Dawn Of Ireland: Captive Heart Part 9

"I can, Luke, and I will. Just not today. It is more important for you and Michael to talk about what he needs."

"I trust you, Caylith. Anything I can do for you and your family, I will do with a glad heart."

"Gentlemen, I leave you to talk. Michael, please tell Brigid that I will come by to see her tomorrow, after you and she have talked about these new plans."

I leapt astride my impatient mare and left Michael and Luke squatting together. Michael had begun to speak earnestly, drawing in the dirt with a stick.

There were two other people I felt I needed to talk with-Mama, first, so I could overcome her reluctance for me to help her and then Brindl, whose young life, like my own, had been torn asunder by the torches of the murdering barbarians.

Mama was not ready for my visit.

Of course, her home was spotless, and the windows, unshuttered in the fine weather, let the morning light stream in and reflect off the s.h.i.+ning floors. She was fully dressed, today in a white, gauzelike gna drawn at the waist with a length of doubled lace. And she had already drunk at least one cup of tea. I saw the remnants of breakfast and two trenchers on one of her large tables. Obviously, Glaed had already left for the bally trench where he worked alongside Liam each day except the Sabbath.

"Um, Caylith. You look pretty, darling. Iis there something you need? Has the baby begun to move?"

If I was dressed in anything even faintly feminine, Mama always made a point of complimenting me. Even knowing the positive results of my several adventures, she still quailed at my rough clothing and a.r.s.enal of weapons.

"May I sit down, Mama?"

"Darling, of course you may. Do you like sun-petal tea? Of course you do. Give me a moment." Her hands fluttered over the fire grate, and I was surprised to see her so uncomfortable in my presence.

We sat for a while talking about a barely begun child, about my own unbridled spirit even as an infant. Then I bluntly stated the words I thought she was dreading.

"Mama, I have set the wheels in motion to find the barbarian captors."

Her cup hesitated on the way to her mouth and she carefully, slowly set it on the table in front of us. "Caylith, I asked you not to interfere in this. It is intensely personal."

"Would Brindl think it only your affair, Mama? Remember-she lost Bert and his parents, too."

She hung her head. I was almost sorry for my curt words, but I had to make her see that it was not just her story. It was a story also shared by Brindl, and by me, too. "And I, Mama. I lost my dear mother. Even Father Patrick thought you were no more than smoldering bones in the courtyard. And I grieved for you every day until the day you stood in my arms at Sweeney's s.h.i.+eling. So yes-it is intensely personal."

She raised her head to speak, but I spoke first. "Before you say anything, Mama, let me tell you that Liam feels the same way you do. The only way he will agree is if the men can be taken to Father Patrick for punishment. He thinks it is a matter for the Lord's mercy to decide, not for the courts of men."

And then I sat back and let her think about my words. She sipped her tea for a few minutes, and finally she spoke. Leaning toward me, her hazel eyes regarded me with a deep fire.

"Caylith-my darling, fierce, loving daughter. I knew deep down that you would never let it go. Perhaps I told you my story even knowing that you would seize it as-as a drowning man seizes a lifeline. Perhaps deep down, where I see it not, I also want these...captors to pay somehow for their deeds. Do you truly think you can take them from their island, and free their victims, and see that they are brought to Father Patrick? Is this even possible? Without harm to yourself?"

"I think so, Mama. And I think you do not need to know any details-only the final sentence of our own Father Patrick."

"Then do what you need to do. I love you very much." She sank back in her high-backed bench, her eyes closed, and I knew it was time to leave.

"One more thing, Mama." I bent over her suddenly frail-looking body. "I may need to take about ten Glaed Keepers. I want you and Glaed to know that."

She nodded without speaking or opening her eyes. I kissed her smooth, pliant cheek and then I left, closing the door very quietly behind me.

Chapter 12:.

Like Old Times Brindl and Thom lived about three miles from our home, on a stretch of land close to the Foyle that they had turned into a kind of training ground. Where I would have a garden, my young friends had implanted a series of loops and circles and other boundaries marked in rocks, all used for their martial endeavors. Where I would have a pasture, Brindl and Thom had a full-sized hurling field. Brindl had begun to talk about starting a school to teach local children how to play at camn, or hurling, a game we used to call "field sticks." My marvelous friends now excelled at the game and even dreamed that their field would someday be the site of local and regional contests.

