by Erin O'Quinn
“Thank you, my friend. When Liam is ready he will tell his family in his own way, and not by rumor.”
By now, I saw that my beloved was quite drunk. Ryan faithfully echoed his slurred words. “Cat, let me sing to ye of me love. I will sing to ye of the blackbirds of Dun-Leary.” And he raised his voice in a lovely air.
She wore a brat as red as her hair
me maiden from Dun-Leary.
The blackbirds called and whistled to her
me maiden from Dun-Leary.
A rose of red they laid on her thighs
an’ a wave of the sea they tipped in her eyes.
An’ never was there a lass so fair
as me maiden from Dun-Leary.
Liam’s song ended, and I felt little shivers and bumps at the nape of my neck and all along my arms.
“The Gaelic is all poetry,” said Ryan. “But I could not tell ye the right words, only the meaning.”
I wondered whether the original maiden had red hair and green eyes, and then I knew that it mattered not. It was a love song to capture me completely, and it was fortunate that Ryan was there, and that Liam was too drunk to do more than sing.
I sat close to him, and with my fingertips I traced the muscle along his forearm, and then the breadth of his shoulders. He looked down into my eyes, his own dark with emotion. I saw with a quick glance that Ryan had turned away from us, and I raised my mouth to Liam. His own mouth enveloped mine, all warm and wet. Then it lifted back off slowly and then back again. It was a movement so deeply sensuous that I felt myself beginning to feel very warm indeed, and I had to pull away. “A chuisle,” he said low so that only I could hear. “A koosh-la.”
Then his head slipped onto his chest, and I saw that the beer had made its conquest. “Ryan,” I said, “I think it is time for you to seek the hay haggard. Can you find it in the dark?”
“I can, lass. An’ I thank ye for a supper fit for the mead hall of Tara itself. An’ where do ye suppose I left me other foot?”
“Before you leave, please help me lay Liam on the bed.” And so the two of us somehow pushed and rolled him onto the bed. When Ryan had left, I latched the door and fed the fire pit. I blew out every candle and laid next to Liam, still in my deerskin tunic, listening to his deep, drunken breathing.
For some reason, Liam had needed to drink to talk to me tonight through his cousin. I thought about what he had told me. He told me he enjoyed his first lesson in the godspels of Christ. He told me he was beginning to understand my religion, the motives of Patrick and others like him. Was it such a struggle to admit it? I thought about it more.
Everything he had said to me tonight was a direct repudiation of a whole lifetime of teaching by the druids. I had thought of Patrick’s ministry as the simple spread of the word of the Lord, never pausing to consider what that may mean for the people who began to believe. It would have deep implications for their families and friends, their very way of life, in addition to their own mortal soul.
On Liam’s first day, he had found out that he liked the Lord “well indeed.” It was a good start. I lay embracing my lover, proud of his brave foray into what must have seemed the enemy camp of a strange and unpredictable Christian god.
* * * *
Morning was easy for me, difficult for Liam. I rose from our bed feeling refreshed, ready for a bath in the river. Liam, on the other hand, lay rumpled and snoring, and he did not respond when I gently shook his shoulder and uttered his name.
I stirred the fire pit back to life and pulled my dark green léine and an undertunic from the clothes cabinet. Taking the ewer with me, I sought the cold waters of the Foyle. I saw that Ryan was sitting up in the hay haggard, his head buried in his hands, no doubt ruing the intimate relationship he had established with the wineskin last night.
“Please keep your back turned, Ryan, for I will have my bath, no matter what.”
“Aye, Caylith. I will go roust me cousin. For I have no doubt”—and he staggered slowly to his feet—“that he will need me sweet affection to wake him.”
The dawn was close, close enough to lighten the sky and erase the presence of every star. I took the ewer and began my bath ritual, pouring the icy water onto my head and letting it shock me into wakefulness.
