BENDING THE BOYNE: A novel of ancient Ireland (31 page)

The wise trader endorsed this, saying that Cian would avoid the mistake of those who converted all their surplus into an expensive ship then swiftly lost it to the deep ocean. He encouraged Cian to ship their gold on different types of vessels. “Lir uses the naomhog, but let me show you a promising style, the plank boat coming into use to cross the great channel. My men are improving on this new design.”

Taranis took him to a harbor area where three carpenters finished building one of the new plank boats inside a wattle shelter. One of the men eyed Cian with suspicion while refilling the braziers warming their workspace, but that worker relaxed when Taranis introduced him.

The woodworkers described the process: they sectioned an immense oak log into planks, two wide planks for the bottom and two for each side, those he saw already in place. They fashioned additional, topmost side planks which curved slightly. The bottom formed a Y fitted with an upcurving endpiece that would cut through waves. The flatbottomed craft, the length of a mature tree, looked to be slightly longer than Lir’s vessel. The oak planks forming its sides were lashed together with strong cord made of twisted yew branches. Nine thwarts crossed the upper width of the boat, wide enough for rowers to sit upon.

He caught the distinctive smell of honey and looked for its source. One fellow was mashing beeswax with cattle fat to caulk holes around the yew withies and into seams between planks, followed by another man packing in moss held down by oak laths. The smell of freshly worked wood reminded Cian of Tadhg and his skilled hands. These men showed great skill also as they fashioned and hewed, practiced at building boats. The bottom width had integral chiseled cleats joined in mortised holes that required great precision to make. The head carpenter showed him how these cleated sections across the bottom planks held down rods passing through the cleats along the length of the planks, reinforcing the boat.

Taranis told him, “My men made it stronger, added more cleats and heavier rods, against our heavy north seas. It takes my three experienced boatbuilders around one moon to complete a plank boat from start to finish.”

Cian listened but he remembered well his own ordeals on the ocean. The plank construction bothered him. He could only compare it with the
naomhog
, that flexed and allowed the ocean’s awesome strength to surge through it. After they left the boatmen’s work hut he suggested to Taranis, “The moss and wax used to caulk between the planks will surely give way and that vessel will take on water. And how will this long narrow boat survive the huge troughs that the
naomhog
rides into and out of like a floating leaf?”

Taranis dismissed his concerns with a wave. “This boat can carry more goods than your average
naomhog
.”

So that was it: more goods for trading, always more. Cian said he appreciated seeing the new boat, and agreed to use a plank vessel whenever available. Taranis meant to produce the new type of boat and he would defer to him in this matter, he would be flexible like the currach. If not, Taranis could well bypass him once they established the gold’s production from Eire. The last thing he wanted would be that Taranis assert control over the Starwatchers’ sun metal. Surely Lir would not object; he could talk Lir into trying a voyage using one of the new plank ships. A man could drown using one boat just as well as another, as Lir himself might say.

Spring came and he honored that equinox, then the solstice. Through the bright summer to autumn more shipments of gold arrived, raw nuggets and worked gold, on ships coming to Cian. Sreng measured and sent an amount of precious metal, recorded on stone plaques. He never sent too much gold with any boat. One of the new plank vessels sank in the waves, but not Lir’s
naomhog
; more arrived safely and before autumn equinox.

He sat down with Taranis at the anniversary of their bargain to tally up and divide the weighty stored gold. The venerable chief announced how very pleased he was at the deal they struck.

“And I so admire these neckpieces.” Taranis touched the etched gold crescent at his neck, one of the better examples. “Well done, you must have stolen a smith from Creidhne. We’ll order more of these.” He laughed, and sipped from a polished burlwood cup. Then he leaned forward and prevailed upon Cian to make a terrible bargain.

“My own sons could not have done better for me in obtaining the gold from the island of the setting sun. But in order to continue our arrangement, you must agree to marry my daughter Enya. In doing so, you become like a son and in time I hope to see you become the next chief, the ruler at the Loire.” Taranis must have seen the doom flooding Cian. He gestured, expansive. “Now hear me out. As you say, you cannot return to Eire. Why not be living well where you are; it’s the best revenge, no? It’s important to be earnest, but a man must have some pleasure in life, eh? All this, all that you see, shall be yours.”

