Patrick (18 page)
“Better?” I asked.
“Not so bad. Next time will be better still.” She stepped
before me and frowned. “When I come up next time, I will bring a razor.”
I rubbed my palm over my fuzzy jaw. “Do you not like a man with a beard?”
“Only savages wear beards,” she informed me blithely. Once more she regarded me with that look I still could not decipher.
“Savages,” I muttered, thinking it was
because
of the savages that I looked the way I did.
“Savages, aye, and men who have no women to keep them shorn.”
“And the clothesâyou'll find me some clothes, yes? I cannot be wearing your fallaing forever.”
“No?” She smiled wickedly. “Well, I like it. Maybe I will keep you in it.”
“Sionan, please. It is cold.”
She relented. “Very well. I will see what I can find and bring them next time I come.”
She helped me back to my bed, then busied herself with making up the fire. I lay there and felt a warming peace come over me. In truth, I felt better without my rags, but it was more than that. For the first time since coming to Sliabh Mis, I was content. Despite my infirmity I was happy.
I lay on my bed of pine branches and watched a golden dusk descend upon the mountains. As the shadows deepened in the valley, turning the river at its bottom into a gilt thread winding its way toward the distant silver sea, Sionan set about making a supper for us of salt pork and beans.
I watched her going about her chores, deft in her movements, her features composed and radiant in the firelight. My heart moved toward her with such strength that I was glad she was not paying the slightest attention to me.
When she finished and sat down to wait for the stew to cook, she looked out across the blue-misted valley and sighed. “I like it up here.”
“It is not so bad,” I replied. I would have agreed to anything just then.
“Are you lonely?” She did not look at me but gazed out across the wide vale toward the sea.
“Sometimes,” I said. “But at least it is not so noisy as the ráth. All those dogsâhow does anyone sleep?”
“
I
would not be lonely.”
The way she said itâa soft, almost reverent defianceâmade me think she was making a vow, or a wish.
“There are the sheep,” I said. “They are always to be watched.”
“Better sheep,” she said, “than warriors.”
I ate well that night, slept soundly, and awakened feeling better than I had for many days. Around midday Cormac returned with his staff and bag. He strode to where I lay, took one look at me, and said, “Well, now, there is a man I would not mind getting to know.”
“
Salve
, Cormac,” I replied, “come and sit. Tell me the news of the wide world.”
“
Salve?
” he wondered.
“It is Latin,” I explained, “a greeting of respect and welcome.”
“Ah, now, that is a fine thing.” He stood beaming down on me, and it was as Sionan had said: he had forgotten all about my poor behavior. “How are you, Succat?”
“I may live yet,” I said.
“I am pleased to hear it,” he said, his smile spreading across his wide, good-natured face, “for there is something I want to ask you.”
“Ask and consider it answered.” I glanced at Sionan, standing beside him. “I have no secrets anymore.”
“When you are on your feet and able again, how would you like to come and serve in the druid house?”
The question caught me unawares. I gaped at him, unable to credit what I had heard. Sionan held her head to one side, studying me for my reaction.
“Of course,” he continued, “if you would rather tend sheep⦔
“No! Not at all. The sheep can tend themselves for all I
care. But tell me, how will this come about? Lord Miliucc will never agree.”
“I tell you the king has agreed already.”
I still could not believe my good fortune. “Are you certain?”
“As certain as sunrise,” he said. “No king would dare refuse a druid anything he asked, so long as it was in his power to provide.”
“You asked for me?”
“I did, yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you are far too intelligent to be wasted on the sheep,” he replied lightly. “And unless something is done about it very soon, I fear you will die here alone on this mountain.”
“Help me up.” I raised my good arm to him. “I want to thank you properly.” The big druid reached down and pulled me to my feet with a single strong tug. “Thank you, Cormac,” I said, gripping his arm tightly, “for befriending me and helping me.”
Turning to Sionan, I took her hand and raised it to my lips as I had seen visiting dignitaries do with my mother. “And thank you, Sionan, for saving me.” I kissed her hand.
“You have thanked me already,” she replied, but her eyes shone with delight all the same.
“And I will go on thanking you both for as long as I live,” I said. “Truly, I owe you nothing less than my life.”
