When he reached shore, he clawed his way across the sand to claim his bronze trophy.
“Well guessed,” Conall congratulated, handing me a purse of copper coins.
I thought perhaps I heard a sharp edge to his voice, but if that had been so he quickly softened again, motioning to his servant to pour more wine and bring a platter of plump chicken legs.
“What should we bet on next?” he asked.
“It’s the boys’ turn to swim,” I replied. “I must bet on Aodh, for he is my brother.”
“Well, then. I must bet on Aodh too, for I cannot bet against my lady’s brother.”
“That would be no fun at all,” I smiled. “Who would be your second choice?”
“My own brother, Garrett.”
“Which is he?” I asked, shading my eyes to try to make out the distant figures lined along the rocks below.
“Third from the left, with the horsetail. Next to the boy with red hair.”
“That’s Caílte mac Rónáin of the Fianna.”
“Is it?” he asked, sitting up a little in his chair. “I can hardly tell from this distance, they all look so small.”
Queen Medb dropped a white rock from the cliff and the boys hurled themselves beneath the waves. For a moment I held my breath, imagining some terrible sea dragon poised with open jaws beneath those dark waters.
Soon enough, each of the boys surfaced, arms arching above their heads as they swam towards the far shore. Quillan of the Darini started well, for, like Oisín, he was slight of build and light. They called him The Little Cub with Powerful Claws.
He was soon overtaken by my own brother and Caílte who were abreast with Riddock of the Brigantes and Seanán of the Iverni. Conall’s brother was close behind and by the midpoint he had overtaken Seanán who was unable to keep the pace.
As they entered the last stretch I was on my feet, my hands cupped to my mouth, calling my brother’s name, whilst Conall sat coolly by my side. He rested one hand on the arm of his chair, rubbing his fingers against his thumb.
“Swim, Aodh! Swim!” I cried.
And swim he did. As Garrett overtook Riddock, Caílte mac Rónáin dropped back abreast with him, leaving Aodh a clear head in the lead. I watched aghast as Caílte reached out a hand and tugged at Aodh’s ankle, allowing Garrett to overtake.
At this, Conall finally got to his feet and released his passion in a loud holler, calling his brother’s name and punching the air with his fist. I resumed shouting for my own brother as loudly as I could.
After a moment’s struggle, Aodh freed himself from Caílte’s grip and began paddling the water in a most unusual style, throwing both arms over his head and dragging himself through the waves as though his life depended upon it. As Caílte fell back, Aodh forced himself forward until he was abreast with Garrett. The race was so close I could only watch from between my fingers. I thought I might faint from holding my breath.
At the last it came down to the speed of the boys across the sand. That final dash to claim the bronze cup. Although Conall’s brother had the mane of a horse, my own brother had the speed of one. As Aodh held the cup above his head, I let out the loudest scream of my life. A scream which caught in my throat as Conall upturned the table, spilling wine and fruit across the grass.
He collected himself swiftly and turned to me with a smile.
“Forgive me, my lady. My passions run high at times such as these.”
I smiled back, yet the image of Cú Chulainn and the massacre of the women floated for a moment before my eyes. When Aodh finally climbed the cliff to show me his trophy, he did so with Garrett’s arm around his neck, supporting his breathless friend to the shade of his family’s tent.
“Oh, well done both of you!” I said, throwing my arms around my brother.
“What do you think?” he asked, holding his cup aloft. “Worth almost losing a brother for?”
“You were in no danger,” I said, ruffling his hair like I had when he was a child. He ducked away, grinning.
“No danger at all, after Caílte mac Rónáin put himself out of the race,” Conall said.
My brother frowned and was about to reply when Luiseach appeared, her long hair and blue dress floating in on the sea breeze. She kissed my brother’s cheek before turning to Garrett, embracing him and showering him with words of praise for his valiant effort in the water.
“It was so close,” she said, “I could hardly tell who had won until the very end.”
