“Ambrosius said it is a sign of evil. You are to be wary.”
“Every time up till now that I have heard the phrase, I have been warned that I would lose the game.” The monk nodded again, and with an air of regret.
“I cannot say for certain what the outcome will be but Ambrosius said something that may offer some hope. He said to tell you that you may be broken but you will be remade.”
“Broken and remade? That’s supposed to be hopeful?” The monk nodded and I took a deep breath. “What’s your name?” He breathed out in relief, in his turn.
“I am glad you asked. I am called Malou.” I asked him why he was relieved. “I confess that I was frightened when I was given this task. You are known as Prince Ciaran the Damned and you have a reputation for callous slaughter. But Ambrosius -” he said, raising his hand against my half-formed interruption “- Ambrosius said that you would not kill anyone who you knew. I was relieved when you asked my name. Now, you know me.” I was about to protest but thoughts of the various bodies that had piled up at my hand stopped me. It was one thing to kill in war those you did not know but I had not been involved in battle for the last few weeks, and the pile of anonymous corpses - unknown to me, at any rate - was still growing. The only name I knew from the last episode was Beren and I could not put a face to it. He was the one with the spilled guts. I could recall the look on his woman’s face but I had no idea what he looked like at all. But still -
“Callous slaughter? I am a mercenary; I kill for a living. How, callous?”
“It is said that you are ready to kill anyone who crosses you - even children. That you kill without compassion and without compunction. That a slight, real or imagined, can be fatal for whoever you think delivered it to you.”
“I don’t think I’m that bad. I don’t go looking for trouble - it finds me without any help at all.” I remembered Dougald, who I met shortly after relieving Clovis of that chunk of his fortune that was now safely hidden under the floorboards. “One of your fellow monks, he said he believed I was on the side of Light.” Malou nodded, slowly.
“We all like to think the best of people. To look for their redemption. For a hook, no matter how small, on which to hang our prayers for deliverance. I have heard that you served the forces of Light in defeating a great evil on - Innis Vannin?” I nodded. “I have never been there. But they say you carried the day. But being an instrument of Good is not the same as being Good. I have been told to warn you, that your pride is making you vulnerable. You have left a trail of bodies behind you - dead at your hand. Many, if not most, killed with little or no remorse. Your lack of care for your fellow man will come back to punish you.” I asked if he had been told when this misfortune would all befall me. He didn’t know.
“But it seems that my journey is taking me straight into danger, what with Blood Red Games and fate preparing a big lesson for me. Perhaps I should turn round and go to Spain. Or to Rome. Or even Greece. I like Greece.”
“You cannot do that. The die is cast.”
“You speak as if I am a puppet. Incapable of making my own mind up. A plaything of the gods. What about free will? Aren’t you Christians very keen on free will?”
“You had your choice. You made this one.”
“What? When?”
“You could have left your horses behind and walked to Spain.” I jumped up again.
“Are you lot in league with each other? How did you know about the horses?”
“I didn’t know. Ambrosius did.”
“I’m getting a bit tired of all this. I have enough of the Sight when it’s my own Visions, never mind some mad monk I have never even met. What if I decide: No? I will not go to Britain, I will not go to Elmet. Let them sort their own problems out?”
“Even now, you can turn away, Prince Ciaran. But I have been tasked to plead with you to continue. There is a great evil there.”
“The English? They aren’t evil. Expansionist and lacking in the graces of courtship but they’re not evil. No more than anyone else.”
“Not the English. They aren’t the threat. Ambrosius said that something escaped from the Ballaugh. It is building its strength again.”
This was not good news and I was somewhat taken aback at it.. The forces I confronted at the Ballaugh were built on blood, on human sacrifice of the very worst sort. They drew their power from death. The Romans had crushed them and they had bloomed again. They had established a beachhead on Innis Vannin and I was not entirely surprised to find some old acquaintances from Innisgarbh among them. They had delved into the worship of Cromm Cruaich, who certainly gave them power - but at an enormous cost. To themselves and to those around them, whose lives and - may the gods protect the victims - the souls they threw into the pit. I had beaten them, yes, but with a lot of help, from Druids and Christians. And at the cost of many of their lives. And the sanity of others. For the first time in many years, my confidence in myself and my abilities wavered from absolute. I may have felt even a little afraid. I tried not to let it show.
“How strong? If it’s as strong as the coven at the Ballaugh, I cannot defeat it on my own.”
“I am told it is building but it is not in full bloom. If you can nip it while it is still in the bud, it can be stopped.” I sighed and nodded.
“How long do I have?”
“Not long. You must get there as soon as you possibly can.”
“I really don’t have any choice, do I?”
“Yes, you do,” he replied, with a very sombre air about him. “You can abandon the quest and leave Britain to deal with it as best it can. You can hide from it in Spain, or Rome, or Greece, and it may never reach you while you are in this life. But if it takes Britain…” I stood up and squared my shoulders. Almost involuntarily, I was girding myself for battle. I wasn’t looking forward to it. Give me a clean piece of swordplay, any day.
