The Lyre Dancers

by Mandy Haggith

  Their barley is wormy and disgusting. This rotten food must have rotted their minds. Why can’t they see what is so obvious? Aonghas says a boat won’t make it, but I came in that little coracle and he has a big strong curragh. It’s an emergency. If I were stronger I’d get up and sail it myself.

  When I wake again there is a howling wind, but when I remember the situation I get up and dress. I’m still a bit wobbly but not so weak I can’t get down to the shore. Even in the relative shelter of the inlet the surface of the water is lifting in sheets and driving onto the land, waves smashing with great, white explosions and a wild roaring from the stones on the beach. I am soon wet through. It is the kind of wind that will move boulders.

  I see that the coracle is well strapped down with all the other boats. Aonghas has taken care of it.

  There is nothing I can do. The storm rages, imprisoning us all on the island.

  I get back shivering and it takes me a long time to warm through again. Aonghas and Cuilc treat me like a child, complaining if I get up out of bed. I explain over and over that Eadha is in danger and they say that they hear me but then do nothing. Aonghas says I have to be patient but I can’t stop worrying. Anything could have happened to Eadha. I talk to him inside my head, trying to reassure him that I am coming as soon as I can, telling him that I am well and safe, as far as I know.

  When we were together, so often we seemed to be able to read each other’s minds. With no need to speak we would agree where we wanted to go, what to do, our one shared soul guiding us without words. We would say the same thing, together, simultaneously.

  I ache for him. I talk to him, but I don’t hear him respond.

  What if he is dead? I dread it. But if he were dead, surely I would know; my soul, our soul, would be broken and screaming, surely? But I don’t hear his voice. I do not know what he is thinking or where he is.

  Cuilc is drunk all the time, and she laughs with Aonghas, cackling with him, flirting. It is repulsive to watch in someone so ancient. He laughs along with her, humouring her, as if she is something special. Why is he so deferential towards her? She is just a crone.

  Eventually the wind eases and Aonghas announces that we can go. He will take Cuilc in grand state across the water, he says. There is something going on here that I’m not sure I understand. Finishing his bowl of porridge, he winks at me and it makes me feel sick. He strides off saying he is going to check his boat, and if all is well, we can go, but he returns a while later shaking his head. The wind has turned westerly and dropped in ferocity, but there was some damage to the curragh. He has someone fixing it.

  ‘Patience,’ he says. ‘Tomorrow we will go, at first light if the weather is reasonable.’

  I am praying for the weather. I can’t wait much longer to see Eadha.

  While we wait I confront Cuilc again with what Mother said. We are sitting beside the door of the house, in the sunshine. It is a beautiful day and it seems outrageous for everything to be so wrong, with the sky so blue and clear. If Eadha and I were together of course we would be revelling in it, but as it is, the sun is too bright, too hot, too intense. Horseflies bite our arms and legs and our conversation is punctuated by slaps.

  Down at the shore, along from the house, out towards the narrowest part of the loch, the boatsmiths are at work with Aonghas. Hammering is interspersed with the scrape of a saw. It is taking them an age to do whatever it is they must do.

  ‘Do you believe my mother is your daughter?’ I say to Cuilc.

  She laughs as if I am a stupid child. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘That’s what Mother said, that some boy slave, when you were both young, got you pregnant and she was the result. That’s why they locked me up. And Eadha.’ Has she not been listening to me?

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she says.

  ‘I’m not being ridiculous. That’s what she claims. That she’s your daughter and therefore Eadha’s her brother. If it’s not true, how are we going to prove it?’

  ‘It’s just a silly nonsense someone’s thought up.’ She emits a high-pitched sort of giggle.

  ‘How can you be so unconcerned? Eadha’s imprisoned. I don’t know what she’ll do to him. His life is in danger.’

  ‘Nonsense. Eadha’s a very capable boy.’

  ‘But they’ve locked him up. Why don’t you care?’

  ‘I do care, dear. That’s why we’re going over as soon as Aonghas has sorted his boat out. It’s nothing to worry about.’

  I am so exasperated, I could throttle her.

