, suddenly grabbing me.

Everything happened so quickly it became a blur.

Cormag grabbed me, using his body to shield me. He grunted lightly as he moved me away, Conall and the other guards forming a circle around me.

People in the crowd screamed.

“There! There! Someone tried to assassinate the queen!”

“The queen!”

“Queen Cartimandua!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Corva’s red cape billow as she disappeared into the crowd.

“Quickly, Cartimandua,” Conall said, pulling me by the arm as he rushed me to his horse, which was waiting nearby.

The guard around me protectively, Conall leaped up on his horse while the others helped me mount in front of him.

“King Consort,” Conall said, worry in his voice.

“Get her to the fort. I’m coming right behind you,” Cormag said stiffly.

“But Prince Cormag—” Conall began.

In a stern voice, my husband said, “I’m coming. Go.”

“Cormag,” I heard Damhan say, worry in his voice.

“Conall. What’s happening?” I asked, trying to look.

“Hold on, Cartimandua. I’ve got you,” Conall told me, and with that, he spurred his horse, which took off in a gallop back toward the fort. The other guards flanked us as we raced back toward the hillfort.

I held on tight, aware that I had no business on horseback in my condition.

Sacred Epona, Lady of Horses, watch over my children. Be easy on me. Brigantia, protect my children, protect my people.

Calling for the people to clear the path and for the gates to the king’s house to be opened, Conall rushed us into the fort and then leaped from his horse, even before it stopped.

“Close the gates behind Prince Cormag,” Conall called to the guard, then quickly ushered me inside.

Turning a corner, we found Kamden, a crate full of bottles in his hands. “Kamden, take Queen Cartimandua to her workroom and see the queen well-guarded.”

“What’s happened?” Kamden asked, bewildered.

“An attempt on the queen’s life,” Conall replied.

Kamden gasped.

“Conall?” I said, turning to him in confusion.

“Cartimandua, I must see the fort searched. We must be sure no one slipped in during all the activity.”

A moment later, however, I heard a noise in the central courtyard. I turned back to look, seeing Damhan, Brodi, and Fabius helping Cormag inside.

It was then that I saw…

There was an arrow in Cormag’s back. Dark blood poured onto his scarlet-colored tunic, staining the fabric.

“Cormag!” I called, turning back.

“We have him, Queen Cartimandua,” Damhan told us, hurrying Cormag inside.

Stepping aside so they could pass, I followed as they rushed Cormag into my workroom.

“Fetch the healer from the village,” I heard Conall tell one of the men. “Quickly.”

Damhan and Brodi began working at once to rip away Cormag’s clothes to get to the wound.

“Cormag,” I said, breathless. He had gone pale. “Cormag, what have you done?”

“Protected you and my children.”

“And your leather protected you, my prince,” Damhan said, frowning. “The arrow is not deep, but removing it will hurt. Brace yourself now,” Damhan told Cormag, then began washing the wound.

“Hold my hand,” Cormag told me.

“Oh, Cormag, how did this happen? I…” I began, then shook my head. There had been someone in the crowd. Someone had tried to kill me. Cormag had taken the arrow in my stead. I remembered a commotion at the back of the crowd. Fabius had called out to warn me, and Corva had gone after the assailant. Who had dared send someone into my own fort to kill me? On Yule, at a celebration before the twin goddesses? I set aside the rage that filled me and turned back to my husband.

I squeezed Cormag’s hand, looking into his blue eyes. “We’ve got you.”

“If you wanted to know my performance secrets, King Consort, you didn’t have to be so dramatic to get it out of me. The trick, you see, is the liquid I pour into my mouth,” Fabius told Cormag, showing him a flask on his hip. “I must protect my lips with a little ointment first, and then?—”

But the talk had been a distraction.

Fabius nodded to Damhan.

With a tug, Brodi holding Cormag’s shoulder to steady him, Damhan pulled the arrow from Cormag’s back.

I tried not to wince when I saw blood spurt out and spill onto the floor.

Cormag went still a moment. He swayed in his seat, Brodi and Damhan steadying him. Cormag turned to me. He was pale and sweating but said, “No worse than a blackthorn.”

“Liar.”

Cormag winked at me.

A moment later, Conall entered with the village healer, Arixus, who always attended our family. He hurried to Cormag, looking over the wound.

“I set off for the fort at once,” he told us, then went to inspect Cormag’s wound. “As clean of a removal as you can hope for. With your permission, King Consort, I will clean and bandage the wound now.”

“Very well,” Cormag told him.

I sat with my husband, watching him do everything he could not to wince at the pain as Arixus worked.

“It is not a deep wound, thank the twin goddesses. We will need only to clean and stitch the wound, a little salve, and a tonic for pain.”

“His armor protected him,” I said.

“A far cry sturdier than the beautiful frock you are wearing, my queen. In the future, you, too, should put on Votadini leather before the crowd. You are a mighty queen, Cartimandua. You will always have enemies. And, when I am done here, I will get you a salve for that cheek.”

“Cheek?” I asked, my hand going to my face.

Fabius handed me a handkerchief. “A small cut,” he told me.

“From the fletching, by the look of it,” Arixus added.

I patted the cut, red blood marring Fabius’s handkerchief. Seeing it made me realize just how close to disaster we had truly come. My father used to ride in a simple tunic and breeches around the fort, not worrying about an assassin’s arrow. But that was before… Before the Parisii tried to help themselves to Mydils, before there were defectors in Setantii lands, before the Carvetti had been absorbed and the Dardani liberated with my aid. As much as I wanted the darkness to be behind me, it wasn’t. And it may be many years before it would be again.

“Any word from the village?” Brodi asked Conall. “The assailant?”

“Corva set off on horseback, the mount’s hooves on fire. If there is anyone who can catch the culprit, it is the red-robed priestess,” Conall replied.

“Was anyone else hurt? Are the people all right?” I asked.

“Yes, my queen. The arrow was, sadly, only trained on you,” Conall replied.

My gaze went briefly to the window. Through the slats in the shutters, I could see snow falling once more.

Whoever had made an attempt on my life, who had harmed the man I love, would not live long enough to regret their decision. And those behind it…

All the fires of Yule were nothing compared to the vengeance coming for them.