BENDING THE BOYNE: A novel of ancient Ireland (14 page)

Thanks to this warm cloak, she felt the chill air only a little as she carefully aligned the position of the Swan with the ancient notch on the stele. Daire assisted, standing to one side with younger apprentices to show them exactly what Boann and the Dagda were doing. He held the glowing tip of an apple rod pulled out from a covered fire many steps away. This ember enabled him to point at stars for the others without ruining their night vision.

It pleased Boann that Daire immersed himself in their dilemma of the shifting constellations. He had traveled from Tethra’s village to the Boyne to study and already he had learned a great deal at their newer and larger mounds, and from the richly carved stones.

The Dagda confided, “Daire is quick to connect what he sees. He reasons well in the abstract—and without my having to explain much. Rather like Cian.”

She had not heard Cian’s name aloud for some time. What did the Dagda know of their attachment? His face unreadable, he continued.

“For example, Daire noticed that unlike Carrowkeel’s layout, our mounds stand well apart from our dwellings, from cooking fires and torchlight.” About heavy smoke from the Invader camp, the Dagda said only, “On this sunset our luck holds. No smoke drifts here.”

Aware that she had been unable to stop the Invaders’ rude ways from encroaching on her people, Boann said, “The skies shall clear for us,” as much to convince herself as him.

He nodded. “We understand the difficulties of your position. Mind yourself and the child you carry. You are what is most important to us.”

One by one, the apprentices stood with Boann at the old marker stele to help judge the distance the Swan constellation moved. She laid each one’s polished bone strip over another at the stele. Many did not see the minute difference from the preceding equinox. Daire stepped forward with his bone marker strip and did the same.

The astronomers conferred after the sighting. They could agree on the direction of the shift, but not its size. Some said the Northshift would be complete in another twenty autumns, and some said, in one hundred autumns.

Boann held up a collection of bone strips holding scores of notches. “Daire amassed these markers from different elders and studied them. Starwatchers have been checking the equinox constellation for generations. Daire and I,” and she gestured to include him, “compared the observing sticks, those made here and at older stones. We estimate that over forty sun cycles or so—roughly, the life span for most of us—the shift of the autumn constellation equals the width of the full moon. We know the ages of our mounds. Here at the Boyne, the constellation has moved the width of several full moons. At the oldest stones it has moved beyond the stone’s shoulder.”

Under a torch held by Daire, they compared the markers side by side, oldest to newest, inciting comment and questions.

“How can we know if the change is the same amount from equinox to equinox?” asked a woman, a visitor from Fourknocks.

“Again, we know the generation of each mound. Based on the differences between markers, the change in position looks to be a constant. Going forward our astronomers can verify this using the total shift over five suns, and then ten, and then twenty suns. Our children will verify that the amount is a constant.”

On that night, the astronomers came closer to understanding the Northshift.

The Dagda retold the ancient story, their chant about choosing the next constellation. “Our ancestors lived in a different land when they observed the shift,” he reminded them. “They used the stars to reach this island. Their generations prospered down to us, the keepers of their knowledge. We will find a way to deal with the intruders and reclaim the future.”

Their troubles with Invaders seemed distant as the Starwatchers lit their signal bonfire and celebrated the equinox under the river of stars.

After that equinox, Boann openly left the camp with Cliodhna during sun’s light. The two gathered roots and nuts before heavy frosts would spoil those, and dry moss and bark for medicines and kindling; and brought those to share with her village.

Another full moon waxed and waned above the Boyne. Unnatural cold gripped the island and no one knew when it might end. Still no message came from the Lake mine, from Elcmar.

Maedb continued to drop in on Boann in the great hall. She gave out, from a bench by the warm fire, that neither Connor nor Elcmar had found gold on this island, and how very cold and wet was Eire’s weather. Boann finally responded, “Yes. It must be very cold for the men, those men who are working out in the cold. But sure, faraway hills are greener.” Two slaves working close by turned away to hide their laughter.

