Hearts pounding, they watched in silence as the warrior urinated, oblivious to their presence. Finally, to their immense relief, he finished, grunted, and turned on his heel, disappearing back into the trees from where he’d first emerged.
The two Ráth Bládhma warriors looked at each other, too shaken to speak. Recovering from the shock, they quickly hurried after the warrior. With the fading daylight, the shadows continued to thicken but they were able to keep him in sight, a darker patch moving through the grey wisps ahead of them.
After a short distance, the warrior took a steep path that descended into a very narrow gorge heavily clogged with fern and holly and, further in, with a thick copse of oak. Here, Liath Luachra and Aodhán paused, unwilling to proceed further for fear of being trapped within the tight confines of the cliffs on either side. The óglach looked at Liath Luachra, his face pale and sweating.
‘Stay here!’ she mouthed.
Moving forwards, she skirted the entrance and proceeded along the cliffs to the left. Despite the deepening darkness, she kept several paces from the lip to avoid being seen from below. It wasn’t long before the sounds of a large body of people reached her ears: heavy blundering noises, the clatter of metal and wood, the murmur of voices punctuated by an occasional guffaw or coarse laughter. A moment later, she caught the first trace of wood smoke and the smell of roasting meat.
She grudgingly conceded that the fian had chosen their campsite well. The narrow glen was not only close to a supply of fresh water, but its position and depth meant that it was well protected from the prevailing wind and impossible to detect unless – as was the case with Liath Luachra and Aodhán – it was stumbled upon.
Further along the cliff top, the vegetation cleared. Dropping to her stomach, she wriggled closer to the edge and looked down to catch her first glimpse of the gorge’s occupants. Her heart sank as she counted five – no six – campfires. Large clusters of men had gathered about the fires, many of them packed tightly together within the confined space, lying with limbs overlapped like a tangle of murky tree roots. A wordless growl of frustration rose in the back of her throat as she looked over the shifting mass of bodies. She hadn’t seen so many warriors together in one place since the old days, a period she’d thought behind her forever. As far as she could tell, the warriors were all part of the same group as the Tainted One’s bodyguards for they looked similar: dark-haired, dark eyed, filthy faces layered with those terrifying tattoos and scars. Most looked to be heavily armed for there were numerous spears, javelins, short metal swords and axes gleaming in the light of the fires. She also saw a number of circular, black coloured shields interspersed amongst the bodies and vegetation.
The single most disturbing aspect about the gathered warriors was their personal ornamentation. Many of them wore necklaces which looked to have been made from human teeth or ears, although at this distance it was difficult to be sure.
One fierce looking warrior, situated by the trees almost directly below her, had somehow convinced or coerced his comrades to pull back from the fire to give him some space. This hardy individual was standing stark naked despite the cold, revealing a torso coated in black tattoos and hands dyed bright red to the elbow. He appeared to be performing some strange kind of ritual dance, breathing in noxious fumes from a bowl in his left hand as he swayed back and forth to some internal rhythm that only he could hear.
As Liath Luachra watched, she saw him cease his dance and reach down and tug some meat from one of the bubbling pots. It was only as he raised it to his mouth that she realised he was holding -
A human hand!
A stream of nausea ripped through her as she saw him tear off a chunk of flesh with his teeth. Unable to watch, she scuttled desperately backwards, despite the risk of being heard. Twisting around, she slithered back into the brambles and scrub deep within the trees and, shuddering, grasped the rough solidity of a nearby pine. Hugging onto the rough bark until it hurt, she struggled to control her panicked wheeze.
Corpse Gnawers. Flesh Eaters.
For the first time in her life, Liath Luachra felt the bitter stab of despair, of complete and utter hopelessness. Like the Tainted One, such men were lost, beyond salvation of any kind.
And they were coming to Ráth Bládhma.
***
The Ráth Bládhma warriors passed a restless night camped as far from the fian as they could safely travel in the dark. Uncomfortable and distressed by what they’d learned, sleep did not come easily and was intermittent at best throughout the dark hours.
