Fionn- Defence of Ráth Bládhma

by Brian O'Sullivan

  Glancing at her in surprise, Conchenn considered her briefly then, sensing her turmoil, shuffled over on the mat to make room. Bodhmhall did not acknowledge it but she appreciated the old woman’s gesture and felt a sudden gratitude for her silent presence, a perfect antidote to the vexing company of Muirne Muncháem.

  Using an old druidic technique, Bodhmhall slowly submitted herself to the quiet rhythm of the physical action, the mindless repetition of cut, turn, cut and turn that allowed her to retreat deep inside herself. It was only there, in that monotonous routine, that she at last found the inner space to grieve, to mourn and empty her heart.

  ‘Bodhmhall!’

  Startled, she opened her eyes. The wicker basket was empty. A pile of perfectly chopped vegetables lay on the mat in front of her.

  ‘Bodhmhall!’

  She looked around in confusion, struggling to locate the source of the shout before spotting Aodhán on the gateway, beckoning for her to join him. For a moment, she stared dumbly at the slender guard then, abruptly, pushed the vegetables aside. Rising to her feet, she crossed the lis, brushing her hands against the rough material of her smock.

  Several long strides brought her to the base of the ladder leading up to the rampart. Aodhán moved aside to give her room as she reached the top rung and stepped out onto the stone platform.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  The young warrior pointed wordlessly towards the northern end of the valley. Squinting, she stared in the indicated direction until she found what he wanted her to see; a faraway figure crossing the flatland at speed in the direction of the ráth. Despite the distance, she immediately recognised Bearach’s distinctive stride.

  Aodhán leaned forward, hands pressed against the edge of the wooden palisade. He said nothing as he peered at the runner but scratched at his beard with a wistful expression.

  ‘Bearach’s not carrying any game. And there’s no sign of Liath Luachra.’ He sounded equally perturbed by both observations.

  ‘Why is he running at such speed?’ The bandraoi unconsciously voiced her concern aloud but when she glanced at Aodhán and saw the expression on his face, a chill trickled down her spine. A sick feeling filled her stomach as she gazed around the valley, the familiar shelter of the surrounding hills suddenly appearing to close in around them like the jaws of a triggered bear trap.

  ‘Aodhán, your brother and father are at the lubgort. Fetch them quickly, gather the livestock and drive them inside.’

  The youth stared at her in alarm, a crease wrinkling across his forehead.

  ‘What is it, Bodhmhall?’

  ‘I think the ráth may be under attack.’

  Chapter Two

  They’d been stalking deer sign for the best part of the morning, following the meandering tracks through the frozen hill country east of Sliabh Bládhma. Liath Luachra estimated that there was one, possibly two, animals. Bearach was convinced there were at least four.

  But then he’d always been an optimist.

  Liath Luachra relaxed and slowly eased her grip on the javelin. She’d come to a stop in the murky shadow of one of the many trees coating the lower slopes and although she continued to scrutinise the terrain for movement, she was relatively sure the animals were not present.

  As sure as she could be.

  It was difficult to be certain from the most recent imprints they’d found. The snow cover was inconsistent among the hills and the substance of the previous fall had melted in the unexpected morning sunshine. Adding to the challenge was the fact the tracks alternated between dense wood land where the ground was still soft enough to leave a clear track, and rockier ground where the prints were easy to lose on the rough stone surface.

  Liath Luachra exhaled a mouthful of ghost breath into the chilly air and watched the breeze snatch it away. Although she’d never admit to it, she didn’t particularly enjoy hunting in winter. In her experience, the physical effort and the sheer discomfort greatly exceeded the rewards. Certainly there was no comparison to the hunt in warmer months. In summer, late spring and even early autumn you could simply choose a comfortable hiding site at one of the animals’ favourite feeding grounds, easily identified with experience and patience, and wait for the animals to come to you.

