In the Region of the Summer Stars

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  ‘How long was this former time, the time of Birthings and Beginnings? A day only? A year? Or ten thousand of the same, who can say? For when there is no one there to know it, to measure its length, to count each rising of the sun and each setting, each spring and autumn, summer and winter, and notch them on the counting stick, what does it signify?

  ‘Even so, all things come to an end and so the time of beginnings ended, too. And this is the way of it:

  ‘One morning, when the sun rose in a pearl-pink mist, there came a great ship to the sparkling shore of green Ériu. It came out of the west, from beyond the Region of the Summer Stars, from Tír Tairngire—that some call the Land of Promise, and made landfall at Cúan Díthrab, on the western coast. And on that boat were the three loveliest maidens ever to set foot on Eirlandia, for no ladies of greater beauty have ever been known from that day to this. The first to come ashore was Áine, Badb the second, and the third was Danu. All were dressed in shimmering gowns of purple-blue edged in silver, and all wore mantles of gold bright as sunbeams; their long hair was coiled and braided with threads of silver and gold and tiny bells so that each movement made a tinkling music pleasant to the ear; around their waists each wore a girdle woven of strands of gold and doe leather. Sandals of white bronze kept their tender feet from the rough ground.

  ‘Radiant and smooth were their noble brows, and proud and glowing were their eyes—green for Áine, black for Badb, and blue for Danu—and clear as the crystal all. Their cheeks were fair to look upon, and their teeth like a clutch of pearls between lips as red as cherry wine. White as the fresh-fallen snow of one night was the skin of their smoothly rounded bodies, and so also their gently mounded breasts.’

  The warriors smiled at the description of the maidens, and each closed his eyes as old Mádoc’s voice found its rhythm in the song’s remembered cadence. He took a sip of water, and continued:

  ‘Next from out of the ship came fifteen serving girls, slender as willow wands, with russet hair and wide dark eyes, and each arrayed like the queens they served. Behind the serving girls came seven dogs of the hunt, with chains of silver upon them, and a golden apple on every chain. Name a colour and it was upon those dogs. Seven hunters with horns of silver and gold came next, and many-coloured were their garments, and yellow was their hair. Next came three druids with clean-shaven heads and torcs of silver at their throats, their mantles likewise many coloured, and each carried a staff—one oak, one ash, one rowan; and each staff was topped with a gem the size of a swan’s egg—one emerald, one ruby, one garnet. These wise bards were attended by three harp-players in spotless green cloaks with harps of gold set with amethyst and moonstone. Three nines of warriors came next from out of the ship. Their shields were of copper with rims of bronze, and their spears were long, cold iron topped with blades that caught the sun for brightness. Each warrior was as strong and as skilled as the next, and each one a champion and kingly to look upon.

  ‘The three queens walked upon the strand and searched abroad to see what kind of land they had come to find and all decided that it was a splendid place where their design could flourish. For they had come from the blessed isle of Oiléan Gainithir with a grand ambition; and the plan was this: to birth a noble race unto themselves among the mortals. For, as yet, none of the three had taken a king to be her mate.

  ‘With their noble retinue, they walked here and there about Ériu, looking for the best place to build their ráth. Such was the fragrance that came from their garments when passed that it was like being in an apple orchard, and flowers sprang up in the footprints of their passing. At length they came to the foot of a solitary hill that was stately and high and surrounded by three wide plains, and seeing it, Danu said, “Here I will establish my ráth and build my lodging place. I need look no farther, for I know I will never find another as good as this. The hill I will call Druim Caín, and Teamhair shall be my palace.”

  ‘And it is that hill and ráth we know as Tara. The two other queens were jealous of their sister’s choice, but neither was willing to quarrel over it because each had a separate desire. So, Áine said, “You have made an excellent choosing, my heart. May it go well with you here. But I will not stay with you, for I cannot be out of sight of the silver-glinting sea longer than half a day, and so it is to a broad and comely shore that I shall go, seeking wherever it is to be found.” Her sisters agree that this, for her, would be best.

