Island of Shadows Page 5

  ‘Because Buimech told me to, and said that you might help me.’

  Rónán Mac Méin scratched his chin thoughtfully.

  ‘And how might that be?’

  ‘My parents told me that I was fostered by them. Buimech told me the story of my finding, cast adrift in the sea in a casket.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the old man, as if he suddenly understood everything.

  There was a scuffling noise from the door of the hostel and the sleepy face of Brosc looked out. He saw them seated together and smiled.

  ‘It is good. I will bring you breakfast.’

  He was about to duck back inside when Scáthach motioned him to stay.

  ‘Where are my weapons?’

  Brosc bobbed back again.

  ‘Why, put in a place of safety while you slept in case they were … ’ he hesitated.

  ‘Stolen?’

  The girl supplied the word.

  The hostel-keeper nodded.

  ‘The Hostel of the Stars is sited by a sea-port. Sometimes we get strangers staying and sometimes strangers have odd codes of hospitality.’

  ‘Well,’ said the girl sharply, ‘I thank you for your solicitude but never take my weapons again without my knowledge or approval. It may be that I have need of them.’

  Brosc looked unhappy.

  The old sailor shook his head gently.

  ‘You have no need to mistrust Brosc. He would have protected you with his life.’

  Scáthach felt uncomfortable at the rebuke and coloured a little.

  ‘I doubt it not, but a warrior without weapons is as a ship without sails.’

  ‘I’ll fetch them now, daughter of Eola,’ said the hosteler, his face red with mortification, and disappeared to suit the word with action.

  The old man shook his head.

  ‘He was once a great bowman. He served the High King when Eola was captain of the Fianna. Trust him.’

  She turned to meet his bantering sea-green eyes.

  ‘And can I trust you?’

  Rónán Mac Méin chuckled in amusement, ‘I suppose, if I wore your shoes, daughter of Eola, I would be suspicious of everyone. Trust is an instinctive thing. Maybe only experience makes one trust or distrust.’

  She nodded, thoughtfully, and then said: ‘I will trust you for I have no other choice.’

  Brosc came hurrying out of the hostel carrying her weapons and shield and placed them by her side. He turned back to the hostel again but she reached and placed a restraining hand on his arm.

  ‘I am sorry that I was churlish and insulted your hospitality, Brosc. Can you forgive one who is an innocent in the world and fearful of that which she does not know?’ Brosc hesitated and gazed down at her artless face; then he smiled.

  ‘Daughter of Eola, I thought to do what was best. There is nothing to forgive. Let me bring you breakfast.’

  He turned back into the hostel.

  Rónán Mac Méin smiled approvingly.

  ‘You are a true daughter of Eola and Buimech.’ Scáthach’s lips drooped.

  ‘Not so and we know it,’ she replied. ‘I was but a child fostered. And you must help me trace my origins.’

  The old sea-captain scratched the bridge of his nose reflectively for a moment or two and then shrugged.

  ‘I guessed that was the reason for your coming. But all I know is what Eola and Buimech must have told you. You were found cast away on the seas in a casket which, by the will of the ocean god, floated until we were able to pull it from the sea. But what else can be told?’

  ‘One thing more, which only you can tell me.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘You must dredge your knowledge of the tides and currents of the sea, consider the spot where I was found and tell rne where it was likely that the casket in which I was found was placed in the waters.’

  Rónán Mac Méin sat back and stared thoughtfully at the girl.

  ‘It is a long time ago.’

  ‘Please try to recall.’

  The old sailor chewed his lower lip in thought.

  ‘Well, the currents in that spot wash from the coast of Gallia … , but it is a long, long coastline. Let me think now … ’

  Brosc returned with dishes of cold meat and drinks made from the infusion of herbs.

  Rónán Mac Méin was still sunk in thought. The girl sat quietly. Then the old seaman’s brow cleared.

  ‘Surely,’ he said, as if confirming his thought verbally. ‘Yes, in that sea where you were found, the main current washes up from the coast of Gallia which is the country of Lethra.’

  ‘Lethra?’ frowned the Scáthach. ‘What place is that?’ The old man shrugged.

