CHAPTER 22

No one questioned him or challenged his right to enter the town at the end of the day. He’d worked tirelessly, dressing wounds so that they might not turn to stinking rot in a few days, easing the last moments of those who were never going to see another sun rise.

He had preferred pulling arrows and sewing cuts and mopping blood to the prayers and the sanctification of souls. The men weren’t Rus, knew nothing of Orthodoxy, acknowledged someone other than the patriarch as their spiritual leader. Their own heretical priests had helped them far more than he could, because even as he crossed their foreheads with cold, shining water, he felt as if he was betraying his vows.

Va and Elenya walked behind the last of the carts laden with dead together with the people of An Cobh, as if they’d earned their place amongst them. Something made Va look up and back as they passed under the gatehouse. Staring down on them were two men, one with grey hair and a heavy gold chain, the other in a rich purple cloak: the King of Coirc and the Kenyan, Solomon Akisi.

The king failed to notice the incandescent rage directed at him, but Akisi caught a sudden chill and shivered. He whispered in the king’s ear and gave a surreptitious gesture, pointing out Va in the crowd below them.

As the townspeople left the procession to return to their own houses, their number thinned. Finally it was just the cart, the driver and a man with a prodigious moustache whose hands were as bloody as Va’s.

He addressed Va directly. Va looked blank and glanced at Elenya.

‘He’s inviting us to share his plank with him.’

‘His what? Is this some sort of insult, or a barbarian greeting?’

‘Plank. No. Board? Table.’ Elenya checked her translation with the man. ‘Yes, he wants us to come and eat with him. He says it would honour his building. Household. Family. Sorry, it’s been a long day. To be honest, I don’t think I care what you say, I’m saying yes.’

‘I don’t see us overwhelmed with offers. These people have no idea of hospitality.’ Va sized up the native. ‘Tell him we’ll go with him.’

‘My name is Eoin macDonnabhan,’ said the man, ‘and my house is yours on this sad day.’

He led them through the shadowed, narrow streets that were reminiscent of Moskva at its poorest. At some points they had to turn sideways to squeeze though the gaps between the walls. It was as if An Cobh had been grown, rather than built. macDonnabhan pointed out the important local landmarks–a stone tower, a marketplace cross, a long open hall with vaulted arches–and as Elenya patiently translated for Va, he started to address his remarks to her instead.

Va was party to less and less of the conversation, and eventually was left out altogether. When they arrived at a house close to the eastern wall and went in, he was momentarily surprised and left out on the doorstep.

Inside there was space and light and warmth, the calling of voices and the barking of dogs. Outside he was quite alone. Then Elenya leaned back and asked him: ‘Are you coming in?’

‘Yes. What were you talking about all that time?’

‘I’ll have to tell you later. Va, do you trust me?’

‘I…suppose so. What are you doing?’

‘Trying to help you, though I don’t know why.’ She jerked her head. ‘In, and try not to frown at everything.’

Va stepped over the threshold. Someone reached behind him to shut out the night, and a hand at his back ushered him into the room. macDonnabhan clapped his hands twice, and talking from all, young and old, trickled to an expectant hush.

A dog as tall as the youngest child pushed its way through the forest of legs and sniffed tentatively at Va’s hand with its thin muzzle. Its nose was wet, and it spent a while exploring the interesting smells he’d collected since he’d last washed.

‘They’re waiting for you to introduce yourself,’ said Elenya.

‘Oh. Va. Brother Va. I’m sure His Holiness Father Yeremai, patriarch of Moscow and of all Russia, the patriarch of the Orthodox Church, would send his greetings.’

Elenya told them her name too: ‘Knyazhna Elenya Lukeva Christyakova.’ She explained what Knyazhna meant.

The Aeireanns drew breath as one. macDonnabhan scuffed his feet on the stone floor and looked at the filth he was covered in.

‘These aren’t my best clothes, Princess,’ he said.

‘That’s all right,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I’m not at all princessy.’

He motioned to Va that he should follow him. ‘Brother, we need to clean ourselves up before we sit at the table. You travel in exalted company.’

Va could see that macDonnabhan didn’t doubt Elenya’s title. They didn’t need to see her dressed all in gold, servants and handmaidens trailing behind her, passing down the central aisle of Novy Rostov’s cathedral. They could tell just from how beautiful she was.

