The Boar Stone: Book Three of the Dalriada Trilogy

by Jules Watson

  They rode along the great glen by the chain of dark lochs. Far above, the crests of the peaks still held snow, but on the low ground all the trees were in leaf and bracken covered the slopes.

  Taran and a few Pictish warriors rode as escort. Cahir and Minna took their leave of the druid when they came to the deserted borderlands.

  ‘You proved to be guests of a higher order than I was expecting,’ Taran observed to Minna, hunching into his cloak as the cold wind pulled at it. His brows arched. ‘But I doubt I will be forgetting anything about you now, Minna of Dalriada.’

  He was the first person to name her so, to name her home. Her heart was still pounding as Taran took his leave of Cahir.

  The Picts parted from them then, waiting at the head of a long loch while they carried on west.

  West, towards the Dalriadan sea.

  ‘But should I not go to Finbar?’ Keeva whispered to Clíona, as they huddled in one of the dark alcoves in the hall.

  Clíona slowly replaced the lid of the flour bin. Her face was as pale as the ground grain. ‘Are you sure of what you heard, child?’

  ‘Yes! Everything, just as I’ve told you.’ Keeva sank onto the bin. ‘Oh, gods, this is terrible!’

  ‘Hush!’ Clíona glanced around. ‘You don’t know who is listening, and if the queen gets wind that you know, that I know, we are both dead. Dead, Keeva.’

  Keeva nodded, pressing her hands between her thighs.

  Clíona was thinking fast. ‘You must not breathe a word of this, for we have no way of knowing who is on her side.’ She almost spat the word. ‘We can only speak to Finbar.’

  ‘But what if he is betraying the king as well?’

  ‘Och, stupid girl!’ Clíona threw her hands up. ‘Finbar has been the royal family’s most loyal man since I was a chit your age. It isn’t possible – and if he has turned traitor, then we are already lost. Now, put your cloak on and hide your hair, and seek him out for a private audience.’

  But Keeva’s face was stricken. ‘I’ve just remembered: Finbar has gone to check on the outlying duns now the weather has broken. He’s not here.’

  ‘Well, we can’t trust anyone else.’ Clíona smoothed back her hair, steadying herself. ‘And we cannot send you to chase after him, and draw attention to ourselves. We’ll just have to wait for him.’

  Keeva was on her feet. ‘We need the king back, and quickly. Where can he be?’

  Chapter 40

  ‘How is he?’ Martinus crouched by the tossing, moaning man stretched out on the army surgeon’s cot.

  The surgeon dipped a cloth in a bowl of vinegar and honey. On the tray beside it, the lamplight flared on a collection of forceps, scalpels and saws. ‘The arrow went in deep and got lodged behind his back muscle. It took some digging to extract it, but it had already festered. Another day in the hills and he would have died.’

  The youth tossed again, flinging out one arm. His torso was bound by a bandage stained with pus and blood. ‘Minna!’ he cried hoarsely.

  Martinus pursed his lips. ‘Is it the fever making him babble so?’

  The surgeon combed his beard with his fingers. ‘The fever burned for days; I thought I would lose him. He’s past that now, so I gave him henbane to sleep. Though it was enough to fell a larger man, he’s exceedingly restless, as you can see.’

  The commander smiled thinly. ‘He’s my best fighter; of course he’s restless. I’ve never seen any soldier with such blind courage – he’s killed twice as many vermin as anyone else.’ The surgeon made no comment, clearing up his instruments. ‘So when will he be fighting fit again? I need him back on the supply lines.’

  ‘Fit?’ The surgeon frowned. ‘Sir, he’s been very badly wounded, and the fever has wasted him. It will be a week before he is even eating properly.’

  Martinus shrugged as he made for the door. ‘Just patch him up and send him back out there as soon as you can. At least it wasn’t his sword side, so it matters little if the muscle knits well or not, as long as it’s whole.’

  When he had gone, the surgeon sighed, feeling the patient’s head.

  The boy writhed on the sweat-soaked pillow. ‘No …’ he muttered under his breath, ‘I … can’t …’ Suddenly those blue eyes sprang open, looking straight through the man leaning over him. ‘I can’t do it any more,’ he said plaintively.

  The army doctor peered closer. Was the soldier still in the delirium? He must be. Though he had spoken clearly, his eyes were glazed. Another draught of spiced wine might help. He busied himself at the stove.

