Waves in the Wind (17 page)

The famine and unrest of which he spoke we regularly witnessed first-hand while traveling the land fighting the Christians. Images of thin, drawn faces and the swollen bellies of children returned to me. During these times food became more precious than gold and my thoughtful gaze returned to the joyous people gathered about tables still laden with the celebratory feast.

Shuffling and throat clearing erupted beside me as Laoidheach bowed. “Wise One, with your permission I should like to speak with you at your convenience.”

My father scowled. “And I know what it is you wish to discuss. Very well. We will speak of it tonight.”

* * *

Firelight flickered in the room as my father considered Laoidheach’s request to marry Aine. Already my friend had responded to the many ritualized questions posed to him as required by the sacred laws.

Finally my father nodded. “Very well, you have my blessing. You may marry my daughter, for I know Aine’s feelings on it.”

Relief flooded Laoidheach’s face. “Thank you, Wise One.”

“Yes, well… Now, young man, as to the dowry. I feel two gold coins and a plot of arable land is appropriate. By such a dowry, as well as through your service to the King, you shall soon become a wealthy man. Do you agree?”

“I’m not sure—I—”

“Very well,” my father grumbled. “Three gold coins but not a scrap of copper more.”

“You misunderstand, Wise One. You’re original offer is more than generous and I thank you for it.”

My father glared at him from beneath a raised eyebrow. “What? Why didn’t you say so the first time? We are agreed then, two coins and the land?”

“Yes, Wise One, of course.” Laoidheach cleared his throat. “When do you think I might speak with your daughter?”

“Send a messenger to the home of my sister-in-law, Luiseach, and request an audience. Work out all such arrangements through her. If all goes well, you should be married within four months.”

“Four months?” My friend groaned. “Must we wait so long?”

“Of course. The courtship rituals dictated to us by the gods countless centuries ago must be followed precisely. There is no other way.”

* * *

Candlelight brought life to the
men
arranged upon the fidchell board as I contemplated my opening move. Laoidheach had gone to bed much earlier and now my father sat quietly across the table watching my hand hovering above the board. We both had won two games and this one would determine the match. A strategy that worked for me earlier in the evening would be employed again and I hoped for the same outcome as I moved my bronze-coated
men
.

His copper mug clunked on the table surface as my father hunched forward and countered my opening. With a contented sigh he leaned back in his chair. “There is a matter I wish to discuss.”

My eyes remained riveted on the board as I suspected a ruse, that he merely wished to distract my attention from the game with idle chatter. “And that is?”

“Next year, if the gods will it, I shall receive the honor and title of Master Druid. At that time it is my plan to step aside in my role as chief advisor to the King.”

My contemplated move fled my mind at my father’s surprising words. There could be no misunderstanding them and I leaned back in my chair, waiting for him to continue.

A small smile flickered across his face. “So, you do not ask the obvious? Why, eh?” His hands came together on his chest, his fingers flexed, forming a cathedral. “I have considered stepping aside for some time, but more so after the fall of Dún Ailinne. In fact, only recently the gods favored me with a proper plan for my future.”

He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Despite your efforts and resistance by others, Christians continue to gain strength month by month. Our old gods, the Lords of the Sidhe, are being evermore pushed aside by the the new god and his son the Risen One. Dún Ailinne was a disaster for us. Almost one hundred bright young Druids were slain in a single night. Other schools were similarly attacked then and later, where more students were killed. Don’t you see? Almost an entire generation of Druids has been lost, so where lies our future? In the years to come, who will stand for our gods and time-honored traditions?”

The enormity of his words left me breathless, for this was a vision I had not considered. My hands reached forward and gripped the edge of the table as the layers of his reasoning piled higher and higher in my mind.

“You see the future you describe clearly,” I replied, nodding, my teeth clenched. “Yet now more than before I do not understand why you would step away from your duties to King Domnhall. Every Druid must stand forward to resist the Christians.”

He rose to his feet, palms flat atop the table, and leaned toward me. “You are here now, on our King’s court. You can capably take my place. Never worry, I shall not relinquish my responsibilities as a Druid. Dún Ailinne must be replaced and I think to begin a new school here. After I receive the title Master it is something I can do and I believe must do. We must begin to rebuild what we have lost.”

A school for Druids here at Rath Raithleann with my father as its Master? It was an amazing idea…a grand idea. “You discussed this with the King?”

“I did. Indeed, he is in accord with all I told you.” Lifting the pitcher of ale from the table, he refilled my mug. “When the time comes, King Domnhall will help sponsor the founding of our new school.”

Long it was we talked of his plans, pausing from time to time, listening to the songs of the night birds. The ale pitcher was tilted often, most commonly toward my mug. So is it a surprise then, at the end, my father easily won the deciding game of our fidchell match? Oh, a sly one he was.

Chapter 13

Golden Summer

The sun’s golden rays streamed across the morning sky, an omen promising a bright future. I awoke with a thick head and tongue, yet filled with eager anticipation. My position in the King’s court was assured while my father pursued grand plans of his own.

Hopes, dreams and aspirations reside within the minds of mortals but are guided to their certain ends by the hands of the gods. It was knowing this truth that held me in prayer to the Dagda that he might influence the spirit of the bishop of Tara to accept my terms for a truce between Christians and Druids.

In keeping with my plans and promise to Father Joseph, I wrote letters to noted Druids across the land asking their forbearance toward the Christians, pleading for a cessation of the fighting that all people might dwell and prosper within an atmosphere of peace. Each letter was written on vellum using the Ogham characters and rolled into a scroll for delivery by trusted messengers of my choosing.

And then I awaited a response from Tara.