Fully dressed and feeling exhilarated, I entered the teach. Liam stood in his wrinkled léine, still holding his head. “Please tell my lover that he has one half hour to dress and eat before he meets Brother Galen. And tell him, please, not to take revenge on the bearer of the message.”
I began to prepare a fast morning meal, oatmeal stir-about and pan bread. Liam and Ryan stumbled outside to confront the cold river, and we managed to be ready to leave one hour after sunup. We had agreed that Liam would meet us at the construction site of the new houses being prepared for the wedding party.
We stood outside saddling our horses, and I stood on tiptoe to kiss Liam before I mounted Macha. “Dia duit,” I said, and I fingered his mouth all the while I was kissing and lightly biting his lips.
He answered my kiss with his own hot tongue, licking my lips and my fingers, too. “Hello, I love ye,” he said, holding me against himself for a long moment. Then he mounted Angus and rode to the church.
Ryan and I turned our horses toward the new construction, along the river, just north of Mama and Glaed’s own little house.
We had ridden into a little glen that nestled the river, just downstream of Mama’s teach. Workers had carved out a clearing, leaving trees here and there, and workmen were already at the site. We drew up, and I watched them, marveling as always at the building of the wattle-and-daub dwellings.
I had watched a bit of the familiar way of building when I was briefly in Glenderry, the monastery settlement near Lough Neagh. Workers would drive stout timbers into the earth, as far apart as they wanted the finished wall to be, and then they would weave limber hazel branches in between, creating a latticework, almost the same way Michael had built the frames of the currachs that had carried us across the Sea of Éire.
Whether the timbers were set in place as squares, or in a circle, the idea was the same—to fill the closely woven slats in between with daub—a mixture of clay, sand, straw, and any material that would bind the wall together. Then, to make it weather hardy, the entire structure was covered with a mix of lime and chalk, giving the houses their traditional brilliant-white color.
The actual construction was relatively fast, except when the resident asked for something special. My mother had wanted her teach to be studded with small, shuttered windows, and they had to be carefully cut from the structure before the daub hardened. Gristle had somehow made his own dwelling on three different levels, conforming to the hill where he lived, and the result was striking. And MacCool had once told me that Michael knew how to construct houses with one room actually on top of another.
In addition to the small houses, the people of Éire often built large dwellings, called brughs, where an entire family lived. I had been in such a brugh when I went to the homestead of Owen Sweeney to rescue Mama.
Now I saw that the workers had completed one little round-house, located near a grove of aspens, and the walls of a second one were now being built. It was twice as large as the first, and I thought it would be perfect for Michael and Brigid to live in while he was building my own brugh.
I turned to Ryan. “You see, my friend? You have your own home to stay in, any time you are visiting us. By tonight, I hope you will have your own bed, for it happens that Liam has a creative flair for weaving.”
I thought about the third dwelling, not yet built, meant for Father Patrick. It struck me then that the priest may be happier living next to the church, not out here on the river. I dismounted and walked to where the workmen were ingeniously weaving the latticework of the large round-house. “Hello,” I said. Do you have a workman in charge?”
A brawny, dark-skinned man straightened from his task. “That would be myself. You are Caylith, I know. My name is Robert.”
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I grasped his hand. “My pleasure, Robert. I wonder whether you would make a change in your plans before you build the third house.”
“Of course, Caylith. Name it.”
“The teach would be for Father Patrick himself. I have decided it would be better to build it next to the church. Would that cause you any trouble?”
“No, not at all. I know we will soon be building a school there. To build a special home for Father Patrick would be easy, for the materials would be close at hand.”
I took one last look around, satisfied that the building was close enough to being finished that even if Michael were to arrive tomorrow, he and Brigid would have shelter. They would have no fire pit, however, nor any furniture, nor a trencher to eat their food from. When Liam joined us later this morning, I would ask him if he and Glaedwine would help find what we needed.
Ryan said, “Caylith, I am going to lend a hand to the building. Liam will be here in less than an hour, I think. If ye have other tasks, or need to change your clothing, we will be here when ye return.”