  ‘But what if Mother insists she’s your daughter? Everyone believes her. There must be someone who can tell her it’s not true!’

  She looks at me then, just a fleeting glance, then she stares out at the loch. ‘Of course. I can tell her.’

  ‘But what if she doesn’t believe you?’

  ‘Oh, it was all such a long time ago.’

  ‘What was?’ Nausea grips me. There’s an awkward pause and my stomach clenches. ‘Is it true?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She giggles again, that laugh I’ve never heard her use before. It sounds completely insincere

  Suddenly she groans and puckers her face up in pain.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I say

  ‘Just a little spasm.’ Her voice is taut and she holds her hand tight around her belly. The colour has drained out of her face. She pushes herself up to her feet.

  ‘Excuse me.’ She stumbles to the corner of the building but before she can get there, she doubles up and vomits. I catch her as she crumples. There is blood coming up and vile green stuff and the smell is enough to make me want to reel back in disgust. I panic. She is dying in my arms. I start shouting and Onni comes running. Cuilc’s not a big woman, but I’m not exactly huge myself. I am glad I’ve been doing all that dance training. I find the strength to hold her up. She is convulsing as I half-carry her inside, with Onni helping me to get her to her bed. The breath heaves in and out of her, sounding like branches scraping together. She is weeping feebly. She looks like a snotty little child, with all that sick down her front.

  We pull the clothes off her and make her comfortable. She swoons away into unconsciousness. I can’t bear to leave her side but all that evil vomit needs clearing up.

  Onni makes soothing sounds and fusses over everything, making it seem a bit less scary. I don’t know what to do so she gives me instructions. She says, ‘You keep a hold of her hand there.’

  I do as she says and she chunters on. ‘The cailleach will be better in the morning, it’s just a bit of sick, nothing to worry about, it’ll be something she ate, the old ones have a sensitive constitution. Now you just rest there, Cuilc my dear, you take it easy, we’re all here looking after you.’ On and on she goes like that, then she hands me a cloth and I wipe the old woman’s face and front, gently, as if she’s a baby.

  Slowly her rasping breath calms down a bit and perhaps the pain has subsided enough so she can come back to herself. When Onni has left us alone, she looks me right in the eye and says, clear as anything, ‘I do want to see Eadha, before I die.’

  It is like a knife going through me. I feel her pain the next time a spasm hits her. I am sitting here, wasting time, when I should be going to find him, but I simply don’t know what to do.

  When the pain has eased enough for her to speak again, with her eyes closed, she says clearly, ‘There is no incest between you, I swear it.’

  A bit later, Aonghas comes in and she says to him, ‘Fetch Eadha. I want to see him before I die.’

  He shakes his head. ‘With this wind there’d be no difficulty getting across, but it could be a week before I could get back with him. And from what the girl says, he’s a prisoner. You’d be better off letting me take you home, if you must see him.’

  It’s the brutal truth. I can see that. But how can a woman in her state travel?

  She closes her eyes, I assume in defeat, but after a while she says quietly, ‘Very well. When we can go?’

&nbs
p; ‘In the morning,’ Aonghas says.

  ‘If I live that long.’

  ‘Ach, Onni says it’s just something you ate. You’ll be right as rain tomorrow. I know you Cuilc. You’re tough as walrus hide.’

  A wan smile appears on her face and she opens her eyes, but there is nothing in them but pain.

  ‘Tomorrow.’ She grips my hand with sudden ferocity and stares at Aonghas. He nods, turns, and ducks out of her view. I watch his back as he strides out of the building.

  When I look back at Cuilc she has her eyes closed again. Gradually her grasp on my hand subsides and she seems to be sleeping. I creep away outside.

  Aonghas is putting a stretcher together from a couple of poles and some skins. He glances up at me. ‘She’ll not walk far, I doubt. We may as well make her as comfortable as we can. You’ll find some goat skins up in the rafters. We’ll wrap her up warm.’

  ‘You’re very kind,’ I say

  ‘I’ve known her all my life. There was a time I’d have done anything for her. And if this is the last thing I can do…’ He leaves the thought hanging, but it is clear he doesn’t really think she will be fine by morning.