“And who is this?” Conall asked, forcing Garrett to make an introduction.
“No one you need concern yourself with, brother,” he grinned, and to my surprise led her away hand-in-hand.
I stared at my own brother but he was too busy throwing his trophy in the air to notice. As he walked off in the opposite direction, Conall asked whether I knew the punishment for cheating at the games. I said that I did not.
“Death,” he replied.
Ailbhe
As the games drew to an end that year, I found myself confined to my hut, for my time was near due and my belly was stretched like a hide on the rack. I hated every moment of my confinement there, for I could hear all the joy beyond my walls: the cheers when a favourite won, and even louder boos at displays of poor gamesmanship.
Eoghan was by my bedside often, cooling my brow with a damp cloth and reciting poems of strong young warriors and famed princesses, in the hopes that I might forget my discomfort and dream of the wonderful times ahead. He truly was the best of husbands.
Sorcha kept me company too, teaching me to twist my fingers against the light of an oil lamp, drawing faces and figures from the shadows. I had always wondered how she did it, yet never seemed to have the time before to study. As Lughnasadh came and went that year, time was all I had.
“Sister,” a voice came from the doorway one evening. I looked up, surprised to see Aoife before me.
“Can it be?” I jested. “A stranger comes to visit.”
The side of her lip rose in that half-smile she had never quite mastered. The polite smile that is supposed to look genuine, yet never did on her. “I have passed your door many times a day, to receive news of your condition.”
“If you had come inside instead of passing, I could have told you myself.”
“I did not want to disturb you.”
Sitting beside me on my bed, her eyes following the contours of my misshapen youth, she eventually took her hand and placed it over my bulge.
“How long now?” she asked.
“Yesterday would be too late,” I told her.
“Is it that awful?”
“It’s uncomfortable. I feel twice as hot and sleep half as much. I need to empty myself a hundred times a day and for that I need someone to carry me to my pot, for I think I have an ox inside me.”
“I envy you,” she told me.
“Oh, you just wait until it’s your turn. Then tell me again.”
“Don’t mock me,” she replied, a pained look on her face.
“Mock? I would never mock you. What is it?” I reached for her hand and she allowed me to cover it as though a mother bird covering a tiny fledgling in its nest. “Does he mistreat you?”
“No, nothing of the sort. He treats me very well.”
“Then what?”
“You are fat and I am thin,” she replied.
“Is that why you have kept away?”
“It is hard to look upon you without thinking on what I do not have.”
“Oh, Aoife, you are still that silly girl I have always loved. Don’t worry yourself so. You will have a child soon enough. These things take time. They are in the hands of the gods, and the gods do not always answer as quickly as we’d hope.”
“It has been a year already.”
“And it may be another year yet, but it will happen.”
At that moment the child within chose to turn and I flinched, feeling its weight against my ribs.
“Are you in pain?” she asked.
“It
will pass. Next time you speak with the gods, ask them to send me patience, for I have all but exhausted my reserves.”
Eoghan entered then, carrying a large basket of bread and baked fish. The smell of it made my heavy burden gurgle with delight.
“Food for the famished,” he grinned.
As he walked past Aoife, he turned his head to nod. No man, even my husband, could pass my sister without a second glance. Had I been less beautiful myself I am sure it would have created conflict, but I was not a jealous woman and mine was not an unfaithful husband.
“I see you’re striking camp,” he said as he placed the basket down.
“We must leave early. Tiernan of the Uluti is coming to talk to my husband about a cattle exchange. We need to prepare.”
“When will we see you again?” I asked.
“Well, sister fair, this is the second year we have visited you.”
“Like that, is it?” I smiled, pulling myself up on my elbows. “Well then, I promise that as soon as this rock inside of me is able to roll down the hill, we’ll come to keep you awake at night with our cries and our lullabies.”
She laughed and made me swear to it by kissing my thumb and pressing it against my breast.
