We rode uphill through the beech woods, Hare and I, our horses kicking up leaves red and gold with the spirit of Autumn. Half a year had passed since our first meeting, and those months seemed like a lifetime. The fresh face of the teenager alongside me was tired and lined now. She had bathed in waters that, in their turbulence, had thrust maturity upon her young shoulders. The fate of two peoples fell upon us, two women trotting their horses across the soft forest floor and out into a bright meadow, one brought from a distant place now barely perceived, the other a local suddenly thrust forward into surprised fame.
Geza waited, his four guards ranged around, horses grazing at the far reaches of their reins. There in the sunlight, high on the warm chalk hillside, I introduced to the leader of warriors a young woman who had changed the history of his people, had parried the thrust of its king and his ambitious son. Nervous, I was, yet alive with the tension of the moment. How would the older man react to the slayer of his kinsman? Yet, the experience of a month in his company told me that he was thoughtful and merciful, not given to rash acts. I reached across to Hare, squeezed her rough hand, we glanced at one-another and our gaze met. A little fear I had seen, and a deep bravery, a courage driven by foresight and destiny. Her days would not end in the brightness here, on a grassy meadow in her homeland at the hand of a stranger, for her name was true to her fate and her nature. She would spring free from each trap, and thus it proved to be here.
So it came to pass that Hare and I stood in front of the leader of the Easterling army and his four bodyguards. Geza looked us up and down, standing together holding hands, silent. Silent we stood, two women beneath the scrutiny of powerful men, nevertheless men led by one perceptive, measured. As his companions stared, muttering, he stood resolute. “So, you are the one called Springing-Hare. From Hawk I have heard of you – that you are skilled and true, a loyal friend, and I doubt it not. Courage you have in good measure, too, to stand before me thus, knowing that your doom is in my hands – even as your two friends linger watchful in the woods that overlook us. So tell me what befell on that day of doom? Tell me truly, without fear, for I am a true judge and will not condemn unjustly.”
Hare told her tale calmly, yet powerfully, looking Geza in the face. Here was a young woman, mature beyond her years, certain in the truth of her actions. Strange it was to witness the respect that her account evoked, and the manner of its delivery. I supposed that she saw ahead, knew that this day would not be her last, else her courage much surpassed that of most. Geza stared at her, weighing each word, and at length addressed her in a voice loud enough for his companions to hear, and the keen senses of Star and Sun besides.
“You speak from your heart, as one honest and true. So it is that I respect your actions, for you sought to avenge your king and defend his daughter as would a true warrior. That deed might plunge our peoples into war, yet also might it neutralise a poison, prune a rotting branch. Which is it to be?” The air hung tense, heavy, time seemed to move slowly. This was the moment where the fate of all might be decided.
Geza spoke again: “I visited your king in order to make an alliance, for a growing threat hangs over my people, a threat which menaces you also and indeed might bring your doom should we be defeated. Yet a rash deed might decimate us whilst a greater power watches in calculating enmity, waiting for our resistance to dwindle.”
Hare spoke next: “I say another thing besides what happened in the past, for fresh deeds approach. An army marches upon the capital of my people, who await prepared for Moon watches them coming. What is this, that a slaying is followed by an invasion? Might it be that your king knows not of the demise of his son, indeed nor of old Cwichelm’s violent end, but marches expecting to find Istvan and Moon jointly wielding power, one ready to rule, the other not expecting the subjection that will appear? Expecting to find Cwichelm imprisoned perhaps, to become an unwilling and terrorised vassal stripped of his seers? You received accurate news by messanger, for the northern people respect your sober judgement. From fear or apprehension, even scheming of their own, perhaps the Northerners did not share the unfavourable tidings with Arpad? Do I witness the situation truly, or has my intuition dimmed, is my ability to read forthcoming events reduced?”
