Who were the first folk in the land of Erin?
The Old Ones. The Fomhóire.
And who came next?
So it went, as the carts trundled along under gentle autumn rain and crisp westerly breeze, and sometimes, when we were running late, under a great arch of stars.
Whence did you come?
From the Cauldron of Unknowing.
For what do you strive?
For knowledge. For wisdom. For an understanding of all things.
The lore was all that I had to keep me going. The lore was control and direction, amidst the noisy children and the chattering women and the constant company, more company than I was likely to want in a lifetime.
Peg was kind enough in her rough way. She never asked me to help with skinning rabbits, or fetching water, or washing the children’s clothes. She tried to find me a quiet corner to roll out my bedding, once she saw how I edged away from the other girls and pulled the blanket over my ears. When we stopped for a single night, we’d sleep in the carts, with a sort of awning over that gave half-shelter. The boys slept out under the trees, next to the horses. There was a smell, with so many folk close together, and it was never really quiet. Often I lay awake looking up at the sky, thinking of Father back home, and listening to the small cracklings and rustlings around me, the horses shuffling, the sigh of children rolling over in their sleep, the snores of older folk worn out by a long day on the road. At dawn they’d be up again and soon ready to be off, the packing a well-practiced, speedy process. It seemed to me we were covering a great distance, despite many stops to sell baskets, or collect a pony, or simply to visit old friends. I lost count of the days after a while. There was a time when we came down through a desolate sort of valley with what looked like small lakes at the bottom, and I managed to waylay Darragh for a moment as he came by the back of the cart where I was sitting.
“Are we nearly there?” I asked him, softly so that nobody else could hear.
“Nearly where?” asked Darragh.
“Nearly at Sevenwaters,” I whispered.
Darragh gave his crooked grin and shook his head. “Scarce halfway yet,” he said. “It’s a long way north, and east as well, before we reach the forest. Quite different, it is, in those parts. Still, you’ll get a rest soon, and a bit of fun.”
“Fun?” I scowled at him, bitterly disappointed that we had so far still to go, and furious with myself for having asked.
“That’s right. Best days of the year. Down the bottom, where the valley opens out, we’ll be stopping a while. Resting the horses. Making a proper little camp. Not far from there, you come to the Cross. That’s where they hold the best horse fair in the country. Games, races, music, plenty of food and drink, finest company you’re likely to meet anywhere. Get to know some great folks there, you will.” He was watching me closely. “Don’t look so anxious, Fainne. I’ll look after you.”
We stopped by the lakeside, and the menfolk went a certain distance along the shore, out of sight. The day was not so cold, for all the autumn was passing. Not that it was ever any trouble getting the children into the water, it was washing them that was the problem. I watched as the women and older girls stripped and scrubbed the little ones, to the accompaniment of squeals of protest and much splashing. The bath gave way to a sort of water fight, and then Peg and Molly and the other girls took off their own clothes without so much as a word of warning, and proceeded to wash themselves with a shared sliver of soap and a volley of ribald comments. I looked away, feeling a strange mixture of embarrassment and envy. Things seemed so much easier for them. I did not like the water. At home, I had never swum in the sea. My baths had been taken in a small tub before the fire, and I had fetched and warmed the water myself. Always, I had performed my ablutions in complete privacy. Even Grandmother had respected that. Still, I knew I was dirty and did not smell as I would wish to, and I did have two clean gowns in my little chest. But this—this was too hard.
Peg scrambled out of the water, her body still lean and shapely for all her brood of children.
“Come on, lass,” she said with a smile. “Last chance to get spick-and-span before the fair. The water’s not so chill, once you’re in.”
“I—I don’t know—”
“Come, child, nobody’s looking. There’s a little cove there, a bit more private. Not used to this, I can see. I’ll keep a watch out for you.”
