Fionn- Defence of Ráth Bládhma

by Brian O'Sullivan

  Accustomed to obeying her commands, the boy ceased his attempts to break free. Slowly, she removed her hand and released him.

  Bearach immediately shifted his weight off her and rolled to one side, completing the turn with a smooth upward movement onto the balls of his feet. He stared at her in an aggrieved manner which she ignored as she snapped a loop around the javelin haft and slung it across her back to join the other two. Gesturing for him to follow, she dropped to her belly and wriggled closer to the tree line, concealing herself behind the bulk of a bramble-choked elm. Following her example, the boy crawled closer and both stared out through the scrub at that section of the empty pass. There was no sound to be heard, no noise but the muted whisper of their own breathing and the lonely moan of wind gusting through the valley. Finally, satisfied that they were in no immediate danger, Liath Luachra turned her face close to Bearach. ‘No-one,’ she mouthed.

  The boy opened his mouth to respond but before he had a chance she’d already risen to her feet, warily stepping forwards onto the open ground.

  Shaking his head, Bearach stood up and followed.

  Despite her conviction that they were alone, the woman warrior remained close to the edge of the tree line for a moment or two, eyes flickering from the western end of the pass to a distant curve at the eastern end where it veered a corner and disappeared from sight. Reassured, she approached the trampled snow and bent down to grasp a handful of the powdery material. Raising it to her nose, she sniffed, exhaled through her mouth and sniffed again.

  ‘Not fresh.’

  She stood, tossed the crumpled powder aside and headed for the mouth of the pass, studying the ground as she did so. From her interpretation of the scuffed surface, a large party passing through An Bealach Cam had entered from the east and temporarily halted at this point. A significant number of separate footprints had splintered off from the main trail to gather in smaller clusters, probably to converse with friends or comrades. Others had veered off to the side to piss against the cliff walls or amongst the trees where yellow traces of urine still stained the snow.

  Liath Luachra collated different elements of the story written across the ground before her and finally came to her conclusions. Whoever they were, the party had not remained at the mouth of the pass for very long. Some discussion had taken place, there had been a brief respite for the men – they were all men’s footprints – to catch their breath and wolf down some food. This much was clear from the scattered depressions where people had sat together and the scatter of crumbs and discarded scraps of food.

  While they were waiting, the party had been joined by a single individual, possibly a scout, who’d entered the pass from the west. Perhaps this newcomer had told them something or perhaps they had simply rested enough. Whatever the reason, shortly after his arrival – his tracks were notably fresher – the group had assembled once more, formed a single column and headed out of the pass. They’d departed in a westerly direction, angling towards some hills that avoided the marshes and offered an easier track through the wilderness.

  She raised her head to look Bearach in the eye.

  ‘What do you see?’

  The young man looked surprised to be tested at such a time but obediently bent down to examine the nearest tracks, using the tip of the javelin to sift through the layers of trodden snow.

  ‘Twenty to thirty men.’ He paused and bit his lip. ‘Carrying a lot of weight. But moving fast. In a hurry. They didn’t stay here long.’

  His forehead creased in concentration and he glanced up at Liath Luachra.

  ‘Bandits?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Too many. And from the weight, too well equipped. It’s a fian.’

  Bearach stared at her in surprise. ‘A war party? In winter? Travelling out here in the wild lands? That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘It doesn’t.’

  ‘So where are they going? There aren’t any settlements to the west except for An Coill Mór. Or maybe Ráth Dearg.’ He scratched his chin then his hand rose to nervously pick at the pitiful moustache he’d been attempting to grow over the previous months. ‘But An Coill Mór’s at least three days march north-west. Ráth Dearg’s more than four south west. With nothing but forest and marshland between.’

  Liath Luachra gave a shrug.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. If they keep moving west, they can march to their heart’s content. They’re not our concern as long as they stay clear of Glenn Ceoch.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we warn An Coill Mór?’

  ‘We don’t have the supplies to make a three-day trip. Besides, An Coill Mór is small. This war party will never find them.’