“Then it is settled,” Cormac concluded. “You will stay here and rest until you are well enough to take up your new duties.”
“I am ready
now
,” I boasted. In my exuberance I stretched too far, causing my broken ribs to shift; a sharp pain pierced my chest, and I winced. My eyes teared up, and I swayed on my feet so that Cormac and Sionan had to help me back to my bed.
“Well, perhaps another day or two would do no harm,” I allowed. Cormac lowered me back to my place, and we
talked the day away, discussing my new position in the druid house and what would be expected of me there. As the sun began to set, he and Sionan prepared a celebratory meal of smoked fish stewed with black bread, fresh greens, and the last of the old year's crop of turnips. Cormac had brought more mead with him, so while waiting for the food to cook, we drank and watched the day end and a fine twilight begin.
That night, as the stars spun slowly through the wide heavens, Cormac sang. The wonder of his song is with me still, for it was the first time I glimpsed something of the power of a True Bard.
N
OW COMMENCED THE
slow torture of waiting. I writhed in an agony of anticipation, impatience, and fear: anticipation for the glorious day when I could leave the sheepfold behind forever, impatience for that day's arrival, and fear that I would yet be denied. I itched and groaned for leaving. However, the healing of my body would not be hurried. My head and ribs remained sore and tender to the touch, my broken arm still throbbed when I moved it, and the splint was heavy and made my shoulder ache.
Sionan continued her daily visits and insisted she could tell I was getting better, though I was far from certain. True, I no longer needed help to walk, but I grew breathless if I went too far or too fast. Sometimes, when I tried to do too much, my head began to ache and dark spots swam before my eyes so that I had to lie down and rest until they went away.
Each night I went to sleep thinking that the next day my healing would be complete, only to awaken the next morning to find that nothing had changed. Summer was passing, and I felt a sense of rank futility growing in meâas if the good thing promised would never come to be or that it would be withdrawn before I reached it.
“Why worry so?” Sionan asked one day. “The word of a filidh is stronger than a forest oak. Cormac will not forsake you.”
“But if I can't carry out my duties, he will find someone
else,” I complained. Raising my useless arm, I said, “Look! It's hopeless. It refuses to heal, and I grow weary carrying it around like a dead stump.”
“There was a time,” she reminded me, “and not too long ago, when you could not raise that arm at all. See? Rest and take your ease. The day will come soon enough when you will wish you had lingered here a little longer.”
“Why?” I asked, suspicion quickening. “You know something. What is it?”
“I only meantâ”
“If you know something, you must tell me, Sionan. What is it?”
“Succat, hush. I meant only that those who go to the druid house are kept very busy all the time. From what Cormac tells me, there is no end of work needing done.”
This, of course, only increased my worries. What if they found I was not suitable for their purposes? What, in fact,
were
their purposes? What if they changed their minds about me? How long would they wait? I desperately wanted a chance to prove myself. Not because I cared a fart for druids. No. I had instead conceived a new plan for escape. This time, however, I would not run away. Lord Miliucc threatened to kill me if I ran away again, and I had no doubt he would do it. Never again would I allow myself to be caught and beaten like that.
When I left Ireland, it would be as a free man. Cormac had given me the inspiration.
No king would dare refuse a druid anything he asked
, he had said. They had asked for me, and their request had been granted. Very well, I would so ingratiate myself to the druids that one day they would ask the king to grant me my freedom, and, like it or not, Miliucc would obey.
Oh, it was freedom I was after, make no mistakeâbut I would bide my time; I would wait as long as it took. All the same, if I could not escape Ãire tomorrow, then I would at least leave Sliabh Mis and the daily drudgery of the flock. The thoughtânay, the
fear
âthat something might yet pre
vent me filled my every waking moment and not a few of my dreams as well.
Thus I waited, fizzing with fidgety anticipationâuntil one dayâ¦
“See here, Succat,” Cormac said as he finished his latest examination, “the day after tomorrow is Danu Feisâthe Feast of Danu. The filidh will be leading the observance at the ráth. Come down and attend. When the celebration is finished, we will return to the druid house, and you can come with us.”
