Island of Shadows

by Peter Tremayne

  The tall figure of her rescuer moved closer in the shadows.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ the voice demanded.

  Scáthach could not distinguish the man’s features but the voice was soft and pleasant enough.

  ‘I think so. Did you kill one of them?’ she asked, indicating the body which lay on the ground.

  She saw the man’s head shake in the darkness.

  ‘No. There was no need. I merely pricked the man’s arm at which he seemed to be disagreeably surprised. He seems to have fainted. Who are they?’

  ‘Thieves,’ replied the girl. ‘I encountered them yesterday and wounded one. They came to take vengeance on me.’

  ‘You wounded one?’ the man’s voice was surprised.

  Scáthach bit her lip in annoyance. Why should the man be astonished? Did he not think a woman capable of performing such a feat?

  There was a groan as the remaining thief stirred.

  The tall man went to stand over him, sword at the man’s throat.

  ‘We can turn this jackal over to the watch,’ he said. ‘Rise, creature.’

  ‘Mercy,’ groaned the other. ‘I beg you, mercy.’

  The thief slowly rose to his feet.

  ‘Precede us from the alley,’ commanded the man.

  He was obeyed with reluctance.

  They moved back onto the quay of the old port where burning brand torches now lighted the area which also showed the lights of several taverns.

  ‘Let’s find the watch,’ the tall man said.

  Scáthach frowned thoughtfully. Then she placed a hand on his arm.

  ‘If we do, it would mean that we would have to attend the hearing before the Brehon and give evidence.

  That might take a week or more. I cannot delay my journey long.’

  The man bit his lip.

  ‘And I, I too sail on the morning tide. There is but one choice.’

  He turned to the cowering wounded thief and prodded him with the point of his blade.

  The man growled.

  ‘This is your lucky day, my friend. You may go and rejoin your misbegotten companions. But tell them this … if I see you again in this region, if you attempt to waylay this girl again, then I shall not be lenient, nor will it be a Brehon who will judge. I shall be the one who will despatch you to your rebirth in the Otherworld.’

  He prodded the man again and the thief closed his eyes and groaned as he felt the sharp point of the blade pricking his flesh.

  ‘Go!’ snapped the tall man.

  The thief turned and shambled off into the darkness, clutching his arm.

  The tall man turned, sheathing his sword, and looked down at the girl.

  ‘A bad experience,’ he said.

  Scáthach disliked the superiority in his voice as if he were talking to a child.

  ‘Not as bad as some I have had,’ she replied as if bored by the matter.

  ‘Well, let me take you into a tavern and buy you a cup of mead.’

  She was about to refuse when she remembered the man had said he was sailing that morning. Was he captain of some ship? Perhaps she might persuade him to take her; even if she could get to Gallia it would be better than being stuck in Éireann.

  ‘Very well,’ she said.

  He turned and led the way to a nearby tavern. It was one of the less crowded, and so less noisy, of the quayside taverns. It was a well-lit place with a friendly fire and a smiling hosteler to greet them. The tall man ordered some mead and turned to bid his guest be seated. He paused in some surprise as his gaze took in the slight form of the girl, her curious, engaging beauty, but, more astonishing, her business-like weaponry and shield, which she carried with the air of one accustomed to them.

  On her part, Scáthach was also abie to see her rescuer for the first time. He could not have been more than a few years older than she; he had finely chiselled features, with a high forehead, a shock of fair hair and light grey eyes that seemed to twinkle with permanent amusement. She found his features attractive and comforting. He wore a hero’s tore around his neck, and carried the weapons of a warrior. She glanced at the quality of his accoutrements and realised that here was a scion of a house of substance.

  The tall youth, for he was scarcely more, gave a curious half bow.

  ‘I am Flann Mac Fraech. May I be permitted to know your name?’

  She answered his smile and said: ‘I am Scáthach of Uibh Rathach.’

  A puzzled frown crossed his features.

  ‘ … of Uibh Rathach?’ he repeated, with emphasis. To use such a title meant one was chieftain of the dun.

  ‘I know only of Eola of Uibh Rathach, who is renowned throughout all Éireann.’