  ‘Then Badb said, “Far be it from me to dispute your decisions, my sisters. But I hope you will understand when I tell you I cannot abide too long away from the trees and shrubs, and fruit and flowers of the fair woodlands. I see that Ériu has many great forests and it is there I know I shall find a place worthy of my stature, and there I shall build my palace.”

  ‘The other two agreed that this would be a fitting place for her, and readily offered to help her find the home of her desire. Once this had been decided, all were in harmony once again and all petty envies forgotten. While they had been about their deliberations, their retinue had erected three tents and a spacious canopy blue as the windswept sky beneath which they set up a table filled with all manner of sweet and savoury dishes good to eat. There was sweet mead and ale to drink and wine without stint, for never was a cup placed empty upon that table but that it was instantly filled again with whatever beverage its holder might desire.

  ‘The queens sat down to eat and while they ate, the harpists played, and with delicate music in their ears, they talked. Long it was they talked, and found themselves discussing many subjects, but chief among them was where they might find husbands to be kings to rule with them in Ériu and produce a mighty race.…’

  The old druid’s voice had slowed and here it faltered as his head nodded on his breast and he fell fast asleep. None of his listeners noticed, for they had long since preceded him.

  17

  The wind rose during the night and the travellers awoke the next morning to a fitful rain and a driven sea spewing foam along the shore. Conor awoke first; he moved to the mouth of the cave and looked out. ‘Not a day to be stirring much outside,’ he murmured.

  ‘This won’t last,’ Mádoc said as he joined him. ‘But it may allow you time to get in place without being seen.’

  ‘There’s that.’ Conor went out to relieve himself and see to the horses. Huw and Fergal had strung up the leather tent as a roof over them, but it failed to keep off the worst of the rain. The poor animals were wet and miserable. ‘Here now, Búrach, all will be well soon enough,’ he whispered, stroking the jaw of his mount and promising he would soon be grazing in fields of long green grass. He moved on to Drenn and made the same vow, repeating it to Grían, Ossin, and Íogmar in turn, petting them as he spoke to give what comfort he could before returning to the cave where he found Fergal and Donal breaking fast on hardtack and dried beef; he stuffed some into his sparán and the three departed shortly after, taking all the horses with them—including Drenn and Íogmar the pony so that they could graze along with the others.

  ‘See you bring us back something for the pot,’ called Mádoc as they rode off. ‘If that is not too much trouble.’

  ‘We will,’ said Donal, strapping on his sword. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

  The three riders made their way up to the top of the bluff and proceeded at once through the scrubland and into the wood. Donal led the way among the dripping trees to the Scálda stronghold with Conor behind, and Fergal leading the two extra horses. They were still some distance away from the enemy settlement when the rain stopped and the clouds began to clear somewhat; they paused at a brook for water and found a place where the animals could satisfy themselves on the long grass. They tied the horses to a tether line attached to the base of an alder tree, and then proceeded the rest of the way on foot, picking through the thick-grown brush beneath spreading elms and ash. Upon approaching the Scálda stronghold, they paused to listen and, hearing no sounds that might alarm, began working their slow, stealthy way to the vantage point C
onor and Donal had found the day before.

  ‘Not much to look at,’ said Fergal as they came in sight of the timber walls. ‘Big, though.’

  ‘You stay here,’ Conor told him, ‘and can keep an eye on the road as well. Mark all who come and go.’

  ‘Where are you two going?’

  ‘To get a look inside,’ Conor replied, ‘and see if we can learn what they’re making in there.’

  ‘Are you fair certain you don’t need me to come with you?’ Fergal asked.

  ‘We won’t be gone long,’ Conor said. ‘Then we’ll go to the forge.’

  ‘Well, see you don’t get caught. I would not like to have to fight the entire Scálda warhost to get you out.’

  ‘We’re not about being caught,’ Donal said. ‘It’s you falling asleep you should worry about.’

