Patrick (15 page)

I schemed how best to get myself included in the raiding party but could come to no firm decision on how to bring this about, and after two days I was no closer to finding a solution.

“Oh, a raid is a very fearsome thing,” Gamal informed me when I asked when it would likely take place. “It's the horses that pay the heaviest cost.”

“I do not doubt it,” I replied, remembering poor Boreas' last ride.

“We have not raided in more than fifteen years,” he said.

“I used to go.”

“Truly?”

“Oh, aye,” he said, “I may not look like much now, but there was a time I could fight with the best of them.” He patted his potbelly. “I am too old now, of course.”

Before I could respond, he said, “Maybe you should go.”

“Me?”

“Aye, there is no need to look so surprised. The king often takes a man along to mind the horses. You would not have to fight.”

“Well,” I allowed, “if you think I might lend a helpful hand, I have no objection.”

The next day I was called before King Eoghan. “Gamal thinks you would be helpful on the raid, and I agree.”

“My lord,” I said in all humility, “I know nothing about boats, but if you think—”

“Boats?” replied Eoghan, his face creasing in bewilderment before I could finish. “I have neither boats nor need of them.”

“How then shall we reach Britain?”

“Ah!” answered the king. “We are not going to raid in Britain. We are going to Tir Brefni of the Connachta.”

I had no idea where this might be but reckoned that if I was not to be taken to Britain, at least I would get a horse. With a horse many things are possible. “Forgive your servant's stupidity, my lord. I await your command.”

Thus, when the warband departed three days later, I rode with them.

T
HE PEOPLE OF
the Connachta are as harsh and wild as their wind-ravaged, crag-riven land. If the people I had lived among until now were barbarians, these were feral savages. Little liked or respected—even by their own kind—they were forever warring with one another and with everyone else. The tuatha of Connacht were a race without: without learning, without culture, without virtue, without hope.

Thus, whenever any of the other tribes decided to raid in Ireland, it was to Connacht that they went. Raiding in that untamed realm was chancy and it was perilous, but it brought no worrisome backlash of condemnation or retaliation from other tribes, for everyone did it, and the Connachta were so fractious they could never unite under one war leader to mount a serious raid beyond their own borders.

King Eoghan kept but a dozen warriors. My private qualms about such a small warband were quickly dispelled, however; by the end of the first day's journey, we had been joined by two more lords and their retinues. On the third day our number had effectively quadrupled, and by the fifth day the warhost had swelled to ten times the size it was when we first set out, and more joined the nearer we came to our destination.

The evening before we crossed over into the realm of the Connachta, there was a celebration of sorts: a riotous revel of the kind common to gatherings of warriors—useful, I suppose, for exciting courage and hardihood in men who
must fight the next day. As one of the many slaves and servants who did not take part, I stayed near the horses and watched as the warriors engaged one another in trials of mock combat. As the sun faded in the west, the vigorous boasting and foolhardy demonstrations of skill took on an increasingly threatening aspect. I was more than content to remain a safe distance apart.

As I had the care of the king's horses, it was my normal chore to water them at sunset before settling them for the night. I was leading two of the beasts down to the stream when I met a group of late-arriving warriors hurrying to the celebration. As they passed me, I glanced over at one of them, and my heart seized in my chest. It was Forgall, Lord Miliucc's chief of battle.

I quickly turned my face away, fell back a step to hide behind one of the horses I was leading, and hurried on.

While the horses drank, I stood at the water's edge quivering in frantic distraction, trying desperately to think what to do. There was no telling where or when I might encounter my former master or one of his men. Next time they would recognize me.

I decided that the only course open to me was flight—as soon and as swiftly as possible. I would leave at once. Now.

Pulling the horses' heads from the water, I led them back to the picket. Stealing a horse was a serious offense, and I was of two minds: while it represented my best hope of getting away fast, if I were to be caught with a stolen horse, I would certainly lose a hand—or worse.

Tempted though I was, I came to the conclusion that it was a risk too great. I would go on foot. With the raid to occupy them, I could be well away before anyone thought to look for me. So as night descended over the camp, I set about collecting a few provisions to take with me.

One of the lords had brought a small, two-wheeled wagon that was loaded with food—hard bread, salt pork, and the like. It was to this wagon I went, hoping to filch a few loaves and some meat. As expected, there was no one near the
wagon when I arrived, so I took what I could carry, stuffing it into the grass bag beneath my tunic. I turned to hurry away, making for the perimeter of the camp, where I thought to pause and wait until darkness was complete and I could slink off unseen.

