Conor leapt onto the battlechief’s chest. He lofted his spear and jeered at the enemy. ‘Come, you stinking vermin horde!’ he shouted. ‘Who will be next?’
The fear-rattled raiders, seeing the body of their warleader dead on the ground and surrounded by the corpses of their swordbrothers, declined Conor’s invitation. One warrior in the rear ranks broke from the pack and galloped away, and that was all the encouragement the others needed. A moment later, the entire raiding party—what was left of the leaderless lot—was in motion and fleeing for their lives from the unnatural display of combat performed by the lone Dé Danann warrior.
Conor stood for a moment, watching the Scálda scatter across the plain of Mag Belach as if all the dogs of the Bitch Queen Mórrígan were baying for their blood. Within moments, Conor was alone again.
Turning once more to the wood, he called, ‘Calbhan! Where are you? Show your face if you dare.’
The reply came, not from the forest, but from only a few paces away.
‘I am here, lord.’
Conor spun around behind him and saw that same glimmering movement in the air—a sudden shiver that seemed to congeal and then solidified into the shape of a horse and two riders: one of them Calbhan, and the other the faéry Eraint.
Conor gasped for sheer relief. He dropped his shield and spear and began kneading his aching arm. ‘You might have told me you were with me,’ Conor said. ‘It would have saved me a deal of fretting.’
‘I am sorry, lord,’ replied the young warrior, sliding quickly from his mount and hurrying to join Conor. ‘We could say nothing without alerting the enemy.’
Eraint turned the horse and rode back to the wood. ‘How did you know about the faéry concealment charm?’ Conor asked. He picked up his weapons and started toward the wood.
‘The princess Rhiannon—she told me,’ replied Calbhan, falling into step beside him. He went on to tell how she had described her use of the charm to make good their escape when Conor had rescued them from Balor Berugderc’s dún. Raising his hand, he signalled toward the tree line where Lady Rhiannon, Morfran, and Olwen were just then emerging from their hiding place among the trees. ‘The lady said she thought it might work again if I was willing.’
‘Fortunate for me that you were willing,’ Conor replied. He looked around at the dead on the ground and the riderless horses standing some way off. ‘Get their horses and bring them to the wood,’ he told Calbhan. Then, still rubbing his arm, Conor walked back to where the faéry were now gathered. He thanked Eraint for the skilful application of his charm and turned to Rhiannon. ‘And thank you, too, my lady. Your quick thinking surely saved me. But, I sent Calbhan to warn you so that you could make good your escape.’
‘Warn us he did,’ Rhiannon replied. ‘But we could not leave you standing alone against those vile creatures.’ She moved close, reached out, took Conor’s hand in hers, and stroked it gently. ‘This is the third time you have put your life at risk for us,’ she said this to all, but seemed to direct her glance to Morfran. ‘Our life debt to you grows greater each time we meet.’
‘I reckon no debts,’ Conor replied. Then, he, too, glanced at Morfran who stood stiffly a few paces away. Though clearly still suffering the ill effects of his contact with Scálda iron, the ailing faéry had joined the princess and lent his aid in maintaining the charm of concealment that enabled Calbhan and Eraint to strike unseen. Conor could not help asking, ‘Does this mean that you have changed your mind about helping us?’
‘I have not. Consider what we did a parting gift,’ Morfran intoned in a dour voice. ‘Or, perhaps, a way to repay some portion of the life debt we owe you and your men.’
‘I am disappointed,’ Conor told him. ‘I tell you that plainly. I am heartily disappointed.’
‘Please know that you will always be welcome among us,’ Rhiannon told him. She glanced uncertainly at her uncle, but said no more.
Morfran folded his hands across his chest and announced, ‘A ship has departed Ynys Afallon. It is coming for us. We must go now if we are to meet them on the way.’ He made a gesture of salute with his hand, and then turned and started away without another word.
Rhiannon bit her lip. ‘I am sorry, Conor,’ she whispered. ‘Forgive our haste.’
‘Eraint! Olwen!’ Morfran called in a tone of command that fully indicated what manner of king he would be. ‘Escort Lady Rhiannon to the ship. We depart at once.’
