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Authors: Gavin G. Smith
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it?’
‘What? No!’ the man sputtered.
‘Perhaps you would be wed to Bladud and see yourself ploughed on the morn?’ Anharad demanded. The warrior went a red bright enough to make out in the fading light. She was surprised the snow in his moustache wasn’t turning to steam.
Britha took a step towards him. ‘Or perhaps you seek to learn the magics of women?’ she asked in a low, dangerous voice. ‘Would you know of the power of the moonblood? Do you wish me to fetch my sickle so I can harvest the fruits between your legs that you may learn?’
The warrior fled with as much dignity as he could manage. The three of them started laughing, and even Caithna managed a smile.
‘And the funny thing is Clust would not think twice about facing a Lochlannach shield wall on his own,’ Anharad said between gasps for breath. ‘Utterly fearless in battle.’
‘Unmanned by women’s words. It’s a wonder we ever get pregnant at all,’ Tangwen said without thinking. Anharad stopped laughing and her eyes went wide. Britha turned to stare at Tangwen, but then the ban draoi ’s face cracked and she started laughing again.
Relieved, Tangwen knew that the laughter could not heal the dislike the two women held for each other, but it might make the night that bit more tolerable.
‘Call this heather ale?’ Britha demanded, looking at one of the jugs they had taken with them into the woods. ‘I’ve pissed better than this!’
‘I’m not drinking that,’ Anharad said. There was more laughter from the three of them. They were now drunk enough that almost everything seemed funny.
‘My mouth hurts,’ Tangwen complained.
‘It’s because you haven’t laughed in so long,’ Britha said sombrely and then the mood was broken. The silence stretched out, becoming uncomfortable. Caithna was wrapped in fur and asleep in a bough of the tree they were sat by. They had made a fire in a root-lined bowl at the base of the tree. It was bitterly cold but not even Anharad, who had not drunk from the Red Chalice, seemed to be feeling it, though she too was wrapped heavily in fur. Some of which was so fine that Tangwen assumed it was a gift from her husband-to-be. The Trinovantes woman was also wearing a heavy wool dress that was obviously new, and a new ring, torc and headband of interlaced spun gold. All this, better food, the chance to bathe and groom, and not being harried by monsters across the land had revealed Anharad’s beauty despite her years.
‘Give me that,’ Anharad snatched the jug from Britha. For a moment Britha seemed confused as to where it had gone. ‘After all, I’m the one that needs to be drunk enough to get married in the morning.’
‘Aye, I just need to try and remember the ritual,’ Britha said. ‘I should do it in my own tongue. I mean, how would any of you know whether you were being wed or told how to make heather ale? I mean proper heather ale, not that shite.’ She nodded at the jug Anharad was drinking from.
‘Thought it was good,’ Tangwen said and then frowned. She wasn’t sure that the words she had used were what she had meant.
Anharad lowered the jug and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Aye,’ she said, and looked down.
‘Is this what you want?’ Britha asked. Tangwen looked up. Suddenly everything was serious and Britha seemed oddly sober. ‘I’m supposed to … it’s one of the things I have to ask this night.’ Perhaps not that sober.
‘I …’ Anharad started. Then she took another long swig from the jug.
‘Can I get some of that?’ Tangwen slurred.
‘I had thought that my children, and my children’s children, would have been enough …’
Anharad handed Tangwen the jug. Tangwen took a long swig from it and immediately regretted it.
‘Myself and Gwern believed we had made something. We had increased the fortunes of our tribe. Increased our village’s and our own standing among the Trinovantes. We had become wealthy. Our people had plenty, yet
‘What? No!’ the man sputtered.
‘Perhaps you would be wed to Bladud and see yourself ploughed on the morn?’ Anharad demanded. The warrior went a red bright enough to make out in the fading light. She was surprised the snow in his moustache wasn’t turning to steam.
Britha took a step towards him. ‘Or perhaps you seek to learn the magics of women?’ she asked in a low, dangerous voice. ‘Would you know of the power of the moonblood? Do you wish me to fetch my sickle so I can harvest the fruits between your legs that you may learn?’
The warrior fled with as much dignity as he could manage. The three of them started laughing, and even Caithna managed a smile.
‘And the funny thing is Clust would not think twice about facing a Lochlannach shield wall on his own,’ Anharad said between gasps for breath. ‘Utterly fearless in battle.’
‘Unmanned by women’s words. It’s a wonder we ever get pregnant at all,’ Tangwen said without thinking. Anharad stopped laughing and her eyes went wide. Britha turned to stare at Tangwen, but then the ban draoi ’s face cracked and she started laughing again.
Relieved, Tangwen knew that the laughter could not heal the dislike the two women held for each other, but it might make the night that bit more tolerable.
‘Call this heather ale?’ Britha demanded, looking at one of the jugs they had taken with them into the woods. ‘I’ve pissed better than this!’
‘I’m not drinking that,’ Anharad said. There was more laughter from the three of them. They were now drunk enough that almost everything seemed funny.
‘My mouth hurts,’ Tangwen complained.
‘It’s because you haven’t laughed in so long,’ Britha said sombrely and then the mood was broken. The silence stretched out, becoming uncomfortable. Caithna was wrapped in fur and asleep in a bough of the tree they were sat by. They had made a fire in a root-lined bowl at the base of the tree. It was bitterly cold but not even Anharad, who had not drunk from the Red Chalice, seemed to be feeling it, though she too was wrapped heavily in fur. Some of which was so fine that Tangwen assumed it was a gift from her husband-to-be. The Trinovantes woman was also wearing a heavy wool dress that was obviously new, and a new ring, torc and headband of interlaced spun gold. All this, better food, the chance to bathe and groom, and not being harried by monsters across the land had revealed Anharad’s beauty despite her years.
‘Give me that,’ Anharad snatched the jug from Britha. For a moment Britha seemed confused as to where it had gone. ‘After all, I’m the one that needs to be drunk enough to get married in the morning.’
‘Aye, I just need to try and remember the ritual,’ Britha said. ‘I should do it in my own tongue. I mean, how would any of you know whether you were being wed or told how to make heather ale? I mean proper heather ale, not that shite.’ She nodded at the jug Anharad was drinking from.
‘Thought it was good,’ Tangwen said and then frowned. She wasn’t sure that the words she had used were what she had meant.
Anharad lowered the jug and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Aye,’ she said, and looked down.
‘Is this what you want?’ Britha asked. Tangwen looked up. Suddenly everything was serious and Britha seemed oddly sober. ‘I’m supposed to … it’s one of the things I have to ask this night.’ Perhaps not that sober.
‘I …’ Anharad started. Then she took another long swig from the jug.
‘Can I get some of that?’ Tangwen slurred.
‘I had thought that my children, and my children’s children, would have been enough …’
Anharad handed Tangwen the jug. Tangwen took a long swig from it and immediately regretted it.
‘Myself and Gwern believed we had made something. We had increased the fortunes of our tribe. Increased our village’s and our own standing among the Trinovantes. We had become wealthy. Our people had plenty, yet
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