I darted around the side of the wagon and ran headlong into three warriors. I humbly excused myself and begged their indulgence, turned and started away again—only to be yanked backward by a strong hand on my arm.

“I know you,” said a too-familiar voice in my ear. I froze. My captor spun me around to face him. Disaster clasped me to its thorny breast—in the form of my old adversary Cernach. “All that time looking for you, and now here you are.”

“I can explain, Cernach,” I said.

“Good,” the beefy warrior said, his voice thick with menace, “Lord Miliucc will be glad to hear it.”

“Let me go.” I appealed to the other two warriors, who stood looking on with puzzled expressions on their faces. “He is making a mistake.”

“You are the one who has made a mistake, my slippery friend.” The deeply malicious grin widened on his face. “And now you are going to pay.” He turned to the two with him and said, “He's a runaway slave.” The two nodded knowingly, quickly losing interest in the affair.

In that instant Cernach's grip loosened slightly. I took the chance and pulled my arm free, ducked around him, and raced off toward the center of the gathering, hoping to lose him in the general confusion of the massed warhost. I reached the near edge of the assembly and dived into a clump of warriors standing on the periphery. I wormed through them and out the other side, sliding deeper into the knotted clusters of men standing around the fire ring, where the flames were just being kindled.

I heard shouting behind me, but I ran on, flitting around the circumference of the ring. I reached a fair-size group and pushed in among them as they stood watching a wrestling contest. I could hear Cernach and his two friends shouting
as they worked their way through the crowd. As they came nearer, I squatted so as not to be seen.

My intentions were mistaken, however, and one of the warriors looked down and, seeing me, cried, “Here! What are you doing?”

Laying his hand to my slave torc, he jerked me to my feet and shoved me out from among them. I fell to the ground, and before I could gather my feet under me, Cernach pounced. He clasped a heavy hand to my slave collar and hauled me upright.

He held me with one hand and punched me in the stomach with the other. The first blow forced the air from my lungs; the second brought bile to my mouth. I swallowed it down and, gasping, cried for someone to help me—thinking that if any of Eoghan's men were near, they might come to my aid. But if they heard me, they did not heed my cries.

“Cernach, please!” I screamed. “You have caught me. Enough!”

“No, boy,
I
say when it is enough. We are just getting started.” With that he drew back his fist and smacked me on the side of the face, splitting my lip and loosening the teeth in my jaw.

“Cernach, please! I surrender!” I spluttered, spitting blood.

The sight of blood seemed to satisfy the two who were with him. “Leave off,” said one of them. “You might kill him.”

“Save your strength for tomorrow, brother,” the other advised.

Cernach gave me a last, halfhearted punch and then pulled me roughly away. “Come, you,” he said. “We will see what Miliucc will do with you.”

King Miliucc, although surprised to see me, hid his astonishment behind a frown of regal rebuke at my disloyalty. He was standing with two other lords, one of a number of noblemen, and clearly did not wish to deal with me then and there, however much he might have preferred it. He glanced at me indifferently and said, “Chain him.”

Cernach, exulting in his authority over me, imagined it was his superior cunning which had allowed him to capture me. He dragged me to the place where Miliucc had established his camp and, with a mouthful of boasts and curses, passed one end of a chain through the ring on my slave torc and proceeded to tether me to a tree. And there, with a kick in the ribs for good measure, he left me.

When he had gone, I tried to find how he had fixed the chain, but it was not long enough. I could kneel down but not sit, and I could not reach around the tree to find the end of the chain, nor could I move it one way or the other. I was well and truly caught.

Disappointment sharp as the burning ache in my side surged through me, and tears came flooding to my eyes. No criminal destined for the chopping block ever felt worse than I did then. I knelt whimpering in shame and misery, cursing my luck and wishing I had taken the horse after all. If I had followed my first instinct, I would have been far away from the camp and out of reach of the bloody-minded Cernach. I cursed him, too, and damned him to hell for his infernal interference.

All through the night, the warriors stoked their courage. I remained by my tree—sometimes standing, sometimes kneeling, as the chain permitted—and listened to the sounds of the warriors as they lashed themselves to fighting frenzy. The cries echoed into the surrounding wood and resounded in the empty hills 'round about: loud, bellowing, bloodlusting cries.