  As much as we can, we keep up the pretence. I don’t want to eat, but to maintain the fiction of everything being fine, I accept the food I am offered at dinner time. We converse in civil tones about nothing and take ourselves to our beds, mine at the foot of Cuilc’s so that I am there to help her if she needs anything. I leave a small lamp burning. I don’t think anyone gets much sleep.

  RETURN

  By morning I am exhausted.

  Fortunately, Aonghas seems to understand the urgency, or maybe it is just his nature; brusque, direct, letting nothing get in the way. A young man appears who Aonghas addresses as ‘Mac’, boy, and I don’t know any other name for him.

  ‘Hello, I’m Rona,’ I say.

  ‘I know,’ he grunts, as if I’ve said my name is Stupid. And that is the measure of our interaction.

  Aonghas and Mac lift Cuilc onto the stretcher, carry her to the boat, and somehow manage to get her aboard without jolting her unduly. Mac has the strength of an ox and Aonghas is a giant masquerading as a man. They make Cuilc look leaf-light as they swing her about. It is like watching a dance. I am amazed, respectful. Mac gives the merest nod of acknowledgement when I say, ‘Thank you for being so gentle with her. You’re strong.’ But I can tell from his bearing that he is proud, and I am glad I’ve said it. I might be stupid, but I am grateful, and there’s never any harm in that. Just before we set off I remember the coracle, but Aonghas is way ahead of me and has tied it behind us.

  I follow Aonghas’ instructions, although there isn’t much that the two of them can’t manage between them after the initial flurry of casting off his boat, Sgiannach, and hauling in ropes. The sea is bouncier than when I sailed over in the coracle, but it is hardly rough, and the wind is behind us, so we glide along at a steady pace. The sea swishes against the bow and a line of froth shows where we’ve been. But even this gentle rocking seems to cause unbearable suffering for Cuilc. I stay with her. She is brave, I give her that, and she tries to sound positive about how the sea air will do her good.

  But she is sick often, and when we meet a big wave and the boat lurches, I can see the motion pains her. She grimaces and closes her eyes. I stroke her hand, murmuring words I hope have comfort in them. I don’t know what else to do.

  She looks at me and smiles. ‘You’re a good girl. Eadha made a good choice and I’ve been a crabbit old bitch.’

  I say she’s been nothing of the sort, although of course she has, but it’s impossible to feel anything other than sorry for her in this pitiful state. I’ve no doubt I could make a similar confession.

  After a particularly horrible bout of sickness she moans. ‘Don’t let me die out here. Let me see him, I have to see him. I’ve something to tell him before I go.’

  ‘Can you tell me?’ I ask.

  She stares at me, thinking hard, by the look of her frown, then shakes her head. ‘I want him to know first.’ She closes her eyes again.

  She looks as if she is dead already with each breath reviving her from the state of a corpse, or perhaps this is just an impression caused by my desperation. It is dreadful, the discovery that life is a thread that may break at any moment.

  We reach the coast of the Winged Isle, the Cuillin mountains like the jaws of a great beast. We have to turn up the loch. Aonghas asks me to help pull the sail round. It is hard work, but it doesn’t take long. I’ve sailed enough with Father not to be completely ignorant of what’s needed. I take care to coil a rope I see lying, and I get a grunt of thanks from Mac for doing it neatly. Perhaps Mac really is his name. Odd. We’ve reached a point where I don’t feel I can ask his real name.

  Up the loch, we partly lower the sail. The wind is perfect for this journey and it pushes us right up to Cuilc’s house on the shore. As soon as it is shallow enough, Mac jumps out and pulls us in next to Father’s boat. I clamber out after him. Father is in sight and comes running to help Aonghas and Mac to haul the curragh up out of the water.

  ‘Thanks Manigan,’ Aonghas says. ‘We’ll need an extra hand to get the invalid ashore.’

  Father frowns. ‘Who?’

  ‘Cuilc. She’ll die in her own bed at least.’

  The two men exchange a look I can’t interpret, and I feel a fresh twinge of fear. What if Cuilc’s assurance is not enough? What if what she is claiming simply isn’t true?