  ‘In all my days I never travelled there. It is a strange country about which little is known. It is a land which does not encourage merchants.’

  ‘But it was from there that the casket, placed in the sea, would travel to the point where you picked it up.’ kIf the casket travelled by the currents.’

  Scáthach drew her brows together.

  ‘How else would it have travelled?’

  The old sailor raised his shoulders and let them fall in a helpless gesture.

  ‘Who knows? At the time many of my men saw the work of Otherworld forces in the finding of the casket.’

  The girl gave a merry peel of laughter.

  ‘Do I appear as a creature from the Otherworld?’

  Rónán Mac Méin shook his head.

  ‘And if so,’ went on the girl, ‘then I should look to this land of Lethra for the solution to the mystery.’ She hesitated, one hand going to finger the gold medallion at her neck and then she said: ‘Tell me, do the warriors of this land of Lethra bear a strange triskele device on their shields?’

  ‘That I would not know, daughter of Eola. As I have said, I have never visited that country nor seen anyone who claimed to have been there or from there.’

  Scáthach sighed.

  ‘Then I must find a ship to take me there.’

  ‘Easier said than done.’

  ‘But our ships trade regularly with Gallia and with Britain.’

  ‘Yet not one do I know that would make the voyage to Lethra.’

  The girl jerked up her chin in confidence.

  ‘I will find a ship.’

  The old sea-captain smiled at her youthful assurance.

  ‘And mayhap if I were forty years younger, nay, even twenty years, I would be your captain.’

  The girl smiled.

  ‘I will find a ship,’ she repeated.

  Brosc came to clear away the remains of their breakfast and overheard her.

  ‘Well, if it is a ship you need, then Dun na Sead is the place. It is one of the busiest ports of Mumhan. Why, there are a dozen vessels there.’

  It was the first time that Scáthach turned her gaze down the hill to the bay below. She had arrived at the Hostel of the Stars at dusk and so had not seen anything but the winking lights of the seaport, nestling in a cove below. Now she saw the numerous buildings of the port stretched by a long low silvery strand. Beyond the surrounding cliffs and headlands there stretched numerous islands which afforded protection to the little harbour and there was little reason to ask why the place had been chosen as a trading port. Indeed, she could see many big ships at anchor off the coast, large ships from Gallia, with their heavy oak timbers, leather sails and great chains to pull them with. There were lighter vessels from Britain, the big island to the east of Éireann, whose ships were almost similar in design and size.

  Scáthach nodded and smiled.

  ‘Yes; there must surely be one ship here which will take me to Lethra.’

  ‘Lethra?’

  Brosc frowned at the name.

  The girl turned to him.

  ‘Yes. Do you know of it?’

  Brosc shook his head and she saw him exchange a quick glance with Rónán Mac Mein.

  ‘I only know of it by the tales and gossip of the sailors which frequent here, daughter of Eola. It is a land in Gallia w
hich does not encourage travellers.’

  Scáthach stood up and smiled.

  ‘Then it is high time this strange land had visitors.’

  She gathered her weapons and reached for her purse.

  Brosc saw the gesture and shook his head vehemently.

  ‘My house is your house, daughter of Eola. My life was frequently bought by the concern and courage of your father.’

  ‘You place me in debt, Brosc,’ protested the girl.

  ‘No, no. I am already in the debt of Uibh Rathach. Should you ever wish for a place to sleep free from the care of treachery and attack, should you ever seek food or even one that was once a good bowman, then come to the Hostel of the Stars.’

  Scáthach reached out a hand and smiled at the hosteler.

  ‘Then should you, Brosc, ever require a service that I can render, do not hesitate to call on the name of Scáthach of Uibh Rathach.’

  She turned to Rónán Mac Méin and likewise held out a hand to the old seafarer.

  ‘I am also in your debt. Perhaps more than I can say at this time.’

  The old sailor smiled awkwardly at the young girl.

  ‘I hope that you go safely to Lethra, and return safely. The gods go with you.’

  She smiled again.

