Lochlánn shook his head. “My place is with the men. You should go.”
“Kevin mac Lugaed won’t listen to me, a man of my station,” Senach argued. “If there’s any chance to convince him, it will have to be you.”
And Lochlánn knew he was right. Despite the fact that he, Lochlánn, was nothing beyond a renegade novitiate leading a gang of men-at-arms on an illicit wild goose chase, he still stood the best chance of convincing Kevin mac Lugaed to help. Lochlánn was not low born, and his speech and his manner and the quality of his mail and sword spoke to that fact.
As to the illegitimacy of their mission, Lochlánn did not feel it was necessary that Kevin be made aware of that.
The next morning, even before the sun was up, with the rain still falling hard, Lochlánn mac Ainmire and three of his men mounted up and rode out of the little ringfort. One of the three men was Fintain, whose wound proved none too threatening, which was good, because Fintain knew the country of Cill Mhantáin and the way to Ráth Naoi well.
“I wish you luck, Captain, talking with Kevin mac Lugaed,” Fintain said as they rode, the gray sky growing lighter with the rising sun.
“Why do you say that?” Lochlánn asked.
“Well, he’s not known as an open, generous spirit,” Fintain said. “Tightfisted, that one. And crafty. No one’s quite sure how he ended up as rí túaithe, but there he is.”
They spoke more, on and off, over what turned out to be two days of miserable travel in near constant rain. Fintain told him all he knew about Kevin mac Lugaed, which was by his own admission little and mostly hearsay. But that scant information did suggest that Kevin might not be as open to giving aid as Lochlánn had hoped.
It was late afternoon on their second day when they arrived at the ringfort at Ráth Naoi, a more expansive and altogether more impressive fort than the one from which they had left. The earthworks described a circle a hundred yards across, and even from a distance they could see the high-peaked thatched roofs of the houses within.
Lording it over all of them was the building Lochlánn took to be Kevin’s hall. It was a substantial structure, a third again as tall as the next tallest building. Smoke billowed from an opening in the roof, and that suggested warmth and relief from the rain and it made Lochlánn very eager to be there.
They were no longer alone on the road. A few miles short of Ráth Naoi they had run into patrols sent out by Kevin mac Lugaed, a precaution he apparently maintained at all times, weather notwithstanding. The rain and the cold made the patrol a bit short-tempered, and they were none too gracious in their demand to know Lochlánn’s business. But Lochlánn had said only that he was from Glendalough and needed to speak with Kevin, all of which was true, and Lochlánn’s association with the wealthy and important monastery was enough to secure the patrol’s cooperation.
Kevin’s men led the way, and the big gates were swung open for them and they rode through, Lochlánn and his men following behind. They were escorted to the hall, made to hand over their weapons, and then let in through the heavy oak door that creaked on iron hinges.
The hall was everything Lochlánn had hoped: lofty and wide with a massive fire burning in the hearth that gave the place a cheery look, particularly in contrast with the gloom of the rainy late afternoon from which they had stepped. He could feel the warmth as he came through the door, and did not wait for an invitation to walk closer to the flames.
Kevin mac Lugaed was there to greet him. Lochlánn had met him before, at the dúnad, a small man with a beard trimmed short and cut neatly into a point. His clothing suggested wealth, though not as much as did the heavy gold chain around his neck. He was smaller than Lochlánn remembered, several inches below Lochlánn’s own height. Thin and slightly nervous-looking. He reminded Lochlánn of a squirrel.
“I am Kevin. Kevin mac Lugaed,” he said, stepping forward and offering a hand, which Lochlánn grasped and shook. “I am rí túaithe here in Cill Mhantáin.”
“Yes, lord,” Lochlánn said. “And I am Lochlánn mac Ainmire, most recently of Glendalough. We met briefly at the dúnad. I don’t imagine you would remember me.”
“Of course I do, of course,” Kevin said, and Lochlánn could not tell if that was the truth or not. “But look, you’re soaked through and hungry, no doubt. You and your men, come up to the fire. Dry out a bit and we’ll have food and drink and then you’ll tell me why you’ve come.”