Taranis commanded Enya to appear and make herself agreeable.

Cian masked his shock. He lived without a woman, resigned to it just as he endured cold darkness to sight on constellations. His memory of Boann he carried like a treasured object which he infrequently allowed himself to examine, then placed back into safekeeping. He could not return to Boann, not just yet; but unless he humored Taranis he might have no gold trade and no haven at the Loire. He had climbed the highest mountains and run through fields, he had scaled Taranis’ walls, in order to reunite with Boann. Aengus. His own people. He fought a black tide of despair.

When Enya appeared, Cian beheld a lovely face and form though before that he scarcely noticed her among Taranis’ sons and the multitude of slaves, visitors, guards, consorts, traders, smiths, and warriors orbiting mighty Taranis.

Torn between homesick or homeless, adrift once more, he agonized under the stars. He did not wish to offend Taranis and lose his privileges at this port. Nor did he wish to have this unwelcome complication. The skies did not provide him with an answer.

Over the next half moon, Enya paid him minimal but courteous attention. In their small talk during strained meetings, he detected in her a kindred spirit.

They strolled out in the gardens behind the great hall and Taranis made sure that no sentries followed. There Cian explained himself to Enya as they walked on flagstones set among fragrant herbs. His asceticism came from a different kind of love, from reverence for women and not from scorn for women, he assured her. She listened. It turned out that Enya did not oppose what he suggested on their walk.

She told him with good humor, “What you offer me is less objectionable than marriage with any of the others whom my father has eyed for me. I perceive that you love someone else—as I do. But I find you very interesting. This undertaking for your island, your gaining control over the gold under Elcmar’s nose, amuses me! I think it amuses Taranis.” Enya held a late flower to her lips, covering a smile. “It would be dangerous to cross my father. For either of us, don’t you think?”

He saw the deep pink petals against her luminous skin; temptation raked his body.

His gratitude overcame his doubts. “You have little fear, and show me that you are indeed wise. You give me great honor in agreeing to this marriage, Enya. I shall try to give you the same, always.”

The couple talked of the coming seasons, of how to secure the gold trade so that retribution from Elcmar would be pointless. He found her so sensible and intelligent that he almost overlooked her beauty. Perhaps in time they would share common goals. Cian returned the lissome daughter of Taranis to the timbered hall with relief and a sincere kiss on her forehead.

Taranis clapped his manicured hands in delight to see his success as their matchmaker.

He ordered their wedding ceremony held within the lunate and during full moon, at an old passage mound on an islet close to the Loire. There they encamped with guests in pavilions of polished poles hung with drapery and evergreen boughs and golden sheaves. Warming bonfires and torches blazed nonstop. Cian flinched at the lavish display on their behalf.

With the deep blue ocean rolling behind them, the couple spoke brief vows that combined Loire beliefs and Starwatcher practices. Enya’s brothers scowled throughout the recital of the marriage contract and stood apart during the feast, glowering and counting the jars emptied of costly brews.

Taranis’ latest consort, a fair-haired woman not much older than Enya, clung to his arm. Cian’s eyes searched her face. Bolg’s serving girl, and she laughed to see his surprise. Whatever had happened to Bolg, he guessed she did not care. So the talk must be true, he realized, Taranis trades in certain women along the coasts, like livestock. He would have no part of such dealings.

Taranis had given his Basque chef a weight of figs, novel fruit from extreme southern waters and worth their weight in gold, and he demanded a new treat to finish the wedding feast. His chef baked the figs in thick custard of milk and chestnut flour, glazed with honey and lavender. The exquisite dish brought tears to Taranis’ eyes and loud acclaim from the guests. The great trader appeared wistful to see his only daughter marrying, but proud to show off his gold cape circling her shoulders, and his newest plank vessel.

Cian tried to keep his thoughts from wandering to the wedding he last witnessed at the Boyne, lest that memory poison this feast and this day. So fresh in his mind’s eye, yet it was many voyages and two complete suns since Elcmar banished him. Aengus would be taking toddler’s steps… Enya stepped forward, smiling. With Taranis and the guests watching and cheering, he brushed her full lips with his. She reciprocated, just the right amount, but when he felt her healing touch his resolve left him. Then she stepped back with a knowing look at him. All will be well, her look said. Even so, he flushed.

