To the Waters and the Wild

by S C McGrath

  As Deirdre cooked, she shared her latest news with Fearghus, effortlessly including Déaglán in the conversation with an occasional question or comment directed to him. Déaglán welcomed the chance to study Deirdre while she worked, even as he silently chastised himself for behaving like such a dim-witted fool when introduced to the young priestess. Deirdre had caught him off guard. The vigilance and concentration he normally possessed when introduced to someone new had been regrettably absent. In his travels, he had developed an uncanny ability of quickly assessing everyone he met, determining whether they were friend or foe, harmless or dangerous. He knew the accuracy of this initial assessment was vital to his survival. However, when he was home in Eire, and especially among friends, Déaglán’s vigilance relaxed.

  Now he watched Deirdre, trying to understand this unusual young woman, instinctively wary of the effect she had on him. On close examination he realized that while Deirdre was pretty, she was not beautiful. Déaglán had seen far more handsome women in his travels, women with flawless features and exquisite bodies who graced the arms of the rich and powerful men of Eoraip. He admitted that Deirdre’s figure was perfection, though its slender loveliness was nothing like the curvaceous women Déaglán was normally attracted to. Since Maeve’s death, he had unconsciously shied away from any woman who resembled his fragile and willowy young bride, preferring instead robust, slightly plump women.

  It was something else about Deirdre, not her face or her body, but a quality of absolute candor, of ready confidence, of natural poise, that intrigued Déaglán. Deirdre’s face reflected an open sincerity and friendliness that was engaging, and with her smooth, rosy complexion she could easily be mistaken for a girl in her teens. Déaglán knew, however, that Deirdre must be at least in her twenty-first year, the earliest she could have been ordained a priestess. He guessed that she was probably several years older than that. For all her fresh-faced openness, Déaglán sensed Deirdre was no innocent and had powers of persuasion and influence that were formidable. He felt her pull, calming and soothing him, making him hopeful—and he wanted no part of it. Déaglán was content with the familiar rhythm of his life. He would not allow this alluring young woman to disrupt it. He smiled, casting a veil of impenetrable congeniality over the strong features of his face, his vigilance restored.

  Déaglán came out of his reverie at the sound of his name. Deirdre had placed the meal on the table and was eyeing him expectantly.

  “Please, Déaglán, sit here across from Fearghus and begin. I have already had my morning meal but will sit with the two of you so I may hear news of your latest voyage.” Deirdre gave him a winning smile but her eyes were alert. Again Déaglán was disconcerted, left with the distinct impression that Deirdre had been watching him while he studied her.

  After the men had eaten their fill and had pushed back their chairs from the table to stretch their legs, Fearghus said, “Déaglán, just before Deirdre arrived you started to tell me of your latest adventure—”

  “Before you begin your tale, Déaglán,” interrupted Deirdre, “I almost forgot the wonderful fruit I brought.” She rose from her chair and retrieved a platter of assorted fruit that she placed on the table between the two men.

  Déaglán eyed the fruit and looked at Deirdre quizzically. “These are exotic fruits grown in warm climates. They would perish in Eire’s cold and damp. How did you come by them?”

  “I am very resourceful,” said Deirdre, regarding Déaglán with a clear, steady gaze.

  “Indeed you are.” Déaglán was fascinated, wondering how Deirdre had obtained fruit that was considered a rare delicacy even in the wealthiest homes in Eoraip. “I suspect you are also a sorceress to have conjured up such fruit.”

  “I told you that Deirdre is a priestess of extraordinary talent,” interjected Fearghus. “However, let us not discuss the rarity of the fruit Deirdre brought but instead eat it. I am particularly fond of these sweet, succulent ones.” Fearghus reached for a small, round fruit, pinkish-red in color. Using his knife, he sliced through the tough outer skin to reveal the juicy pulp within. He peeled back the skin from each half and popped the delicacy into his mouth, savoring its taste while greedily eyeing the remaining fruit on the platter.

