‘That bet set me up for a nice plot of land in Seiscenn Uarbhaoil,’ Ultán continued. ‘With that land I was able to take a wife. Good woman too. We had several pleasant years together until she died from the flux last winter.’ Turning his head, he spat a lump of congealed white matter onto the surface of the lis.
‘The way I see it, I owe you for that little success. Your fight brought me good fortune after a lifetime of bad luck.’ He gave her a careful glance. ‘Mind you, seeing as how I helped carry you half-way across the Great Wild, I’m pretty sure that debt’s repaid by now.’
Relieved, Liath Luachra nodded. Both were smiling when Tóla leaned forward to whisper urgently in his cousin’s ear. Ultán glanced askew at him, clearly startled by what he’d heard.
‘What?’ demanded the woman warrior. ‘What did he tell you?’
‘Well -’
‘Spit it out.’
‘He says -’ Ultán looked uncertainly at the older warrior who was nodding and grinning with the unreserved enthusiasm of a simpleton. ‘He says you have no tits. He likes his women with something a bit more substantial. He likes to have something substantial between the palms of his hands.’
‘My foot’s substantial. How’d he like that between the cheeks of his arse?’
Both men looked at one another and roared with laughter. Liath Luachra relaxed then. She knew these men, or rather this type of men. Violent, rough, but completely without guile or airs of any kind. Ironically, in many ways, she felt more at ease with this calibre of men than she did with some of the inhabitants of Ráth Bládhma.
‘Come back and join us when you want,’ offered Ultán. ‘We have uisce beatha to share. We can get drunk and tell outrageous stories.’
‘Thank you. Your offer pleases me.’
‘The pleasure will be mine. And Tóla’s of course.’
The old man sniggered.
‘Just as long as that pleasure’s self-produced,’ she said.
Their laughter followed her across the lis.
***
Bodhmhall was waiting for her when she returned to their roundhouse. Sitting on a mat by the fire pit, she was holding the baby close to her chest, rocking slowly back and forth as she crooned a gentle lullaby. Liath Luachra regarded her in surprise then transferred her attention to the sleeping platform where Muirne was still stretched out, snoring quietly. Her eyes darkened and she frowned.
‘Does Muirne Muncháem intend to sleep forever?’
The bandraoi responded with a guilty smile. ‘I must confess, I put Cairbre’s suggestion to good use in the end. I gave her a sleeping draught with her food that will keep her in deep sleep for another two nights, the longest period that it can be used without harm. With luck it will conceal her from the Tainted One’s sifting touch for a little longer at least.’
‘She will not hear us when we talk?’
‘She will not hear us.’
Laying the baby down on a bundle of furs, Bodhmhall beckoned the woman warrior forwards. ‘Come. Let me examine you.’
Approaching the bandraoi, Liath Luachra stripped out of her clothes and lay down beside the fire. Bodhmhall poured some oil into her palms, rubbed them together and tentatively began to massage the flesh and muscle about the woman warrior’s knees. Probing the tissue carefully, she continued her examination down to the ankles before she finally lifted her hands.
‘Your injuries are much improved. But you may need more than a single day’s rest if you wish to travel at your usual pace.’
Liath Luachra sat up in agitation, her body abruptly tensing up again. ‘We cannot wait that long. Cónán leaves tomorrow morning and you tell me that Muirne will awaken the day after. I must leave here well before she opens her eyes.’
‘Rest easy, Liath Luachra. You cannot force your body to heal faster than nature allows. Be content that the damage was not more serious.’
‘Content! How can I feel content when our lives hang in the balance?’ The woman warrior slapped the furs in frustration. Gods! A few days ago, I had the luxury to be content. I had my own bed, I had my hunting, I even had time to feel happy.’
‘Were you, Liath Luachra? Were you truly happy?’
The warrior woman looked to the bandraoi, surprised by the tone of the question. ‘Why would you ask me that? Do you think I harbour secrets?’
‘I am An Cailleach Dubh,’ Bodhmhall replied cynically. ‘No secret is unknown to me.’ She began to clean the oil from her hands with a rag. ‘Tell me. Do you regret?’
‘Do I regret what?’
