Fiacail tugged on the end of his moustache. ‘The first runner was being followed by about ten others. That could only be Liath Luachra.’ He raised his head and stared towards the trees. ‘At least she made it to the forest.’
That statement alone gave Bodhmhall cause for hope. Liath Luachra knew this territory better than anyone and thrived in the shadowy hug of the Great Wild forests. If she’d made it to the trees then her chances of survival had substantially increased.
They advanced towards the forest, noting how the closer they got to the trees, the more the tracks of the pursuers appeared to converge. Soon, all trace of the woman warrior’s tracks was obliterated, trampled by the heavy tread of the mob behind her. Bodhmhall looked at the ground in concern.
‘Fiacail, do you think …’
The big man looked at her. ‘It’s impossible to say. All we can tell for certain is that more than ten men followed Liath Luachra into these woods. And none of them came back. We will only know by proceeding further.’
The flurry of tracks entered the forest between a pair of towering oak trees that gave the vague impression of a gateway. Inside the forest, the shadows and tightness of the trees became immediately oppressive. Despite the shadows, the trail was easy to follow at first as much of the undergrowth had been disturbed, branches and shrubs broken or crushed from the passage of so many feet. Further into the shadows, however, the tracks spread out as the pursuers diverged in different directions but always continuing roughly westward.
Fiacail stopped and squatted to consider the tracks. He snapped a twig from a nearby branch and chewed on it thoughtfully as he considered the ground. ‘Clever girl,’ he said at last. Noting the bandraoi’s worried expression, he quickly clarified the comment. ‘She gave them the slip. They spread out to search for her although …’ He paused. ‘The tracks all seem to be moving north-west. What lies in that direction?’
Bodhmhall’s face was troubled. ‘Marshland. A small island then nothing. From there, it’s impassable. There’s no way out.’
They exchanged worried glances.
‘Let us continue,’ the warrior suggested. ‘The trail is over a day old but we must travel carefully. Our enemy may be about and there are always the wolves to consider.’
The bandraoi reached over suddenly and caught the Seiscenn Uarbhaoil man’s arm. ‘Thank you, Fiacail. Thank you for helping me.’
‘You are my friend,’ the big man answered. ‘Besides, my dislike of the Grey One does not blind me to the reality of things. She drew off more than a quarter of the fian’s force, thwarting their plan of attack at the very last moment. We barely held the walls as it was and that was only because they were confused and fewer in number.’ He tossed the twig aside and got to his feet. ‘No, I am not blind.’
Bodhmhall gave a tired laugh then quickly caught herself. For one blissful moment she had forgotten but now, after the tragedy of the last few days, the laughter felt wrong, disrespectful. ‘You are a fool, Fiacail. A beautiful, wonderful fool.’
They continued onward, moving slowly, keeping as low as possible in the darkly dappled undergrowth. Bodhmhall began to sweat, the pain in her shoulder intensifying from the continuous movement. Ignoring it, she focused instead on her Gift, using it to look ahead for any telltale light of human activity, desperate for a glimpse of Liath Luachra’s flame to brighten up the gloom.
Suddenly Fiacail hissed and dropped to his knees. The bandraoi froze. The warrior was staring directly ahead towards a particularly thick section of trees. He turned his head slowly towards her, pointed at his eyes and then towards the trees.
Bodhmhall shook her head and dropped her palm in a slanting movement to indicate the sharp drop of the terrain beyond the trees. She could not see through the earth to what lay beyond.
As they waited, Bodhmhall heard what had alerted the warrior: a noise, a kind of drawn out scrape that lasted for several heartbeats than stopped before repeating again. It stopped, a moment passed and she heard it again. Bodhmhall grasped her spear but it was more out of fear than any deep-rooted intent to fight. She was no warrior and even if she wasn’t injured she would have struggled to use the weapon effectively.
The sound came again. Louder this time. Fiacail gestured urgently towards a withered oak tree behind her that they’d passed a moment earlier. The tree looked to have been struck by lightning in the past. Its upper branches were black and bare, and its bark was peeling. The resulting gap in the canopy layer above them allowed grey light to filter down onto the floor of the forest. ‘Get back,’ he whispered. ‘Behind the Great Oak.’