  Behind him, Cian’s cracked lips moved in a whisper. ‘Minna. Don’t leave.’

  Cahir pushed his warriors to reach Dunadd by the fire festival of Beltaine. They led their horses by moonlight along the shores of the great glen, and rose when the sky was barely light.

  They were close to Brónach’s hut on the mountain when a figure appeared on the slopes above the track, sliding madly down between the trees. Cahir had his men formed up around Minna, swords drawn, by the time the man burst into the open. He was small and wiry, dressed in brown and muted green so he could hardly be seen against the forest.

  ‘Thank the gods you are back, my lord!’ the man puffed, as Cahir’s horse nervously danced backwards.

  ‘What has happened?’

  Sweat was pouring down the man’s red face. ‘I will tell you, but come into the woods where no one can see. We have been keeping a lookout for you for weeks.’

  Dread crawled over Minna’s skin as she listened to the man’s explanation. A rebellion had been mounted by Maeve and Oran, a plan for Roman trading ships packed with Carvetii soldiers to enter the port on the day of Beltaine, before the evening feast, taking advantage of the bustle to go unnoticed.

  That was in two days.

  A serving girl had overheard the plot, then told Finbar. The queen’s men had set lookouts for the king, too, but Finbar had sent his best scouts much further from Dunadd, so they would spot the king first. Finbar knew Cahir would not miss Beltaine, he said.

  ‘And his plan if I did not come?’ Cahir’s face betrayed an immense rage, though his voice was steady.

  The scout gulped at that look, shifting his bow on his back. ‘He was going to lie in wait for the attack – to gain proof, my lord. He did not wish to act against the queen without you here, on hearsay alone.’

  ‘Sensible,’ Cahir said coldly, but when he turned even Minna stepped back from the ice and fire in his eyes. ‘We also do not want to scare the plotters off. We must have proof of this treachery so I can expel them all, at last.’

  Minna gaped. He was going to allow the ships into the bay?

  ‘Do you know the name of the girl who heard this?’ Cahir demanded of the scout.

  ‘I … ah … it was the little dark-haired Attacotti, my lord. She told the maid who supervises the hall.’

  Minna breathed out with relief. Keeva and Clíona. Cahir swung towards her, one brow raised. ‘Keeva would be loyal,’ she confirmed. ‘I am sure of it – she often spoke of the Romans with hatred, and of the queen … badly. And I know no woman more passionate about Dalriada and the kingship as Clíona.’ Her cheeks warmed as all the men listened.

  ‘Very well.’ Cahir braced his shoulders. ‘Mellan, ride to all the north duns within half a day’s ride. Every available fighter must be armed and back here by dawn – as many as you can get. Any not ready, leave behind and ride like banshees are on your tail. Meet me by the place of the otters at sunrise.’ He spun around. ‘Ardal, do the same for the south, avoiding Dunadd. If you are hailed, ride on and don’t let them see your face. Go now!’ After all these weeks, the men moved in tandem with his thoughts and did not question. Mellan and Ardal remounted and thundered away.

  Cahir beckoned to the scout. ‘The girl Keeva, did she see who else was involved?’

  The man nodded vigorously. ‘They picked sailors from the port as well as warriors in the dun. The girl has already named who she can to Finbar.’

  ‘Good.’ For
a moment Cahir gazed into the dappled sun between the oak leaves, then faced the scout. ‘Listen carefully. We must disarm the traitors before an alarm can be sent to the ships, turning them back. Go and tell Finbar I am here, and will ride to the walls of Dunadd when the sun is halfway down the sky today. In the meantime, his men must shadow those traitors in Dunadd, and mark where Oran and Maeve and their men are. I want Finbar’s guards in the crowds, ready to seize them at my signal. Have him also man the port with our own warriors, in disguise. Once the traitors are captured we must evacuate the port.’

  ‘We have been trailing the traitors for days already, my lord.’

  ‘Good. We must also disable their lookouts so I can arrive at the dun undetected. Go back and gather the men you need to accomplish that. Now, Donal.’ Cahir drew him forward. ‘I am certain the clifftop beacons will be in Oran’s hands. Go to the Dun of the Cliff and pick a small force of men, then take the beacon back by stealth. Góban, do the same on the south headland. Whatever happens, Oran cannot have an opportunity to signal the ships and stop them from landing. Understand?’