So, my cheeks hot with embarrassment, I picked my way down to the water’s edge, separated from the others by a curve of shore and a few willows, and stripped off my clothes while Peg, who had donned a fresh gown and was now combing and re-plaiting her long dark hair, sat on a fallen tree trunk nearby and warned off the children if they came too close. The water was freezing. To make things worse, the bottom was soft, oozing mud, and it was easy to lose your footing. And it grew deep so quickly. I glanced over and saw the other girls swimming, brown arms flashing, wet hair like graceful weed across naked shoulders. Farther down the lake it sounded as if the boys were swinging from a tree branch into deep water. I washed as quickly as I could, using the scrap of soap on body and hair, grateful for the chance to rid myself of the sweat and grime of the journey, terrified that I might take one step too many, and plunge in over my head by mistake. Peg was looking the other way. I could be drowned before she noticed. Nobody knew I could not swim. Nobody but Darragh. To sink beneath the water, to gasp and strain and be unable to fill the chest with air, that would be a terrible way to go. It would be like…it would be the same as…I willed that thought out of my mind, unfinished.
When I came out Peg handed me a cloth to dry myself, and then there was Molly with a gown in her hands, a gown that was not mine, for it was a bright homespun, striped in blue and green, and over her shoulder she had a neckerchief with a little border of blue ribbon.
I stood shivering with the cloth hugged around me, barely covering my nakedness.
“I have another gown in my chest,” I managed. “I don’t—”
“This’ll be easier,” said Peg in a no-nonsense sort of voice. “Good color for you, the blue. Here, put your arms up, lass. That’s it.”
They had everything, even a clean shift for underneath, and stockings with blue borders. When I was dressed, Peg turned me around and began to brush out my hair.
“I don’t—”
“There, child. No trouble. No trouble at all. What a head of curls. I’ve a nice bit of the blue ribbon left, from sewing those kerchiefs—Moll, see if you can find it, will you—that’ll be just right to fasten the end of this plait. Your mother had a fine head of hair. Lovely color, like dark clover honey, it was.”
I said nothing as her deft fingers began to plait my hair, as fast and nimble as could be, and tie it with the bright blue ribbon Molly produced from a basket tucked in the depths of the cart.
“There,” said Peg, holding me at arm’s length and looking me up and down. “Not so bad, was it? Now let’s wash these things, and we’ll be on our way. Plenty of time to dry them out in the morning. Proper camp tonight; a good fire, chance to relax and enjoy ourselves. You’ll like it, lass. See if you don’t.”
Soon we were back on the cart and trundling on between ever flatter fields. There was a smell of the sea in the air again. The little girls had fallen unusually silent, staring at me with their big dark eyes. Maybe, I thought, they were tired out from their bath. Then one of them spoke up.
“You look pretty,” she said, and exploded in a fit of nervous giggles. The others shushed her, and they maintained silence for a few moments, and then all three burst into hilarity again. And because I could not tell if she had meant it, or was merely teasing me, I said nothing at all.
It was just as Darragh had told me. We reached level ground and a fork in the track, and all of a sudden there were people everywhere, men on horseback, boys leading ponies, farmers with carts piled high, strangely dressed folk with juggling balls or colored birds in cages. There was an enclosed cart, with a black-clad fellow sea
ted morosely in front, driving a skinny old horse. Beside them a younger man walked, and as he went he extolled the virtues of various elixirs for sale: love philters, magic potions of strength, curses to set on an enemy. “Come one, come all,” he shouted with great vigor and greater confidence. “Ills cured! Fortunes predicted! Look for the Grand Master under the old oaks north of the racing ground. Satisfaction guaranteed.” I stared as they made their way past us, and I wondered what the fellow had in his mixtures. A few herbs and a dash of honey? Nothing much of value, I suspected. But there were those who ran after his cart, babbling with excitement. More fools they, I thought. They’d soon be parted from what little silver they had, and for nothing.
We did not share the road long with the ever-increasing throng, but took a side way to the west, and soon reached a sheltered stretch of sward fringed by elder trees and bordered by a swift-running stream. Here we halted and camp was set up. This time the carts were fully unpacked, serviceable shelters erected, and a solid fireplace of stones constructed in the center of the open space, with room around it for folk to sit in comfort. The horses were unharnessed, then loosely tethered in the shelter of the trees, and the boys began the task of brushing them down, each in turn, and checking for any possible damage after the journey. I gathered we were to stay here for the duration of the fair, going up the road each day to do business and returning to our camp at night. I could hear the sea, a soft, persistent washing in and out of small waves.