“You must cease wandering outside this camp in your condition. Bresal agrees with me. Or, he says I could accompany you.” Maedb flashed a triumphant grin.

A rumor began circulating in the camp that Elcmar had gone to the Continent. In a toast overflowing with malice, Maedb wished for his safety on the high seas. Boann only touched her lips to her cup then put it down, having heard that Maedb used strong poisons. Just when she thought she might understand the Invaders, their actions confused her again. She could see no reason for Elcmar to visit the southwest, much less undertake the killing voyage to far shores. And where was Cian?

Will this child have any father, Boann wondered, but in Bresal’s fogged eyes she could read nothing.

On the sunrise that brought the Invader feast called the Night of the Dead, Boann woke feeling the child lying dormant, waiting. The intruders’ holiday had little importance to her. Instead she looked forward to a starwatch on this crossquarter, midway between autumn equinox and the coming winter solstice. It gave her another chance to detect the elusive Northshift. Excited, she ate little on waking and left the hall to seek out Cliodhna.

“At sunset the Starwatchers have an important observation.”

Cliodhna exclaimed, eyes wide, “But this sunset begins a time of feasting for these intruders. It is their Night of the Dead!”

“How to get out of the camp and to the mounds, without a guard or chattering intruder women following?” Boann wondered aloud. “I have my liberties—if anyone tries to stop me.

“Cliodhna, put aside your pottery making if you would. We shall wrap up foodstuffs, some hazelnuts, dried apples and herbs, to bring as gifts to Oghma. If you could come out with me that ought to appease Bresal.”

It did not take Boann long to find Bresal, surrounded by an entourage at the cooking pits. He had commandeered a cooking trough and supervised as a quantity of imported cloth was dyed a rare blue, fussing with his male slave over whether it was vivid enough and evenly dyed throughout its length. The women slaves who normally did the cloth dyeing stood back in disapproval: men should never be allowed near the dyeing process as that would bring bad luck. Also the dye had spoiled that
fulacht fiadh.

Bresal looked up and nudged his slave. “Wonder how she’s keeping, with her man away? A woman on her own!” The shaman leered. “If they are all breeders, we won’t have to bring in many women here a’tall.”

Boann heard all this and saw at once that he was in rare form. “Good sun to you, Bresal. I’m after having my bath and breaking the fast. I shall be joining my father Oghma, the Dagda, and others to observe the sun set. With your consent, Cliodhna shall accompany me.”

Bresal swayed indecisively over the dripping cloth, as if not sure why tonight’s sunset would be so important. “Should Elcmar’s wife be absent as we begin celebrating the Night of the Dead?” His face struggled to evaluate all the portents if she were away and specifically any negative results for him.

To her he inclined his round head. “Are you aware of our feast tonight?” he asked.

“I am not familiar with this Invader custom. Please explain more to me if you would.” She waited for Bresal to go off on a tangent and he promptly did so.

“The Night of the Dead is a major feast, the beginning of the new year for us Invaders. It might have significance for the quiet ones as well.” Boann stiffened at his using that term quiet ones for her people but he babbled on, heedless.

Bresal described the presence of the dead walking among the living. Huge fires would be lit so that the spirits could see and thus not disturb the living. He detailed how he selected the animals to be slain and how he would publicly examine their entrails in order to predict the coming crops and success at various endeavors. Bresal ended with a flourish. “Your presence is highly necessary for all this as the
ard ri’s
wife, and notably so in Elcmar’s absence.” He looked at her extended midsection and up to catch her eye. “We can make you a new tunic but not in this blue fabric, I’m afraid. That color is reserved to shamans, and to Elcmar. That is, if Elcmar were here with us. Alive, to be sure. For this feast.” He hicupped and swayed again.

“I quite understand. Thank you, Bresal. Whatever color would suit me.”

