Stone steps climbed the passageway to the left. He followed the warrior up them, round the circle of the building to the right until they reached another low doorway. They went inside to stand on the wooden floor of the upper level. Here were Colm’s private quarters, partitioned off by hanging curtains. A bearskin rug lay on the wooden floor, blazing torches flickered from brackets round the walls and Colm sat in a great wooden chair like a king on a throne. High above, a circular hole in the upper walkway admitted a little daylight to ease the gloom. At one side of the chamber, to Brude’s left, Mairead sat on a smaller, plain chair, beside a wooden table where plates held the remains of a meal. She looked anxiously at Brude and he saw the fear in her eyes. He could not tell what she was afraid of but he stayed on his guard. Behind Colm, standing like a great bear, was Cruithne, dressed in his usual leather armour with his chain mail overcoat and a long sword hanging at his waist. He was studying Brude carefully, his eyes alert. Brude ignored him. There was another warrior beside Cruithne, a bearded man with many painted designs swirling across his cheeks and forehead. He was leaning casually against the stone wall of the broch, looking bored with everything around him. Brude had seen him around the village from time to time but all that he knew was that the man was called Lutrin and that he was supposed to be one of Colm’s closest advisors. He was often away from the village, doing Colm’s bidding.
Colm waved away the young warrior who had brought Brude up from the village. “You may go,” he said imperiously. Colm was dressed in fine clothes, deerskin, Brude guessed, with strong leather boots. He still wore rings on each finger and had a long blue cloak, fastened with a large golden brooch. He smiled a wolfish welcome as he said in honeyed tones, “Brude. Welcome. We have not seen you for a long time. You’ve been busy I hear.”
Brude nodded. “That’s right.”
“Not too busy to spend some time with your old friends, I trust?”
“I always have time for my friends,” Brude replied carefully.
“Good. Have some uisge.” Colm snapped his fingers. Mairead jumped up, reaching for a small flagon. She poured some of the golden liquid into two small beakers. She brought one to Colm, passing it to him, with her eyes lowered, then did the same to Brude, her gaze never meeting his.
“Thank you,” whispered Brude. She did not acknowledge him but quickly returned to her seat.
Brude knew that Colm was aware he did not drink uisge so he drained the beaker in one go, forcing imself not to react as the drink burned his throat with its fierce heat. Colm sipped his own, watching Brude with an appraising stare. “Have you heard what Gartnait has done?” he asked. “Have you heard what he has stolen from me?”
“I heard something about some iron ore,” Brude admitted. “I don’t know the details.”
“Details?” Colm almost shrieked. “The details are that he has stolen my iron ore. What more is there to know?”
“You could always trade his son for it,” Brude suggested, deliberately keeping his voice calm and even.
“No!” Colm smashed his left fist down on the arm of his chair, almost spilling his uisge. “Shall I tell you what I am going to do?” He paused, but Brude made no comments so he went on, “I am going to get it back. Tomorrow, I am leading my men to Peart. We will take the wagons back by force.” He glared a challenge at Brude, who realised that Colm was more than half drunk. “What do you think of that?”
Brude kept his eyes on Colm, studying him as he would study an opponent in the arena. Colm was just as dangerous, he thought. Not as an individual, but as a man who commanded over seventy warriors. “I think you are the head man. You don’t need my advice.”
“You are the great warrior,” Colm scoffed. “I hear it from my son all the time. Yet you have no advice on how to fight a battle against my enemies?” He drained his beaker then threw it to the floor where it smashed into a dozen pieces. “Perhaps you are not such a great warrior after all? Perhaps my men have been avoiding you for no reason, scared to annoy you in case you beat them as you did the men from Peart? Is that it?”
“I have no skill in battles like the one you intend to fight,” said Brude, “but if you want my advice, then I would say do not fight at all. Gartnait has probably used the ore already in his own smithies, so you would fight for nothing.”
