Fortune, it is said, favors the bold. But the brutal facts of warfare indicate fortune favors the one who is better armed, and better led.
After what seemed an eternity, the chariots charged the thin line of men before them. Horses and chariots drove straight through. When the charioteers wheeled to see the results of their devastating charge, there was not one Sigmall man standing.
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3.4 Retribution
The Fianna looked listless, leaderless and demoralized. “I need four brave men to join me on a mission.” said Culann.
It was some days before Culann reached the old Fianna camp site, deep in the wild-woods. There he met what was left of his colleagues. Their leader, Osgar of course had been killed in the raid along with everyone except Culann and two other wounded warriors. They had managed to limp back to the others and tell their story.
Culann learnt that Fea's father, King Sigmall, had raised a small force consisting of mainly farmers who owed him allegiance. They had left their fields and hurriedly marched to recover the woman they believed to be Fea - in fact one of her handmaidens. There were no accompanying Fianna.
The neighboring kingdom of Eogan mac Cairill, was larger, stronger, and had many more warriors. Word filtered back some days later that King Sigmall, not surprisingly, had been killed and his men routed by mac Cairill.
"Why had not the rest of the Fianna joined Sigmall's force?" asked Culann.
No one met his gaze and the response was, "We weren't asked. We only found out about the King's foolish response after news of his death."
Culann snorted in disgust, but recognized that if they had gone, they too would be laying lifeless in some far off field. Or become slaves of the victorious Eogan mac Cairill.
The men looked listless, leaderless and demoralized. There were no more than twenty all told.
Culann had revenge burning in his heart, partly because his friends had been killed, but more so because of the terrible wrong done to Princess Fea. Twenty men would not be near enough to take on the much larger body of armed men King Eogan commanded. Plus, they would be very confident after two impressive victories in the past few weeks. Perhaps overconfident? thought Culann.
Some men took ages to come to a decision. Some had the ability to crystallize their thoughts within a few heartbeats. Such a man was Culann.
"I need four brave men to join me on a mission." said Culann. One of the older men, Lien, asked "Why only four?"
"Because twenty is not enough to take on the mac Cairill clan while five men can infiltrate his camp easily."
"And then what?"
"And then kill him."
Increased murmuring broke out among the men. Suddenly they had a plan. It was crazy, it could not possibly work, but here was a way to avenge their brothers in arms, and if one had to die, better to die in battle.
The Celtic warriors of Ireland all thought it more honorable to die in battle, than lay in bed and die of old age, or sickness. And if one had to die in battle, make it something spectacular, so Bards would sing about their exploits for years to come.
"What is your plan Culann?"
"I'm working on it."
"Come on, you have to tell us."
"It's secret."
"Rubbish, you don't have a plan."
"I do, but I'll only tell you when we reach mac Cairill's camp."
Some were shaking their heads and the mood suddenly turned negative. He has no plan. He's too young. Why should we follow him anyway? Because he has a plan and you don't. He has no plan.
Culann stood and announced "I am leaving now. Those of you who wish to, come with me come now. I only need four."
Suddenly ten men stood up and indicated they wished to follow. Perhaps it was the unbelievable restriction Culann put, on needing only four men - that meant five including himself, and five was a magic number to the Celts.
Culann chose the four strongest. "Get your weapons and follow me. We need a week's oatmeal." The warriors collected their swords, spears, small shields and a bag of dried oatmeal, the staple diet of men on the move.
The five-man mission moved out.
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3.5 A Humiliating End
Culann raised the dead King’s golden torc up to the heavens and uttered a terrible war cry
The Dun or Hill Fort of King Eogan mac Cairill stood at the far end of a long valley. The hills on either side were heavily forested. Small homesteads dotted the valley with a cluster of wooden huts near the hill fort itself. The Dun had a deep earthen ditch with a dry stone wall, the height of two men, surrounding it.
A small burn (a little creek) ran in front of the Dun and meandered down the length of the valley. At the far end it was quite wide and waist deep. Culann and his companions watched from the nearest wooded hill for a full day, noting the number of warriors, and where they were posted. There were some horse and chariots. As dusk settled Culann decided to go down into the hill fort itself to get more information. His men wanted to accompany him, but he told them it was easier for one man to blend in, than five. Plus, he really didn't have a plan at that stage. So he went, alone.
No one gave this tall warrior a second glance as he made his way down into the valley, and up to the hill fort. He passed a blacksmith working on his forge repairing a sword. "Busy times for you now master Smith" commented Culann.
"Aye it is." not looking up from the red glowing sword blade he hammered. "And there be more work if they keep hunting them deer in the hills."
"The King is a keen hunter then."
"Aye, when there's no more pretty maids to hunt, he goes after deer." laughing.
More casual conversation resulted in Culann learning the best hunting ground was at the far end of the valley.
The Celts were among the first European people to domesticate the horse. But they did not ride upon the animals back. Instead they hitched them to speedy two wheeled chariots that they used for travel, and especially battle.
