The Exile Page 5

  At sundown Cathbad lit the Samain fire, signalling the arrival of the first night of the trinox Samoni.

  The young men gathered around it, Sláine seeking out Núada and Niall. Fionn and Cormac joined them a few minutes later. They all bore the same huge smiles. "We aren't boys anymore," Fionn said, pointing up at the moon. It was full in the sky. He was right; night had begun in earnest. They were men now.

  Cullen of the Wide Mouth stood slightly apart, watching the flames.

  Sláine moved away from his friends and went to stand beside Wide Mouth.

  "What do you want, Mac Roth?" Cullen asked without turning. He warmed himself at the fire, rubbing his hands briskly.

  "A new beginning. We aren't children anymore, Cullen. Tonight we've become men. We've taken the Red Branch. You heard Gorian, the Red Branch are the finest of the Sessair. Let's make a clean start of it, eh? Bury our childish grudges and move on?" He offered his hand, holding it out to be shaken.

  Cullen stared at Sláine's outstretched hand as if it was an adder poised to strike. His lip curled slowly into a sneer. "You think a handshake will undo all you've done to me?" Instinctively, Wide Mouth's hand went up to touch his ruined face.

  "No," Sláine said. "It won't undo anything, but hopefully it will serve to begin something new. After all, we are Red Branch. That makes us brothers."

  Cullen thought about that for a moment and then took Sláine's hand and shook it.

  "Danu help us all," Wide Mouth said with a grin.

  Neither saw the spectres of Grudnew and Gorian watching them approvingly from beyond the circle of the fire's light.

  "See, sire. A little humiliation is good for the soul," Gorian said, turning his back on the boys. It had been a calculated risk, but after the beating Conn's boy had taken at Beltain something needed to be done. These two were by far the best of the youngsters, the most gifted athletes with the most fiercely determined spirits. There was an unquenchable fire that burned inside them. Together they would forge this celebrated brotherhood. They would become legends.

  Perhaps one day they would be crowned kings in their own rights.

  Alone, left as they had been going with the constant prodding and goading, one would almost certainly have killed the other before the season was out. They couldn't have allowed that to happen, but they couldn't simply sit the boys down and tell them that. Boys tended to have thick skulls and needed the learning beaten into it. So they had cooked up the idea of letting them stew, see if they couldn't work out themselves what they stood to lose, and why they stood to lose it.

  "Every once in a while you are quite wise, my old friend. Far better this than banishing such young men. Judging by the silent language of their bodies I would say that just this once you were quite right."

  "Aye, sire. It looks like they've put childhood behind them and realised that they are men now."

  "Much as we did, eh?"

  "Much as we did," Gorian agreed, "although I still haven't forgiven you for bedding Ailis."

  "Ah, who needs forgiveness," Grudnew chuckled, "when you can make a woman squeal like a stuck pig?"

  "And then there was Maeve and Una. And Cait. And-"

  "Yes, yes, you've made your point. But you know what I believe? Men should never let a woman-"

  "Multiple women-" Gorian interrupted.

  "-come between them," Grudnew finished as if he hadn't heard him.

  "Come on you old dog, let's go join the celebration shall we? There's good ale to be drunk. Rioch's tapped a fresh keg and he's even brought out the honey wine."

  They moved over to where Tall Iesin was picking gently over his long-necked bouzouki. It was a beautiful instrument, made from a single hollowed out piece of rosewood. His fingers moved lithely up and down the fretted board, picking out the chords of the "Ballad of Tam Lin". Fionn sat at his feet, keeping rhythm on his bodhran. The music was rich and sweet but it was nothing compared to Iesin's voice.

  The crowd was rapt by the twists and turns of the tale. Children gathered around Iesin, their faces turned up to look at him as he sang, their hushed expectancy quite beautiful to see.

