BENDING THE BOYNE: A novel of ancient Ireland (13 page)

Then those two rascals left the Lake of Many Hammers on a misguided quest for gold at the Boyne. Connor now wandered farther north seeking gold. Gebann wished Connor all the luck that man deserved. And still Elcmar would keep him at the Lake mines, holding Cliodhna hostage at the Boyne for good measure, but to no avail.

Gebann grunted.
I have seen it in swift mountain streams, sun metal in shining chunks. There is gold on this, the Starwatchers’ island.
He hid well the gold he found on Eire, small flat ingots disguised by a thin coating of copper, his own idea. Only another smith would know those were too heavy to be copper. Gebann kept those stashed for transport home with him. That gold could solve his own tribe’s problems with these traders. His people would be free again.

Elcmar arrives without Cliodhna, relishing his power over me.
At least he forced a different woman to marry him, that’s small comfort.
Gebann fumed, wondering what his escape plan must be.

The mariner Lir predicted a difficult winter and offered to get them back to the Continent. Lir foretold that the spring dust storm with drought and unseasonable cold threatened the food supply in these isles, and it would be best to get on a boat for home while they could. With every sunrise, the chance of any vessel landing from the Continent shrank. They might be trapped here.

Gebann looked at the young Starwatcher keeping pace, a big fellow, and had him repeat Cliodhna’s message. “I appreciate your care in this. Take a drink with me and we’ll toast her using her cups. She made pottery here.”

“Few women at the mine,” said Cian, adding, “She makes pots at the Boyne also.”

“I should never have brought her across the sea.” The smith rubbed his face, frustrated.

The two men seated themselves upwind from a smelting pit, able to have its warmth but evading its fumes. Gebann favored light mead made with fermented grains and honey, and had the same brought for Cian. Miners, grimy and stooped, returned in the gathering dusk to the settlement huts beyond. As Gebann greeted passing men by name, Cian related messages to certain weary miners.

Gebann asked if the cloud of dust covered the Boyne at the past spring, and they talked about its aftermath, the brilliant sunsets and stunted growth. When he asked about the Starwatcher woman who married Elcmar, it was the lad’s turn to give clipped answers. Gebann glanced over at the smelting activity. “We could sit farther away from the smoke. I see it doesn’t agree with you.”

Not knowing if he might have private access to the great smith again, Cian risked asking questions. He asked first about the stone molds he’d seen used to pour copper axeheads and simple tools.

“You know that I carve in stone. The molds for the axes—how are those made?”

Gebann sat back, big hands splayed on his knees, and eyed Cian. This was probing of secrets, the deep secrets of the metals known by very few in all the world.
Information that this Starwatcher is not privileged to have. Not just yet. But the time may come. This quiet lad’s got the fire in him, as sure as the sun will rise again.
Perhaps this Cian had a fight coming; let it be with Elcmar.

The smith reached for an axe mold, its flat hollow for the axe carved into solid rock. His stocky forefinger jabbed at the smooth, symmetrical outline for the axehead. “See that? We trace the shape of a folded leaf onto stone, that way the axe is exactly the same along both halves east to west. You would know how to do it yourself, lad. Now heft this axe in your hand. It’s heavy for the size, isn’t it?”

Cian nodded as Gebann gave him a new copper axehead to hold.

“We can adjust the axe size with different molds. The crucible holds what a man is capable of pouring while the metal is hot. Once the mold is filled, we quickly lay on the cover.” He handed Cian the mold cover, flat on both sides, then Cian noticed slight tunnels routed into its ends.

“Those holes let out impure spirits from the hot copper that could flaw the axehead. The copper cools, and then the axehead falls right out. If you’re lucky, you can make a hundred axeheads before the mold receptacle breaks.” Gebann did not mention that a good smith would preheat the stone mold for a better casting of the copper so that it required less forging and hammering on its release from the mold.

He did add that itinerant brokers carried these molds and a quantity of copper ingots on the Continent. “The brokers travel and pour an axe on site. That’s much easier than having only one location to which all traders must come for a copper axehead.”

Before Cian could ask why the Boyne elders had not received copper axes as gifts, they heard footfalls.

“Very interesting, I ought to have myself a lesson.”

Both men stood quickly at Elcmar’s assertive voice as he strode out of the darkness.

“Don’t get up, Gebann, I could use a chat. You sit also, quiet one, and learn some more.”

Cian could keep a stony face as well as Elcmar and did not react to the slur. He gave up his seat for the
ard ri
and got himself another oak stump, of which there was no shortage at the charcoal pits.

“So what shall we talk about? You’re wanting to go home, is it, Gebann?”

Gebann nodded and looked eager to hear more.

“We’ll all be leaving soon.” Elcmar didn’t disclose where they would be going.