He was right. I could do nothing dressed in my long-sleeved léine. I would go back and change into my training tunic. And perhaps I would bring Luke back with me, he of the talented carpenter’s hands.
He dismounted, and I turned Macha back downriver, not even stopping when I rode past Mama and Glaed’s house. The thought that Michael and Brigid were almost here made my pulse race. Yes, I looked forward to seeing them again. But their very presence meant that Liam and I would soon be standing before the cross and candle sconces in our church, listening to Father Patrick pronounce the ritual of holy matrimony.
I dug my knees into Macha’s side, urging her forward, my cheeks burning from the coarse touch of the biting autumn wind.
When I arrived at the teach, I was glad I had come back, for I saw two familiar horses tethered near our hay haggard—a dappled gelding and a white mare. I jumped from Macha, not even uncinching her saddle, and ran headlong to the door. And there, sharing one cloak against the swirling wind, stood Michael and Brigid.
Chapter 19:
Call of the Blood
I tried to embrace both of them at once, laughing and holding them, as they threw their arms around me. “Oh, oh, I am so joyed to see you both! Quickly—let us get inside out of the wind.”
We all went inside, and I stood looking at my friends. I held my hands out as they removed the large cloak, taking it from Michael.
Brigid said, “Cay, you look very…complete, somehow. Happy, and in high spirits.”
I looked at Brigid, her cheeks all ruddy and glowing from the wind, her soft, blonde hair tousled around her face. I put my palm up to her cheeks, almost shyly. “And you also, Bree, so very fair and happy.” I looked at Michael’s dear face, and I saw that he, too, seemed imbued with a deep contentment that was almost tangible. “And, Michael, I will ask what you have been doing these last two months—but you both need to sit down first and recover from your trip.”
I was suddenly embarrassed at having so little furniture, and that it was so stiff and uncomfortable. “This little place, as you see, needs to be replaced right away with a Michael-brugh.”
“Worry not, lass,” said Michael. “We are here to enjoy you and Liam, not to seek the halls of Tara.”
“I saw the horses,” I told my friends. “I thought perhaps you would arrive in the longship Brigid.”
“She was three more weeks from sailing,” said Michael. “We could not wait.” He reached out and Brigid seized his hand, bringing it briefly to her mouth.
“Your teach is almost finished, my friends. I have just come from there. I am on a search today for furniture and cooking and eating containers. One more day and we may be ready.”
“What if I were to go with you, Cay, while Michael goes to the building site? Is Liam there?”
“He will no doubt be there by the time Michael arrives. And his cousin Ryan is there, too, for he arrived yesterday. What a wonderful idea, Brigid—to come with me this morning! We can ride together, and we can talk about our lives these past few months.”
I told Michael how to find the site. As soon as he left, I quickly changed from my pretty léine to my deerskin tunic, and I brought along my woolen brat as a shield against the gathering wind. Brigid and I walked out to our horses. Before I mounted, I could not help giving her another quick hug. “Oh, Bree, your being here is a token of something special to me. Do you follow my meaning?”
“Does it have something to do with a double wedding, Cay?”
“Yes. I feel I am now ready.”
I mounted Macha, and Brigid mounted her white mare. Before we rode, I looked in her eyes and added, “I think Liam and I are perhaps more ready than you think. It is causing us some, ah, discomfort.”
I urged Macha forward, and Brigid stayed abreast of me. “I think I catch your meaning. Are you saving yourself for marriage, my friend?”
I nodded, wondering how much to tell her. “I promised Father Patrick I would not…sin…before I married. And he trusts me to keep my promise. Up until a few days ago, it has been a miracle that I am still chaste.”
I was amazed at myself, telling Brigid about such personal matters. But she, like Magpie, seemed to have a mature outlook that could only help me. I told her about our renewed promise to each other a few days ago, to bridle our wild horses, and how it was causing a bit of strain between us. I told her also about Brother Galen’s “bargain” with Liam, an arrangement we were keeping from public knowledge.