‘Do you regret this life with me? I have seen you fret, Liath Luachra. I have seen your restlessness up on the ramparts at nights, pacing up and down, gazing out at the Big Wild. There’s a hunger in your stance. A hunger that I don’t understand but, at such times, I sense that if you leave you will not come back.’
Liath Luachra stared at her in silence. The bandraoi’s perceptiveness had taken her by surprise, forcing her to confront an issue that she, herself, had never fully addressed or articulated. She took a moment to slip on her tunic and leggings, using the time to get her thoughts together. ‘Don’t talk foolishness, Bodhmhall,’ she said at last. ‘I regret nothing of my life with you. I would not return to that which I was.’
She glanced at the bandraoi who was still watching her closely.
‘It is true ... what you say. What you have seen of me on the ramparts. A part of me, a part of what I was ... it sometimes calls out. I can’t explain it. At Ráth Bládhma it feels as though I am changing, becoming a different person. I am glad to change but it makes me anxious when I see how soft I have grown. I feel like a farmer, a planter, a teacher shooing Cairbre’s sons away from beneath my feet.’
Bodhmhall laughed. ‘You make us sound like a family of defenceless field mice.’
‘In some ways that is what we are. A nest of field mice hidden away in a field of barley, ignorant to the threshers that cut down the world outside our view.’
She sighed.
‘War is coming, a rún. The very ground beneath our feet is moving. We must tread warily, choose our alliances carefully. I fear I’m losing the skills I need to keep us safe in times of such death and destruction.’
Seeing Bodhmhall’s lip quiver, she stretched over to stroke her hair. For all her strength and skill as a leader, the bandraoi had clearly been pushed to her limits. ‘M'fhíorghrá amháin, an Chailleach Dubh. My one true love, the Black Hag. You still have me. My heart is light with you.’
Bodhmhall, once again, took her by surprise, reaching for her, kissing her full on the lips. As she returned the embrace, Liath Luachra felt a delicious sensation spiral up within her.
She drew the bandraoi closer.
***
Later, once their breathing had stilled and silence dripped within the roundhouse, Liath Luachra felt the bandraoi drum her fingers along the tightness of her stomach, tangle an ankle about her leg to draw her closer.
‘Wake up.’
‘Uh.’
‘Wake up.’
‘Why?’ she growled, irritable at being disturbed so close to the point of drifting off.
‘Because,’ said the bandraoi. ‘I think I have a scheme.’
Chapter Six
Liath Luachra had hoped to leave the ráth in silence, to slip away quietly in the shadows of the early hours. Bodhmhall, however, had other plans. Snapping awake, she glared as the woman warrior attempted to slide silently off the sleeping platform.
‘You would leave in the night again? Without saying farewell?’
‘Bodhmhall,’ Liath Luachra groaned. ‘You know farewells weigh my heart. It was my intention to wake you just before I left.’
The bandraoi sat up and tugged one of the fur coverings about her shoulders. Heavy rain thudded against the curved ceiling above them, the fire had all but died and a chill was infiltrating the roundhouse. She peered over to where Liath Luachra crouched, attempting to rekindle the dying embers of the fire. In the blurry light of the
single oil taper, it was difficult to see her clearly although the two pale, white circles of her buttocks gleamed eerily through the gloom. Down on all fours, she poured a powdery mixture of dry twigs and desiccated leaves onto the fire’s dying remnants then gently blew on it. Finally, her efforts were rewarded with a thin sliver of smoke that rose upwards from the resuscitated embers. Soon, the fire was crackling in earnest, hungry flames gnawing on the kindling and larger sections of peat.
Rising from the platform, Bodhmhall moved to join her at the fire pit. She started to heat some porridge while Liath Luachra retrieved her weapons from where they lay on the far side of the sleeping platform, swathed in cloth. Lifting the heavy bundle, the woman warrior unwrapped it and removed each one individually before laying it onto the furs.
