by S C McGrath
“Have you now?” Brian’s dark eyes twinkled, and there was a patronizing look of mild interest on his face.
“Have you forgotten that I am a healer and will one day be a priestess of The Dagda?” shot back Keelin.
“No,” said Brian, his tone at once becoming cool and unfriendly. “No,” he repeated, “I have not forgotten, though why you would wish to become a priestess like Nuala is beyond me. Soon I will find you lurking in shadows, divining the will of the gods. Impressive to be sure, though not a life I would choose.”
“It is not a choice but a destiny,” responded Keelin too vehemently, stung by his retort.
Brian chuckled and looked down the road in the direction Seamus had gone. He picked up his horse’s reins. “There is always a choice, Keelin. Do not let that old vulture, Nuala, tell you otherwise.”
Keelin did not watch him ride off. Brian’s words held more truth than she was willing to admit. She had no desire to be a priestess. Indecision plagued her as she walked toward the village. She was accustomed to bold, even precipitous action, and hated herself for what she perceived as weakness.

CHAPTER three

onall and Déaglán stood on a bluff looking out at the ink blue waters of a large bay. It was dotted with small, rocky islands that were uninhabited except by screeching gulls and other sea birds. Fhianait, the small fishing village where Déaglán lived when in Eire, lay some distance to the west. When Conall had arrived, rain threatened but the men had taken little notice, walking purposefully toward the bluff as they skirted the shoreline, discussing the Romhanach menace. By noon the clouds had lifted and fleeting patches of blue sky appeared. Every now and then the sun’s rays broke through, reflecting off the ocean’s dark surface for a few welcome moments. In spite of the brightening skies, the somber mood of the men only deepened.
“Are there no warriors left in Sasanach bold enough to resist the Romhanach?” asked Conall.
Déaglán knew the question was largely rhetorical and that Conall knew the fate of Sasanach and her people almost as well as himself. The Romhanach had begun their conquest of the large island that lay east of Eire years before, at first facing strong resistance. However, Sasanach tribes and fiefdoms, much like Eire’s clans, had been forever at odds with one another and could not mount a united front to battle the mighty Romhanach legions. Tribe by tribe, fiefdom by fiefdom, the invaders attacked and overwhelmed the Sasanach. If the generals’ demands for surrender were not met, entire villages, including women and children, were massacred, and captured Sasanach leaders were subjected to torture and humiliation before their executions. Romhanach brutality had struck terror into the hearts of the Sasanach people and there were few left who were brave enough to continue the fight.
“The men of the highlands are still fierce and ready to do battle,” said Déaglán. “These rebels swoop down in quick, lethal strikes on Romhanach encampments and disappear just as swiftly. Few soldiers are foolhardy enough to give chase, knowing all too well that death by ambush awaits them in the highlands. But while the rebels make life more difficult for the Romhanach, they are no real threat.” Déaglán felt a surge of emotion, remembering one such raid, the rebels riding at full gallop, shouting as though possessed by demons, terrifying many of the younger and less experienced Romhanach soldiers. “I shall never forget the image of those brave men charging toward the enemy camp, intent upon wreaking as much havoc as possible, of spilling the blood of their accursed enemies!”
“There are no such men left in the lowlands?” asked Conall a second time.
“The Sasanach leaders and warriors of the lowlands have long since been killed in battle or executed, their women and children sold into slavery. The men who are left have little stomach for battle, many of whom have even embraced the harsh edicts of their new rulers. They are loathsome creatures, exchanging freedom and honor for safety and order.” His voice was filled with contempt, and Déaglán kicked a rock that lay at his feet, sending it far beyond the bluff’s edge and onto the rocky shore below.
“I suppose there will always be men who are ready to give their allegiance to whomever holds power, at whatever the price,” responded Conall. “I do not understand such men, but I know they indeed exist.”
Both men were silent for some time, each contemplating what lay ahead.
“It seems the circumstances are as dire as I had feared,” said Conall at last.
