Free Daughters of Fire by Barbara Erskine

shone in the lamplight as she opened the lid. It was exquisitely crafted. Shaped like the head of a crane, with an elegant elongated beak and curved neck, the gold was engraved andmoulded into intricate designs, and set with scarlet and green enamels. For a long time she stared at it, then almost reluctantly she stroked it with her fingertip. A slight haze appeared on the surface of the gold from the contact with her skin and she pulled her finger away, with a shiver, biting her lip. The brooch was so cold. She glanced over her shoulder almost guiltily, sensing accusing eyes watching her from the corners of the room. She should not have touched it.
    She should not have taken it at all. Why had she? Had someone else prompted her; guided her hand?
    Outside the window the luminous night had settled over the city and slowly it was growing more silent. In the distance she heard a shout, then another and a short burst of music as somewhere down the Lawnmarket a door opened and then closed again.
    The shadowy woman standing in the lamplight near the desk was staring at the brooch with intensity, her eyes the only part of her that seemed alive. As Viv picked up the lid of the box and carefully fitted it back into place, the figure reached out a hand as if in protest, then slowly faded into the darkness.
II
     

     
    The ponies were kept at the far side of the compound. They were stamping impatiently, waiting for Carta and Triganos to appear from their mother’s house.
    Silently, careful not to be seen, a figure was creeping along in the shadow of the great wall, climbing over the rubble where it had fallen, coming closer to the horses every second. First one, then another cocked their ears watching and Carta’s pony shifted restlessly, backing away as far as its halter would allow.
    The boy glanced left and right, then ran sure-footed in between the animals. There was something in his hand, half-concealed behind his back. Ducking under the rope he approached Carta’s pony and thrust something under the saddle cloth. The horses all moved restlessly now as he turned and ran out of sight, chuckling.
    When the king’s children appeared a few moments later thehorses had settled again. Triganos was laughing. ‘Come on. I’ll race you! To the forest and back before sundown.’ He vaulted onto his own pony, leaning forward to pull the rein free, and turned it already galloping as he headed for the gates. Carta was not far behind him. As she leaped for her pony, bareback as his was, but for the backcloth, the animal let out a scream of pain and reared up. Carta flew over the horse’s back and landed on the ground on the far side, winded. For a moment she didn’t move.
    From the shadows Venutios appeared. He stooped to help her climb to her feet. ‘Are you all right? What happened.’ His face was bland. Then concerned. Kindly. Behind him two men working at the bellows outside the smith’s house dropped the great wooden handles and ran to her aid, as did another of Carta’s companions, Mairghread, a tall dark-haired girl with buck teeth, who was just emerging from the house. Shaken and with her dignity wounded Carta scrambled to her feet and shook off Venutios’s arm. ‘I’m all right! I’m fine. How is Olwen?’
    Venutios was beside the pony already, soothing it and gentling its trembling skin. The bunch of holly leaves had gone, tossed into the sunshadows out of sight beyond the other horses.
    To his delight Carta was taken away, back to her mother to be cleaned and soothed and reprimanded for not checking the pony’s saddle cloth was firmly fixed, for not approaching quietly, for not mounting carefully, and long before she was allowed once more to emerge into the sunshine Venutios had climbed onto his own pony and ridden in pursuit of Triganos, followed by some of the other boys and leaving Carta at home to sulk. It was a long time before she managed to slip away at last from her mother’s eagle eye, but when she did she