To the Waters and the Wild

by S C McGrath

  “Yes,” said Deirdre. “It seems we will have foodstuffs and livestock from even the most remote regions of Eire. Carts and wagons full of supplies have been arriving daily. Women of all ages, as well as old men and boys, have already taken it upon themselves to establish the camps. I and my fellow priests and priestesses have been little more than observers. Our warriors will want for nothing.”

  “It is settled, then,” said Nuala. “We will not be deterred by thoughts of defeat. We will remain vigilant and steadfast.” She turned to Keelin and said earnestly, “To the brave belong all things.”

  “And to the bold,” said Keelin, nodding. “It is the waiting that bedevils me.”

  “Yes, waiting burdens us sorely, for we know what lies ahead.” Nuala eyed both young women for some time and then frowned, the fingers of her right hand touching her ruby pendant. “You are both exhausted and in need of rest. You must regain your strength.” Addressing Deirdre, she said, “Déaglán is at Tara. Go to him and bring him back here if you must. He is no stranger to the Otherworld.”

  “I will,” said Deirdre, some of the liveliness returning to her eyes.

  Nuala turned to Keelin. “Your father will arrive home tomorrow but will not stay for more than a day, as he must assemble the midland and southern forces. I know you will wish to see him.”

  “Of course,” said Keelin, her heart pounding. “But what of the Fianna?”

  “Brian and Ruaidhrí have been given leave to accompany your father home and stay, perhaps several days, before returning to their posts. I had little trouble convincing Fionn to give the two leave, especially given Brian’s role in dispatching the spy.” Nuala smiled, her beautiful lips softening. The priestess smiled only rarely but when she did it transformed her face, making it lovely and tender, revealing the depth of her empathy and compassion.

  Tears sprang instantly to Keelin’s eyes. She ran to the priestess and hugged her. “Thank you,” she said simply, resting her head against Nuala’s chest.

  Nuala, somewhat awkwardly, returned Keelin’s embrace. “You will freely choose your own destiny. I should never have doubted you. Surely the gods do not.”

  

  Keelin and Brian sat on a cowhide blanket, finishing a picnic lunch. Rua and Rónán were grazing companionably nearby on the grasses of Keelin’s meadow. The day was chilly, even though patches of blue sky were visible as the storm clouds that had opened up the night before were quickly passing. Every so often, the sun’s rays brightened the landscape but did little to warm the air or the newlyweds. They had both shed their cloaks when they reached the meadow, though Keelin wore a woolen sweater over her dress and Brian had on a thick linen shirt and leather breeches. Keelin’s hair fell in a loose braid down her back. Errant auburn tendrils had escaped, framing her face.

  They had been married the day before, Nuala performing the ceremony at dawn on the very spot where they now sat with only Rua and Rónán as witnesses. A heavy mist blanketed the ground, and the damp air hid and sheltered them from the outside world. They had barely been visible, even to each other, as they rode side by side up to the meadow. When they cleared the rise, Nuala was waiting for them, standing perfectly still, an eerie sentinel. Overcome with emotion during the ceremony, Keelin had been only faintly aware of Nuala’s words, as they were caught in the mist and held for only the three to hear.

  Now, as Brian and Keelin finished their lunch, she smiled, remembering. “I could not have imagined a more perfect wedding ceremony, private and sacred, here in my meadow. And to have Nuala agree to marry us . . . I could never have dreamed of such a day.”

  “I never liked Nuala, nor she me,” said Brian. “I suppose I will have to reassess my opinion of her. Years ago she warned me off, saying you were destined for a life in The Dagda. I feared such a life might crush your spirit. Still, she and Eirnín had entrusted me with your safety and nothing else. I would have defied Nuala but not Eirnín. When I saw your passion for healing, I believed you wanted to become a priestess for that reason alone.”

  “I never wished to become a priestess, though now I suspect my reluctance stemmed more from defiance,” said Keelin. “I resisted and fought Nuala, constantly. I could never be a priestess like her, or even Deirdre. But perhaps I can serve the gods in a different way.”