I rose slowly, and looked him in the eye. “Thank you, Cormac.” I embraced him, which sent a sting of pain through my arm and side. “I thought this day would never come.”
Sionan stood a little apart, her brow creased in contemplation. She said nothing.
The big druid accepted my thanks and we talked of the feast, whereupon he took his leave, saying he had many things to do in preparation for the festival. “I will look for you tomorrow,” he said as he departed.
I stood at the top of the trail and watched until I could see him no more, and then I returned to the fire ring to find Sionan with her chin in her hand, her face drawn and weary.
“Ah, tomorrow!” I said. “This is wonderful, is it not?”
To my astonishment she did not appear as delighted with the prospect as I might have thought. She smiled wanly and said it was a fine thing and that she was happy for me.
“Yet you wear disappointment like a crown, Sionan,” I told her. “See here. After weeks of waiting, the day has finally come when I can leave this miserable mountain forever. You of all people should be glad, because you won't have to lug food and supplies up here every other day in the rain and mud.”
She looked at me glumly, then turned her face away. “I thought you welcomed this as much as I did,” I said, “but here you sit looking like you just swallowed a putrid egg. Why is this?”
She did not look at me, but kept her eyes on the smoldering ashes of the fire ring. “You have what you want. Why should anything be wrong?”
“I thought you would be glad for me.”
“And have I not already said that I am?” she snapped. Angry now; her glance grew sharp, her voice tight. “It is good for me, too. As you say, I will not have to climb this mountain anymore or sleep beside this filthy fire one night and another.” She stood up and, fists on hips, glared at me with defiance. “Best of all, I will not have to listen to
you
moaning and groaning about how miserable you are! I can go back to the ráth and⦔ Here she faltered, her anger giving way to anguish. “Anyway, what do you care? Go on with you.”
“You are annoyed because I am leaving,” I said, trying to tease it out of her.
She sniffed and turned away.
“Yes, you are,” I challenged. “You are annoyed because I am leaving and going to the druid house, and you think you won't see me anymore.”
She turned on me with a vengeance. “Why would I want to see you anymore? I do not care where you go or what you do.”
“Yes, you do,” I told her. “You like me.”
“No, I do not like you at all.”
“Yes, you do.” I stepped closer. “That's it isn't it? You like me, and you are afraid now that I'm better, I won't need you anymore.”
She regarded me from beneath lowered brows, her frown pushing out her lower lip. On impulse I leaned forward and kissed her. Sionan reared back as if struck. She glared at me and then, stepping close, took my head between her hands and returned my kiss with an eagerness that was both gratifying and breathtaking. I felt a rising hunger in the pit of my stomach and heard the sound of the sea rushing in my ears.
We stood and clung to one another for a moment and, still entangled in a tight embrace, lowered ourselves onto my bed
of pine branches and fleeces. I caressed her with my good hand. Beneath the coarse-woven stuff of her mantle, her skin was soft and cool against my fingertips. I let my hand glide up her leg to the rounded smoothness of her hip and then down to the silky warmth of her thigh.
Sionan's hands were not idle. She slid her palm down my chest and stomach and then lower, until I stirred beneath her hand, thrilling to her touch. There was nothing but Sionan and thenânothing at all in the world. I pulled her over on top of me.
We made love fiercely, two young and hungry animals feeding a physical appetite, each taking pleasure from the other, once and again. I was, alas, too easily exhausted, but Sionan appeared well satisfied as she gave out a shuddering sigh and collapsed upon my chest.
We rested in the warm sunlight, our bodies joined in a wanton embrace. “I will come and see you every day,” I told her.
“They will keep you very busy,” she said.
“Then I will come to the ráth whenever I can,” I told her. “I will sneak away if I have to.”
“You must not,” she told me. Turning in my arms to face me, she warned me solemnly, “You must not break faith with the filidh. If you leave the druid house, you will not be taken back again.”
“Then you will have to come and see me.”
“Why would I ever come to see you?” she asked.
“What, and have you forgotten so soon?” I heaved a heavy sigh. “Very well, I will just have to show you again, so you remember.”
