Finn Mac Cool (52 page)
Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
Finn never spoke of it, one way or the other. But Cailte fancied he could see pain in his eyes when he looked at Oisin.
“Finn was doing what he had to do,” the thin man tried to explain. “His duty, as he saw it.”
“He saw killing Diarmait as his duty? Have a brehon recite for me the law that made it so.”
“Och, Oisin, don't be so hard on him.”
“And why should I not? Finn's hard on everyone else.”
“Hardest on himself,” Cailte replied, but Oisin did not seem interested in continuing the discussion; he walked away.
Regaining his prestige within the FÃanna was proving a challenge for Finn. Not only Oisin still bore a grudge, but many other fénnidi and officers had been alienated during the pursuit and must be won back. He tried in the old ways, challenging them physically and inspiring them intellectually with spectacular boasts and claims of magic.
Some listened, believed, responded.
Oisin did not.
He no longer saw Finn Mac Cool as magical and magnificent. “Why
does he keep on telling those lies?” he asked Fergus Honey-Tongue in disgust.
does he keep on telling those lies?” he asked Fergus Honey-Tongue in disgust.
Fergus was shocked. “They aren't lies! No one questions Finn's honesty.”
“So I've always been told. But I'm no fool, Fergus. I don't believe that story about the salmon and being able to stick his thumb in his mouth and know things not anymore. I don't believe any of his stories anymore.”
“But you must. We all do especially Firm himself. They are part of him, they make him what he is.”
“Perhaps. But he's not the man I once thought he was,” Oisin curtly replied.
At the back of Finn's mind lay an awareness of Goll Mac Morna. The matter of his desertion was unresolved; it must be faced eventually. But Firm found himself putting it off.
He did not know how he felt about Gold.
The one-eyed man had served him long and well under the most difficult circumstances. They hand always been rivals, but it was a rivalry grown comfortable, a defining fact in both their lives. Goll had been, in many ways, Finn's standard of honour, though he would never have told him so.
For that reason if none other, the desertion rankled. And it must be punished, there could be no doubt. Otherwise an unfortunate precedent would be set and Clan Morna would not be the only company of men to simply walk away from the FÃanna when they felt like it.
But one season passed and then another, and still Finn did not go after Goll.
Cailte began to hope he never would.
Oisin took a wife. In far Ceshcorran, Diarmait and Grania had a son, and then another.
In his own stronghold in the west, Goll Mac Morna began to relax and quit looking over his shoulder every time he thought he heard someone behind him.
Diarmait and Grania had a daughter, then another son.
Finn's silvery hair faded into white almost unnoticed.
But his vigour was undiminished. He still loved to hunt. When he could, he ranged farther afield, leaving Almhain behind to explore the remotest reaches of Erin with his hounds and his huntsmen. Sometimes some of his rÃfénnidi accompanied him, as much for the sake of hearing him tell his tales beside a campfire as for the thrill of pursuing stag or boar. They were older, as he was older, and knee and hip joints were stiffening. Going hunting was becoming an exercise in nostalgia, though none would admit it except Conan Maol, who flatly refused to go at all.
Even Oisin went hunting with Finn from time to time. But he did not ride at his father's side on such occasions, or sit next to him by the campfne. He always found someone else to talk to and be with.
He might have been a stranger rather than the son of Finn Mac Cool.
Brooding behind his eyes, Finn observed, and spoke of it in his head to Sive.
He hates me for what I did to Diarmait. But I really did nothing to him, no lasting damage. And look what he has now!
Indeed.
Look what he has now.
There were times when Finn could not help brooding over Diarmait's success in spite of the dishonour he had committed. It seemed to negate the very concept of honour.
Early one autumn, Cuarag purchased a new pair of dogs for Finn, a sturdy, broad-shouldered, thick-chested pair that had been bred in the land of the Britons and could, it was claimed, bring down the largest boar between them.
“They aren't as handsome as our staghounds,” Cuarag apologized to Finn, “but if they're half as good with boar as they're reputed to be, it would be a treat to watch them in action.”
Before Finn had a chance to try out the new boarhounds, a messenger from Tara brought word from the High King.
“Grania and Diarmait wish to put aside old enmities and make things smooth again,” the messenger reported, “and they have invited both Cormac Mac Airt and yourself to attend a great feast at their stronghold in Ceshcorran. The king sends me to inform you, and to ask you and your officers to travel there with him.”
Finn started to answer, then became aware of Oisin's eyes on him, watching. Such large, dark eyes beneath a crop of golden curls.
“I'll go of course. Return to Cormac and tell him we are preparing,” Finn said.
“Good,” Oisin said. It was not much, but it was a small thawing, and Finn essayed a small smile at his son. Oisin looked away at that moment, howeverâperhaps unintentionally.
The journey west to Ceshcorran was a long one, allowing considerable time for speculation. Finn and Cormac rode side by side. “I suspect the invitation was initiated by Grania,” Cormac said. “That's the sort of thing women do, trying to make peace.”
Finn's brooding eyes stared over his horse's pricked ears, watching the road ahead. “Perhaps the idea began with Diarmait, who might be afraid I haven't forgiven him after all. He was always clever, was Diarmait.”
Cormac shot a look at the RÃgfénnid FÃanna. “Are you saying you haven't forgiven him?”
“I'm saying he always was clever,” Finn replied calmly.
When they at last reached the fort Diarmait had named Rath Grania in honour of his wife, they learned that she indeed had been the instigator. Grania, older, plumper, ran forward eagerly to throw her arms around Cormac's neck and shower the side of his face with kisses. Then she drew back to look at him. “But you've gone entirely grey!” she protested.