  With this, she turned her back on the youth and examined the ground once more. Despite her apparent indifference, however, she was frowning. The tracks had roused her curiosity. Bearach had the right of it and his incredulity was well warranted. It was hard to believe a fian would be headed for either of the two other settlements out in the Great Wild. An Coill Mór was little more than a farm and had a total population of five people. Ráth Dearg, an admittedly larger holding, was the property of the old warrior Cathal ua Tuarsaig and his extended family. Back in the day, Cathal had the reputation of a ferocious fighter but he’d withdrawn to the isolation of the Great Wild many years ago. It was difficult to imagine anyone still cared enough or held resentment strong enough to lead a war party to attack him.

  She exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the boy’s eyes on her shoulders as she walked parallel to the trodden snow trail, scanning the ground for anything else out of the ordinary. Suddenly, she gave an exclamation of triumph and gestured for Bearach to come closer.

  ‘Here.’

  He approached and she pointed out a faint deer print on an untouched stretch of snow. Several paces further on, there was another, similar print.

  Having anticipated further discussion on the fian, Bearach looked at her with an expression of frustrated incomprehension.

  ‘There’s an animal that shows wisdom,’ declared Liath Luachra. ‘Veering east to avoid the fian. Let’s follow that sensible example and do the same.’

  With a wide grin, she turned and abruptly moved off in an easterly direction, quickly breaking into a powerful, ground-eating stride.

  ‘Come on, Bearach. We may get venison for your brother’s belly yet.’

  ***

  By mid-afternoon, it was clear that they had lost the trail. Presumably alarmed by the presence of so much human activity, the deer had warily moved on, departing from its normal feeding territory and moving further into the Great Wild. It soon became evident that it was headed for the dense forest to the north-west where there would be little chance of finding them.

  The hunters halted to discuss their options, disgusted by such a poor outcome after a long period stalking the animals. Disheartened, it took but a brief discussion for both to agree to return to Ráth Bládhma. Aodhán would, no doubt, grumble at their lack of venison but it was better that the settlement were informed about the fian even if they did return empty-handed.

  No longer constrained by the need to stalk their quarry, the pair knew that they could now make good time and, if they pushed themselves, there was a good chance of reaching the ráth by nightfall. Despite their eagerness for the comfort of the hearth, however, the threat of the fian’s potential return prompted Liath Luachra to ignore the direct route. Opting instead for a more circuitous path, the hunters followed the hills, staying inside the trees and avoiding any open flat land. Later that afternoon, her caution proved well founded when Bearach, who’d taken the lead, slipped on a loose section of snow while hurriedly traversing a stretch of open terrain. Tumbling face first into a nearby drift, he spluttered and brushed the snow from his face, then struggled to his feet.

  ‘Liath Luachra!’

  The hoarseness of the boy’s voice would have alerted the woman warrior but, running close behind him, she’d already spotted what he’d seen; the worn t
rail of footprints. Twenty or thirty men. Moving in single file.

  Frowning, she studied scuffed up tracks in the snow for the second time that day. Her lips pressed tight together as she went down on one knee, slipped a hand out of her mittens and scooped up a handful of snow. After sniffing she threw it aside and stood up again.

  It was the same party. She was sure of it. Here and there, she recognised distinctive markings from the trail encountered earlier that morning: an uncommonly wide boot heel, the one-sided imprint of someone with a limp in their left leg, a sharp triangular impression of a damaged spear haft shaft used like a staff. On this occasion, however, the party was headed in an easterly direction, directly opposite to the one it had taken that morning when departing An Bealach Cam.

  Which meant they’d curved in a wide semi-circle, looping back onto their original track.

  Now why would they do that?

  Her curiosity prickled, an incessant itch too deep beneath the skin to be effectively scratched.

  They can’t be lost. The sky is clear and they can work their direction from the sun.

  Brushing the snow from her knees, she glanced south in the direction of Glenn Ceoch.