When I rode up to the house, I saw that Brindl was already practicing some form of training exercise, jumping over and through a series of small circles she had made with a long rope. I dismounted and watched her finish what I thought was one full set of intricate steps, and then I shouted her name.

Brindl looked up at me, her gold-flecked eyes dancing, her sun-dappled hair hardly out of place. "Cay!" She stood in a training tunic almost as tattered as my own, and I waited outside the ropes for her to approach me. I had learned not to step all over her carefully laid-out, arcane twisting of tarred sisal. Giving me a quick hug, she eyed my light wool leine with a quirk of her eyebrow. "Not training today, I see."

"Not today, you scamp. I have...things to do."

"And I am one of your 'things' today, is that it?"

"Yes, Brindl, you are. Can we go someplace and sit awhile?"

It was rare that Brindl invited me-or anyone-into the little clay house where she and Thom had been living since their marriage almost one year ago. Brindl was gregarious and friendly, but Thom was reserved, almost to the point of somber muteness. I had hoped that their marriage would draw him out a bit. But so far, at least, he seemed even more shy and modest. Thus visitors were rare at the Stout residence, and I felt honored to be ushered inside.

"Caylith, please sit anywhere at all. I will reheat our breakfast tea, and we can visit together like old times."

I sat on a low bench covered with a colorful piece of woven wool. "That seems fitting, for we are now old married ladies," I reminded her. Instead of laughing, I was surprised to see her blush a little.

"Yes, hardly seventeen and already old," she said, standing rock still, forgetting her mission of serving tea.

"Brindie, I was teasing. You have hardly begun to crack your sh.e.l.l, you little bird."

"I sometimes feel old and withered, Cay. I miss the adventures, the not knowing, the unseen peril."

"I, on the other hand, do not," I told her. "The memories are all too vivid."

Then, remembering the tea, she put a small cauldron over the flames on the fire grate. "I say you are lying, Caylith of Vilton. No one relishes a good adventure more than you-not even myself."

"Perhaps what I am about to tell you will only reinforce your opinion." I could not help smiling, even though what I was about to tell her was sober as a headstone. While she busied herself at the tea cauldron, I looked around.

Their little house was mostly that-little. Both Thom and Brindl were, to put it kindly, not large as people go. About the size of brawny ten-year-olds, they did not need a s.p.a.cious home. Everything was compact-small cabinets and floor chests, small tables and benches, a small fire pit. It reminded me of the little hermitage of our mutual friend James the Mentor in the forest near Harborton-just enough room inside to eat and sleep and change clothing.

Luke had built their bed as well as Liam's and mine. But where ours was large and elevated, theirs was small and low to the floor. Still, fas.h.i.+oned of oak inlaid with blackthorn and yew, it was elaborately carved and inset with sh.e.l.ls. Yes, it was exactly the bed I would have chosen for my intellectually curious, beauty-loving friend.

The most distinctive feature of the teach was a large, green flag mounted on one wall between the windows. It bore an emblem worked in red wool that looked like a raised right hand. I wondered idly whether that might be the personal symbol of the high king himself.

"Brindie, I will remember that hurling match until the day I die."

She blushed again, but this time I expected it. That flag had been awarded not to Brindl's team, but to her and to her alone. It was the distinguished token awarded by King Leary to the hurling champion of all eire-seaimpn na heireann.

On the last day of the great feis of Tara-the huge fair that was celebrated every third year to mark the beginning of the winter cycle-Brindl and Thom had earned their way onto the hurling team that eventually ended up in the final game. Their long, dedicated training had made them the standouts of the game, and Brindl's brilliant last swing with the hurling stick had scored the winning point.

That was not quite two years ago. "I hope you and Thom will return to the next fair, Brindie. You need a matching flag for the other side of the room."

This time she did not turn red. "Yes. Next time the flag will be awarded to Thom." She said it so matter-of-factly that we both burst into laughter.

I waited until we were both settled on our benches next to a small table, and then I cleared my throat and began.

"Ah, Brindie, the story I am about to tell you will bring back some painful memories. I am sorry. But the story must be told. Are you ready to hear it?"

