Daughter of Albion by Ilka Tampke Read Free Book Online Page B

pouch before taking a long draft himself. Around us people were rising and wandering back to the township. Ruther stood and took a long piss against a tree.
    â€˜Mule!’ I laughed.
    When he sat back down he stared at me again. Neither smoke nor little sleep had dimmed the blue of his eyes. ‘Woman, I speak in truth.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I know not what magic was worked last night, but there is a force in you that has disarmed me entirely. I am here for only one more day before I ride the trade routes again. Will you join me at the feast today?’
    â€˜I will be serving—’
    â€˜Then tonight?’ he pressed.
    There was something of the child in his demand and it did not kindle my affection. ‘If I am free.’
    He reached for a last embrace and laid his head upon my chest. My thoughts spun as I looked out over the fields of Cad, Ruther cradled like a babe in my arms. He lifted his head. ‘Would you remind me of your cursed name?’
    I laughed. ‘Seek it for yourself, if you are so persuaded!’ I stood up, brushing the twigs from my skirts, and bade him farewell.
    Cah spoke of feeling weakened by the doings of a man. But I felt strengthened as I walked back to Cad, as if I had a new part to myself.

    â€˜At last,’ said Cookmother as I walked through the door. She handed me a cup of warm goat’s milk. Bebin and Ianna had also returned. We awaited only Cah before we would go to the river to scrub the ash from our faces and smoke from our hair.
    Over porridge and milk we shared our night’s stories. Ianna squealed when I told them of Ruther, but Bebin and Cookmother were silent.
    â€˜Cah had Fec,’ said Bebin.
    â€˜Fec?’ said Ianna. ‘But she said—’
    â€˜Hush,’ chided Bebin, as the doorskins were pushed open.
    Cah walked in without greeting, dark shadows ringing her eyes.
    â€˜Come, Cah.’ Ianna leaped to her feet. ‘We’ve been waiting. We have to bathe before—’
    â€˜Stop clucking,’ groaned Cah, but she gathered her soaps and brushes without further complaint.
    â€˜Ailia,’ Cookmother called as we were walking out the door.
    I turned around, though I knew what she would say.
    â€˜Be careful, Lamb. Not too far in.’
    All along its length, tribespeople were ducking and splashing in the River Cam, taking their year’s first bath in its sacred water. Our springs and rivers were the openings to the Mothers’ realm. Water was their gift.
    We walked upstream where the waters broadened to a deep bathing pool, at least fifteen paces wide and well hidden by trees. Cah disrobed first. I admired the compact strength of her. Her long hair was black as charcoal, but her skin was pale and her eyes were blue. She was handsome when she did not scowl. Ianna was not blessed with beauty. Her hair was the colour of carrots and her face often matched it. Her fleshy belly and thick legs laid bare her weakness for Cookmother’s milk pudding and any other sweets besides, but she was as smile-ready as she was slow-witted. Bebin was the queen of us. I could only shake my head at the creation of her.
    I pulled off my sandals, dress and under-robe, then sat down on the bank, letting my feet trail in the shallows. The cool morning pimpled my skin. As I looked at my thin legs, dotted with bruises, slightly bowed, and my narrow feet with their widespread toes, I wondered what meetings and marriages had crafted this body? What story flowed in its blood? Were these my mother’s legs? My father’s feet? Was there a sister somewhere with toes like mine?
    Ianna shrieked at the water’s edge and clutched her arms around her. ‘Ooh, the wind is cold enough. How will we manage the water?’
    â€˜Just start with your toe,’ said Cah. ‘Stand on the large rock there and tell us how cool it is—sometimes the brook is warmer than the air.’
    â€˜It will freeze our blood, I