Author: Duncan MacDonald
Category: Cook books
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By the time the sun had penetrated the ground mist, the oxen were hitched again to the two wagons. The scouts moved ahead and the whole entourage moved slowly off to an appointment with destiny that no one was anticipating.
* * * *
Day two brought some unsettling news. The scouts had seen groups of men in the distance. They remained too far away to identify, but their presence was a concern. Who were they? Were they friendly? If they were friendly, why didn't they approach?
That evening Culann and his leader Osgar, were again invited to dine at the main tent. Osgar by this time had noticed something unusual was going on with the ladies in waiting. Although he didn't know at that stage, he was having conversations with the stand-in Princess Fea.
Again Culann sat next to Fea. This time she told him she learnt Latin at the monastery of St Brigid of Kildare, just a day's march from here and related some of the experiences she had enjoyed there in that centre of knowledge.
Half way through the evening the head scout came in and had a long conversation with Osgar. Both men looked at Culann. Osgar rose, came to Culann, and indicated they should both go outside.
The cold air physically hit the men as they pushed through the tent flap.
"Culann, our sentries advise those men we saw in the distance today have moved closer to the camp. We don't know who they are and I am assuming they are not friendly.
“You are our best swordsman. Can you go now to King Giona's men, who should be waiting for us by the River Barrow, and bring them here immediately."
Culann nodded in agreement, his head swimming. Why did they choose me? I'm good, but there are others just as good. Is he jealous of my sitting with Fea?
Osgar grabbed Culann by both shoulders. "Hurry man. Go straight through mac Cairill's and, not around. You should get there by tomorrow evening. We will wait here. I will organize a defense perimeter. Can you do it?"
"Yes" replied Culann, and hurried off to get his weapons. As swiftness was imperative he took only his sword. He left spear and shield behind. Aligning his path by the stars, as the moon was not yet up, he started out at a fast lope. Culann was at home in the dark night.
* * * *
Sunrise found Culann past two swift flowing streams and climbing a low range of hills, well on the way to the meeting place at the River Barrow. He had heard movements of men early on, but detoured so they would not hear or see him. He had given a wide berth to farms and stopped only to drink at the two streams before setting out again with his long loping stride.
The tents of King Giona came into sight in the late afternoon, as expected, on the near side of the River Barrow. Culann was challenged on the perimeter, and then escorted after being disarmed, into the largest tent in the camp.
"Who are you sir, and what do you want?" asked a tall man dressed in a long blue cloak. He described himself as the Chief Advisor to King Giona.
"I must see King Giona" rasped a still breathless Culann.
"Well you cannot. The King is not here."
"Where is he?"
"That is none of your business my friend. Look at you. What a mess. Take him away and clean him up."
"Wait" cried Culann "Some outlaws may be trying to attack the Princess Fea. You have to come now before it is too late."
"Attack Fea? She is not due for another four days. Who is attacking?"
"I don't know. You have to get a message to King Giona."
"I don't have to do anything my friend, least of all take advice from a ruffian Fianna fool like you. Take him away."
Culann went berserk, grabbing the Chief Advisor by the neck. He would have no doubt throttled him, had not six guards wrestled him to the ground, where one belted him on the back of the head with a clay pot, breaking the pot and knocking him unconscious.
* * * *
It was dark. He couldn't speak. He couldn't move. His head throbbed. He wanted to throw up. He passed out.
It was still dark. Someone was sitting next to him. He couldn't move his hands. The figure saw him attempt to move, and came closer. Culann saw the dull glint of a knife as it came close to his face.
The gag binding his mouth was cut and the figure poured a little water onto his lips. Culann coughed. The figure shushed him, suddenly listening for any sound emanating outside the tent - for that was what they were in.
After a few seconds the figure cut the cords binding his hands and feet. The blood painfully ran back into those limbs giving feeling once more. He was given a small water bladder which Culann drained without stopping. Still no words passed between them. The dark stranger handed him a lump of meat which he placed in a cloth container, and drew the drawstrings. Then a coal-black cloak with a hood, and finally he handed Culann the small knife he'd used to cut the bonds.
Culann struggled into the cloak. The stranger held up his hand showing five fingers, pointed to the rear of the tent and then like magic slipped through a sliced opening Culann had not previously seen; and disappeared.
Culann shook his head to clear his thoughts and immediately wished he hadn't. The throbbing headache came back. Obviously the stranger had wanted him to wait a short time before following him out the back of the tent. Presumably there was a guard at the front.
Not knowing what time it was, and not wishing to be caught as night ended, Culann quietly opened the rear slit in the tent, and crawled out. No one was there. He silently stood up and walked normally to what he assumed was the edge of the camp. He passed a couple of armed figures on the way, but no one challenged him.
Suddenly he was away from the clearing and in light forest. He kept moving until he came to a slight rise and could see the stars through the partly overcast sky. Where to go? Obviously there would be no help for Fea here. Time to go back and try to protect her from whatever danger may come. He considered himself a fool for leaving in the first place.
He turned slightly east and began the long run back to his original camp.
Back at Giona's camp, the mysterious benefactor watched Culann’s dark figure disappear into the forest.
