Fionn- Defence of Ráth Bládhma

by Brian O'Sullivan

  ‘That will be Bodhmhall’s decision. If it is truly your intention to remain then my counsel is that you fulfil that role.’ She glanced at the bandraoi. What say you Bodhmhall?’

  The bandraoi nodded slowly. ‘Your battle expertise would be welcomed, Fiacail. We have none at Ráth Bládhma apart from Liath Luachra who could do this.’

  ‘Very well. In that case, I accept.’ He nodded grimly before glancing sideways at the silent warrior woman. ‘To relinquish your command to a more seasoned fighter. That is wise, Liath Luachra.’

  ‘Do not flatter yourself. These are perilous circumstances. And, as Bodhmhall says, our options are limited.’

  The Seiscenn Uarbhaoil man’s eyes glowered but he kept his temper reined in. ‘Who would accompany you as skirmisher?’ he asked, his voice low and tight.

  ‘Bearach.’

  Fiacail was surprised. ‘Not Aodhán? I would have thought him more experienced.

  ‘I’ve spent more time Out with Bearach. He moves with greater comfort in the forest than his brother. Besides, when the fian attack, blooded men will be needed on the walls to oppose them. Aodhán’s eye and hand are lethal. It would be wise to place him on the gateway with the javelin rack. From there he can cover the causeway.’

  Fiacail did not look convinced. ‘He is a good caster.’

  ‘He is the best I’ve ever seen. And I have seen many casters.’

  ‘And how many javelins do you have in that rack?’

  ‘Fifteen.’

  ‘I see. So if he casts each javelin with complete precision that will still leave twenty-eight opponents.’

  Liath Luachra gave an infuriated glare but he raised his hand to pre-empt the inevitable retort.

  ‘I do not mock you, Grey One. I can understand how such a defence might work with small groups of raiders but this is a seasoned battle band. These men lust for the kill and intend to sate that lust with Ráth Bládhma blood. There are too many of them and javelin casts from a single man will not stop such a horde, no matter how good he is.’

  She shrugged again, her fatigue smothering any urge to bite at Fiacail’s response. She looked instead to Bodhmhall who had remained uncharacteristically withdrawn throughout most of the exchange. ‘You have nothing to say, Bodhmhall? You are Taoiseach of this settlement, after all.’

  The bandraoi brushed the question aside with a brief gesture of her hand. ‘We will discuss such details later. At the moment, the people await us.’

  Her eyes came to rest on Liath Luachra and she regarded the woman warrior with unsettling intensity. ‘When the talk and the feasting is over, when you have eaten and rested, I would have words of consequence with you, a rún.’

  Liath Luachra returned her stare and, despite the fatigue, the despair and the grief, she suddenly knew the worst was yet to come.

  ***

  When they entered the lis, Liath Luachra stopped in surprise, shaken by the sheer number of people within the ráth. At first glance, including the children, she estimated there were at least twenty to twenty-five people gathered. Most of these were huddled about the central fire-pit which was now blazing with a freshly laid fire. Above it, hoisted on a metal crane was the iron cauldron from which a mouth-watering smell emerged.

  Reluctant to talk any further, the woman warrior hurriedly veered to the right, leaving Bodhmhall and Fiacail to drift off to the left where a small number of fighting men had congregated. Moving close to the embankment wall, she circled the lis, intent on achieving the refuge of her roundhouse. Close to one of the lean-tos, however, she was intercepted by Bearach, eyes bright with excitement from the uncustomary activity and, of more immediate interest to Liath Luachra, holding a bowl of hot stew in his right hand.

  Seeing the warrior woman’s eyes fix on the steaming bowl, Bearach handed it to her with a grin. She began to eat right there, standing without ceremony beside the lean-to as she shovelled the warm meat broth into her mouth.

  She finished the bowl and, with a sigh, closed her eyes to enjoy the physical sensation of warm food resting snugly in her stomach. After a moment she opened her eyes and released a satisfied belch.

  The boy’s grin widened. ‘Aodhán told me of your adventures. I knew you’d be hungry but that you’d want to avoid the company so I convinced my mother to give me some food for you.’