‘Wait,’ Conor called after him, ‘we will accompany you. How far is your ship?’
‘Our welfare is no longer any of your concern,’ replied Morfran haughtily.
‘At least let us lend you horses to speed your journey,’ Conor countered. ‘Calbhan could go with you.’
Morfran appeared ready to shun the gift, but Rhiannon quickly agreed, saying, ‘Again, I thank you, dear friend. We accept the loan of the horses, but we will travel the quicker if we travel alone. In the forest we will not be seen.’ The austere Morfran opened his mouth to object, but Rhiannon silenced him with an imperious look. ‘I will see that the horses are returned.’
‘Keep them,’ Conor told her. ‘A last gift for friendship’s sake.’
Morfran stiffened at the suggestion and said, ‘We will return them.’
With that, he stalked off. Rhiannon watched him for a moment, then turned and placed her hand on Conor’s arm. ‘Words alone cannot express my thanks for all you have risked and done for us. I will find a way to repay.’
Conor gazed at her, shaking his head sadly. ‘There is nothing to repay. I am only sorry we could not save your father. Gwydion was a good friend to me and I will miss him greatly.’
‘Death is but a change—a passing from one life to another.’ Rhiannon put her hand to Conor’s face and gazed at him with sympathy in her pale blue eyes. A moment passed, and then ‘Farewell, my friend. May your fortunes increase.’
Conor gave her a forlorn smile and shook her head. ‘My fortunes run only one direction—from bad to worse.’
Rhiannon reached down, took his hand and, pressing it, said, ‘When one of the faéry wishes you good fortune, it means good fortune is yours for the taking. Think on that.’ Turning away, she bade him farewell once more, then hurried to join Morfran.
Calbhan helped the faéry with the horses and then returned to Conor and the two surveyed the remains of the recent skirmish. He looked around at the dead enemy, lying where they had fallen. ‘The faéry took two horses,’ he observed, ‘but we gained three.’ He looked to Conor who, though he stared at the enemy dead, appeared not to see anything at all. ‘What would you have me do now, lord?’
‘I am no lord,’ muttered Conor, moving off. ‘Strip the dead—anything that might be useful.’ As Calbhan started away, he added, ‘See if they have any gold on them—or any food!’
They were still at this loathsome chore when Fergal, Donal, and the rest of the fianna arrived. Fergal reined up as Conor was cutting the armour off the corpse of the big Scálda battlechief. He gawked at the oversized body, then turned his gaze to where Calbhan was piling the warriors’ weapons. ‘It looks like someone has been busy here.’
Donal, reined in beside him and, taking in the Scálda dead, asked, ‘What did we miss?’
Aoife
A woman travelling alone can expect to face hardship, at least, and any of a hundred perils if she is unlucky. So far, Danu’s good fortune was with me and I had not suffered anything more perilous than fatigue and aching feet. I was welcomed and made much over at every place I begged a crust and a bed.
In truth, my harp was largely responsible for my kindly reception. The high regard enjoyed by the bards carried to me as well. Because of the harp and the music I coaxed from the strings, people considered me kin to a druid bard and, as everyone knows, it is bad luck—or worse!—to insult a druid in any manner whatsoever.
Even so, I expect it was also the music as well. Music is a sacred thing and those who practice its enchanting ways often gain high and valuable esteem. Folk wh
o rarely see a druid, or hear music other than that of their own making, most always covet the chance to hear more, preferably something they have not heard before. The esteem of the bards has been extended to me and I try never to abuse it.
So it was that after the first days of my sojourn among the ráths and little farming settlements, I grew in greater confidence that I would eventually hear of Conor and learn where I might find him. My hope was that he had returned to the Brigantes where he had found refuge before. Unless I heard otherwise along the way, my plan was to make my way to Aintrén and see for myself whether he was there.
True, I did not know exactly where to find the Brigantes’ foremost ráth—Aintrén as it is called—but I knew it was somewhere in the south no great distance from Tara’s sacred hill. I also knew that sooner or later, I would meet someone who could tell me how to get there. That is exactly what I was thinking when I first saw the warriors on the road ahead. There were five of them—a small hunting party, perhaps—all mounted, riding easily toward me.