Bodhmhall scuttled back towards the shelter of the giant trunk and watched as Fiacail pulled both axes free from the sheaths on his back. He flexed his shoulders in preparation, eyes fixed on a natural parting in the bushes directly ahead of him where a number of the fian tracks appeared to congregate.
Suddenly, a mud-coated figure appeared through the leafy gap, stumbling forward with an awkward movement that matched the scraping sound then abruptly straightened as it stopped. If it hadn’t been for that characteristic glow Bodhmhall wouldn’t have recognised her. Coated in several layers of mud, face covered in blood, leaning heavily on a roughly cut staff, bloody bandage about her thigh, it was the Grey One.
‘Liath Luachra!’
The woman warrior started, fumbled clumsily for her sword but struggled to pull it free of its sheath. Bodhmhall stepped out into the open and the figure froze when she saw the bandraoi.
‘Liath Luachra, it is us!’ Bodhmhall stared in surprise for the Grey One was dragging a makeshift litter behind her, the source of the scraping noise. As her eyes moved down the wooden frame she saw the pale, lifeless, figure of … Bearach.
Bodhmhall gasped, raised her eyes from the body to the warrior woman and opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say.
Liath Luachra filled the silent space. Her teeth were chattering, whether from the cold or exhaustion, it was impossible to tell but she forced herself to speak. ‘Bearach is my friend. I couldn’t … I couldn’t leave him to the wolves.’ With that, she slumped on her staff, looking lost and for the first time that Bodhmhall could ever recall, vulnerable.
Bodhmhall moved forward, catching her by the arm before she collapsed.
‘Enough, a rún. Enough. Let us go home.’
***
The woman warrior was in a bad way but Bodhmhall was confident she would survive. The knowledge kindled an internal warmth, giving a renewed sense of hope, of pale blue skies finally breaking through the winter gloom.
Liath Luachra was in the roundhouse with the other injured, stretched on the sleeping platform previously occupied by Lí Bán. In the warmth of the dwelling, her shivering had finally ceased. Bodhmhall examined the woman warrior’s body in the flickering light of an oil lamp, wiping her with a fresh cloth as she cleaned the worst of the blood and muck from her wounds. The Grey One’s face and, in particular, the left side of her head was swollen and badly bruised. Blood matted her hair and left ear. The latter concerned her at first but when she examined it more closely she found that it was due to a cut in the inner earlobe.
The Gift allowed her to see to the initial glimmer around the bloody cut in her thigh. She knew that if she did not deal to it, by tomorrow the surrounding flesh would become hot and stretched, the tissue within, pink and raw. The wound was deep and must have been extremely painful to walk on. She couldn’t begin to imagine how the woman had managed to drag a heavy litter all that distance from An Oileán Dubh.
Bodhmhall sighed as she recalled the sight of the slender body strapped into the litter.
One more body. One more member of Muinntir Bládhma gone.
It had been almost dark when they’d finally returned to the ráth, too late to place Bearach in the earth beside his parents. Overnight, the body was resting in one of the lean-tos, watched over by Cónán until it could be buried in the morning. Her heart was heavy for Cairbre’s youngest boy. In the course of a single day
he had lost his parents and now, one of his older brothers as well. The only consolation she could offer was that Aodhán’s condition appeared to be improving. Some colour had returned to his cheeks and he’d woken briefly shortly after their return. He’d even managed to swallow some stew and water before dropping off again.
The bandraoi raised a beaker to the Grey One’s swollen lips. ‘Drink,’ she said.
The woman warrior swallowed greedily, spilling half of the liquid down her neck. Bodhmhall wiped the moisture away. Despite the familiar surroundings, Liath Luachra remained visibly tense, unable to drop her guard and relax. Unconsciously, she was fighting her physical exhaustion, the effort putting a quaver in her voice and making her hands tremble.
Bodhmhall put the beaker to one side. ‘Regret weighs heavy on these shoulders, a rún. I was wrong, I was so wrong and … you came back. Despite everything, you came back and saved us.’
