‘I did not come at once. I knew that Rantel would find you as you left the gate in the Outer Wall, for he hides each night among the rocks waiting for you. I knew that he would be with you. But this morning I came here to ask him where he had found you a dwelling for the night, and where you were, for I knew your house had been taken from you by the law of the Mud Square. But when I arrived here an hour ago I saw the ghost of your face on the door, and you were happy; so I waited here. You are happy, Keda?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘You were afraid in the castle to come back; but now you are here you are not afraid. I can see what it is,’ he said. ‘You have found that you are in love. Do you love him?’
‘I do not know. I do not understand. I am walking on air, Braigon. I cannot tell whether I love him or no, or whether it is the world I love so much and the air and the rain last night, and the passions that opened like flowers from their tight buds. Oh, Braigon, I do not know. If I love Rantel, then I love you also. As I watch you now, your hand at your forehead and your lips moving such a little, it is you I love. I love the way you have not wept with anger and torn yourself to shreds to find me here. The way you have sat here all by yourself, oh Braigon, whittling a branch, and waiting, unafraid and understanding everything, I do not know how, for I have not told you of what has transformed me, suddenly?’
She leaned back against the wall and the morning sun lay whitely upon her face. ‘Have I changed
‘You have broken free,’ he said.
‘Braigon,’ she cried, ‘it is you – it is
He turned the branch over in his hand as though he had not heard, and then he turned to her.
His heavy head had been reclining upon the wall and now he turned it slightly towards her, his eyes half closed.
‘Keda,’ he said, ‘I will meet you tonight. The grass hollow where the Twisted Woods descend. Do you remember?’
‘I will meet you there,’ she said. While she spoke the air became shrill between their heads and the steel point of a long knife struck the stones between them and snapped with the impact.
Rantel stood before them, he was shaking.
‘I have another knife,’ he said in a whisper which they could only just hear. ‘It is a little longer. It will be sharper by this evening when I meet you at the hollow. There is a full moon tonight. Keda! Oh Keda! Have you forgotten?’
Braigon got to his feet. He had moved only to place himself before Keda’s body. She had closed her eyes and she was quite expressionless.
‘I cannot help it,’ she said, ‘I cannot help it I am happy.’
Braigon stood immediately before his rival. He spoke over his shoulder, but kept his eyes on his enemy.
‘He is right,’ he said. ‘I shall meet him at sunset. One of us will come back to you.’
Then Keda raised her hands to her head. ‘No, no, no, no!’ she cried. But she knew that it must be so, and became calm, leaning back against the wall, her head bowed and the locks of her hair falling over her face.
The two men left her, for they knew that they could never be with her that unhappy day. They must prepare their weapons. Rantel re-entered his hut and a few moments later returned with a cape drawn about him. He approached Keda.
‘I do not understand your love,’ he said.
She looked up and saw his head upright upon his neck. His hair was like a bush of blackness.
She did not answer. She only saw his strength and his high cheekbones and fiery eyes. She only saw his youth.
‘I am the cause,’ she said. ‘It is I who should die. And I
She turned and held his hand with the dagger in it.
‘I do not know. I do not understand,’ she said, ‘I do not think that we have any power.’
She released his hand and he moved away along the base of the high wall until it curved to the right and she lost him.
Braigon was already gone. Her eyes clouded.
‘Keda,’ she said to herself, ‘Keda, this is tragedy.’ But as her words hung emptily in the morning air, she clenched her hands for she could feel no anguish and the bright bird that had filled her breast was still singing … was still singing.
THE ROOM OF ROOTS
‘That’s quite enough for today,’ said Lady Cora, laying down her embroidery on a table beside her chair.
‘But you’ve only sewn three stitches, Cora,’ said Lady Clarice, drawing out a thread to arm’s length.
Cora turned her eyes suspiciously. ‘You have been watching me,’ she said. ‘Haven’t you?’
‘It wasn’t private,’ replied her sister. ‘Sewing isn’t private.’ She tossed her head.