Perhaps they had come from Aintrén, I thought. If so, they might well have news of Conor—or at least point out the way. Oh, but I was sorely mistaken.
At first, they were friendly enough in the coarse way many warriors seem to believe is the chief requirement of their caste. The leader of the little band, a sandy-haired fellow with a patchy scrag of beard on a well-shaped face that had not seen a razor for some time, asked me where I was going and why I was alone on the road.
‘I am on my way to join my betrothed,’ I told him. ‘I would be grateful for any help.’
‘Has he a name, this lucky fellow?’ he asked.
‘Aye, he would be a strange one if he hadn’t. His name is Conor mac Ardan of the Darini. Do you know him?’
‘Nay, nay,’ he replied shaking his head. He glanced at the rider next to him and a subtle look passed between them. ‘We know only what people say of him.’
‘Is that so?’ I said, trying to keep my tone pleasant, though I did not like the sly insinuation of his knowing glance.
‘We have heard that he is a traitor and a murderer who has sided with the Scálda and now serves Evil Eye himself.’
‘Then what you have heard is a lie,’ I told him. ‘And the one who told you is a liar—as are all who lower themselves to repeat it.’
The rider next to the leader spoke up then. ‘I am the one who told him,’ said he, a slow menacing smirk playing on his lips. He had a shock of dark hair gathered in a knot atop his head and a recent scar, still pink, on his left cheek. ‘How can you call me liar? You don’t know me well enough for that.’
‘I may not know you,’ I granted, ‘but I know Conor. And I know that he is wrongly accused. He has betrayed no one. Anyone who says otherwise is either a fool or a liar.’ I looked him in the eye and asked, ‘Which are you, then?’
‘Did you hear that, brothers?’ said Topknot. ‘I do not care for the way this woman speaks to her betters. I am thinking it time someone taught her proper respect.’
With that he threw a leg over his mount and slid down. I held my ground to show I was not afraid of them. When the sandy-haired leader likewise dismounted and approached, my heart began beating faster. Unslinging my harp, I clutched it to my breast as if to shield me from what I feared was about to take place. Still, I did not give ground.
‘You are a pretty thing,’ said Sandy-hair, approaching slowly. ‘If you were my betrothed, I would never let you out of my sight.’
With that, he reached out and took me roughly by the arm and tried to pull me to him. I resisted.
‘Perhaps this Conor is a faithless bastard as well as a traitor,’ said Topknot, moving closer. ‘Perhaps it is time someone schooled him as well. When I see him, I will make a point of it. Just as I mean to make my point with his woman.’
So saying, he made a clumsy grab for me, but I swatted his hand away. He made another lunge and snatched my mantle, winding it in his fist and pulling me closer. The other remaining warriors began hooting and making obscene noises—though none climbed down to join their leaders.
‘If you knew who it was you have laid hold of,’ I said, forcing venom to my voice, ‘you would not be so bold. Release me at once and I will pardon your insolence.’
‘Pardon? I seek no pardon from a milkmaid who does not know how to keep a polite tongue in her mouth.’ Sandy-hair grinned and looked back at his fellows. ‘I think I shall put a better tongue in her mouth—and maybe more besides. What do you think, brothers?’
I tried to pull away from his grasp. ‘Release me at once!’
He turned back to me and the sloppy grin disappeared from his face like water poured from a bowl. The next voice I heard was one I knew well.
‘Are you deaf, friend? The lady demands release. I’m thinking it would be in your best interest to obey.’
Casting a quick glance over my shoulder, my heart leapt. ‘Eamon!’ Behind him came Rónán, trotting up.
‘And I am thinking this is no concern of yours, old man,’ replied Topknot carelessly.
‘I know this lady well and that makes it my concern, sprout,’ said Eamon. To Sandy-hair, he said, ‘Take your hand away or prepare to lose it.’
I saw Eamon’s spear come down over my shoulder as he directed the point to the young warrior’s chest. Sandy-hair hesitated, then slowly released my arm. Topknot, too, let go of my mantle and I moved back a few steps so they could not easily seize me again.