  Gorian and his king found a spot a little removed from the children and settled down to listen to the balladeer as he carried them to the land of the Sidhe where Tam was a mortal man, who, after falling from his horse, was rescued and captured by the Queen of the Fairies. The horror of the ballad unfolded slowly, until Tall Iesin held them in the palm of his hand, playing them as expertly as he played his bouzouki. His voice dropped to a hush as he told them that every seven years the fairies paid a tithe to Hell of one of their people, and Tam was fated to become that tithe on that night: on this night, because it was one and the same.

  "And pleasant is the fairy land,

  But, an eerie tale to tell,

  Ay at the end of seven years,

  We pay a tiend to hell,

  I am sae fair and fu o flesh,

  I'm feard it be yself.

  "But the night is Halloween, lady,

  The morn is Hallowday,

  Then win me, win me, an' ye will,

  For weel I wat ye may.

  "Just at the mirk and midnight hour

  The fairy folk will ride,

  And they that wad their true love win,

  At Miles Cross they maun bide."

  Roth Bellyshaker came pushing through the listeners, bearing three flagons of ale. He stumbled but like an expert drunk didn't spill so much as a drop. Belching, he settled down beside Gorian and Grudnew, face flushed with more than just pride. The man had already drunk his fill, and without doubt would drink it twice more again before the night was done. Loosing another belch, he offered them a flagon each.

  "To the lads," Bellyshaker said by way of a toast, and downed a frothy mouthful of ale.

  "To the lads," Grudnew echoed. The king drank deeply, wiping the creamy foam from his mouth.

  "Aye, to Cullen and Sláine," Gorian said, tipping his own flagon back and draining it. He smacked his lips appreciatively. "Good stuff this. Rioch knows his brew, that's the honest truth."

  "It is, indeed," Bellyshaker grinned, "an' I should know, I've sampled enough of it over the years, if you get my meaning?"

  "Oh, we do. We do," the warlord assured him.

  "Them boys will do you proud," Bellyshaker said, shuffling around on his backside to look at Sláine and Cullen over by the fire. It made a change not to see them at each other's throats.

  They were as thick as thieves - up to no good no doubt. He knew exactly what scheme he would have been hatching in their place, having just become men and all. There were more than a few bonny lasses in Murias, very easy on the eye.

  "I am quite sure they will."

  "Aye, they're the future, right. Headstrong, passionate, reckless, and still young enough to care about it all. I remember being like that. Now what have we got eh? I dunno about you, but I've seen too much to want to stay sober most days."

  "We were just talking about the same thing," Grudnew said wryly. He laid a hand on his warlord's shoulder. "Gorian was reminding me of the many times I, ahh, took a shine to one of his lady friends."

  "You always were a randy little whoreson," Bellyshaker laughed. "Those were the days, eh, my friends? Back when we were young and stupid and ready to take on the world."

  "I was a spirited youth with a weakness for a pretty girl," the king grinned. "There's no crime in that."

  It was Cullen's idea that they blood themselves together.

  It was a rite of passage. It would set them apart from the others.

  They were men now after all, warriors of the Red Branch. So what if they had never raised an axe or sword in anger? It didn't matter. They ought to live like men if they were expected to die like them. They spat in their palms to seal the bargain with a handshake and set off before either of them could change their mind.

  They were men in all ways but one and that could easily be remedied with enough coin. That was the gift of the moon. In one
day they had gone from children to fully-grown men in the eyes of the tribe.

  They slipped away from the celebration.

  "You got a coin for Brighid?"

  Brighid was a daughter of the Goddess. She served the aspect of the Maiden in the Temple of Danu. She tended to the needs of the men of the Sessair with skill and, blessedly, without the attachment of love. A silver coin bought her companionship for the night so that the men could offer their devotion to Danu, the Earth Mother by sinking into her warmth. It was hardly a king's ransom for her gift, and judging by the faces of the men after they had given devotion she was gifted.

  Brighid's hut was on the outskirts of the village, removed from the prying eyes of the wives of the Sessair. Any closer would have been bad for worship.

  They chose Brighid because she was comely but not in an intimidating way. There were other daughters of the Goddess so pretty that a single look could stop a man's heart. Brighid was older, and they hoped kinder. Neither wanted to be humiliated for a second time that day.