Aoife
The snow fell and the snow melted. A long winter and a warm bed, yet by spring, when the showers washed the land clean of its winter grief, they did not wash me clean of mine. No seed had planted itself between the barren sheets of our bed. The wolves howled at night and the sheep huddled in fear, yet I slaughtered more of them than those wild hounds in my attempt to petition the gods.
The bright new year brought with it a dozen great chiefs from across our kingdoms, yet the wine grew sour in my mouth. Each time I had to welcome a new guest, I wished them gone before they had arrived. Smiling at their stories and pretending to admire their fine furs and sharp spears made me want to push a spear of my own through their throats.
A rider from my father’s fort brought news that my sister had birthed Eoghan a son. They had named him Bevan for the bold warrior, as the child was said to be twice the size of a normal boy, born with a shield and a sword in its tiny fists.
The night of that news I lay with my husband and cried.
“My sweet, what causes such sadness?” he asked, leaning over and brushing my hair from my tear-stained cheeks.
“We have been fasted longer than they,” I told him. “Yet I have failed you as a wife, for they have a son and I have given you nothing.”
“Nothing?” he asked, his voice rising in surprise. “How can you say such a thing? You have given me back my life, Aoife. My heart was dead when first we met, and now it beats again. You have given me everything.”
“Except a child.”
“I have four by Aobh already, what need have we of more?”
This brought fresh tears, for how could he know the pain he caused by uttering those words? He had four children by Aobh. His love was still bound to her by blood, yet to me only by lust.
“You say that now, but when I am old and my looks have left me, what will there be between you and I except memories?”
He was silent for a while, studying my face and stroking his hand across the soft mound of my breast.
“It means so much to you?” he asked.
“It means everything to me.”
“Very well. We should not waste a moment, then.”
He placed his lips upon the place where his hand had been, and placed that hand between my legs. My body rose to meet his caress, thirsty as the summer corn for rain.
Each night we made love. Each night I washed his seed from my thighs and waited. Each moon my blood came and I was disappointed.
As spring drew to its close and the land reddened beneath the heat of the sun, I spent more of my time alone. I walked, and watched the deer chase across the valley. I shot them down with my arrows and skinned them myself, seeking some satisfaction in the destruction of things.
“I could help you,” Guennola told me one morning, whilst brushing out my hair.
“What do you mean?”
“There is a woman lives here at the fort. They say things about her.”
“What sort of things?”
“They say she knows charms and words. They say she knows of women’s matters.”
“A witch?”
“I’m not sure,” she replied, “but they say she has planted seeds in dry earth.”
“Where can I find her?”
“Let me bring her to you, my lady.”
The next new moon, my maid brought Mother Moira to my private hut. She was a decrepit old hag, stooped yet surprisingly agile. I hardly heard her come in, for she moved as silently as a cat. Her silver hair was matted with streaks of dark grey and her chin sprouted a forest of thick hairs. I disliked her from the moment I laid eyes on her, for beauty often recoils in the presence of age.
“My maid tells me you can bud flowers on a broken branch. Is this true?”
Moira came and placed her had across my stomach.
“It may be so,” she replied, a little saliva escaping her lips.
“Well, which is it? Can you, or can’t you?”
“It depends where the branch is broken,” she replied, moving her hand to the crown of my head. “How much do you desire a child?”
“There is nothing I would not sacrifice.”
Her brow raised as she stared deep into my eyes.
“Brave words, my lady.” She reached into her cloak and withdrew a tiny silver spoon. “Take this. You must prepare a cake. You must bake it of the whitest oats, with salt not honey. You must mix in a strand of Lir’s hair and stir the mixture five times round a wooden bowl of oak using this spoon. Then wash it down with a cup of wine in which you have drowned a moth. The moth will carry your prayer to Bridey. Eat the cake on the waxing moon, leave not a crumb. On the full moon after, come to the Widow’s Cave in the Black Vale.”
