A Spark is Struck in Cruachan

by Bill Stackhouse

  Of all her pilfered possessions—the saddles, horse blankets, knives, lamps, and other paraphernalia—the one item she now clutched to her breast she considered her most prized—the hawk-beak hoof-pick.

  Remembering Siobhán’s little rhyme, through the tears she now sung it quietly to herself as she summoned up the memory of Pádraig kiss. “Yseult and a pinky…under a tree,…K-I-S-S…I…N…G.”

  Birchday - Wolf 50th

  Gabhrán Shire

  “I’ll be right with you, Da,” Pádraig said to Finbar, as the elder farrier headed to the stables to get Stumbles and Clover hitched to the farrier’s wagon. Pulling Liam aside, he whispered, “Remember I told you that I was going to give half my farrier’s fee to Neave and the other half to Beibhinn?”

  “Yeah?” the prince replied. “Your da okay with that?”

  “Sure. But you see…I haven’t been paid, yet, and I’m not sure I will be. And…I don’t have any money.”

  “Not to worry,” Liam told him, opening the satchel that was supposed to contain the ransom, but, instead, held just three small, brown leather pouches. “I’ll take care of Neave, and you can give this to Beibhinn.” He removed one of the pouches and handed it to his friend. “This should more than cover it.”

  “Thanks,” Pádraig replied with a wink, reaching through the slit in his tan cloak and pocketing the bag full of coins.

  The cloak, one of Tadhg’s, was given to him by Neave so that he wouldn’t, in her words, ‘look like a vagabond’ in the modified horse blanket that he had gotten from Yseult the wood-nymph. Although the young farrier had accepted it graciously, he had kept the blanket for sentimental reasons, folding it and stowing it in the wagon.

  Liam removed a second pouch, and the two boys approached Neave just as Máiréad finished saying her good-byes.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” the prince told the woman, “for all that you’ve done for us. Please accept this is as just a small token of my appreciation.” He held out the small leather bag toward her.

  Waving it away, she replied, “Oh, no, Your Highness, I couldn’t. It was my honor to be able to assist you. I can’t accept payment.”

  “But you’ve been so kind, Neave.”

  “Young Sir, if you really want to repay my kindness, please promise me that my Tadhg will receive the justice he deserves.”

  Liam stood there for a moment, not knowing what to say.

  Pádraig answered for him. “Be assured, Neave, as soon as we reach Dúnfort Cruachan, the prince will get personally involved. Tadhg will have his justice in a matter of days.”

  With tears in her eyes, Neave pulled Liam close and hugged him. “Thank you, Your Highness. I don’t care what many in the Northern Shires say. When the time comes, you’ll be a great king.”

  “And please take the money,” the young farrier continued, “You need it much more than he does.” With that, Pádraig gave Liam an elbow to the ribs.

  “Be well—both of you,” she replied, accepting the pouch. “And may An Fearglas bless you.”

  The threesome completed the ritual act of submission, then, after receiving cheek-kisses from the woman, the two boys walked to the waiting horses and wagons.

  Before Liam mounted, he said, “And just how am I supposed to fulfill your promise to Neave? There’s no evidence against Colm for Tadhg’s murder and we don’t have another viable suspect.”

  “While waiting for you to rescue me, I had some time to think about it. Let’s take things in order. Colm first. When you get back to Dúnfort Cruachan, send a messenger to Ráth Gabhrán and summon Lorcan to meet with you at The Rope and Anchor tomorrow night. When he gets there, pull rank. Tell him in no uncertain terms that since he has no evidence against Colm, he’s to release him immediately.”

  “And then what? Like I said, we’ve got no viable alternative.”

  “Trust me. We’ll get one.”

  * * *

  As Cadwgawn, Liam, and Máiréad, along with the extra horses they had brought with them from the kidnappers’ encampment, disappeared from sight over a rise in the road toward Dúnfort Cruachan, Finbar reined in Stumbles and Clover, and waited for Brynmor and Lairgnen, in the open-bed wagon, to pull alongside.

  “Now’s as good a time as ever, lad,” he said. “Let’s hear it.”