They broke camp before dawn, eager to get as much distance as possible between themselves and the fian and to alert the settlement to the approaching threat. They travelled quickly, unhindered by a hangover on this occasion, and much more familiar with the territory they were traversing. Despite their progress, Liath Luachra could not shake off the sense that they were travelling too slowly. The burden of what she’d seen in the fian’s camp the night before weighed her down in a spiritual, if not a physical, sense.
It was late afternoon before the hills of Bládhma appeared in view. When they finally neared the ráth, they were strung out from their encounter with Tóla at the entrance to Glenn Ceoch. Desperate to reach the settlement, they’d been hurrying along the path below the southern ridge when the Seiscenn Uarbhaoil warrior had lurched out of the bush, alarming them with a high-pitched, blood-curdling scream. Their panicked reaction had greatly amused him. Delighted with his joke, he’d ignored their curses and laughed harshly as he disappeared back into the trees.
The two travellers found the ráth locked up tight as they drew close, the entrance barricaded, the livestock already interned and no sign of activity on the ramparts. At the outer edge of the causeway, they halted in shock, confronted by a pair of poles that had been set into the ground. Both bore a human head, impaled from the neck up and stained with drips of blood. Liath Luachra stared at them in alarm, recognising the distinctive patterns of the fian warrior tattoos. She looked to Aodhán who shrugged, evidently just as bewildered as her.
They were still examining the heads when Bearach and Cónán appeared on the gateway rampart and a series of delighted yells shattered the silence of the valley. The two brothers disappeared from sight but Liath Luachra could hear the distant scuffle as they descended to the lis to dismantle the gateway barrier. Moments later, they were outside, running across the causeway to launch themselves on their comrade and sibling.
Aodhán was understandably delighted to see his brothers, particularly the younger Cónán, and returned their embrace with enthusiasm. The warrior woman attempted a smile but despite the joyous welcome she was too dispirited to feel any real elation at their homecoming. Deflecting the boys’ most effusive questions, she advanced onto the causeway only to be confronted by the sight of Fiacail mac Codhna arriving out through the gateway. The big warrior stopped in his tracks when he saw them, his demeanour stiff and strained as he regarded them both.
‘I see you, Liath Luachra.’
‘I see you, Fiacail mac Codhna. You do not seem overjoyed by our safe return.’
‘I did not expect you back,’ the Seiscenn Uarbhaoil man admitted.
There was an awkward silence as the two warriors eyed each other. Eventually, Liath Luachra relented and tossed her head towards the nearest post. ‘These heads. This is your doing?’
‘Yes,’ confirmed Fiacail and from his tone she could tell that he was pleased with his handiwork. ‘Two scouts from the fian come to spy on the defences and report back to their masters. Now, they report back a message that we see fit to convey.’
Liath Luachra considered the two heads once more. Under normal circumstances she would have been infuriated by such presumptive actions from a guest but she was too tired to feel any real emotion. Besides, she reasoned, it had to be acknowledged that these were not normal circumstances and Fiacail had protected the ráth during her absence. ‘This may provoke their wrath?’ she said at last.
He shrug
ged. ‘I have found that in times of fear and doubt, it can be effective to act obnoxious or bold. It makes people think twice about confronting you.’
‘Then you must be constantly terrified.’
His expression darkened. ‘Maybe you should ask their opinion,’ he suggested, tossing one thumb towards the two heads.
‘We can ask their comrades,’ she said quietly. ‘The fian are close. They will be in Glenn Ceoch the day after tomorrow.’
That shut the Seiscenn Uarbhaoil man up. He looked at her and, for just a moment, she saw her own fear reflected back at her. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the expression was gone, smothered beneath a beatific smile. Fiacail was Fiacail once more; grinning, scoffing, irrepressible as ever.
‘Yes, we know. They are following the trail left by some refugees from Ráth Dearg.’
‘Cathal ua Cuan’s people?’ The news took Liath Luachra by surprise.
