Fionn- Defence of Ráth Bládhma

by Brian O'Sullivan

  And they would catch her.

  The woman warrior was tall for her sex and extremely fit but the undeniable reality was that no woman could indefinitely outrun a full grown man over a level stretch of ground. After a time, her head start on the fian would diminish, the distance between them closing inexorably as they wore her down. The single advantage she had was that she was encumbered by nothing more than her sword. The men behind her, dressed for battle, carried heavy leather or furs and weapons. That alone would slow them for a time. Until their greater stamina won out. And they closed the gap sufficiently to reach out and ...

  And then, that was that.

  After five hundred paces, her lungs were already burning from the effort, the initial burst of adrenaline slowly draining away. Despite her predicament, for one brief, insane moment she felt an urge to laugh. The tightness of her over-stretched lungs, however, meant little more than a merry wheeze escaped her lips.

  Half-way down the valley she risked a quick glance back over her shoulder, the movement momentarily unsettling her stride and causing her to lose speed. Almost immediately, she’d straightened up again and was back in the rhythm, recovering that lost ground with a little extra effort. Those few lost paces had been worth it. She now knew there were at least ten to twelve of the tattooed warriors spread in a tight wedge about forty paces behind her. They were no fools though. They’d sent one of their younger men ahead running a good ten paces in front of them.

  It was an old pursuit ruse, one she herself had used in the past. If there was nowhere for the person you were chasing to run to, you sent your fastest man to run him down while the rest of the party followed at a more measured pace. If the front runner tired, he dropped back and was replaced by a second, fresher runner. This meant the person being chased was forced to constantly run at maximum speed, quickly wearing himself out. If he tried to turn and fight, the front runner held them at bay until the others caught up. Either way the outcome was inevitable.

  Liath Luachra knew, therefore, that engaging with the front runner was not an option. She had to outrun him. Granted, that wasn’t going to happen on the flat, hence her desperate efforts to reach the twisted confines of the forest at the end of the valley. If she reached those trees, her natural agility and familiarity with the territory would give her the advantage.

  But it still looked a long way off.

  Even now, with death at her heels, Liath Luachra had no regrets at her decision to return to Glenn Ceoch. Although, the truth was she’d never actually left.

  Following their departure from Ráth Bládhma, she’d escorted the little party to the most easterly point of the valley. Although in terms of distance it wasn’t particularly far, the dense and twisted woods between took quite a long time to cross.

  At the eastern apex of Glenn Ceoch, the sides of the valley closed in, terminating at a wide granite wall that rose to a summit of more than a hundred paces. It was a formidable barrier and, from all impressions, impassable.

  Except through Gág na Muice.

  Gág na Muice – the Pig’s Crack – was a crevice situated at a height of about six men had they been standing on each other’s shoulders. It was approximately three paces wide and noteworthy because of the thick flax rope that hung from its shadowed interior, dangling down to the base of the cliff. If it hadn’t been for that rope, it was unlikely that anyone would have remarked on it given that there was little to differentiate it from the many other cracks pocking the granite surface. What could not be seen from the valley floor, however, was that the crack widened as it penetrated deeper into the rock. Even further in, it expanded into a relatively broad passage in parts, traversing the entire ridge to emerge in thick forest on the steep northern face.

  On the far side as well, Gág na Muice was virtually impossible to detect. Liath Luachra had discovered it by chance, the lucky result of chasing a wild pig into it – hence the name – during a hunt less than a year after their arrival in the area. Recognising its value as an escape route, the woman warrior had brought the flax rope to the Glenn Ceoch side, secured it to a substantial boulder and dropped it into the valley. Keen to avoid the passage being discovered on the opposite side of the ridge, she’d forbidden hunting or travel through that section of wood for fear of leaving tracks. The risk of discovery remained but it was limited and, given the precautions taken, it was one she’d been willing to live with.

