Hush: An Irish Princess' Tale by Donna Jo Napoli Read Free Book Online

final lashing before spring.
    I climb the outside stairs to the top of the east fort wall. The steps are irregular in height, so that attacking strangers cannot run up them without stumbling. But I know them by heart; I climb without falter.
    Up here the winds whip my hair across my mouth. The sea is turbulent tonight, white wave-tips shining in the moonlight. I think of the famous poem:
    Is acher in gáith innocht
fo-fuasna fairggae findholt.
    Ni ágor réimm mora minn
dond láechraid lainn ua Lothlind.
    (The wind tonight blows harsh
and spews the white sea foam.
    My heart need not fear Vikings crossing the Irish Sea.)
    I haven’t grown up fearing Vikings. Hating them, yes, but not fearing them. Not like my parents.
    Mother tells how the seas were infested with Viking pirates when she was small. She talks with revulsion about how many Viking settlements there are now in Eire. Not just Dublin, but Wexford, Cork, Limerick, Waterford.
    Father, likewise, goes on and on about Viking raids. They get their gold and silver, their precious stones and chandeliers, from monasteries, where our kings stored them for safekeeping. They loot, then burn the Lords buildings. They’ve even put entire ecclesiastical communities to the sword.
    It was hard for my parents to agree to my birthday request. Oh, wretched Vikings, who ruined everything.
    When Mother and Father were small, they scanned the sea for invaders, quaking. This poem that they recite with fervor never meant much to me before. But now the rough sea signals safety to me. No Vikings will attack tonight.
    But I’m not safe. None of us are. I hug myself and keep my eyes wide, though the drying wind burns them.
    The sea is black, but in the day it is so many shades of green. And the hills have even more variations on that hue. Grandmother used to say there were forty shades of green in Eire, from the tears of invasions.
    I hug myself tighter.
    “Who goes there?”
    I turn to face a soldier. He holds a spear at the ready. It’s surprising that the patrol didn’t find me sooner. Discouraging. This is a moment when our guard has to be at its most competent. My stomach churns. I lift my hands in surrender.
    “Princess Melkorka? Is that you?”
    This man is only a head taller than me. And his hair is almost as long and has even more curls. Were it not for his forked beard, he could be taken for a maid. Yes, I think he could.
    Will he be one of the fifteen? I feel instant pity for him. Father should send slaves instead of fine soldiers.
    “Melkorka, Princess?”
    “Yes.”
    “What are you doing here?”
    “Entertaining nightmares”
    The soldier opens his mouth, then closes it. “Shall I accompany you home?”
    “Please.”

CHAPTER SIX H ORSEBACK
    We’ve in the main hall, one week after Nuada’s hand was severed, preparing for our revenge. Fifteen soldiers dress in tunics. They already have ribbons in their hair—Brigid tied them, carefully making bows. They practice walking like women in a line behind me, but they exaggerate too much. They look like fools. Lord, protect these fools. Let no one die. No Irish man.
    It’s afternoon. The men wait their turn to be shaven clean. Father wanted it done late, so that their cheeks will be as soft as possible when they hug the Vikings later today. They munch on wheat bread. It’s a luxury, a food for kings at festivals. But Father said all fifteen of them deserve to be treated like kings.
    Nuada walks through the soldiers, holding his stump high in the air to prevent bleeding. “Take care of one another,” he says to a group, but listlessly. He should be more excited; everyone is risking their lives for our honor, after all. But I know where to lay the blame. In this past week he has been recovering well, but he’s still drunkmost of the time. It’s the only way to combat the pain.
    Mother enters and beckons me oven “Find Brigid and meet me in the kitchen.”
    It’s easy enough to find Brigid. I saw her swipe a handful of