Bile came loping across the beach, a small harp in his arms. It was shaped almost like a triangle, small enough to sit on the lap of the singer.
“Ceolas is a harp.”
“She is a clarsach, a bardic harp for traveling. She is my singer.”
“Will you sing for us?”
Amergin shook his head, but Bile thrust the harp at him repeatedly. “Ah, ah, ah!” he cried, pointing toward the wooden biers at the edge of the water.
Eriu spoke softly. “Bile says that they would wish to hear your song for their journey.”
Amergin turned toward her. He looked directly into her eyes. The expression that moved across his face moved from anger through surprise and then to something else. He leaned in, as if he would regard her more closely. Eriu turned toward Bile, held out her hand. He took it immediately.
“What song would they hear?” she asked him, as if he could answer perfectly.
For answer Bile began to hum.
Amergin nodded. He ran his fingers gently along the strings and began to sing.
“Green is my longing, Inisfail,
Isle of Destiny, northern diadem.
Why do you call to me?
How shall I sing them,
sloe-eyed creatures at your shore?
Do you await me, Inisfail?
Country of my dreams;
I am Amergin, son of Mil,
warrior, wanderer.
Dream of the father now become
the harpsong of the son.
Inisfail, land of mystery,
Sing to me.”
“It is beautiful.”
“It is the song which began our journey. Long long ago.”
“And now you wish that it had not.”
“I do.”
“I cannot blame you, Amergin. You have sustained too many losses. The heart is hard-pressed to bear them.”
He nodded, silently, his mouth working.
“What sloe-eyed creatures do you speak of? The deer of the Green Isle? They are large indeed.”
He faced her directly, looked full at her eyes. “I speak of you. Of your people. Of your eyes. I think that I saw them once on the journey.”
Eriu could think of nothing to say, found that she could not look away. Her heart thundered in fear. What did he see? Did Metaphor waver? O Mother, do not let him see us beneath this guise!
From across the beach Airioch danced with a woman of the tribe, moving through the elaborate squares, his handsome face lit with laughter. He leaned down over the woman, his golden hair falling across his face. He said something into her ear. She laughed and pushed him away. He turned away from her, began to weave his way toward their table, calling aloud, “Banba! Fodla! Eriu!”
“Trouble approaches,” Banba said aloud.
The whole table burst into laughter, Amergin with them. He broke his gaze with Eriu.
Airioch stumbled toward them. When at last he reached the table, he bowed low before the Sisters. “I fear that we have not made you a part of our feasting,” he said. “Allow me to correct that. Come and dance with me.” He stared directly at Banba. Eriu turned toward her sister, her eyes dancing mischief. Banba raised a hand.
“I dare not,” she said. “I do not know the dances of the Galaeci. I will damage your feet for trying.”
He laughed aloud. “One so small and light as you? Come then, we will dance a Greek dance.” He grabbed a square of linen, held it up from the table, shook it in the air.
An almost palpable stillness fell over the table. Banba gently fingered the triangular necklace that she wore around her throat. The Sisters turned and looked at each other as if they would ask or answer a question.
“He means no offense,” said Amergin. “It is our custom to sing and dance for the dead.”
“Well said, Brother,” said Airioch. “Well?”
Banba stood suddenly and smiled. “Prepare yourself,” she said. “I can dance forever, son of Mil.”
28
“Who invited them?” Scota moved angrily across the tent, pacing before her assembled sons.
“This An Scail has done,” I said quietly. “Will you question her druid wisdom, Maither?”
Scota was fairly spitting. “These who have wounded Ith? These who have killed your father? Why would she invite these among us?”
“Father died in Galicia, Maither; these three had naught to do with him. And as for Ith, I do not think that they are responsible for his death.”
“How can you say that?” shouted Eber Donn. “Airioch has told us that he was wounded in their company.”
I felt so weary that it was an effort even to speak in the company. I wanted to lie down and sleep. Perhaps forever. I sighed. “Airioch is at the mating,” I said softly.
“With the Danu woman?” Scota sounded horrified.
“Of course not,” I said. “He mates with one of our own and he is not here to defend his position. Only I tell you that I do not think these Sisters wounded Ith. They seem to me small and gentle.”
“Do not equate gentle with small,” said Scota, a warning in her voice.
“In your case, Mother, none would dare equate the two.” I spoke wearily but I smiled nonetheless; it was hard not to smile at the power in her little frame.
“Good then,” she said, rapping me on the forehead with a flick of her finger. “Now consider this, my sons. Are there more of them than these three? Surely there must be, but where are they? Have we seen any but the Sisters? Why do they hide their numbers from us? We must find their dwelling places. This is what your father taught us; know the enemy’s position.”
“Why must you think of them as the enemy?”
“Why do you not think of them so?”
“I would rather wait to know them. They have been most kind to Skena and Ir in preparing them for the crossing.”
“They have killed Uncle Ith!”
“And Mil,” said Eber Donn.
I sighed again. It was like reasoning in a circle; they came back to their original argument like dogs to bones. “Do you look for reasons to war?” I asked aloud.
