BENDING THE BOYNE: A novel of ancient Ireland (28 page)

His companion nodded in answer to Cian’s question, yes, at this plateau the
Euskaldunak
recorded the sun’s journey to its most northern and southern extremes in the seasons. In this breathtaking vista they unlocked the moon’s cycle and many other secrets. As the two explored, the young Basque showed him how the various stones aligned with distant peaks and celestial paths. The north and south stone circles lay snug against the landscape, intriguing him. The plateau was like a disk marked for the sky. He went apart to reflect.

It was the same in this mountainous land as among the Starwatchers: the ancients used the high places to build their observatories. But here their burial mounds stood strictly apart from this sacred plateau. He could see the tribes of this area kept to themselves, the mountains almost inviolable. Was it from them that building of stone passages to capture and direct sunlight first crossed the water up to his people? He felt linked with this place and these people just as he had farther west among Seafarers. This isolated site to watch stars in peace, the place of the raised fist, captivated him.

The high plateau held such beauty that Cian wanted to stay for a time. The two made camp there with sunset. Wait for the stars in the Hunter’s belt, his guide told him. Through that night they sighted star patterns and planets in its cool and clear air. The sun rose, steadfast with its warm blessing—and a reminder. He had forgotten to honor summer solstice, while helping create the fabulous gold cape; the realization stunned him. Without explaining why, he asked and his guide agreed they could remain that sunlight and another starwatch at Oianleku. He fasted and followed sun and stars, circling the stones with care. His vision of the sky dome upon a metal disk burned brighter than ever. He went forward restored from his mountaintop sojourn.

When they returned to the coastal village, his guide who had become his spiritual brother told the elders of their journey. Cian’s reverence for their sacred site and his knowledge of the skies so impressed the
Euskaldunak
elders that they honored him with a feast before he would be departing.

He would long remember the line of merry girls who approached benches where the guests were seated, eating. Some girls already wore the fertility apron of womanhood, stepping self-consciously as a doe. Each girl carried a slender pitcher and tall pottery cup. Cian gaped as these laughing maidens poured fermented cider in an arc streaming overhead from the pitcher and into the cup held outstretched in her opposite hand. Their pouring made the cider sparkle in his mouth.

At this feast Cian ate with gusto from all the hearty and spiced fare. These
Euskaldunak
had a flair for preparing bounty from the sea or the earth. He overindulged in that meal and the strong golden cider, laughing if a girl splashed him while she was pouring. He was hiding deeper concerns. At length the feast concluded. He drank the last toast with his hosts and weaved along the path to his hut, alone, a lamp pot wobbling in his hand.

He needed to think. Before the feast, he learned with sorrow from Lir’s messenger from the far west coast, that Gebann was all but paralyzed in his legs and that Cliodhna had not returned to her people. Not one among the mariners knew of her whereabouts. He rubbed his forehead.
It is time for me to leave this shore. I can inquire north along the coast, perhaps traders detained Cliodhna or she has had to hide… With this gold surely I can find her
.

To sober himself, he examined the plaques marked by Gebann and sent back with the messenger. He would add his own marks later and send the directions on to Eire somehow. On to Sreng, somehow. One step at a time, he told himself. Then he thought ruefully, one grueling voyage at a time, so. He needed sleep and stretched out on his narrow bed of sheepskin over hay but it seemed to pitch and roll in the dark and he slept badly.

On the following sunrise, his head aching and his stirabout left untouched, Cian paid a visit to the elder woman who was said to have the special sight. She might at least give him aromatic water, herbs that could quiet his head and his insides.

The woman had high cheekbones in a striking face, sleek hair black as a raven’s and held back coiled around a long bone pin, and golden skin. The woman’s deepset brown eyes seemed to take in everything and nothing. When he told her his name, she told him she did not need to hear it. She waved him to where he should sit, opposite her. Between them rose a cloud of smoke from her hearth fire, its scent heavy but pleasant. She said nothing further.

He shifted, restless and queasy, then told her about Cliodhna and his search.

The woman inhaled the smoke and sighed, dark eyes glinting in the low light. “I cannot see anything of this Cliodhna.” She gave him a sharp look. “You would leave on a sea voyage?”

“Yes, soon I leave this coast.”

The woman’s body tensed, though her eyes took on a dreamy expression. “I know the reason that you seek my vision. You need not worry about the waves! The caul was on your head when you were born, Starwatcher. You cannot be drowned.”

Hardy young Basques volunteered to travel with Cian, north to where traders met in the fabled hall of Taranis. From there, it was said, cargo went inland to far corners of the Continent, and they wished to observe this trading. The Basque elders readily consented to send these young men with Cian. All had grown fond of this quiet, respectful Starwatcher who bartered without undue haggling, and paid in gold.

With Lir’s mariner, who promised to come straightaway to the Loire when summoned if Lir could not, Cian hired the use of a stout hide boat outfitted with hemp ropes and supplies. The jovial crew took him up the coastline of the Continent, north by northeast. Once more he traveled using an unfamiliar vessel. He had not chosen the trees felled for this boat’s frame nor the hides, nor known the hands that shaped it nor those men who launched it into seawater; all this gave him pause. Still, he had grown to trust these
Euskaldunak
.

He gave the crew control of their boat and let them try out a novelty, a small square leather sail. The Basques treated the great waters like a familiar lane between villages. They respected but did not fear the ocean as he did. Like Lir, they wasted no time making sacrifices before each voyage although in early times that had been the custom, they told him; but they made hasty offerings when they saw a storm coming over the water.

They stopped at islands and inlets where starwatching peoples lived and where a boat carrying Cliodhna might have put in to hide from Invaders, but learned nothing of her. He could not accept that she must have drowned in the sea, and that no amount of gold could find her.