  Brian patted his stomach contentedly and lay back, using Keelin’s folded cloak as a pillow. “For the present, I wish you to serve only me.” He laughed and grabbed Keelin around the waist, pulling her on top of him.

  Feigning annoyance, Keelin freed herself and sat back up primly, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “You are insufferable.” She gazed down at him and ran her fingertips along his chest, feeling the rough texture of his shirt and sensing the strong beating of his heart. “I am not of a nature to make a good, dutiful wife. You were very foolish to fall in love with me.”

  Brian peered up at her. “Whatever would make you say something so daft?”

  “Well, I am admittedly contrary by nature and not one to follow your lead. And, I am different,” said Keelin as she continued tracing the lines of his chest with her fingertips. “I have secrets I may never be able to share with you.”

  “Perhaps,” said Brian, unperturbed. “But ever since you kicked that bully Daire in the shins, I knew you were the only lass for me. Besides, I have always known you were a little witch. And, if you do not stop running your fingertips thus, I will be forced to ravage you, for I have only so much self-control.”

  “Finally,” murmured Keelin as her fingers trailed down his stomach. “I was wondering how long it would take for you and me to be of like minds.”

  

  Some time later, Keelin awoke. She was curled up in Brian’s arms, her head resting on his chest. Brian had pulled his cloak up over them, and she felt warm and safe. “I must have fallen asleep,” she said, realizing that Brian was awake.

  “Yes, I did as well and woke only a short time ago.” Brian chuckled and patted Keelin’s hip, then squeezed her closer.

  “That was a very self-satisfied laugh,” said Keelin indulgently. “Need I ask the reason?”

  “Very satisfied with you. I have always known you to be bloodthirsty. It is my good fortune you are pleasingly wanton as well.”

  “I shall take that as a compliment. I am too happy and comfortable to allow you to vex me.”

  “As well you should.” Brian said nothing for several moments. When he did speak, his tone was more serious and his words heartfelt. “I never dared even to dream that we would be together one day or that I could be this happy. I love you, Keelin.”

  “And I love you, Brian. Always.”

  They lay there contentedly, neither wishing to move, neither prepared to let the afternoon end.

  Finally, Brian sighed deeply and said, “I must journey back tomorrow. Ruaidhrí and I plan to leave at dawn.”

  Keelin’s happy, comfortable world vanished in an instant. She had forcibly banished all thoughts of the battle to the deepest recesses of her mind the past two days, and now all the fear and anxiety came flooding back tenfold. “Stay,” she pleaded.

  “You know I cannot. Ruaidhrí and I were granted leave only because we were to accompany your father. Already we have stayed too long. We must be prepared for the Romhanach and our duty is with our fellow Fianna.” Brian stroked Keelin’s hair, still holding her close. “Do not fear. I promise we will be together again. Our warriors will triumph, of that I am sure. Trust me.”

  “I trust you but I fear for you also. The Romhanach are powerful, more powerful than can be imagined. I know. I have seen their might.” Keelin’s tears flowed freely and she kissed Brian frantically.

  “I suspect you have, my little witch. We will fight nonetheless, and you would not have it otherwise. Do not doubt our strength. It is far greater than the enemy believes.”

  The truth of Brian’s words rallied Keelin and she felt a small measure of optimism. “Yes, we are ready for Agricola,” she said. “Nothing more can
be done.” She held him tightly and when they made love again, it was with a mingling of heartache and bliss.

  

  CHAPTER twenty-seven

  

  t was early summer when the Romhanach fleet was spotted off the coast, moving inexorably closer, toward a large bay in southeastern Eire. The sight of so many ships, their large square sails billowing in a friendly wind, was both terrifying and magnificent. The weather had been mild for several days. There were only a few high clouds and not a hint of the normally omnipresent drizzle. The clear skies allowed those on hilltops to see the approaching ships, extending far out to the horizon, more than one hundred and fifty strong. It seemed that even the gods of the sea were favoring the Romhanach. Crossing the channel had presented no difficulties and all the ships had made it safely to Eire. The protected waters of the bay and the flat, accommodating beaches promised a smooth anchorage and landing. Lush farmland fanned out from the shoreline, surrounded by gently rolling hills. Stands of oak trees dotted the rises. It seemed the perfect amphitheatre for a display of Romhanach military might.

