The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance

by Trisha Telep

  “I am no liegeman to Conchobar,” Ailill said. “He did not think me worth inviting into his household. I am a hired sword and my time will be ended with the coming of the new moon . . . tomorrow.”

  They were at the door of Medb’s house then. The women who attended her went in, but she could sense them clustering near the door, listening. She grinned at Ailill; she was very tall and their eyes were exactly on a level.

  “Goddess watch over you,” she said, running the tip of her tongue over her upper lip and then smiling. “I will look forward to seeing you . . . whenever and wherever you find me.”

  He dipped his head once and was gone. Before it was fully light, he had left the dun, riding the young horse Medb had watched him break, and the first place he turned the horse’s head was to Conchobar’s pasturage. There he could number and judge Medb’s cattle.

  She had brought other things to her husband’s house: silver cups and plates, gold rings and bracelets, garments and linens skilfully embroidered. Such would be easy to match. Though he made no show of it, Ailill had use of a whole family of Firbolg treasure. It was the cattle that would give him trouble – not obtaining them but moving them from the Firbolg fastness to the pastures of Eriu.

  The herds were easy to track and Ailill saw with relief that they were still separate, Medb’s and Conchobar’s herders not yet friendly enough to allow the cattle to mingle. Nor were they too far apart, as each set of herders feared being blamed for choosing less rich pastureland.

  It was easy, too, to know which herd belonged to whom. Medb’s herd was smaller and the cattle, Ailill thought, of better quality, but not by much. Eochaid Fiedleach had been careful of what he sent with his daughter.

  Ailill spoke to Medb’s cowherd and fixed in his mind what he had to match. As he rode slowly southward towards the lands his distant ancestors had so briefly occupied, he considered how many extra beasts he should have in reserve. Too many rather than too few. Medb, Ailill was certain, would give attention to her cattle to make sure her value increased. A few too many in his herd would not be important. He could always sell off or slaughter the extra animals for eating.

  As the light faded, Ailill found a good camping place, an ancient, grown-over ledge a third of the way up a long worn-down mountain. There was grass for his horse on the flat area and a trickle of water at the far eastern end. Ailill filled his waterskin, watered his horse and hobbled it, threw the horse blanket on to the ground, extracted cheese, dried fruit and journey-bread from his saddle bags and settled down to eat.

  It would not be so easy as simply bringing the cattle, Ailill realized, as he watched the thin sliver of new moon-rise. There were all manner of questions to be answered and problems to be solved before he could drive his herd to wherever Medb’s was and propose their mating. Like . . . should he speak to Eochaid Fiedleach first or to Medb? A small shudder ran up and down his body. That was no easy question to answer, and—

  The thought cut off as a thin wail drifted up from the base of the hill. Ailill sat more upright. It did not sound like an animal cry. The sound came again and broke off suddenly into a yelp of pain. Ailill surged to his feet and drew his sword from the scabbard that lay on the horse blanket beside him. That was a child crying.

  Upright, Ailill could see there was a fire at the base of the hill. One man sat by the fire. Beside him . . . Ailill squinted to make his sight longer and, as if at his will, the fire flared up so he could see there was a stake in the ground and a braided cord tied to it. His eyes followed the line to a small, huddled figure at the end. He leaned forward, listening intently and picked up the muffled sound of weeping.

  Now, it was no strange thing that a man should strike his son or his servant for ill behaviour or slacking his duties, but that the child should be leashed like a dog made Ailill uneasy. That a son or servant should be desperate enough to need to be tied on a dark night in the middle of a wilderness hinted at a cruel master.

  Ailill looked beyond the fire and saw larger bodies. Another flare of light showed him cattle settling down for the night and a second man fixing a flimsy fence of withy boughs around them.

  Perfectly ordinary. Two men driving home or to market some six or eight cows and bringing with them a youngling who had misbehaved. Ailill urged himself to go back to his horse blanket and mind his own business, but another glance showed him that the child was trembling and his ears made out muffled sobs.