  In winter, of course, such an approach was impractical. The cold and the risk of hypothermia made it impossible to remain stationary or inactive for long periods of time. There was no real alternative, therefore, but to stalk the animals, to locate a trail in the snow and follow it, keeping downwind as much as possible in the undulating terrain.

  In theory, this was relatively straightforward. Find trail. Follow tracks. Kill deer. In practice, of course, hunting deer required equal measures of skill and good fortune. At this time of the year, the deer had already shed their rich, red coloured coat for a greyish brown that blended perfectly into the background. This natural camouflage rendered the animals practically invisible when they were standing still and hunters were obliged to remain alert for minute traces of movement, the flicker of an ear or the glint of an antler.

  Liath Luachra and Bearach had been moving ponderously all morning, passing through the woodland at a pace that allowed them to follow the sign while advancing silently. Avoiding the ridgelines and open spaces, they took only than three or four steps at a time. To counter the deer’s sensitive hearing, they had tied sheepskin to the soles of their boots, muffling their footfall. They surveyed the ground ahead at regular intervals to avoid debris on the forest floor that might create noise and alert the animals to their presence.

  Putting the javelin aside, Liath Luachra scratched at an itch inside her thigh but found relief impossible through the thick furs she was wearing. She slipped a hand inside the furs and then the wool leggings beneath, sliding her fingers down to the area of irritation. After a moment or two of scratching, she located a tick embedded in the skin. Teasing it out between her thumb and forefinger, she withdrew it for closer examination. Even in the dappled sunlight the insect looked bloated. It had feasted well on her blood.

  Time to change the bedding again.

  With an expression of distaste, she flicked it off into the trees then proceeded forward, using the limited vegetation and shadows to best advantage.

  Even at a crouch, the warrior woman eased through the undergrowth with remarkable grace. Strong legs, toned from years of trudging the rugged landscape, bore her over obstacles with ease. An innate sense of balance allowed her to manoeuvre past barriers that would have tasked the most flexible of acrobats. She had wedged her thick, black, shoulder-length hair beneath a wool-lined leather hat to avoid the snagging branches but halted abruptly as something snagged her attention instead. Dropping to one knee, she brushed aside a tangled clump of fern to discover a small pile of deer dung half-hidden beneath the brittle, red fronds. Lowering herself onto her belly, she examined her find more closely, poking at the individual pellets with a broken twig. As she studied the droppings, she chewed thoughtfully on the inner side of her cheek.

  With a sniff, she sat up, transferring her attention to her fellow hunter, Bearach, who had sidled up into the shadow of a neighbouring oak. A slim, dark haired youth of fourteen years, Bearach had always been her favourite of Cairbre’s three sons for he laughed easily, a trait only one as solemn as Liath Luachra could truly appreciate. The boy also had a toughness to him that she respected. Although six years her junior, he’d forced himself to keep up with the gruelling pace she’d set on departing the ráth that morning and maintained until the first sight of deer sign.

  ‘Bearach,’ she whispered.

  He glanced towards her and she pointed down at the deer spoor.

  Slithering over to where she was crouched, he dropped to his knees and poked at the droppings, pressing one of the pellets with his index finger. It was moist and when he raised it to his nose, it remained fastened to the digit.

  ‘It’s fresh.’

  ‘What else?’ she pressed.

  He looked at her
blankly. Her face, pale from the winter season, was as inscrutable as ever and provided no clue to a possible response. She had noticed that when some people, particularly strangers, talked with her, their eyes often slid off to the right, distracted by the ladder of tattooed black lines that scaled the side of her face from below the ear to the forehead. Familiar with it to the point of indifference, the boy’s eyes did not veer away.

  ‘It’s shit,’ he hazarded.

  ‘I know it’s shit. What about the shape of it?’

  ‘The pellets are small. Oval shaped.’

  ‘Which suggests ...?’

  ‘The deer have been eating leaves. Browse and twigs instead of grass.’

  She nodded, satisfied with the response then waved him on to proceed ahead of her. The freshness of the droppings meant that the deer were not too far ahead. Up front, Bearach would be the first to sight the animal and have the best chance of making a cast. Patient and without complaint during the hunt, he deserved the opportunity and it would be good for his confidence to take the kill.