  The two crept away and soon disappeared into the dense foliage. Fergal watched the road and the settlement; after a time he saw the smoke begin to billow and rise in the still air, and even imagined he heard the ring of hammers as the Scálda smiths resumed their work. But nothing stirred from the mud huts clustered hard against the outside walls of the ráth. Meanwhile, the sun continued to burn through the clouds, bringing out the shadows of the wood.

  He was watching the far edge of the fortress from where he sat and, sensing a flicker of movement, glanced back to see Donal dart across the gap between the forest and the outer wall. He trained his eyes on the place, but saw nothing else. A short time later, he heard a faint rumbling in the air and, a few moments after that, a wagon appeared on the road. A vehicle with large, sturdy wheels, it was loaded with the strange iron hoops Conor had described. There were two Scálda drivers attending the wagon, one leading the horses, and another walking beside. The night’s rain had left the road a quagmire and the four-horse team strained against their yokes. ‘Better work for an ox,’ muttered Fergal, heartily disapproving of how the noble animals were being treated.

  After the wagon passed, all remained quiet—until he heard the soft brush of feet through the grass behind him. He glanced around to see Conor creeping up on him, and Donal a few steps behind.

  ‘Did you see anything?’ asked Conor.

  ‘One lone wagon on the road is all—carrying more of those shield rims, or whatever they are. What about you? Were you able to get a look inside the ráth?’

  ‘Aye, we did, but there was not much to see,’ Donal answered. ‘A few small forges, but mostly just houses and storage huts of one sort or another.’

  ‘Did you see any warriors?’

  Donal shook his head, and Conor replied, ‘None that we could see. Those working here seem to be mostly craftsmen and labourers—maybe fifty or so in all—including women and their young. But, whatever they’re doing with all those hoops, we can’t tell. Let’s go look at the forge.’

  The three removed themselves cautiously from view of the settlement, and returned to their tethered mounts. They remounted and moved off through the trees, located the road and followed it, alert to any Scálda who might be travelling on it. By the time they reached the cleared hillside, the forge furnace was in full spate, spewing black smoke and cinders into the air. They watched and listened until they thought it safe to proceed, then crept closer and, as before, peered over the crest of the hill and down into the excavated bowl of the hillside below.

  All was more or less as Conor and Donal had seen the day before: the great furnace roared and fumed; the company of smiths pounded hot metal on their anvils, filling the air with the clanging ring of raw iron being tortured into shape. Wagons of rock ore appeared at intervals and were unloaded, and empty wagons trundled away. This activity continued steadily and without interruption, or even much variation. The three watched this activity with a dread fascination, knowing that such intensive labour was not for the idle amusement of the Scálda chieftains. There must be a dire purpose to it that defied ready explanation.

  Since nothing else seemed likely to happen and, having seen what they came to see, Conor signalled his companions and the three withdrew from their lookout.

  ‘Have you ever seen the like?’ asked Donal once they were safely down the hill once more and on their way to collect the horses.

  ‘And where would I have seen it?’ said Fergal. ‘No one has ever seen such a thing in Eirlandia.’

  ‘What are they making?’ wondered Conor. They rolled up the picket line, stowed it away, and remounted. ‘I say we follow the road a little and see what else we can find—maybe learn where those wagons go.’

  They continued along the road as it wound through light woodland and low hills, with a keen eye for any sign of movement up ahead. As they rounded a bend and started a long climb up a shallow slope, Donal hissed, ‘Someone on the road!’

  They scattered into the dense bush beside the road, hid the horses, and waited. Soon they heard the creak and rumble of another wagon on its way to the forge. Unlike the others they had seen, however, this one carried baskets of what looked like bread and others that contained cabbages and turnips, along with earthenware jars—of the sort used to contain liquids. A second wagon, similarly laden, followed close behind. ‘Supplies for the workers maybe?’ Fergal guessed.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a bit of whatever’s inside those jars,’ said Donal, and received a sharp look from Fergal. ‘Why the fish face now?’