-----ooooo-----
Moon sat on the tall wooden throne in the long dim hall, clad in black, silent, pondering her next move. Her hopes had been raised, her scheming had seemed to bear fruit and then, in a moment, all had been dashed into shattered pieces. Tragedy had come to pass through her temporary senselessness, through her renunciation of the vocation of seer. Yet she was a perceptive seer and a competent schemer, if outclassed throughout that awful month. Brought back to her people’s capital as one paralysed by shock, mute, unthinking, still familiar faces and location had restored her. Indeed she had grown, though sadness lined her face. She began to see distantly again and, aware of the approaching onslaught, bent her mind to contrive a solution that would benefit her people and satisfy her desire. Calling her father’s advisers, now her inner council, she shared her vision, and they plotted a trap. There was little time to lose.
In the twilight of early morning, Moon rode down the hillside, her horse blazing a trail through the grey dew that covered the tall grass. Downward her horse carried her, and onto the level sward that joined chalk scarp and wooded plain. This open strip of meadow had long protected the Downland people, as it had shielded their forebears – an open space that any invader had to cross, visible and open to attack. Yet she was one alone, no threat to the approaching armed phalanx. Into the open they rode and walked, gazing to left and right, wondering who would oppose them. Was the tall woman, dark hair falling onto her shoulders, an ambassador? Gaily she was dressed, robed in bright crimson that matched the easterly rising sun, and there were flowers in her hair. Mourning was not upon her countenance, nor did her grey horse drag his heels. The invaders might have noticed the sword hanging to her left, the bow and quiver slung over her shoulders, yet these appeared merely ceremonial, emblems of a warrior people. Yet the men were too far away to notice the grim smile made by her pursed lips. Old Arpad was not close enough to see how vehemently she gripped the truncheon of a javelin slung over her left shoulder. Hidden behind her, he did not see that some object wrapped in a cloth was impaled on its tip. Less than a bowshot separated Moon from those who entered her kingdom unwarranted. Slowly she drew forward the javelin, slipped off the cloth and, with violence and energy surprising for one so slim and elegant, flung weapon and cargo straight at Arpad. Before the grisly combination landed, she had wheeled her steed around and set off homeward at a hard gallop.
With a sickening thud her javelin’s load landed almost at the feet of Arpad, separated from the cruel spike, and rolled a few paces. Lifeless stared up the eyes of Istvan from his bloody severed head, face blotched with blood, hair matted. Inflamed by tortuous recognition, the invading king let out a great cry and spurred ahead his tall black steed. Hooves drummed as Arpad set off, followed by his knights, in a dash to apprehend she who had flung the bloody head at them in challenge. Vain was their attempt to overhaul one swift as Grey-wing yet, out of bowshot, Moon slowed her horse a little to fling insults back over a shoulder. “You gave me a boy, not a man”, she cried, “a boy to one whose people contains real men.” Powerful was her voice, prone to carry over distance, and the words stung Arpad. “Know that he was not a match for a woman”, added the impetuous Moon - somewhat disingenuously since that maiden was not herself - goading her pursuers to speed on, leaving far behind their running infantry. Blindly they raced, led by one rash in his rage, into a grassy valley rising uphill between two copses. As their horses began to tire from the effort, from those wooded refuges there poured a rush of cavalry and footsoldiers with blades drawn and spears poised in defence of their people.
It was a swift battle, vicious and bloody. Led by the four trusty councillors, the Downland men careered into the slowing Easterling force, taking them on one flank and then the other so that the invaders knew not which way to turn. The greatest of the Downland warriors headed for the front, straight for Arpad. Harshly fought the old king, veteran of many battles, yet the fury of the defenders was too great. Several fell before his flashing, hewing sword, and then the most powerful and wiliest of the councillors wounded him. Weakened by bleeding, his battle fury diminished, the old man slipped from his horse, stumbled, sank to his knees. Save for a handful who had fled, he was the last living member of his mounted force, and indeed his foot soldiers alike had begun to retreat harried by sturdy Downlanders. Moon returned, her horse’s flanks foam flecked and heaving. Seeing old Arpad’s demise, she dismounted, approached him, gazing coldly upon one whose minutes were numbered. “Know that a girl killed your treacherous son, a youthful virgin, such was his blindness when he slew my father. Know also that a woman shall slay you, unworthy trespasser who tried to deceive my father and his people. Before you die, I tell you that I see the deadly mariners upon your coasts, for you left your people unguarded whilst you launched this fruitless adventure. A fool you have been, and a poor shepherd of your people.” With that, grim and fell, Moon unsheathed her shining blade and decapitated the flagging king. Turning to her exhausted force, addressing its four battered leaders, she exulted: “Thus have you avenged my father Cwichelm! Now I have severed two traitor’s heads from their shoulders in a morning! Now let us use our remaining energy to hunt down the fleeing remainder, for none should say that we let our aggressors escape.”
