teach me.’ She laid the doll in Finola’s outstretched hands.
Orla’s green eyes narrowed. ‘I thought you were supposed to teach us things.’
‘I am. But before I can do that I need to speak as you do. So you have the first job of being teacher, see.’
Finola beamed excitedly, while Orla scowled. ‘We teach you,’ she repeated.
‘Yes.’ Minna pointed to a spindle on a side table, and a basket of unspun wool. ‘You can tell me the names of that and that and that in your language.’ She indicated a pot of water on a tripod in the coals. ‘And that and that.’
Finola clapped her hands together and pointed. ‘Wool!’ she cried. ‘Fire!’
‘This is stupid!’ Orla pronounced, stamping her foot. ‘I’ll tell Mama.’
‘If you like.’ Minna kept her voice pleasant. Stupid was obviously a favourite word of this child. ‘But we’ll make it a game. Let’s see who can give me the most names. Whoever wins will be shown how to write their name in Roman letters.’
‘So what?’
‘ So when you know how to write your name, you can sign letters and orders. And …’ she leaned in close and whispered, ‘you can write your name on things so no one else can take them .’
Both girls glanced accusingly at each other. Then Finola sidled to her knee, Anya cradled in one elbow. ‘Spoon!’ she cried. ‘Bench! Rug! Wine!’
‘That’s six now, Finola. You’re in front.’
From the corner of her eye, Minna saw Orla’s mouth snap shut. She shoved herself in front of her sister. ‘Let me do it. She doesn’t know anything .’
Minna was lulled into a sense of safety by the familiar surroundings of the Roman room, but then she had to brave the dun itself, as Orla dragged her outside.
‘Look!’ the girl cried, pointing west. ‘There’s the marsh, where the birds live, and there’s the sea.’ Far across the plain, the bay where the boat had arrived was silver in the smoky dusk, speckled with black islands. Orla dashed up a small rise below the king’s hall, to a rock slab exposed in the turf. ‘See here, this is the royal footprint where the kings stand when they’re crowned.’ She put her small foot in the carving. With her shoulders back, she gazed gravely around.
Before Minna could do more than glance at the carving, Orla had clambered down the steep steps, crossed the green between the nobles’ houses and raced up on top of the timber palisade that ran around the high crag. Minna followed more slowly. ‘And there’s the river,’ Orla yelled, pointing to the north where the river curved around Dunadd in a wide arc, edged with russet trees.
Finola joined her. ‘And there’s the meadow, where the warriors train their horses.’
Grinning, Orla ran to the east, past two burly warriors pacing the palisade. They stopped speaking and stared at Minna. She hunched away. ‘They are my father’s men,’ Orla declared proudly. ‘Though he is much taller and his hair is the same colour as mine, and when he walks, they bow to him, and when he looks at them like this …’ her brows drew into an intent frown, ‘then everyone goes quiet.’ She pointed down at the village on the north-east corner, sheltered by the crag. ‘There are the stables, and the storehouses for meat, and the granaries, and the smithy.’ She dashed down the stairs and around the arched gate to tear up the palisade on the south.
Minna noted the stables and wondered desperately if Cian was all right. Taking a breath, she followed the girls. As she did so, a dog in a yard broke into frenzied barking, jumping up at her with snapping jaws, making her leap back. Disturbed by the noise, someone burst out of the house, and she came face to face with a native girl of around her own age.
The young woman waved a spindle threateningly at the dog, cursing, then her glower dissolved into curiosity as her eyes fell on Minna. She had never received such a bold, frank look before. The girl’s fair hair was braided around a proud
Orla’s green eyes narrowed. ‘I thought you were supposed to teach us things.’
‘I am. But before I can do that I need to speak as you do. So you have the first job of being teacher, see.’
Finola beamed excitedly, while Orla scowled. ‘We teach you,’ she repeated.
‘Yes.’ Minna pointed to a spindle on a side table, and a basket of unspun wool. ‘You can tell me the names of that and that and that in your language.’ She indicated a pot of water on a tripod in the coals. ‘And that and that.’
Finola clapped her hands together and pointed. ‘Wool!’ she cried. ‘Fire!’
‘This is stupid!’ Orla pronounced, stamping her foot. ‘I’ll tell Mama.’
‘If you like.’ Minna kept her voice pleasant. Stupid was obviously a favourite word of this child. ‘But we’ll make it a game. Let’s see who can give me the most names. Whoever wins will be shown how to write their name in Roman letters.’
‘So what?’
‘ So when you know how to write your name, you can sign letters and orders. And …’ she leaned in close and whispered, ‘you can write your name on things so no one else can take them .’
Both girls glanced accusingly at each other. Then Finola sidled to her knee, Anya cradled in one elbow. ‘Spoon!’ she cried. ‘Bench! Rug! Wine!’
‘That’s six now, Finola. You’re in front.’
From the corner of her eye, Minna saw Orla’s mouth snap shut. She shoved herself in front of her sister. ‘Let me do it. She doesn’t know anything .’
Minna was lulled into a sense of safety by the familiar surroundings of the Roman room, but then she had to brave the dun itself, as Orla dragged her outside.
‘Look!’ the girl cried, pointing west. ‘There’s the marsh, where the birds live, and there’s the sea.’ Far across the plain, the bay where the boat had arrived was silver in the smoky dusk, speckled with black islands. Orla dashed up a small rise below the king’s hall, to a rock slab exposed in the turf. ‘See here, this is the royal footprint where the kings stand when they’re crowned.’ She put her small foot in the carving. With her shoulders back, she gazed gravely around.
Before Minna could do more than glance at the carving, Orla had clambered down the steep steps, crossed the green between the nobles’ houses and raced up on top of the timber palisade that ran around the high crag. Minna followed more slowly. ‘And there’s the river,’ Orla yelled, pointing to the north where the river curved around Dunadd in a wide arc, edged with russet trees.
Finola joined her. ‘And there’s the meadow, where the warriors train their horses.’
Grinning, Orla ran to the east, past two burly warriors pacing the palisade. They stopped speaking and stared at Minna. She hunched away. ‘They are my father’s men,’ Orla declared proudly. ‘Though he is much taller and his hair is the same colour as mine, and when he walks, they bow to him, and when he looks at them like this …’ her brows drew into an intent frown, ‘then everyone goes quiet.’ She pointed down at the village on the north-east corner, sheltered by the crag. ‘There are the stables, and the storehouses for meat, and the granaries, and the smithy.’ She dashed down the stairs and around the arched gate to tear up the palisade on the south.
Minna noted the stables and wondered desperately if Cian was all right. Taking a breath, she followed the girls. As she did so, a dog in a yard broke into frenzied barking, jumping up at her with snapping jaws, making her leap back. Disturbed by the noise, someone burst out of the house, and she came face to face with a native girl of around her own age.
The young woman waved a spindle threateningly at the dog, cursing, then her glower dissolved into curiosity as her eyes fell on Minna. She had never received such a bold, frank look before. The girl’s fair hair was braided around a proud
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