“I shall have Guennola prepare the cake—”
“No, my dear.” She gripped her claws about my wrist. “You must prepare everything with your own hand, and you must come to the cave alone.”
With that, the old woman left us.
Guennola’s face was ashen.
“Do you trust her?” I asked.
“I have met women like that before, my lady. When they look you in the eye as she did, they mean what they say. But, my lady, they ask a price.”
“A price worth paying, I’m sure.”
With that, I dismissed her and sat for a while, watching the light of the oil lamp turning the wick to ash. Guennola must have added to the oil, for the subtle scent of sage lingered in the air long after the flame went out.
Aodh
The Fianna were all I had thought about since returning from Sidh-ar-Femhin. The events of that visit to my grandfather’s fort had thrown into stark contrast the paths my own future might take. One path led to the gates of Sidhe Fionnachaidh, and all that was expected of me. It led to a wife and children and to the protection of our people. My days would be spent travelling the Black Vale, toiling the fields side by side with my kin, working through the harsh winters and welcoming the great chiefs of Éire to our door. It led to responsibility and respect.
The second path led to a different sort of respect. One born of adventure, of courage and bloodshed. One spent travelling beyond all that was familiar. A life spent in the service of kings and chiefs, yet free of any responsibility except that owed to my brothers. It meant a life of the unknown, and it meant a life with Caílte.
My heart was already halfway down that second path. Our father was ageing a little each year, yet he was still young enough that Conn and Fiachra would be grown when the time came. I was not like Quillan of the Darini, an only boy, and if my sister ever chose to prove herself in battle, she herself might rule in their stead like Blind Sile.
For weeks after our return I rose at sunbreak to swim the Blue Lake, then spent the rest of the day in the sparring pit with the son
s of smiths and butchers. I was no longer small for my age. Over the past year I had grown tall and lean. My arms were strong and my feet quick. I was no match for Fionn mac Cumhaill or Goll mac Mórna, but I had beaten Garrett of the Red Rock both on land and at sea. Every day I tested myself against anyone who would fight me, and every day those who would fight me grew fewer.
“Father,” I said, meeting him from his horse one afternoon as he returned from touring the farms. “May we speak?”
He led me to his hut, his back turned as he removed his tunic and began washing himself with a cloth. “What is it?” he asked.
There was no gentle way to say it, so I took a deep breath and began.
“I wish to join the Fianna.” He stopped washing and turned to me slowly, resting against the table. “I have thought on this a long time,” I continued. “At Áenach Tailteann, I beat Caílte mac Rónáin and Garrett of the Red Rock to take the trophy. There isn’t a boy at this fort who can beat me with the stave or the spear. I’m fast, I’m strong—”
“You are my son.”
“Aye, and you have two others.” He stared at me until the silence became uncomfortable. “Father, you must let me try.”
“Must I?”
“You are a king and I, a king’s son. I do not wish to inherit your position, I wish to fight for my own.”
His brow raised at this and a distant look came upon him, as though he were looking through me rather than at me.
“You are not simply my son, Aodh. You are the eldest son of your mother, Aobh. You carry her legacy as much as mine. The life of the Fianna is fraught with danger. How could I stand to live my days never knowing where you were? Never knowing whether you were alive or dead. Never able to protect you should you fall in battle.”
“You will not be here to guard me forever, father, and I would not be alone. Could you protect me better than the mighty Fionn mac Cumhaill or his kin?”
“No, not on the field of battle,” he replied, turning back to his washbowl. I thought for a moment he had agreed with me. Then he continued, “I admire your courage, Aodh, and I can see how strong you have become. You will need that strength to lead your people. It is not a question of who can protect you better in war, the Fianna can, of course, for they are hardened by a lifetime of warring. It is a question of who can protect you above all else. That means making sure that you never have to be protected by the Fianna, because you will not be fighting their wars. I will not consent to you taking up arms beside them Aodh, and that is my final word.”
The Children of Lir Page 12