Moon’s councillors then addressed her, in awe of her power and fury, yet wishing to protect her as their beloved leader. So they proposed that one would accompany her and the wounded back to their settlement, whilst the able bodied remainder hunted the now-fleeing invaders. So it was that Moon, dressed in crimson that barely showed the blood spattered by her blade, led the wounded of her party up the hill. The less hurt assisted those more grievously wounded. Moon, a distant look in her eyes, talked to her warrior companion, her mentor in leadership. “I see another Easterling coming, but a different kind of man, the one whom I sent Hawk to accompany. Not all Easterlings are alike, indeed not many are like those whom we vanquished. He comes in understanding, and besides Hawk and Hare walk alongside him, and Star and Sun have vetted them. If he walks civilly with the one who slew his king’s son then he must have a true perspective of right and wrong, for young Hare is no assassin. I need to meet them all, and soon.”
-----ooooo-----
Geza and I, Hare and our four companions retired to spend the night at Far Forest, where we would find shelter and our horses water. It was a move that did not impress Star and Sun, yet they seemed in awe of Hare’s exploits and at least a little respectful of the bond that I had formed with Geza. Of the four horsemen accompanying us, the two sisters were less enthusiastic. However the reputation of the seers was potent, and the two were treated with such deference that they allowed the men to pass. Thus we spent an unexpectedly peaceful night, rising in a dawn whose welcome light illuminated, further west, Moon and her warriors girding themselves for battle. Star and Sun headed off on patrol, parting with the warning that the woman who had fled was not far away. Apprehending her was their plan, yet Hare denied their wish, perceiving that the strange rider had yet a role to fulfil in the fate that would befall the two peoples. Of that role she would not speak.
We hurried westward, Hare sensing the peril that Moon and her companions faced, and voicing keenly her intuition of the violence impending. Along the ridge path we rode, trotting and cantering in turns so as to make good progress without exhausting our horses – for who knew what demands may be placed upon us? As the sun rose higher, Hare relaxed, drawing close to tell me that she sensed the invaders vanquished. “How is Moon”, I asked, “for surely she leads her people? Though she gave me away like a chattel, yet it was to a good man, one better than she selected for herself.”
In a low voice, quiet so as not to be overheard, Hare whispered: “Moon is safe in victory, though impetuous in seizing the moment. But do you not yet understand her? Always Moon tests people. You she tested upon arrival. The one who fled she tested overly, with the result that you see. Istvan she tested close by, for it is said that one should keep friends close and enemies closer still - I think that she saw a little of each part in him. Geza she sent you to test; and that, it seems, has turned out well.”
To Geza, Hare added more loudly: “I believe that now you are lord of your people. The battle seems to have fared ill for old Arpad, and now my lady Moon rides in fresh victory to meet us. Fell she is when hard pressed, yet she will, if I know her well, offer one more opportunity for peace. You will be received as an ambassador, as once you were before, when you treated my companion and I respectfully, gazing upon us not lustfully as another did.”
To her, Geza replied: “Audacious, you are in both speech and deed, yet am I not a guest in your land? It is true that I visited your land seeking a treaty, indeed good relations and an ally with which to oppose the fierce men of the sea. Bittersweet it was that I returned with a worthy gift” – at that he smiled at me, and I blushed a little – “and then suffered the blow of a lord who acted rashly without seeking my counsel. In a month, goodness and doom visited upon me by twists of fate.”