  If Fearghus had a weakness, it was food. He loved to eat and, while he appreciated fine food, he nonetheless would eat practically anything set before him. Fortunately, his big, raw-boned frame could accommodate some extra bulk, and it was only a slight paunch that betrayed his guilty excesses. Fearghus’s face was round with a large nose, ruddy complexion, and brilliant blue eyes. His laugh was warm, hearty, and infectious, and never failed to bring a smile to even the most disgruntled of men. Naturally friendly and expansive, Fearghus was not only a fine storyteller but an excellent listener. Those who mistook his avuncular manner for weakness, however, lived to regret it. His warm blue eyes could in an instant turn hard, his friendly countenance deadly. Fearghus was a powerful force in The Dagda and its acknowledged leader. He was cherished by his friends and feared by his enemies, there being few individuals who were neither.

  After consuming a second piece of fruit, Fearghus smiled in satisfaction. “Now, Déaglán, tell us of your travels.”

  “All in good time, Fearghus,” said Déaglán. He then regarded Deirdre and held her eyes. “So, there is some sorcery at work here with the mysterious powers of The Dagda at play. I am disappointed. You appeared to be such a forthright and candid young woman. I now see that you enjoy The Dagda’s mystery and ceremony of silence, even as it pertains to the acquisition of a mere piece of fruit.” Déaglán wasn’t sure why he was intentionally trying to provoke Deirdre; perhaps it was to gauge the point at which she lost her poised composure.

  Deirdre’s eyes widened slightly, but she returned his gaze without wavering then laughed good-naturedly.

  “I am sorry to disappoint you. I do indeed love being a priestess of The Dagda and all that it entails. However, I enjoy mystery for its own sake. The truth is my secrets and hidden places please me as I suspect yours please you.”

  Déaglán blinked and then burst out laughing. When he had caught his breath, he inquired, “So, Deirdre, how are you at chess?”

  Fearghus, who had been listening to this exchange with amusement, chimed in. “Deirdre is an excellent opponent when I can cajole her to play, which is rarely. Now, Déaglán, will you please get on with your story.”

  Still chuckling, Déaglán reached for a cluster of grapes on the platter. He ate a few, spitting out their seeds and eyeing Deirdre with newfound respect. Here was a woman whose powers of perception and intuition rivaled his own. He would have to tread more carefully around this young priestess with the soft blue eyes and the razor-sharp mind.

  Déaglán leaned back in his chair. “I think I will relate the events of the past summer. Fearghus, you will have no need to embellish what I am about to tell you today, although your creativity constantly amazes me.” With that, Déaglán began his strange tale.

  

  CHAPTER fourteen

  

  éaglán had traveled south from Roma to Campania in late spring and had settled in the coastal village of Salernum to fish in the Tyrrhenum Sea. There he had befriended a solitary old fisherman, Meles, who was considered slightly mad by the local villagers. Déaglán found Meles good company and something of a philosopher, more educated than he would have expected.

  Meles considered the Tyrrhenum his sea and knew every island, port, and inlet along the Campania coast. He excitedly told Déaglán of waters where the fish “almost leapt into his boat,” so abundant were they. Déaglán laughed at the time but had to admit that the old man was hardly exaggerating, such was the bounty of these waters. More importantly, Meles fished frequently near the islands of Capreae and Aenapria, both summer retreats of the Romhanach elite.

  Déaglán was particularly interested in Capreae. The Romhanach emperor had not one but several villas there, the largest perched on a towering bluff on the northea
stern tip of the island. Well accustomed to the beauty of the Tyrrhenum and the coast of Campania, Déaglán nevertheless marveled at the singular beauty and mystery of Capreae, its rocky cliffs and jagged coastline framed by a sea of cobalt blue, the color fading to swirling shades of azure when met by the shallows. The island was a natural fortress with no coves or harbors to safely dock a boat, and only one small shoreline and landing place, making it almost impregnable and adding to its mythical aura. Most remarkable, however, were the subterranean caves that honey-combed Capreae and were accessible only by boat.

