Innisgarbh (Prince Ciaran the Damned Book 1)

by Ruari McCallion

  “Well done, Ieuan, well done for noticing that. Is there anyone else associated with this Lucius?” Ieuan told him of the group: Cormac, Berec, Gabris, the two Seans. “Anyone else?” He didn’t know, or couldn’t say. “There will be others. Stay here another few days. I have something to do and someone must be on hand for Ciaran, just in case, although I feel no disturbance in him at the moment. But just in case, stay here.” Ieuan agreed eagerly and they went on through to meet the king’s court in the main hall of the fort, where a feast in celebration for the boys’ return was in the process of preparation.

  The two of us were seated either side of Fergus, ostensibly equally favoured. Ieuan was shown to a seat nearby and I could see that he had noticed that the King’s conversation was mostly with Coivin, his natural son. As his foster-son I was treated courteously at all times and never snubbed, but it was when he looked at Coivin that Fergus’ eyes lit with pride.

  Rogh had gone by the time Ieuan, Coivin and I rose the following day and he didn’t return for ten days. I was pleased that Ieuan was staying longer than anticipated. Coivin spent his time locating new drinking-partners and beginning the acquaintance of the local girls. Two nights he didn’t come back till the early hours.

  When the Druid returned he sent for Ieuan again. “The problem has been dealt with. You can return with confidence. When will you go?” Ieuan couldn’t bring himself to say anything. “Sooner would be better, for you especially. You can do well, Ieuan, and you are better at Innisgarbh than here. And Amergin needs you, now. Go back to him and help.” Ieuan nodded.

  “I’ll go after lunch tomorrow,” he said thickly. Rogh nodded.

  “That will be fine. It’ll give you time to pack and make yourself ready. Ieuan,” he said softly, “You don’t have the Sight, do you?” Ieuan shook his head sharply. “But you have another Gift, do you not? You’re a Healer?” he nodded. “Don’t lust for that which you don’t have. The Sight isn’t a toy, or a mark of merit, or a greater Gift than the one you have. You bring strength and recovery to those who need you. You will be respected and liked. Those of us with the Sight bring only fear. We are the bearers of bad tidings. Think of what the Sight has done to Ciaran, and don’t envy him. We all have a burden to bear. I am alone. People respect me but I have no friends. They are frightened of me. As they will be frightened of Ciaran. As Amergin is feared. Don’t regret what you don’t have and don’t wish such a thing on yourself. The gods give out their tasks for reasons we can’t fathom, and nor should we try. Accept your role and make the most of it. You can be the greatest Healer in Erin, you have the talent within you.” Ieuan looked away, and Rogh felt he was unconvinced, but he had said all he could - and all he was prepared to. Ieuan wasn’t his problem, I was.

  After lunch the following day, Ieuan retrieved his pony from the stables and prepared to bid farewell to the household, me especially. His feelings knotted themselves up in his stomach and he feared he would be overcome: but his training - and, he suspected, Rogh - helped him to keep himself under control. He was returning to Innisgarbh on his own but, as he was wearing white Druid robes, he was not concerned. No-one would dare to tangle with a member of the mysterious craft, not even in the Christian areas, for all the confidence they had in their almighty God’s power. One lone Druid could send their people scuttling back into their huts and digging out their hidden talismans. In the great hall he thanked Fergus courteously for his hospitality, which thanks were returned with a wish for a good journey and an invitation to return soon. The standard formula, on both sides. Ieuan didn’t like the King, who was rough and crude and somewhat lacking in personal hygiene. For his part, the King didn’t like my friend either and strongly suspected that he was not a man as he would have defined it, which coloured his opinion of me as well. Ieuan formally bid good-bye to the rest of the company and then I accompanied him to his pony, to make our last parting on our own. Ieuan held out his hand, I took it and then pulled him to me and embraced him for the first time. Tears started from Ieuan’s eyes but he wiped them away before I had to notice them.