* * *

Beneath the thatched roof of an open-sided pavilion workmen rolled away the heavy stones covering the village’s six in-ground silos. Each circular pit contained locally grown grains—oats, barley, wheat, rye and flax. Livestock and poultry were important to the village, but in truth it was the grains that stood between the people and starvation.

King Domnhall stood in the narrow lane behind me flanked by two burly warriors. I felt his anxious eyes on my back as I lowered a weighted line into each silo and made a note of my measurements. Eyebrow cocked, arms crossed over his chest, he was awaiting my report when I turned around.

“I must conclude my calculations, Your Highness, but it seems the levels are dropping as predicted.” The workmen remained near with their big ears. I dismissed them with a wave and added, “Provided we continue rationing the grain, the stores should be more than sufficient to meet our needs until this summer’s crop is harvested.”

His hands went to his face as though to wipe the tension from it. “That is good. That is good, Ossian. You’ve seen the refugees?”

I winced at the thought of them. “Yes, Sire. I treated a few suffering illnesses. They are a pitiful lot, I’m thinking.”

“Aye. They are that, but there is not enough food to continue feeding them and our own people. To every party of refugees I authorized giving one handful of grain for each family member. Afterwards our warriors escort them down the road.”

“It’s sad for them, I am, Your Highness, and a generous thing it is you are doing. During this famine what king could do more, eh? In fact, a month ago I heard a rumor that some kings are selling their stores for great gains while their people starve.”

“It is no rumor, Ossian. I regret to say it is true, may the White Lady devour their souls.”

A growing concern in mind, I leaned a shoulder against a squared piling. “Sire, I recommend you post additional guards until this time of hunger is past.”

“Why?”

“The number of refugees is increasing. Some say they heard that food is plentiful here. Such false reports could prove dangerous for us. Others may come to demand more than your generosity.”

“Our men are needed in the fields now.” He looked into the sky as though seeking inspiration, and shrugged. “I will consider your suggestion. Now then, continue to monitor—” He paused, interrupted by the approaching tittering of women.

A broad grin spread across my face. Laoidheach and Aine walked side by side along the narrow lane winding among small cottages, Aunt Lou and a small bevy of her aged cronies in close pursuit. It is said the gods decreed the courtship rituals. Perhaps it’s true, but if so, surely they were inspired by the wiles of women, for no man could conceive such things.

The King, a lopsided smile on his face, excused himself with a soft “harrumph,” and hurried away in the opposite direction. I leaned away from the piling and straightened up, awaiting the arrival of the happy couple and their ancient, giggling escort. When they drew near I bowed low, my sweeping hand almost brushing the ground. “Good morning mighty bard and fair lady. Please allow your poor servant to wish you a very fine day.”

Aine, nose in the air, ignored my teasing. Laoidheach cocked an eyebrow on his haughty face and returned my banter. “And who would be giving you permission to speak to your betters?” He gave me a dismissive, backhanded wave. “Away with you, scoundrel.”

Aine murmured, “My brother would play the fool. Don’t you be encouraging him.”

I bowed again. “My sister would deign to notice her lowly brother? May the gods be praised for it.”

Again her nose went into the air and she grabbed Laoidheach’s arm to hurry him past me.

“None of that,” Aunt Lou reprimanded. “There’ll be no touching between you.”

Again a grin spread across my face as the grand procession moved on, clucking biddies in tow.

* * *

It was with the knowledge of roast duck in mind that I accepted Aunt Lou’s invitation to dinner. If Aine was still irritated at my teasing two days earlier, she gave no sign of it as she busied herself preparing the table.

The delicious aroma of roasting fowl mingled with the perfumed incense favored by women to create a heady mixture that permeated the small room. I relaxed in a chair near the fire, sipping a mug of hot apple brandy. The women prepared a small feast for the three of us and I asked the reason for it.

“You’ll be knowing soon enough,” Aunt Lou smirked. “There is a favor we’ll be asking of you after we eat.”

“And that would be?”

Aunt Lou wagged her finger. “After dinner and after the other ladies arrive.” Her eyes swept the table. “Well then, it seems all is ready. Bring your brandy and sit there,” she pointed to the head of the table.

I should have known. Whatever Aunt Lou’s wily plan, I was fairly trapped in it. Nevertheless, the duck was roasted to perfection, sided by stewed cabbage, black pudding and thick slabs of buttered rye bread. The women kept their plans a mystery throughout dinner though now and then knowing glances passed between them. Finally I pushed my grateful stomach back from the table.

Soon afterwards, Aunt Lou’s plans progressed as women began arriving. Most I knew as friends of Aine or Aunt Lou’s elderly cronies. However, there was one guest I had not met, a likely young lass with bold green eyes and shimmering black hair falling across her shoulders.

Aunt Lou stepped over to a shelf, removed a linen bag and then laid it on the table before me.

“What’s this?” I prodded the bag with a finger.

“Chicken bones.”

“Chicken bones?”

“Certainly. Every girl deserves a prophecy before she marries. So, Wise One, we gather here that through your reading of the bones you may foretell what the future holds for your sister.”

So that was the reason behind the excellent meal and why I was there: to provide the evening’s entertainment. Still, the ceremony would serve the purpose. The women gathered to honor Aine while enjoying an amusing evening. What harm could there be in playing my part? A sly plan formed in my mind, a prophecy certain to bring laughter among the group.

The reading of bones involved a simple ancient ceremony, one I learned at Dún Ailinne though Master Tóla held it in little regard. It was a common practice among charlatans to conduct such readings and I hid a smirk as I tilted the bag and dumped its contents onto the table before me.