  They’d scaled the cliff using the flax rope, Bearach hauling himself up first, followed closely by Liath Luachra. Cónán had then attached the end of the rope to each of the Coill Mór children in turn, so they could be swiftly lifted to safety. A similar process was used for the baby, although in his case, the rope was attached to a wicker food basket brought along specifically for that purpose. Lying snuggly inside, nestled in his blanket, he didn’t seem to mind too much about being carted upwards, swinging loosely from side to side.

  The Flower of Almhu had also needed to be pulled up by hand although, in her case, she’d helped by taking her weight on the footholds and handholds available, reducing some of her burden on Liath Luachra and Bearach. Cónán, as rear guard, had been the last to climb up. Nimble and light, he’d scaled the cliff face with such speed and alacrity, he made it look as though he hadn’t even needed the rope.

  When the little party was safe inside the crevice, Liath Luachra had pulled the rope up behind them with a dismal sense of finality. They were secure from any threat from the Glenn Ceoch side but the only escape route out of the valley had now been cut off. Ráth Bládhma was on its own.

  The warrior woman had urged them to travel quietly through Gág na Muice but the uneven, rocky ground took its toll on the children and they were obliged to stop sooner than expected. They set up camp at an odd overhang where the walls on the opposing sides of the crevice bulged outwards at head height and met to create a long, tunnel-like cave.

  ‘We’ll spend the night here,’ Liath Luachra informed them. ‘The fian may have men out scouting the territory. I don’t want to risk travelling until I know the route ahead is clear.’

  She’d glanced down at Muirne who was preoccupied with her baby, cradling him and making soft cooing noises. Liath Luachra repressed a sigh. The presence of the infant was another complication. If he started crying the sound had the potential to alert any enemies in the area. She dismissed the issue for consideration at another time. There, deep in the ridge’s stony heart, it would be impossible to hear them, no matter what kind of racket they created.

  She’d looked at Muirne again, surprised by the lack of opposition. Her body language certainly suggested displeasure at the prospect of remaining in such a claustrophobic location.

  She’s scared of me.

  The realisation had momentarily surprised her. Thinking about it, in retrospect, she realised how carefully the Flower of Almhu had been avoiding her since her return from Drom Osna. On the few occasions when they had crossed paths, Muirne had quickly scuttled off. Whenever this hadn’t been possible, she’d turned her eyes to the ground and remained as silent and as unobtrusive as possible.

  Liath Luachra shrugged. The Flower of Almhu’s behaviour held little interest for her and she had enough to concern herself with at present.

  When the little party was settled, Liath Luachra sent Cónán to scout the terrain at the northern end of the ridge but gave strict orders not to proceed beyond the bush-coated end of the passage. That night, they had no fire.

  ***

  It was before dawn the following morning that Liath Luachra nudged Bearach awake.

  ‘I’m returning to the entrance to the Glenn Ceoch outlook. Do you wish to accompany me?’

  The boy was weary but nodded readily, just as she’d known he would. Like her he’d slept poorly and she’d heard him toss and turn while standing her turn on guard duty. What worried her most was that, since leaving the settlement, he’d barely spoken a word. The fate of his parents and his older brother weighed heavily on him.

  Leav
ing Cónán to watch over the other members of their party, they hurried back along Gág na Muice, reaching the high ledge overlooking Glenn Ceoch just after dawn. The sight awaiting them filled Liath Luachra with dismay. The height of the ledge usually offered an excellent view of the ráth, visible over the eastern woods. That morning, however, the valley was choked with dense fog that blanketed everything in a thick veil of ghost breath.

  Anxious and frustrated, she quickly backtracked along the passage, Bearach following dutifully behind her. At a narrow fissure to the left of the passage, she climbed up to a wide ledge on the side of the cliff. This slanted upwards at a steep gradient, eventually leading away from the cliff to a higher, flatter section of the ridge. Here, it connected with an ancient deer path that followed the upper ridge, parallel to the valley. Inaccessible from the valley floor as a result of some earlier rock fall that wiped out the only other adjoining path, the trail had not been used for several years. Although much of the original vegetation had grown back, the exposure of the ridge face to the worst of the elements had prevented it from being completely overgrown.

