wonder what will become of her?” Ceara demanded bitterly one day.
“She will find another foolish old man,” Maeve said matter-of-factly. “No young man would have her, as she obviously lacks a heart. But an old man can be gulled into thinking he will be the envy of all for possessing a fair young wife.”
In the days that followed the celebration of Lugh, the final harvest was completed. The apples and pears were gathered from the orchards. The fields were plowed once again, and the winter wheat planted. Cailin dug carrots, turnips, and onions for cold storage.
“Leave the cabbage,” Ceara said, “until there is danger of a hard frost. It’s better in the garden. But pick all the lentils that are left, child. I want to dry them out and store them myself.”
“Look after Cailin when I am gone,” Brenna said to Ceara one afternoon. “Everything she has ever known is gone from her. She is brave, but I have heard her weeping at night in our sleeping space when she thinks I am asleep and cannot hear. Her pain is very great.”
“Why not Maeve?” Ceara asked. “She is your sister.”
“Maeve is ever a fool over Berikos,” Brenna said, “and besides,Cailin has taken to you, Ceara. She will give Maeve honor, but it is you she trusts and is learning to love. Promise me you will look after her, dear old friend. My time is growing shorter with every passing hour, but I cannot go easily unless I know Cailin has a friend and a protector in you.”
“When you have passed through the door,” Ceara promised her, “I will watch over Cailin as I would one of my own granddaughters. I swear by Lugh, Danu, and Macha. You may rest easy in my word.”
“I know I can,” Brenna said, her relief obvious.
Brenna died on the eve of Samain, six months after incurring her injuries. She went quickly to sleep, but did not awaken the following morning. Cailin, in the company of Ceara and Maeve, washed the body and dressed it for burial. As refugees, Cailin and her grandmother had possessed little, but decorated pots, bronze vessels for food and drink, small bits of jewelry, furs, cloth, and other things considered necessary to a woman began to appear by the body in order that she be buried properly, as befitted a Dobunni chieftain’s wife.
Brenna was interred several hours before sunset, when the Samain feasting would begin. The harper played a liltingly sad tune as the mourners followed the body. Berikos accompanied his estranged wife to her final resting place along with the rest of the family. Even Brigit was among the official mourners. As always, she sought to divert the focus of Berikos’s attention to herself.
“Could she not have waited until the new year was begun before dying?” she whined at her husband.
“It seems appropriate to me that Brenna chose this last day of the year to end her existence here and walk through the door,” Berikos answered his wife sharply.
“There will be a pall over the feasting tonight,” Brigit said.
Ceara saw it coming, but she was powerless to stop it.
Cailin turned and placed herself directly in front of Brigit, making it impossible for her to move forward. “How dare you speak with such disrespect at my grandmother’s funeral?” she demanded. “Is this how the Catuvellauni raise their daughters to behave? My grandmother was a woman ofvirtue and kindness. She was held in esteem by all who knew her. All you care about is yourself and your selfish needs!”
“Who is this …
this girl
?” Brigit said angrily to her husband.
“My granddaughter, Cailin,” he said. “Brenna’s grandchild.”
“Ohh, the mongrel bitch,” Brigit sneered, and there were gasps.
“I am no mongrel,” Cailin said proudly. “I am a Briton. Do not think your blood so pure, Brigit of the Catuvellauni. The legions, I am told, plowed many a furrow amongst the women of your tribe. Your Roman nose gives you away. I am surprised my grandfather did not notice it, but he is so overcome
“She will find another foolish old man,” Maeve said matter-of-factly. “No young man would have her, as she obviously lacks a heart. But an old man can be gulled into thinking he will be the envy of all for possessing a fair young wife.”
In the days that followed the celebration of Lugh, the final harvest was completed. The apples and pears were gathered from the orchards. The fields were plowed once again, and the winter wheat planted. Cailin dug carrots, turnips, and onions for cold storage.
“Leave the cabbage,” Ceara said, “until there is danger of a hard frost. It’s better in the garden. But pick all the lentils that are left, child. I want to dry them out and store them myself.”
“Look after Cailin when I am gone,” Brenna said to Ceara one afternoon. “Everything she has ever known is gone from her. She is brave, but I have heard her weeping at night in our sleeping space when she thinks I am asleep and cannot hear. Her pain is very great.”
“Why not Maeve?” Ceara asked. “She is your sister.”
“Maeve is ever a fool over Berikos,” Brenna said, “and besides,Cailin has taken to you, Ceara. She will give Maeve honor, but it is you she trusts and is learning to love. Promise me you will look after her, dear old friend. My time is growing shorter with every passing hour, but I cannot go easily unless I know Cailin has a friend and a protector in you.”
“When you have passed through the door,” Ceara promised her, “I will watch over Cailin as I would one of my own granddaughters. I swear by Lugh, Danu, and Macha. You may rest easy in my word.”
“I know I can,” Brenna said, her relief obvious.
Brenna died on the eve of Samain, six months after incurring her injuries. She went quickly to sleep, but did not awaken the following morning. Cailin, in the company of Ceara and Maeve, washed the body and dressed it for burial. As refugees, Cailin and her grandmother had possessed little, but decorated pots, bronze vessels for food and drink, small bits of jewelry, furs, cloth, and other things considered necessary to a woman began to appear by the body in order that she be buried properly, as befitted a Dobunni chieftain’s wife.
Brenna was interred several hours before sunset, when the Samain feasting would begin. The harper played a liltingly sad tune as the mourners followed the body. Berikos accompanied his estranged wife to her final resting place along with the rest of the family. Even Brigit was among the official mourners. As always, she sought to divert the focus of Berikos’s attention to herself.
“Could she not have waited until the new year was begun before dying?” she whined at her husband.
“It seems appropriate to me that Brenna chose this last day of the year to end her existence here and walk through the door,” Berikos answered his wife sharply.
“There will be a pall over the feasting tonight,” Brigit said.
Ceara saw it coming, but she was powerless to stop it.
Cailin turned and placed herself directly in front of Brigit, making it impossible for her to move forward. “How dare you speak with such disrespect at my grandmother’s funeral?” she demanded. “Is this how the Catuvellauni raise their daughters to behave? My grandmother was a woman ofvirtue and kindness. She was held in esteem by all who knew her. All you care about is yourself and your selfish needs!”
“Who is this …
this girl
?” Brigit said angrily to her husband.
“My granddaughter, Cailin,” he said. “Brenna’s grandchild.”
“Ohh, the mongrel bitch,” Brigit sneered, and there were gasps.
“I am no mongrel,” Cailin said proudly. “I am a Briton. Do not think your blood so pure, Brigit of the Catuvellauni. The legions, I am told, plowed many a furrow amongst the women of your tribe. Your Roman nose gives you away. I am surprised my grandfather did not notice it, but he is so overcome
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