  ‘Thank you, Bearach. That was thoughtful.’

  ‘I also know you enjoy your solitude at such times so I will not stay to disturb you.’

  ‘Good.’ She nodded and made to step around him but he hadn’t finished.

  ‘Except to say that should you need me I stand ready.’

  She nodded again, this time decidedly more abruptly.

  ‘All you need to do is call my name. I will come at a run.’

  The woman warrior frowned and was about to berate him when the boy suddenly started to giggle and shake with laughter. Despite her poor humour, she could not prevent the grin that cracked the corners of her lips.

  ‘Little bandit. I missed your stupid jokes out in the Great Wild.’

  ‘Will you take me?’ he asked eagerly. ‘The next time you go.’

  The humour slid from Liath Luachra’s face.

  ‘Yes,’ she said hoarsely.

  ***

  She had intended to head directly to her roundhouse to sleep but impressed by the rareness of such a large gathering, Liath Luachra decided instead to remain and listen to the talk for a little while. She remained to the rear of the crowd, inconspicuous beside the sloping lean-to. From there, she studied the little crowd with curiosity.

  Muirne Muncháem was there of course, up towards the front with her infant in her arms, desperate in case she should miss anything. Standing beside her were two heavily armoured men; two Coill Mór warriors she recognised from one of her visits to the settlement. Ber Rua, the grizzled, lanky leader of Coill Mór had moved forwards and was scaling one of the ladders to the rampart beside the stone gateway A tiny subset of Clann Faoill, Ber Rua would probably have led his tribe in a number of cattle raids on Clann Baoiscne back in his youth, long before leaving to establish his own colony in the Great Wild. Back in the more populated tribal lands, the different clans would generally have avoided each other. Out in the isolation of the Great Wild however, the limited resources and the need for trade and cooperation meant political directives were often ignored and interaction a lot more common.

  That evening the settlement was enjoying a rare treat, dining off the meat of a dairy cow slaughtered and roasted over a spit next to the cauldron at the central fire pit. The beef was an extravagance. Bodhmhall, knowing that there was little likelihood of surviving beyond another two nights, had obviously decided that they might as well have one good last meal, to build up their strength and, at the very least, deprive the fian of one valuable prize.

  Liath Luachra worked the blade of her sword with a whet stone while she watched Fiacail move onto the gatehouse to address the assembled refugees. Despite her cynicism, she had to admit that he presented a good spectacle. Tall, ruggedly handsome and charismatic, he had truly been blessed by the gods for he also had a natural flair for presentation. All in all, thought Liath Luachra, he would have made a great leader of men had it not been for his weakness of wandering around, tripping over his own cock.

  As she watched, the Seiscenn Uarbhaoil man place himself at the edge of the gatehouse so that he could overlook the little crowd. Bodhmhall and Ber Rua now stood on either side of him, emphasizing the impression of united force.

  It was a cold evening but somehow the tangible atmosphere of fear hanging in the air served to make it feel colder. Everyone knew that an attack was inevitable; the horror stories had already been spread by the survivors of the Ráth Dearg attack and the people were justifiably scared. Wrapped in cloaks, heads draped with long hoods, the little crowd puffed clouds of vapour into the air and looked longingly at the roasting meat as Fiacail made to speak.

  ‘You all know I am not a man to beat about the bush so
I will keep this simple. Our enemies will be here the day after tomorrow.’

  A low mutter rumbled through the crowd.

  ‘You all knew this was coming,’ Fiacail continued, his voice carrying well in the still evening air. ‘You knew that your safety here was temporary, just as you knew the only option to fighting was to flee into the Great Wild where your demise, although more prolonged, would be no less inevitable.

  The force arraigned against us is not insubstantial. I will not lie to you. Having said that, we have a number of advantages that they do not. Firstly, it is Ráth Bládhma who holds possession of all the food and shelter. The fian will have been marching for three days to get here. They will be cold, they will be tired and whatever food supplies they managed to obtain at Ráth Dearg will be near exhaustion.’