Gebann frowned. Then he asked, “Did you like the earrings I sent for your bride?”

Elcmar had demanded a pair of gold earrings sent to him at the Boyne for his bride, and that Cliodhna must deliver them. Gebann swiftly sent along earrings already fashioned by Creidhne from placer gold on the Seafarer peninsula, not that there would be a visible difference in any gold. The speed at which Gebann produced the requested earrings left no doubt that the gold had not been found on Eire. Creidhne styled earrings as a thin disc, with lines dividing it in a central quatrefoil and delicate etching around its circumference. Another such disc made by Creidhne had been lost, and if anyone had found it that lucky person was not telling. Gebann had hoped that the showy discs dispatched to Elcmar would ensure his release with Cliodhna from his duties at the Lake mine. They dared not refuse Elcmar. Now he had her trapped.

“The earrings were grand. Just like a pair from the Continent.” Elcmar stared at Cian.

Cian wondered if he were being sent to the Continent. That had seemed a good idea, not long ago. He wanted to learn all that he could of these Invaders, their trading and the metals. Such a voyage would confer great prestige on him. His throat tightened at the thought that the unwieldy currach on which they arrived might attempt a winter voyage. For a fleeting moment, he remembered the starchambers, the texture of rock under his hands and the simplicity of carving all day in one blessed spot by the river. But he had left all that behind after heated discussion with the Dagda and his elders. His life lay before him in blank now and he groped to find the tools for shaping it. He must not allow his head to spin nor let Elcmar see or feel any change from him. Cian sat upright and unmoving next to the
ard ri
, even as sweat broke out under his tunic and rolled down his back.

“Lir will command the boat. That gives your ocean journey a better than even chance,” Elcmar added.

Cian took a sip of his drink. It tasted of ashes.

The
ard ri
carried a new bow, shorter and curved. Cian saw that this curved bow was made of yew fused neatly with another wood along its length. A quiver of new arrows hung over his left shoulder, and Elcmar wore showy red jasper wristguards on plaited leather cords. A copper dagger with a carved bone handle shone at his waist.

Gebann spoke up. “Why could Cliodhna not return to the Seafarer peninsula with me before the storms?”

Elcmar briskly replied, “Cliodhna shall spend the winter where she is. Do you get my drift, Gebann? If you go overseas for a winter visit then you must come back here to stay for another six moons at least. We’ll see then to increasing the copper produced here, and finding gold.

“Three years in a row of bad harvests like this harvest, here and on the Continent, would bring disaster. But that is what Bresal reads in the omens. We may need copper just to eat.”

Cian followed most of this dialogue but not all. It sounded like talking in circles, as always with Invader talk. Schemes for things far away, and omens one could not see.

Gebann understood from Elcmar’s new finery: a trader boat had arrived. He’d be forced to leave on it without his daughter. He tried to digest the latest disappointment.

I must send someone to the Boyne camp. He eyed the Starwatcher. Can this lad be trusted? Sure, he isn’t so much younger than your man Elcmar, maybe younger by six transits of the sun.
He took a long drink, then belched irritably.
Cian appears to be fully as intelligent as the Invaders’ new ard ri, and not so full of himself.
Too inquisitive for his own good here at the copper mine. We’ll see if Elcmar means to banish him to the Continent. Or if Cian can slip back to the Boyne
.

The time had come, he must rescue Cliodhna. The harvest equinox heralded cold and storms. He could do little if trapped here through winter.

Gebann went off to find Creidhne and Lein, for in his absence the two younger smiths would take charge at the Lake Of Many Hammers to wrest more copper from the earth.

Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thru the mello’ shade, Glitter like a swarm of fireflies tangled in a silver braid.

Locksley Hall
, Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Night of the Dead

T
hat harvest brought the worst yield in living memory, after lingering dust blocked light needed for crops. The sun hastened toward the autumn equinox above the river plain the Invaders had begun to call
Bru na Boinne
.

Boann needed to speak with her elders; they would know how to survive the coming winter. She looked for excuses to be outside of the dingy hall, with its rows of cruel weapons and clusters of people waiting to consult Bresal while Elcmar was away. She sought out Cliodhna, the potter Cian had introduced, whom she had seen working at an open kiln.

There she found Cliodhna making drinking cups. Boann stood watching at her side as the potter started with a small lump of clay that she kneaded into a flat circle on her palm. Her nimble hands turned and pinched the circle up to produce thinwalled, uniform cups in the shape of a spring flower. Each cup she smoothed and set aside without decoration.

The potter motioned Boann to be seated, inviting her to work the clay herself.

By adding tiny amounts of water while pinching and turning the clay, Boann found she could work it up from the palm of her hand. She felt good to be doing something productive though she had no potter’s skills.

“I fear you’ll have to redo my efforts.”

At that Cliodhna smiled.

