The Silver Stag of Bunratty (13 page)

‘I think I must have cut myself when I was rubbing the ropes to get free. You see, there was an old piece of metal with a sharp edge to it where they threw me on the ground when we arrived. That’s how I managed to cut through the rope.’

Maude hugged him. ‘You were very brave. And clever. That’s why you tried to get their attention, wasn’t it, to get them near you?’

Matthieu nodded.

Cliar looked at the wound and then crawled out of their hiding place and collected some moss to bind the red, angry wounds. She also found fresh water, that had gathered in the roots at the base of a tree, in which to soak the moss.

‘I just hope the metal was not too dirty or rusty,’ she said when she got back. ‘If only I still had my potions! And your
bruises, look at them. That fall must really have hurt.’

Matthieu grinned again. ‘Well, at least I’m well used to falling on the ground!’ he said. ‘I do it all the time during tourney practice!’

But later that evening they realised that it was not the fall that would cause Matthieu problems.

‘Maude, Maude!’

‘I’m here, Matthieu, don’t worry.’

‘Why is Maman here, Maude? And Papa too?’

Maude went pale. Matthieu was shifting restlessly. Even in the darkness the others could see that his face was scarlet, feverish.

Cliar leaned over and felt his forehead. ‘He’s burning up. He’s got a bad fever. It must be from some poison on the metal he cut himself on.’

‘What can we do?’ Maude asked.

Tuan realised that had never heard Maude sound frightened before.

‘We must try to keep him cool and comfortable, and hope the fever breaks,’ explained Cliar. ‘If only Dame Anna was here!’ She did not want to admit to the others how frightened she was. But when she asked Tuan to collect more of the cooling moss, she went out with him, leaving Maude with her brother.

Tuan looked at her. ‘He’s very bad, isn’t he?’

Cliar nodded. ‘Very. And even if he gets through tonight, he may be so ill I don’t know if we’ll be able to travel with him.’

‘But we can’t wait here for the Foxfaces to find us. And we have nothing to eat here, either. We just can’t stay. We have to go on.’

Meanwhile, Maude was bathing her brother’s face, which was dry as a dead leaf, not caring that there were tears streaming down her face. She was feeling so bad about every nasty thing she had ever said to Matthieu.

‘If you get better, I swear I will never be mean to you again,’ she whispered, and to her amazement she heard a faint chuckle coming from her brother.

‘I don’t believe you at all,’ he croaked. Then, still holding her hand, he sank into sleep.

When Cliar came back and felt his forehead, she smiled. ‘The fever has broken, he’s sleeping normally. Let’s take turns to keep watch on him so that we all can have some sleep.’

‘No, no, I’ll mind him, he’s my brother,’ said Maude.

Tuan sighed. ‘Come on, Maude, we don’t need you getting tired and sick as well. Let us help you. I’ll take the first shift and I promise I’ll wake you if he gets worse.’

Maude suddenly remembered Dame Anna’s words: she should not be too proud to ask for help when she needed it. She nodded reluctantly and forced the words out. ‘You’re right. Thank you. I thank you both.’

None of them had very much rest that night, between taking turns to watch over Matthieu and the fear of Foxface and his gang. Gile was no better than the children, restless and starting at every rustle in the undergrowth, every call of beast or bird. How different it was, thought Tuan, from the night they had spent out in the forest at Bunratty. That had been an adventure. They had had beds to go home to, a safe place to stay. Here, they had no idea where they were or how to find their way to safety.

CHAPTER 16

T
HE
H
ERMIT IN THE
F
OREST

he sun came up, the sky was clear and the air was warm. Matthieu was weak and shaky, but the fever was gone. He insisted that he could walk. For breakfast they had water and a few withered hazelnuts that Tuan had found on the floor of the forest. They would have to find the river and fish, or find some other source of food if they were going to eat at all today. But the good weather and the beauty of the forest in the early sunshine somehow cheered them up. Everything seemed to be coming alive – the small birds and forest animals, hares and deer and foxes that they glimpsed as they headed slowly into the light of the sunrise. Gile chased a rabbit around frantically, but being Gile, didn’t manage to catch it.