  Although imperial guards were stationed on Capreae even when the emperor was not in residence, Meles freely sailed its waters and was considered a harmless old fool, his comings and goings eliciting no remark or concern. Déaglán could not have befriended anyone with greater knowledge of or access to Capreae. He had been fishing with Meles for only a month when he learned the extent of his good fortune.

  One evening, when the men sat in the old fisherman’s hut drinking remarkably good wine, Meles said, “Tomorrow the waters will be calm and the tides will be low enough for me to take you into the hidden depths of Capreae to my secret retreat and cache of wonders. Are you interested in a little adventure, my friend?”

  “Do you mean the Blue Grotto?” Déaglán was well aware of the large cave whose entrance had been discovered years before and was thought to be enchanted. Occasionally, lured by descriptions of the cave’s beauty and tales of bewitching sirens, an intrepid fisherman would steer his boat through the small entrance. Few of these fishermen ever returned, but when they did, they told fantastic stories of a magnificent blue chamber inhabited by strange sea creatures, swearing they heard siren calls. While Déaglán did not doubt the grotto’s beauty or mystery, he was not particularly interested in what lay beneath the island but what lay upon it. However, given Capreae’s hostile coastline, Déaglán had abandoned any notion of successfully penetrating the island’s defenses and spying on the Romhanach emperor and his retinue.

  The old man’s sun-browned face crinkled into deep lines as he smiled, his dark eyes full of wily mischief. “That cave is nothing. Beautiful and enchanted, yes, but useless. No, I alone know the whereabouts of my hidden refuge and it has allowed me to enjoy some comfort in my waning years, as you can see by the wine we drink tonight.”

  Déaglán was intrigued but cautious. What was Meles up to and why was the old fisherman sharing secrets with him, an acquaintance of only a month? Déaglán felt a quickening of his pulse.

  “I am always ready for a little adventure, but how is it that only you know of this cave? And why would you trust me with the knowledge of its whereabouts?”

  The old man cackled in delight. “Because I like you. It is as simple as that. I recognized your nature the first time I met you. We are kindred spirits, most happy when alone or braving the forces of nature, beholden and answerable to no one. I know you would not betray me unless I gave you good cause. Whatever your purpose for visiting Campania is or what aim you have, you mean me no harm. Besides, I am an old man and have lately had the need to talk and to reveal my secrets with someone who would truly appreciate them. The gods were very obliging when they sent you. So, tomorrow I will share with you my hidden retreat, you who are so like me in your love of solitude and danger.”

  

  The next morning while it was still dark, the two men sailed to Capreae, arriving at the southeastern reaches of the island not long after daylight. They followed the coastline, skirting towering rocks that rose from the sea. Meles made no attempt at stealth, steering his small boat as close to the island as was safe.

  “Ever since I was a boy I have sailed these waters,” said Meles. “I know this coastline better than any living soul, and yet I did not discover the opening of this cave until ten years ago. You will understand why very soon.”

  They were approaching the northeastern tip of the island, its high cliffs dropping steeply to the sea. As they rounded a rocky promontory, the emperor’s villa came into sight. Déaglán never failed to be awed by the magnificent building whose expanse covered the entire top of a wide, high bluff. The villa appeared more like a city fortress, terraced along the natural slope of the land with winding stone paths that connected all but its steepest perimeters. The front of the villa faced north, its large portico supported by massive columns. There the emperor resided, high above the sea with an unobstructed view of the Bay of Neapolis.

  “Rarely does the emperor visit the villa this early in the summer, escaping to Capreae only when the heat of the capital becomes unbearable,” commented Meles as the two men gazed at the magnificent structure. “However, there are orders to always have the villa at the ready with plenty of food and wine. The emperor entertains lavishly while in residence and that is to our great advantage.”

  Before they reached the bluff where the villa stood, Meles steered his boat toward a steep-faced cliff. Though calm elsewhere, here the waters were rough and churning, with dangerous underwater rocks impeding the natural flow of the current. Déaglán watched Meles in disbelief as the old man continued to steer his boat directly toward the rocky wall and certain death, for there was no safe shore to swim to if the boat crashed and broke apart. The old fisherman was oblivious to all but the swirling waves, his hand steady as he carefully guided his boat through the treacherous waters. Just when Déaglán thought that all was lost, he noticed a narrow gap in the cliff that had not been visible just moments before. The small boat shot through the opening and Déaglán found himself in a tiny cove encircled by the towering cliff, its sheer rock face scarred by jagged vertical fissures, some small, others scaling nearly its entire height.