A tub of hot water waited for them in a back room, together with bars of yellow soap and linen towels. macDonnabhan mimed what to do with them, and Va fought back a scowl. He said in Rus, his face determinedly neutral: ‘We have baths a hundred times more grand than this where I come from. I come from the centre of Christian civilization, not some bog at the end of the world.’

They stripped and washed. One of macDonnabhan’s men–family by the look of him–brought in new clothes. Va dunked his habit in the washing water and started to scrub. macDonnabhan shook his head. ‘Women’s work,’ he said.

Va brought his sodden habit out and wrung it. The muscles on his arms stood out like cords. ‘My work,’ he said in World. ‘My cloth. I have God’s orders.’

‘Holy orders?’

‘Yes.’

‘I understand.’ macDonnabhan said something to the man who’d brought his clothes, who ran off. ‘Wait, please,’ he told Va.

He dressed in a linen shirt and trousers, put boots on his feet and took out a small tin of ointment. He waxed his moustache until it was stiff. Va plunged his habit in again, beat it on the side of the tub and twisted the water out again. He was about to put it on, when macDonnabhan’s man burst through the door again, carrying a coarse brown bundle.

‘Holy orders,’ said macDonnabhan, presenting Va with the cloth.

Va put down his dripping habit and shook out his present. It was a monk’s habit: the wrong colour, and it was going to drown him. These apostate Aeireann brothers were built on a different scale to him. macDonnabhan was trying so hard, he was making it difficult for Va to keep the strict vows he had made.

‘Dry, yes?’ said Va, pointing to his own black habit.

‘Yes.’

Va put on the habit, gathered up the mass of loose material around his waist and tied it off with the cord. He picked up his cross, kissed it and put it back around his neck. Wearing brown was wrong. It wasn’t Orthodox. But it would have to do.

Back in the main room, Elenya was surrounded by the women and children, the men standing back and talking amongst themselves. When Va and macDonnabhan appeared, the women went off to fetch the food while the children took their chance to crowd closer to a real princess and touch her long dark hair.

The men moved tables and benches; beaten metal plates and worn metal knives appeared out of chests; jugs banged down and horn cups clattered. macDonnabhan took his place at the head of the table and made sure that Va sat to his right, Elenya to his left.

‘It suits you,’ said Elenya to Va.

‘Only until mine is dry. Have you learned anything useful?’ Va tightened the cord again.

‘All these people are one family; a clan, they call them. macDonnabhan is the clan name, and Eoin macDonnabhan is the head of the clan. He used to be in favour with King Ardhal, but since the Kenyan came he’s lost status.’

‘Will he help us?’

‘I believe so, but it might depend on the Rus capacity for drink being greater than the Aeireann.’

‘What could they possibly brew here that’s stronger than vodka?’

‘Something called uisge, apparently. Ah, here comes the food.’

         

Honoured guests got the best portions and the strongest drink. There was bread, potatoes, mutton and beef, and ale so dark and bitter that it was difficult to swallow without pulling a face.

Eoin macDonnabhan started off brightly enough, then fell more maudlin as the evening wore on. He drank more and ate less. He started to speak about the king, and his clansmen shushed him; about Solomon Akisi, and they talked louder to drown him out. The woman of the house, who was Eoin’s sister and not his wife, attempted to persuade him to retire to bed, but he called for uisge so insistently that eventually a stone bottle was brought in.

He drained his cup of ale and poured in some of the golden liquid from the bottle. He stood unsteadily, raised his drink and toasted: ‘The King of Coirc, may he rot in hell.’

No one replied, so he drank alone.

Va took the bottle and dribbled a thin stream into his own cup. He sniffed at it, and his eyes watered. He got to his feet. ‘Tsar Ardhal.’ He flicked his wrist, swallowed and paused a moment while the room slipped in and out of focus.

Elenya reached for the bottle, charged her cup, stood and drank defiantly. Still, none of the macDonnabhan clan would join in. So she picked up the bottle, tipped yet more uisge into Eoin and Va’s cups before filling her own. The three stood there, separated by language and culture but united by common purpose.

‘Who’ll drink with me?’ said Eoin. ‘Who’ll drink with me but the princess and the foreign brother? Will my own family desert me? Will they stand by and watch as their king takes us all on the road to perdition?’

‘Eoin, it’s the drink talking,’ said his sister. ‘Apologies, Princess, Brother.’

‘It is not! It’s loosened my tongue, is all. Did you see what happened out there today? Did you see? That wasn’t a fair fight. It wasn’t a fight at all. It was bloody slaughter and that’s the beginning and end of it.’