If Kevin was tight-fisted, it was not evident in his hospitality, which was not wanting in the least. Lochlánn and his men were seated at benches by the fire. Lochlánn could actually see steam rising off his clothing. The heat was nearly painful, but he relished it. They were fed and given ale and were almost dry and in danger of falling asleep when Kevin said, “Now, pray, tell me why you’ve come, what I can do for you.”
Lochlánn sat straighter and stretched his back. “I’ve come mostly because I recall the noble part you and your men played at the fighting near Glendalough,” he said, and Kevin tilted his head in thanks for the compliment. “As you know, there was a great slaughter done among the heathens. But some got away. What’s more…and you will hardly believe this…they had the impudence to return to Glendalough like the thieves they are and plunder the church in the night.”
“They plundered the church?” Kevin said. “Animals.”
“Animals, indeed. My men and I, at the abbot’s behest, we followed them and we fought them and did them a deal of hurt. But we are only eighteen or so men, half the heathens’ number. I’m here to ask you for more soldiers. Give me the use of thirty men-at-arms, I beg you, and I will be able to stamp out this vermin.”
“Hmmm,” Kevin said in a very serious tone. “Thirty men, you say? That’s quite a lot, given how few men I have. I don’t know as I dare weaken my forces so.”
Judging by the number of armed men Lochlánn had seen just since his arrival there, thirty did not seem like many at all, but he resisted making that point. Rather, he said, “But, Lord Kevin, sure you’re safe here. There are no enemies about, except those I’m proposing to crush. And I would need the men only for a short while.”
“Don’t presume to tell me how safe I am,” Kevin said, and for the first time his gracious demeanor slipped a bit, revealing something less kind underneath. “There are any number of men around here who would like to take my place and are just looking for the moment to strike. Irishmen and heathens.”
Lochlánn thought about the patrol that had met them on the road, the numerous armed men standing out in the rain and ringing Kevin’s hall, the men on the walls and the heavy gates. What enemies Kevin might have Lochlánn did not know, but it was clear Kevin was wary of them, and very cautious.
“But tell me,” Kevin said, his voice was once again smooth and conciliatory, “you say the heathens plundered the church. But surely they’re not staying in the neighborhood? Are they not trying to escape?”
“Well, yes,” Lochlánn said. He could see where this was headed.
“Then they are no threat, if they are trying to escape. A shame if they do, but I would not care to see my men killed just so the wealthy abbot of Glendalough doesn’t lose a few communion plates.”
“We think they’re trying to escape, but we don’t know,” Lochlánn said. “They’re crafty. Led by one they call Thorgrim Night Wolf, and he seems a clever one indeed.”
Kevin looked up quickly, his expression quite altered, enough that it took Lochlánn by surprise. Just a moment before his host had seemed disinterested in the whole affair. Now, suddenly, he seemed very interested indeed.
“You know Thorgrim Night Wolf?” Lochlánn asked.
“No, I don’t know him,” Kevin said, nearly snapping the words, but then once again regaining his equilibrium. “I know of him. He styled himself lord of that longphort the heathens have established on my coast. The one they call Vík-ló. I make it my business to know what goes on in this country, so I knew he had a part in the raid on Glendalough. But I heard he had been kille
d.”
“I have it on good authority it was Thorgrim Night Wolf who just plundered the church,” Lochlánn said, sensing a possible opening here. “He and his men are the ones we fought. They may have been trying to escape, but if so, they seemed in no great hurry. I got the idea they meant to remain in this neighborhood a bit. Even if not, we don’t want them to get back to that Vík-ló, where they can do more mischief.”
Kevin shook his head. He was looking into the fire now, as if trying to read something in the flames. “No, Thorgrim won’t try to return to Vík-ló,” he said, and he seemed to be speaking as much to himself as to Lochlánn. “Ottar is lord at Vík-ló now. He’s a real beast, but I thought I only had to contend with him alone. Not him and Thorgrim Night Wolf. I thought Thorgrim was dead.”