Then her eyes slid sideways toward Finn, who sat unmoving on his horse. The years had not changed him since last she saw him. Finn had reached an apparent age that, thanks to his bone structure, he would retain until he died. He would never look less than strong.
Diarmait, on the other hand, had grown thin with the passage of time, and fretful under the continuing yoke of exiled domesticity. They had few visitors at Rath Grania. Local chieftains were wary of incurring Finn's anger by being too friendly with Diarmait Mac Donn.
So he was quite fulsome in his welcome to the FÃanna, and to Oisin in particular. The two linked arms and went swinging off long-strided together, talking as they had in the old days.
Grania was left to guide her father, Firm, and the other officers into the fort and make them welcome. “I did so want to see the pair of you together under my own roof,” she told them, “and to know there was no anger left among us.”
Cormac, who was already knee-deep in grandchildren, smiled fatuously. “And how could I be angry with you?” he asked Grania fondly.
“And you, Finn?” she enquired, looking toward the white-haired man who was watching her silently, his thoughts hidden behind his eyes. “Have you any anger left toward me?”
She licked her lips. She smiled. Grania could never bear to think any man could resist her.
She remembered Finn staring down at her through the hole in the roof of the hut, and she thought, with a guilty thrill of delight, he still wants me! I know he does!
“I was never angry with you,” he said.
She tried to interpret the inflection of his voice, but could not. Finn kept his words as expressionless as his face. Whatever Grania found in either, she imagined.
She had had years to perfect her imagination, years in exile with Diarmait Mac Donn, years far away from the luxury and excitement of Tara.
To entertain the king and the RÃgfénnid FÃanna, she and Diarmait
had made the most elaborate preparations possible. But both men had brought sizable retinues. Food for feasting ran out all too soon.
had made the most elaborate preparations possible. But both men had brought sizable retinues. Food for feasting ran out all too soon.
“I brought some new boarhounds with me,” Finn announced. “Who would like to go out with me tomorrow and give them a run, see if we make a kill?” He made it an invitation to all present.
There was a unanimous male shout. Cormac, whose years lay like frost in his bones by now, said nothing, but even his eyes gleamed just a little at the prospect, and he was almost tempted.
That night in their bed, however, Grania pressed against Diarmait and urged, “Don't go hunting tomorrow with Finn.”
“Why not? It's glad I am that he's willing to have me. It tells me the old trouble is behind us.”
“Just don't go.” But she could not tell him why.
Suddenly she felt guilty for having flirted, however mildly, with Finn. Diarmait had thrown away everything he had for her sake and risked his life; there was no way she could equal such a gift. She snuggled loyally against him and let her hand slide down his belly, tempting him with warm fingers. “Don't go,” she repeated softly. “Stay here with me. Let the others hunt.”
She did not dare tell him she was afraid for him. That would have challenged his maleness and driven him to join Finn in pursuit of the boar. But she was afraid, though she could not say why.
The hunting party set off at dawn, riding out on the clarion call of Cuarag's horn. The boarhounds were fresh and overeager. They had to be restrained with collars around their necks and leads, and they almost pulled the arms out of the sockets of Cuarag's assistant huntsmen.
The other hounds followed, and were followed in turn by Finn, Oisin, and the other rÃgfénnid, on horseback.
Diarmait stood in the gateway and watched them go, then turned back toward Grania with a brave, false smile. “I don't much care for hunting anyway,” he lied.
She saw the lie in his eyes.
He hesitated, torn, until the hunting party disappeared behind the nearest hill.
They rode for quite some time, giving the boarhounds an opportunity to cast back and forth in search of a scent. Like Grania. Finn found himself invaded by a growing gloom. The sun was bright and the wind off the sea was tangy with salt, but he was nagged by a persistent melancholy. Perhaps seeing Grania was the cause.
He tried to push her out of his mind. But the more he tried to grapple with his thoughts, the more unbidden thoughts rushed in to join the chaos.
A low bank of dark clouds materialized on the western horizon. As he
rode, Finn stared at it, deaf to the sound of the hounds and the horn and the conversation of his companions.
rode, Finn stared at it, deaf to the sound of the hounds and the horn and the conversation of his companions.
He drew rein abruptly. Cailte, following close behind, signalled for the others to halt. The huntsmen and the hounds went on without them.
Keeping his eyes on the dark clouds, Finn began to recite.
Woman â¦
He paused, shook his head, began again.
Two things have overcome me. A vision of shapes appeared to me, and took my strength and vision.
Now I see other visions. A man with shorn hair will come to us and tell us of wonders, but will not harm us.
Other foreigners will also come.
Listen to the prophecy of Finn.
He paused again, and quite unconsciously put his thumb into his mouth.
Oisin watched his father with wide eyes.
When Finn removed the thumb, he said,
Listen to the prophecy of Finn.
Grey-faced foreigners will come, and myself and the FÃanna not here to drive them out.
The foreigners' gardens will flourish here, and many a tree of their planting.
Kings will advance and break battle, and a High King will leave the battlefield red with blood.
Men from the east and the west, the north and the south, will struggle against the foreigners.
But I shall not be here to lead them.
I am Fionn son of Cuhal, and this is my prophecy.
He fell silent, his eyes still staring into the west. His men shifted uncomfortably on their horses' backs and looked at one another.
“That doesn't even sound like one of Finn's poems,” Red Ridge said.
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