  An image of rotten teeth gnashing around finger flesh flared unbidden in Liath Luachra’s head. The woman warrior felt the bile rising in her throat and almost gagged but by focussing intently on the edge of her blade she managed to repress it.

  ‘They will be looking for a quick victory. An easy victory. They anticipate no opposition. They will expect us to lie down while they sweep over us, overwhelm us in a single attack.’

  He paused for dramatic effect.

  ‘If they do not achieve that, if we as a group can fend off that initial attack, then I tell you without a taste of a lie, they will lose heart.’

  Liath Luachra looked around the lis, surprised to see people nodding and firming their jaws in anger.

  ‘If they attack a second time,’ Fiacail continued, ‘and we can hold them a second time, they will be in a desperate situation. They will be discouraged and most likely flee.’

  He grew silent as he looked gravely down upon them.

  ‘We are fighting for our lives but we can survive this challenge. We can survive but to do so you have to want to with all your heart and soul. Bodhmhall has asked me to lead the defence of Ráth Bládhma. This defence will not be easy so we will require every single able-bodied hand, every man, woman or child that can hold a weapon or a shield. Later, I will come around to you all individually, and tell you what I need you to do. For tonight, however, I want you to feast, to take strength from your loved ones, from your neighbours, from those that live and those that have died as a result of this attack.’

  With that he turned away. The address was finished.

  There were excited mutterings and discussions amongst those gathered as the three leaders descended to join them in the lis.

  ‘Well that was lovely. Very rousing, I must say.’

  Liath Luachra turned to find Cathal Ua Cuan standing beside her. The ancient warrior was holding an armful of split logs for the fire pits which he proceeded to dump inside the lean-to.

  ‘You’re not impressed.’

  His response was a shrug. ‘I’ve heard worse. Some battle leaders can blather on all day. They end up taking longer than the actual battle.’

  ‘Why weren’t you up there with the other ráth leaders?’

  ‘I was asked to stay out of sight. Nobody needs to be reminded about the fate of my ráth.’

  There was a strained silence.

  ‘Fiacail’s right about one thing,’ said Liath Luachra, doing her best to sound optimistic. ‘If the fian’s initial attack can be held off it will demoralise them.’

  Cathal gave her a sarcastic glance. ‘Of course! You’re right. I don’t know why we don’t just charge out there now and take them on.’ He snorted. ‘Don’t play games, girl. I’ve seen these devils up close. From what I’ve heard tonight, you’ve been lucky to survive two encounters with them but you know as well as I do that there’s only one way this can end.’

  Liath Luachra gazed at him stonily. She knew she had been lucky, exceptionally lucky up to this point. But she didn’t need to be reminded of it.

  The old man sighed. ‘Mind you, if I succeed in hacking some vengeance for what those animals did to Ráth Dearg before they take me down, I’ll obtain some satisfaction.’

  ‘Can you fight then, old man?’ she said, lifting the sword and examining the blade edge against the light of the fire.

  The grizzled warrior returned her look, the wrinkles on his forehead converging to form a deep crease above his nose. ‘I was fighting before you were even a grubby little notion in your pox-ridden father’s head.’ He glanced at the weapon in her hand. ‘Do you have another sword I can wield?’

  ‘We have no metal-worker at Ráth Bládhma. All our metal weapons have been handed out.’ She paused as a sudden thought crossed her mind. ‘I have a sling.’

  ‘A sling.’ Cathal turned and spat. ‘Well, that’s no good.’

  ‘You’re too good for a sling?’

  ‘Nah! I’ve seen a sling kill a man, fair enough. It’s these eyes. I can’t see a target that’s any way distant. My aim’s all off. I could probably hit a tree if I aim at the forest.’ He frowned. ‘I couldn’t guarantee it, mind.’

  ‘We have javelins.’

  ‘Same problem. I’m probably worse with javelins than with the sling.’

  With an exasperated grunt, she bent down to pull a long chunk of wood from the woodpile and tossed it to him. ‘Here.’

  The old man reacted faster than she thought he would, plucking the wood out of the air with surprising ease. He weighed it in one hand.

  ‘What’s this supposed to be?’