  Agricola stood on the tower of one of the foremost ships, his prefect, Aquila, standing alongside him.

  “Sir, we should have our men on shore before dark,” said Aquila, surveying the bay. “There could not be a more likely site to launch a campaign.”

  Agricola nodded. “Initially, I did not prefer this landing site. Additional review is sometimes necessary. It was most assuredly so in this instance.”

  “The gods favor you, sir,” said Aquila with admiration.

  Agricola chuckled. “Perhaps. I welcome their favor, though I would not wish to rely on it. The gods, on a whim, may abandon me. No, I will rely on my own judgment and on the strength of my men, molded by training and discipline, and tempered by battle.”

  Their ship was now well within the waters of the bay. Near its northern reaches was a small village, and the surrounding countryside was largely uninhabited with only a scattering of sheep and cattle.

  “The village looks deserted, as do the farms,” observed Aquila. “It is as though they have long known of our arrival.”

  “On a fine morning such as this, our fleet would have been sighted long ago. No doubt the inhabitants have all fled to safety.”

  “Of course, sir. We have already struck fear in their hearts. Our landing and encampment will be all the smoother for it.”

  “It is likely only the women and children fear us,” said Agricola in measured tone. “These Hibernians are a warlike people and they will be defending their homeland. We will face strong resistance initially, from warriors who battle with unparalleled ferocity. However, they cannot sustain such resistance for long. Their chieftains’ attempt to unite the island’s warring clans seems to have failed. The last report I received indicated as much. Unfortunately, I have heard nothing from my spies since early spring and therefore must rely, again, on my own judgment.”

  “I believe the spies are dead, sir.”

  Agricola nodded. “I know they are dead. If not, we would have heard from them. It is regrettable. They were good men and will be sorely missed. However, their reports were not essential. Even united, Hibernia’s warriors are no match for my legion. They are barbarians with little notion of strategy and no forethought. They will charge our line mindlessly and we will defeat them with relative ease. I envision a great victory.” Agricola’s expression hardened. Under his breath he muttered, “And Domitian be damned.”

  

  Four men sat on horseback among a stand of oaks, watching the Romhanach fleet’s approach. From their vantage point it was possible to see the entire bay, which was now occupied by many of the fleet’s ships. Small landing boats had already been lowered from the anchored ships and were being rowed to shore, filled with supplies and men.

  “The arrogant bastards!” spat Niall, affronted. “They have arrived in full daylight!”

  “Yes, and uninvited,” commented Fionn grimly. “But no matter. We will be accommodating hosts and most willingly offer our presumptuous guests a taste of sword and axe.”

  “Indeed, Agricola will not be expecting the reception we have planned for him,” added Conall as he scanned the bay. “Judging from the size of the fleet, it appears he will field a legion against us, with perhaps as many as five hundred cavalry troops.”

  Fionn nodded in agreement and addressed Déaglán. “You have again proved your worth as a spy. I believe you are something of an oracle as well. In each particular you foretold Agricola’s intentions.”

  Déaglán did not offer an explanation and he knew Fionn did not expect one. Perhaps later, if Eire triumphed, his uncanny knowledge of Agricola’s invasion plans might prompt questions. If that time came, he would gladly deflect any suspicion away from The Dagda and its three sorceresses. In truth, he would die before revealing their secrets.

  Fionn shifted restlessly in the saddle. “We know our enemy and have chosen our battlefield. He believes we are no match for his legion. We will soon disabuse him of such a notion.”

  “Niall and I will alert our men to remain vigilant but cautious, keeping well out of sight,” responded Conall. “The chieftains and their warriors know their positions and all are at the ready.”

  “Good, it will be necessary for us to exploit every advantage,” said Fionn. “First, however, before a drop of blood is shed, we will greet our visitors and advise them of the foolhardiness and injustice of their campaign against Eire. One must always appeal for peace. If our offer is met by deaf ears, we will gladly make war.”

