Patrick (9 page)

A
ROUND MIDDAY
I trudged up to the high meadow and found Madog half asleep on a snow-covered rock. He started as I drew near. “Hail, Madog Wolf-Fighter,” I said, and this made him smile.

I settled beside him on his rock and looked out at the sheep, scraping the snow off the grass with their small hooves. “Maybe we should do as Forgall says,” I suggested, “and move down to the ráth tonight.”

“I do not like the ráth.”

“Nor do I. But at least we can sleep, and the sheep will be safe.”

“They will be safe here.”

“We could ask the king to send his warriors out to hunt the wolves,” I offered. “We could come back when they have been driven off.”

“Perhaps.” The way he said it gave me to know he had no intention of leaving his sheepfold and bothy for the safety of the ráth.

We watched the sheep for a while. Low clouds flowed over the sides of the mountains like silvery hair, and wind gusted out of the north in cold fits, making me shiver beneath my single small fleece. “What is wrong with the ráth,” I asked, “that you should fear going there?”

“I am not afraid,” sniffed Madog, wearing his petulance like a cloak.

“Then why?”

“There are too many people and dogs. It bothers the sheep.”

“Wolves bother them more.”

He was silent for a moment; I could see him struggling with it. His wrinkled mouth worked over the words a few times before he said, “They laugh at me.”

“The bastards.”

He liked this. “The bastards,” he repeated happily.

“Let them laugh, I say. What do we care? We are noble Britons, you and I, and we fight wolves with our bare hands!”

He laughed again. After a time he said, “Well, we can sleep in the ráth tonight.”

The sun began to fade, drawing a freezing mist from the cold heights. We herded our sheep together and led them down the mountain trail to the settlement. As we were leaving, a thin, wailing howl arose from the forest above the bothy—as if our lean and long-legged brothers wished to let us know we would be missed that night.

Upon reaching the fortress, Madog and I busied ourselves with penning up the sheep for the night, using a number of wattle-woven hurdles that we found behind a storehouse. We tied the hurdles together to form a crude enclosure to keep the sheep from wandering around and then set about finding a place for ourselves to sleep—not an easy thing, for, as Madog had intimated, the old slave was such an object of scorn and ridicule that no one would suffer us even to sit under the low eaves of a house.

“We must sleep with the sheep, I think,” Madog concluded gloomily.

“The king has horses, not so?” I said.

“He does,” Madog affirmed. “Fine horses.”

“Then he also has a stable full of hay, and that is where we shall sleep.”

He hesitated, unable to hope for such a luxury, but I took him by the arm. “Come, Madog, show me this stable, and tonight you shall sleep in the king's chariot.”

The king's grooms gave us an uncertain reception. They would have driven us out, and Madog would have let them, but I stood behind him and made him stand his ground. “Tell them it is because of the wolves,” I urged, preventing the old shepherd from fleeing the confrontation.

“You tell them,” he countered.

“You are the chief shepherd, Madog,” I countered quickly, “so you must tell them. They will listen to you.”

“What should I say?”

“Tell them if they let us stay here for the night, we will watch the horses and they can go drink beer.”

The old shepherd hesitated, his face rigid in refusal. “Go on, tell them,” I said, prodding him in the back.

He drew a breath and blurted out what I had told him to say. The nearest stableman turned his face toward us, interest flickering across his bland features. He called something to his elder companion, who dropped the hank of rope he was carrying and came to stand before us.

“So!” he challenged. “You are shepherds and know nothing of horses. What makes you think you can govern the king's stable?”

Madog stared back at him, his mouth open, unable to think of a reply. I whispered, “Tell him we do not presume to take his place. We only mean to watch them for one night.” Madog looked at me in dismay. “He is listening,” I insisted. “Just tell him.”

Turning once more to the chief groom, Madog plucked up his sagging courage and repeated what I had told him to say, his voice trembling. The stableman regarded us narrowly, stroking his mustache in thought. His fellow groom had come near, and the two discussed the matter for a moment. I heard the younger one say, “It is for one night only. What harm can come in one night?”