‘The very same. They came in a few days ago. As did a group from An Coill Mór with Cónán this morning. They’d found tracks of fian scouts sniffing around their settlement so they timed their departure well.’ He grinned. ‘The ráth now has a substantial defensive force to call upon. Twelve fighters, by my reckoning. That includes Cathal ua Cuan, the four Coill Mór men, my Seiscenn Uarbhaoil contingent and your own Ráth Bládhma defenders.’
‘There are forty-three of them,’ she said. ‘I counted. Three times.’
Once again, her words acted like a blow to his good spirits. He laughed, but to her ears, the laughter sounded strained, the threat dragging his humour down.
‘When they carry out a full scale attack on the ráth,’ said Aodhán, keen to make his own contribution, ‘we will not be able to fight them off. Even twelve fighters are not enough to repel that many warriors.’
The tall man rubbed his chin, dragging finger nails through the thickening stubble. Finally he looked from the óglach to the woman warrior. ‘Well, aren’t you the pair with dry balls,’ he muttered. ‘Sprinkling misery on everyone’s spirits.’
Liath Luachra returned his glare without expression. She’d had her fill of talk. At that moment, all she wanted to do was enter the ráth, find Bodhmhall and rest.
‘Liath Luachra!’
The call drew her attention to the gateway where the bandraoi had suddenly appeared, an expression of immense relief spread across her features. She rushed across the causeway to grasp the woman warrior by the shoulders.
‘Liath Luachra! And Aodhán! I did not dare hope and now -’ Overcome by emotion, she was unable to finish the sentence. She stared at her conradh, the smile fading in confusion at the flat and listless response. ‘The Tainted One,’ she asked. ‘Is it not –’
‘Dead. But we are not safe. The fian are coming. They will be here the morning after tomorrow. Their trail follows the longer path from Ráth Dearg. Aodhán and I took the steeper Searc Beag path to gain a day on them.’
The news struck Bodhmhall hard for her face paled, stark against the raven darkness of her hair. She clutched anxiously at the stone pendant about her neck but, despite her evident trepidation, she recovered quickly, her voice remarkably composed when she spoke again.
‘We’d assumed they would follow the refugees from Ráth Dearg.’ The bandraoi frowned and bit her lower lip. ‘But to have our fears confirmed adds unwelcome substance to them. Is there any chance that ...?’ Her voice trailed off as she saw the bleak expression on the Grey One’s face.
Liath Luachra quietly shook her head. Bodhmhall was hoping against hope that the fian would not locate them but it was not something she could reassure her of, no matter how much she wanted to. The Grey One cleared her throat, wondering how to break the news of what she’d seen in the gorge the previous evening. Before she could speak, Fiacail stepped forward, pushing himself into the conversation.
‘There are issues of consequence that we need to discuss. The people are gathering and will seek clear direction.’
Liath Luachra glanced at him in surprise.
‘We have called an assembly,’ Bodhmhall explained. ‘The people are coming together within the lis, even as we speak. That is why the ráth has been secured so early.’
The warrior woman nodded and turned to Cairbre’s three sons who were standing alongside, listening in with evident interest. ‘Aodhán, go in with your brothers. Get them to give you some food. Bodhmhall and I need to confer with our guest.’ She emphasised the last word for Fiacail’s benefit, a gentle reminder of his status at the settlement.
The óglach glowered, clearly resenting the fact that he was being dismissed with his younger brothers. Nevertheless, he did as he was asked.
When the boys had disappeared inside, Fiacail quickly got to the point. ‘Our predicament worsens.’ He looked briefly at Liath Luachra as though she were somehow responsible then directed his full attention to Bodhmhall. ‘There are over forty warriors arching on us. The fate of Ráth Bládhma lies in your hands, Bodhmhall. People want to know what fate awaits them.’
With that, he paused. A deep but intense silence stretched between the warrior and the bandraoi. Liath Luachra looked from one of them to the other, unsure of the meaning behind those words but sensing the stress they caused Bodhmhall. Reaching over, she placed a hand on the bandraoi’s arm. ‘We should leave. We should release the cattle, pack whatever we can tonight and head into the Great Wild at first light tomorrow.’