  Two men. It would not be wise simply to step into their camp and ask why the child was leashed and weeping. Even if the treatment was well-deserved they might resent his interference. And he was dressed like a nobleman. What he had seen in the firelight was rough garments. Would those who beat a child and did not comfort its weeping try to rob a rich lone traveller? Perhaps if he were closer he could judge better what to do.

  Ailill moved off well beyond the firelight and descended the hill carefully. He could hear the child more clearly now, softly between sobs praying for help from – from Mother Dana! Tuatha Dé Danann? The child was one of the fair folk, out of a sidhe? It could not belong to these common men.

  Now Ailill moved with even greater stealth well wide of the cattle so that they and the man working on the withy fence were between him and the fire. Something slipped. It must have hit one of the cows, which grunted and got to its feet. A second cow stirred and rose, and then a third. When the fourth began to rise, the man cursed and shouted to the one by the fire to bring the child to quiet the cattle.

  Ailill, who liked little ones, watched with growing anger as the child was jerked to his feet and dragged towards the cattle. The boy cried out as his arms, which were tied behind his back, were wrenched and the man holding him slapped him hard and then shook him. The leash, fastened around his neck, flapped and his foot caught in it so that he almost fell. The man holding him shook him again.

  “Make them lie down again,” he ordered, and when the child, who was now sobbing hard, was unable to respond, he struck him once more.

  Meanwhile Ailill slipped farther around until he was behind the man who had been making the fence. The fence-maker’s attention was all on the child and his abuser.

  “Hurry up,” he shouted, waving a branch in the face of a cow that was moving towards him.

  Ailill grinned, took three steps forwards, and struck him hard on the side of the head with the hilt of his sword. His victim fell like a stone, right in front of the cow, which stopped, turned aside, and passed the withy barrier.

  “You fool!” the man holding the boy shouted. “What did you do? Trip on your own feet? Get that animal back.”

  Ailill did not answer. He saw he could not make his way directly through the cattle, more of which were beginning to get to their feet. He tried to run around them but some turned away from him and others stepped right into his path. Unfortunately that made him too slow to reach the man holding the child before he realized something had happened to his partner. Fear made him take fright. He jerked the boy closer by the leash around his neck and pulled his knife.

  “Go away!” the man shrieked. “Take your accursed cows and go back to your sidhe or I will kill the child.”

  The stupid peasant did not know how rare a child was among the Tuatha Dé Dunaan, how precious. He thought the Dunaan had come after their cattle as a Milesian would.

  “And what do you think will happen to you after you kill him?” Ailill asked in a quiet, pleasant voice more terrifying than bellows of rage. “It will take you years and years and years of screaming and begging to die. If you let him go . . . now – right now – without more harm, I will let you run.” As he spoke, Ailill openly came closer, making sure the light of the fire glinted on the blade of his sword. “If you even scratch him with that knife, I will gut you and leave you here to die with the flies breeding in your belly.”

  Ailill could see a small movement, perhaps the man’s hand tightening on his knife. He leaped forwards with a shout, although he knew he could not reach them in time. But the man sur
prised him. He turned about and threw the boy towards the fire.

  The child screamed. Ailill shouted again and twisted his body desperately to divert his path. The boy, catapulted forwards, took two involuntary steps and then tripped on the leash again. He fell face towards the fire. Ailill made another desperate leap and just caught the child, his own feet coming down into the burning wood. Sparks and embers flew, scorching the back of his legs, which gave him impetus enough to leap sideways, carrying the child.

  Another desperate twist brought them down to the ground so that the child was on top and not crushed beneath him. Ailill gasped as something snapped in his side, but he thrust the child off him, away from the fire, and leaped to his feet. Running thrust a dagger into his chest with each stride, but only slowed him a trifle and it was no more than thirty or forty strides before he was close enough to strike the fleeing man.