Colm’s lips twisted in a sneer. He turned to look at Lutrin and Cruithne. “You hear that? Not fight? Not fight a man who has stolen from me? Shall I tell you what I think, Brude? I think you are afraid. Am I right? Are you afraid?” Behind him Cruithne grinned a savage grin and drummed his fingers on the hilt of his massive sword. Brude saw, though, that his eyes did not match his expression. Brude had seen men like that before. Once again he suspected that Cruithne was far more than the oaf he made himself out to be. Such men were dangerous.
“I have seen men die,” Brude said, holding Colm’s gaze. “It is not pleasant. Why should I not be afraid?”
“Hah! I knew it!” Colm gripped the arms of his chair, leaning forwards to stare at Brude. Then he turned his head to look at Mairead. “Do you see, wife, how fortunate you are that you did not marry this coward? He was a slave so long he has forgotten how to be a man.” He turned back to Brude. “I will not ask you to come with us for I expect you will want to stay behind with the women and children.”
Brude licked his suddenly dry lips. He saw Lutrin grinning at him, mocking him. Looking Colm in the eyes, he said calmly, “That would be my choice.”
Colm shook his head then twisted his neck in a move to relieve some tension. “Cruithne will be in charge while I am away. He will have ten men here and you will do as he says. You can stay with the women and children but you obey Cruithne as if his words were mine. Do you understand?”
Brude looked at Cruithne. He saw a feral grin on the man’s face. He wondered whether Colm had seen past the giant’s mask. If he had not, it was hardly believable that such a man would be left in charge. But whatever Colm’s reasoning, there was nothing to be gained by arguing. “I understand,” he said.
Colm looked at him triumphantly. “And tell your slave, the man from Peart, that I have hunting dogs. If he decides he wants to try to warn Gartnait, I will set them loose on him. Do you hear me?”
“I understand,” Brude repeated.
“Good. You may go,” said Colm with a wave of his hand.
Brude nodded. He turned to Mairead to give her a nod of farewell. “My lady,” he said. She returned the nod with one of her own. At the same time, with her arms clasped across her chest, he saw her very deliberately push up the right sleeve of her dress with her left arm, revealing a dark bruise. It was the side facing away from Colm so nobody but Brude could see it. He hesitated but she quickly dropped the sleeve back, covering the mark. He nodded again, turned on his heels and got out as quickly as he could.
“He’s mad,” Brude announced to Fothair. “He has no idea what he’s doing.”
“Is there no way to stop him?” Fothair asked desperately.
“Not unless you want to fight seventy warriors to get to him, or try to outrun his dogs.”
“That might be trickonceded Fothair. “We could steal a boat or a couple of coracles.”
“To travel upriver? You’d be almost as fast walking. And who mentioned ‘we’?”
So Fothair did nothing except worry, and the following day Colm led sixty men off towards Peart. Brude and Fothair went back to building the roundhouse because there was nothing else for them to do. Barabal and Seasaidh turned up again, bringing their hemp twines with them. They sat down to twist them together into ropes while they watched the men working. Gruoch worked on the oak stakes then showed Brude, Fothair and Seoras how to fit them over the upright stakes round the wall. He had carved them so that they fitted neatly on the top and also slotted into each other. When it was done, the wattle wall had an oak ledge along its top. Then they took some of the ropes the girls had brought the day before and tied them to the great centre pole which was formed from a so
lid piece of oak the height of four men. Gruoch had cut notches in it for most of the way up its length. They placed one end of the huge log in the centre of the house and Gruoch helped them raise the pole upright. It required a lot of effort but Seoc arrived as they were starting. He dropped his spear, grabbed a rope and helped them haul the pole into position. They quickly pegged the ropes to the ground to keep the pole standing upright. Seasaidh applauded their efforts happily.
“We need to get the other beams attached before it blows down,” Gruoch told them. Using the notches he had cut, he climbed the pole. When he signalled that he was ready, the others hoisted another long beam up. Quickly, and with the ease of someone with years of experience, he lashed it to the top of the centre pole while the others tied it to the ledge on the top of the wattle wall, leaving a length, about the same as a man’s forearm, hanging down over the ledge. With Gruoch urging them to hurry, they hoisted a second beam on the opposite side of the house, lashing that in position, too. By the time they got the third beam up, the centre pole was more stable so Gruoch took his time with the next ones. It took all afternoon but they eventually had nine long beams tied to the centre pole, forming a peak. Even though the roof was open to the sky, Brude thought the framework of the house was at last starting to take shape.