Boann chose her next words with care. “Starwatchers decorate our pots with great complexity. Perhaps this is because we constantly watch the heavens. We do admire rare pots from over the ocean. We value those pots, for they teach our potters new ways. Starwatchers hold knowledge from other shores in high regard.”

Coals sizzled in the kiln. Cliodhna replied to her using the old dialect that Boann might understand. “At first, I had problems understanding the clay of your island, how it should be worked, what could be added to it. Other material, ground stone, or bone, must often be added to temper the clay or it will slump during firing or later the pot cracks. But add too much foreign material and that ruins the clay.” Cliodhna looked at Boann’s hands forming the clay cup.

Boann nodded, a smile playing on her lips. “It can be difficult to learn foreign ways, and so many all at once.”

“You are doing well among these strangers while Elcmar journeys in the south. I see that you have not cracked or crumbled.”

Encouraged, Boann described her people’s richly decorated pots, but in her halting use of the Invader language. When Boann offered to give her pots from her village as a gift, Cliodhna leaned forward over their work.

“Be careful what you bring into this camp.” She leaned back, smiling.

Boann paused in turning her circle of clay in her palm. “What do you mean?” She reverted to the Starwatcher tongue.

“They value only pots made in their Invader style.”

That puzzled Boann. A Starwatcher artisan could freely fashion pottery, or a stone axe or basket, as they wished, as a medium of expression. How could any pot be special if it must look just like the next pot? To Cliodhna she said, “Is the ritual more difficult to make these intruder pots?”

“They care little about how the pot is actually made, and told me not to waste time decorating their flat beakers. To them, a pot means status. Only warriors can own the tall drinking cups, one way these Invaders show off.”

Boann nodded slowly. She’d seen the Invader etiquette between free persons and those called slaves. Slaves were not allowed to wear daggers, awls, or jewelry. Metal items in particular were forbidden to slaves. Bresal spoke of a
geis
, a ban on long knives for any hand but a warrior’s. No slave dared to touch the knives hanging in the great hall. Invaders shunned most of the work tools handled by their slaves, and treated ordinary tasks as beneath them. Frequent quarrels over assigning work ended up before Bresal, with varying results. It was clear this camp had too few slaves to cater to warriors who refused to grow crops or herd animals.

She pointed to a large cooking vessel, straight-sided with a flat bottom. “But why are their pots like this?”

Cliodhna shrugged. “The old rounded pots represent eating while seated around the hearth. A roundbottomed pot can be set on soft earth, or in a pot hole, but it will not rest on a table. For the warriors’ table, they demand flat bottomed pots and cups, many vessels and made quickly. They care little if I decorate the surface with cords, or grooved designs.”

She began to show Boann the coiling technique used to form an Invader pot, then her posture abruptly changed to a submissive curl over her work. Boann’s eyes rose to see that Maedb approached with companions.

The woman Maedb sniffed as she passed them, “I guess a quiet one only talks to slaves while her husband is far away.” Maedb’s entourage filed by, eyeing Boann as she sat with Cliodhna at the potting hearth.

Boann saw herself as they would see her, kneeling in dust and ashes, hands smeared with clay. She ignored their reproach and could have laughed but held it back.

“That woman is your enemy,” said Cliodhna. “Beware.”

“What will she do?” came Boann’s urgent whisper.

“That one! What wouldn’t Maedb do, there’s the question.” Cliodhna rolled clay between her palms, and whispered back, “Do not discuss anything known by your people with her. Already she blames the Starwatchers for the bad harvest.”

Boann looked closely at Cliodhna. She had the stature and coloring of people from far in the south, whom the elders spoke highly of in old stories. She admired her wavy black hair, wide brown doe’s eyes, and skin like autumn grasses; slim-hipped but strong body, and charming smile like Sheela’s. As the working potter for this camp she should be held in great esteem, yet Maedb and others treated her badly, as badly as they treated their slaves.

“You come from a land to the south?”

“My people live far south where the Continent curves into a large peninsula, many times larger than your island. I come from an important settlement overlooking the ocean.” Cliodhna spoke proudly. “We are Seafarers! For generations we have fished and we have traveled between coastal peoples.” Her expression darkened. “Some of us labor on Eire now, in the southwest at the copper mine. My father, the smith Gebann, waits there for me to return. At the summer solstice, Elcmar ordered me brought from the Invader mining camp, here to this river plain. I carried the gold earrings Elcmar gave you, from my father. That Invader boat left with Connor. I have had to remain in this camp.” She bent close and lowered her voice. “My people carve in stone also, star signs and other symbols. I understand many of your star signs.

“Invaders oppose the star knowledge, they fear it. You must not reveal what you know of the stars’ movements to any Invader, not to Bresal or even Elcmar. Let them think Starwatchers worship the sun. Your people are in great danger.”