  Father ignores me while the three of them try to get the stretcher off the boat without jolting Cuilc too badly. She swears at one point and Aonghas apologises.

  Another lad I haven’t seen before arrives. He is thin and wispy, like a plant that’s grown in the dark, and he has a furry little creature clinging around his neck that I later learn is called a monkey – a revolting thing, no doubt flea-ridden. It gives me the shudders. He looks far too feeble to help carry the stretcher up the steep track to the house, but he puts his shoulder to it and seems to be helping them.

  I trot along behind. Father calls him Fin and I can see something difficult between them, but familiarity too. He must have been with them when they arrived here, but I didn’t notice.

  Back in the broch, we get Cuilc to her bed, and then the men stand around in that way men do inside a house.

  ‘Where’s Mother?’ I ask. ‘We need her knowledge of herbs to help Cuilc. Where is she when you need her?’

  ‘Don’t speak of her in that tone.’ Father speaks to me like a child.

  Then the ghostly boy says, ‘She and Badger went off to talk to a priestess.’

  ‘Who? Ishbel?’

  He shrugs. ‘Wherever your man is.’

  Father gave him a filthy look.

  Of course, Eadha will have gone to Ishbel. I feel huge relief and say, ‘Cuilc says what Mother’s saying isn’t true and she needs to tell Eadha something that will prove it. I have to go and fetch him.’

  ‘You’re not going anywhere, my girl.’ Father grips me around my upper arm.

  ‘Let go, you’re hurting.’

  If anything, he tightens his grip.

  ‘Can’t you see she’s dying? Tell him, Aonghas. We need Ishbel. We need someone who knows how to help her. And she needs Eadha. She has to tell him something.’

  ‘She needs help, that’s for sure,’ Aonghas says, as if feeding out rope with a tension on it.

  Cuilc’s breath rasps. ‘Get Ishbel.’

  Everyone turns to look at her. Her eyes are fluttering.

  My father says to Aonghas, ‘Do you know the way to this priestess’ cave?’

  Aonghas shifts his weight and says nothing, considering the question.

  ‘I do,’ Mac volunteers.

  ‘Aye, but there’s the crossing to be made, when the wind…’ Aonghas looks at me, but I can’t read his expression.

  Cuilc moans from her bed and the men just stand there. I suddenly realise that I need to act as if this is my own house.

  �
��I think we all need to eat something. We’ve been hours at sea. And I must at least make her a hot drink. I’m sorry for the lack of hospitality, Aonghas, it looks as if my father’s let the fire go out.’

  I turn to the hearth, full of bitterness, and try to get the fire to wake up. It has never been one of my strengths. Fires are fickle, dirty and bothersome. The ghost boy Fin lifts off the sticks that I am trying to warm in the embers and from somewhere he produces a bit of bark and something fluffy. He murmurs over it and suddenly there are flames.

  ‘I’ve been watching your mother,’ he says.

  I don’t know what he means.

  ‘She handles fire better than anyone I’ve ever seen. I’m surprised she didn’t teach you.’

  I fetch a cup and pull some mint leaves from a hanging bunch. Eadha and I gathered them to dry just a week or so back on Cuilc’s orders. It is all I can think of that she might like. I find some oatcakes and hand them to the men, who eat the lot between them without speaking.

  I make one more try to go to Brigid’s Cave. ‘I need to fetch someone who can do more for Cuilc than give her a cup of water. Her death’ll be on our hands if we don’t do something.’

  At least this stirs Aonghas from just standing watching Cuilc die. ‘You know the way to the cave, Mac?’

  The lad seems keen to go, nodding.

  As he leaves, I make to go with him, but Father says, ‘You’re staying here.’

  ‘This is my home. I can go where I like,’ I retort.

  It is Aonghas who stops me this time. ‘It’s at your home where you’re needed,’ he says, glancing towards Cuilc.

  The two of them, Aonghas and Father, follow the boy outside. He sets off at a run as soon as he is out the door. I watch him until he is hidden by trees, while Father goes with Aonghas to the shore to make the boat secure.