The first – a short, iron sword – was her favourite. This was also the one she’d had in her possession the longest, having acquired it as booty from the body of a warrior in Cuarrach during her first years as a fighter. She’d been particularly lucky on that occasion in that the warrior had not only been unskilled, but wealthy to boot. The weapon had obviously been commissioned from a skilled metal-smith for it had perfect balance and the pommel fitted her hand as though it had been specifically moulded for it. Given the circumstances, she hadn’t known if the sword was a named weapon but she’d dealt with that by applying one of her own. With her usual pragmatism she’d named it Gléas gan Ainm – Weapon Without a Name.
Beside the sword she laid a long knife, the last of the three she’d owned. Although the remaining weapon was by no means the best, regular sharpening meant that it was still deadly enough. An unnamed weapon, its blade had not tasted human blood but she had no doubt there’d be plenty of opportunity to rectify that in the days to come.
The last weapon, a sling, consisted of a diamond-shaped, woven flax cradle attached to two separate lengths of cord, also fabricated from braided flax. Light and easy to make from common materials, the weapon was also easy to maintain. Over the years, she’d replaced the cradle on three occasions, the more stable braid, once.
Although scorned by many warriors, Liath Luachra had always appreciated the effectiveness of the sling as a long-range weapon. Some fighters were obsessed with the concept of valour in up-front, hand-to-hand combat. In her mind, however, all that mattered was winning and walking away from the fight at the end of it all.
She dropped a small cloth bag beside the other weapons. This contained her shot for the sling; ten smooth stones, all slightly larger than a thrush’s egg. She’d personally selected each one from the great range that littered the local river beds to ensure uniform size, shape and smoothness; three qualities essential for consistent accuracy of the sling cast.
Bodhmhall looked up from the fire and shivered as she watched the other woman. ‘Sit,’ she said, holding up a wooden bowl of steaming porridge that she’d sweetened with dried honey. ‘Eat something.’
It was only as she accepted the bowl and caught the whiff of its contents that Liath Luachra realised how hungry she was. Using her fingers, she scooped the porridge out of the bowl, stuffing it into her mouth despite the stinging heat. She polished off a second bowl in a similar manner before she was sated.
Rising to her feet, she hauled the red, leather body harness from its stand, slipped it over her head and tightened the various cinches and straps. Finally, she swung her shoulders and stretched her upper arm muscles to ensure it wasn’t restricting her movements. After the harness, she pulled on a matching set of greaves and a short pair of leggings held up with string that knotted at the waist. The leggings were cut off above the knees. Not particularly appropriate wear for the weather but the forthcoming day would be one of movement. She had a substantial distance to cover and she’d need to be able to move swiftly and unencumbered. The cold weather would eventually oblige them to halt, of course. Even running at their best pace would not keep them warm for long in such poor weather. When they stopped to rest, she would change into the spare set of clothing in the wicker satchel she’d be carrying across her back.
Turning to that very satchel, she began to rummage through the contents, checking to make sure it contained the items she needed. Looking up, she found Bodhmhall standing beside her, a leather pouch held out in her hand. ‘This is it,’ said the bandraoi. ‘It’s not much but it should be enough.’
Liath Luachra took the proffered pouch and nodded.
‘You are sure you wish to attempt this?’ asked Bodhmhall.
‘I don’t think we have any choice. Besides, you thought it would work when you suggested it last night.’
The bandraoi released a drowsy sigh, eyes still bleary from their late night discussions. ‘I thought it could work,’ she corrected. ‘But you have the right of it. At this point, we truly are out of options.’
Liath Luachra stared, struck by the weary resignation in Bodhmhall’s voice. The bandraoi looked completely exhausted. She reached out and caressed her cheek. ‘Have faith, Bodhmhall. Your scheme will succeed. And this way, you don’t need to seek imbas.’
‘Just come back safe, dear one. If your instincts tell you it is too hazardous, take no risks and return to Glenn Ceoch. We will develop another plan.’ She paused. ‘I would endure the imbas rituals a thousand times before I’d risk losing you.’
The woman warrior smiled. ‘There’s a thought to guide me safely home.’
***
When she emerged from the roundhouse, dawn was still a dim prospect in a sky darkly stained with clouds and sloppy with drizzle. It looked as though the world had been seized up during the night, immersed in water, shaken out and then soggily replaced. Heavy rivulets streamed from the lip of the embankment and the roofs of the buildings. The lis was a muddy quagmire of puddles, straw and cow shit from the livestock kept inside overnight.