“Behind us”, cried a keen-eyed warrior, and we turned to scan the horizon. A woman rode up fast on a lithe dark horse, long hair blowing in the wind. Dressed as a man, she was, though more lightly armed than Hare and I with merely a bow and dagger. “Draw not your weapons unless she does”, commanded Geza, “for we know whom she is. But guard your ears against her counsel.”
Up she rode, overhauling us and falling in to one side. I studied her, who had belittled me in the Easterling settlement. Out here she seemed tense, even a little angry. Directly she addressed me, looking me in the eye and not kindly:” Where are you going, who was liberated from these people? Moon brought you here, having stolen you away as she did to me, and you return to her? Are you a fool?” I fingered the hilt of my sword, holding my tongue. She continued: “You do not frighten me, dressing up thus and hanging weapons from you and your horse.” I looked down, at the broad sleeves and embroidered hem of my riding dress, at the folds of material that covered my legs down to the tops of my boots – a contrast they made to her tight breeches and close-fitting tunic. Yet I felt comfortable too, indeed liked my image that was distinct from the harsher costumes of the men. Attractive, it was, a little sensuous, yet blade and bow marked my seriousness, my inclusion within this band. “Why do you not seek a way back to your land? Why not show me a way back too? Or is Moon’s enchantment too strong, or her ambition too great? Is it as some Easterlings would say, that only through death will I return home, indeed wake up from a strange and pointless dream?”
Geza responded: “Of your homeland and your journey here I know not, yet you ride up without greeting and address us lacking courtesy. Did not my people offer you hospitality when you arrived wet to the waist and bedraggled from fording the Great River, accepting you as a fleeing fugitive, as a seer even.” Hare snorted at these words, becoming silent at a glance from Geza.
She continued, “Why do you not return with an army, taking this land which the Downlanders make so little use of? Why should their seers terrorise you into remaining beyond the water?”
"What right have I to take their land? Is not my people menaced more deeply by those who sail the sea? Why make our backs vulnerable attacking a people that does not threaten us?”
"They hem you in. Why not take some land, move your border, and compel then to send soldiers to the coast? For all they do now is permit your men to sacrifice their lives whilst living here at ease.”
And so this talk went on, and it seemed to me that she was tempting Geza, trying his resolve to make peace with his neighbour. Her vocabulary involved taking, overrunning, coercing, as if the Downlanders were an enemy indebted to the Easterlings – and to her? I wondered what Moon had seen in such a woman, indeed just what a gamble the seer had made in selecting such an instrument.
At length, after parrying many of her thrusts, Geza concluded: “It is clear that there is no love between you and the owners of this land. Obviously you come from a far-off land where the norms are different to ours, where grabbing and forcing have greater value than statesmanship. I am not the small-minded leader of a petty people, but one who has seen much. So I know that the choices are not simple or wantonly taken, and that it is easier to cast away the fortune of my people than to increase it. So I say that you have nothing to offer, no wisdom to impart, but just those prejudices that may be your own or may spring from your people. You have tested me enough – so now be silent.”
At that rebuke roughly she reined back her horse, who tossed his head in protest, and rode amongst our bodyguards. There she muttered dissent until Geza bid her again and less gently to be silent, and threatened to turn her away into the hills that rolled away to infinity should she prattle on further.
Finally, in the late morning as we drew close to the settlement that stood above the carved white horse, we spied Moon riding towards us, a lively spring to Grey-wing’s step. Familiar was her grey horse, the dark hair that fell about her shoulders, her green raiment. We stopped, and so did she, facing one-another across a green meadow. “Let me ride up to her”, I asked Geza, “let she who gave me away now receive me as ambassador.” At his assent I rode on, slowly, until a minute later she and I drew abreast, almost touching. She reached out and took my hand, looking keenly into my face. I looked back and saw one who had aged, or rather who had grown and gained a few lines to her face in the process, not unlike how I had witnessed with Hare on the previous afternoon.
"We meet again”, she said. “I ask your forgiveness for sending you away so abruptly, and for absenting myself from your departure.”