She diverted Muirgen with an errand and when the girl had left the hall, Boann filled a leather pouch with a few belongings. She found Cliodhna waiting at her pottery hearth, lit as if the potter would be returning. As they started toward the gate, Boann suggested that Cliodhna bring her clothing and personal articles, “just in case we are delayed.” Cliodhna left, quickly bundled her things, then returned to Boann. They moved between the plank huts and passed unnoticed by a sentry dulled by cold and the prior evening’s drinking.

Once underway through the forest, Boann spoke openly to Cliodhna. “Night of the Dead! Already most of the slaves are frightened out of their wits from talk of spirits walking among them, great bonfires or not. These slaves have enough to fear from the living.” She could only imagine the mayhem that would occur upon poor animals. She had seen enough of the murky approach taken by Bresal and his followers.

Invaders divided the sun’s seasons into only three instead of four, and for them this night marked the beginning of the new year. The shaman Bresal hinted to her that he could halt the sun. He dared to say that Invader ships brought the great dust that ruined the past growing season. He seemed to have little idea of either the sun’s or the moon’s movements. She had not risked inquiring whether he knew about the erratic planets, or had names for constellations. She found less and less to discuss with Bresal despite his cloying attention.

Free of the camp’s environs, her boldness grew. Maedb, she wanted nowhere near her labor pains nor this child. It would be far safer for this baby to be born in the fresh air of her own village, among her own people. She need not return to the intruders’ stronghold for their feast, and she decided not to return to the Invader walls until after this child was born.
Elcmar cannot hold me inside their camp, it is part of our marriage contract that my starwatching shall continue!

Elcmar’s offer of protection with their marriage rang hollow. For a moment, Boann recalled Sheela’s brutal murder. She told the surprised Cliodhna, “Stay with me in the village. The shorter days and cold will keep the warriors penned into the intruder camp until spring and with little to do. You need safeguarding from them.”

Boann stayed on with Oghma at the Starwatcher village and they sheltered the young Cliodhna. In the lunate following the Night of the Dead it rained frequently, more rain than usual. What food remained in the fields for late harvest, soon went bad in the damp. The Starwatchers gathered and counted their animals. Their remaining livestock would need to be fed over the winter and not be consumed. Oghma and the elders worried that game would become scarce with more people living along the Boyne. “If these intruders will scavenge for their food, must they kill everything in the forest closest to our village?”

While Airmid was entertaining Cliodhna, away, Boann had a private audience with the elders in the plain comfort of Oghma’s dwelling. “No doubt this weather stops the warriors from fetching me back with Cliodhna,” she told them. The elders confirmed the two women should remain in the village. Pikes and stone axes awaited the Invaders if they came looking.

Cliodhna made a temporary outdoor hearth for firing pottery, but it sputtered and lay cold, the wood too wet for building up coals. “The dirty smoke for making metal in the intruder camp rises no more. We hear their hoop drums and songs, perhaps louder now? I am grateful to you and Oghma for sheltering me.”

They spent increasing amounts of time indoors with Airmid and others, as numbing gales swept in from the surrounding ocean. The women taught Cliodhna the intricate knots tied by Sheela of the Spirits to form garments and shawls.

Cliodhna in turn offered to show the Starwatcher women how to use a loom for weaving. “I wish that I had thought to bring linen fiber for weaving, but we can substitute hemp.”

Boann smiled. “Oh, I’m afraid the smell and mess of preparing hemp won’t have much appeal here. But I’ll help you with that. Our women do want to learn the new weaving.”

Oghma and Tadhg hastily built a bark shed away from the village, down from the prevailing winds, where the mass of hemp fiber was put to soak and dry. Then, tempted by making larger textiles than they had previously been able to weave, all the women spun thread to give the new loom a try. Eventually they produced a lumpy but serviceable length of cloth using Cliodhna’s loom. As pleased as the women were, they knew it would be many lunates before more fibers could be harvested and spun for weaving, and they carefully stored the new cloth.

Boann and Cliodhna looked at the clouds blown about in the harsh grey skies. Cliodhna sighed. “My father Gebann and I long to the return to the Continent, to our people.”