  “I said I would let you run, not escape,” Ailill snarled and swung his sword.

  At the last moment, he turned the weapon so the flat, rather than the sharp edge, struck. If the Sidhe were as enraged as he feared they might be about the mistreatment of their child, Ailill wanted them to have both villains upon whom to slake their anger.

  He seized the unconscious man by one foot and began to drag him back to the fire. That did not soothe the pain in his chest but at least he heard the child crooning to the cattle and hoped that meant he would not need to chase the cows.

  His first task was to secure the man he had first struck. The cattle thief was just beginning to stir and Ailill coldly hit him again. Leather thongs from the man’s own pouch fastened his thumbs together behind his back, as well as his big toes. Aside from that, Ailill let him lie where he was to go and bind the second man the same way.

  The cows were bedded down where they had been originally. The child was now silent except for a shuddering sob now and again. Ailill went and squatted down beside him, drawing his knife. The child’s eyes went wide. Ailill laughed.

  “I only want to cut you loose, little one. I will do you no harm. How do you wish me to call you?” He knew enough of the Danaans not to ask for the child’s name.

  “Do you want the cows?” the boy asked, obviously trying to keep his voice steady.

  “No, indeed,” Ailill replied. “I am not such a fool as to wish to keep the cattle of the Tuatha Dé Danann which did not come to me as a gift or an agreed purchase.”

  He lifted the child, hissing with pain as what he feared was a broken rib stabbed him again, and set him down closer to the fire so he could see to insert the knife and cut the bonds without injuring the little boy.

  The child was silent until he was free and then he sighed on a half-sob, and said, “You can call me Bress. What will you do with me?”

  “Take you home, of course. And the cows too.” Ailill laughed. “That is, if you know the way home. I certainly do not.”

  The boy began to sob more heavily and Ailill drew him close. He was a little surprised when the child actually climbed into his lap, pressed against him and clung as he wept. By ten, which Ailill judged him to be by his height and the fact that he was alone with the cattle, most boys would be trying to resist being comforted, not clinging like an infant.

  The fire had been somewhat scattered when he landed in it and was now dying. Ailill caught up a stick and, holding the child with one arm, shoved the burning wood together as well as he could. There was more wood within his reach and he added about half of that to the fire. After a few moments the flames sprang up. Ailill stroked the boy’s hair and he lifted his face. When Ailill saw his companion clearly, he drew a quick breath. The child he was holding could have no more than six or seven summers, although he was as big as a Milesian boy of ten. The Danaan were a tall race.

  The sobs had quieted and Ailill asked, “What happened? How did you come to be taken with the cattle?” He thought there might have been a raid or a battle and the child might be a survivor.

  “They said I was not big enough to mind the cows.” The voice was shrill with childish resentment. “So I called to the cattle and they came and followed me. You see how they lie where I bade them.”

  Ailill’s mouth opened, then closed. He took a deep breath. “You mean you took the cattle yourself? You were not set to watch over them?”

  “No one listens to me!” The words were garbled with sobs and sniffs. “I knew a better place to graze them. The grass was thick and tender. So I took them there and they were content. But—”

  “But no one knew where you were,” Ailill breathed. “And that is why the Danaan are not on the heels of their precious child.” He raised his voice, holding Bress’ head up with a finger under his chin. “You have been a very naughty boy. Your parents are likely half-mad with worry over you. Do you know the way home?”

  Bress burst into tears again. “Must we go now? The cows are tired and I am, too.”

  “No, no.” Ailill gave him a rough hug. “We will wait until morning at least. Perhaps your people will come before we leave and I will not need to try to follow your trail back to the sidhe. Now let me see what food those thieves carried so I can feed you, then get their blankets and make up your bed.”

  “No bed for you?” The boy sounded anxious, as if he feared Ailill would abandon him.

  “I have my own. I was camping above, up on the hill . . .” Ailill’s voice faded. He had heard the boy crying but then he had seen the fire. Those thieves were idiots, lighting a fire that the Danaan would see. He shook his head, and said to Bress, “And I must fetch my horse too.”