He looked up at Lochlánn and Lochlánn shook his head. “No,” he said, “Thorgrim’s out there.”
“Very well,” Kevin said. “We…we can’t have him threatening Glendalough, that sacred place. You’ll have the men you want. The men you need to crush Thorgrim Night Wolf and his band, once and for all.”
Chapter Twenty
Flann son of Mael Sechnaill led an army both of foreigners
and Irish into the North.
The Annals of Ulster
The rain was coming down hard, filling Sea Hammer’s bilges fast enough that ten minutes out of every hour were needed for bailing. It would have been much worse at sea, of course, with rain, spray, and green water coming over the sides. But they were on a river, tied to the bank, all but motionless, and it was only the relentless downpour that threatened to swamp them.
Thorgrim Night Wolf stood in the open, in the stern, despite the rain. He looked across the wide Avonmore River toward the northern side, where another river joined it. This tributary, however, hardly deserved the title of river. It was a glorified stream, really, a few inches of water, fifteen feet wide, tumbling over stones and gravel before it merged with the Avonmore through a cut in the grassy bank.
Cónán stood beside him, the two men alone on the afterdeck. The rest had retreated under the sail spread to form a great tent over the middle section of the ship. It was cramped under that shelter, with Thorgrim’s men and Cónán’s men and women clustered there, but there was still space enough for all of them to get out of the deluge.
“You call that a river?” Thorgrim asked.
“It’s a river,” Cónán said. “You asked was there a river and I said yes, and there it is. Runs to within a mile of that Kevin mac Lugaed’s ringfort.”
Thorgrim shook his head. “I meant a river that we could float the ship on,” he said.
“Well, you didn’t say that, did you?” Cónán said. “You just asked about a river. I don’t pretend I know the first damned thing about your damned ships.”
“We couldn’t float a log on that stream,” Thorgrim said. “Which means we’re on foot from here.”
Cónán’s Irish bandits, he guessed, would be even more put out by this news than his own men would. He was sure that they had come to very much appreciate travel by ship. No trudging through the mud, no carrying supplies and weapons, no sleeping on the ground. The river would bear them along and they could sit under the tent made by the sail and move faster than they might otherwise, and with no more effort needed than it took to sit by a hearth. For Cónán’s people it was a newfound luxury, and there wasn’t much to dislike.
“We’re on foot, for sure,” Cónán agreed. “But to where, I don’t know.”
“Kevin’s ringfort. Like you said.”
“Ah!” Cónán said. “That’s where you’re going. But whether or not me and my people are with you, that we have yet to decide.”
Thorgrim pulled his eyes from the stream that Cónán had called a river and looked at the Irishman. What the man said was true. So fixated had he been on sacking Kevin’s hall and having his revenge on the man, he had forgotten that he and Cónán had come to no agreement.
“All right,” Thorgrim said. “You want to be coy about this…what do you want?”
“I want to get out of this rain and sit down and talk like civilized men,” Cónán said.
Thorgrim smiled. Neither of them were what most would call “civilized men,” but he had to agree that getting out of the rain would be preferable. He led the way under the sail tent. The men seated on the sea chests aft made room for him and Cónán, crowding forward to give the two leaders more room and as much privacy as could be offered in that cramped space.
Once out of the rain, Thorgrim shed his cloak. The day was wet, but it was not cold, and that was a relief. Cara, the healer woman, brought cups of ale for him and Cónán.
“I’ve spoken with my men,” Cónán said, “and they’re willing to join with you on this raid.”
Thorgrim nodded, but thought, Half of that statement is a pile of dung. He had no idea what Cónán said to his men, since he spoke to them in Irish, but he doubted that Cónán ever asked for their opinions. It seemed more likely that Cónán simply told them what to do. But no matter. Cónán’s men appeared happy enough with that arrangement, and if Cónán wished to make it seem as if his men had a say in affairs, then that was fine.
“I’m glad to know you and your men will fight with me,” Thorgrim said, “but I’m guessing there’s more to it than that.”