  Having stitched together the various scenes that had played in his fevered mind as he lie in the wood-nymph’s lair, Pádraig outlined his suspicions to the three Watchmen.

  “Remember the Northman that washed up on the beach below Cathair Tulach?” he began. “And how we assumed his mission was to assassinate the High King?”

  “Assumed?” the troubadour asked, eyebrow raised.

  “I no longer think that was the case,” Pádraig said.

  “And why’s that, lad?” his father asked.

  “At the mid-winter Roghnú, Déaglán is going to name Liam as deputy king.”

  He looked at the other three and was met with shoulder shrugs and nods, acknowledging that, with Liam being Déaglán’s only heir, this revelation did not come as a complete surprise.

  Pádraig continued. “Suppose, for a moment, that the assassin wasn’t after the High King, but was sent to kill Liam. Who, then, would Déaglán designate as deputy king?”

  “Most probably his cousin, Eógan,” Finbar answered. “Wait! You’re thinking what? That this was a plot to insert Eógan into the chain of succession?”

  “Based on what?” Brynmor asked.

  “On the fact that you and the prince were kidnapped?” Lairgnen said. “Keep going, lad. What else do you have?”

  “The kidnapping wasn’t real. It was staged. I heard the guards talking. The whole purpose for taking us was to kill Liam but make it look like a simple kidnapping for ransom that went bad.”

  The young farrier went on to tell them about his other experiences in the kidnappers’ prison, including the presence of the Northman. He also relayed to them the incident in the tavern over at Fort Callainn, and about the bitterness that the people of the Northern Shires felt with regard to Diarmuid choosing Déaglán over Eógan to be his deputy king.

  “These people are angry, make no mistake about it,” Pádraig said. “They think that they’ve been disenfranchised, and that Eógan was cheated out of his rightful inheritance. They’re certain that years ago had Diarmuid named Eógan as deputy king, Cabhan would now be the High King.”

  Lairgnen frowned. “So they’re going to back-door it?” he speculated. “Get rid of Liam. Have Eógan named deputy king, then, somehow, get rid of Déaglán, too?”

  “How does the presence of the Northman with the kidnappers fit in?” Brynmor asked. “You would think that the people in the Northern Shires would have longer memories.”

  “The traitors among them don’t have the manpower to launch a full-blown revolution on their own,” Finbar said, “so they’re making some sort of deal with the Northmen.”

  “Whatever deal it is, it has to be stopped,” Lairgnen said.

  Pádraig held up a cautioning finger. “About the Northern Shires not having sufficient manpower,” he said. “I’m not so sure that’s the case, Da.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “That compound where we were imprisoned was a way-station of some sort. Herds of horses were being moved in temporarily, then moved out again to the north under cover of darkness. And remember what Tadhg said that night at The Rope and Anchor about his workload increase?”

  Finbar recalled the conversation. “He said he was taking care of half again as many horses as he did last year for the Security Forces of the Northern Shires. And most of them way up north.”

  “So they’re gradually increasing the numbers of their security forces on the sly?” Lairgnen said.

  “Possibly,” Brynmor agreed. “But what do we know for certain?”

  “What do we know, or what can we prove?” the elderly troubadour asked.

  Finbar patted his son on the shoulder. “Thanks to you, Paddy, we now know
quite a bit. But there’s not a thing we can prove. Certainly nothing that would warrant accusing the Earl of the Western Shires of high treason.”

  “But now that we do know,” Brynmor said, “we can get the word out to our contacts on whom to watch and what to watch out for so that we can obtain that proof.”

  “I know they’re your friends, Paddy,” Finbar said, “but these suspicions are not to be shared with Prince Liam or the Lady Máiréad.” He held up his hand to suppress the objection he could sense was coming. “Liam, because he tends to be hot-headed and might do something stupid, and Máiréad, obviously, because she’s Eógan’s daughter.”

  Pádraig took a few seconds, but finally said, “Agreed. But now what?”

  “We do what Watchmen do, lad,” Lairgnen said. “We watch.”

  “Cosaint,” Brynmor intoned.

  “Agus Seirbhís,” Finbar and Lairgnen replied.