  Pushing through the scrub, they successfully navigated the remaining trail without too much difficulty, finally reaching another set of steep cliffs at the ridge’s most westerly point. A flat rock, bordered by furze provided a good point to overlook the forested entrance to Glenn Ceoch and they remained here for some time, hoping to catch a glimpse of the settlement through the slowly dispersing mist.

  Time passed frustratingly slowly, measureable only through the gradual thinning of the heavy fog. Sitting there, Liath Luachra was struck by the uncharacteristic silence that filled the valley. It did not have that otherworldly character of the silence she’d experienced at Drom Osna but it was no less disturbing for that. Eventually, the reason for the unusual stillness became apparent. It started with a distant noise, a sound like the shuffling of many bodies through heavy bush. All too soon it became clear that this was exactly what it was.

  They’re here.

  Soon, they could hear the tread of many feet through the undergrowth, the clink of metal, the coughs and voices of a large body of men. The fian emerged through the trees between the stream and the ridge where the two Ráth Bládhma fighters were hiding, barely visible at first although the fog had mostly dispersed. Grim and silent, Liath Luachra and Bearach watched the three, long lines of black-faced warriors moving quietly, spirits flagging at the sight of the full force assembled against the ráth. Bearach started shaking, a mixture of fear and repressed fury. He tugged repeatedly at the pitiful moustache he’d been attempting to grow over the previous few months. Inordinately proud of it, he’d used every spare moment to twist it or play with it, as though coaxing might make it grow faster. This time, however, there was a nervous desperation to the action.

  The fian established a temporary camp in the thick wood close to the northern ridge, allowing Liath Luachra and Bearach to observe them in relative safety. The Grey One watched the strangers all morning, noting how they busied themselves in preparation for the forthcoming attack: sharpening blades, slapping each other on the back, generally talking each other up. There was no sense of fear in their preparations, none that she could detect in any case. If anything, she sensed an air of gleeful anticipation. Although she could not understand what the men were saying, it was evident that they knew what they were facing and it didn’t perturb them. They were confident and brash, expecting little serious resistance.

  One of their preparations confused the woman warrior at first. For a time, she’d been watching the warriors fell a number of young pine trees, all of roughly equal size and proportion. It was only when she saw them hack the branches down to stubby protrusions and strap the trunks together that their intended use became clear. A cold sensation trickled down her spine.

  Ladders. They intend to cross the ditch and scale the ramparts.

  Bearach, too, had experienced a similar revelation for he released an involuntary, high-pitched gasp.

  ‘They will kill my family. My father, my mother.’

  She turned to find the boy looking at her with desperate eyes, wordlessly imploring her to do something, anything, to save his family. The woman swallowed the cold, hard lump of phlegm that had suddenly formed in her throat but she said nothing.

  ‘Liath Luachra,’ he pleaded. ‘We can’t desert them. They need us.’

  ‘You have a duty to protect your brother. And Muirne and the children. They need us too.’ She frowned at that. The taste of the words was off. She was repeating Bodhmhall’s words and they felt wrong coming out of her own mouth. She tried again. ‘They made their choice. I cannot save them Bearach. This way, at least, you and the others will get to live.’

  ‘What is the point in living?’ Bearach answered miserably. ‘If everyone you care about is dead then you are dead too.’

  Liath Luachra turned away, unable to bear his gaze. She looked down on the invaders with silent, intense hatred.

  A short time later Cónán startled them by sneaking up from behind to catch them unawares. Concerned by their extended absence, he’d followed their tracks back to the Glenn Ceoch overlook then up to the ledge and along the deer trail until he’d located them. At first, Liath Luachra was angry to see him, annoyed that he’d left the children unprotected. She quickly relented, however, recognising that the reaction was unfair. Ensconced in the Gág na Muice cave, the others were in one of the safest spots in the region so there was little reason to be too concerned about their safety. Her own delay in returning had been valid grounds for concern and Cónán had acted correctly.