  ‘If you can find no passage by nightfall,’ called Brosc, as she turned away down the road to Dun na Sead, ‘return here.’

  She raised a hand in acknowledgement and strode with a light step down the roadway. The sun was climbing high into the heavens now, pouring down its warmth on her body, and encouraging the fragrance of wild herbs, the roadside shrubs and flowers, to assail her nostrils. The fragrance intermingled with the faint odour of the sea as a gentle sea-breeze rolled over the shore.

  As she walked into the township, curious glances were cast in her direction. It was obviously a market day for the place was crowded. Country folk herding cows, dragging goats, carrying squawking chickens by the legs, prodding donkeys on which were loaded the fruits of the countryside, blocking the narrow streets of the seaport. Weather-beaten sailors were everywhere, purchasing goods from stalls set up in the main square of the town, obviously seeking provisions for their various ships.

  Here and there the girl saw men of haughty authority who, by their garb, she took to be captains of the numerous ships which lay offshore. She accosted one, who looked less formidable than the others, a stocky, dark-haired man, whose clothing and manner proclaimed him as a Briton.

  'Are you the captain of one of the ships?’ she asked.

  The man halted and gazed at her for several seconds. She did not like the speculative gleam in his eyes and drew herself up, the muscles of her face tightening.

  ‘Captain? No,’ replied the man. ‘But I am mate on one of the traders. Why?’

  ‘I am seeking a passage to Gallia.’

  The Briton pursed his lips regretfully.

  ‘Ah, but we are bound for the country of the Silures in Britain. A passage there you could have had and welcome.’

  The girl shook her head.

  ‘Do you know where I could find some of the captains of the ships from Gallia?’

  The Briton turned and called in his own language to a tall, sandy-haired man, whose rolling gait and sturdy linen clothes identified him as a sea-farer. The sandy-haired man halted and turned.

  ‘Here is Vercarnrix,’ the Briton said. ‘He’s a Gaulish merchant captain. Try your luck with him.’

  The Briton muttered something to the seaman called Vercarnrix and went on his way into the throng.

  The Gaul came up to the girl and stood frowning at her.

  ‘You seek passage to Gallia?’

  He spoke in the language of the people of Éireann but his voice was heavy with the accents of his own land.

  ‘I do,’ replied Scáthach eagerly. ‘Are you bound there?’

  ‘I am so,’ replied the man. ‘We ship goods to the country of the Trinovantes in Britain and then go on to the country of the Belgae in Gallia.’

  The girl frowned.

  ‘I have little knowledge of the country. Is the country of the Belgae near the land of Lethra?’

  A strange look came over the seaman’s face.

  ‘Lethra? What makes you ask about Lethra?’

  ‘It is to Lethra that I ultimately seek passage,’ replied Scáthach.

  Vercarnrix stared curiously at her for a moment or so. ‘Why would you, a young girl of Éireann, want to go to Lethra?’

  Scáthach felt a little annoyed at the man’s questioning. ‘That is my business,’ she said waspishly.

  ‘And the business of those who are stupid enough to give you passage there,’ replied the Gaul.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Mean? That the land of Lethra is an accursed place and the gods between it and my soul, today and nine times nine years from this day.’

  She stared at him in amazement.

  ‘What do you know of this land of Lethra?’ she pressed. ‘What do you know that it puts such fear in you?’ Vercarnrix stood gazing at her and shaking his head. ‘Better you know not. You’ll get no passage from me to take you towards Lethra.’

  He turned into the crowd but she chased after him and caught his arm.

  ‘I must know.’

  He turned back to her.

  ‘If you do not know about Lethra, why do you seek it out?’ he demanded.

  ‘I know nothing about it … only that I need to go there to fulfil a task imposed on me. I can say no more.’

  The sailor hesitated and then shook his head again.

  ‘I will tell you this, and no more can I tell you. Beware of the misty land of Lethra. Evil dwells in its valleys and cloaks its mountains. No one goes there willingly and those who go never return. I will not help you on your journey.’

  With that, the man turned and was soon lost in the crowded the market place.

