The Greener Shore (45 page)

SOMETIMES I THOUGHT ABOUT KERYTH’S PREDICTION OF A PEOPLE
starved for time and space. I hoped that this once Keryth was wrong.

AT BEALTAINE, NIAV AND PROBUS WERE MARRIED IN OUR CLANHOLD.
Afterward we danced around their fertility pole, but they did not remain with us for long. On the day they departed, I told Probus, “I salute you as a free person.”

It was better than being a citizen of Rome.

Probus took my daughter to Dubh Linn and settled on the north shore of the great bay. There he established a trading post, doing business with anyone who made the journey across the sea from Albion or even beyond. From the beginning the venture was a success. Probus was, as he said himself, uniquely qualified.

IN THE CLANHOLD OUR LIVES SETTLED BACK INTO A COMFORTABLE
routine. It was heartening to see how much my people were contributing to the larger tribe. The marriage laws that had begun with Dian Cet and Morand were enlarged as other wise heads joined the ranks of the brehons. Among them they determined that a sixth-degree marriage resulted when a woman is abducted and prevented from returning to her people. The seventh degree was a soldier’s marriage, the casual union between a man away from his clanhold and a woman he meets along the way. An eighth-degree marriage took place when one partner deceived the other in order to gain sexual access. Forcible rape constituted the ninth degree of marriage, and the tenth occurred when there was sex involving persons whose heads are not capable of understanding what they do.

The last pronouncement of Dian Cet forbade the building of any settlement “in the shape of the towns of Caesar.”

“After this,” the old brehon announced, “I shall leave the making of law to younger men and women.”

I protested. “But you are as wise as ever; probably wiser.”

“My head is filling up with cobwebs, Ainvar,” Dian Cet replied, with no indication of regret. “I have devoted my life to my people. Now I want to sit back and enjoy the last of it for myself.”

When I shared his words with Briga, she said, “He’s earned his rest. The wheel of the seasons turns only one way, but that’s as it should be. Change is life. You are still growing, Ainvar; growing inside, where it counts.” She added with a self-deprecating chuckle, “On the other hand, I am growing old.”

“That’s not true. Young is
who
you are, not
what
you are. My Briga is forever young.”

“Oh, you.” She gave me a playful shove, but her cheeks were pink with pleasure.

We marked the turning of the wheel with four great feasts: Imbolc, Bealtaine, Lughnasa, and Samhain. During every season new faces appeared while old ones faded into memory. Labraid married Aislinn. They were still enjoying their time of honey-feasting when the old king of the Laigin died.

At the funeral feast Seanchán recited a lengthy lament for the dead man. Dara leaped to his feet to lead the applause. I thought Briga gave him a nudge in the ribs with her elbow first, but I could not be certain.

Later my eyes observed the two bards walking side by side. Their heads were close together; they were lost in an animated discussion about the composition of poetry. Both men were enjoying it.

When Fíachu was elected as the new king of the Laigin, Duach Dalta conducted the inauguration ceremony.

Sometimes we teach our children, and sometimes they teach us. After the inauguration I made a point of telling Duach Dalta, “You have a splendid sense of ritual, the best I’ve ever encountered. The kingdom of the Laigin is fortunate in you.”

He looked surprised but could not fail to recognize my sincerity. “Speaking of praise, Ainvar—I was thinking of asking your son Dara to compose a praise poem in honor of the new king. Do you approve?”

Briga had said, “Change is life.” And it is.

AS SOON AS HE WAS FULLY HEALED, CORMIAC BEGAN TO ROAM. HE
went farther and farther afield and stayed away for longer and longer. I kept meaning to ask the question that had haunted me ever since Dubh Linn, but whenever he returned to us I forgot. There was so much else to keep me occupied. My life was filled to the brim with family and students and those riches that cannot be bartered but glow in the heart.

My children were seeking mates for themselves and there was excitement in the air. Furtive visits to Fíachu’s stronghold; longer journeys to other clan-lands; a shimmer of shy glances; a secret touching of hands. Of lips.

Before long I would have grandchildren to tug at my cloak.

THEN, WHEN I THOUGHT HER LONG PAST CHILDBEARING, MY BRIGA
worked the greatest magic of all. She presented me with a new son. We called him Bran, for her brother, whom the druids had sacrificed.

Almost as soon as Bran could talk he was asking questions. And such questions! One day I found him crouching beside a pool in which a golden ball was floating.

“What’s that?” the child asked, pointing in fascination.

“A reflection of the sun.”

He looked up at me with innocent eyes. Briga’s eyes. “What’s the sun?”

“A symbol of the Great Fire of Life.”

Bran cocked his head to one side. “Why is life?”

Why is life. Children are both the question and the answer.

“Nature is our teacher in all things,” I told the little boy. “Just as water reflects light, the purpose of life is to reflect the Source.”

And it is.

THE NEXT TIME CORMIAC RU RETURNED TO OUR CLANHOLD HE WAS
accompanied by a princess of the Deisi; the daughter of Cas the Curly-Haired. She was a fair-haired girl with a soft hoarse voice like the purring of a cat. They told us they planned to be married.

“We’ll have a new lodge built for you and—”

“I think not, Ainvar,” Cormiac said. “I’ve found a place that fits me like my skin and I intend to raise my family there.”

“On the Plain of Broad Spears?”

“No, in the kingdom of the Deisi. I have permission to take up a clanhold in the mountains there.”

The last thing I expected was that Cormiac would leave us permanently. Briga was as shocked as I was; she looked so heartbroken that I reminded him, “You once promised you would never be far from me and mine.”

“I won’t.”

“But I don’t see how—”

“I always keep my promises, Ainvar. Always.”

And that was that. The Red Wolf had to be taken on faith.

Shortly before he left us for his new home I took him aside. “There is something I must ask you about. When Briga and I came to Dubh Linn, you told us that Maia was dead.”

“She is.”

“How could you be so certain? It’s bothered me ever since.”

“The woman told me. Showed me, in fact.”

“What woman? Who are you talking about?”

“She came to me in my dreams.” A faraway look crept into Cormiac’s eyes. “Night after night she transported my sleeping self for a great distance. Night after night I saw Crom Dubh running with little Maia in his arms. Night after night I watched everything that happened, until at last I was forced to accept that I was seeing the truth. Your daughter never went through the slave market, Ainvar. She sickened and died on the bank of a river in Gaul. Crom buried her where the water sings.”

My heart was thundering. “What woman showed you this?”

The colorless eyes met mine. “She was small and slender and pale. Her feet never touched the ground, yet she danced. When she spoke I could hear silver bells.”

chapter
XXXIII