I looked keenly into her grey eyes. “By your judgement or otherwise, you sent me away in the company of a good man. At the time I was angry, yet now I feel for you, my friend, who has suffered such betrayal and tragedy.” Our horses put their heads down to graze as we squeezed one-another’s hands warmly, empathy flowing between us. It was impossible long to be angry with Moon, even as her groping attempts to bring about a favourable outcome for all had cast me beyond the Great River with a stranger.
"You should have seen me earlier”, said Moon, “when I avenged the death of my father. It is as if I was looking over my shoulder, watching myself filled with rage, a calculated blood-lust that slew a man. Indeed Arpad fell beneath my blade this morning, and lies cold upon the grass. Yet I feel as if I should be a leader looking over a peaceful world, for that blood defiled me. I frightened myself. I do not know whether you can understand this? It is all so strange for me too, not just seeing as formerly but there, acting.”
"Moon”, I said, “how strange this all is. Each of us plays a part. I went away, unwilling at first, to build a bridge between two peoples. Now I return with one who desires to make a treaty, even as his lord acted treacherously. Hare played her part, slaying one who brutally ended your father’s life, unforeseen as that evil was. You played I know not what part, whether surrendering to passion or seeing something unexpected in he who proved ill.”
She cut me short, staring into my eyes. “I did not see what would befall, for viewing the future is not my gift. Yes, I desired him, for I saw a talented man, one ambitious and keen. There was cunning within him, greater than my simplicity and emotion, which stood like a barrier. I knew that he hid something, yet I hoped that love and generosity would redeem him. But his spirit was darker than I could have imagined.”
I looked at her, sympathy growing within me. This woman who had summoned me to her land, to her people, had proven fallible. She, who had seemed so powerful, had been outwitted. Yet she had overcome tragedy, had grown in stature as she filled the vacuum left by her father’s slaying, had led her warriors to repel invasion. Stronger she was than when we had parted, and subtly different. I liked more this revised Moon, more experienced, more humane, who had been manipulated and was now less willing to manipulate her friends.
"Three you have brought whom I know”, Moon said, “Hare whom I am thrilled to see, Geza who rides alongside her thanks to your diplomacy and his statesmanship, and the one whom I named Running-Weasel. That name she did not love, yet well does in describe her. Hare I wish to greet and Geza to converse with. The third I have little desire to speak to, for I believe that her purpose is fulfilled.”
"So why did you bring her, whom you gave such an ill name, and who betrayed you? Was there not another who might have helped you more?”
Moon sighed. “Her purpose was to test us, and against that criterion I selected her. Indeed test she did, questioning our purpose whilst she remained our dwelling, then fleeing and testing others. Did I not see correctly that she tested Geza just now, tempting him with notions of conquest? She is intelligent, but applies that gift tangentially, so that men’s intentions are sifted through how they respond. It is a dangerous stratagem to employ, a catalyst that brings events to pass more quickly, a way that draws out the rashness in those of lesser judgement. Do not be surprised that Arpad questioned her shortly after she arrived on his territory, and sucked from her such knowledge as suited his prejudices best.”
I called to Geza that he might approach, and the swarthy warrior approached, his horse stepping lightly across the soft Downland sward. “We are both now leaders of our peoples”, announced Moon, “so be welcome here. Let us discuss our future as neighbours and, I hope, as friends.”
"Unlike another, I come neither to invade not to spy”, said Geza in his firm, deep voice, “indeed the onus is upon me to make peace. You sent one unexpected who has enlightened me, and I see that our peoples are more akin than some would allege. So let us converse as equals. Let us put aside that I come hours after Arpad's demise, and that warrior queens are a rarity in my experience.” So it was that the two of them talked, and I realised that the discussions of statesmanship flew above my head. Therefore I rode slowly back towards the remainder of the group, whilst Moon and Geza sat on their horses facing westward, their backs towards us.