  ‘It’s a club. With a little bit of work and imagination.’

  ‘That’d take a damn-side more work than imagination.’

  She ignored him. ‘Fortunately you have another full day. The good thing about a club is you don’t need good eyes. All you need to do is to get up close to your opponent and beat the shit out of him with it. Think you can handle that?’

  With this, she turned and stalked away, the heat of his glare burning a hole in the small of her back.

  ***

  Walking back towards her roundhouse, Liath Luachra could not shake the feeling she was losing control, that her world was unravelling about her. The crowd had responded well to Fiacail’s words and the gift of food, demonstrating a surprising sense of vigour and aggrieved determination to fight and make the invaders pay dearly. She, however, felt no such inducement. She could not rid herself of the sight she’d seen in the dark woods and the threatening sense of evil continued to weigh on her shoulders.

  At the entrance to the roundhouse, she stopped to look back around the little settlement, busy and crowded now, more so than she’d ever seen it before. Her heart felt heavy. In two nights time all these people would be dead.

  To her relief, Cairbre and Conchenn’s roundhouse was empty, all the refugees from Coill Mór out feasting on Bodhmhall’s bounty. Her body seemed to weigh more than usual as she dropped onto the nearest sleeping platform, lying on her side and folding into a foetal position she hadn’t used since childhood. Despite her fatigue, her fears kept sleep infuriatingly at bay and she lay there thinking about the past.

  In previous battles, when faced with ferocious adversaries, there had always been sufficient forces, clever ruses or strategic advantage that she could use to counter the strength of the opposition. Here, at Ráth Bládhma, there was nothing. She had nothing.

  Back then, she realised, there had also been another important difference. She’d been a different person, a brutal and ferocious killer who hadn’t cared whether she lived or died. Now, that insane fighter was long gone, grown soft and domesticated, attached to people and things she did not want to lose.

  Her lips curled in an unconscious snarl as she vented her resentment at the person she’d become. She needed the killer back, she realised. Without the savagery and violence of the old Liath Luachra, she – and Ráth Bládhma – did not stand a chance.

  ***

  Somehow she must have drifted off for she awoke to the sensation of fingertips against her cheek. Opening her eyes, she looked up to find Bodhmhall bent over her, stroking her face. With a groan, she reached up and grasped the b
andraoi’s fingers, pulling them close to her lips to kiss them fiercely. An unfamiliar scent hit her nostrils.

  ‘You’ve been making remedies.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It is not a smell I recognise.’

  ‘It is not a draught I usually care to make.’ The bandraoi bundled up her hair. And the topic with it. ‘Enough of me. How do you feel?’

  ‘Refreshed. But still tired. I could sleep a little longer.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. It is not yet midnight.’

  The Grey One squinted at her with one uncomprehending eye.

  ‘I regret waking you when you need the rest,’ the bandraoi continued. ‘But there are matters of importance we need to discuss.’

  Liath Luachra sat up, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked around, surprised to find the dwelling empty except for the two of them.

  ‘I asked those who were tired to sleep in our roundhouse,’ the bandraoi said, reading her expression. ‘Or to remain outside until we had spoken.’

  The woman warrior cast her a curious glance but said nothing. Swinging her feet off the sleeping platform, she crouched by the fire pit and splashed water from a bowl onto her face. She took her time washing. Something in the bandraoi’s demeanour alarmed her and every instinct was urging her to shirk further communication.

  ‘A rún, there is a task I would place on you. A task that will strain you to your limits, in every possible sense.’

  Liath Luachra apprehensively reached for the red battle harness and pulled it on. She was unsure how to respond and, in the absence of any certainties, fell back on the structure of routine. In any case, it did not seem likely that there would be any further sleep that night. ‘Name this task,’ she said at last.

  ‘I would have you escort Muirne and my nephew back to Dún Baoiscne.’

  The warrior woman stiffened then turned to stare long and hard at the bandraoi. Flustered by the directness of that mute scrutiny, Bodhmhall struggled to compose herself. Although she remained seated on the sleeping platform, Liath Luachra could see how she dug her nails into the palms of her hands, a sure sign of disquiet.