“There is,” Cónán said. “This Kevin mac Lugaed, he took power after Lorcan was killed, like I told you. He made a lot of enemies doing that. His hold on the túatha is not so strong.”
Thorgrim held up his hands. “‘Túatha?’ I don’t know that word.”
“Ireland is made up of many…kingdoms, you might call them. They are the túatha. The men who rule them are the rí túaithe. Like Kevin.”
“I see,” Thorgrim said. It all seemed terribly complicated, though he had to admit that the situation in his native Norway was not any better, just more familiar to him.
“Kevin doesn’t feel too secure with his hold on the territory,” Cónán continued. “So he’s surrounded himself with men-at-arms. He pays them well, and that means he’s well protected.”
He pays them with the silver I gave him to provide food and ale and mead for Vík-ló, Thorgrim thought, but he kept that to himself. Rather, he said, “You’re saying it will not be so easy to defeat him.”
“I’m saying if we try with just the men we have here, we might as well cut our own throats. It’ll be just as effective.”
Thorgrim’s first impulse was to assure Cónán that he did not care. He was going to kill Kevin mac Lugaed whether it meant his own death or not. In fact, the only part of it that gave him pause was knowing that if he died killing Kevin he would not have the chance to kill Ottar as well. He had been played for a fool by both of them, the greatest humiliation he had suffered since reaching manhood, and he would never let it happen again.
Still, he was willing to listen to what Cónán had to say. He knew better than to think he could forever avoid all entanglements. But he was more wary now, and unwilling to yield even a bit of control.
“What is it you have in mind?” he asked the Irishman
“There’s another band, like us, me and my men, and they’re not far from here,” Cónán said. “About thirty men. Still a lot less than what Kevin has, but they’re tough bastards and it’ll make things more even. I think they’d join us.”
Thorgrim looked at Cónán without responding as he turned this over in his head. What game are you playing here? he wondered. What is it you stand to gain? The Irish already outnumbered his Northmen by more than two to one, so he did not think Cónán was looking for that sort of advantage.
Cónán, he imagined, was genuinely interested in sacking Kevin’s hall—it would be a profitable venture if it could be done—and, as with Glendalough, he doubted Cónán’s men would have the nerve to try without the Norse raiders taking the lead.
But still Thorgrim suspected there was more to it than that.
That’s all right, he concluded. W
hatever Cónán was up to, it had to do with Irish affairs, not those of the Northmen. As far as Thorgrim was concerned, these Irish bastards were free to kill one another at will, as long as they did no harm to his men and did not interfere with the retribution he meant to bring to his enemies.
“These others will join us…why?” Thorgrim asked. “The promise of plunder? Your good looks, your charming speech?”
“All those things, yes,” Cónán said. “Mostly the promise of plunder. Real plunder, not the rubbish they’re used to stealing. But we might do better if we give them a taste of it, you know. A hint of what might be theirs for the taking.”
“What do you suggest?”
“The Frank, Louis,” Cónán said. “He’s got a silver hoard. The way I see it, that’s yours, your plunder, by rights. He’s your prisoner. Let me hand some of that around, and you’ll have some very cooperative men on your side.”
Thorgrim looked forward. Louis was sitting by himself, as he was wont. It used to be that Failend was invariably with him, not so much anymore. As often as not she was sitting with the other Northmen. She had picked up a word or two of their language, he had noticed.
“No,” Thorgrim said. “He’s not my prisoner. I gave him his freedom. And returned his hoard. I won’t go back on that.” In truth, he had the impression that the hoard was as much Failend’s as Louis’s, and he would not rob Failend of her silver. She had already proved helpful, and probably would again.
“Very well,” Cónán said in a tone that suggested Thorgrim was making a mistake. “I can see if they’ll come with us for a promise alone.”
“No, you need not do that,” Thorgrim said. He stood and opened the sea chest on which he had been sitting, his own sea chest. He fished out a leather purse and handed it to Cónán.
“That’s my share from Glendalough. Use that. Tell these men there’s more where that came from.”
Cónán took the purse with some reluctance. “This is your full share,” he said.
Night Wolf: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 5) Page 20