Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
Finn Mac Cool (35 page)
“I'd say she is,” Goll agreed. “Did you notice his body when he stripped to bathe? Bruises and claw marks the length of him, and a grin on his face like a hound lying in the sun. And if they marry, he'll be supported by her property, by all of this. Provided he does his share of conserving and defending it, of course. Not bad for a man who was born in a herder's summer hut.”
Finn said quietly, “You need not remain where you are born.”
“This is true. You left the Bog of Almhain, didn't you? Now here you are in Kerry.”
Recognizing the sly insinuation in Goll's voice, Finn knew what direction the conversation was meant to take. He moved back from the screen.
“Do you mean to visit your mother while we're in Kerry?” Goll's disembodied voice followed him. “Do you even know if she's still alive?”
“I wouldn't know,” Finn said coldly.
“Your own mother?” Goll's voice pretended to be shocked. “And you not knowing?”
Finn spat out his words. “I've had other things on my mind, Goll.”
“But it would be no more than a day's march from here if you wanted toâ”
“Leave it, Goll!” commanded the RÃgfénnid FÃanna.
Goll subsided, smiling to himself. That subject's still very tender with Finn, he thought, like flesh with a thorn festering. It might be something to use against him some day, some way. It might indeed.
Imagining stratagems, Goll was slow to fall asleep.
Finn did not sleep at all.
Crossing his arms behind his head, he lay and watched the play of firelight and shadowsâdistorted shadowsâon the walls. As in all prosperous households, a few candles were left burning throughout the night, but nothing could chase away the shadows.
Finn could see faces in them Women's faces.
A deer's face.
A worm of pain twisted in his belly, gnawing.
Speculation was rife in the morning. “Why Cael? Is his spear that much longer than other men's?” Red Ridge asked Madan.
“I'd say about average. Perhaps his gift is his tongue.”
There was a wave of knowing laughter.
Creide left no doubt that she was willing to many Cael. She said it right out in front of the FÃanna. “He's such a wretched excuse for a man I might as well take him, no one else would have him,” she said, groping beneath his tunic as she spoke.
Finn's mouth went dry, watching them.
“I'll bring some of my women and follow the army,” Creide promised. “Women fight. I can fight. Would you like to see me carrying a spear in your wake, Cael?” Her eyes danced.
“I'd rather carry a spear in yours.
This
spear.”
This
spear.”
“We'd better go away
now
!” Blamec moaned to Cailte, who nodded agreement.
now
!” Blamec moaned to Cailte, who nodded agreement.
The laws of hospitality required them to stop several days with Creide, however; several days that were a torment for Finn's men, being forced to observe the abandoned delight Cael and Creide took in one another. Creide kindly offered those of her bondwomen who wished to partake, but Finn gave strict orders that his rÃgfénnidi refuse. “We can do better than bondwomen,” he told them. “Look at Cael.”
Looking at Cael was almost painful, however.
They were very glad when their commander announced that the visit was concluded and they must return northward. When they left, Creide stood in her gateway promising Cael she would follow him with a band of women as soon as she could equip them.
“And she will,” Cael assured his companions cheerfully.
Midday found them climbing a heathered hill with a soft wind at their backs. The air was sweetened with birdsong. On a day so radiant, Finn's companions expected him to recite a poem of his own composition. They kept cutting their eyes toward him expectantly.
But though he chewed on his thumb as if deep in thought, he said nothing. His face was closed.
At last Goll remarked, “That trail off through the heather would take us eventually to the stronghold of Gleor Red-Hand. We could demand hospitality for the night and you could enjoy a reunion, Finn.”
Finn turned his back on the indicated trail and set off in the opposite direction. Beneath his billowing cloak, his shoulders were rigid.
“Who's Gleor Red-Hand?” Blamec wanted to know.
“Just someone Finn knows,” Goll replied. “At least, Finn knows his wife. Knew her intimately at one time.”
Finn whirled on him, his face livid. “I told you before, Goll: leave it! That's an order!”
As Goll had intended, Blamec misunderstood. “So you've enjoyed the welcome of a Kerry woman's thighs also, Finn?” he asked innocently.
The next moment Blamec found himself lying on his back in the heather, gazing up at a sky so blue and bland he could not understand why it was also filled with whirling lights.
He saw a circle of faces looking down at him. “What happened?” he asked his friends. “Was I struck by lightning?”
“As near as makes no difference,” replied Cailte. “Finn hit you. You said something he didn't like.”
“And he hit me for
that
?”
that
?”
“Look at that sky. You weren't struck by lightning.”
A member of Blamec's company extended a hand and helped him to his feet. He was excruciatingly embarrassed. Being struck by the RÃgfénnid FÃanna in front of his own men was almost unprecedented. What could have come over Finn? he wondered. But he did not ask, nor did he argue.
It seemed prudent for once to say nothing.
The army marched on, though not into the territory of Gleor Red-Hand.
Goll was pleased with himself. It was a petty satisfaction, but that did not make it less pleasant. Wounding Finn and letting someone else suffer the punishment improved the game considerably in his opinion.
Two nights had passed before Blamec regained sufficient confidence to complain, “I thought the king promised us horses. Seasons ago. Whatever happened to them?”
“They'll be waiting for us at Tara,” Finn assured him. “Cormac wants to make something of a ceremony of their presentation, I believe.”
“I'd be happier with less ceremony and less walking,” Blamec replied. “Couldn't he have given us horses at the start of battle season this year?”
“He could have. But he wants to do it at the Great Assembly, where everyone will see. His will be the first army to have all of its officers mounted; it's an important occasion, and sure to impress the other kings and chieftains.”
