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Day Three
Dai
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Dai munched on the bun, one of two his mother had wrapped in a cloth to sustain him until morning. He’d taken them soberly, knowing his mother couldn’t shake her feeling of foreboding and was giving him food instead of a hug in front of the other Dragons, who would have teased him about being tied to his mother’s apron strings. They would have meant nothing by it, but she didn’t want to risk embarrassing him.
Llelo, too, had looked repressively at him before mounting his horse and riding away with Father, Godfrid, and the Dragons, towards the gate that led to the Liffey. Dai, for his part, was feeling light-hearted and ready for adventure. Maybe that was a mistake, but he didn’t sense danger coming his way. He was going to watch the fights. How could he get into trouble?
Aron, the youngest and cleverest of the Dragons, was going as a friend of Sitric, a known participant, who would vouch for him. In the end, Conall had gotten his way as well and took the second coin as Fergus the Sailor. At least he spoke Danish, and his red hair wouldn’t stand out among the Danes, since fully a third of them had red hair too.
As Dai reached Vigo’s shop and was tucking away the half-eaten bun in the pocket of his coat, borrowed from a collection set aside for the poor at Christ’s Church, Vigo stepped out his door.
“Am I late?” Dai checked the sky.
Vigo scoffed. “If you were any later, you would have been left behind. I don’t cater to careless youths.”
Dai bent his head, suitably chastened, though he also knew he hadn’t been late. Vigo had said to wait until full dark, and Dai had set out from Godfrid’s house as the sun was setting, settling himself a few blocks away to watch Vigo’s door. Llelo and the other riders had left the city before sunset too, ostensibly to visit one of Godfrid’s holdings north of the city. Godfrid himself had led them, refusing to be left behind. It was only the five of them: Llelo, Gareth, Godfrid, Jon, and Cadoc. Gruffydd and Evan remained in the city with Prince Hywel, because they couldn’t leave him unattended. Steffan had been tasked with tailing Arnulf, while Iago was following Goff.
Dai was genuinely surprised not to see Cait riding beside Godfrid, because she seemed the type to throw caution to the winds and defy convention, but she and Gwen had agreed to act as if nothing was afoot. Since everyone knew Gwen had children who needed attention, she and Cait didn’t need to wait things out at the palace. Instead, they had set chairs in front of Godfrid’s door, with cups of mead in their hands and a fire burning in a nearby grate for warmth, to enjoy the clear summer evening and converse with Godfrid’s neighbors, all of whom wanted to wish Cait well in her marriage.
Glad he could be in the thick of it, Dai lengthened his stride to keep up with Vigo, heading for the dock gate, only a block and a half away. As they approached, however, Vigo put a hand on Dai’s arm to stay him, his eyes on the couple ahead of them. With concern, Dai realized it was Conall and Iona, who were just now being greeted by the guard.
Conall’s voice echoed in the gatehouse tunnel. “Nice night.”
“It is,” the guard said.
With a blast of insight, Dai realized the guard thought Iona was a whore and Conall had hired her for the night, which was why he didn’t blink twice at a sailor walking to the dock with a woman on his arm.
After giving Conall a hundred foot lead, Vigo sauntered up to the guard, who nodded at him in acknowledgment. “Merchant Vigo.”
“Dorn. How are you tonight?” Vigo sidled close, and the two men exchanged a few pennies hand-to-hand before Vigo walked on.
Dai hustled to catch up. “You gave him money?”
Vigo snorted. “Of course.” He lifted his chin to point to Conall and Iona. “They must be new, because they didn’t.” His eyes narrowed.
Dai had a sudden sick feeling in his stomach, which was alleviated slightly when Conall headed towards the shadows of one of the boats at the dock—now completely stranded on the sand—and stood talking quietly with Iona, rather than heading off to the end of the pier like Dai and Vigo were doing. He reminded himself that before Conall had become the ambassador to Dublin from the Kingdom of Leinster, he’d been a spy—and apparently a good one to have lived so long.
It was full dark, but the moon was bright, and it was easy to see the crossing of the Liffey. During high tide, the channel was easily deep enough for shipping, but during low tide, even though it was a freshwater river, the water receded enough to allow passage across the riverbed. The River Poddle entered the main channel to the east of their location, so its flow didn’t affect the crossing of the Liffey at the dock. While there were at least a dozen narrow rivulets snaking their way through the sands, few were more than a foot wide—easily hopped across—and the widest one at the center point had a board placed across it so the travelers’ feet would not get wet.
Here, Dai’s boots did sink into the soft, water-soaked soil, but after a few quick steps, he was out of the worst of it and back on somewhat more solid ground. The total distance to cross was a hundred yards, nothing like the three-mile journey from Aber to Llanfaes across the Lavan Sands.
For the first time, he wondered how they were supposed to get back without being remarked upon. They weren’t going to be able to return the same way. The next low tide would be twelve hours from now when it was full day.
“Don’t worry about it,” Vigo said.
Dai had been focused on his feet, but he looked at his companion. “Excuse me?”
“We don’t have to cross back this way.”
“The guards don’t mind letting so many people back into the city before dawn?”
“That’s what the money I gave the guard was for.” Vigo spoke matter-of-factly, and then he shrugged. “Besides, we won’t return all at once. Many will sleep here and there, and some will attend mass at the abbey.”
Dai hadn’t known there was an abbey north of the river. He hadn’t realized there was much of anything north of the river, but he’d clearly been wrong. Here was a village in and of itself, and as they came up the bank onto the wharf, he got a strong whiff of leather workings to the east.
Vigo seemed to have a disconcerting ability to read Dai’s mind, because he laughed. “Takes some getting used to. We’ll be meeting in a glen half a mile north of here, so by the time we get there we’ll have left the smell behind.”
They continued on, encountering more people the farther they walked, more than a dozen in front of and behind them. A few more strides and they caught up with Sitric, who greeted Vigo courteously.
“Are you going to try your hand tonight?” Vigo asked him.
Sitric lied outright. “I better not. I wrenched my shoulder yesterday. I’d lose. Badly.”
Vigo laughed, as undoubtedly Sitric meant him to, and then he looked past Sitric to Aron, the fellow Dragon. “Who’s your friend?”
“Aron.” It was a name from a Bible, rendered similarly in Welsh and Danish.
“Where are you from, Aron?” Vigo said.
“South. Near Wexford,” Aron said in excellent Danish. It just so happened Vigo had asked him one of the few questions for which he’d practiced.
Sitric then clapped Aron on the shoulder. “My cousin is visiting for the week.”
“Do you have a coin?” Vigo asked, his eyes still on Aron.
Aron held out one of the coins they’d found.
“Where did you get it?”
“Found it on the street,” Aron said, with an insouciance Dai found both admirable and terrifying. “Thought I’d see what this was all about.”
Vigo grunted. “Welcome.”
They went back to walking, though now Dai found himself shaking inside. He’d been foolish and naïve. He’d misunderstood who and what Vigo was. He wasn’t just another attendee of the fights. He was an organizer.
And as they left the road for the clearing where the fights were to take place, Dai couldn’t help thinking he’d entered the lion’s den.