The women and girls had a big tent now, and in this I was given my own corner, which Peg showed me, winking. As I rolled out my bedding and checked the lock on the wooden chest, I managed a whispered thank-you, and she gave a crooked grin, the image of her son’s. As soon as my things were set out neatly I made my escape, out of the tent, between the trees, and down a little track to the west. It wasn’t far. A short walk on the pebbly path, between scrubby bushes, up a gentle rise, and there it was. The breakers rolled lazily in to lick at the pure, wide beach that stretched between high promontories to north and south. Farther out there were plumes of spray, and dark rocks slick with water. A great reef, it seemed, guarded this peaceful bay. The setting sun moved ever closer to the vast expanse of water, and touched the sand to pale gold. Here and there on the shore figures could be seen: two boys galloping their ponies neck and neck in a wild race along the margin of land and water; a lad on a black horse, out there swimming, breasting the power of the swell, then coming in to shore, dripping, to shake off the excess in a shower of silver. There were folk walking, a couple hand in hand, a girl bending to pick up shells.
I sat there awhile, watching. I sat there long enough to become calm, to slow my breathing, to tell myself I could manage, I would manage. Perhaps, when they gathered around the fire in the evening, they would not think it amiss if I retired early to sleep. Maybe, when they went up to join the great throng at the horse fair, I might remain behind here and walk alone on the shore, or sit and watch the slow pattern, always changing, always still the same. Perhaps that might be possible. If it were not, I would have to use the Glamour. Indeed, Grandmother would think it foolish that I had not done so by now, to cover my awkwardness, to mask my fear of strangers. I thought it foolish myself, really. But there was something held me back. I remembered Darragh’s frown, and Darragh’s words. I don’t like it when you do that. I thought of the little girl’s voice. You look pretty. I had decided, almost, that she was joking. But for a moment her words had warmed me. If I used the Glamour, everyone would think I was pretty. But it was not the same.
In the event, there was no escaping the evening’s festivities. My half-framed excuse was brushed aside by Peg, who bustled me out into the circle of folk seated on rugs and old boxes and bits and pieces around the fire. She sat me down between Molly and herself, put a cup of something steaming and fragrant into my hands, then settled herself down for the fun, all, it seemed, in the twinkling of an eye. There was simply no chance to object.
Around the fire were many faces, old and new. The smaller children sat drowsing on parents’ knees, or slept curled in blankets close by a watchful sister or brother. The older folk were given pride of place, the most comfortable seats, the nearest proximity to the fire’s warmth. Everyone was there: Dan Walker with his little dark beard and the gold ring in his ear; the group of youths I had encountered on my visit to the camp, back home; Darragh himself, talking to a couple of brightly clad girls I had not seen before. There were other folk I did not know, though clearly they were invited guests. The two girls seemed to have brothers, or cousins, and there was an older, gray-haired man sitting by Dan and sharing the hot drink from a great kettle set by the fire. I sipped cautiously. It was good, but strong, something like a cider with spices and honey.
“What about a tale or two?” somebody asked. “Who’s got a good story? Brian? Diarmuid?”
“Not me,” said the gray-haired man, shaking his head. “Got a toothache. Can’t talk.”
“Huh!” scoffed another. “Have some more to drink, that’ll soon cure it.”
“Fellow at the fair, pulls teeth neat and quick,” Molly suggested. “You need to visit him, he’d have it out for you before you could so much as squeal.”
“That butcher?” The man paled visibly. “I’d as soon get my old woman to lay hold of it with a pair of fire tongs.”
There were several suggestions as to what other remedies he might have recourse to, none of them very practical. Then Dan Walker spoke up.