Fergus wanted to know, “Will we be expected to ride them right away? In front of everyone?”
“I suppose so,” Finn told him. “That's the point.”
“But I've never been on a horse.”
“Anyone,” Madan declared, “can ride a horse. You've seen Cormac do it, it's just like sitting on a bench.”
Fergus looked dubious. “I don't think that's all there is to it.”
“It is of course. Just watch me when I get my horse.”
Cailte. enquired, “Have you ever ridden a horse, Madan?”
“I have not. But I know I can.”
“Your men are too arrogant, Finn,” Goll remarked, “and you've made them that way. But I suspect your first experience with horses will teach you all a little humility.”
Finn did not reply, but later in the day he ordered Cailte in a confidential tone, “Send Taistellach ahead to locate the next noble stronghold along our way that has some riding horses.”
Swift-footed Taistellach sped away, to return in due course with reports of the stronghold of a wealthy chieftain on the banks of the Blackwater. The man, who was called Dorbha, had some cattle, flocks of sheep, and a herd of horses penned near his fort.
“He appears to be very proud of his horses,” Taistellach said. “And of his women, for that matter. His household's full of them. He keeps them warm with cloaks of otter skins so there must be good hunting along the banks of the river. He has vats of ale and buttermilk, almost like a hosteller, and a fine reputation for generosity among his tribesmen.”
“The very man we need,” replied Finn Mac Cool.
He picked up the pace.
Dorbha was at first alarmed to find the majority of the fÃans of the FÃanna descending upon him, but relieved when Finn requested quartering and hospitality only for himself and his officers. “The rest of my men provide their own beds and feed themselves,” he was assured.
His alarm returned, however, when a thin man with hair just beginning to turn grey said quietly to him, “The RÃgfénnid FÃanna has a mind to try one of your riding horses. Only for himself, you understand. Out of sight of the others.”
“The FÃanna are going to take my animals,” Dorbha predicted gloomily to his senior wife.
She glared at him. “Don't let them!”
“This is the FÃanna we're talking about, woman! They could take the hide off your body and mine if they wanted. We should be thankful if we lose only the horses to them.”
To his surprise, however, they did not lose any horses. While the other officers were eating and drinking in Dorbha's banquetting hall, Finn and Cailte slipped away to a hidden copse, leading a single grey horse.
Cailte held the animal by its bridle while Finn vaulted aboard. The horse did not move and seemed unaffected by the clamping of a stranger's legs on its sides.
“This isn't so hard,” Finn said. “Give me the rein, Cailte.”
“Are you sure?” Cailte was watching the horse's eyes.
“I am of course. I could almost put my feet down and touch the ground; what could possibly happen?”
Shrugging, Cailte surrendered the single rein. Finn, seeing Cormac in his mind's eye, gave the animal a kick.
Nothing happened.
“We should have brought a horse-goad,” Cailte said.
“Nonsense. I can make this creature go, just with the strength of my legs.” Finn kicked againâand this time he kicked as hard as he could.
The astonished grey let out a great
whoosh
of air, then threw its head down between its forelegs and gave a mighty twist to its back.
whoosh
of air, then threw its head down between its forelegs and gave a mighty twist to its back.
Finn found himself in exactly the same position Blamec had occupied a couple of days earlier, examining an equally blue sky similarly spangled with whirling lights.
“I don't think,” Cailte drawled, “that you've perfected the art of riding yet, Finn.”
Finn laughed in spite of himself and got to his feet. “Madan seems to have underestimated the difficulties,” he admitted. “Let's try it again.”
They spent the evening with the grey horse, the long summer evening of Erin that faded only into a semi-darkness, then brightened again. By the time Finn felt confident he could at least stop, start, and turn a horse under normal circumstances, Cailte was eager to try his own luck, so they changed places.
“Don't ever tell anyone I let you do this, though,” Finn cautioned his friend with a wink.
Cailte replied, “I never tell anyone anything. I'm famous for it.”
They spent several more nights with Dorbha. During the day, the other officers joined their fÃans hunting around the Blackwater, but Finn and Cailte used the time to practice riding in secret. If they sat down a little more gingerly than usual, no one noticed.
At night, the women of Dorbha's household offered the visiting rÃgfénnidi every form of Gaelic hospitality, including the welcome of their thighs; their noble thighs. The FÃanna were no longer men to be despised.
Excited by the recent example of Cael and Creide, Finn's officers responded enthusiastically. “The voice of the cuckoo is sweet in our ears,” Fergus Honey-Tongue claimed rapturously.
On what was to be their final night with Dorbha, Finn's officers were given a woman for every lap. The woman who came to the RÃgfénnid FÃanna was the finest the household had to offer, one of Dorbha's own daughters, a supple-hipped woman with long, shapely hands. She approached
Finn diffidently, half-expecting he would turn away, as he had not yet shown any interest in women, unlike the rest of his men.
Finn diffidently, half-expecting he would turn away, as he had not yet shown any interest in women, unlike the rest of his men.
But Finn could no longer avoid being aware of humid looks being exchanged, ardent caresses, sudden catches of breath. All around him, his men were enjoying themselves. Life was being lived. Life ⦠the word made him ache.
He experienced a sudden, startling sense of bilocation. He seemed to become a passive observer watching a second Finn. He tried to have some influence over this second Finn, but could not reach him.
Between them was a crystal wall. Nothing passed through.
Finn the observer watched a flushed, sweating warrior called Finn Mac Cool take the proffered woman by one of her long, pale hands and pull that hand down to his lap, deliberately inviting her to fondle him.
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