  She continued to observe the boy with the critical eye of an instructor as he moved forward. Slowly detaching himself from the cover of the oak tree, he slipped smoothly from cover to cover down a steep, wooded incline that funnelled into a little valley between two broad hills. She nodded appreciatively as he changed direction at the appropriate times to remain concealed in shadow.

  You’ve turned into a teacher, Grey One. A mentor of unblooded children.

  The thought entered her head unbidden and she frowned, unsure whether the notion pleased her or annoyed her. Unable to decide, she ignored it and turned her attention to the surrounding landscape. Undulating hills and valleys shrouded by snow powdered forest as far as the eye could see. It was a beautiful sight and she took the time to appreciate what she was looking at.

  It is good to be Out.

  Her lips twitched in a rare expression of humour. Despite the cold and the discomfort it was good to be Out again. It had been a hard winter and three months of toil and domesticity at Glenn Ceoch had gnawed at her more than it had ever done before. The previous month had been particularly onerous. Preoccupied with treating a run of disease at An Coill Mór, their nearest neighbors at more than a three day march, Bodhmhall had been away for much of that period, only returning to Ráth Bládhma two days earlier. During her absence, severe late winter storms had battered the land with depressing frequency to the point that Liath Luachra had barely ventured beyond the gate for weeks.

  Constraints of any kind, physical or social, had always distressed Liath Luachra, legacy of an insane father who’d repeatedly chained her to a rock as a child. Consumed by fits of madness associated with his regular bouts of drinking, the deranged farmer had been convinced she was trying to poison him. The stomach upsets he suffered had, in fact, been associated with the rotgut liquor he consumed although that possibility had never seemed to occur to him. Instead, he’d interrogate her without respite, beating her when she tried to tell him the truth and then beating her when she made up lies in a desperate attempt to mollify him. In the end, she’d simply shut up and took the punishment, saying nothing as she nurtured a cold hatred in her hardening heart.

  Now, many years later, her father was long dead but physical constraints still had the potential to send her into a sweat-stained panic. The living constraints at Ráth Bládhma, admittedly, were nowhere near as dramatic but they were still enough to spill her into that familiar pattern of behavior she’d come to recognize.

  At first she would grow despondent, increasingly antisocial and withdrawing further and further inside herself. Attempts at interaction from the other members of the settlement would provoke a snarled response. Sensing her explosive hostility, they had wisely left her to her own company. Sitting alone in the empty roundhouse, she had fought the temptation of temporary oblivion from the settlement’s supply of alcohol and, slowly but surely, felt herself fray at the edges.

  It had been an immense relief when the storms had finally blown themselves inside out, dark clouds unfurling to reveal skies that were clear, if distinctly cold. Aodhán’s complaints at the lack of venison had been a convenient excuse to pull on her furs, quit the ráth and leave all of its entanglements behind.

  Most of the others were reluctant to stray too far from Glenn Ceoch or venture into the cloistered forests of the Great Wild beyond the valley entrance. She understood that. On a sunny day, the forest could be a pleasant place, a familiar friend with its abundant firewood, food supplies, and medicines. At other times, however, particularly when the weather changed, it could take on a dark and sullen personality, that familiar friend suddenly becoming menacingly unrecognisable.

  Liath Luachra knew that she had something of a love-hate relationship with the Great Wild. Like most people, she was cautiously respectful of its sheer immensity, the potential for danger that lurked within the thick scrub or slunk through the shadows of the great trees. When humans walked within the forest, their voices echoed thinly amongst the towering trees and in places the green shadowed so much it was almost black. In the Great Wild, people could fan out, spread among its vastness only to be swallowed up by that immensity, never to be seen again.