  Bearach cleared his throat nervously.

  ‘These tracks are fresher. Less than two hours old. We should get back to the ráth and alert them.’

  Liath Luachra stared around at the empty landscape. Black, forest coated hills, broken here and there by white patches of snow. Apart from the long trail of broken snow there was no other evidence that the fian had passed this way.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘We stay Out.’

  Bearach stared, surprised by this sudden change in plan. Liath Luachra, however, continued to survey the surrounding landscape. Finally, her gaze ceased to drift, focussing in on one of the many forested ridges off to the south-west.’

  ‘Up there.’ She glanced at Bearach. ‘I found a cave to the left of that cleft on the ridge last year. It won’t be comfortable but it’ll serve as shelter for the night.’

  The youth continued to regard her in bafflement. Suddenly, his eyes flared with comprehension.

  ‘The snow. They might see our tracks.’

  ‘Leading them straight back to Ráth Bládhma.’ Liath Luachra nodded. ‘A fian that big, they’ll have scouts out, covering the vanguard and flanks. We’ve been lucky so far. We’ve missed them on two separate occasions.’

  She twisted her shoulder, adjusting the arrangement of the javelins strapped across her back.

  ‘But this set of tracks is more recent. They’ll be closer.’ She nodded decisively to herself as though agreeing with the logic of her own conclusions. ‘The best thing we can do now is to go to ground. Leave as little evidence of our existence as possible.’

  ***

  By the time they’d climbed to the cleft on the hill crest, the sky was beginning to darken, the light turning brittle and grey. The wind had also increased, whipping icy gusts down from the summit to spatter their eyes and faces.

  ‘There it is!’

  Liath Luachra pointed towards a narrow slit in the side of a steep incline, just above the tree line. Pleased to find it exactly where she’d remembered, she approached the craggy cave mouth. It seemed a bit narrower than she recalled but it was definitely the place.

  A rocky passage curled inwards from the entrance for a distance of about seven or eight paces before veering off sharply to the left. Here it widened to form a circular chamber with a high curved ceiling. In one wall, there was a wide ledge at the height of a tall man’s head. Accessible using a rough series of hollows and notches that pockmarked the rocky surface, it provided a secure place to sleep.

  Liath Luachra dumped an armful of kindling and branches onto the floor then left Bearach to coax a fire to life while she went outside and down to the trees to seek additional fuel. After returning several times with armfuls of the driest wood she could find, she hacked a number of branches from a nearby gorse bush and used them to plug the entrance to the cave. As a barrier, the spiny shrub did not present a serious obstacle, however its voluminous branches would serve as a credible windbreak to prevent the worst of the gale from entering the cave. More importantly, they would also help to shield any light from the fire that might seep out from the inner chamber.

  When the gap was sealed to her satisfaction, Liath Luachra joined the youth, sitting by the small fire he’d managed to put together. Bearach had also laid their rations out on a flat rock beside the fire; two portions of salted fish, blood cake and some hard bread, all wrapped in broad, green dock leaves.

  They ate the frugal meal in silence, the woman warrior chewing without relish on the tasteless hard tack. It was hardly a feast but it was certainly not the worst she’d eaten. With her habitual pragmatism, she accepted the food for what it was; simple replenishment to keep the hunger pangs at bay.

  Beside her, somewhat more forthright, Bearach sighed and grimaced melodramatically with each mouthful.

  ‘Some roasted meat would have been nice.’

  Liath Luachra gave him a sideward glance, one eyebrow raised.

  ‘You’re as bad as your brother.’

  ‘But Aodhán has a point. He likes his meat. This is like chewing dog turds. I wish we’d brought some decent food with us.’

  Liath Luachra rewarded his opinion with a look of disdain. Tossing the empty dock leaves aside, she slowly got to her feet and then twisted her hips so that she could slip her right hand down the back of her woollen leggings. Bearach watched in growing bewilderment as she grunted loudly, forehead creased as though in immense concentration.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Be quiet. I’m trying to pull some nice fresh venison out of my ass for your dinner.’