‘We were defending our homes.’

‘Our quarrel was with Cormac, not his men, and we spitted them like rabbits over the fire.’ He picked up his knife and slammed it down in the remnants of the leg of mutton. ‘We didn’t give them a chance. We didn’t warn them. We just butchered them, even as they ran. Even as they ran, I tell you.’

His last comment hit home, and the men stopped calling for him to sit down and reluctantly began to nod.

‘You see the truth of it, do you? Since when have the men of Coirc stabbed anyone, even their enemies, in the back? We’re men, I say, not murderers.’

‘Suppose you speak right, Eoin macDonnabhan,’ said his sister’s husband. ‘What would you have us do? You don’t have the king’s ear any more. He listens to no one except Solomon Akisi.’

‘Then we need a new king,’ said Eoin into the silence.

‘He’s going to get himself killed,’ said Va in Rus.

‘Then do something,’ said Elenya.

‘Speak for me.’ Va cleared his throat. ‘There is another way. Rather than a new king, would you not prefer your old king back?’

‘We would,’ said the brother-in-law, ‘but he’s been bewitched by the Kenyan.’

‘I came here to find a book—’ said Va, and Eoin interrupted.

‘The metal book? It’s a User thing. I said it was cursed.’

Va snarled. ‘He stole it. He killed my brothers. He burned my monastery. That book is the patriarch’s, and I’m taking it back to Moskva with me.’

His sudden change of demeanour startled the macDonnabhans. One or two of them clutched at their knives.

‘I want the book. But if you want me to take Akisi too, you’re going to have to help me.’ He looked around the room. ‘The book is cursed. There’s spilled blood on every page and worse: if you start to live like the Users, you’ll die like the Users. Do you want the sea to swallow you up? Do you want your houses in ruins? Do you want your good name to be used as a profanity, just like the Users’?’

‘You’re going to have to slow down, Va,’ said Elenya. ‘You’re going too fast.’

‘I’ve said all I need to say. If they’ve got any balls, they’ll bundle Akisi into a sack and deliver him to me.’

‘It’s their king they’re going against. It’s not their balls they’re worried about; it’s their necks.’

Eoin raised his cup. ‘I’ll give him all the help he wants. I swear it to be true.’ He drank.

‘You won’t remember in the morning, Eoin. You’ll wake with a thick head and a sorry heart, and the only thing you’ll be swearing to is that you said nothing of the sort.’

‘Shut up, Deirdre. I’ve had enough, understand? Of your nagging and the king’s madness. We’ll do it tonight, then, if you don’t think I’ve the stomach for it tomorrow.’ He swayed against his chair. ‘Bring me my sword.’

One of Eoin’s cousins went to fetch it, and he was pulled back by another. They started to fight, great ruddy fists windmilling. Pulled apart, they fought those who restrained them, the dogs barked wildly and the room descended into chaos and uproar. Why the plates looked so battered was explained by Deirdre macDonnabhan throwing one at her brother. He ducked in time and launched the dregs of his drink at her face.

Va grabbed the bottle of valuable uisge and retreated to the bathhouse door. Elenya dodged a meaty beef joint and vaulted an upturned bench to join him. Two silver streaks of dog dashed past on their way to the bone, and they began to fight too.

‘Barbarians. I told you.’

‘They love fighting. You should be pleased.’

‘They love fighting each other.’ Va kicked the door open and slipped inside. ‘Fat lot of use they turned out to be.’

Elenya put her back against the door, and the sounds of cracking wood and crunching knuckles dulled. There was another door that led outside, and they sat on the back step together.

‘Another day wasted,’ said Va. ‘Another day with the books out in the world, turning men’s minds from the things of God to the works of the Devil.’

‘You’re as miserable as they are. Woe is me, I can’t do a thing,’ she mocked. ‘When did you ever need man’s help, Va Angemaite, when you have God on your side?’

There was a half-moon blinking in and out of the clouds. Va looked up and chewed at his lip. ‘I’ve lacked faith. How stupid of me. How could I possibly doubt? My cause is right, isn’t it? So who can stand against me? Not this Ardhal, King of Coirc, not the clan macDonnabhan, and certainly not the thief Akisi. Wait here.’

He went back into the bathhouse and quickly changed the brown robe for his own damp black one.

‘We don’t wait for the Aeireanns. We do it now.’