Déaglán frowned. “Yes, alarmingly so. Yet, there may still be hope, for all is not well with the new emperor, Domitian. The Senate despises him and rightfully so, for he has made no pretense of honoring their counsel, viewing them only as his servants. His insistence on being addressed as ‘Master and God’ has only heightened the Senate’s anger and humiliation. I did not hear whisperings of any plot to assassinate him, but I would not be surprised if there is one in the making.”
“And the Romhanach military?” questioned Conall.
“Domitian has their support but not yet their allegiance. He attempted to buy their loyalty by raising the pay of the legionnaires. While this has undoubtedly made him popular with the rank and file soldiers and precluded threatened mutinies, it has done little to elevate his stature among officers. Domitian desperately needs military victories to prove his worth as supreme commander, thereby winning their respect.” In spite of the seriousness of Déaglán’s words, he had become animated, caught up in the drama that was unfolding. “Herein lies Eire’s hope. Domitian’s legions have suffered serious defeats in Eoraip, both in the conquest of new frontiers and in the quelling of rebellions. Furthermore, there is a growing threat from the Dacian tribes to the east. The generals of these legions have been clamoring for reinforcements, claiming victories cannot be achieved without additional men and weaponry. Likewise, Agricola, the commanding general of the legions in Sasanach, has requested reinforcements for the invasion of Eire. The victories achieved by Agricola in Sasanach have won him favor in the Romhanach capital and stand out in stark contrast to the debacles in Eoraip. And this is where the intrigue becomes very interesting.” Déaglán smiled, clearly fascinated with the machinations of the emperor and his generals. “Domitian sent reinforcements to his generals in Eoraip, but has thus far ignored Agricola’s request, though I heard rumors that an imperial dispatch was due any day. Agricola has grown impatient waiting for Domitian’s response and has issued orders for the invasion of Eire in late spring or early summer, regardless of what the dispatch may contain. With the legions already stationed in Sasanach, Agricola can easily launch the invasion, though his forces are insufficient for a protracted war in Eire. Agricola is gambling that he will achieve an initial victory, or at the very least, establish a strong fortress on Eire. Either circumstance will almost surely result in Domitian granting the necessary reinforcements.”
“What is the likelihood of the emperor granting such reinforcements before the invasion?” asked Conall.
Déaglán smiled with wry amusement. “I have had occasion to know the emperor quite well. He is neither decisive nor bold and not half the man that Agricola is. However, Domitian is cunning and cruel and a master at manipulation, as his enemies have learned all too well. He does not like Agricola, the general reminding him too much of his older brother whom he envied and despised. Therefore, he will taunt Agricola with his silence, hoping for precipitous action. He will withhold his approval of reinforcements, waiting to see the outcome of Agricola’s initial invasion. If it is successful, Domitian will publicly declare victory over Eire and take credit for the invasion, readily approving reinforcements. But if Agricola meets with disaster, Domitian has only to reprimand him for his ill-advised and unauthorized invasion. Either way, Domitian will be satisfied.”
Conall shrugged. “Without the unification of Eire’s warriors, we will be unable to deliver a staggering blow to Agricola’s legions, even if Domitian withholds reinforcements. Your optimistic suppositions will come to naught.”
“Even with unification,” Déaglán cautioned, “Eire’s warriors face almost impossible odds. And we must protect Eire against spies and traitors to have any hope of defeating the Romhanach. If Agricola were to learn of Eire’s unification, all advantage would be lost. Therefore, it is not enough to unite. We must be vigilant and wary, examining even the most seemingly untoward action with suspicion.”
“Spies, yes, but traitors, never!” Conall spat the words out as if trying to rid himself of a bitter taste.
“You may loathe the idea of traitors to Eire, but you are not so foolish as to deny their existence. Furthermore, they are likely to be men of substance, with knowledge of our battle plans and strategy. Agricola’s spies are very good, and they will carefully look for the discontented warrior or chieftain and entice him with offers of power and riches in a vanquished Eire. I have little doubt there will be at least one man, if not more, who will betray his people for ambition.”
