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Chapter 27

Biding my time and trying my best to stay out of sight, I spent most of the day in and around the cookhouse, helping Lydia and learning the names of the other servants who came and went on chores of their own. We had a little rest after the midday meal was done and before we began preparing the evening meal. Although Lydia tried to make good her promise to find me a sleeping place, it seemed there was none to be found—at least by her. Apparently, Cunomor’s rash impulse to buy me did not stretch to considering how I might be housed, or where.

“I think you must sleep in the kitchen for now,” Lydia told me. “I will speak to Ederyn when he returns. He will find you a better place.”

I thanked her for her efforts, and said that I did not mind sleeping in the kitchen as I had done it before. I did not tell her that it mattered not a whit to me where I slept as I did not plan in remaining in that house any longer than necessary and, in any case, the kitchen was much to be preferred as it kept me warm at night, safe, and free to creep about more or less unnoticed.

As the sun touched the low western hills, I stole quietly to the brewhouse with a good-sized jar and, as the place was empty for the moment, I drew off a jarful of the brown, frothy liquid, carried it back to the cookhouse and put it behind some others on the board. I stood by and watched as the folk of the villa clumped into the hall for their evening meal—mostly men, as the women and children most often took their meals apart—and helped serve up the platters and bowls. That finished, ran back to the cookhouse and fetched my jars of beer and pork belly, then flitted to the hound keeper’s hut. He lived next to his dogs in a squat hovel next to the kennel. As he took his meals with the other slaves and servants after the king and his household had eaten, he was idling on a stool outside his hut, playing with a brown puppy.

I greeted him nicely, and presented the jar of beer in the same way I would if he had been King Ederyn himself. He took it, sniffed it, and then gulped down a healthy swallow and wiped his mouth on his sleeve and gave me a gap-toothed smile. “Good,” he said, remembering my deafness, he added clearly, “We’ll get on, girl.”

“My name is Aurelia,” I told him. “What is yours?”

“My name?” The question seemed to catch him off guard. He had to think a moment. “Mab,” he said at last. “Just call me Mab.”

“I’m happy to know you, Mab.” I smiled, but felt sad for him. The name simply meant boy. I suppose no one had ever given him another, or ever called him anything else. “And I’m glad you like the beer. I brought something for the dogs, too.”

He eyed me warily. “Eh? What is it?”

Producing the second jar, I shook into my hand a few of the little cubes of pork belly I had filched. “Just a little something I thought they might like. May I give it to them?”

“Aye.” He nodded and went back to his beer. “Mind they don’t bite your fingers—especially that big black bitch. She’ll have your throat out before you can swallow.”

“Which one is that?” I asked.

“Ursa—pack leader. Stay away from her, hear me?”

“I’ll be careful.” I proceeded around the side of the hut to the kennel where the dogs were kept—a good-sized area fenced in by a sort of slatted wooden screen made of hazel stakes and woven willow, and secured with a chain. There were nine dogs in all—not including a litter of pups that waddled out of the kennel shelter—and they all started barking as soon as they saw me and the more aggressive of them flew to the screen, slavering and snapping. Feral beasts, these if I needed any reminder. I began to mistrust my plan, but I had come this far so I carried on. Speaking gently and calmly, I put one of the fatty bits of meat on my palm and held it up to the wickerwork. “I brought something for you,” I told them softly. “Would you like a taste?”

Pressing my palm against the screen—making sure to keep my fingers out of reach—I put the meat through. The first dog sniffed it and then gobbled it up and yapped for more. Success! The big black dog, the leader, stepped up; the members of her pack moved aside to let her through. Speaking gently, I plucked out a big, juicy cube, and called her by name, “Ursa, come. I have something for you.”

The enormous dark beast regarded me with her deep brown eyes, but made no move. Pressing the gobbet of meat to the screen, I said. “This is for you.” The other dogs crowded in, but I pulled it back. “No, this is for Ursa.”

Holding the morsel to the wickerwork once more, I said, “Ursa, come. For you. Take it.”

The canny creature padded over and sniffed the offering. I praised her, telling her what a beautiful creature she was and how wise and brave. She snaffled down the titbit and then looked me in the eye again. Strange to say, but something quickened in her dark eyes—perception? Some sort of animal intuition? Understanding? I don’t know, but in that moment I felt something pass between us.