‘It seems to me that when blades are drawn,’ said Topknot with a defiant thrust of his chin, ‘a fellow would do well to count the blades against him.’ He raised his hand in a signal and the mounted riders drew their swords. ‘I make that five blades against one.’
‘Five against one—and a druid,’ said Rónán, speaking up at last.
The renegade warriors looked up and, as if seeing him for the first time, took in his appearance. His robes, the distinct cut of his hair, and the wide intricately patterned belt and overlarge sparán and rowan staff tucked under the horsecloth marked him out as a bard of considerable distinction. Suddenly abashed, all shifted uneasily, looking to one another for help.
‘Put away your weapons,’ Rónán ordered, sliding down from his mount. ‘There will be no blood shed here this day.’
When no one moved, he roared, ‘Put those blades away! Now! Or find out what a druid’s curse can do!’
‘We meant no harm,’ said Sandy-hair, his tone pleading and pathetic. He backed away a step.
‘We thought she was someone else,’ added Topknot, convincing no one.
‘Aye,’ scoffed Rónán as he came to stand beside me, ‘no doubt you thought she was a stray sheep you could abuse for your pleasure and no one would ever know or care.’ His lips curled in a grim smile. ‘But I can tell you that one day soon, Conor mac Ardan will be king, and if he ever finds out you chose his betrothed for your rough sport he will surely demand the honour price. Aye, and the day he comes to collect it will be the last day you look upon the world as healthy men.’
‘We meant no harm,’ insisted Sandy-hair. ‘We will beg the lady’s pardon and go our way. No more need be said of this to anyone.’
‘You would beg her pardon?’ said Eamon. He looked to me and I nodded. ‘Then do it. Do it now before she changes her mind.’
Sandy-haired swallowed, then said, ‘Lady, we do beg your par—’
‘On your knees!’ roared Rónán. ‘Beg as if your life depended on it, for I tell you now it truly does!’
Gritting his teeth, Sandy-hair sank down on his knees in the dust of the road. He cast a quick glance to Topknot, who with a dark glance at the druid, knelt beside his fellow.
‘We do heartily beg your pardon, lady,’ said Sandy-hair. ‘We regret this lamentable incident and wish nothing more than to go our way in peace.’
He looked to me pleadingly. It was all I could do to keep from spitting in their stupid faces. Yet, seeing as no real harm had been done, I granted the pardon they sought—though Danu knows
they did not deserve it. ‘Pardon is granted,’ I said. ‘But if I ever hear that you—or anyone like you—has molested another woman, I will lay your offense at the feet of my Conor.’
‘But, see here—’ Topknot began to protest.
‘Count on it,’ Eamon told him. ‘For if she does not, then I will.’
‘Go your way,’ Rónán said, his voice assuming the druid tone of command. ‘We will hear no more from you.’
They wasted not a moment, but scurried for their horses and departed hastily without another word or glance.
‘That was well done,’ said Eamon, swinging down from his mount. ‘And you, Aoife—are you well?’
‘I am,’ I told him, and then thanked both of them for coming to my defence. ‘Sorry as I am that you had to defend me, I am glad you are here.’ I looked to Rónán and asked, ‘Why are you here?’
‘We have come to take you home,’ replied Rónán simply.
‘Ach, then you have come for no purpose,’ I told them. ‘I will not go back to become Liam’s queen.’
‘But lady, we must think how best to—’ began Eamon.
He still held his spear loosely at his side. Reaching out, I took hold of the naked blade and placed it against my breast. ‘If you mean to take me back, then it will be my lifeless body that goes with you.’
I looked them both in the eye, my voice steady with the fierce determination I felt surging through me. ‘I tell you the truth, I will die today rather than become the wife of that man.’
Eamon thought to object again, but Rónán raised his hand. ‘Peace,’ he said softly. ‘I hear and understand. We will not force you against your will—on that, you have my word.’
He placed his hand on mine and drew the point of the spear away from my heart.
‘The king will have our heads,’ sighed Eamon. ‘Mine, at least.’ Raising his eyes to the sky as if he would find an answer there, he said, ‘What are we to do now? We dare not return to Dúnaird without her.’
In the Land of the Everliving Page 27