Brude’s mother came along with some freshly baked bread and a flagon of small beer. A few other villagers arrived as well, to view their handiwork. Brude had a suspicion that he had more of an audience because Colm was away, but he chided himself that he was being uncharitable. He was feeling good about the house although Seoras told him there was a long way to go yet. “That’s enough for today, though,” the old man said. “There’s clouds coming. Looks like rain.”
Then another cloud arrived in the shape of Cruithne.
He had four men with him, all of them carrying spears. Cruithne was, as ever, wearing his long tunic of chain mail, his sword swinging at his side. Mairead, hers New Rmask of fear, followed him, with Castatin walking nervously beside her. Cruithne marched up to Brude, villagers moving quickly out of his way as he approached. Brude put down his beaker and waited for him, knowing there was no way to avoid a confrontation this time. The way Cruithne was stalking towards him made his intentions plain for all to see.
A hush fell over the crowd as Cruithne, towering over everyone, spoke in a loud voice. “I want you to tell them all what you said yesterday,” he boomed. “I want you to tell them you are afraid to fight.” He stared pugnaciously, his face thrust forwards to within a hand’s breadth of Brude.
Brude took a deep breath. “Yes, I said that.” There were gasps of surprise from the crowd. He heard Seasaidh blurt, “No!” A public admission of fear from a man of the Boresti was shameful.
Cruithne grinned. He scanned the assembled villagers and his eyes fell on Barabal, trying to hide behind Seoc. Cruithne pushed the young man out of the way and grabbed the girl’s arm, jerking her back to shove her in front of Brude. “I hear you intend to marry this one. Pretty little thing, isn’t she?”
“Leave her alone,” said Brude, keeping his voice calm but firm, his eyes never leaving Cruithne’s face.
“Why? Are you frightened I’ll hurt your precious wife to be? Or have you already been there?”
“Leave her out of this,” said Brude. “I have no intention of marrying her so you are hurting her for no reason.”
Cruithne leered at him. “Then if you don’t want her, I’ll have her.” He pulled the girl close, wrapping his huge arm around her, holding her pinned against his body.
Seoc shouted “No!” He jumped forwards but Brude flung up his arm to block his path. Barabal screamed, bringing muttered protests from the villagers. Cruithne smiled a challenge at Brude.
“What is it you really want?” Brude asked him.
“You know,” Cruithne growled. “I hear all the time from the boy about your fighting. I hear your stories of fighting in Rome. I think you are a liar as well as a coward and I want everyone to see that I am the best fighter here, the strongest.”
Aware that all eyes were on him, Brude said, “I won’t argue that you are the strongest, so will you let her go?”
“Not until you fight me,” Cruithne said, his eyes blazing a challenge.
Brude knew in his heart that Colm had set Cruithne up to this. Why else was Mairead there to witness it? Colm wanted Brude humiliated in front of everyone and Cruithne was the ideal man for the task. Brude had thought there was something more than brutishness to the giant Cruithne, but what was certain was that the man was Colm’s creature. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said, keeping his voice low so that only those closest to him could hear. “If I judge you right, there is more to you than being Colm’s bully. Why should you do his dirty work for him?”
Cruithne’s eyes showed that he understood what Brude was trying to do. “Lord Colm took me in when others cast me out,” he growled. “Why should I not do his bidding? He is a great man.”
“A great man who goes off to fight a war but leaves his strongest warrior behind to beat up one of his own tribesmen?” Brude was scornful. “That doesn’t sound so great to me. I say again, that you do not need to prove anything to anyone here. So let the girl go and you can tell Colm that I admitted my fear in front of the whole village.”
Cruithne, his arm still clamped like a vice around Barabal, shook his head. “I cannot do that. Lord Colm was very specific.”
Brude raised an eyebrow. “Really? He wants me dead, then?”
“No. He wants you nearly dead,” said Cruithne. “But if you happen to die, he won’t be too upset.”