  ‘You would drink anything those dog-eaters brewed?’ asked Fergal in a tone of disgust.

  ‘I’m that parched I would even drink something you brewed, brother.’

  ‘Quiet!’ whispered Conor. They waited, and when no more wagons or carts appeared on the track, the three scouts continued on. The road remained empty, and seemed to go on and on. They were just about ready to turn back when Fergal saw what looked like the timber walls of another settlement rising above the trees on a hill a short distance ahead. As before, they moved off the road and worked their way slowly toward the settlement. They found a secluded place well out of sight to tether the horses, and moved in closer on foot, flitting silently from tree to tree until they came to a field made from cleared woodland and, beyond the field, a protective earthwork and ditch. The ditch had been dug around the foot of a low hill, banked high on the outside, the hollow filled with sharpened stakes, brambles, and stinging nettles. Here they stopped, and hunkered behind a thorny hedge to observe the fortress.

  That this was a major Scálda stronghold was obvious from the first glance. The walls encompassed the entire tops of two low, conjoined hills, giving it a commanding view of the countryside round about. Irregular in shape, the walls—constructed of whole tree trunks, trimmed of limbs and branches, and planted upright—undulated along the uneven ground between the crown of one hill and the other. The gates were whole trunks of pine trees bound together with wide iron bands. And, what is more, those gates were open.

  One look at the daunting size of this structure was enough to impress. None of Eirlandia’s tribes could boast a ráth of such size, though perhaps Lord Brecan with his outsized ambition dreamt of such. In all, the fortress was easily twice as big as any Conor knew. Yet, as he looked on, it occurred to him that, imposing as it certainly was, the stronghold seemed very coarsely, even crudely made. There were gaps in the walls—some of them wide enough to admit a man—spaces where another timber might have been placed, but had been left void. The resulting holes had been filled in with wattles made of sticks and mud—the same material the Scálda used in building their rude huts. In all, it gave the very strong impression that the fortress, for its imposing size, had been constructed in haste and the defects left uncorrected.

  ‘They think themselves invulnerable,’ Fergal concluded after taking in the structure. ‘They may be right.’

  ‘Nay, brother,’ said Conor, examining the walls closely. ‘For all its size, it is an ill-made thing. Why, it looks like Donal built it after a night in the cups.’

  Donal gave him a dark look, but agreed that the walls at least appeared hastily constructed and with
little care or craftsmanship.

  ‘This way,’ said Conor. ‘Let’s see if we can find a better view.’

  The three edged around the circular ditch, angling for a glimpse inside the walls. The road curved around the base of the hill, passed over a narrow bridge across the ditch, and rose to form a long ramp leading up to the gates, which opened onto a sizeable yard. There were large wooden buildings and many of the rough-made mud huts they had seen before, but dominating the centre of the settlement was an enormous structure with a high-pitched roof covered in flat stone slabs taken from the shore. The eaves of this building reached almost to the ground, and a pair of high doors, covered in a patchwork of horsehide, gave access to the central yard.

  ‘That must be the hall,’ suggested Conor. Several ragged, dirty children roamed the bare earthen space in front of the hall while, among them, men loaded provisions onto another of the wagons. Smoke from cooking fires drifted through the yard and seeped out from the gateway, wafting down the side of the hill.

  ‘Like swine, the lot of them,’ sniffed Donal, ‘and smell of it, too, so they do.’

  ‘Ach, aye,’ agreed Fergal. ‘And what’s this now?’ He pointed west along the road where a party of Scálda warriors—four mounted, followed by three more on foot—had appeared. All bore arms, but their shields were slung, their swords sheathed; a few also carried iron spears carelessly propped on their shoulders, and some had crested helmets tied to their sword belts.

  The small warband moved up the ramp, thumped across the bridge, and entered the fortress where they were greeted by one of their own who emerged from the hall. The riders dismounted and stable hands came to lead the horses away; the new arrivals trooped into the hall.