The bandraoi held her gaze. She seemed to have aged several years since the warrior woman had last seen her, a mere three days earlier. Some of that was fatigue and tension, of course. But there was more to it than that. Her eyes seemed to have had lost their lustre, their usual erudite confidence. Instead, she looked burdened. And sad, so very terribly sad as she slowly shook her head. ‘I have had this conversation with Fiacail. There is nowhere else to go. Nowhere we can take the refugees.’
She looked at each in turn then turned to stare at the tattooed head on the pole beside her, the mouth hanging open, the eyes wide and vacant. ‘Our options continue to dwindle,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Cairbre was right.’
‘There is Seiscenn Uarbhaoil,’ insisted Fiacail. Again he looked at her with an intensity that seemed at odds with the simplicity of his words.
‘The children will never make it to Seiscenn Uarbhaoil. I will stay and fight.’
Liath Luachra looked at her in surprise. ‘If it is your intention to stand and fight then we must develop a plan to undermine the fian’s advantage in numbers.’
Fiacail gave a scathing laugh. ‘And how would you propose achieving that?’
The woman warrior didn’t appreciate his belligerent manner but she was too deflated to argue the point. Instead, she settled for a shrug. ‘Skirmishers. Two or three warriors placed on the outside to split their forces.’
Fiacail considered the possibility. ‘Yes,’ he admitted grudgingly. He kicked idly at a clod of earth to send it tumbling into the ditch. ‘It’s possible they could be provoked, somehow. Perhaps a proportion of them could be drawn away from the ráth. And I like the idea of being proactive. Waiting inside the ráth for them to attack at their leisure does not sit well with me.’
‘Sit well with you? Running for Seiscenn Uarbhaoil with your tail between your legs, the subject is hardly going to be a matter for your concern.’
Fiacail frowned and scratched his forehead. ‘There has … There has been a rethinking. My men and I will remain.’
Gods!
Liath Luachra stared. Bodhmhall, however, beamed at the big man with heartfelt gratitude. ‘Fiacail, I …’
‘Did you really think,’ he said awkwardly, ‘that I could just walk away and leave you to your fate?’ Fiacail shuffled self-consciously and looked away.
‘Yes,’ said Liath Luachra, before the bandraoi had a chance to respond.
Fiacail scowled. ‘Were it just you, Liath Luachra, I would have run away, cheering. Waving a banner and telling all I met of my happy news.’
The woman warrior tensed
but Bodhmhall stepped between the two, physically separating them. ‘Enough,’ she warned, some of the old fire glowing in her eyes. She reached forward and put a hand on Fiacail’s shoulder.
‘I cannot lie and say your support is not very welcome, Fiacail but -’
‘Just accept the offer as it is gifted, Bodhmhall,’ he interrupted, his stance surprisingly rigid. ‘Freely given. Without condition. Let us discuss it no further.’
Liath Luachra continued to watch the Seiscenn Uarbhaoil man with suspicion, resenting his evident closeness with Bodhmhall. Despite her glare, Fiacail ignored her until he was ready to return to practical matters.
‘I agree that the idea of skirmishers has merit. But their exposure would be a concern. The woods on either side of the valley are not deep and bank up onto steep cliffs. Places of concealment will be limited. Skirmishers would be hard pressed to escape any structured pursuit.’
With this, he turned to look back at the embankment and its upper layer of pilings, assessing the force of fighters needed to hold it. ‘The ráth would need to maintain a sufficiently strong defending force but we could get Tóla or Ultán and one of your óglachs ...
‘No,’ said Liath Luachra.
Unaccustomed to interruption, Fiacail’s eyes narrowed. ‘What?’
‘I would go out.’
‘You are conradh of the ráth.’
‘I am also the logical choice. I know this valley, every hiding place, every nook and cranny and the surrounding territory better than anyone else. The raiders would not be able to corner me.’
At first.
‘Besides’, she added. ‘I am relatively certain your men would not follow my instructions without your leave.’
The warrior looked at her grimly then nodded, acknowledging the truth of what she was saying. ‘If you are Out who will lead the defence of the ráth?’
Fionn- Defence of Ráth Bládhma Page 22