  “Goodbye then, Ciaran. If your travels ever bring you to Innisgarbh, then make sure you come and see me. Make sure of it. I won’t forgive you, if you don’t.” I laughed but it was forced. I felt the pain of our parting as much as he did.

  “I’ll make a point of it. They’ll probably encourage me to wander off, I’ve nothing to offer this bunch of bandits.” Ieuan grabbed me.

  “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. You’re worth more than any of them. And you have much to give. You’ll know what you can do, soon enough, and it’s a lot. They’ll never get anywhere without you.” He pulled away and mounted his pony before offering his hand finally. “Goodbye, Ciaran. Try to come and see me again. But above all, try not to forget me.”

  “Never that, you will always be my friend,” I replied as I took his hand. Then I had one of my feelings. “I’m sure we’ll meet again, Ieuan, and sooner than you think.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Oh, nothing really, just a feeling. I have feelings, sometimes.” Ieuan made himself smile easily, relieved that it wasn’t another Vision, I suppose.

  “Anyway, I must be on my way. You must let me go, or people will say we’re in love.” We both laughed, but it was slightly brittle. Ieuan turned his pony and walked it out of the stockade ring and down the hill, out of the fort and through the bustling town that lay within the King’s protection. I stood and watched until he reached the treeline. At that point, as I’d known he would, Ieuan turned in the saddle and raised his arm in a last gesture, which I returned. Then he disappeared into the woods.

  I stayed for a moment, watching the trees. There were tears behind my eyes but I brushed them away, squared my shoulders and returned to the hall, where my foster-father would be waiting impatiently. I and Coivin would have to satisfy the King and his family that we had mastered the Law, were proficient swordfighters and had acquired writing and wisdom besides. A heavy obligation for sixteen-year-olds, but one we discharged easily. I led on the Law but Coivin on the more martial skills, which was as all agreed it should be. There were nods of satisfaction all round the hall and wine and beer flowed freely as the celebrations continued.

  During the next two years Fergus’ prejudice in favour of his natural son was undermined as Coivin developed close friendships with less than savoury characters. He gained a reputation for excessive drinking and wenching. His escapades started to cost money: compensation for violatated virginities, outraged families and broken bars. His redeeming grace - in his father’s eyes at least - was that he was a good swordsman. More than that; if he could contain his temper and impulsiveness, he would be outstanding. Whether he would be such a great leader of his men was another matter. He threw his weight around and used his position to bear down and bully on his people. I was nearly always with him, loyally supporting him in bar-room brawls, soothing ruffled feathers and doing my best to minimise the trouble he caused. Rogh looked after my episodes of ‘the falling sickness’ and helped me to recover, as well as tutoring me privately. My shame and embarrassment at my presumed disability made me the more humble. My unstinting support of my foster-brother undermined the affection I could have been held in but my restrained nature and more than adequate skill at swordsmanship gained some respect. It didn’t take much longer for me to hear the opinion that I would be preferable as the next King, and on my own. I would have nothing to do with this and whenever I heard it I put down such talk, as firmly as I could. Coivin, my Dark Twin, was the true war-leader, he should be King. I could hope for nothing more than the High Druid role. My falling-sickness prevented me from hoping for more, even had I wanted it. I wasn’t fit for that.

  A well-informed leader such as Fergus was bound to hear of the contrary opinion sooner or later. When he did, he said nothing. He hoped Coivin would grow into his destiny and that I would help control his excesses. He realised that he had been wrong about me: I showed no interest
in young men, nor in women either, for that matter. I was respectful but withdrawn. Skilled but somewhat mechanical, especially when practising with Coivin. I was adequate in martial skills but could be more. But I wore my authority very lightly and never used it to force myself on anyone. I could be better but I didn’t want to put myself forward. My falling-sickness, I learned, was no great problem to anyone but myself. But it was a huge problem to me.