If I had some wire I could trap a rabbit, thought Tuan, or snare a fish. But all they had was the big knife they had
taken from Ru, a stained and ugly weapon. Tuan carried it. Cliar refused to touch it; she said she could feel the horrible things that had been done with it. They stood in the dappled sunlight and looked at the thickets and briars and small trees that surrounded them on every side. There was no sign of the river that would have led them to Knockainy.

‘Let’s head for the west. We went east from the river when the gang captured us, so the river should be somewhere in this direction.’ Tuan waited for Maude to contradict him; there was no guarantee that the river was to the west, for it could have coiled around on its course. But she said nothing. So Tuan led the way, hoping his guess had been right.

It was slow going. Tuan supported Matthieu on one side with Maude on the other, for he was so weak he could not walk on his own. The forest seemed to be becoming more rather than less dense, and Tuan had become less and less sure of the way. They reached a point where it seemed what might have been a path led eastwards, and Tuan was just about to lead the others that way when Cliar put her hand on his shoulder.

‘Not that way,’ she said.

‘Why not?’ asked Tuan.

‘Look!’ Cliar’s voice was very excited, but when Tuan
peered into the darkness to the west he could see nothing but the tangle of branches and leaves.

‘Look again,’ said Cliar, and Tuan heard Matthieu draw a sharp breath beside him. So he looked again and thought he saw a faint, silvery brightness in the leaves. He could not have said for sure it was the stag, but he could see by Cliar and Matthieu’s eyes that they were certain that it was he.

‘Very well, we’ll go this way,’ he said. And within minutes they noticed the light was getting stronger and they found themselves in a clearing. In the centre was a small hut, with smoke coming from the chimney and a white goat peacefully grazing in front of the door. A large black cat was sunning itself on the thatched roof, and Gile immediately made for it, barking his head off. Maude’s frantic efforts to call him back made no difference; he barked and whined, scrabbling at the walls. The cat, however, seemed unworried, and began to wash himself.

A figure appeared in the doorway, dressed in a simple brown robe. It was an old man – a monk – with white hair and a long beard, and as soon as the children looked into his eyes they knew they had nothing to fear from him.

‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘I hoped you would come this way. You must be hungry for breakfast.’

‘But how did you know we might be coming?’ said
Maude.

‘Oh, I have my scouts in the forest. They told me that you were close by.’ Here he winked at a blackbird that had landed on his shoulder and was pecking affectionately at what remained of the monk’s hair.

‘My friend Dame Anna sent me a message asking me to look out for you this week back. Though she and I have our differences, we respect each other and know that we both will always try to work for the good.’

‘But who are you?’ asked Maude.

The old man smiled. ‘It is a long time since I have bothered having a name. They called me Brother Angus once, when I was with my brothers in the abbey, but that is a long time ago. Most people just call me “the hermit in the wood”, and that is what I am happiest to be known as, for there have been hermits here before me and I hope there will be others here long after me.’

‘But do the gangs like Foxface’s not attack you?’ Maude persisted.

Tuan was shifting from foot to foot – there was a smell of something delicious coming from the hut and he couldn’t believe Maude was delaying them with her questions.

The hermit caught his eye. He smiled and said: ‘Young Matthieu needs to be seated and to eat something quickly.
Come in and eat with me and I will explain what I can.’

Over a delicious breakfast of duck eggs and mushrooms, the children told the hermit of their adventures and the hermit talked to them about the forest.

‘There are two ways you can live in the forest. I live at peace with the woods and the wild things – and the woods and the wild things protect me. Foxface and his sort treat the forest as an enemy: they have gone wild in it. They care about nothing but where to find the next meal and how to keep warm in winter. But they are also deeply frightened of anything they do not understand. I have a few tricks up my sleeve to keep them away from my clearing, and to keep my goat, Socrates, and my ducks safe. Mist is useful, and the darkness that comes from nowhere, even in the middle of the day. You will be safe with me, though we must get you out of the forest soon. But rest a little first; you are all tired and Matthieu here needs some attention if he is to be able to continue on the journey. Unless he wishes to stay here with me?’

Matthieu thought for a moment. It was safe here, and the hermit was very kind. No more danger, no more discomfort for a while. It was tempting. But then Maude and Tuan and Cliar would go on without him. He decided he would rather go with his friends and see what adventures were waiting
for them all.

