none shared hers. Brigitta was the chief's daughter and so
took honor here. When the flames flickered they caught
the gold bracelet on her arm, the wide plaque necklace of
amber and bronze lying on her breast. Her red-brown hair
flowed free, nearly touching the floor behind her as she
sat, its color contrasting pleasantly with the strong blue of
her cloak, the embroidered length of the saffron yellow
robe beneath.
She was arrayed for a feast, yet this was no true. feast.
She bitterly resented the news which had drawn the men to
council and left the women to watch and yawn, gossip a
little. It was even stale gossip, for they had been together
for so long now that there was nothing new to say about
each other or events.
Brigitta moved restlessly. Warўwar with the Winged
Hatsўthat was all a man could think about. There was
little betrothing or marrying nowadays. And she was
growing older with every moon. Yet her father had not
singled out any lord for her. There was gossip behind
hands about that also, as. well she knew. If they had not
already, in time they would give her some flaw of tongue
or mind which would turn possible suitors from the door.
War. Brigitta gritted her teeth and the look with which
she regarded the company below had little kindness in it.
Man thought of fighting first and always. What^did it mat-
ter if the invaders crept along valleys miles away? What
difference should it make to the people of Nyren, safe in
their upland fortress? And now this babbling about the
evils wrought by the High King. She drank again.
So he had put aside his wife to wed the daughter of the
Saxon overlord.... Brigitta wondered what the new queen
looked like. Vortigen was old; he had grown sons who
would be quick to raise sword for their shamed mother. A
messenger had brought the news that they were summon-
ing near and far kin to that very effort now. But the Sax-
ons would form a shield wall for the new queen, too. It
was all war! She could not remember back to a time when
there was not the clang of weapons about the clan house.
She need only raise her head a little to see the line of
weather-cleaned skulls set along the roof eaves above, the
spoils of wars and past raids.
She did not think that Nyren would have much sympa-
thy for the High King. Ten days ago another messengei
had ridden in to be received with a far warmer welcome: a