  He stared at her blankly then suddenly his head rolled back and a raucous guffaw echoed around the cave, resounding off the hard chamber walls to fill the enclosed space with laughter. Infected by his contagious good humour, Liath Luachra started to laugh as well and, for a moment, a great weight slipped from her shoulders.

  When they’d finished eating the last scraps of food, Bearach climbed up to the rocky shelf to unroll their bedding; two double-layered wool blankets. He spread these out across a cushion of spruce cuttings that he’d trampled flat on the rock base and strewn with dead leaves bundled up from the cavern floor.

  Liath Luachra regarded the sleeping arrangements with little enthusiasm.

  Hard dreams tonight, then.

  ‘You go ahead and sleep,’ she instructed the boy. ‘I want to think and I need to be alone to work out the way of things. I’ll come join you when I’m ready.’

  Shrugging, Bearach retired to his bedroll and lay down, fully clothed, on the thin bedding. They would have no covering layer tonight, relying on their shared body heat, the fire and the shelter of the cave to keep them warm until morning.

  Exhausted from the day’s exertions, it did not take the boy long to fade and within a short period of time, a soft snore emanated from the huddle he made.

  Liath Luachra remained seated before the small fire, adding some dry sticks then rubbing her palms together before the brief flare of heat they produced. Outside, the temperature would have plummeted but it was still pleasantly warm within the cave, the rocky walls reflecting the heat of the fire back on her. Later in the night, when the fire had died down, the accumulated heat would slowly seep out through the cave entrance, despite her best efforts to seal them in.

  She glanced back over her shoulder and up to the ledge where Bearach was visible, sleeping quietly. She released a long sigh. Originally intending to travel alone, she’d allowed the boy to beat her resistance down with his good humour and boundless enthusiasm, somehow convincing her to let him come. She was still unsure how he’d actually managed to do that, to weasel his way past her habitual resolve.

  The fire crackled and a low draught stirred the scent of burning pine up to her nostrils.

  She had never been particularly good with child
ren, unable to relate to their weakness, their innocence and complete dependency on adults. Her own childhood had taught her that there were only two types of people: those who were tough enough to survive and those who died. It was a simple as that.

  And yet it wasn’t, of course.

  Three years at Ráth Bládhma had changed her beliefs on many things. Somehow, over that time, the routine domesticity and Bodhmhall’s calming influence had mellowed her, worn down her more jagged edges. Until accompanying Bodhmhall to Ráth Bládhma she had never really known such an extended period of calm, of tranquillity. In the new settlement, for the first time in her life, she was surrounded by people she actually liked, people who respected her presence there as much for her company as for her martial skills.

  You are getting soft, Liath Luachra. Life at Ráth Bládhma has made you soft and fat.

  Sometimes she wished she could cut old memories from her mind, peel them away in the same way she’d peel the skin from a potato. If such things were possible she would have pared away all the pain, all the memories, long ago and tossed them into the air to let the wind take them away.

  She chuckled at her own inanities. She was only fooling herself. The pain made her who she was. The pain made her hard and ruthless and, sometimes, ruthlessness was necessary to combat those who threatened you.

  And there was always someone who would threaten you.

  Someone like the fian.

  The thought of the war party instantly dissolved any remaining trace of good humour, burning it off like frost on a sunny morning. She stared at the fire and cursed softly. For the sake of the boy she’d feigned indifference throughout the afternoon but the presence of the fian concerned her greatly, particularly as she could not work out the rationale behind it. It made no sense to rouse a war party at this time of the year, a time when most people were struggling to survive the hardships of winter. Its presence in these lands made even less sense. Settlements were few and scattered and none had sufficient booty to warrant a raid of such a large group of men, none that she was aware of at least.

  And then there was the question of the fian’s erratic behaviour. Why would they make such fitful changes in direction? There had been no threat for them to respond to so they had to be searching for someone. Or something.