Liath Luachra looked at her, trying to give her full attention but clearly struggling with the pain. ‘Your plan,’ she croaked. ‘It was shit.’
‘It was shit,’ Bodhmhall agreed. ‘It was shit. I had thought our fate settled, that by sending you away with my nephew you would both survive. People say I am a wise woman and yet I displayed all the wisdom of a simpleton child.’
For a moment she thought that the woman warrior was coughing then realised what she was hearing was a hoarse chuckle.
‘Then we share that idiot wisdom. For my part, I thought to walk away, to leave you and my friends to the fate you consigned yourselves to.’ She gripped the bandraoi’s hand with surprising firmness. ‘I could not do so. I have changed living here, living with you. I have scoffed at your words these past years, Bodhmhall and yet all the time you spoke true. Belonging here, being part of Muinntir Bládhma, it has given me ...’ She gave a crooked smile. ‘You are dear to me, An Cailleach Dubh.’
Bodhmhall rested her free hand on the woman warrior’s cheek. ‘And you are dear to me, Grey One.’
Liath Luachra finally lay her head back and closed her eyes. ‘Sometimes, Bodhmhall … sometimes, I think … I think …’
Whatever she intended to say remained unsaid. Bodhmhall waited, listened carefully but no further words came from the injured woman. There was no sound but the soft rhythm of breathing.
Bodhmhall glanced down at the beaker. She’d been using the sleeping draught with restraint but it had done its work. Fortunately, as it was the last of her existing supply.
She sat there quietly, staring at the unconscious woman warrior for a time, a bitter ball of anger swelling in her throat from the thought of what she had lost.
Muirne.
Bodhmhall took a deep breath then, assuring herself that the Grey One was unconscious, bent to examine the wounded thigh more closely. Biting her lower lip in concentration, she used a sharp knife to open the scab and gently pressed the skin on either side to squeeze out accumulated blood and fluid. The little quantity that did ooze from the wound already gleamed bright, heavy with life-light.
The bandraoi washed the gash out with an astringent solution made from flowerless plants found in the woods at the far end of the valley. It was the same herbal remedy she’d used on Aodhán and Ferchar, a liquid that reduced the life-light of injuries and which she’d successfully used in the past. Repeating the cleaning process several times, she finally plugged the hole with a salve before stitching the edges of the torn skin close together again with a needle and thread.
She was shaking with fatigue when she finally emerged from the roundhouse but she knew she had to ignore it. There were still a number of critical tasks to be completed before she could rest.
She advanced towards the lis hearth where Morag was sitting with the children, feeding them a meal of bread and broth. The children looked up in alarm at her arrival and she belatedly realised that her hands were still covered in blood. Hiding them awkwardly behind her back, she turned to address the dark-haired Coill Mór woman. ‘Morag, get the children to bed when they’ve finished eating and gather the others. I am calling an Assembly.’
***
While Tóla watched from the gateway rampart, the remaining adult occupants of Ráth Bládhma assembled around the hearth. For Bodhmhall, although she did not reveal her feelings, the gathering was marred by those haunting absences from the last Assembly and the subsequent War Council. Of the original Council, only herself, Fiacail, and Muirne Muncháem were present. Prompted by Fiacail’s suggestion, the bandraoi had also invited Gnathad, Morag, and Lí Bán to attend. As the big man had correctly pointed out, they had all made sacrifices for Ráth Bládhma and deserved an opportunity to have a say in the decisions that needed to be made.
Cónán had also been invited to attend. Like the others, he had proven himself over the previous days and Bodhmhall felt it important to have a symbolic recognition of the input his family had in the settlement to date. It was a little gesture but it was an important one.
Once again, the bandraoi waited while the others ate. The meal was simple fare, a stew of beef and tubers, washed down with water and a shared ladle of flat beer. Although most people ate sparingly, Fiacail mac Codhna devoured everything that was set before him, working his way around a bowl twice the size of the others to shovel the contents into his mouth. Beside him, Muirne Muncháem, more demure and nervous about the discussions to come, poked half-heartedly at the contents of her own bowl while her baby cooed quietly in a fur blanket at her feet.