  Donal and Góban swiftly left, grim-faced. ‘Fergal, Ruarc, we will give Finbar a few hours, then ride to Dunadd together. Go up to the hut now and water your horses, clean your weapons and helmets.’ He smiled at Ruarc. ‘This is one time you can look as impressive as you like.’

  Ruarc was staring at Cahir as if he were a ghost. ‘You want me to go with you?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Cahir held his eyes. ‘I want all those young bucks who idolize you to see us united. When we get to Dunadd, you will order them to seize the traitors as I will order my own men. If they see us standing strong together, they will not falter.’

  Ruarc swelled with pride. ‘As you wish, my lord.’ It was the first time he had ever called Cahir that.

  When the men had dispersed, Cahir and Minna were alone in the woods. He pulled her close. ‘A stór, when we ride to Dunadd I want you to stay some way behind us. If it turns bad, whip the horse and fly as fast as you can.’ His eyes burned, angry but not disappointed with this news. He wanted this confrontation.

  She clutched at his tunic. ‘What do you mean if it goes bad? The people support you—’

  ‘We don’t know that – we don’t know anything.’ Cahir gripped her face, thumbs under her eyes so she could not look away. ‘I warned you, Minna. If Maeve gains the upper hand, if I am killed, you must not be captured. This plot bears the stench of the Dux, not just of Maeve and her father, I can smell it. They will hurt you, or worse. Promise me you will run.’

  She gagged on her protests. Here it was, then, the reality behind the glory of Mamo’s tales, the stories of men riding to war – here it was. Terror like a vice on her chest, wondering if she would see him again, or if his life would be ended in a heartbeat by a blade, or an arrow. It wasn’t glorious, it wasn’t proud!

  ‘Minna! Are you listening?’ Cahir shook her, and she forced herself to nod.

  He cursed then and kissed her, holding her so tight she couldn’t breathe.

  Cahir, Minna, Fergal and Ruarc galloped across the meadow towards Dunadd with the sun stretching low across the grass. Inside her cloak and hood, Minna clung to her pony’s mane as it followed Cahir’s, bumping along so her teeth rattled in her jaw.

  The guards along the walls caught up their spears when the four riders – three of them armed warriors – clattered across the bridge to the dun, but no horn shrieked a challenge. Finbar had done his job. Though people milling about the entrance hurried inside at their urgent approach, some men pushed themselves between the timber gates to prevent them shutting: the traitors, confused but obeying Oran’s orders.

  Cahir reared his black horse before the walls, throwing back his wolf-fur hood and holding up his sword. Shock ran among the warriors crowding the walls and gatehouse, the women and children. ‘The king! It is the king!’

  Finbar was on the palisade directly in front of the watchtower, his eyes meeting his lord’s, a nod of understanding passing between them. Cahir turned to Fergal. ‘Ride as fast as you can to the port and find Finbar’s men now. Maeve and Oran are to be seized and held captive, the others disarmed. Hurry!’ Fergal wheeled his horse and set off along the river.

  ‘Warriors, hear me!’ Cahir cried up at the walls of Dunadd, spinning his horse and trotting it back and forth. ‘Treachery is being done this day! The conspirators are even now within these walls, even now at the port waiting for Roman ships to invade our lands!’ Gasps punctuated the air. ‘But I have returned in time, and we know who they are.’ His sword stabbed high above a face lean from weeks of deprivation, scoured by wind. ‘They are led by the queen, Maeve of the Carvetii, but these are Dalriadans who do this, warriors sworn to me! Traitors, I name them now, and I order them seized and held under guard! Follow Finbar!’

  There were shouts as Finbar disappeared down the stairs, and scuffles broke out on the walls and behind the gates. Finbar’s warriors had their swords out now, and metal clashed against metal, as women squealed and grabbed their children, fleeing further inside. Some of the traitors tried to slip out of the gates and were hauled back.

  But the greater part of the Dalriadan warriors were undecided, caught in confusion. They milled about the walls and muttered among themselves, their eyes darting from Cahir to the fighting inside the dun.