The couple sailed to and from the ceremony with Taranis and their guests in sturdy new plank ships. Taranis amazed his guests. These new vessels had a stepped mast and small square sail of smooth leather; an idea from far southern waters he told them, failing to credit the Basques for introducing him to the concept. He had the sails edged in sheet gold squares forming a border and the gold flashed in every direction. The Basques sprinkled the boat carrying bride and groom with sweet-smelling petals and herbs, and insisted on manning that ship themselves, with dire jokes to Cian about embarking on the deep waters of matrimony.

Enya at his side, Cian watched the white path trailing the oars and that above, the river of stars leading north. He would have plenty of time to appreciate Boann’s sacrifice.

P
ART
T
HREE

ETERNITY

Two thirds of the progeny, the wheat, and the milk of the people of Ireland…

Wrath and sadness seized on the men of Ireland for the burden of the tax.

The Book of Leinster
, 1150 AD

The Fosterage of Aengus

T
HREE CYCLES OF
the sun passed. When he exchanged copper tools and ingots for what his camp consumed from incoming boats, the island that Elcmar claimed for himself, Eire, did not produce enough to satisfy him. He searched for gold and searched again, without success. When his agent did not return from the Continent with Gebann or Cian, Elcmar sent his smith Creidhne back to the Continent, to fetch Gebann or force the secret from him of where gold lay on Eire.

Aengus was precocious, as bright as the sun. At age five, his wide shoulders and strong legs gave every promise of coming mass. His face and firm jawline bore the stamp of Boann as did his thick mane of auburn hair. The name Aengus Og stuck on that shining child. Aengus the young, but Elcmar ignored the gossip. It pleased him just to look upon little Aengus, well fed and safe; not at all like his own childhood. Elcmar brought the child to visit daily with the horses.

They kept their stubborn little horses inside an oval enclosure made of rough wooden planks set into a rubble stone ditch, just inside the larger camp embankment. These horses had smooth-haired, light-colored coats. Elcmar stood admiring their profile, bulging cheeks set above a thick neck. The horses’ shoulder level came below his own by two handspans or so, but their backs were strong enough to carry a warrior.

He felt a bond with horses that he did not feel for any man or woman. He had not had a horse or any pet as a destitute wandering child, and it was only in his late adolescence working his way along the coastlines that Elcmar learned anything about horses. When he eventually had the means to care for and ride a horse, he took great pleasure in it. Horses, especially the white horse, remained a symbol to him of power, internalized while he learned the ways of the world. One of the reasons he had fallen in with this particular group of Invaders was their love of horses, especially the
macc
, the horse tame enough for riding.

On this morning it gratified Elcmar to see that due to his efforts, Aengus did not fear the horses, their noises and smells, unlike his mother Boann and many of the Quiet Ones. The animals bared their big teeth for the soft apples offered by little Aengus, who laughed.

“Soon I’ll have you leading a young horse on a hemp bridle, then try your hand at milking a mare. In time you’ll be getting onto the back of a pony!” Elcmar watched to be sure the horse didn’t nip Aengus. These horses could be good-natured if handled properly while young. Invaders bred them selectively to improve their short stature and shorter temper.

The colts used to start this herd had been difficult enough to transport from the Continent to Eire, the fragile legs lashed together and their eyes showing white for much of the voyage. The horses’ limited numbers at the Boyne resulted in problems. The stallion foals should be kept with the mother for at least one year; otherwise that stallion might never behave well enough to breed or be much good for riding or even transport. Trainers separated the yearling males from the herd, and kept them in bachelor groups until they matured to four or five suns in age, and only then were they allowed access to females. For Elcmar, the Invaders learned only too slowly from the horses how to successfully breed and train them in captivity.

I want, I need, more horses for breeding stock
. Elcmar poked at a clump of nettles with his well-shod foot.
On the Continent we’d raid horses from tribes who keep them, or catch wild foals to enrich our stock. Horses, another resource not to be found on this island, and too valuable to risk towing many on rafts behind boats… How to pay for it all?