Brindl was far smarter than I. So when I said "painful memories," she knew exactly what I was going to say. "The raiders," she murmured, and she squared back her shoulders. "Bring it on."

And so I did. As I talked about Mama's tortured journey and her stark words about the island captivity, I watched Brindl's bright eyes close more and more, until she seemed asleep. I recounted her second journey, more than a year later, the one she spent b.u.mping along in a rude bullock wagon full of straw and dung, driven by a large, menacing man she had later seen at church. And when I got to her journey's end at Ballysweeney, I stopped.

"Brindl, the story of what happened with Owen Sweeney is a private one. I cannot tell it. But I want you to know that he never once abused Mama. And she holds him completely blameless."

Brindl opened her gold-speckled eyes, and I could see the hurt that still had not healed. I could not imagine what it must be like to lose the man you were about to marry. Maybe the pain lasted a lifetime. "Cay, I guessed at the inside story a long time ago, and I agree. It is private. But tell me-why are you recounting this tale at all? Unless you mean to find the culprits somehow?"

"I have begun to find them, in a way. Well-not I. I have set a hound to sniff out their miserable b.u.ms. Someone who can help us find the island where they keep their captives."

Now Brindl's entire aspect changed. She leaned forward on the table, her eyes wide with excitement. "Well? What are you waiting for? Tell me!"

I told her about Murdoch and about the practice he called "going on a booley." It would be a kind of religious quest, but a hunt for an island instead of for enlightenment-or for cattle pastures.

"Brindie, I am almost certain that Murdoch will find the island for us. And once he does, we need to-"

"We need to have a plan, and a team in place ready to go there immediately. You and Liam, of course. Thom and I. Who else, Cay?"

I reached across the table, and we joined hands. She gripped me so hard I winced with pain. "Oh, Brindl, I knew I could count on you."

"Caylith, I will tell you the truth. I have wanted to hunt down those savages from the first day, when Father Patrick told us the story with tears in his eyes. And later, kneeling by the crude wooden memorials-"

I remembered seeing her small figure huddled in the memorial field next to the abbey, kneeling next to the hasty markers that had been laid over the graves of Bert and his parents. I had cowered in the background, not wanting her to see me, afraid to interrupt her moments of private grief.

"I need to tell you, dear one. Mama and Liam will not tolerate physical punishment. We must not touch them. We must bring them back to Father Patrick. Those are the terms of our adventure."

Brindl sat for a few minutes, thinking about my words. "Of course, my first impulse is to run them through with my spatha. But then there is the prospect of having to dig holes and bury the brutes. Very tedious."

She paused, and I began to laugh in spite of the seriousness of our discussion.

"I accept those terms wholeheartedly, Cay. I think they need to pay for what they have done. But Father Patrick will know what to do with them better than we could possibly know."

"Then Brindie, let us begin to form plans. Are you sure Thom will want to be involved?"

"Ha! I think that is what he-what both of us-have been needing. He has begun to get almost despondent. He misses the life military. He wants to be a spy. Let us give him a good spy a.s.signment and watch him burst into life."

"I feel that our hands are tied-not to play on the words-until we learn where the island is located. That fact will tell us how many supplies to take and thus how many packhorses. Actually, Brin, the sh.o.r.e of Inishowen is rocky and treacherous, at least in the area I was, so I know not whether taking many horses is even a good idea."

"I think-do you mind if I speak out, Cay?" I shook my head, and she continued. "I think the key to our adventure will be something rather dear to your heart-currachs. If the small island could be approached with a larger vessel, then the raiders would have expanded their trade. But from what you have told me, they must approach it carefully, using all their skills, avoiding the currents and the rugged rocks."

"Yes, Brin. You are right. I never thought of that. What we need are not horses, not great hulking Glaed Keepers-but small currachs and a small, light army."

"Of my own marines," she said quietly. "Thom's marines-our former Harborton friends."

"Brindie, you are brilliant. I wonder how many of our former currach paddlers are here in Derry? And how many of them would join us in a small adventure?"

"Let Spymaster Thom find out for us." Brindl smiled.

"I still do not know when we would leave," I told her. "Everything depends on Murdoch's booley. And he cannot leave Inishowen until Michael is ready to take over the brugh he is building for Owen and his family. Every little detail depends on another little detail."