  “Will we send a delegation to the esteemed Agricola this evening?” questioned Niall, an edge to his voice.

  “No, let Agricola and his officers anchor all of their ships and establish their beach camp. Tomorrow evening will be soon enough for me to lead our welcoming party.”

  “You cannot lead the delegation. It is far too dangerous for you to enter the enemy’s encampment,” protested Niall, appalled. “You are Eire’s finest warrior, our leader.”

  “All the more reason for me to represent Eire. I will not be absent from any part of this conflict. Furthermore, I relish the opportunity to match wits with such a man as Agricola.”

  “It is foolhardy to trust Agricola to act honorably,” said Conall. “You could very well be held hostage or worse, jeopardizing our carefully laid plans.”

  Fionn shifted in the saddle again and rubbed his thigh, grimacing slightly. Glancing between Niall and Conall, he said, “So both of you believe it would be prudent of me to send an emissary of lower rank to Agricola’s encampment rather than to go myself. You believe our defense of Eire would suffer without me. Yet, either of you would readily lead the delegation should I request you to do so, even though your absence on the battlefield would be felt no less than mine. Why? Because we are not men to step aside.”

  Yes, thought Déaglán, these men were bold nearly to recklessness, very different from the brave, methodical man who led the army they would soon face. Fionn still suffered pain from the wounds he sustained during his battle with Seán. Had it not been for Nuala and Keelin’s immediate treatment of Fionn’s wounds, he may very well have been left a cripple. As it was, he could barely sit his horse and only recently could he walk without a limp. Despite this, he was Eire’s finest warrior and leader of the Fianna, and his reputation had spread far beyond the reaches of their small island. Agricola and his officers would know of Fionn’s exploits.

  Breaking the uneasy silence, Déaglán said, “I agree with Fionn. He should lead the delegation.”

  “Are you mad also?” questioned Niall. Both he and Conall looked murderous.

  “No, Déaglán, you are not mad, though your purpose is different than my own,” said Fionn, eyeing him speculatively.

  “It is,” responded Déaglán. “If I am to enter the Romhanach encampment unnoticed and obtain the intelligence we seek, a diversion would help, the grander the better. Fionn, I suggest Fearghus accompany you, along with a do
zen or more of your most powerful and intimidating Fianna. The benefits of such a grandiose display will be twofold. It will provide the cover I need and it is sure to give Agricola’s men pause, knowing they must soon battle such formidable warriors.”

  

  Fionn and the high priest Fearghus walked side by side, followed by twenty Fianna, as they were escorted to Agricola’s tent by two Romhanach centurions and a contingent of soldiers. Fionn was dressed in warrior’s attire but without shield or mail, and armed only with a short, double-edged sword secured in a sheath that hung from his wide, intricately carved leather belt. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a square build that bespoke both power and agility. Fionn wore his blonde hair long, pulled back from his forehead and secured at the nape of his neck with a leather tie. Around his neck was a torc, fashioned from a single band of twisted gold, each end of the spiral decorated with an ornately molded golden ball. His pale blue eyes missed nothing as he followed the centurions to Agricola’s tent, even as he appeared to look only straight ahead.

  Equaling Fionn in height and far exceeding him in girth, Fearghus wore the simple garments of a priest with the resplendent side of his Dagda cloak hidden and the plain brown woolen side in view. It was only from the hood of the cloak resting against his back that one caught a glimpse of the rich burgundy color beneath. Fearghus’s expression revealed none of his natural good humor and warmth. Instead, there was about him an air of ominous solemnity, an augury of doom.

  Were Eire’s two most powerful men not intimidating enough, the Fianna who accompanied them, including Ruaidhrí, would have caused even the boldest man to hesitate. The Fianna, like Fionn, were dressed in their warrior garb except they carried shields and were armed with their weapons of war. Towering, powerfully built, and menacing, the Fianna marched boldly through the encampment as though they had already achieved a great victory. The hustle and bustle of the camp stilled noticeably as Eire’s delegation passed by, muted curses and low murmurings replacing the shouts and laughter of Romhanach soldiers, an unnatural, eerie hush following in the wake of Fionn and his warriors.