Fiacail flicked a glance to his two kinsmen who, wordlessly, rose to their feet. Escorted by Aodhán and Conchenn, they quietly left the roundhouse.
When the others had departed, Bodhmhall raised her eyes and considered each of the four remaining individuals in turn. ‘We should speak of Muirne,’ she said.
No-one spoke but the tension was evident in the body language of those gathered around the fire. Muirne Muncháem’s bearing, in particular, was tense and stiff as she awaited the decision of her hosts.
Bodhmhall turned to the Flower of Almhu.
‘I will not insult you by softening the reality with honeyed words, Muirne. I have sought the counsel of my advisors. Both recommend that you be cast from Ráth Bládhma at first light.’
Muirne blanched but, to her credit, accepted the news with no other evidence of the despair she must surely have been feeling. Dropping her eyes to the ground, she nodded with stoic dignity. ‘Of course. If that is the desire of Muinntir Bládhma, I will leave at first light.’
‘You misunderstand me. That was the opinion of my advisors. It was not my final decision.’
Startled, Muirne raised her head to stare at her host with an expression that was equal parts hope and wariness. ‘You do not share the opinion of your advisors?’
‘In all honesty, I felt their advice sound. They recommend that which is clearly in the best interests of Ráth Bládhma. But -’ She picked up a wooden spoon and absently tapped it against her knee while the others watched on. ‘There are other factors to be considered. Duties of hospitality, family ties ...’
Her voice trailed off momentarily as she stared at Muirne’s swollen belly.
‘The future of Clann Baoiscne may lie within your womb and although I’ve given the matter consideration I’m unable to see a clear path through the thorns you plant before us.’ She grew silent for a moment, as though planning her next words. ‘I have decided that I will require further wisdom, I will seek imbas to identify the path that best suits our purpose. Until then, you may remain at Ráth Bládhma.’
Even as she spoke, Bodhmhall was surreptitiously assessing the faces about her. Muirne was pale but clearly relieved. Cairbre, calm and patient as always, simply awaited his mistress’s lead. Fiacail mac Codhna, conversely, had a great grin plastered across his features. The warrior had remained uncharacteristically restrained throughout the evening’s activities. Although he bore neither party any particular ill will, neither was he averse to stirring up a situation and then sitting back to enjoy the fruits of his devilment. For some reason, Fiacail often derived enjoyment or diversion from such situations. For the moment, fortunately, he seemed content to merely observe.
Liath Luachra as ever, appeared impassive. While Bodhmhall spoke, she remained resignedly silent, staring straight ahead into the fire as though preoccupied with some great internal deliberations of her own. Bodhmhall had informed her of her decision in advance, of course, but it couldn’t have been pleasant hearing it when the source of such enmity was sitting directly across the fire from her.
Muirne’s response, therefore, was particularly ill-judged.
‘I thank the Gods that they have granted you the sense to meet your family duties.’
Bodhmhall saw the Grey One stiffen, the bread half-raised to her mouth, frozen in place. ‘Family duties,’ she spat. ‘Do you not understand, foul-smelling flower! Your actions bring the wrath of Clann Morna upon us.’
‘Clann Morna does not know I have come here.’
‘Clann Morna may not know but they must strongly suspect it,’ spat Liath Luachra. ‘A fian beats the forests of the Great Wild searching for you.’
A fian!’ Muirne stared at her with wide eyes.’
‘Two fian, in fact,’ pressed Liath Luachra. ‘And as if that weren’t trouble enough, you and your unborn whelp have also attracted the interest of a Tainted One.’
‘A Tainted One!’
‘Yes. A seeker who now searches our land for you and your child.’
This further revelation prompted a shocked silence from their visitors. Fiacail looked as though he’d been struck across the face. Muirne looked back at them with a haunted expression. Her jaw began to quiver and for the first time since arriving at Ráth Bládhma, she revealed what she truly was; a terrified young mother.