  The girl nodded slowly.

  ‘I am Scáthach, daughter of Eola, may he be reborn well in the Otherworld.’

  The warrior bit his lip.

  ‘Sad it is to hear of the death of so great a champion. Did age overtake him?’

  The hosteler came forward with their mead and after he had left Scáthach shrugged.

  ‘He was treacherously slain by vermin who gained entrance to his dun under the laws of hospitality and who then profaned those laws. Now Buimech, my mother, makes ritual atonement.’

  Flann Mac Fraech pursed his lips uncomfortably. He knew what that meant. A ritual fast to the death in protest at the injustice.

  ‘And what do you seek here in Dun na Sead?’ he pressed.

  ‘I seek those who killed my father. I seek to follow them to Gallia, where I believe they came from.’

  The young warrior raised his brows.

  ‘Gallia?’

  Scáthach nodded.

  ‘Alas, I was hoping that you were a captain of a vessel, since you said you were sailing on the morning tide. I am searching for a passage to Gallia.’

  Flann shrugged.

  ‘Alas, I am no seaman but a warrior although my journey takes me to Gallia on the morrow. I must shake the dust of Éireann from my shoes.’

  ‘You say that with regret,’ observed the girl.

  ‘Indeed. I am now merely a soldier of fortune, a warrior who can only hire his services to others and who can no longer fight for his own kin.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I am Flann Mac Fraech,’ he repeated with a sad note of resignation in his voice. ‘My people are … were … the Cruithne. Our clan were ruled by a petty tyrant Aintiarna who laid heavy taxes upon us and levied the clansmen to make war upon our neighbours with whom we had long lived in amity. I tried to lead our people in an attempt to overthrow Aintiarna. I failed. Aintiarna would have had me slain had it not been for the intervention of our druids who forbade it. Instead I was outcast and must never return while Aintiarna lives.’

  There was a silence between them.

  ‘A sad tale,” observed Scáthach after a while.

  ‘And one with which I shall have to live,’ replied the young man, the corners of his mouth turning down. ‘But tell me more of your tale and why you think the assassins of your father are from Gallia?’

  Scáthach hesitated. She found herself curiously drawn to the young warrior, as if there were a warmth of friendship between them, and that coupled with the need she felt to confide her problems to someone of her own age made her respond to his sympathetic inquiry. Soon she was telling the story in the fullness of its detail, from the mysteries of her birth to the riddle of the triskele motif which was leading her to Lethra.

  It was a long time before she sat back and paused.

  Flann sat silently for a while, as if deep in thought.

  Eventually he raised his eyes and gazed at Scáthach. They were shining with an eagerness.

  ‘I have passage on a ship sailing to Gallia: on the morning tide. Let me intercede with the captain to take you also to my port of disembarkation. From there, if you will have me as your companion, we will both proceed to Lethra.’

  The girl stared curiously at the young warrior.

  ‘Why would you wish to go to Lethra?’

&
nbsp; Flann raised his voice and laughed.

  ‘And why not? I have told you my circumstances. I am but a soldier of fortune. The world is mine to wander where I choose. Lethra has an air of mystery to it. Maybe I will find adventure there which is denied me elsewhere. Maybe I will come with you because Eola of Uibh Rathach was a great champion of Éireann and his blood cries out for justice. Maybe.”

  ‘Do you know what port in Gallia your ship is headed.’

  Flann shook his head.

  ‘Once in Gallia we will seek out this kingdom of Lethra wherever it is,’ he said with assurance.

  Scáthach hesitated for a moment and then she smiled. She liked the impetuous and pleasant young warrior and it was a truism that two were better than one when faced with the hazards of the unknown.

  ‘Very well, Flann Mac Fraech. If you can persuade the captain of your vessel to take me, we will make the journey to Lethra together.’

  The young warrior slapped his knee and grinned with enthusiasm.

  ‘Already there is adventure awaiting us. What more can we ask for? Come, let us seek out the captain of the vessel.’