“But why? And how many sunrises is it to reach the mining camp by boat?” Elcmar told her he would return at winter solstice, or as he said it using his fingers, the moon after three moons passed. “Cliodhna, what news reaches you from your father? Do you know if the Starwatcher Cian arrived at the mining place?”

Cliodhna’s averted face told Boann that more intruder women were approaching them. She bowed the upper half of her body as Boann stood.

There and then Boann insisted with her guardians that she go at last to gather herbs and late fruits outside the gates. These women could follow or stay inside their walls, she told them.

Turning from the potter’s hearth, she alone distinctly heard the lovely young Seafarer say, “Take care for your baby.”

She felt a rush of gratitude for Cliodhna’s perceptiveness and warmth. For Boann knew that she was both shunned and minutely scrutinized by the intruders, as first wife to Elcmar. Their marriage still caused the camp tongues to wag. Hard feelings remained against her from those who favored Connor. The hostile Maedb treated Boann as an outsider in her own land, for reasons she did not yet understand.

It further annoyed some, that Elcmar absented himself from the Boyne. The Invaders wanted Elcmar’s contest with Connor to find gold on the island. But to leave Bresal in charge at the camp! Intrigues simmered among the Invaders, some saying they should send for Connor before Bresal’s neglect ruined them altogether.

She had little protection with Elcmar away. If the warriors chose another champion, what would become of her?

Lacking battles to wage, as the days grew shorter the idle warriors harassed Starwatchers as they tried to go about routine tasks and attend to their mounds. Warriors raided cattle, then released it to the Starwatchers, then caught the animals again for sport. Bresal did little to intervene. So far her marriage to Elcmar had not improved relations between the two groups.

Talking with Cliodhna confirmed that the intruders derided her ways, those of the “quiet ones”, as inferior. She must be vigilant or she would find herself caged like a bird inside the great hall, and of little help to her Starwatchers. She met with Cliodhna again, and often. Boann needed a friend inside the camp, for she was indeed pregnant.

The nausea subsided and her vigor returned. She must do something useful. She could learn how the Invader laws would treat this child, ascertain her status and her child’s.

She approached Bresal with a show of deference to him. “I desire to understand my duties here. As the wife of the champion.”

Bresal puffed, shifting a wide etched copper bracelet. “It’s happy I am that you seek my advice. Very wise of you.”

Effusive, he began by explaining her status. “The champion and warriors hold the top, then artisans and musicians, then herders. Slaves have no status, they are property. Invaders have formalized all this into rules, our laws. Mind you, I spent a great amount of time memorizing rules and rituals, to be sure. So it I who assist Elcmar as
ard ri
, to dispense the laws.”

“And women?” she asked him, her manner casual.

“Women can, by right of their birth or by a good marriage, belong to any of the upper orders. You have been fortunate to marry this
ard ri
, Elcmar, who undertook the full ceremony with the white horse,” he simpered. “Under our laws, as first wife you also enjoy more status than a subsequent, additional wife.”

“What says your law about a woman having multiple husbands?”

Bresal did not seem to follow her question. “The child inherits from the father,” he answered as he dipped a finger into shaved bits of mushroom.

While affecting an interest in his mushrooms, she questioned the shaman on their complicated laws. He enjoyed delivering pompous speeches while nibbling this or that for a divination. Boann abstained from ingesting anything Bresal offered, his herbal lore serving only as her pretext to have more audiences with him.

He preened and lectured, satisfied apparently to believe that she listened in awe of his considerable magic. Bresal was only too glad to indulge himself into trances while Boann questioned him at length on the Invader laws of kinship, property, and inheritance.

Boann spent what time she could in Cliodhna’s company. They each waited for word from the Lake mine. The moon waned, and then it was new moon again and dark by night. She urged Cliodhna to accompany her outside the palisaded camp to the mounds. Bresal had let it slip that as an artisan, Cliodhna was not a slave. Boann treated her as her companion and they became bold enough to leave the camp together, suspecting that the sentry would report all to Bresal.

Toward sunset on the equinox, the two women attended an observance of the autumn sky at the mounds. The Dagda spoke, recalling Sheela of the spirits and the prior spring equinox. Tadhg muttered an oath from among the scouts. Unruffled, the Dagda reminded the astronomers of their important task of detecting the Northshift.

Boann stepped forward with the astronomers to mark the equinox constellation’s position above the old stele that stood near Dowth. They sighted on the well-known figure of the Swan, its four stars clearly winging against the deep night sky. Swans returned with autumn to the sheltering Boyne marshes. The Starwatchers all had enjoyed a good meal of roast swan, and would be drying the extra meat for winter. Airmid gave Boann a feathered cloak of swan skins, saying, “I knew you would be here with us.”