This involuntary lapse did not last, however. Conscious of the fragility she’d inadvertently exposed, the Flower of Almhu clamped her jaw shut, grasped about clumsily on the floor behind her then pulled a bulky satchel forward. As the others watched on in curiosity, she plunged her hand inside and withdrew a wolf pelt which she defiantly flung on the ground beside the fire.
‘This creature attempted to eat us: me and my baby. I swear to you all that anyone who seeks to harm my child will suffer a similar fate.’
There was a momentary silence as the others considered the pelt. The skin was rough and had been poorly skinned but from the size of it the animal had obviously been no cub.
‘What did you do?’ asked Liath Luachra at last. ‘Lash it to death with your tongue?’
Muirne stiffened and her face grew red and ugly. For a moment it looked as though she might launch herself, belly and all, across the fire at the woman warrior.
Bodhmhall made a calming gesture. ‘We do not need to -’
‘That’s what I like about you, Liath Luachra,’ said Muirne, ignoring her. ‘Many women lie awake at night dreaming of a cock between their legs but you, you lie awake dreaming that you’re hung like a stud bull.’
There was a stunned silence in the wake of Muirne’s outburst.
Oh Gods, no!
In despair, Bodhmhall watched the flash of life-light between the two women, their internal flames blazing up as though someone had tossed oil on a bonfire. Muirne’s was radiating a frightening yellow intensity that all but obscured the lower glow of her unborn child. Liath Luachra’s, meanwhile was repeatedly expanding and contracting, red flecks growing brighter and brighter. Bodhmhall stared at them in alarm, feeling the situation spinning wildly out of her control.
‘I’m hung like a bull,’ said Fiacail.
The company was momentarily distracted as all eyes turned to stare at the broad-shouldered warrior. Fiacail, apparently oblivious to the consternation he’d provoked, was working to remove a sliver of meat from between his teeth with the point of a sharp knife. Putting the weapon to one side he looked around at his silent audience.
‘What? Do you want me to whip it out and show you?’
‘No!’
The startled chorus from the females was probably the first time all present had ever been in unanimous agreement. Fiacail, however, was unimpressed by their reaction. ‘You don’t need to act all high and mighty. At least two of you know this claim for fact.’
There was another startled silence as the three women looked at one another. Liath Luachra suddenly released a bark of amusement.
‘Gods, Muirne! Oh, that is beautiful! You and Fiacail were slapping buttock skin!’
Bodhmhall stared in consternation from one visitor to the other.
‘What? Is this true?’
Their visitor did her best to appear nonplussed but was visibly flustered by the unanticipated disclosure. ‘Don’t worry yourself, cousin. That was a long time ago. After your separation from Fiacail.’
Observing that her words had in no way placated the bristling bandraoi, the Flower of Almhu opted for an alternative approach.
‘And I assure you, it took place before my marriage to Cumhal.’
‘I wonder if my brother would have been so willing to wed had he known he was sipping such a well-tasted wine.’
Muirne’s face clouded.
‘Your brother was no stranger to midnight visits. In Dún Baoiscne he had his share of –’
‘I’m aware of Cumhal’s activities but he had, at least, the integrity to declare as much before the marriage. You, Muirne Muncháem, were presented to Clann Baoiscne as the unsullied blossom that would unite our
two families.’
‘I think -’ said Fiacail. ‘You mean the unplucked Flower’. With this he erupted into a howl of uproarious laughter.
Muirne, furious, staggered to her feet, her face flushed and angry. For a moment she looked as though she was about to bellow at Fiacail but then, to everyone surprise, she stopped and looked down at her feet. Bodhmhall followed her eyes downwards to where a small puddle was spreading across the floor.
‘This council is concluded,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Please leave now.’
‘Are you joking?’ demanded Fiacail, completely unaware of what had just taken place. ‘Things are just starting to get interesting and if you think -’ His eyes fell on the puddle at Muirne’s feet. ‘Oh, look! Muirne’s so angry she’s pissed herself.’
‘Get out!’ roared Bodhmhall. ‘Now, you fool! Muirne’s waters have broken.’
The warrior stared at her in astonishment, transferred his gaze to the ashen-faced Muirne and then down to the growing puddle. His jaw dropped.