Bodhmhall coughed and pointedly cleared her throat. ‘We should begin,’ she said as the muted discussions about her wilted. She turned her gaze to Morag. Since the battle, the Coill Mór woman had taken on all responsibility for feeding and looking after the children. Earlier, Bodhmhall had asked her to extend that responsibility to include the settlement’s remaining adult population as well. The dark-haired girl who’d lost her man during the battle had been eager to occupy herself, to fill up any opportunity for reflection with work. Bodhmhall could sympathise.
‘Morag? The food supplies. Will we last the end of winter?’
The Coill Mór woman brushed a curtain of black curls away from her eyes. ‘We have many fewer mouths to feed and spring is already on us. We will not go hungry.’
Bodhmhall nodded her thanks and gestured towards Fiacail. ‘All are aware that Liath Luachra’s wounds keep her from her role as conradh at this time. I am grateful to Fiacail mac Codhna who has agreed to act in her stead until she has recovered.’
Fiacail quickly wiped some sauce from his chin and stood up to address his little audience. ‘The defences of the ráth are solid. The gateway barrier was untested during the attack, the pilings are sound. I have used the fian’s ladders to close the gap in the eastern rampart.’ He grinned at Bodhmhall. ‘You will not be using them for firewood after all.
With respect to weapons, we now have a surplus from the dead fian warriors but we lack the hands to wield them. We are fortunate that Cónán has returned. With the exception of myself he is our only other able-bodied fighter. Morag and Gnathad have demonstrated that they can be called upon if the need arises but they lack battle experience. Lí Bán has also indicated her enthusiasm to defend the ráth if we are attacked but she is not yet sufficiently recovered.’
‘If we are attacked,’ repeated Bodhmhall as the big man sat down. ‘Therein lies the issue. We have no means of knowing if there will be another attack. We are ignorant both as to the identity of our aggressors and to their true intentions.’
She turned to look at the Flower of Almhu who had remained subdued during the meal. ‘Apart from two bandit raids, this settlement has successfully avoided conflict until your arrival, Muirne Muncháem. Both the Tainted One and the fian came seeking you and your child.’
There was a silence as all eyes turned to the young woman and her baby. Despite their inclusion to Muinntir Bládhma the other woman had remained silent until this point and it was Lí Bán who finally articulated what all of them were thinking. The big woman’s face wa
s strained with pain as she placed her bowl on the ground but she forced herself to sit up and hold the Flower of Almhu’s eye. ‘If you have knowledge of the forces who slaughtered our menfolk or the motivations behind them, you should speak now, Muirne Muncháem.’
Muirne turned her gaze down to her own bowl and scowled at the meaty broth. ‘I know of no association with a Tainted One. Neither do I have familiarity with the tattooed men. All are strangers to me.’
Bodhmhall frowned. ‘We cannot hope to survive if we remain in a state of such ignorance.’
Muirne reached down to take the baby into her arms and clutched him close. ‘I am as oblivious to the motivations of these dire events as you. I do not know these aggressors. If you believe-’ She paused suddenly and looked at the bandraoi, her eyes heavy with suspicion. ‘I know you, Bodhmhall. If you are revealing these thoughts so openly it is because you have already made a decision with regard to our fate.’
Bodhmhall shrugged. ‘I do not deny it. It is clear Ráth Bládhma can no longer offer you sanctuary. Should you remain, those who seek you out will return and we can neither protect you nor survive another confrontation.’
‘So you will cast me out? You would cast your own nephew out?’
‘It is not my intent to cast you out. Neither is it my intent that you remain. I have given the matter consideration and there is but a single feasible route to our mutual security. You must leave Ráth Bládhma for a refuge where you are unknown, where you can live your life in safety.’
The Flower of Almhu looked at her coldly. ‘And, no doubt, you have such a refuge in mind.’
The bandraoi confirmed the accusation with a sharp nod. ‘There is a place. Far to the north-east. It is known as Fir Ros.’
‘Fir Ros? That is a lifetime’s march away.’
‘And hence its attraction. You are well known in this region. No matter where you concealed yourself it would only be a matter of time before you and the babe were discovered.’
Fionn- Defence of Ráth Bládhma Page 32