“No, I do not have a choice. I would rather I did, but I do not. If I don’t confront this evil once again, I will have betrayed the sacrifice of all those who fell at the Ballaugh. I could not look them in the eye when we meet again. In Emain Avallach, in the next life, or in Heaven.” I looked out of the window facing the sea, to the north. The cold, cold stars and the dark, untrailled woods. Just a twinge of a headache, as if the gods had compassion and were prepared to spare me a little piece of pain now. There would probably be all the more ahead. If I did not do this then I would not have to worry about meeting the eyes of those whose memories and sacrifices I had betrayed, because I would probably never make it to Heaven.
“Which monastery are you from?” He described a place not far from the Dumnonian frontier with Neustria, a short way into Brittany. “I think you can expect the arrival of another with the Sight. A young woman. Probably in the next month.” He looked up, sharply.
“A young woman? We have been told to expect a Gift from God, soon.”
“Gift from God? Nothing so grand. She has been working as a serving-wench in an inn. Her name is Johanna.” Malou seemed to find this funny. “Why do you laugh?”
“Johanna. The name means ‘God’s Gift’,” he said. Dark as my mood was, even I had to smile. Johanna would be safe, and I was relieved. She was no longer my concern. “One other thing, Prince Ciaran. Another warning from Ambrosius. He said to beware, that there will be three of them.
“There always are,” I nodded, grimly. What I had to do now was find a ship to take me north, to mainland Britain. Time was pressing.
“Ciaran?” Malou asked. I turned to face him. “I am not - I should not -” He was finding it difficult to say what he meant.
“Spit it out.” He looked away and thought for a moment before speaking again.
“Ciaran, I am not a Seer. I have no Gift and not much in the way of skills of any sort. I cannot divine the future and nor can I see into it. But I wonder… Have you considered… Have you thought that you might be walking into a trap?”
I had to smile at this. I told him I was pretty certain that trap
s would be being planned and plots laid as we were speaking. Even those who had no idea what they were doing often turned out to be instruments in the hands of Other powers - for good or for ill. I mentioned that I had encountered various trios along the way. Some tried to rob me, some tried to kill me and some were simply trying to make their way. I had been arrested, survived assassination, avoided kidnap and death or worse all the way from Clovis’ camp to Coriallum. More were to be expected once I reached Britain.
“But if the battle I am destined for is a fight against evil forces, surely the forces of Light will protect me? Your God will not let me go down if I am doing his work, surely?” I smiled at this but Malou was serious.
“Do not presume, Ciaran, on God’s help or on His mercy. If half of your legend is true, you have a burden of sins that would sink a kingdom. I am sure you are right, that you are an instrument of the Light - in this matter, anyway, but that does not mean you will skip away without any consequences yourself. Have a care. When you win - if you win…” his voice faltered again. I gave him time to think and regather himself. “I’m sure you will win. But it might be then that you are at your most vulnerable. Your task completed, the enemy vanquished; what further use then is a tool whose job is done?” This was a surprising idea to come from the mouth of a Christian monk. He was suggesting that his own God might betray one of his servants - however unwilling. And however unconvinced that their One God was actually True. So much of its legend and lore seemed to come from other religions, from Druidism in the West to the mystery religions of the East. But it was a stretch to accept that a supposedly just and compassionate god - their God - would hand his tool over to his enemies in the way Malou suggested, and I said as much. He sighed and looked away, then at the ground, then briefly at me and then out of the window again.
“You’re an intelligent man, Ciaran. Well-read, I believe. Do you not know that God gave his own Son up to death? To the worst death the Roman powers could concoct? He wasn’t the first to be - or to feel - abandoned, either. Read the Book of Job if you have the time. A just man, subject to unbearable misfortune.”
“For what reason?”
“It’s complicated. Try and find a copy of the book. There will be a Bible in every church you pass. Take the time to read the Book of Job.”
“It sounds a pretty hopeless story.”
“Funnily enough, it -. Well, read it and find out. It’s quite short.” He paused again, then looked right at me. “Do you know, you remind me of a character from the Bible. From the Old Testament. Shall I tell you who it is?” I was pretty sure I knew what was coming. “Ishmael. He was -”
“Abraham’s son,” I interrupted. “Isaac’s older brother, by Sarah’s handmaiden, Hagar. He was callously turned out of his father’s tribe and nearly died in the wilderness. Every hand was against him.”
“I’m not the first to tell you this, I see,” he smiled, wryly. “There is also Jonah, even Saul, who was given everything - a kingdom, riches - but it was all taken away from him and he was driven into madness. Through disobedience, of course.”
“But I haven’t been disobedient. I have obeyed the summons, although I will concede that I tried to avoid it. But here I am. And across that sea lies Dumnonia, and Britain, and Elmet, and I am ready to go there and face whatever evil is now arising. I may not have had much choice in the matter but here I am.” He agreed that yes, here I was. He made to leave and there was something like concern in his eyes as he shook my hand.
“Take great care, Ciaran. I wish you well, and all the blessings available to me, I give to you. I will pray for you and hope you will be spared whatever trial is heading your way.” I thanked him and bade him good day. I shrugged as he closed the door behind him and called Wolf to come out from under the bed.