I answered Brindl's mute questions by telling her of Michael's sudden field promotion to master builder of the homestead on the Bay of Trawbreaga. "Michael cannot just drop the work on my own holdings and his work on Owen's special cart. But, Brindie, I think that he can be ready to leave in about two weeks. Maybe three."

"Three weeks. Not so bad. After all, we have waited for more than three years."

I stood, and Brindl stood next to me. We hugged each other, excited about the future and about going on our first adventure together since the days before the pilgrimage to eire. I had undertaken my own adventures-the "freeing" of Mama from Sweeney, the capture of Sweeney in Inishowen-but Brindie and I had not been in danger together since our time at Ravenscar on the Saxon sh.o.r.e.

"Have you told Claudia?" she asked me as I stood next to Macha, ready to mount and ride.

"Yes. It was important to get Mama's approval."

"And she approved?"

"Well, Brin, she did not refuse. But it took a few moments to convince her." I reached for the pommel and swung into the saddle. "Talk to your formidable husband, my friend. If you want to visit with me before our next Tris meeting, just come to our teach. I try to stay home in the afternoons."

I reached my hand down, and Brindl took it. We stood in almost the same way that I had with Brigid yesterday-two close friends, hands clasped, allied in a common purpose.

Today had been fruitful, I thought as I curried the horses. My visit with Michael, then with Luke, had set in motion the finis.h.i.+ng of a "chariot" travel cart, and Michael's visit with Owen afterwards would be the first step in imagining Owen's new holdings. My brief talk with Mama had been painful at first, then almost tender. And Brindl and I had recaptured the spark of adventure that used to send us on expeditions most perilous.

Tomorrow I would see Brigid. I needed to make sure that my dear friend agreed to Michael's sudden departure to Inishowen. What if she did not go, or could not go? What if she had other plans for Michael and herself? What if she thought the whole idea was insanely dangerous-or just insane?

After I left two mares and a pony s.h.i.+ning and content, I went inside and changed into my old tunic so that I could spend time in the garden, then perhaps in the woods for tonight's supper. As always, I carried my widemouthed basket with me. Once in the garden, I knelt and began to remove stubborn weeds from the large patch of fertile ground.

Michael's familiar lilt made me look up, surprised.

"Colleen, I have just returned from seeing Uncail Eghan."

"Michael! I am glad you stopped to tell me of your visit. Do you mind if I work while we talk?"

"A woman after me own heart. Not at all, la.s.s." Michael squatted easily, talking to me yet looking at the river. "Owen has told me what he wants. I am glad I had already laid eyes on the bay, an' on his old, crumbling bally. As it turns out, me cousin Murdoch has put twenty men or more to the task of clearing the great rocks and making them into a kind of rath, a fortified wall. So no one has, ah, overcooked the stew. It is still an open s.p.a.ce to work with."

"What about the old buildings?" The unlimed teach where Sweeney lived and the falling-down quarters of his former bunch of hired men were no more than crude temporary shelters.

"Those will become the tinder of a great fire, Caylith. Fit only for burning. The first thing I will do is to build a temporary shelter-but a strong one-for Owen and Moc and a separate one for Murdoch and his brothers. They can stay there while I direct the men in the construction of a royal bally-a brugh fit for a king."

I paused in my work, looking up at Michael, and he brought his eyes from the river to me. "Yes, Michael. We must never forget that Eghan Mac Neill is a king in his own right. This will be the first royal bally of many to come. For I am sure that once he has his chariot, he will travel to other parts of his new land and establish new kingdoms."

"Aye, la.s.s. After talking with Luke, I think I can finish the chariot in a week." He stood. "Owen's new bally is already halfway built in me mind. After it is complete in me heart, I need to tell a competent builder, an' I will be needed no longer. I will be there for a month, I think. An' then I will come back an' finish Ballycaitln."

I rose also and stood next to the marvelous currach carpenter, architect of longs.h.i.+ps, chariot constructor, maker of royal bailes. "Michael, thank you again. And by the way, our new holdings will be named not after me-but after our first child."

After Michael left, I gathered supper vegetables and carried them into the house and left the basket on the table. I selected my ancient bow and quiver from the a.s.sortment of weapons leaning against a far wall and left for the larches near the sounding river.