“You are a cynical man, Déaglán.”
“Perhaps, but more importantly, I am a spy and know of what I speak.”

After an hour spent discussing battlefield tactics and strategy, the men started their walk back to the fishing village. They had not gone far when Déaglán said, “There is something else I think you must know, for it portends in Eire’s favor. However, I would ask that you keep what I am about to tell you in the strictest confidence.”
“Of course,” responded Conall, intrigued by Déaglán’s suddenly cautious behavior.
“I was very curious about what this alleged dispatch from Domitian might contain, and if it even existed. A courier was expected within the week, and I decided to delay my departure from Sasanach until he arrived. I ignored my instincts as well as other telltale signs of danger and did not quietly disappear when I should have, such was my eagerness to discover what the courier may deliver. I was foolish because the odds of Domitian approving Agricola’s request were negligible, but I wanted proof. As it turned out, I was imprudent and it nearly cost me my life. The day the courier arrived, without any dispatch for Agricola I might add, my identity was discovered.”
Conall stopped in his tracks and looked sharply at Déaglán, who appeared almost chagrined, concerned more with his failure to elude detection than his capture by the Romhanach. “Continue,” said Conall simply.
“I believe that under torture, one of the Sasanach captives may have betrayed me, but I had sensed danger for some time and do not blame the poor man. Romhanach torture is truly horrific and few can withstand it for long. I was imprisoned in a guarded cell located near the eastern wall of the fortress, awaiting Agricola’s arrival the next morning. I knew I would be tortured and executed but could think of no way to escape. Miraculously, however, I did, and it was only with the help of The Dagda that I made it back to Eire alive.” Déaglán looked pensively toward the ocean. “I admit I have many fancies and am given to talking to myself and with the gods on occasion. Much of my time is spent alone at sea or spying on others where I must always keep my own counsel. I have learned to live within my solitary world and am content there. Often at sea, when I can no longer keep my eyes open and fall into a restless slumber, I dream that my good friend Fearghus is there at my side, sailing my boat through rough waters or calling on fair winds where there had been for days only a deadly calm. Other times I dream of dear Maeve and she tells me that we will be together again in my next life, and that I will not be a sailor but a grand adventurer, scaling mountain peaks that reach the very heavens. I have always believed these to be dreams, however real they may have seemed. Now, after my escape from the fortress, I am not so certain. For you see, I had help that night from the Priestess Deirdre who seemed more a lovely phantom than a flesh and blood young woman. When I first heard her voice, I was lying awake on the cold ground of my cell, contemplating the horrors I would surely face in the morning.” Noticing Conall’s quizzical look upon hearing Deirdre’s name, he added, “Of course, you do not know Deirdre. She is a priestess in a northern clan and was one of Fearghus’s students. She is quick-witted and pretty, and it is said that she can gentle the most wild of beasts with just her voice or touch. She was once seen stroking the head of a great gray wolf as if it were a gentle collie.”
Déaglán’s voice had taken on a wistful quality and it seemed as if he was drifting into one of his peculiar reveries when he abruptly shook his head. “Conall, you must excuse me. I will get back to my strange tale. As I said, I was lying there, wondering if I would be able withstand the torture without screaming for mercy when I heard Deirdre calling to me. I looked frantically toward the guard but he didn’t seem to hear her. I thought I must be going mad. I was not dreaming and yet I heard her voice as clearly as I can hear my own right now. Deirdre spoke again reassuring me that she was there to help me escape. She said there was a powerful storm approaching that should be overhead in less than an hour. It would bring deafening thunder and deadly lightning strikes that would set the fortress ablaze. The storm would wreak havoc on the Romhanach, killing many and creating confusion and panic, during which I could make my escape. She detailed a route that would give me my best chance for freedom.” Déaglán paused, then added, “There was only one other strange occurrence. I had just escaped through a burning gap in the fortress wall and was running past the outlying cattle pens and soldiers’ huts when I heard loud shouts over the din of the thunder. I was sure at any moment I would feel the burning pain of a spear or arrow as it pierced my back. Instead, I felt and saw Deirdre beside me, throwing her Dagda cloak over my shoulders and drawing me close to her body. The next moment I was in the shelter of the woods and Deirdre was gone.”