“You reason with your grief,” said Eber Donn. “You do not think like a warrior.”
“Well, if it means thinking like you, then I am glad that I do not.”
Before Eber Donn could turn his wrath upon me, our brother Eremon stood among the company. “We should begin investigating the land,” he said. “There may be good cattle pasturage, good running land for the horses. We should decide how to divide up the land.”
Eber Finn nodded. “Eremon speaks wisely,” he said. “What do we care for these Danu? At dawn we should leave this beach to begin our mapping.”
“It is not ours to map!” I snapped. “Has it escaped you that there are others living here?”
“Three Greek women,” said Eber Donn, shrugging. “Between Airioch and me we can mate with those or marry them.”
A burst of laughter spread throughout the tent.
“They are the representatives of their people,” I said softly, trying hard to be reasonable. “Surely there are others. We are on the beachhead here; we have not yet seen the interior. There may be vast cities of the Danu.”
“Danu?”
“This is what they call themselves.”
“But you have just made my argument for me. And Scota’s as well,” said Eber Donn. “We must know what we face; we must be ready to work from a position of strength.”
Scota nodded. “You speak well, eldest of Mil. You speak as your father would speak. We will go among them and investigate.”
“This should be done in darkness,” said Eber Donn. “And quickly, while they are still surprised by our arrival.”
“They did not seem surprised,” I said.
“What do you mean?” asked Scota.
“They seemed to be expecting us. Although they said that Uncle Ith had told them that he had decided to recommend to father that we not return.” I sighed at the complexity of that chain of logic; m
y brothers would reject it, I knew.
“So you see?” said Eber Donn. “The very fact that they expected us puts what they say about Ith to the lie. They would not have been awaiting our arrival if Ith had not told them we would come. So much more does that put to the lie their claim that they did not wound him.”
His argument was actually logical, and I nodded as I thought it over. “Only that they seemed to hold him in such respect.”
“Seemed,” said my mother. “I care not for seemed. I will avenge the deaths of Mil and Ith.”
“Here, here, Scota,” shouted Eber Donn. “Most worthy wife for Mil.”
My mother basked for a moment in his admiration, then made a decision. “I claim the right of a chieftain’s wife,” she said. “We will go among them this night with a party of exploration. We will scout and we will map. We will search out their weaknesses.”
She chose for the party Eber Donn, Eremon, Eber Finn, and, for balance, two warriors of the Galaeci who were not of our clan. They all scrambled for their shortswords and daggers, their cloaks and sandals. I removed to my tent and began to assemble my equipment. Bile was sleeping soundly on his little cot; I envied him the deep oblivion of sleep, but my preparations awoke him. He did not vocalize, but watched me with his huge dark eyes, now so full of sorrow.
“They go to explore the Danu territory,” I whispered. “I must go with them.”
Bile shook his head violently. He jumped from his cot and scrambled among his chalks and papers. From the pile he drew up a portrait. It was of the Three Sisters of the Danu, standing in perfect triangle. They were surrounded by a nimbus of warm light.
I nodded. “I see what you see, little brother. I will do my best to keep them from mischief. They think with their grief and their anger.”
He came to me suddenly and wrapped his arm around my waist. This he had not done in more than a year, Skena being the recipient of all his hugs, his incipient manhood keeping him from such displays with his brother, but I could feel in this hug all his grief and loss, all his love for me.
“I will return to you,” I whispered. “Then we will have time to mourn for Skena and Ir. All will be well.”
His eyes met mine and I could see that it was too late for such a statement, that Bile would never fully believe such a thing again. Nor, I knew, would I.
CEOLAS CAUTIONS WISDOM
Do not think with your anger
Do not act on your grief
Do not reason with sorrow
Sorrow does not reason well.
Oh, think and be still, Mother,
Reason, Brothers, do not act in haste
Haste is the father of regret,
Haste will increase our sorrow.
“I did not choose you for this party, Amergin,” said my mother.
I silenced Ceolas, set her beside me. “I am a poet,” I said softly. “You know that we choose for ourselves. You know, too, that the clan should heed the wisdom of the poets, for we are the voice of the past, the whisper of caution, the hint of what will be.”
My mother simply waved her hand at this, dismissive. “And what is your purpose here?”
“It is the same purpose as always with poets, Maither. Wisdom.”
She tossed her head and set off toward the headland. I reflected that wisdom was in very small supply in this company, nor would any chant of mine increase its supply.
We moved through the dark forest at the crest of the hill. Here, the trees were towering and ancient, their trunks thicker than the arms of several druids linked. I reflected on how much Uncle Ith would have loved them, anticipated showing them to An Scail, letting her place her hands against their contained wisdom. We had gone less than an hour’s time from the sea when we came upon a doorway of stone, two huge white pillars, carved entirely in braidwork and standing thirty feet tall. Stretched across them was a lintel of almost transparent crystal. All around this doorway the forest stretched in profusion; it was a doorway to nowhere.
Eber Donn signaled.