"Damn" he said "as if there hasn't been enough trouble and strife.
Now I have to get another good knife".
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* * * * *
3.2 The Long Road Back
Culann rescuing Princess Fea
It took Culann much longer to retrace his steps. He lay down for a moment to rest on the hillside before the first stream, and instantly fell asleep. He woke with the sun streaming into his eyes. It was mid-morning.
Cursing, he took off again, thankful for the meat given by the unidentified stranger; tearing pieces off the bone with his teeth as he ran onward.
By mid-afternoon thunderclouds were building in the south. Sundown saw lightning flashing on the horizon. A big storm was coming.
He reached the stream around midnight. No tents. Was he up stream or downstream of the camp? He sat on his haunches and tried to think. Climb a tree and look for camp fires.
Culann took off the black cloak and climbed the tallest tree nearby. Halfway up he saw the red glow. It was downstream. A feeling of deep foreboding filled his heart. The camp fires shouldn't be that big. Something's happened.
He re-donned the cloak and moved downstream more cautiously now. Thunder sounded nearer.
He almost tripped over the first body. The wind was up and the trees were bending and moaning. He didn't recognize the face or the clothes. The next body was one of his fellow Fianna.
Around the next bend of the stream he saw the glow, with figures silhouetted against its red flare. One wagon was on its side. The other was nowhere to be seen. The main tent was in shreds but some of the smaller ones remained.
More bodies littered the ground. One was a woman, but not Fea.
He drew his only weapon, the knife, and pulled the pitch-black cowl over his head. Silently he slipped forward, gliding from tree to tree.
One man was standing drunkenly ag
ainst a bush, urinating. Culann clamped a hand over his mouth and cut his throat. The body slid, still twitching to the ground, as Culann took it's sword.
Three men stood talking with their backs to Culann. The first one's head flew into the air as if in slow motion, blood gusting from its neck. The two others did not even have time to reach for their weapons before they were dispatched by the flashing blade that severed flesh and sinew.
He moved into the centre of the camp.
Lightning flashed and a great resounding rumble of thunder followed almost immediately.
Culann crept toward the first tent. He opened the flap. Half a dozen men were lying around drinking from goatskins. One looked up through glazed eyes. Culann dropped the tent flap and moved on.
The second tent had four men. Two were standing watching their colleagues holding the arms of a maiden who was struggling on the ground, golden-hair sprayed over her face. The crumbled figure of another woman lay lifeless on the ground.
In the confines of the tent Culann couldn't swing his sword. He thrust it instead into the body of the closest man, then put his foot on the man's belly while he was still standing, and pulled the blade out. The other men jumped up and started shouting but another great clap of thunder drowned their voices. The second man was struck down. Culann's dagger gutted the third and the fourth slipped on a bloody carcass before having his head half chopped off, gurgling and thrashing on the tent floor.
Culann gathered the girl in his arms. She fought him.
He whispered "Semper meus". She froze for a heartbeat, then relaxed.
The ebony colored cloak he draped over the maiden, before stepping out of the tent. Torrential rain was now lashing down driven by a howling wild wind.
Any figures he saw were scurrying for cover. He walked out of the camp carrying the limp female form in his arms.
There was a wooded hill not far from the camp. Culann scrambled half way up before finding an overhanging ledge that would give them some small shelter from the driving rainstorm. He placed her gently on the leaves and grass, then wrapped her properly in his cloak. A small keening sound came from her busted bruised lips. Both eyes were swollen shut. Blood was on her nose and lips. He wept.
The rain eased after some time. He decided it was better to keep moving. Over the hill and down the other side. A couple of times he nearly slipped on the muddy ground. He had to move more carefully.
* * * *
The clouds were still low when sunrise came. Fea's keening had stopped. He placed her down gently. Kicking himself for not thinking of it sooner, Culann wet her lips with what was left in his water bottle. She tried to say something but he could not understand the words.
She lost consciousness again. There were no sounds of pursuit, so he carefully picked her up and carried on.
Culann saw smoke from the farmhouse before he saw the building. He crouched in the high grass and surveying it for some time. The only movement came from a woman moving in and out of the house. The men must be off working somewhere.
Cautiously he carried his limp bundle to the front door, stood and rasped to the surprised farmwife inside "Please help".
She took one look at the maiden in his arms and indicated he should place her on a cot along one wall. She opened the cloak and shooed him outside.
He squatted down beside the door and waited.
A long time later the farmwife, who looked middle aged, came out wiping her hands.
"Your woman needs good medical care".
"I know".
"You probably shouldn't take her home looking like that." He nodded.
"The best people to look after her would be at St Brigid's monastery". He looked up startled.
"She studied at St Brigid's".
"Then she is no farm girl." muttered the farmwife. "Do you know where it is?"
"Not really."
"I thought not. It's for women only. Come on, I'll show you the way." The farmwife grabbed a shawl and strode out of the house. Culann gathered up the still semi-conscious, but now modestly attired Fea, and followed.
They walked silently along a winding track until daylight was almost gone. The sky was still heavy with cloud.