Cian remained in charge of his and the crew’s fate. Another long journey, and he continually stepped onto a shore where he could not be sure of the welcome. His gut-twisting anxiety out on the vast ocean did not leave him, despite the words of the Basque seer woman. Intent on his mission, he paid his fear little attention. The waves’ ceaseless motion still made him green and that he could not ignore. Their journey north held no special torments for they traveled while calmer seas prevailed. The Basques fed him tidbits, jesting and rolling their eyes, trying to ease his all too evident seasickness.

He pieced together from all he saw and heard in the settlements along this great bay, that Invaders squabbled here over trading as well and any people in their path knew little peace. His gold gave him power but he circumvented men wearing elite trappings, metal knives and jewelry and fine tunics, wary by now of their limitless greed. The crew gladly avoided busy ports even when that meant camping in rough grass and sand, rolled in a hide against chill night air.

More often than not, a humble local vendor rejected his sun metal. Gold being a rarity, it could not be exchanged for simple goods like food. Cian learned to take on goods he did not want, then trade them at another spot for other goods, eventually striking a deal for items he needed. Trading in goods also attracted less attention than his gold, or even copper and he had but scraps of copper.

Have I become a trader, and what does that mean
? Gaining confidence, he eagerly pushed north to the river where one man, the chief, reputedly controlled trade leading into the wide Continent.
I hope that Taranis is enjoying that stunning gold cape from Basajuan…and that your man has an insatiable appetite for sun metal
.

They progressed to where breezes blew cooler, the land smelled more familiar to him. Cian’s hired boat and lively crew veered northwest and arrived at the estuary where Lir said the Loire flowed into the sea. His men indicated that this bay and string of islands provided good shelter, lying inward from the projecting coast to the west. They beached during low tide, just short of the estuary, where a mound and small village stood on an islet.

Cian dropped over the side and waded in to speak with the young scout who watched from atop a grassy rise. They spoke using their hands and a combination of dialects. Yes, he was assured by the youth, here dwells Taranis who controls cargo on the long river.

The scout walked him past pools of brine collecting greyish sea salt and back to the pebbled shore, cleared an area and traced lines on the sand. “The river leads to two trade routes. This northern route extends over plains and up to the Cold Sea. The great river turns south and the southern route bypasses this chain of mountains running east to west and leads into hotter lands along the south sea.”

“Oh?” was all Cian could manage.

That got him a strange look but the lad continued. “In the center of the Continent more deep rivers lead east through land of rich black soil. Salt and fine stone is mined at snowy mountains there and traded. Of course Taranis has a supply of salt here.”

Impressed by the lad knowing so much and easily etching a map onto sand, Cian assumed all to be accurate. To thank the scout, he invited him on board for a quick meal. The Basques agreed, it was best to eat before one landed among voracious traders.

The scout relished the tender ham and tangy cheeses served to him by the
Euskaldunak
, while he advised them exactly where to put in and that they should stay on their ship that first night. With sunrise, they could go onto shore and find the market. There they would see goods arrayed from across the Continent: amber and jet from the north, and woods, pots, unusual beads, and stone axes from mountains. From the Basque coast and Seafarers farther west, came ocean-blue variscite beads, copper items, boars’ tusks, and ermine skins. They might see novel goods from remote southern lands: gossamer-light linen, strange skins, scented oils, bright dyes, rare ivory and timber; the scout named them all in quick succession. Cian and his crew readied their craft with great anticipation as the scout splashed back to shore.

The tide rose, and the Basques pushed off. In a short time they steered their modest craft carefully into the harborage packed with trader vessels. They eyed an imposing wooden structure set back above the banks. Clearly, Taranis positioned himself to control this estuary’s traffic.

That scout did not mention gold trading, Cian thought, anxious.

As they threw out a stone anchor and secured their vessel, a scowling official bore down on them in a wooden dugout paddled by two slaves. The official boarded showing disdain for their modest boat and unimpressed by the sail. He drove a hard bargain. Cian surprised the Basques at how well he stood up to this man. The port official left them after lightening their load, he said. No one let on by how much, the bulk of it secured where the official failed to look.

Cian made light of the exchange. “If I’m to be killed for gold, well—any one of the voyages might kill me anyway!”

After their first night spent listening to the scurry of strangers and beasts in this port, he and his Basque crew left one man on watch and went ashore to see what was on offer.

They all needed fresh clothing after their voyage, and as the lad at the coast told them, here it was possible to have any garment in the known world. Soft hide tunics, textiles coarse or fine in bast, linen, and dyed wool, and brightly woven sashes, and every sort of belt, pouch, and sack; filled wide planks set on trestles and spilled from leather packs. Shorter more flexible bows, and new arrowhead shapes, and carved stone wristguards, vied for attention.

Cian noticed the absence of metal weapons on display, and no ingots, no smelting or smiths. Natural caution led him not to inquire about metals; besides, those speaking the Invader tongue had a different accent than he had heard, and he recognized no words in their local patter. He had the sensation of being immersed in colorful new sights and smells and sounds, like being underwater and where staying too long might mean forever.

People crowded in to view the goods, many carrying packs of their own to barter. One of the young Basques, whose beard had only started to sprout, gawked at various women. The crew pulled him along. The crew and Cian studied the Loire trade, drawing little attention to themselves, until their stomachs told them it was time they had food.

The Basques tasted cheese after cheese, and fruits, and mealcakes and breads. They moved on to smoked fish and meats. To obtain food and small goods they traded copper scraps and trinkets furnished by Basajuan for this purpose, nothing showy. Vats of leftover barley mash soured the air: brew made for Invader tastes. Cian could eat and drink little, expectant and alert.

Soon enough, Taranis learned of their presence. His personal invitation arrived from a sentry bristling with metal knives: Cian and his men must appear before the chief.