The company stopped. He circled around the structure, examining the pillars, peering up at the capstone. He did not walk through it as one might a door, nor lay his hands upon the intricate carvings. He circled back to us. For a time we stood silent in the forest. Eber Donn shrugged. “I know not,” he whispered softly. “Perhaps it is the doorway of a fallen temple. I think we should continue on.”
Suddenly, with no warning, our little mother simply stepped between the pillars.
Brave and foolish Scota.
“Mother,” I hissed. “Come out from there.”
She stood staring at us, then stepped through the other side. She looked at us through the portal and shrugged. She stepped back between the pillars again. Still nothing happened. She looked to either side. Something caught her eye; I saw her peer toward it, concentrating on something in the pattern of carvings on the pillar.
“Touch nothing, Maither,” I whispered, but it was already too late.
She had pressed her hand to some shape in the pattern.
There was a sudden flash of light, white and pure. For a moment it seemed to me that I could see through my mother, could see her bones and her beating heart, could see her held in the white light like the rabbit who dwells in the moon.
Behind me I could feel the scouting party moving back away from Scota, and I knew that they too had seen the same thing.
And then just as suddenly the light went out.
My mother fell forward, crumpled to the forest floor.
I knelt over her, pulled her from between the pillars. I cradled her against me, my brave and foolish warrior mother.
“You were right, Amergin,” she whispered. “Their city is vast. It is … I have seen it. Do not let them stay here; take them home.” Her breathing stilled; she closed her eyes.
I closed mine with her. I knew it was too late for that. We might have learned the truth of Uncle Ith, given time. But now Scota was dead, mother of the clan. The sons of Mil had just declared war on the Danu, and there would be no going home.
29
“You gave me your word!” Eriu spat the accusation at Macha.
“Nor did I break it. I understand honor even if it is not our practice.”
“They have laid out another of their dead, the little woman warrior.”
“Really?” asked Macha. “Her death was not of our doing. But then why should this trouble you? If they lose enough of their company, surely they will return to their homeland with tales of the terrors of the place. That in turn will keep others from our shores. Is this not what you wish?”
Eriu was leaning back against the stone, its face warmed in the May sunshine.
Macha stretched out an arm, leaned it against the stone above Eriu’s head.
For her aspect of Metaphor she had chosen a man, tall with thick golden hair and green eyes, his body rangy and muscular.
“Do you like him?”
“Who?”
“Him that I have adopted?”
“Did you wish to look like a Fomor?”
Macha laughed aloud. “You know as well as I that I imitate these newcomers with their height and their warrior bodies. I like them well; I would be just as happy if they did remain. My sisters enjoy the simple Fir Bolg, but these seem much more sophisticated folk. I like my … challenges … sophisticated. I have begun to imagine all of the ways that I could … interact … with these Invaders. I could trouble them for years, for centuries.”
Eriu shook her head. “You weary me.”
Macha shrugged. “That’s as may be, but I tell you this so that you will understand. I did not kill their woman. I would prefer for them to stay. Why do you not ask them how she died?”
Suddenly and without warning, Amergin appeared over the crest of the hill. He looked weary, old, his steps heavy, his head lowered. He did not raise his head until he was nearly upon them.
Eriu watched as he took in the huge man leaning over her, his arm on the rock, her back against the s
tones, her face tipped up toward Macha’s Metaphor. Amergin’s face changed like the sea: sorrow to anger, confusion to certainty. His pace changed, lengthened into long, deliberate strides.
Eriu had the sudden wild urge to duck from beneath the arm, to run, to press her triangle to the stone and vanish into the city below, to scream for her sisters. He must have read the emotions in her face; she saw him nod, as if he had reached a decision. He moved toward them.
Eriu lifted her chin, stepped forward. “We see that another of your company has died. We extend our sorrow.”
“You see it? You did not cause it?” Amergin leaned toward her as he spoke.
Macha drew an arm around Eriu’s shoulders, protectively. Eriu shot her a look of contempt. Amergin looked between them, confused.
“Your … mate … need not fear me, Eriu. I will not harm you. I seek to know what caused the harm to Scota.”
Macha laughed aloud, a rich, masculine sound, ripe with promise. “You could not harm her as long as I am here. So this is the one you have spoken of, Eriu, sweet. Amergin, is it not?”
“It is.” Eriu straightened, ducked out from beneath the arm.
“And you are?” Amergin addressed Macha directly, a challenge in his voice. Macha strode forward, clasped his arm at the elbow.
“Macha,” she said. “I welcome you among us. You and all your clan.” She bared her teeth in a blinding smile. “The Sisters speak well of you; Eriu knows how much I value her opinion.”
Eriu wanted to slap the grinning face, to warn Macha not to toy with Amergin, to warn Amergin not to trust Macha, but she could say nothing.
“Have you come looking for us?” Eriu asked.
“I have,” said Amergin. “It is my clan I come to speak of.”
“Ah, certainly,” said Macha. “Eriu has told me; one of your company has died. A pity. How did it occur?”
“It is Scota,” he said. “My mother.” He closed his eyes, inhaled a deep, shaking breath.
“Oh no!” Eriu pressed her hands over her mouth. “Your mother. Oh, Amergin, the weight of your sorrow.”
Song of Ireland Page 22