  As the three men articulated the Watchmen’s motto of ‘Protection and Service,’ Pádraig, noticed the narrowing of his father’s eyes and his firmly set jaw, and thought, I guess a Watchman really is forever.

  * * *

  Resuming their journey down the Central Road, Finbar said, “Before I forget about it, I thought we had agreed that after seeing to the horses at Ráth Callainn you were going to return directly to Ráth Gabhrán.”

  “I know, Da,” Pádraig replied. “But the more I thought about it, the more I figured that with Tadhg having just finished up there, my time would be better spent up at Ráth Árainn. When I got to Ráth Gabhrán to ask Lorcan if I could hold on to Suibhne until I returned Colm’s wagon to Beibhinn, I checked on the garrison’s horses. They were in great shape. However in talking with Feidhelm, the head groom, he warned me against going to Ráth Árainn because of the chances of snow that close to the Sawtooth Mountains. Instead, he recommended that I go to the Ráth Cairbrigh garrison at Northeast Head. I’m sorry I disobeyed you, Da.”

  “Don’t be, Paddy. You thought the situation through and made a sound decision based on the facts at hand. Good lad. When I was riding with Prince Liam, he said that it appeared that the tanner and his wife had been waiting for the two of you to come their way. Besides this Feidhelm, can you think of anyone else who knew you’d be traveling from Ráth Callainn to Ráth Cairbrigh and could have set you up for the ambush?”

  “Oh, yeah, Da. In fact I’m almost positive who did it.”

  As they rode along, Pádraig filled his father in on his suspicions.

  Willowday - Wolf 51st

  Callainn Shire

  Having parted company with Lairgnen and Brynmor the evening before, Finbar and Pádraig had taken the farrier’s wagon across Callainn Shire toward Colm’s forge. They had spent the night in the forest and had arrived at the forge shortly after dawn.

  Beibhinn was already out in the yard scattering kernels of grain to a squawking bevy of chickens, each one trying to get the most food for themselves at the expense of their feathered comrades.

  Looking up, she greeted the two farriers with a smile. “Thanks be to An Fearglas that you’re safe and sound, Paddy. We had heard that you and the prince had been kidnapped.”

  She, along with Finbar and Pádraig, bowed their heads slightly and touched their foreheads, their chests, and their mouths with the first two fingers of their right hands, mentally reciting the ritual act of submission as they did so: May His tenets be always in my mind, in my heart, and on my lips.

  “All’s well, Beibhinn,” Finbar said, hopping down off the wagon seat and embracing the woman. “How have you been getting on?”

  “Still no word on what’s going to happen with Colm. They’re continuing to hold him. Parnell has sent a deputy over to Ráth Gabhrán a few times, but all they’ll tell him is that charges are pending.” Her eyes filled with tears, a few of them spilled down her cheeks and were quickly wiped away with the back of her hand.

  “That will change shortly,” Pádraig said as he climbed down from the wagon. “I’m telling you this in confidence, so don’t pass the information around, Beibhinn, but the prince is summoning Lorcan to Dúnfort Cruachan for a meeting tonight. He intends to tell the reeve that it’s fish-or-cut-bait time. That, if he still has no evidence against your husband, he’s to release him immediately. My bet is that Colm will be home in time for supper by Hazelday evening.”

  Smiling through the tears, the woman looked at Finbar. He nodded his concurrence with his son’s assessment.

  “And we’re returning your farrier’s wagon,” Pádraig continued, “a little bit worse for wear with a few holes and scorch marks, but I think this should cover the damage.” He reached through the slit in his tan cloak and removed the small, leather bag of coins.

  Taking the pouch, Beibhinn hefted it in one hand as she stroked Clover’s muzzle with the other. “Much more so than the wear and tear would warrant, I suspect, but I appreciate your generosity. Let me fix you two a proper breakfast before you go.”

  “It pains me to turn it down,” Finbar said, “but we really have to be on our way. May I take you up on it another time.”

  “Anytime, Finn. If you and Paddy can get my Colm released, I’ll fix the two of you breakfast every day for a year.”

  While Finbar parked the wagon and unhitched the team of draught horses, Beibhinn led Pádraig to the stables where he saddled Máedóc, Liam’s pure white stallion, and Suibhne, the sandy-yellow dun stallion with a dark-brown stripe down the middle of his back, that Lorcan had loaned him.