  The music of Feis Samain was distant, a haunting melody in the dark night. It wrapped itself around them, a familiar thing in these unfamiliar moments.

  Sláine was nervous but he wasn't about to let on about it to Wide Mouth. He felt his heart hammering against his breastbone as he knocked on the door of her hovel.

  Brighid answered the door before he had time for second thoughts.

  "Ah, two beautiful young boys come to see old Brighid, eh?"

  "I... we."

  "Now don't be shy boys," the Daughter of Danu said with a gentle smile. "We're all friends here, right? You looking for a little companionship?"

  "We've come to offer devotions to the Goddess," Wide Mouth said earnestly, stepping forward and bowing.

  "Well that's mighty good of you boys."

  "We aren't boys anymore, ma'am. Today's our coming of age," Sláine said, feeling awkward and clumsy as he spoke. He wished he'd taken a leaf out of Bellyshaker's book and gotten himself well and truly drunk before coming to pay his devotions.

  Brighid looked the pair of them up and down. "And you want to become men in the only way that counts, am I right? So who's first? Or are both of you strapping lads wanting to do this together?" She laughed, seeing how utterly horrified they both looked at the notion. "Well I guess you better work it out between yourselves, my big strong boys. Come to me with your coin when you're ready. I'll be waiting with a smile and welcoming arms." She reached out and touched Sláine's cheek, fingers lingering tenderly. "You are such a beautiful, beautiful boy," Brighid said wistfully, withdrawing into her hovel.

  "I'm first," Cullen said, even before the door was closed. Old angers ghosted behind his eyes.

  "Why'd you imagine that?" Sláine said, standing between Cullen and the Daughter of Danu's painted door. He crossed his arms.

  "By right of victory," Cullen said. "I won the ballgame and I was the first to take the Red Branch. You can't deny that you were beaten both times, Mac Roth. It's only right I claim the right to bed her first."

  "I don't think so," Sláine said slowly, testing the limits of their uneasy friendship. "We were children then, now we are men. Nothing separates us as men. We need a fresh challenge."

  "The hell we do, I won fair and square and you know it."

  "If you can pass me you can go in," Sláine said, dropping into a crouch.

  "Don't make me hurt you, Sláine."

  "Wouldn't dream of it. Hmmm... Maybe I can fix your nose this time," Sláine said, grinning even as Cullen launched himself at him.

  Sláine took a half step forwards and dropped his right shoulder, stepping into Wide Mouth's charge. The move up-ended him. Sláine wrapped his arms around Wide Mouth's waist and lifted him bodily off the floor. He finished by dumping Cullen unceremoniously on his backside in the dirt.

  He opened the door and stepped through. Brighid lay on a bed of furs, tallow candles burning a sweet scent that left him feeling a little dizzy after only a few breaths. Her chemise of white lace was held in place by a pewter pin in the shape of a butterfly. He closed the door behind him and slid the bolt into place.

  "Ah, my beautiful boy, come to me, my sweet." She patted the skin beside her. "There is so much for you to learn but we have all night."

  He sat beside her, all embarrassment gone as her hands touched him. She unclasped the butterfly and the front of her chemise fell away, leaving her naked to the waist. Sláine stared. Brighid smiled; it was a haunting expression on her pale skin. She pulled his jerkin over his head and drew him closer into an embrace. Her hand set against the flat of his chest, Sláine felt the beat of his heart as it quickened.

  "What do I-?"

  "Hush now, my beautiful one, let our flesh talk. Let our bodies find their own language." She took his hand in hers and laid it gently on her breast. Sláine felt his breath catch in his throat as he thrilled to the touch. Her skin was perfect, although not smooth, far from it. It was made up of thousands of tiny creases, each one earned and owned by life lived to the full. He cupped her with both hands, losing himself in the sheer swell of sensation. Her red curls fell down across her face. She moved to brush them away but he stopped her. He wanted to see her like this, like lovers do. "I have such delights to show you," she whispered. "You are favoured of the Goddess, Sláine Mac Roth, but you should know that she collects beautiful things." She squeezed his hand. He felt her flesh stiffening against his touch.