  By the time he had fed the child and settled him to sleep, retrieved his horse and his supplies, Ailill was finding it hard to breathe past the pain in his side. He sank down beside the fire, which was dying again, and wondered whether he could force himself to gather more firewood. Surely the Danaan must now be close, even if they had not known just when the boy was lost or from where he had been taken. Would they need the light of the fire to find this camp?

  Ailill really did not want to follow the track of the cattle back to the sidhe. He did not want to move at all. If Bress’ people came, he could give them the boy and the cows and lie up for a few days while his rib set. He closed his eyes.

  He was to get no peace, however. His long silence had seemingly convinced the thieves that he had gone to sleep. Now he heard one of the men cursing softly and moving about, doubtless trying to free his thumbs. Ailill jerked upright and yelped as it seemed as if a knife stabbed his side. Gritting his teeth, he levered himself to his feet more carefully. No matter the pain, he had better bind his prisoners more securely.

  And suddenly the small clearing was full of men, half with drawn swords and the other half with drawn bows. And every nocked arrow was aimed at him. Ailill raised his empty hands.

  “I am not the man who took your child,” he said. “Those who did lie bound. The child is here, asleep.”

  “I am not asleep,” Bress called, sitting up. “And what this man says is true.”

  There was a high, musical cry, and a woman came running from behind the men to catch the child into her arms and kiss him. The men lowered their swords and relaxed the tension of the bowstrings somewhat. Holding his side, Ailill let himself sink to the ground. One of the men lifted the hand not holding his sword and gestured. Lights formed bright, misty balls in the air and the clearing was as bright as day.

  Ailill swallowed a shriek of terror. A thin sound worked its way up his throat, but both the cattle thieves screamed their fear aloud and covered his small exclamation. A babble of sound came from those around the boy, the woman asking questions of the child to discover if he had been hurt, was hungry, was cold, was thirsty. The men were not so sympathetic and mixed scolding with many questions.

  Eventually the tall man who had gestured the witch-lights into being came and crouched down beside Ailill, who swallowed the heart that seemed to be trying to climb up his throat and into his mouth. He did his best to straighten himself.

  “
How did you come to notice the child and the cattle?” the man asked.

  “I heard the child crying. At first I did nothing, believing that a cattle drover had punished his son or his apprentice, but then I heard the little one begging Mother Dana for help . . .”

  “So you saved him, knowing he was Danaan.”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  Ailill started to laugh and then gasped, his hand against his painful ribs. “It was easy because the pair that took him were such fools.” He described how he had overcome the thieves, ending, “Perhaps they had never heard of the Tuatha Dé Dunaan. But even so, imagine stealing cattle and then lighting a campfire as if no one would pursue.”

  “You know it was not the cattle we pursued,” the tall man said. “What do you want for protecting our child?”

  Ailill glanced sidelong at the lights floating above the men’s heads, lighting the whole area. He took a breath, wincing and holding his side, but he described his desire for Medb.

  The tall man shook his head. “I cannot interfere with a Milesian marriage or—”

  “Gods, no!” Ailill exclaimed. “If Medb should learn you had anything to do with freeing her from Conchobar, she would kill me. No, that is her business and she will manage it. But I must come to her with goods exactly the equal of what she has and to do that I must gather my goods and hold them in this area until she is ready to be bound to me. Only I have no one I can trust to hold my wealth for me until Medb is ready.”

  “And you would trust me, who you have never met before, whose name you do not even know, to hold your goods?”

  Ailill laughed and glanced up at the magical lights. “What I will gather will be riches for me but little above dross for you. I have seen your cattle. I see the clothing you wear to chase thieves through the woods. The torc around your neck would buy a kingdom. And no, I do not want any of it. Medb could not match any gift you gave me and all such wealth would do is wake envy and desire in my equals.”