Later that evening Culann laid out his plan to his companions. "The King hunts with a dozen or so men in chariots, and maybe twenty attendants on foot. They mainly hunt down the bottom of the valley. When they catch a deer, everyone stops and allows the King to make the final kill. Tomorrow we will go there and watch.”
And so they did. That afternoon the King and his entourage came into view. Beaters with large Irish wolf hounds in the lead. "I don't like messing with dogs" said one of Culann's colleagues.
"No problem. We catch some hares beforehand."
The next day Culann and company watched the Kings entourage come down toward the end of the valley, where they were waiting. It was well after midday. However the dogs must have picked up a scent, and they suddenly moved to the far side of the valley and into the tree covered hills.
The third day Culann and company had laid their own trail. They dragged hares bodies, that they had caught previously, across the middle of the valley and up into the glen between two thickly wooded hills. A small stream bisected the hills.
The day was bright and the hunters came into view, as expected, around mid-afternoon. The King was driving his chariot in the centre of the group. Suddenly the dogs picked up the scent of the dead hares and raced off into the glen followed by their handlers.
The charioteers followed, but more slowly as they entered the dimly lit forest area and began the climb. Culann and his men flitted from tree to tree, on the high side
The horses came to the small creek. Most pushed on, but the King and four of his retainers stopped while the horses drank from the stream.
Culann knew it was now or never and signaled to his men to attack.
Fianna spears brought down the two warriors holding the horses’ reigns. The Kings horse reared high in fright. Eogan grabbed at the chariot rail, missed and fell on his back into the stream. The King's other two companions were quickly dispatched with sword
thrusts. Culann in an instant was beside the King, who had drawn his sword and was struggling to his feet.
Culann’s sword flashed high in the air and sliced the Kings sword arm off at the wrist. He grabbed the stunned King by his hair, and looking into his eyes, snarled "This is for your cowardly attack on defenseless women."
The King looked terror-stricken for a moment, then Culann pushed his head under the water and stood on it. The Kings body flayed and thrashed but his head remained submerged.
The sounds of the hunters could be heard, growing louder as they raced back to the commotion in the creek bed.
"Come Culann" cried one of his men "finish him quickly, before we are finished."
Culann shook his head, pointing his sword at anyone who tried to approach. The King was still gurgling and moving more faintly. Blood still spurting from his severed arm. Bubbles came to the surface, then slowed, even slower; then stopped.
Culann reached down to the now inert body under his feet, and pulled the torc from the neck of the dead King.
[Torc: a large, usually rigid, neck ring, made from strands of metal twisted together. Mainly open-ended in the front, designed for near permanent wear. It was considered a sign of nobility and high social standing. Worn by Celtic warriors from 4th century BC]
He raised the golden torc up to the heavens and uttered a terrible war cry, as water cascaded down his arm.
"Now we go. We have no argument with them," pointing to the figures now coming into sight higher up the hill. As one they turned and ran down the creek bank away from the pursuers.
For a while all they could hear was the panting from their own exertions. But gradually the sound of pursuit came closer. Suddenly they came to an open grassland. Do they chance it and run across the valley or continue inside the tree line? The following chariots would have to drive further upstream to a ford, as the banks of the burn were too steep for them to cross here.
Never one to play safe, Culann dashed forward into the open field. He jumped down into the now waist deep burn, waded across and scrambled up the other side, into the knee high grass. His companions, after a moment's hesitation followed.
Ten chariots each carrying two or three armed men, broke from the tree cover and wheeled upstream to the shallower crossing.
Running hard, Culann noted it was only five hundred or so paces to the nearest tree line, and safety. They redoubled their efforts.
They almost made it.
The chariots swept around in front of the five Fianna, horses snorting, as their drivers pulled back on their reigns. The warriors remained in the chariots with their spears held ready, forming a line between Culann's men and the safety of the forest, barely fifty paces away
Culann and his men carried only their swords. Spears and everything else had been dropped as they sped through the forest. The drivers, with the warriors in the chariots, slowly walked their horses forward. This would not be pretty.
"Ahoy the chariots!" called a loud voice from the edge of the forest behind them. Everyone turned and looked at the long line of shadowy figures that had suddenly materialized at the edge of the forest. "I would advise you to drop your weapons and don't try to harm my friends. I have two hundred men here, just waiting the chance to cut you to pieces."
The charioteers milled around suddenly confused, shading their eyes against the setting sun as they tried to see what and who was behind them. "What do you want?"
"Those scoundrels you were chasing, and your horses will do at this stage. Climb down."
"How do we know you won't just kill us if we do?" It was getting darker.
"You have my word based on all our Gods. You can walk free with your weapons. Just leave the horses".
The nearest charioteer suddenly turned his horse for home and whipped his horse into a gallop. He hadn't gone far when three men from the tree line threw their spears at the horse, which mortally wounded collapsed sideways throwing the men in the chariot to the ground. They were clinically dispatched.