“That is true,” I put in. “One night only—and the horses are asleep anyway.”

The chief groom hesitated; his companion looked at him hopefully, as did we all. Finally he made up his mind. “Let
it be as you say.” He raised a stern finger. “One night. And if there is any trouble, you come for me, yes?”

“There will be no trouble,” Madog said.

“But if something should happen”—he walked to the door and pointed to a low-roofed hut, one of four or five dwellings adjacent to the king's hall—“I will be in that house. You come tell me, yes?”

“At once.”

Delivering himself of this command, he turned and indicated a pile of cut hay that half filled an empty stall. “You can sleep there,” he told us. “Come, Ruarhdri,” he said, but his fellow groom was already out the door.

They hurried away, leaving us alone in the stable. It was a large, dry building, big as a house, its walls lined with stalls for eight horses; only six were occupied. The room was warm and pungent with the smell of horseflesh. I walked around and looked in each of the stalls, one of which contained the king's chariot. “Here is where you will sleep tonight,” I told Madog. He fussed and fluttered and said he would never dare so much, but he eyed the graceful, curving yoke and gleaming wheels all the same.

“The beasts have been fed and watered,” I said. “Now it is for us to find something to eat.”

Madog pursed his lips doubtfully.

Seeing it was up to me, I said, “You guard the horses. I will go and see what I can find.”

Leaving a very anxious shepherd at the door, I walked out into a damp twilight and moved down the narrow, winding lane formed by a double row of storage buildings and small wattled huts. The lane was well trodden and muddy, with puddles of standing water in the footprints of men and animals. Smoke rose through the hole high up in the thatch of some of the huts, and I smelled meat and savory herbs roasting. I slowed as I came to the first of the huts and paused outside the door, thinking how best to ask for what I wanted. The thought of scavenging like a contemptible beggar rankled, but I considered that as a slave
of the king I had as much right to a little food as anyone else.

As I was standing there, I heard voices inside the house: a man's voice, flaring, angry, and a woman's shrill reply. Interrupting an argument would not likely produce the desired result, I reckoned, so I continued along. From the next house came the cries of a squalling infant. I moved on.

The last house was quiet inside, and as I stood there listening and working out what I would say, the door opened and a young woman stepped out. She was, I think, about the same age as myself, hazel-eyed and slender, with a sharp nose and small chin that gave her a curious, birdlike appearance. Two small gold combs held an abundance of long black hair, wayward strands of which blew across the rounded oval of her face. Her cloak was deep green, the color of winter ivy, and although the night was cold, she wore it folded so that it exposed a bare shoulder and arm. She pulled the door shut behind her and turned. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Och!” she said. “You have given me a
scaoll!
”

I did not know the word but said, “Please, I mean no harm.”

She smiled—a slightly crooked thing, as if she did not trust herself to share her amusement with the world—and I saw the light leap up in her large, luminous eyes. She lifted a hand and flicked her fingers at the air. “It is nothing.” She edged past me.

I caught the scent of balsam as she passed, and I let my eye trail down along the rounded curves of her shoulder, waist, and hip. I felt a familiar stirring and hastened after her. “I am the king's shepherd,” I said, falling into step beside her.

“You are that,” she said. “I know.”

This assertion puzzled me. “Just so?”

My expression must have amused her, for she laughed and said, “Just so.” She regarded me out of the corner of her eye, her crooked smile deepening as she explained. “I was in the king's house serving the
fianna
last night.”

“Just so?” I countered, grimacing at my own rank ineptitude.

But she laughed again and repeated, “Just so.”

“Because of the wolves,” I said, stumbling on, “we have come to the ráth.”

Ignoring my presence, she continued walking.

“But we have nothing to eat.”