He shook his head. ‘Thank you, but I’ll keep going.’

The hermit smiled. ‘Very well. There will be a moon tonight and I think that would be a good time to continue back to the river and then southwards. The Maigue is not far from here.’

‘Can you tell us the way to Knockainy?’ asked Tuan, relieved at the thought that he would not have to try to remember the route.

The hermit shook his head. ‘I have not been out of these woods these twenty years, and I came here from the west – I’m afraid I know nothing of the land east of the Maigue.’

Maude almost protested that they should get going immediately. Then she remembered her father’s advice about campaigns: you cannot keep going on without rest, he’d often said, and it’s important to pace your march. And Matthieu looked half-dead on his feet. She nodded, accepting the hermit’s advice.

The others were more than happy to do as he had suggested, and during their day in the clearing they were introduced to Socrates the goat, Plato the cat, and the duck colony – who were called after the Nine Muses, but whose names the children found unpronouncable; they lived in the small stream that ran through the clearing.

‘I think I would like a hermit’s life,’ said Matthieu drowsily, as they lay in the sun with their toes in the water of the stream.

‘I would hate it,’ said Maude. ‘How boring it would be, nobody around and nothing happening.’

‘But didn’t you ever notice,’ said Cliar, ‘how you start to notice things when there are no people around? I used to see it on my trips to the forest, the further I went in, the quieter I felt inside myself and the more I saw.’

‘I think I agree with Maude,’ said Tuan. ‘I like things happening around me. And I like people around me too. Even when they are annoying.’ He grinned at Maude, who crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him.

But then the hermit was calling them back to the hut and loading them with food. He began to give them directions.

‘The moon is very bright tonight, which will help you on your way,’ he said. ‘You must continue to follow the course of the river,’ he said.

‘At times it will be hard and you may have to walk through the river itself, as the undergrowth will be too thick on either side. And once you leave the forest, there will be marshes as well. Be very careful; it is easy to get stuck in the mud in some places. Outlaw is still at the priory at
Knockainy, I’m sure, though my friends, the birds, do not go that far. When you see him you must tell him the hermit of the wood sends his greetings, and wishes to know when he will leave his life of action to pray with him a while.’ He smiled, a little grimly. ‘Though with the state of things in Thomond, I doubt if I will see him for some time.’

‘My blessings on you, my children,’ he said finally. ‘God go with you.’

After his rest, and due to potions the hermit had given him, Matthieu was almost back to normal. He cast a rather wistful look behind him as they left the clearing, and Maude, trying to cheer him up, suggested that they sing. Maude was blissfully unaware of the fact that she could not sing a note; she only knew that when she and Matthieu sang together, he usually ended up in tears of laughter. After several minutes of listening to Maude’s voice at its finest, Tuan suggested that perhaps Cliar might take a turn.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know any songs – nobody ever sang to me.’

‘Oh, you must know some.’ He looked at her imploringly, but she shook her head.

‘Very well, then, I’ll sing,’ said Tuan. He started one of the laments that his people sang at the loss of comrades in battle. It was a beautiful song, but very sad. As he sang, he
suddenly became aware that Cliar had joined in with him, her sweet high treble blending with his. The tune she sang was the harmony of the melody he was singing, the part normally sung by the women of the Mac Conmara clan. The two of them sang on, and although Cliar sometimes faltered with the words, she continued confidently with the tune, right until the end of the song.

‘Where did you learn that?’ Tuan asked her, amazed. ‘That song was never sung in Bunratty.’

Cliar shook her head, puzzled. ‘I have no idea. It just came to me when I heard you singing.’ She did not say that the song was somehow mixed up with her memories of the woman she dreamt of … reaching her small hand into the woman’s long red hair …

Tuan shook his head, equally at a loss. ‘That’s the lament of the Mac Conmara clan. Nobody but our people are supposed to know it. Perhaps you heard some of the hostages sing it at Bunratty?’

Maude laughed. ‘You’re too fond of claiming everything for the Mac Conmaras, Tuan! Music belongs to those who sing it and listen to it with pleasure!’

Cliar said nothing. She knew that her memory of the song went back much further than the time she had come to Bunratty.

But now Matthieu interrupted. ‘Look, it’s the river.’