“A fine guard dog you turned out to be,” I said. He whined a little, as if hurt at the suggestion that he would have allowed anyone but a harmless - relatively harmless - Christian monk anywhere near me. I rubbed his head and we went down to find some breakfast, before going out to look for a boat to take us across the sea to Britain.
Chapter Thirteen
Leviathan
Why are things never simple?
Why can’t I just make my way from one place to another, unmolested? Why can’t I be allowed to just get on with my job?
I left Wolf to watch over my belongings in my room and had hardly closed the door behind me and stepped out when I was called from a sidestreet. A dirty-faced man with gums where most of his teeth should be, wearing clothes that had seen better days - but fewer washes - was seeking to attract my attention, calling to me in Gaelic, my native language. I took a quick look around and probed his mind for ill-intent - and for companions. The ill intent was there but he seemed to be acting alone. I could feel in his mind that he was excited - he could barely contain his avarice. Had he seen me hiding my bag of treasure? It would turn out to be simpler than that - and perhaps more dangerous.
“I would be honoured if you would spare me a few moments of your time, honoured sir, and if you would maybe give a hand to a poor countryman,’ he said. I asked him what he needed. “If you would just follow me down here sir, I have something I need to show you.”
“What?” I asked, with a barely concealed sigh. He turned round as rapidly as he could, given his age and the infirmity brought on by various wounds and injuries. To be fair, he was still pretty fleet of foot and would have caught out many people. But I am not many people. He grabbed my cloak and shoved me back against a wall, with a knife at my throat. His face was far too close for comfort; he had foul breath.
“I was hearing an interesting conversation back there, some talk, with some names that reminded me of my old home, which I haven’t seen for so long,” he said.
“Get on with it.’
“What’s the rush? I have a lot of time on my hands.”
‘I don’t. I have business to attend to in port.”
“Ah, now - the port. Yes, that would be grand. I will be taking you down there myself, shortly.”
“You reckon? Why?”
“It was about those names, as I said. One in particular.” He grinned and moved the point of his knife up towards my nose. “It was a name I haven’t heard in a long time.” By the gods, he was dragging things out. The smell of his breath was making me feel sick.
“What names?”
“Just one. Just one in particular. Prince Ciaran. Ciaran the damned, it was,” he pronounced it ‘kirrin’. A southerner, probably. My heart didn’t either jump, or sink at his mention of my name; it kind of subsided a bit. He must have been listening at the window - and I hadn’t detected him. I would deal with that issue later but for now, this man and his suffocating breath had my attention.
“What of it?”
“Well, Prince Ciaran, now, he has, Prince Ciaran the Damned, he has a price on his head.”
“What of it? What does that have to do with me?”
“Well, the fellow with you, that monk or whatever, he was speaking to you as if you are Prince Ciaran. Ciaran the Damned. Which means there is a price on your head.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“A long time. Twenty years.”
“Are you sure the reward is still on offer? Twenty years is a long time, you’re right.”
“Funnily enough, I was speaking to some fellows from Donegal way just a couple of nights ago. They said there was still talk of Prince Ciaran, the murderer, and the poor, poor Prince he killed - his own cousin, can you believe it? And he was about to be married, so they say. Fancy killing your own cousin on his wedding-night. What sort of hellspawn does that?” I couldn’t help but snort at this latest version of the tale. Coivin on his wedding-night? Ridiculous. The foul-breathed man wanted to continue.
“Memories are long in Donegal. There is still a price on your head, my fine warrior prince, Prince Ciaran the Damned. It could set me up for life, so it will.”
“How are you going to claim
it?”
“I shall be taking you back to Erin, and up to the wild north, and Donegal. Your cousin Conor is king there. He is a fair man. He will keep his family’s word and reward me well.”
“All on your own? If I am indeed Prince Ciaran the Damned, you will know that I have bested far younger, more skilled and better men than you. And more than one at a time.” For the first time, he wavered. Then he pressed closer.
“I shall tie you up. Securely.”
“Good idea. Who will hold your knife while you are tying me up?” He wavered again. He clearly hadn’t thought this through. His avarice had got the better of him. As I could not afford to have a blabbermouth telling all and sundry that Prince Ciaran was in town and there was a rich price on his head, it was going to cost him his life.
“And who will come to rescue you when I cut out your heart?” I said. He looked surprised for a moment and then started to slump against me. I had touched his mind and made it go to sleep. His knife clattered to the floor as he fell into my arms. We made our way towards the docks, rolling from side to side like two drunk sailors returning from their last night in town. The day was still young but there were already quite a few people about. It wasn’t easy to find a quiet alley near the waterfront, where the unfortunate soon-to-be-deceased could be deposited. I didn’t want to raise a hue and cry so I forwent the option of filleting him with a knife. I pulled him up into a kneeling position, took his head in my opposed hands and quickly twisted. His neck was broken in an instant. He pitched forward, dead before his face hit the mud. I looked around. No-one and nothing - not even a feral cat - had seen what had happened.
Lockeran (Prince Ciaran the Damned Book 2) Page 12