Pulling on her oiled grey cloak, Liath Luachra tugged the hood over her head and stepped into the world of plummeting rain. She scurried quickly across the exposed lis towards the gateway where Aodhán was waiting for her, standing in the shelter of the stone overhang. Bearach was also squeezed in beside him, looking particularly put out that she hadn’t asked him to accompany her. She ignored his indignant stare as she glanced down at Aodhán’s booted feet. ‘Better put those in your bag. It’s best to run barefoot in this weather.’
With this, she slung the wicker satchel onto her back, securing it with two shoulder straps that she tightened further with a cord about the chest. Aodhán had a similar satchel but it was a lot smaller to allow for the set of javelins which he also carried.
‘Do we need to bring all of these?’ he complained. ‘They’re heavy.’
‘Yes.’
‘They’ll be short of missiles at the gatehouse if the ráth’s attacked.’
‘That’s a risk we’ll have to take. This is more important.’
The young man sighed but did not argue the point further. As he shuffled his own pack onto his back, Cairbre appeared, braving the cold and the wet of the lis to farewell his son. Sloshing through the mud, hems of his breeches drawn up like an old woman’s skirt, he entered the shelter and wordlessly started to disassemble the barrier. The old man struggled with the task, his stiff limbs preventing him from getting a decent purchase on the heavy wooden frame. Before he needed to ask for assistance, his sons had moved in to help him.
When the barrier was finally put to one side, Liath Luachra watched as he embraced his son, whispered in his ear and patted him affectionately on the side of the head. Embarrassed by this display of emotion in front of the others, the young man did his best to appear gruff and purposefully avoided eye contact. Suddenly, Conchenn and Bodhmhall were there as well, scurrying in out of the rain to join them. The woman warrior shook her head as she considered the little gathering crammed within the gateway.
Everyone in settlement is here now.
Well, almost everyone.
She threw a quick glance towards the lean-to where Fiacail and his men were quartered. The weath
er had clearly been something of a disincentive for there were no visible signs of activity, no stirring at all.
Cairbre approached and touched her on the shoulder.
‘Come back safely, Grey One.’
She nodded.
‘And bring my son with you,’ he added.
‘I cannot make such promises, old father. But I will do what I can.’
‘Then I would beg you to do your best. This is the second child I’ve farewelled in the course of two days.’ Despite the deceptive calm of his words, anxiety was evident in the rechtaire’s eyes.
The price of being a parent. Who would want that?
Liath Luachra turned to Aodhán who was standing beside her, loaded and waiting. ‘Are you ready?’
The óglach nodded.
‘Well, then.’
Without another word, she jogged out through the gateway.
Towards the water-clogged pastures of Glenn Ceoch.
***
Several hundred paces from the ráth, Liath Luachra threw a glance back over her shoulder. The gateway barrier had been reaffixed but it was the lonely figure up on the stone rampart that momentarily drew her gaze.
Gods, Bodhmhall. Don’t make me weak.
Turning her head forwards, she focussed on the trees at the end of the valley and did not look back again.
Breaking into an easy lope, Liath Luachra shuffled off the remaining stiffness of her injuries, the regular movement warming her muscles and unclenching any lingering tension. Soon, she had a smooth rhythm established, long strides steadily eating up the distance before them while Ráth Bládhma receded further and further in her wake. Close on her heels, she could hear the smooth beat of Aodhán’s footsteps, the even stride punctuated by pants that were deep but regular and without strain. Despite the gravity of her mission and the discomfort of the rain beating against her face, she experienced a brief, exhilarating headiness as the wilderness exerted its pull. Once more, headed Out! Once more, to the Great Wild!
By the time they’d reached the half-way point up the valley, the runners were drenched, their clothing saturated, hair slick across their skulls, legs slippery from the rain and water kicked up from the sodden pasture. Liath Luachra’s bare feet were cold but she ignored the tingling sensation. A lifetime of walking barefoot had left her with leathery soles that were accustomed to rough terrain and all but the worst of weather conditions.
Fionn- Defence of Ráth Bládhma Page 16