  Goll was a swarthy-complexioned man with a shock of black hair that almost hid his face. He wore an eye-patch over his left eye which, presumably, he had lost. Scáthach’s first reaction to his sharp, almost ugly features, his cunning appraisal, his sneering, thin mouth, was of dislike. Then she remembered Buimech’s teaching that the succulence of a nut is not judged by the attractiveness of its shell, therefore a person cannot be judged by their outward appearance. Nevertheless, she felt that she would not be able to bring herself to like the ill-favoured sea-captain.

  Flann had tracked the man down in one of the other quayside taverns. He was drinking with another, who was, so Scáthach later learnt, the mate on the ship. He was a fleshy faced, moon-featured individual with a tendency to smile too readily, showing ill-kept teeth.

  ‘Lethra?’

  Goll stared at them, his one eye winking in amazement in the flickering lights of the tavern.

  Flann nodded.

  ‘Surely it is not far from the port in Gallia to which we sail?’

  ‘Far enough. I will not risk my ship to sail to Lethra. Sooner I would sail my ship in the waters of the Fomorii, the Evil Ones who dwell beneath the waves in the northern seas.’

  Flann heaved a sigh and glanced at the girl.

  Then will you give passage to Gallia for Scáthach? Then we can proceed to Lethra by land ourselves.’

  Goll grinned speculatively.

  ‘Surely. There is always room for passengers … for a price.’

  Scáthach drew herself up and gazed steadily at the man.

  ‘How much is your price for a passage to Gallia?’ she demanded.

  Goll pursed his lips thoughtfully.

  ‘Nine gold pieces,’ he said after a moment.

  Flann gasped.

  ‘But that is twice the sum you asked for me.’

  Goll smiled and scratched his nose.

  ‘It is simply a matter of supply and demand,’ he replied. ‘The girl wants to go to Gallia. If she wants to go that badly, she will pay the price.’

  ‘But … ’ began Flann. However, Scáthach reached forward and silenced him with a pressure of her hand on his arm.

  ‘You are discerning, Goll. I will pay you your price.’

  Goll chuckled and reached out a gnarled hand.

  Scáthach continued to smile into his ugly features.

  ‘I will pay one third now, one third when we are at sea and the remainder when we make landfall in Gallia. Those are my terms.’

  Goll’s humorous expression vanished. He stared hard at the girl seeing the determination in the line of her jaw and the steely quality of her eyes. He read resolution and strength in her expression and knew there would be no bargaining. Goll was a pragmatist.

  ‘Very well,’ he said sullenly. ‘It is agreed. A third now.’

  She handed him the three gold pieces.

  ‘We sail on the morning tide,’ said Goll. ‘Our ship is the Nemhain. If you are not on board, we shall not wait.’

  ‘I’ll be on board.’

  She turned and left the tavern followed by Flann. Outside she said:

  ‘Your captain does not inspire confidence in his integrity.’

  Flann shrugged in the darkness.

  ‘It is hard to be fastidious when you are in need. I ask no more of Goll than that he put me on the shore of Gallia in safety.’

  The girl had to admit that the young warrior was right-

  ‘The morning tide is eight hours away,’ she observed. ‘I will eat and get some sleep before we sail. There is a hostel just above the port called the Hostel of the Stars. I shall stay there.’

  Flann was hesitant.

  ‘Are you not worried in case Eccneid is still lurking in the vicinity?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I’ll meet you on the quay at dawn.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ Flann confirmed.

  With a light step she turned into the darkness and, for the second time that evening, began to retrace her steps through the gloom through Dun na Sead towards the Hostel of Stars.

  It did not take her long to return to the hostel. Brosc seemed pleased to see her.

  ‘What luck, daughter of Eola?’ he said as he showed her to a table before the fire.

  There were only a few other people in the hostel.

  ‘I have a passage to Gallia,’ smiled Scáthach. ‘I sail with the morning tide so I need to be awakened in the hour before dawn.’

  That I shall do. What ship do you sail in?’

  The Nemhain.’

  The hosteler’s eyes widened.

  ‘Not GolPs ship?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘You know Goll?’