  Brighid leaned forwards and kissed him, her mouth closing over hers, and he lost all sense of self. As they moved, touched and kissed, he was unable to tell where he ended and she began, such was Brighid's skill.

  "Let me make a man of you," she breathed.

  And he gave himself to her completely.

  Four

  Pranks

  Samain might have signified their ascent into manhood but they were not so grown up that they didn't take delight in pranks. Indeed, their apprenticeships opened a whole new world of possibilities for their jokes, and those new possibilities in turn brought more delight.

  The old druid, Cathbad, was the butt of their first and most elaborate charade.

  It was a simple lie and its success or failure depended very much upon the integrity of the druid. An honest man would walk away untouched but a liar would find himself humbled.

  To honour his reign, King Grudnew had ordered the construction of a new Great Hall, almost twice the size of the current roundhouse. It was a sign of prosperity, a very visible message that could be passed from village to village - Murias thrived beneath Grudnew.

  Twenty good men had been digging out the foundations for over a week. It was back-breaking work. From dawn to dusk they shovelled earth and clay, banking the waste high while the children wheeled it away in barrows. It was the sight of all that clay that gave Dian the bright idea of hiding some "ancient treasures" in the unbroken ground. He could imagine the salivating Cathbad declaring the find a great discovery even as he proceeded to translate the gibberish the boys had painted onto the "old" tablets. No doubt it would be some great wisdom that only he had the knowledge to fathom.

  "Do you think he'll fall for it?"

  "The pompous old fool wouldn't dream of admitting he doesn't understand something," Dian assured them. "He'll proclaim them works of antiquity, no doubt hidden there by followers of the Carnun, Horned God, and promise to unlock their secrets and we'll all get to have a good laugh at his expense."

  "Nice," Cullen said approvingly. Anything even vaguely humiliating always received Wide Mouth's seal of approval.

  Dian had been learning his letters for several months and had a passing fair knowledge of Ogham script. Enough, certainly, to convincingly forge a few shards of wisdom.

  Cormac, Niall, Cullen, Fionn, Sláine and Núada laboured painstakingly over the actual painting of the stones, trying to replicate perfectly the scratchings that Dian had made in the dirt. Dian's own images were more elaborate, quite stunning representations of the Horned God himself and imag
es of some wild hunt where the beasts had risen up to chase the men from their forests. The imagery was all very deliberate. He hoped that Cathbad would leap to a certain set of conclusions.

  "They're close enough they might be letters but they aren't any letters old Cathbad will have seen before."

  "So whatever he says is a lie?"

  "Whatever he says is a lie," Dian agreed.

  The friends waited for cover of night before they crept down to the building site. The clay tablets were heavier than any of them had expected them to be. They scrambled down into the pit, digging away as quickly and quietly as they could and hiding the various fake relics across the length and breadth of the site. With the moon waxing, they re-covered the tablets and crept back to their beds to sleep out what remained of the night.

  Sláine returned to Brighid's bed to take a new lesson in the skill of giving devotion. There was so much he had to learn of the ways of the flesh and, for a coin, she was a willing teacher.

  "You'll make a good husband and a skilful lover," the Daughter of Danu whispered in his ear as he slipped into sleep. It was all pillow talk but it was pleasing to hear. He had never thought of himself as being someone's husband but the time would come, he knew, when he had to make a choice from the girls of the tribe. Who would it be? He had no idea. Eabha had a pretty face, but wore her fat a little too comfortably for his tastes. Eilis on the other hand had the taut form of a hunter, her muscles as hard as her face. Isibeal always smiled when she saw him and Keeva blushed whenever he came within ten paces of her, but none of them set a fire blazing in his heart. None of them made his blood sing; not the way Brighid's touch did. He fell into a dreamless sleep, savouring the feel of her hand on his bare chest.

  He woke twice in the night. The first time he thought he heard voices, women talking softly. The second time he saw Brighid on her elbow looking down at him. She smiled and kissed his lips.