  She recognized that it was this exact same characteristic of the Great Wild that made it so compelling. There was something deeply attractive about a force so immense it could swallow up all trace of one’s existence. Some nights, sitting alone on guard duty, she would stare out and shiver at the mysterious noises that echoed in from the encircling blackness. And yet, at the same time, part of her recognized the tug of that emptiness, the irresistible pull on her soul and it took a determined effort to resist the idea of dropping her weapons, clambering down the wall and giving herself up to that dark.

  Liath Luachra breathed in, filling her lungs with bracing mountain air and slowly let it out again.

  These things don’t matter. Focus on the hunt.

  She stared down to the heavily wooded valley at the bottom of the slope. From previous hunts, she knew this was a favoured haunt of many deer. The tree cover concealed a rocky fracture in the nearest hill and further in, this widened to a narrow canyon that cut through the hill and emerged out onto the twisted pass known as An Bealach Cam. The route, therefore, offered a secure and safe passage to the higher forest on the other side of the ridge.

  Secure and safe, until today at least.

  Taking a firm grip on the haft of the javelin, she pushed herself off the trunk of the tree with her free hand, using the gradient and the slippery grass to slide quietly down the slope.

  Bearach was waiting for her at the entrance to the crevice. As she drew close, he put a finger to his lips and pointed at the ground where a hoof print was visible in a soft patch of exposed earth. Clucking her tongue quietly, Liath Luachra studied the track with interest. From the size of the imprint, the animal was likely to be a buck. And a big one at that. From the direction of the track, it looked as though it had passed directly into the canyon.

  Bearach grinned with excitement, his teeth a broad slash of white in the shadows. Once again, she gestured for him take the lead. Javelin at the ready, he entered the rocky gap at a low crouch.

  Several paces in, the tight walls of the fracture broadened out into a narrow canyon but the light remained murky, the high cliffs on either side filtering all power from the sickly, grey sunlight. Icicles dangled the length of the cliff tops on either side and the constant patter of dripping water echoed hollowly between the rocky walls. The vegetation here was sparse, consisting of little more than a few mildewed ferns, scraggly plants and a thick layer of moss that coated the various rocks and boulders. Three or four hundred paces down the passage, a dense clump of beech trees occupied the space where the canyon broadened out and marked its intersection with An Bealach Cam.

  Bearach looked at her with an uncertain expression but she shrugged then nodded towards the trees. Possibly the buck was hidden there, possibly it had already sensed their p
resence and slipped forward into the pass.

  Slowly, they advanced towards the little wood, weapons at the ready, Liath Luachra remaining a safe distance to the rear so that the boy could make a clear cast if the opportunity arose. Eventually, he entered the thicket but two or three steps inside the tree line she saw him lower his weapon, glance back over his shoulder and shake his head. The animals had moved on again.

  Liath Luachra cursed. She could see that although the wood was less than twenty paces deep, it was clogged with interlinking branches, withered foliage and brambles. The resulting field of debris would be difficult to negotiate without making any noise. Unhindered by such requirements, the deer would be able to get ahead of them again, advance onwards from An Bealach Cam and disappear up into the higher ridges.

  It took a time but they eventually managed to traverse the little wood without creating too much of a racket and it was Bearach who was first to step foot onto the floor of An Bealach Cam. A tight, but barren, valley weaving through a series of steep hills, it was still mostly covered in snow. Five hundred paces south of where he’d emerged, its steep sides flattened out to a gentle, downhill gradient.

  From behind, Liath Luachra watched the boy step out of cover then halt stiffly as he stared down at the ground. Curious, she pushed her way through the last of the scrub and twisted tree trunks to join him. Emerging onto the pass, she realised what he was looking at: several lines of crushed footprints on the snow covered floor.

  Bearach!

  Liath Luachra grabbed the youth’s cloak and yanked him backwards with her. The force of her action was such that momentum carried them both inside the tree line to land heavily on a layer of dead fern and brambles. Taken completely by surprise, Bearach was too startled to react at first, his exclamation of shock smothered by the hand clamped around his mouth. As he gathered his wits, however, and started to struggle, Liath Luachra brought her lips close to his ear.

  ‘Quiet.’