Connor and his party remained in the north in a futile search for gold and tin.
Your man used his severed red hand in some trick to claim land there
. Elcmar shook his head, wondering if Connor blended in with the natives. That took time, especially if the gruff Connor were no more skillful at diplomacy than he had been here at the Boyne. So far Connor had not sent any trade goods to Elcmar, setting them all back further in the exchange with the Continent. Between the new settlement in the north and that to the west where Ith sent Muirgen with her husband, and mortalities on lost ships, Elcmar saw the Invaders spread out ever more thin and shorthanded on this island. The slaves had to be worked harder to keep this camp operating and fed. The erratic climate mocked his efforts.

As he mused, he noticed Aengus playing with the apples in the morning light. Aengus rotated one apple slowly around another, casting shadows. The child was totally absorbed, ignoring the horses. Elcmar recognized something in Aengus’ play with the apples and his gut twinged. Or was that the old injury to his rib?

She’s been at it, so. Teaching him Starwatcher ways.
He picked up the child so as not to attract attention but the child wriggled and complained in his too-tight clasp.

“We’ll be going now, Aengus.” Elcmar held the boy up over the planks’ top and ordered him to quickly feed all the apples to the horses, then took the bewildered child, tears in his eyes, to a slave woman to watch him rather than Boann. Elcmar stormed off to consult with Ith.

He found Ith trying to explain a principle of trading to Bresal, who occupied himself eating a hunk of roast pig. These were not the same as the pigs at the Lake mines; here they were fed whatever was at hand and their meat tasted bland.

“Work away there, Bresal,” he barked at the pudgy shaman, whose greasy chin glistened.

Ith raised his eyebrows. Elcmar drew Ith aside and told him, “That one is beef to the heels. Your man Bresal needs to train with the warriors and get himself fit. All the men in this camp must keep fit. That is our warriors’ rule and it is my rule. But I cannot order a shaman to do that.”

Ith replied, “It’s no problem a’tall. I shall speak to Bresal; some physical training will do him good. How else can I help you this morning?” He exposed pointy teeth in a smile.

“I am just after coming from the horses with little Aengus.” Elcmar described what he had seen Aengus doing with apples. Then he described to Ith what he recalled of Boann showing him, her using apples for the movements of sun and moon, that day they had words and he decided to ban the mound ceremonies. He spoke warily. “Do you understand what is the problem here, or are you thinking that I am away with the fairies?

“Little Aengus has spent enough time with the brood mare, I think. I won’t have him growing up as an ignorant savage. Who can raise Aengus properly as a warrior?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Ith made a rasping chuckle. “I wish you’d told me about her apples and shadows. I’ve said it before, we keep our eyes on the ground here when we could be studying the heavens.

“About the child, it’s you who needed to arrive at this conclusion rather than me. I do have in mind the house of Midhir and his wife Fuamnach for the fosterage of Aengus.”

“Fuamnach! Is she not Bresal’s foster daughter, the woman who quit our camp for this Midhir?” thundered Elcmar.

Ith answered, “One and the same, but Fuamnach was not raised by Bresal and she shows some sense. As does Midhir, a quiet one to be sure, but he allows Connor’s men safe passage through his territory. Together they will provide a stabilizing influence. Having Aengus there may promote an alliance with Midhir. Do you think Boann will object to Aengus’ fosterage?”

“No. Boann won’t be objecting. I won’t tell her of it, so. Neither will you.”

In a few lunates, Elcmar rode off to Midhir, where he placed little Aengus at the training camp on the plain. After his tears at separating from his mother, for which the kindly Midhir comforted him, Aengus grew delighted with this new arrangement. Here he was free to wander, ride horses, run footraces, and practice wrestling and sports with the other boys. Slaves served his food to him at a table, and as the alleged son of the champion Elcmar, the slaves catered to the child’s every whim.

Boann was incredulous that Elcmar had taken little Aengus from her care. Barely weaned, to be sent off to foster parents. She thought of throwing Elcmar’s belongings onto the smelly forecourt outside the great hall, then she thought better of it. She hastened from the camp to see Airmid, who knew Midhir and his people.