She stopped and looked me up and down, her glance quick and dismissive. At once, I was acutely and painfully aware of my dirty face, my uncombed hair, and the fetid smell emanating from my filthy, unbecoming clothes. “And is it for me to feed you now?”

“I only—”

She thumbed her nose at me. “Be off with you, beggar boy.”

With that she was gone, leaving only the hint of balsam on the cold night air. Stung by her remark, I stood and stared, feeling very small and stupid.

She flitted away, light as a bird darting through the gloom, skipping over the puddles as she went. The wind gusted, and I felt cold mist on my face as I turned and hurried back to the stable. Madog was sitting in the hay waiting for me. “What did you get?” he asked, starting up as I entered.

I told him I did not get anything but that I met a girl, and I asked, “What does
fianna
mean?”

Madog tapped his head with his finger for a moment and then said, “Ah, it is the warriors, you know?” He made a circular, inclusive motion with his hands.

“The warband?” I suggested.

“Yes,” he agreed. “The fianna is the king's warband.”

“This girl serves the fianna.”

“But she did not give us anything?”

“No,” I replied.

With no hope of getting anything to eat, we decided to settle down to sleep. I bade Madog a good night and crawled into an empty stall—but not before establishing the old shepherd in the king's chariot as I had promised. He
protested but allowed himself to be led to the chariot and covered with a fleece which I found rolled on the small bench inside the vehicle.

The gloom of the stable deepened around us. I lay in the sweet-smelling hay listening to the soft snuffling of the horses as they slept; now and then a hoof would chafe the wooden floor or a board would creak, but all remained peaceful.

Dawn came long before I was ready to wake. Madog, eager to return to his flock, pulled me from my warm bed, and we walked out into a morning white with frost to lead the sheep from the ráth. Since the upper meadow was mostly under snow, we stayed in the valley that day and allowed the sheep to share the water mead with the cows and pigs. They drank from the clear-running stream and grazed the high grass along the steeper banks where the cattle did not go. I watched them through the day and wished I could appease my own hunger so easily.

The short day was filled with wind and clouds but no rain, and we did not have far to go to return to the ráth that evening. Madog grouched and grumbled about his empty stomach and kept reminding me that we had food at the bothy. “We do,” I agreed, “if the wolves have not eaten it.”

“We should not be here.”

“I will get us something, never fear. We will not go hungry again tonight.”

Our welcome at the stable was less than cordial. “You again,” the chief groom said. “Away with you now. One night only—that is what you said.”

I saw the face of the younger man fall and knew we had an ally. “One night to prove ourselves worthy,” I whispered to Madog. “Tell him.”

Madog did as I said, but the stableman remained unmoved. “Go on with you now.” He put his hand to the door and began to pull it shut. “You are not needed here.”

“But, Temuir,” the younger man protested, his voice tight with urgency, “they kept a good watch. Aoife has caught a duck and said she would make me a meal.”

The elder man hesitated, pulling on the end of his mustache. I could see him weakening.

“Was not the beer sweet in your mouth?” I asked. “Was not the hearth warm on your back as you slept? Why stay in the stable when you have somewhere better to go”—I paused, appealing to the younger man, and added—“and something better to do?”

The chief groom's resolve collapsed. “Do tonight as you did last night, and you can stay,” he said, and then he told us once more where he could be found if anything should happen that might require his attention. The younger man was out the door and gone before his elder had finished. With a firm warning about what we could expect if any ill befell the horses in his absence, Temuir left, and we had the stable to ourselves once more.

“Wait here,” I said, “while I go find us something to eat.”

Moving along the narrow lanes, I strode boldly to the door of the first house I came to. I smacked the door with the flat of my hand, and it was opened by an older woman. When she saw me, her face creased into a scowl of distaste. “Shoo! Shoo!” she said, as if I were an odious pest.

“Please,” I said, putting my foot against the bottom of the door, “we are starving. Can you give us anything?”

“No,” she said, trying to close the door on me. She saw my foot in the gap and tried to push me away. “Get on with you now!”