  She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she watched the dark-haired youngster. Like his brother, Cónán was greatly distressed at the thought of deserting his family. Moving nearer to Bearach, he sat down beside him and leaned in close. Liath Luachra saw the older brother reach over and put a comforting arm around his younger sibling. For some reason, she suddenly found herself struggling to breathe.

  She looked down at the fian once more, the black-faced men preoccupied in the arrangements for the attack on the settlement. Her hand gripped the hilt of Gleas Gan Ainm so tightly her knuckles shone white.

  ‘Very well.’

  The two boys raised their heads to look at her.

  ‘Very well,’ she repeated. She cleared her throat. ‘We will do what we can to help our people.’

  ***

  While Cónán was dispatched to retrieve the flax rope from the Glenn Ceoch overlook, Liath Luachra outlined her plan to his brother. By the time she’d finished, Bearach was pale and looked decidedly nervous. He considered what she’d told him in silence for several moments. ‘What about Muirne Muncháem and her baby?’ he said at last.

  ‘At the moment, that cave is the safest place they can be. Besides, it was Muirne Muncháem that tossed these thorns into our path. Now she must pick her way between them.’ Seeing the look on Bearach’s face, Liath Luachra gave a conciliatory growl. ‘She will have Cónán with them. He’ll take good care of them.’

  Bearach nodded. They had agreed that the youngster would not be accompanying them.

  Later, when Cónán arrived from affixing the rope on a cliff further down the valley, they told him what was intended and he wept for he knew it was unlikely he’d see either of them again. Unlike Bearach or Liath Luachra, however, he was still young enough to do as he was told. Returning to where the rope was secured, he watched in silence, therefore, as they slid down to the base of the ridge.

  Having safely reached the bottom, Liath Luachra looked back up to make sure the boy had hauled the rope back up. Cónán’s thin little figure made a forlorn silhouette against the sky. She turned to face his brother. Bearach looked scared, struggling to control his fear.

  ‘You know what to do?’

  He confirmed with a tilt of his head. ‘I won’t let you down, Liath Luachra.’

  She looked at her young comrade, frightened but determined not to fail her, and felt a fierce surge of affecti
on towards him.

  ‘You are the only one who has never let me down, little bandit.’

  She started to strip.

  ***

  When Bearach had left her, Liath Luachra worked her way through the woods, headed east towards the ráth. Dropping to her stomach, she crawled as close to the settlement as she dared. Concealing herself in a leaf-filled depression at the edge of the trees, she quickly buried herself in the withered leaves in an effort to stave off the cold.

  She was present, therefore, when the fian made their dramatic and clamorous approach, trembling at the thought of Bodhmhall and the others trapped inside the ráth. Silently, she watched as the force drew to a halt before the settlement and she regarded the three men who broke away from the larger mass of men with curiosity. These, she guessed, were the fian’s leaders and, therefore, potential targets for her sling. Given the likelihood that she’d only have time for a single cast before she was spotted, she knew she’d have to choose that target wisely.

  To her surprise, the voices carried well in the still air and despite the distance, she was able to make out every second or third word being spoken. Listening in on the conversation between Fiacail and the techtaire, she quickly dismissed him as a target. The techtaire was a translator, a foot soldier, and his death would have no real impact on the fian’s attack. Transferring her attention to the bearded one and the tall, hatchet-faced one, she attempted to assess their status. The presence of the latter intrigued her for he seemed to be an ill fit with the rest of the warriors, not least because of his lack of facial tattoos. At the same time, there was nothing distinctive that marked him as a leader. The bearded man, however, strutted about with an obvious sense of his own importance.

  Hauling herself out of the leaves, Liath Luachra got to her feet in the shadow of a nearby oak, unravelled her sling and laid a bullet into the flax cradle. The eyes of all the fian warriors were focussed on the increasingly strained interaction between Fiacail and the messenger. Like them, she followed the exchange intently and was equally as stunned when the javelin sailed over the rampart to strike him down.