Enfolding her in my arms, I nuzzled the hollow of her neck and kissed her. Our passions roused, we made love again, slowly this time, each motion deliberate and unhurried. She matched my passion with her own, and we moved as one beneath the sun-bright sky.
That day was surely the best of my life. I found in Sionan more than a lover; she was also a friend I knew I could trust.
Something changed in me that day, and though it would be a long time before I could put a name to it, I felt the change.
Sionan and I luxuriated in our pleasure, and when twilight came, we lay before the fireâdozing, dreaming, wrapped in one another's arms. The next morning we descended the mountain to join in the Feast of Danu, the celebration marking midsummer.
The journey was taxing to me. Perhaps I was not so strong as I imagined, or perhaps the lovemaking the day before had taken its toll. In any event I found I could not move quickly, nor without frequent stops to rest. The fleá had already begun by the time we arrived. We passed through the gates and made our way to the yard outside Lord Miliucc's hall, where the tuath had gathered to watch the first of many observances held throughout the dayâthis one a recitation by the ollamh. So far as I could tell, it was all about a pact made by the god Aengus with the Tuatha DeDanaan, which ended a drought and blessed the rain in perpetuity to the people of Ãire so long as they honored him on that day.
After this there were songs and dancing. As at Beltaine an ox and several pigs had been killed to provide food for the feast and the vat of beer set up to wet throats dry from singing. Sionan went to help with the cooking, and I drifted here and there, watchful and wary, uncertain what reaction my presence might provoke. I could have been a phantom for all anyone noticed. I did manage to raise a sneer from Ercol when I encountered him at the drinking vat, but even that lacked conviction.
Just when I thought the day would end without the slightest mischance, I ran into the king. He was more than a little drunk, but he had not forgotten our last encounter. “So!” he said, drawing himself up as if offended by the sight of me. “You are to go to the druid house, and I must find another shepherd.”
I did not know what to say to this, so I merely nodded.
“I do not know what the druids want with you,” he pro
claimed loudly, his words slurring gently in his mouth. “I suppose that is their business.”
“Yes, lord.”
“Well, they are welcome to you,” he told me, “but try to escape again and nothing will prevent me from making good my vow.” He paused, glaring at me. “Understood?”
“I understand, lord.” I bowed low, and the king moved off without another word.
“Here, Succat! I have been looking for you.”
I turned to see Cormac striding toward me. “Hail, Cormac Miach,” I called. “I am glad to see you.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Never better,” I lied. “What is more, I am eager to begin my new duties.”
“All in good time,” said Cormac. “The ceremonies will end at dusk,” he told me, “and although the fleá will continue until dawn, we must return to the druid house.”
“I will be ready.”
In all it was a fine celebration, and it put me in mind of the harvest festivals my father hosted for the families and laborers on our estate at Favere Mundi. The Irish were noisier by far and more contentious, to be sure, but their childlike exuberance put the British to shame. When they danced, their bodies were seized and taken up by the fleeting joy of the danceâas if the moment would never come again and they must wring the utmost from it. Although I could but sit and watch, it was exhilarating just to see them.
The weather remained dry and warm; the food was good, the drink plentiful. Very few fights broke out, and there was hardly any bloodshed. I ate and drank with the rest of them, and the beer eased the dull ache of my wounds until I could almost forget I had been injured at all. Every now and then I caught a glimpse of Sionan; once she smiled when she saw me watching her. I was just on the point of suggesting we sneak away somewhere to be alone when Cormac appeared to tell me it was time to leave.
“So soon?” I said, looking quickly around. Sionan had disappeared once more.
“Was there something?” the druid asked.
“I wanted to bid Sionan farewell.”
“Oh? Well, she must have gone to the king's hall.” He turned abruptly. “You will see her again one of these days. But now it is time to go.”
Still I hesitated. I hated leaving without telling her goodbye. Frantically I searched the crowd, but she was nowhere to be seen.
Cormac stopped and turned back. “Changed your mind already?”
“No,” I said, hurrying to join him.
At the gate of the ráth, I paused to take a lingering look behind me, hoping for one last glimpse of Sionan, but no one appeared at the gate. So, swallowing my disappointment, I fell into step behind Cormac and went to begin my new life in the druid house.