They left at dawn—close to two hundred mounted warriors riding out in ranks and waves—and an uncanny silence descended over the camp. The few of us left behind settled back to await the warhost's return. I tried to get one or another of the servants to release me. Every time someone would pass, I would plead and whine to be let go, but no one heeded me. A chained slave is a forlorn and fearful sight, and few will make bold to free him, lest they suffer a similar fate.

I languished through the day, forsaken and alone.

As the sun began to slide down behind the rim of rocky hills, the lords and their warbands returned—fewer in number than when they rode out, to be sure, and far less zealous. Some of the dead were brought to camp; the majority were not. I suppose they had fallen in the most hotly disputed places, and retrieving their bodies was not possible.

Despite the losses, the raids seemed to have produced the desired effect, for the victors came leading sheep and cattle, and carrying bags of treasure: objects and ornaments of gold, silver, and bronze which they had plundered, along with weapons they had taken from the dead on the battlefield.

Immediately upon their return the warhost set about preparing to leave. I suppose that, having made a most successful sortie, they did not wish to linger any longer than necessary in case the Connachta tribes regrouped and came looking to reclaim their stolen goods. The warriors washed in the stream and bound their wounds, some of which were fearsome indeed: One man I saw had a long, ragged gash in his side that oozed blood with every movement; another had lost three fingers on his left hand, and the rags he wore were stained bright crimson.

I stood watching as the warriors went about their business, and I wondered whether Lord Miliucc would return and what would happen if he did not. For a brief moment I entertained the hope that I might yet evade the king's wrath—but that was folly, and it swiftly vanished at the appearance of Miliucc and his warband with the last of the raiders. Like the others before them, the tired warriors bathed in the stream and hastened to break camp.

The entire gathering moved out, and I with them. Whatever words passed between my former master and my new one, I never learned; from the moment Cernach caught me, I did not see Eoghan again. I was unchained from the tree by one of Miliucc's warriors and led away behind a horse, and that was that.

Exhausted by the day's fighting, the warhost did not travel far—just far enough to put some small distance between them and any retaliation the Connachta tribes might attempt. The night passed quietly—but not without event for some; morning found three dead among the warriors. They had expired in the night. The kings would not countenance their burial so far beyond the borders of their own realms, so the dead were rolled in their cloaks and tied to the backs of their horses.

We broke camp once more and started off. I was tethered to the warrior who held the end of my chain. As the day passed, the various warbands dispersed one by one, going their separate ways, and taking with them the cattle and plunder each had won. Just after midday, Lord Miliucc bade farewell to his brother lords and turned his face to the north. The clouds closed in soon after that, and it began to rain.

Thus we made our way back to the Vale of Braghad. When the wide green valley opened before us, my spirits were as low as my chain dragging in the mud. I had tried not to think what would happen to me when we reached the ráth, but now that it was in sight, a deep and sickening dread came upon me. Images of the beating I was to receive pushed their way into my thoughts; as fast as I could quench one, another would spring up to take its place.

Oh, but as violent as was my imagining, the ordeal, when it came, was far worse.

We rode up to the fortress to be welcomed by the entire tuath. The king announced that the raid had been successful and that though they had lost four good warriors, they had acquired enough plunder to meet the boru tribute. He then dismounted and embraced his queen, who had the welcome cup ready. She placed it in his hands, and he drank. The people cheered their lord's success with shouts of praise and acclamation for him and the warband.

Then, turning to the warrior who held my chain, he said, “I will deal with the slave now. Bring him to me.”

I was dragged to where the king waited. They forced me
to my knees before him, and he stood gazing down at me, his expression calm but determined. “Three times you have run away, and three times you have been caught. What I do now, I do for the last time. If you should ever defy me and escape again, I will catch you. And when you are caught, you will be killed. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“Hear me,” he continued. “You are my shepherd, but you abandoned your flock. A good shepherd never leaves his sheep. He watches over them through all things. Do you understand?”

Again I nodded. Abject and wretched, I nodded.

Then, with a gesture, he summoned four warriors. “Spare nothing but his life.”

The first blow took my breath away—the shaft of a spear brought down hard on the top of my shoulder. I screamed in spite of myself and struggled to my feet, only to receive a sharp jab in the gut from the same spear shaft. The second warrior joined in. Taking up the end of my chain, he pulled with all his might, yanking me backward off my feet. I tried to rise, but he kept pulling the chain, dragging me by the ring attached to the iron collar around my neck. I had to hold on to the torc to keep from being choked.