  10

  Fergus would have pushed me more, even put me ahead of Coivin, if he didn’t resent me for being so much more suitable than his own flesh and blood. Resentment grew in Coivin as well: resentment that the people liked me better. Resentment at the dislike and antipathy he stimulated. Resentment that he could always depend on me. More than once, we came to blows over quarrels picked (usually) by Coivin. He was welcomed guardedly by bartenders who wanted his coin but disliked the trouble he brought with him. One such night, we were with Coivin’s crew once more - me sitting and sipping warily, Coivin getting more drunk by the minute, his arm around a waitress - and it started.

  “How shall we divide the kingdom, Ciaran?” he slurred. I took a sip and said nothing. “I’m going to be king, you know,” he burped into the girl’s ear, “and my cousin here, my foster-brother, he’s going to help me rule, isn’t that right, Ciaran?” I sat silently, scanning the room. “And what has he got planned, eh? The people like him. Some would rather he was the king and I was somewhere else. I wonder what he has planned? What do you have planned Ciaran, my foster-brother, my heart’s pith? A rebellion, to take it all? Or won’t you wait that long? Murder perhaps, so’s it’s just you?”

  “Coivin, don’t be stupid. Leave the drink alone and let’s go home.”

  “But I have this lovely girl here and she requires my attention.” The girl giggled nervously.

  “Leave her alone. She doesn’t want you. You’re drunk.”

  “Course she wants me. Don’t you, my sweet?” he went to nibble her ear but she tried to wriggle away. He held on to her the tighter. Two large men who had been watching the group from the counter moved towards us.

  “Let her go Coivin, there’s trouble coming.”

  “Trouble? There’s no trouble we can’t handle, is there?” he laughed. “I’m going to be king. We can handle anything.” His friends laughed, but edgily. The two guards - who had been hired by the innkeeper as soon as Coivin came in - arrived at the table. “What do you want?” he demanded.

  “Let the lassie go.”

  “But she loves me, she said so.”

  “Let her go.”

  “Try taking her.” The two moved in closer but found their way blocked by me.

  “Out of the way, if you please sir,” the first said respectfully, “we have no argument with you.”

  “If you argue with my cousin, you argue with me.” Quiet fell in the bar and a space appeared around the five of us: Coivin’s friends had melted away.

  “As you wish.” He took a swing at me, missed and his momentum took him crashing into a chair and onto the floor. The other was going for Coivin, whose wits returned sufficiently for him to thrust the girl at his attacker and leap onto the table, drawing his sword.

  “Come on then, I’m worth ten of you,” he shouted but a sharp tap behind the ear knocked him cold on the floor. I sheathed my sword, the hilt of which I’d used to knock my cousin out.

  “As I said, gentlemen, if you have an argument with my cousin, you argue with me. The girl is safe in your protection and my cousin is in no state to quarrel any more, so do I presume our business is concluded?”

  “Keep that drunken fool away from our daughters.”

  “I’ll keep him under control, as long as barmen have the courage to refuse him drink when he’s had enough. Or they can overcome their greed for his money. The lassie would have come to no harm while I was around. Now,” I called to the barman, “how much do we owe you for this chair?” A price was agreed, I paid it, hoisted my cousin onto my shoulder and walked through the still quiet bar out onto the street. I slung the inert body over his horse and mounted up behind. Coivin’s friends reappeared from wherever they’d slunk off to.

  “Where to now, Ciaran? I can see we’re not welcome in that rat-hole any more!” There was laughter from the shadows.

  “As you can see, Coivin has had enough for one night. We’re going home. You do as you wish.” I took my cousin’s horse’s reins in one hand and spurred my own back off to the fort, some ten miles distant.

  It continued this way; Coivin getting into more trouble, me getting him out of it whenever I could. In truth, Coivin wasn’t so badly behaved when he managed to slip away alone as he gained no real pleasure from baiting strangers. His anger at the abuse he had suffered at Innisgarbh could, paradoxically, only be vented on me, the one person he had trusted throughout. It was as if he was pushing to find how far he could go and still have my loyalty and affection.