More men were now moving out of the forest line. The remaining charioteers hesitated for a long moment, then determining they had little option, dismounted. “You can keep your weapons. Just walk back down the valley" commanded the leader of the forest men.
The now dismounted warriors scurried back down the darkening valley, leaving their chariots and horses with bridles hanging on the ground.
The leader of the forest men walked toward Culann and his four companions, sword in hand. Still in silhouette he paused, sheathed his sword in its scabbard and said "Next time Culann don't leave your friends out of the excitement. But more important, don't use five men to take on ten chariots." It was Lien and the Fianna.
He embraced Culann. "Where did you get two hundred men? asked Culann.
"Ah you know me Culann, I was never very good at numbers. We just have fifteen or so, plus some rather impressive scarecrows we acquired from the last farm meadow.
On closer inspection, Culann could see perhaps twenty stick and straw figures stuck in the ground on the edge of the tree line.
And that is how Culann killed King Eogan mac Cairill, who died (by Celtic standards) a disgraceful death, not in battle, but by drowning. A fitting end for a man who killed innocent women.
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Chapter 4 - Fateful Meeting
Culann was ushered into a spacious room near the front of the monastery. There sat the Lady Fea, her left eye still swollen and dark bruises just visible on her face. Another nun sat to one side, watching.
It was almost one month before Culann was allowed to see the Lady Fea after he left her at St Brigid’s. The nuns were very concerned about her well-being, and wouldn’t allow any visitors before then.
Culann was ushered into a spacious room near the front of the monastery. In the centre was a low table. On its far side sat the Lady Fea looking pale, her left eye still swollen and dark bruises just visible on her face. Her swollen lips looked much better. A colorful rug covered her from the waist down. Another nun sat to one side, watching.
Fea smiled and pointed to a seat opposite her. Culann bowed his head slightly and took the proffered seat.
She looked at him for what seemed a long time with those clear green eyes, then said quietly “I have to thank you Master Culann, for saving me and bringing me here.”
“It was nothing milady.”
“You are too modest – an unusual trait I understand for a Fianna” she smiled that dazzling smile again.
“But tell me Master Culann, Oh, how formal; may I call you Culann?”
“Please”
“Good. Then you must call me Fea.”
“As you wish mil . . . err, Fea.”
“Wonderful” Then more serious “Culann I don’t remember very much until I reached here. The sisters tell me you brought me here alone. Where are your men?”
“Yes milady . . .. Sorry, . . . Fea, my colleagues were all killed, except two. I brought you here myself.”
“You – alone. Just you?”
“Well I had some help from a farm lady over the hill.”
“Yes we heard from her. She checked here some days ago asking after my well being. Sweet thing.
"May I ask where you were, when those wretches attacked our camp?” asked Fea softly.
Culann briefly explained the task he was given by Osgar, to get help from King Giona, how it was refused, how he was helped to escape by an unknown stranger, how he returned to their camp to find it a shambles, and he found Fea and brought her here.
He did not mention the men he had killed.
Fea sat staring at him, for what seemed an eternity to Culann.
Finally, “I don’t know what I am to do with you Culann.”
Silence again. “I am the daughter of a minor King, who has gotten himself killed. I am no longer a bargaining chip in the royal houses of Éire. (Ireland) I am now ‘used material’"
“No
milady”
A tight smile “I may not have been conscious all the time Culann, but am fully aware of what was done to me, and my handmaidens.”
“That makes no matter to me Fea.”
“You know; I think I believe you – bless you.” More silence.
“I have been thinking hard during these past weeks. I am used property, without value” She put her hand up to stop his protest. “And you Culann, you are obviously a very skilled warrior. Skilled in war, well beyond your years, but with no property, no cattle. You do what you do very well, until the day you will undoubtedly meet a man, who does it better than you.
"I need more time here to decide what I wish to do with the rest of my life Culann. Perhaps this is Gods message to me, that I should remain in this convent and do His work.
"But more importantly Culann what of you? You who risked everything to save a woman you met, what, three times. I don’t want to think of you lying dead or maimed as you undoubtedly will if you continue this lifestyle.”
“It’s the only thing I’m good at milady.”
“Yes that’s the point. I even asked the reverend mother Abbess here, if there was some task that you could perform, of benefit to the convent. She said you could become our gardener.”
“Is that what you wish milady?”
“Of course not. Oh why didn’t I meet you a year ago? This could all be different. No Culann, you are terribly sweet to say so, but we both know you would go crazy if you had to live the life of a gardener.”
Silence again. Culann’s head had sunk low. He had a terrible feeling of foreboding. This meeting, which he had been so looking forward to, was turning to ashes.
Fea saw how he was affected, and had to stop herself from reaching out to comfort him. That was underlined by the sharp look given her by Sister Una, the nun at the other end of the table.
“I have an idea Culann. An idea I hope you will consider.” Culann’s head snapped up. “You are a very personable young man You can turn the head of even a silly young princess. So much so, that she doesn’t want to lose you.”
Culann, Celtic Warrior Monk Page 6