  ‘I know nothing good of the man,’ replied Brosc. ‘Among the sea ports there is much gossip. It is said that Goll has been known not to forsake piracy in pursuit of money. I would have a care of him and his crew. He and Eccneid were spawned from the same egg.’

  The daughter of Eola can look after herself,’ Scáthach replied. ‘But do you mean that Goll and Eccneid are brothers?’

  Brosc shook his head.

  ‘I only meant they were brothers in spirit and not in flesh. Evil, the both of them.’

  ‘I can take care of myself,’ repeated the girl, ‘I have no doubt. But Goll is not an honourable man. Remember that.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I will remember. Now let me have food and rest, Brosc, for I must make an early start in the morning.’

  ‘Have no fear. I shall awake you in time for the tide.’ Brosc was as good as his word, for it was still dark when he shook the girl awake. While she performed her toilet he prepared breakfast and within half an hour bade the man farewell and started down the darkened path towards the still sleeping seaport.

  There was a faint light in the eastern sky when she reached the quay. There were several people about for it seemed several of the ships were preparing to leave with the morning tide. However, the first person she saw was the figure of Flann Mac Fraech. He came to her, his face wreathed in smiles.

  ‘Have you rested well?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. And you?’

  ‘I was worried in case Eccneid was still bent on revenge. It is good to see you safe.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘I doubt whether he is within a mile of Dun na Sead. He has twice learnt a lesson from my sword.’

  A short, stocky seaman approached them.

  ‘Are you for the Nemhain?’

  ‘We are,’ confirmed Flann.

  ‘Pick up your dunnage and follow me.’

  They presumed that ‘dunnage’ referred to their belongings and they turned to follow the little man to the steps of the quayside. He went down with dexterity into a small skiff which was tied below and stood, balanced comfortably in the rocking craft, waiting for them to join him. Flann helped Scáthach into the craft and when she was seated safely in the stern, he follow
ed her. The seaman took the oars and propelled the skiff forward into the curious half-light of dawn towards a sleek black vessel, swinging round her stern until he came alongside to where a rope-ladder was slung.

  Again, Flann helped the girl from the skiff, although she swung up the ladder agilely enough. Flann followed and they found themselves on the deck of the Nemhain where Goll was standing, feet apart, hands on hips. He leered towards the girl.

  ‘A third when you are aboard,’ he said shortly by way of greeting.

  Scáthach shook her head with a thin smile.

  ‘The bargain was one third wThen we are at sea,’ she corrected. Being a few yards off-shore is scarcely being at sea.’

  Goll drew his brows together in anger, hesitated and then shrugged.

  ‘Very well. We set sail now to catch the tide. Do not get in the way of my seamen.’

  He turned brusquely and stalked off towards the stern.

  Flann gave a wry grimace in Scáthach’s direction.

  ‘Come on, let’s find a place on the lee of the ship, out of the way.'

  ‘The lee?’

  Flann grinned.

  ‘Easy to see that you haven’t been to sea before.’

  The girl shook her head.

  ‘I only sailed to the small islands off the coast of Éireann but I have never sailed on big ocean vessels such as the Nemhain before.’

  Flann guided her across the deck to the farther side of the ship out of the blustery breeze which was now blowing from the shore.

  ‘The lee of a vessel is its sheltered side, the quarter towards which the wind blows,’ he explained.

  Men were scurrying about the ship now, hauling on lines, scampering up the rigging. To Scáthach, all seemed confusion. Yet, she felt, there must be a method in it all, some purpose to the frenzied activity which her untrained eye could not discern.

  The tip of the sun was now just above the eastern horizon, the gusting breeze began to crack at the canvas of the sails while a myriad wavelets hit and thumped at the wooden planks of the vessel. Around the ship there wheeled large gulls with their plaintive cries.

  Goll, from the stern deck, was bellowing orders. There was a scampering of bare feet on the sanded boards of the vessel as half a dozen men bounded into the bows and began to throw their weight against a wheel-like object, grunting in the exertion of moving it in an easy rhythm. Then one set up a cry, echoed in chorus by the others; it was a strange weird chant which seemed to give impetus to the motion of the men against the wheel.