  “You can be a real fool sometimes,” I told him after another escapade. We were alone in the woods near to Donegal and Coivin was subdued, as he often was after I had pulled him out of a scrape. “Why do you do it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I can’t help it. It’s just something in me.” He looked at our little campfire. “I wish I knew.”

  “Do you ever think about Innisgarbh?” Coivin stiffened.

  “No,” he said firmly.

  “We were badly treated, there.” I continued.

  “You got off lightly.” I laughed. “You did. You had - whatsisname, Diarmuid.”

  “Look what happened when he went.”

  “I got the worst of it.” I didn’t reply, even though it was nonsense. I passed him the skin of wine and put my arm around his shoulders. For a moment, Coivin did nothing, taking a little comfort from the touch. Then he shrugged it off.

  “Well, it’s over now. We’re away from it.”

  “Yes. It’s over now. No use thinking about it.” and he took a long slug before handing the skin back. We sat in silence, passing the skin back and forth between us until we dropped off to sleep.

  11

  To celebrate a good harvest and a succession of victories over those of his neighbours who would have relieved us of it, Fergus ordered a feast of celebration the week before Samhain. We had acquitted ourselves well. Coivin fought like a demon, pressing deep into the heart of the enemy, and I was with him as much as I could be, guarding his side or his back, and providing insights for the battle-plans. On that day, the two of us had turned the tide of battle on our own. Late on in the evening, Fergus proposed a toast.

  “To my foster-son, Ciaran, as close as my own blood. A fighter and Law-giver. He helped us win today!” A roar of approval went up from the whole hall. I rose and drained my horn to acknowledge the acclaim, slapping the empty vessel down on to the table and grinning. “And to my own son, Coivin, a lord among warriors who took the fight to the enemies’ heart!” Again there was a loud yell of support, at least as loud as the first but it faded and foundered when the company realised that the young Prince wasn’t in the hall. “Ciaran,” Fergus whispered irritably, “go and fetch your brother from wherever he’s hidden himself. The army wants to honour him.” I went to find him, expecting that he was provoking some argument somewhere and using his superior station to face his opponent down. He had become a bully and he knew none of his future subjects would dare to best him.

  It was not what I had suspected: it was worse. Coivin had a young girl in his chambers and he was attempting to force himself on her. She was trying to fight him off but she was young, and small, and he was eighteen, and tall, and well-built. She was terrified, and this was the scene that I found when I entered.

  “By all the gods, Coivin, what the hell are you doing? Leave her alone!” I said.

  “Oh great. Just in time. My virtuous cousin. Get off to a monastery, Ciaran. You’re not wanted. A man wants privacy when he’s with the woman he loves,” he replied, with a smirk.

  “Not this time, Coivin. Leave her al
one. This is rape. I won’t allow it. Guards!” I called, but no-one was in the corridor.

  “You won’t allow it? You won’t allow it?” he stood away from the bed and the girl went to cower in the corner. “My Dark Twin, my foster-brother, the little lawyer, won’t allow it. Well, I am the one who will be the War-King. I will rule, without you if necessary, you piece of shit! You won’t fight me for it, so you concede to me. Now, just do as you are told and I won’t kill you. Get out now!” I stood my ground. I would not give way now, no matter what it cost.

  “No, Coivin. I will not go and leave you with this child. Let her go, then go to bed and sober up. I’ll make your excuses. The boar was a little underdone. I’ll say you have a stomach upset.”

  “You’ll say no such thing, you sanctimonious, pious offal. I will have her now, and you can stay or go, as you please.” He turned towards the girl but I grabbed his arm.

  “I said no, Coivin. You will not violate this girl. I’ll stop you.”

  “Oh will you, Ciaran, Dark Twin, prince of middens. Well, stop me then, if you think you can.” He went over to the chair and drew his sword from its scabbard. “You’ve always been afraid to fight me. Now, either you fight me and beat me, or I have this girl in front of you. I will beat you, you know that. And when I beat you, I will have her in front of you anyway - and the Kingdom, too. Will you die first, or live and watch?”