When Boann arrived at Airmid’s dwelling, she saw Ardal and Tadhg outside it preparing a number of young game birds for a meal, their flint knives methodically revealing the tender flesh. She set her basket of herbs and berries before Airmid, then told them all what had happened.

Boann took a limp pink bird into her hands. “Is this what will happen to our Aengus?”

Tadhg put his hands over hers briefly, and took back the bird. “There’s little we can do about it. And it’s your Cian who encouraged us to train boys as warriors.” His tone chided her.

Boann flushed and took a step back. “Cian has good reason, I’m sure of that. But this was Elcmar’s doing.”

Airmid’s pleasant voice came from the doorway where she stood spinning thread. “She’s saying that Aengus is too young for the warrior training, Tadhg. Let me go have a word with Midhir. Oghma can journey there with me; Midhir wouldn’t deny his grandfather looking in on Aengus.” Her movements stayed smooth with whorl and spindle, one hand stretching the bast thread as it formed.

Ardal glanced up. “If things were different, it’s our child who would wear Airmid’s fine cloth.” He clapped an arm around Tadhg, still a bachelor since Sheela’s murder. “But all in good time. Right?”

They all seemed put out with her and Boann wanted to leave. But Ardal picked up his pipe and began to play, and instead she joined them for a dance. Ardal’s high spirits cheered them on the summer evening, the slanting sunlight thick as honey around them.

Airmid did intercede with Midhir. Soon enough, visits with Aengus had been arranged and certain details of his daily life stipulated to Boann’s satisfaction. Midhir agreed with her: over time, Aengus would receive instruction in the finer arts and skills than just warrior training and horses. Midhir avoided consulting his temperamental wife Fuamnach, though she did not speak to Bresal or the Invaders and cared little about the arrangements for young Aengus.

The season of long sunlight passed quickly. The island faced another precarious harvest. Still Elcmar helped himself to more horses and finery brought on the rare boats from far shores. He waited with little patience for Creidhne’s return.

A messenger arrived, breathless, from the coast. He fell to his knees before Elcmar and told him the news: Creidhne set out to return over the waters, bringing gold and secrets to Elcmar from the Seafarer peninsula, but that famed artificer met his end on the sinister pool. The ship, its crew, the gold, and Creidhne had all disappeared, a staggering setback for Elcmar’s fortunes.

Boann turned to Elcmar. “So the ocean has claimed your smith—fair play, for the drowning of Cliodhna.”

He showed no concern for either death. He stalked away from Boann and did not speak to her for a full lunate, then another, and autumn turned into cold winter.

With spring, Elcmar demanded more copper. At the Lake mine to the southwest, Lein complied. Clearing of the forest accelerated and the miners hauled wood from ever increasing distances to the acrid smelting. The copper production increased, but then decreased since it took many more men just to haul the wood used at the pits. The mine workers refused to torch the forests to make charcoal, Lein told him during Elcmar’s visit at the Lake Of Many Hammers. The miners pointed out that poor growing seasons had stunted the trees’ growth, as it was.

“Save the trees then. It’s time for everyone on this island to pay up,” Elcmar announced. He would levy a share from Starwatchers’ crops and livestock. In practice, this levy proved difficult to enforce and his men could not seem to collect his share.

Worse, Elcmar sought to cull the island’s finest young males to engage in warrior training or serve on Invader boats. Boann feared for Aengus, and anxiously kept messages going between
Bru na Boinne
to his foster father, Midhir, to ensure Aengus’ safety there.

The sun passed through the cycle of seasons. Boann brought the Dagda herbs for tea and as they shared it he told her news: the Invaders’ reach extended now to another settlement, the place called Lough Gur far to the southwest of the Boyne. The people there lived at the margin, removed from other Starwatcher communities. Their ways were not as advanced, still hunting and gathering; suddenly the group at Lough Gur began making the Invader style of straight-sided pots, and more surprising, began pouring metal axes from ingots acquired from the Lake mine. Scouts reported that the Lough Gur community had built a large open stone circle, not an enclosed starwatching mound.