  After another round of hugs and good-byes, the two farriers headed away from the forge—Finbar, astride Suibhne, directly toward Dúnfort Cruachan, and Pádraig on Máedóc, the faster of the two horses, since he would first make a detour to Ráth Callainn to talk with Parnell, Reeve of Callainn Shire.

  One of the saddlebags on Liam’s mount contained the folded-up horse blanket.

  Willowday - Wolf 51st

  Central Federal Region

  “But I need more time, Your Highness,” Lorcan bleated. “If I had just a little more time, I know I can make a case. My deputies are still interviewing potential witnesses.”

  Liam shook his head, his patience wearing thin with the reeve of Gabhrán Shire. “Your time has run out. You arrested Colm over two weeks ago on suspicion of murder based on an altercation he had with Tadhg in this very tavern, but with absolutely no hard evidence. Tonight, you have that same suspicion that you had two weeks ago and you have the exact same hard evidence that you had two weeks ago—absolutely none. So cut him loose. Now!” Raising a hand to stifle any protestation, the prince continued. “I know that I have no direct authority over you, Lorcan, and you can choose to ignore my orders; but, if I were you, I’d think long and hard before going down that path.”

  The reeve knew a threat when he heard one, and understood fully that if Liam took the matter to the High King, the High King would contact Cabhan, King of the Northern Shires. Cabhan, in turn, would have no choice but to contact Scolaí, Chieftain of Gabhrán Shire. And Scolaí would not only insist on Colm’s immediate release, but demand Lorcan’s resignation as well for having him called to Cabhan’s woodshed.

  The other three persons at the table in The Rope and Anchor, Pádraig, Finbar, and Cearul, the Blacksmith and farrier from the Eastern Shires, tried very hard to suppress their smiles at Lorcan’s obvious distress.

  Finally, Lorcan said, “Please, Your Highness, give me one more chance to gather the evidence I know is there somewhere. Let me search Colm’s forge and house one more time to see if I can locate the murder weapon.”

  “I thought you agreed that the first search was thorough and fair,” Pádraig spoke up. “Are you now saying that it wasn’t?”

  “No, no, no, Paddy. Not at all. It was fair beyond a doubt. But, as His Highness says, I have no evidence. And before I turn a murderer”—he turned to Liam and held up both hands—“a suspected murderer, Your Highness, out onto the streets, I’d just like to be absolutely, positively certain.”

&
nbsp; Liam looked at Pádraig and Finbar. Both farriers shrugged their shoulders in a ‘what would it hurt’ gesture.

  “You searched his house, too, I presume?” Cearul asked, setting his tankard of ale down on the table top.

  “Both the forge and the adjoining living quarters,” Pádraig replied. “We found nothing. Well, we did find other farrier’s hammers, just not the one used to commit the murder.”

  “I’m not talking about that old rat-trap of a living quarters next to the forge,” Cearul said. “The new house he just recently built. About halfway up toward Ráth Callainn where Crooked Brook trickles over the cliffs and into the Sea of the Evening. Small wattle-and-daub cottage? With a recently thatched roof?”

  “We…we didn’t know about that,” Liam said.

  Lorcan jumped on the revelation. “Let me search the new house, Your Highness. Give me one last chance to find some evidence. If we don’t find anything there, I’ll release Colm. I promise. Please, Your Highness?”

  “All right,” Liam relented. “First thing tomorrow morning, you, Paddy, and I’ll ride over there and take a look. But that’s it, Lorcan. This has dragged on far too long. If we don’t find anything there, I expect you to free Colm as soon as we get back. Agreed?”

  “Agreed, Your Highness. I’ll meet you and Paddy at the Dúnfort Road first thing in the morning.” Turning to Cearul, he said, “You, sir, may just have broken this case wide open.”

  As the reeve started to stand, Cearul said, “Well, then, not so fast, my friend.” When the man stopped in a half-standing position, the farrier signaled to the alewife as she went by, pointed to Lorcan, and said, “My friend, here, from Gabhrán Shire, would like to settle the tab before he leaves.”

  Alderday - Wolf 52nd