“A strange tale to be sure,” said Conall. “I have never doubted the powers of The Dagda, though it gives me pause that a young priestess would risk an open display of them. Why chance revealing such powers now? The priests and priestesses of The Dagda have always fiercely guarded their secrets, as if their very survival depended on it. There seems to be only one logical explanation for The Dagda saving you. They felt it critical that you live to bring us news of the impending Romhanach invasion.”
“I am certain Deirdre aided me for just that reason. I am also certain that she and others of The Dagda will use their enchantments to aid us in our fight.”
Conall shook his head. “The Dagda forbids its priests and priestesses to aid any man in war or bloodletting. No, The Dagda will not aid us.”
“I do not agree,” responded Déaglán. “The Dagda may not help us during the battle, but I am certain that my friend, the high priest Fearghus, will find some means to use the powers of The Dagda to help save Eire from destruction.”

CHAPTER four

eelin woke up in a dark mood. She had slept only intermittently, with a nightmare plaguing her sleep and vivid images of the wounded and dying racing through her mind while awake. She did not know which had been more dreadful, her dream or her conscious thoughts. She was only surprised that her nightmare was not of battle scenes and death, but of Brian, at his most dismissive, and of her father, uncharacteristically passive and resigned. What did it mean? Keelin’s dreams had always alternated between the wonderful and the savage. She was either flying joyously or fighting some fierce and deadly foe, whether man, beast, or disease. This nightmare had been horrible, but in a different way. Keelin had been powerless, unable to fight Brian, and left only with a fearful foreboding.
The nightmare replayed persistently in which she helplessly watched Brian, astride Rua, riding away on him—no, Keelin thought angrily, stealing him. Brian was dressed as a warrior going into battle. He wore a fine wool tunic of royal blue over a thick shirt of cotton. On top of the tunic was a three-meshed coat of mail, made of cold, refined iron. Around his waist was a wide belt of leather, carved with frightening images of wild boars and dragons. From that belt hung a sharp, single-edged sword. He held a long spear in his right hand, forged with twists and breaks along its
entire surface so that any thrust would not only cut but also rip and tear as it was driven in and then recovered. His head was bare, his black hair reaching almost to his shoulders and the white skin of his face taut. Keelin had shouted at Brian, demanding that he come back.
Brian laughed in response. “Wee Keelin, you will not be needing Rua as a priestess of The Dagda. Rua is a warrior’s horse and not a steed for a witch. Your father no longer needs him and I have a battle to fight.”
Keelin, now frantic, called to Rua, commanding him to obey her and return. The stallion did not even turn his mighty head to look at her. Keelin then noticed her parents standing some distance away, watching Brian as he rode off. Her father was also dressed as a warrior, but his tunic was a blood-stained gray and he carried no weapon.
She ran to them and screamed, “Father, will you let Brian go and take Rua? You will need him for the approaching battle. Why do you just stand there?”
Her father merely shook his head. “Keelin, let Brian go. What he says is true. I no longer need Rua. My days as a warrior are over.”
Keelin, tears streaming down her cheeks, looked beseechingly at her mother and saw only sadness and heartache written on the beloved face. Keelin turned and watched as Brian and Rua disappeared.
Sweating, and with tears in her eyes, Keelin would awake with a start.
All morning, while Keelin helped her mother and Uncle Liam with work on the farm, she agonized over the dream and what it might mean. It would be unbearable if her father were to die in battle. She could not bear it if the dream was a presage of his death. At daybreak he had left for Tara, accompanied by Nuala and Uncle Déaglán, and his departure had only heightened her anxiety.