“I’ll tell a tale,” he said. There was a chorus of approval, then silence. “It’s about a man called Daithi, Daithi O’Flaherty. No relation, you understand, of the distinguished family of that name that lives in these parts.” There was a roar of appreciative laughter. “A farmer, he was. Well, this Daithi got an idea he might go and see his sweetheart, just to pass the time of day, you understand. He was making his way along the road when he heard a little noise, tap tappity tap, from down under the bushes by the track. Daithi was a sharp fellow. He didn’t make a sound, but crouched down quiet-like, and peered under the twigs to see what it was. And bless me if he didn’t spot a tiny wee fellow, all dressed in a pointed hat and a fine small apron of leather, and by him a pitcher with a little dipper laid by it. The small one was tapping away at a boot he was making, a boot the length of one part of your finger, fit only for a clurichaun such as himself. As Daithi watched, holding his breath, the wee fellow put down his cobbler’s tool, and went to the pitcher, and he dipped the ladle in and got himself a drink of the liquor; and then he went back to his work, tap tappity tap.
“Best handle this careful, said Daithi to himself. So he kept his voice soft, not to startle the little man.
“‘Good day to you, fine sir,’ he spoke up, as polite as can be.
“‘And you, sir,’ replied the small one, still tapping away.
“‘And what might it be that you’re a-fashioning there?’ asked Daithi.
“‘ ’Tis a shoe, to be sure,’ said the clurichaun, with a touch of scorn. ‘And what might you be doing, wandering the track instead of doing your day’s work?’
“‘I’ll be back to it soon enough,’ replied Daithi, thinking, Unless I catch you first. ‘Now tell me, what is it you have in your fine wee pot there?’
“‘Beer,’ said the little man. ‘The tastiest ever brewed. Made it meself.’ He licked his lips.
“‘Indeed?’ said Daithi. ‘And what might you use, for such a brew? Malt, would it be?’
“The clurichaun rolled his eyes in disdain. ‘Malt? Malt’s for babies. This drink’s brewed from heather. None better.’
“‘Heather?’ exclaimed Daithi. ‘You can’t brew beer from heather.’
“‘Ah,’ said the wee fellow. ‘ ’Twas the Dubh-ghaill showed me. Secret recipe. ’Tis me own family makes it, and no other.’
“‘Can I taste it then?’
“‘Surely,’ said the clurichaun. ‘But it’s shocked I am, that a fine farmer such as yourself would be thinking to pass the
time of day drinking by the road, when it’s his own geese are out of the yard and running riot all over his neighbor’s garden.’
“Daithi was shocked, and nearly turned away to run back down to the cottage and see if the wee man was right. But at the last instant he remembered, and instead his hand shot out to grab the clurichaun by one leg. The jug went over, and all the beer spilt out on the ground.
“‘Now,’ said Daithi as sternly as he could, ‘show me where you keep your store of gold, or it’ll be the worse for you.’
“Well, the clurichaun was rightly trapped, for as we all know, you need only hold onto such a one and keep him in your sight, and he has to show you his treasure. So on they went down to Daithi’s own fields, and into a place with many rocks still to be shifted before it would be good for planting. The clurichaun pointed to one of these big stones toward the south end of the field.
“‘There,’ said the little fellow. ‘Under that, there’s me crock of gold, and bad cess to you.’
“Well, Daithi tried and he tried to shift the rock, pushing and heaving, and all the while holding onto the clurichaun, and eventually he knew he’d not get it out without his spade. But there were so many stones there; a whole field of stones. He’d need to mark it somehow, before he went for the spade. Daithi felt in his pocket. There was a bit of red ribbon there that he’d got from a traveling man, and planned to give to his sweetheart for a surprise. He fished it out, and tied it around the rock where the gold lay buried.
“‘There,’ he said. He frowned at the wee man. ‘Now, before I let you free,’ he said, knowing well the trickery of such folk, ‘I want your word. You’re not to move the treasure before I come back with the spade. And you’re not to take the ribbon off this rock. Give me your promise.’
“‘I promise, sure and I do,’ said the clurichaun with absolute sincerity.”
There was a ripple of laughter from those in Dan’s audience who knew the end of this story.
Child of the Prophecy Page 9