She turned away, allowing the others to crowd in once more. I fed out my little treats one by one until the jar was empty. The hounds yapped for more but, errand finished, I hurried back to the cookhouse. I told Mab that I would come again tomorrow to collect his jar. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring a fresh one when I come.”

Mercifully, I was able to avoid Cunomor while serving at the board that night. Then again, he might have been just as eager to avoid me—for the next day or so at least. A day or two more that’s all, before he called my to his bed again. . . .

I did not like to think what would happen then, nor did I imagine that two short days would be time enough to see my furtive plan to fruition, but what else could I do? I could but hope for the best and pray that a day or two would be enough.

Next evening as the sun dropped down to meet the horizon, I found another excuse to go out to the kennel to visit Mab and the dogs. Again, I brought a jar of beer for him and a small bundle of morsels for the beasts in his care. Mab professed himself well-satisfied with this arrangement, and the animals appeared to anticipate my arrival. I delivered the fresh jar to Mab and went around to the kennel. The puppies eagerly welcomed me and the little scraps of meat I brought. They wobbled out of the shelter on their little fat legs and, seeing me, came tumbling and stumbling to the screen where they yipped and hopped to be fed.

The others crowded in and as before, I spoke to them gently, praising their fine appearance, intelligence, and strength. Ursa stood watching a little apart. I called her by name and offered my gift. She approached and I looked into her big dark eyes and assured her I was her friend and meant her no harm. Once again, that curious connection passed between us and came away feeling there was something about her that I had never seen in any creature before, more than animal intelligence, more than her dominating physical strength and appearance. True, she was undoubtedly the leader of the pack—I could have seen that from the way the others submitted to her—but it was as if she was assessing me, judging me.

I fed the others then, making sure to include them all, often refusing one already fed to allow another dog a turn which, when it came, the hungry hound was eager to snaffle down the morsel I offered. When I was finished, I retrieved the empty jar and, with the promise to return the next night, I hurried back to the courtyard.

Happily, everyone was still at the board, so my sly visit to Mab and the hounds that night, and the next, went unseen and unremarked by the other servants; that is, if anyone did notice, they neither questioned nor mentioned it. I suppose, the appearance of a servant bearing a jar or two was a thing so ordinary as to be beneath comment. Even so, I knew Cunomor’s summons to his bedchamber would not be long in coming. Like the fall of the headsman’s axe I feared and dreaded my fate and went about my chores hoping that by staying out of sight, I would stay out of mind.

I managed to achieve this modest aim, until the next morning when I was awakened—along with nearly everyone else in the villa—by shouting. “Lord Ederyin! Cuno! Hurry! You are needed!” Aedita and Lydia had just come into the cookhouse. They put aside the vessels they were carrying and flew to the courtyard to see what was happening, arriving just in time to see Cunomor emerge from the hall after another night’s debauch. They shouted again and Cuno moved quickly to meet them. They conferred quickly and then all dashed away again with more shouting and waving and cries for warriors to assemble. Warriors boiled from the hall, groggy and unsteady on their legs, trailing after their chief of battle, and we standing by were left staring after them.

“What is it?” I asked Aedita, standing next to me. “What’s happening?”

“I cannot say for certain,” she replied. “But I think Irish raiders have been seen in the south.”

“Aye,” Lydia confirmed. “A rider has come from Selwyn at Penllyn,” she explained. “Lord Selwyn thinks they may be massing for an attack. He has sent out a call for warriors to come drive them away.”

“Penllyn?”

“That was the place the rider mentioned.” Lydia shrugged, and added, “It’s a caer in the south somewhere. One of Lord Ederyn’s client chiefs and his tribe live there.”

“This place . . . this Penllyn—is it far?”

“Far enough,” Lydia replied, starting back to the kitchen. “They will be gone a day at least, maybe more if there is a battle.”

A day, she said, maybe two . . . Hallelujah! Merciful God be thanked! I had at least one day more to pursue my escape plan without hindrance.—a day free of Cunomor and his odious bedchamber. That night I visited the kennel with Mab’s promised beer and while he settled on his stool to slake his thirst, I took my bundle of treats to the wicker screen to feed the dogs and praise their many fine qualities. By now, I was even able to work my arm between the staves to stroke the more agreeable ones. I was happy with my progress, but there was only one sure way to judge it: go into the kennel with the beasts. That, I decided, would take courage—and Mab’s help, to be sure. This, I considered, was next evening’s chore.

This was not to be.



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Framed