The farmwife stopped suddenly, pointed ahead saying "It's over yonder hill. You should get there before long". With that she turned, and without another word disappeared back the way they had come. Exhaustion swept over him.
Culann looked down at the still figure he was holding. Was it his imagination or did one eye look a little more open. He brushed the hair from her forehead. Her hand came out and squeezed one of his fingers. Suddenly he had the strength of ten men.
The clouds parted and some stars twinkled as he stood in front of the impressive wooden door that was the entrance of St Brigid of Kildare Monastery.
He banged on the big wooden knocker. Silence.
He banged again.
He heard shuffling behind the door. Then, "What do you want?"
"I need help".
More whispering "It's a man" louder "Come back tomorrow".
"I have the Princess Fea, daughter of King Sigmall. She desperately needs your help".
The door swung open. "Why didn't you say so? Come in silly boy.” The door swung shut behind them.
And that is how Culann saved the Princess Fea from a fate worse than death (well almost).
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* * * * *
3.3 King Sigmall’s Response
Sigmall's little rag-tag force assembled at his hill fort. Most were armed with spears, some with swords and a few even just brought their hoe or shovel.
Word of the massacre of the bridal party by King Eogan mac Cairill's men, swept through the region like wildfire. All condemned the attack and subsequent abduction, of who was thought to be Princess Fea, and some of her handmaidens. But very few men had the courage to stand up to the powerful King Eogan.
King Sigmall did have the courage, or perhaps he had no alternative. His image would be tarnished forever if he did nothing, and it was obvious only a matter of time before Eogan decided to take over his kingdom, with its steams of gold.
So King Sigmall went to war.
He gathered all his client farmers, plus any other able bodied man (or boy) who wished to join. There were a few Fianna somewhere still deep in the forest, but with their leader Osgar, killed, he had no way of immediately contacting them. Time was of the essence, thought Sigmall. He had to strike first and take Eogan by surprise.
Sigmall's little rag-tag force assembled at his hill fort. There were fewer than 50 men, including Odras' father and brothers. Most were armed with spears, some with swords and a few even just brought their hoe or shovel.
Sigmall stood before his small force and in a fiery speech extolled them to seek revenge on his daughter’s killers and abductors. He neatly added, that if they didn't, Eogan would certainly come and ravage their own land.
The little retinue moved off.
They marched for two days without seeing anyone, and on the third day one of the scouts ran back with news that an unfortified camp, comprising tents, was just through the next valley. Sigmall consulted with his personal Druid. Although he was nominally converted to Christianity, in times of trauma the Old Gods' came to the fore.
The Druid sacrificed a chicken, and after divining its entrails, declared tomorrow would be an auspicious day for Sigmall. The King gathered his nobles around him. His plan was simple. Tomorrow morning, they would all attack the enemy's camp. They would storm in and kill everyone.
Two freemen, including Odras' father, had the temerity to suggest maybe they should keep some of the warriors in reserve, just in case.
Sigmall exploded, "If you are not brave enough to run with me when I lead the charge, then you can stay here, and cower like a woman." Nothing can be worse for an Irish Celt, than be accused of cowardice. It was agreed they would all charge together.
* * * *
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br /> As the morning mists were rising, Sigmall and his warriors were gathered on a slight rise about 400 strides from a group of tents standing on the banks of a small stream. Smoke curled from some campfires, but no movement was seen.
"Where are the warriors?" whispered some of the men.
Sigmall turned to his Druid. "They must be all sleeping off the effects of last night's mead. "said the Druid.
"Yes of course." agreed Sigmall. He stood, raised his sword arm and with a yell leapt forward toward the tents in the valley. His men, roaring defiance followed, streaming down the grassy slope waving their weapons. They formed a long line, the younger, fitter fellows leading, as they covered more ground. A growing gap appeared in the running column as they neared the tents.
When they were half way to their objective, something strange happened. Movement was seen on the tree line to their right. Those in the front group of the downhill race, missed it, but those bringing up the rear now slowed and started shouting warnings. A large troupe of chariots suddenly materialized out of the trees, crowded with armed warriors.
A trap!
Sigmall's force was now split in two. The front group still running for the tents and the rear bunch milling around looking desperately for a way to evade the chariots.
As their leader, Eogan mac Cairill, lowered his spear, the chariots charged forward, straight at the rear group, who leaderless, split up and raced for the farther tree line. They had no chance. The chariots quickly closed the gap. As the chariots swept passed the fleeing men, Eogan's warriors slashed, stabbed and bludgeoned their opponents into the ground.
By the time the chariots drew rein after their initial charge, the leading group, who were almost at the tents, realized something terrible was wrong. They stopped and turned to face their assailants.
Had Sigmall been better versed in warfare, he would have withdrawn everyone over the far side of the creek, where some defense against the chariots could have been organized.
But Sigmall, now certain he would die, chose to die like a Celt; in battle, facing his enemy. The thought of saving some of his men, did not even enter his head. He did not drive the base of his spear into the ground at an angle as some protection against the horses, but waved it in one hand, and holding his sword aloft in the other, screamed abuse at his foe. The chariots gathered in a line, now directly in front.