“It is really my fault, Bree. If I had stayed resolute from the beginning, he would not have tested me so persistently.”
“Ah, but then he would not be learning about sin and redemption, and perhaps he would not be thinking of converting. So you see? The Lord has provided a path for Liam, working through you.”
“Are you a Christian, Brigid?”
“Yes. But Michael is not. We have an understanding about our desire for each other. He, too, will wait until our wedding night. But we still enjoy each other, without the, um, the conjugal tie—the ultimate act of love.”
“Well, I found out that we are not as strong as I had hoped. One night recently was so close that it scared me. That is why Liam is seeing Brother Galen.”
“Darling Cay, I admire your strong mind. You and Liam will be very happy together, for he, too, has a strong mind, not unlike Michael’s, and he will need your keen judgment to temper his impulses. We four just need to schedule our wedding to be held as soon as possible.”
We both laughed, each of us no doubt thinking about the added bonus of the marriage rite. My own secret visions advanced straightway from the holy altar to the fragrant marriage bed.
“I will send word to Father Patrick today, Brigid. For I will have no other perform my ceremony.”
I was taking Brigid to see Luke. I wanted to enlist his help in building some items quickly, and his carpentry skills exceeded any in Derry. We tethered our horses outside his small teach, a little house he had fashioned from wood, next to the river with its own separate forge and carpenter’s shed. I saw the flames from the forge before I saw Luke, and we followed the sight of fire and billowing steam.
Luke looked up from his work, his almost-black hair standing up here and there as he absently wiped sweat from his forehead. When he saw us, he grinned and immediately doused the metal piece he had been hammering, and we watched a cloud of steam rise and hiss.
“Caylith! How good to see you. And your friend—?”
“And my friend Brigid. She will stand before Father Patrick soon in a double wedding ceremony, Luke. For she and Liam’s cousin Michael will join us at the altar.”
She proffered a dainty hand to him and he held it, bowing only a bit awkwardly. “Hello, Brigid. Dia duit. Do you, ah, speak our language?”
“Ni go maith,” she responded gravely. And then, in the perfect accent of Britannia, “Only when I am absolutely forced to, Luke.” And then she laughed outright at his dropped jaw.<
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“I never asked you, Brigid, how you learned my tongue so perfectly.”
She looked from Luke to me as she answered, her deep blue eyes animated. “To make short of a long story, my father thought I needed a continental education. For several years, I attended a large school in the city of Londinium, while my father pursued his life in crime.”
“Crime?” asked Luke.
“Ah, yes. Father is a Brehon. A scholar of the Éireannach laws, and also of the Roman casus legalis.”
We were silent a moment, taking it all in. “I have come to you to ask a favor, Luke,” I said.
“Just name it, Cay.” He was still looking at Brigid with a kind of awe, shaking his dark head.
“We find ourselves suddenly with three wedding guests and two houses—but with no furniture and no trenchers, no cook pots or even a metal cup to drink from. I was hoping that you may have a small store of such items to help us out.”
He smiled his large, crooked, beaming smile. “Of course. First, look around my forge. Take what you need from here.”
He had constructed shelves on three walls of the spacious forge, and among the many items were cauldrons, trenchers, knives, spoons, and cups—all hammered thin and burnished to a soft glow.
When Brigid and I had made our selection, he led us outside to the carpenter’s shed. “Again, take what you need, ladies.”
I saw a bewildering assortment of benches, couches, tables, and even elevated beds. “Luke, are you going into the furniture trade?” I asked.
“Perhaps I should,” he said. “I have been fashioning items just to keep my hands busy as I think about the world and the kosmos beyond.”
I looked at Brigid. “What in the world is a ‘coz-mose’?”
She and Luke laughed, and I saw that the two had formed a bond in that instant. I did not care that it was at my expense, for my friends accepted and even reveled in my lack of formal education.