‘Out,’ snapped Bodhmhall. ‘Now!’
Without further argument, Fiacail scrambled to his feet and scuttled from the roundhouse, Cairbre hot on his heels.
Bodhmhall turned to where Liath Luachra was standing, observing the flurry of activity about her with her habitual calm. The bandraoi regarded her uncertainly. ‘You wish to stay and help?’
‘I would sooner poke a stick up my ass and erect myself as totem,’ said Liath Luachra, backing away, both palms held defensively outwards. With this she turned and left the roundhouse.
Taking a deep breath, the bandraoi turned her attention back to their visitor who was now backed up against the central pole, holding her stomach and staring down at it in dismay. When she finally noticed Bodhmhall standing before her, she gritted her teeth.
‘Enjoy your moment, Cailleach Dubh. It must give you great pleasure to see me humiliated so.’
‘Not really.’ Bodhmhall pressed a hand against the other woman’s belly then felt it from several different positions. ‘This will be a hard birth,’ she concluded.
Muirne grimaced against the pain and when it had passed she gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Hard life, hard birth. There will be pain and then there will be none.’
And with that, the Gift suddenly manifested itself again.
It had been so long since she’d experienced a true vision that Bodhmhall wasn’t quite sure what was happening at first. The walls of the roundhouse just seemed to recede then faded completely to black. The fire pit remained and Muirne Muncháem remained but Conchenn had disappeared. She tried to speak but no words came out. Slowly, remarkably slowly, the flames in the fire-pit appeared to subside but even as the light disappeared it was replaced by another light blazing out from Muirne’s womb.
And then it was gone.
‘... are you doing?’
‘What?’ Dazed, Bodhmhall stared at the red-faced Muirne.
‘What are you doing? Why are you looking at me like that?’
Bodhmhall continued to stare blankly. Then the realisation hit her. ‘It’s the child, isn’t it? Cumhal’s child. They don’t care about you. It’s the infant they seek, the fian and that ‘Tainted One’.
‘What are you talking about?’ Muirne glared in furious incomprehension. Bodhmhall shook her head with an embittered laugh. So stupid! The evidence had been there before her all this time but, preoccupied by other issues, her heart had not allowed her eyes to see it.
‘Muirne Muncháem,’ she said. ‘You ask for your freedom and for your life.’
‘You know that is why I’m here, Bodhmhall! Tréanmór and your family are in a position of weakness after the battle at Cnucha. It was only a matter of time before sufficient pressure was applied, before they were forced to offer me to Clann Morna.’
‘And you also wish the life and freedom of your son.’
The Flower of Almhu groaned and gritted her teeth again. ‘Of course I do.’
Bodhmhall frowned. ‘There is something different about your son, Muirne. His inner flame flares like none I’ve ever seen before. All I can tell for sure is that there will be a high price associated with this birth, a price to give him life and a price to save him. I need to know if you are willing to accept this price.’
‘There is always a price.’
‘This is a price you may not wish to pay.’
The Flower of Almhu returned her stare. ‘Will it save my son?’
Bodhmhall nodded.
‘Then,’ she said decisively. ‘I will pay.’
***
As predicted, Muirne Muncháem’s labour proved difficult. Although in a physical sense, the birth was not complicated – the infant was neither breeched nor twisted – the process was ironically hampered by the mother herself. Raised in isolation at Almhu under the unyielding tutelage of her politically-minded parents, Muirne has been taught everything there was to know about political machinations, tribal affiliations and leverage mechanisms. With respect to basic facts such as childbirth, however, she knew next to nothing. Ignorant and disconnected from the workings of her own body, she was close to panic when her waters broke and the contractions started.
For the first few hours, Bodhmhall worked to reassure the Flower of Almhu, to help her relax into the pattern of contractions, to focus on her breathing and control the pain while she applied steady pressure on the younger woman’s lower back. As the dilation increased and the contractions closed in, Muirne’s mind had fought the natural instincts of her body and she’d screamed in pain and terror.