  Meles laughed with joy and slapped Déaglán on the back. “I knew I had found a true adventurer in you, my brave friend. Never once did you attempt to stop me or pull my hand from the rudder as I steered for the rocks. Now we must wait for the lowest of tides to enter my cave.” Meles noted the sun’s position and smiled contentedly. “We have perhaps an hour to wait, maybe less.”

  “How did you ever discover the keyhole opening to this cove?” Déaglán asked, full of admiration. “No sailor in his right mind would dare risk his boat or life in these waters. I know I would have sailed clear of here had it been my boat.”

  “That is the beauty of this cove. Nature and the gods have conspired to hide it, surrounding its entrance with dangerous currents and a labyrinth of underwater rocks. All who sail in the calm waters well clear of the hazards see nothing but a solid granite cliff, the back face of the cove blending perfectly with the cliff’s sea wall.”

  “It is as if the entrance opens up before your very eyes,” marveled Déaglán. “One moment there is a sheer cliff wall and the next a magical gap appears. Again, how did you discover it?”

  “The waters surrounding the cove had always puzzled me,” Meles mused. “The currents seemed to move in odd patterns, and there was a small area of relative calm near the cliff where the whitewater did not spray high into the air as it met the rock wall. It was as if the waters were flowing into a hidden inlet and yet I saw no opening. Finally, my curiosity got the best of me and, determined to solve the mystery of these waters, I steeled my courage and steered for the calm. When I landed in this lovely and very secret cove, little did I know that what I had yet to discover would be even more remarkable. Fortunately, the tide was still going out that day while I sat enjoying the solitude. As the sea level dropped, I noticed a large gap appear at the base of one of the huge fissures in the cliff’s face. Soon the gap was large enough for my boat to enter, the current carrying it safely through the opening and inside. The cave was high, narrow, and dark, nothing like the beautiful blue grotto. But my cave turned out to be a passageway to riches.”

  “Why haven’t the emperor’s guards discovered this cove? I understand the difficulty of discovering it from the sea. But the same problems would not be present on land.”

  Meles smiled serenely. “I believe this cove exists only fo
r those brave enough to enter it from the sea. The gods have chosen to share it with no one else. The emperor’s guards have not discovered it simply because they do not see it.” Meles then lay down and closed his eyes, and for all Déaglán could tell, he drifted off into a well-deserved sleep.

  True to Meles’s words, within an hour the tide had receded enough to reveal a yawning hole in the cliff, large enough for a small boat to navigate through. Déaglán waited until the tide appeared to be at its lowest and then gently touched Meles on the shoulder to awaken him. Looking refreshed, Meles jumped up and motioned to the cave. “Would you like to take her in?”

  Déaglán, his eyes bright, nodded and carefully steered the boat through the gap.

  “We will dock some fifty yards in along the right hand side of the cave,” said Meles, adeptly lighting a torch.

  The torch’s glow provided enough light for Déaglán to make out a high rock bench along the right side of the cave, widening in depth as the boat moved slowly forward. Just ahead bobbed a small canoe tied to an iron ring embedded in the cave’s wall. As Déaglán steered the boat closer to the bench, he noticed that hanging from its walls were baskets, earthenware pots, and blankets. Metal sconces holding torches framed the area.

  “I secure my things on the wall, fearing that the high tide could wash everything off the rock shelf—although I have never had that happen in all the years I have been staying here. Nonetheless, I take great care of this home away from home.” As Meles spoke, he securely tied the boat behind the canoe, looping thick rope through rings. Holding his torch high, he pointed to steps carved deep in the rock leading up to the bench and signaled for Déaglán to climb them. “Please light one of the torches up top,” he requested.