  Frowning at the man’s words, Scáthach stood among the crowds brooding silently for a moment or two. It seemed that Lethra had a bad reputation among the traders and seafarers. Well, there was surely someone who would take her. She turned to the crowd to search out new prospects. However, her next contact was with a young master of a coastal vessel who was of little help although he recommended her to a tavern on the quayside where, he assured her, captains gathered.

  Of the four burly sea-captains who were gathered in the smoky inn, all had the same reaction when she stated her destination. Only two of the captains were taking their ships to Caul and one was heading for the far reaches of Iberia, a country to the south where it was said that the children of Éireann had originally come from; a magical land from where Mil, his wife Scota, daughter of the Egyptian Pharaoh Nectanebes, and their sons, the ancestors of the Gaels, had arrived to defeat the gods of the De Danaan and drive them underground. The other captains were bound for Britain. None would help her on her way to the land of Lethra and all were of one voice in warning her of a terrible fate if she saw the shores of the strange country.

  For most of the morning and afternoon, Scáthach wandered the smoky taverns and quays of Dun na Sead searching for a passage to Gallia and growing more and more despondent as she met refusal after refusal.

  Dusk crept on and she began to reconcile herself to the fact that she would have to retrace her footsteps to the Hostel of the Stars and confess her failure to Brosc and Rónán Mac Mein. She felt angry and her pride was a little hurt, although the teachings of Buimech had always taught that pride blinded truth; that there was but a step between pride and disgrace for pride destroyed all symmetry and grace. Pride should not enter the soul of a true warrior.

  She sighed and turned through the narrow alleyways of the port, now abruptly emptied of people who had hurried back to their homes with the gathering dusk. She sought to get away from the quayside, back to the main square from which she could find the main road back to the Hostel of the Stars. She found herself in a dark alley which turned at an awkward angle and seemed to led nowhere in
particular. Annoyed at taking a wrong turn, she made to retrace her steps and found her way barred by two dark shadows.

  She halted, her hand slipping automatically to her sword hilt.

  Before she could move, her arms were pinioned at her sides in a hard grasp by someone who had slipped up unseen behind her.

  One of the figures chuckled softly.

  The sound was familiar. It belonged to a wheezy and ugly voice.

  ‘Eccneid,’ whispered Scáthach.

  The burlier shadow of the two moved forward a step or so. Even in the gloom she could see that his sword arm hung uselessly at his side.

  ‘I am glad you recognise me, Scáthach of Uibh Rathach. You will now know why you must die.’

  There was a coldness in his voice which sent a shiver down the girl’s back.

  She twisted and tried to pull! loose from the grip which held her arms tightly to her sides. Almost at once she realised that the powerful grasp of the man behind her could not be broken by her lithe form twisting and struggling.

  ‘I will have vengeance for what you did to me, you whelp of a wolf-bitch!’

  Scáthach saw the man raise his left arm to its full height and glimpsed the dark object held there. She braced herself for the swift descent of the dagger.

  Chapter Five

  ‘What manner of knavery is this?’ demanded a firm masculine voice.

  Out of the shadows of the alley there emerged a tall figure.

  Eccneid swung round in surprise.

  Scáthach felt the surprise also in the man who had held her in a vice-like grip. For a split second she felt his grip relax and she twisted and lunged, succeeding in wrenching herself free.

  ‘Help me!’ she called. ‘These thieves mean to kill me!’

  There was a gasp of astonishment from the newcomer and abruptly a glint of something shiny in his hand.

  ‘Kill the interloper!’ yelled Eccneid, his voice contorted in fury. ‘But leave the girl to me!’

  One of his companions sprang forward, only to give a shrill shriek of agony and collapse to the ground.

  The burly figure of Eccneid paused.

  Scáthach, finding herself free, swung round on the attacker behind her, and drawing her sword, thrust at him. She aimed for his shoulder and felt the blade make contact. A second yell of anguish in as many seconds split the quiet of the alley. Then the burly figure of Eccneid, the thief, was lumbering out of the alley leaving his companions to fend for themselves. A moment later, the man whom Scáthach had struck also fled from the alley.