“Well that is something, I suppose,” said Brude, frantically trying to think of a way to avoid a fight but realising that there was no real option. Speaking so that everyone could hear, Brude said, “You know I don’t want to fight you. I’ve already admitted you are stronger than me, so how about some other sort of contest?”
Cruithne’s brow furrowed. “What sort of contest?”
“What about spear throwing?”
Cruithne suspected a trick. “What will that prove?”
“It will prove who is the most skilful,” Brude said. “You are stronger than me, but I am faster than you. To contest such things proves nothing, so why not have a test of skill? You can throw a spear, can’t you?”
“Of course I can!” Cruithne was becoming riled by Brude’s tone but he still kept a firm hold on Barabal.
“Then you already have an advantage, because I have not thrown a spear for thirteen years,” Brude told him. He looked around, seeking suitable targets. “I’ll make it even easier for you,” he said. “You see that small tree stump over there?” He pointed to an old stump some fifty paces away jutting just above the grass, barely three hand widths high. Cruithne nodded. “That will be my target,” Brude told him. “I will stand over here beside my house and you will stand near the stump. Your target will be the wall of the house anywhere between the doorway and the first beam.”
Cruithne looked doubtful. He could sense that Brude was trying to outwit him in some way but could not figure out how. His target was at least twenty times larger than Brude’s. Having been publicly challenged, he did not want to lose face by turning down such an easy contest. “And if I win?” he asked.
“Then I will acknowledge that you are the better man. I will leave the village and find a home somewhere else.” There were gasps from the villagers and Brude heard his mother protesting. He went on, “But if I win then you will be as a dead man when we meet. You will walk away and have nothing to do with me. If you cannot walk away, you will sit silently, never speaking in my presence. Is that agreed?”
Cruithne thought for a moment, aware that Brude had somehow forced him into a corner but unwilling to back down. He nodded. “Agreed.” He released Barabal from his grip, shoving her roughly back to Seoc. Lowering his voice to little more than a whisper, he said to Brude, “Farewell, little man. The best you can hope for is that you’ll be
leaving soon. Spears can be dangerous, you know.” He stalked off towards the tree stump, his warriors following in his wake, leaving Brude in no doubt that Cruithne’s spear throw would be aimed at him, not at the designated target.
Brude turned to Seoc. “Can I borrow your spear?” he asked. The young warrior handed it to him while he wrapped his left arm around his terrified sister.
Fothair tapped Brude’s arm. “Are you crazy?” he asked. “I know you’re good, but he’s an animal. It’s all very well catching flies but this is something different.”
“I need to sort this one way or the other,” Brude told him. “Anyway, you’ll be all right even if I lose. We can go to live in Peart.”
Fothair just grunted in answer to that suggestion.
Mairead pushed her way towards Brude. She grabbed his other arm. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “This is what Colm wants. Don’t you realis? You can’t beat Cruithne. That’s why Colm left him here.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him,” Fothair grumbled.
Brude took off his shirt and handed it to Fothair, saying, “I suggest you keep everyone back out of the way.” He saw Castatin watching him, his young face glowing with eager anticipation. He winked at the boy who grinned. At least one person thinks I’ve got a chance, he thought. He turned to Mairead. “Colm wants Cruithne to beat me up. This way, I am hoping that we can resolve things without anyone getting hurt.”
“Don’t do this,” she pleaded.
“What’s the alternative? Try to fight him single-handed?”
She looked at him, her eyes showing her hurt, her lips slightly parted as if she was about to say something more. Before she could speak, he smiled at her, took Seoc’s spear then strode out to face Cruithne.
It was like being back in the arena, only this time the audience was small and most of them were not looking forward to it. Brude felt the heightened awareness of his senses that came with the danger. The summer breeze from the sea felt cool on his bare skin, the grass under his feet seemed soft and he could smell it even over the usual riotous assortment of smells from the village. He looked to where Cruithne was flexing his muscles near the tree stump, his four young warriors admiring him. Unlike the villagers, they were looking forward to this.
In the Shadow of the Wall Page 17