For Bodhmhall, the ordeal was doubly distressing. Not only did the bandraoi have to deal with the immediate physical practicalities of the mother’s panic, that panic was effectively reflected and magnified through the flames of Muirne’s life-light and the life-light of her increasingly stressed unborn child.
To make matters worse, the increasing severity of the storm meant that the roundhouse shuddered violently, struck by a relentless series of ferocious squalls. In a surreal twist, the bandraoi also thought she could hear snatches of song amidst the howling gale and Muirne’s terrified shrieks. It was only later she realised that Fiacail, evacuating the female-dominated roundhouse, had snatched a container of the uisce beatha. Retiring to the lean-to where his kinsmen were bedded down, the three men had started drinking, subsequently breaking out into a bawdy sing-song. The raucous singing continued endlessly from the little shelter, a masculine counterpoint to the high-pitched wails of childbirth.
It was well after midnight when the child finally emerged, entering the world in a slick coat of blood and fluid that did nothing to temper the brightness of its aura. Bodhmhall stared down at the newborn in her hands, radiating a glow that left her breathless and emotionally dazzled. To her surprise, the infant had the thumb of its right hand in its mouth. When she made to remove the thumb to clear the mucous, it released an immediate howl of disapproval.
‘Is it is a boy?’ gasped Muirne. Her face was pale and wet with sweat.
‘It is a boy,’ Bodhmhall confirmed. Muirne’s instinct had proven correct, after all. ‘He needs to suckle.’
Wrapping the infant in a fur blanket, she laid him down alongside his mother. Almost immediately, he settled in on the breast and started to suck. As she watched the mother with her tiny newborn nestled at her breast, Bodhmhall felt something move inside her. She did not need the aid of her Gift to know that her world would never be the same.
Chapter Four
During the night, the storm had blown itself inside out. By morning, its fury had waned, the frantic winds calmed to an exhausted apathy. The air was still when Bodhmhall emerged from the roundhouse; still, not as cold but laden with a thick fog that dampened all colour and sound. Halting at the doorway, she considered the ghostly structures of the other roundhouse, the lean-tos and the almost invisible cattle pen where indistinct shapes moved and lowed softly. She was struck not only by the stark contrast in the weather but by how closely it mirrored the recent variations to he
r own emotional state. Retiring to her bed in the early hours, she had been exhausted, worn down by the escalating series of unforeseen events: the assault by the Tainted One, the disappearance of Liath Luachra, Muirne and Fiacail’s unexpected appearance, the threat of a hostile fian and the subsequent news of her brother’s death. The midnight delivery of her nephew, Muirne and Cumhal’s child, had been the final straw, a physical exertion that had pushed her to her limits. Leaving the sleeping mother and child, she’d barely noticed the screaming wind as she’d traversed the lis to Cairbre’s roundhouse, her head reeling into darkness as soon as she’d hit the mattress.
But my nephew is safe. And Liath Luachra is back.
She turned to look back inside at the sleeping platform where the woman warrior was a formless shape huddled beneath several layers of furs. Such things as this were the little anchors that held her in sheltered harbour, the emotional handholds that helped her maintain a grip on her sanity in such precarious times. Those and the opportunity for disconnection, the simple respite of a decent night’s sleep.
Until the next challenge comes to confront us.
A harsh cough from the fog-coated rampart drew her back from such ethereal considerations. It was followed almost immediately by the rasp of a throat being cleared and a soggy, mucous-filled spit.
Staring up at the nearby southern embankment where the sound had seemed to originate, Bodhmhall stiffened in surprise when a naked man strolled out of the wispy brume.
Fiacail!
The warrior presented a somewhat surreal spectacle against the misty backdrop. Bareskinned, he nonchalantly wandered along that visible section of the rampart, absently scratching his left buttock, until he reached the eastern postern. Here, he finally drew to a halt, planted both feet apart and stretched two mighty arms towards the sky. Gazing up at the sun, glowing feebly through the mist like an ember in the ashes, he slowly began to chant.
‘I greet you Warm One.
Fionn- Defence of Ráth Bládhma Page 11