  All of a sudden Ruarc kicked his horse level with the king, flinging his helmet to the ground so his golden hair spilled out. ‘What is this, my brothers? Here I stand by my king’s side, as loyal to his name as this treachery is vile. I say take hold of these men who would sell their people for greed, who taint the blood of every one of you in the eyes of the gods. Hurry! We have no time to lose!’

  Ruarc’s youthful voice was a stirring clamour, his appearance cutting through the confusion like a knife. Suddenly the warriors on the walls were screeching their rage, racing to join Finbar. The shouting intensified, and the gates were flung fully open.

  By now the children and women had been dragged inside the houses, and Cahir kicked his horse through the gates into the yard. Minna’s pony leaped after him, but just as she got inside, a man tumbled off the wall above. His body thudded at her feet, her pony stumbled, and she slid off its back into a pile of hay outside the stables. Lying winded in the tangle of her cloak, she stared at the dead man’s face, and the bloom of blood over his chest.

  ‘Do not kill the traitors yet!’ Cahir cried, leaping to the ground. He spared a glance for Minna and, seeing she was unhurt, gestured her back against the wall. ‘Take them alive if you can.’

  It was over almost as soon as it had begun. A group of bruised and cut warriors were herded out by Finbar, swordless, and Finbar and Cahir embraced as the warriors clustering the walls and streets cheered.

  Then Cahir took Minna’s arm and pressed her up the stairs out of the surging crowd. ‘Now the real test begins.’ He was scanning the men. ‘I make for the port, and I won’t be back tonight.’

  ‘Take care.’ Minna stared at a spatter of blood across his arm, her head swimming from the fall. ‘Take care you come back to me.’

  Cahir glanced down and, astonishingly, grinned. His face was flushed with triumph. ‘We have the advantage, my love, so do not worry.’

  ‘Do not treat me like a foolish girl, Cahir! Who would not worry?’

  His grin widened, eyes sparking. ‘Not a girl, no.’ He looked as if he might kiss her, then merely squeezed her hand and raced back down the stairs. ‘To me, all of you who ride! We must away to the port and lay ambush for the invaders at dawn. To me!’

  Minna ran up the stairs out of the way as dozens of horses were loosed from the stables, men throwing themselves up bareback, brandishing swords. As the tide of warriors flowed out of the gate and over the marsh, the dun suddenly emptied, women rushing out to watch them go. Minna hurried up the path to the crag, scrambling up the rock steps past the king’s hall to the cliff edge. There she stared into the flaming heart of the sun, watching Cahir streaking
away along the trade path.

  ‘Minna, Minna!’ Orla and Finola flung themselves at her, screeching like wildcats. She hugged them back, trying to answer their questions, as Lia leaped and yapped, running around in circles chasing her tail. Then Keeva and Clíona came up behind them, and she extracted herself long enough to catch Keeva’s arms. ‘You saved him!’ she cried, nearly insensible with relief. ‘I can never thank you, never.’ She looked over Keeva’s shoulder to Clíona. ‘The king knows of your part in this, too, both of you. I swore to him you would be loyal – I knew I was right.’

  The words poured from her, and she did not pause to think what change had been wrought in her since she left. But Keeva, who had opened her mouth to cry a greeting and then shut it, held Minna now at arm’s length.

  Clíona was also staring in profound shock. ‘What happened to you? We heard about the children in the dun.’ She clucked and shook her head. ‘You have been the talk of Dunadd for weeks. Saving all those babies and then disappearing, and the king with you …’ She trailed away, for once speechless.

  ‘Minna,’ Keeva said slowly. ‘The king?’

  Then Minna realized she had instinctively spoken of Cahir with passion in her voice. ‘I cannot explain now,’ she stammered, suddenly becoming aware of Orla’s green eyes fixed on her face.

  Clíona and Keeva exchanged glances, then Keeva shrugged, trying to smile. ‘Tell us later, if you wish – I am just glad you are back safely, whatever happened. When I heard what I did, at first I didn’t know what to do …’

  Keeva blurted out the whole story, as Orla and Finola clung to Minna’s legs and the sun sank. After fielding another torrent of questions, at long last Minna glanced up to steady herself, and there grew still. On the other side of the king’s hall, a lonely figure was standing looking out across the marsh, huddled in a dark cloak.

  Brónach’s cold eyes shifted from the horizon to Minna’s face and there paused. By the jolt of recognition she knew that, of all people, Brónach understood exactly how she had changed.