Running-Weasel started off towards me, telling the surprised Hare and bodyguards that: “She is my kinswoman, so let me go to speak to her.” Quickly the black mare trotted out towards me carrying her grim rider, anger scarcely held within. “So, you leave them to talk? Do you want Moon to trick him with her tales, so that the Downlanders hold their hills and fields whilst the Easterlings are crammed beyond the river with enemies at front and back? Where is your sense of justice?”
"What know you of justice, who ran away like a thief? What did you tell Arpad and Istvan when they questioned you? I know that we were brought here by subterfuge, yet can we not bring about good rather than conflict?”
She laughed at me. “The king and his son I told what they needed to know, so that they could deal with these people on more equal terms. Arpad in turn promised me that he would compel Moon to show me the way back to my home. For I remember more than you of our homeland, even as you want to remember little, such is your pleasure at exploring this primitive place and cavorting with these smelly peasants. Yes, Arpad will see me home, even as those two gossip.”
"Arpad fell beneath her sword this very morning.” I watched Weasel’s face redden, her fists clench. “Istvan is gone too, after killing Cwichelm. So you witness not gossip but restraint, vision, indeed greatness in Moon and Geza on this afternoon.”
"She killed Arpad! How shall I get away from this place? Is it through death alone, or must I do something else to awaken from this dream?”
"Through asking forgiveness”, I started but, rage rising within her, Weasel had begun to ride the short distance that separated us from Moon and Geza. Drawing alongside to their left, even as Moon turned around in surprise – for she had been deep in conversation – the angry young woman drew a dagger and lunged with her right hand, standing in her stirrups and leaning towards her intended victim.
At last the moment arrived for which Star and Sun had prepared me. Even as Weasel rode off fuming, I sensed with foreboding an ill deed in preparation. Stealthily I drew my bow, slipped an arrow from the quiver slung across my back, even as time seemed to slow and my vision narrowed to a tunnel that led irrevocably to the three mounted figures whose backs were to me. It seemed that my breathing stopped as I drew back the string firmly and aimed. As bright metal glinted in Weasel’s hand, the arrow flew. Time stood still. The only moving things were her dagger and my swift arrow. There was Moon, motionless, mouth agape in horror. Geza, frozen, now had a hand on the hilt of his sword. Then the spell was broken. The arrow like lightning struck Weasel hard in the back, the plunging dagger deflected tore Moon’s sleeve before falling from a stiff hand to the ground, Geza’s sword flashed in his hand. Weasel slumped forward, gurgling her last mortal sounds, slipping down over the right shoulder of her horse. Behind me I heard Hare screaming “Do not touch Hawk!” Moments later the red-faced teenager was there close by me, her horse’s eyes and nostrils wide, as two of Geza’s mounted warriors covered me with their swords. The other two careered up to their leader, stopping at the sign of his upheld hand. “Strike no-one!” he cried in a voice that shook us all, “Hawk has killed the traitor who would have slain a brave leader and plunged us again into needless war.”
My hands shook and a chill passed through my flesh. My teeth chattered and I could not take my eyes off the lifeless body that lay at Moon’s feet. The seer had jumped down from her horse, turning over the corpse of her would-be assassin and looking at the anger and pain frozen into the features of the silent face. “I did not bring her to this land to meet a violent end, “she said, her voice taut with emotion. Geza added: “But she counselled war. Those who desire war risk suffering the consequences.” Moon looked at me, shaking and miserable as I was, and called out in a high, loud voice: “You saved my life, so do not torment yourself so. She was your kinswoman so you, of us all, had the right to select her doom for treachery. I deem that you followed the only right course open to you, and I am grateful that Star and Sun diligently taught one so apt. Yet I am to blame, for I sought her in the beginning.” Hare reached across and slipped a muscular arm across my shoulders. “We are like sisters now, save that I arrived moments too late for Cwichelm whilst you had time enough to strike a saving blow. I shall never forsake one who saved Moon, my cousin whom I have gazed up to with love and respect since I was a small child.” The quiet strength of Hare’s arm, the warmth and tenderness of her fingers on my neck, the joy of her smile, the depth of her eyes, these things calmed my trembling body and restored colour to my cheeks. However it was long minutes before I regained the power of speech.
To be continued
