The Silver Stag of Bunratty (4 page)

CHAPTER 5

T
HE
L
ADY IN THE
T
OWER

rowded into the small space at the bottom of the stairs, the four children peered at each other through the darkness. The dog, now held tightly in Maude’s arms, tried to wriggle out of her grasp and started to lick Cliar’s hand as if he knew she was responsible for his rescue.

Maude cuddled him. She was still in a state of shock from what she had seen – Fat John dangling the puppy over the battlements of the castle, beating it with a stick and shouting curses at it. The poor creature had been whimpering and wriggling in his grasp, in terror for its life. She had not thought twice, but raced over and hung out of Fat John’s arm, biting it hard. He dropped the puppy and for a terrible moment Maude thought the little creature had fallen from the tower, but instead the dog jumped onto the
floor, where he scampered out of Fat John’s reach. Maude grabbed him and raced away, almost colliding with Matthieu as he came out of the small trapdoor that led to the roof.

After that everything had happened very quickly. Tuan, following close behind Maude, had seen what was happening and dived at Fat John’s ankles, knocking him off balance so that he fell onto the slippery stone surface of the tower. Fat John grabbed at Tuan, but the boy was too quick for him and he too made it down through the door before the Captain of the Guard could get up. The children and the dog raced to the bottom of the stairs, with Fat John grunting angrily behind them. At the base they slammed the door shut and shot the bolts, pausing only a moment to grin at each other before they fled, leaving Fat John roaring in rage to be let out. Unfortunately, one of the soldiers was passing and heard the captain’s curses, so they only had the advantage of a few moments before he was in pursuit of them again. Maude led them out into the bailey, hoping that Sir Richard might be there and they could put their case to him. But the bailey was empty except for Cliar.

Now the four of them leaned their weight against the door. There was no bolt on this side and they all knew it was only
a matter of time before Fat John would manage to push it open. They could hear him grunting and puffing on the other side.

‘Ye cursed pool of cat’s vomit! Ye devil’s spawn! Ye’ll all be sorry when I get ye, especially you, witch child, with yer red hair and yer sneaking ways–’

Then there was a sudden silence. The children stared at each other, hardly daring to breathe. Tuan put his finger to his lips. Perhaps Fat John was keeping silent so that they would think he had left and open the door? But as the silence continued Cliar shook her head and Gile – for that was the puppy they had rescued – stopped whimpering.

‘He’s gone,’ she whispered. ‘He smells terrible, and now the smell has gone. He’s given up.’

‘So it’s safe to go out? Will we open the door?’ Tuan looked around, and they all nodded.

He lifted the latch and pulled. The door was jammed shut. Even with the four of them pulling as hard as they could, the door would still not open.

‘He must have jammed the latch with something,’ said Maude.

‘I didn’t hear him do anything,’ said Tuan.

‘Does it matter?’ said Matthieu dolefully. ‘Whatever he did, we’re stuck in here until he lets us out.’

‘Unless we see what’s in the tower,’ said Tuan. ‘Maybe there’s another way out.’ He looked up where the spiral staircase led upwards into the gloom.

Cliar shook her head. ‘This staircase leads to Dame Anna’s chamber,’ she said. ‘There’s no other way out.’

‘The witch’s chamber?’ Matthieu’s voice was no more than a squeak. ‘They say she eats children and sucks their bones!’

‘That’s rubbish!’ said Cliar. ‘She’s a healer and a wise woman and she knows lots of things. She won’t do you any harm.’ Her voice trailed off. She was not quite sure if Dame Anna would welcome uninvited strangers into her tower.

‘Well, we really don’t have a choice,’ said Tuan. ‘Let’s go on up the stairs. I’ll lead the way, if you like.’

‘No,’ said Cliar. ‘I’ll go first. She knows me.’

Tuan stood back to let her lead. Maude followed, then the boys. They began the long ascent; round and round they went, growing dizzy from the climb. Through the narrow, slitted windows they could catch glimpses of the fields and woods around Bunratty.

‘You have been here before?’ Tuan called up to Cliar.

‘Yes, lots of times. Dame Anna needs plants from the river meadows and the forests to make her cures and simples. She tells me what she wants and I gather them for
her. She has even shown me how to make some of her potions.’

‘So she
is
a witch! And you, you’re a friend of hers … Fat John called you “witch child”! I suppose I’d better be nice to you or you’ll turn me into some kind of horrible beast?’ said Tuan, grinning.

‘You won’t have far to turn,’ muttered Maude, and Tuan grabbed the thick, dark plait that hung down her back and pulled it hard.

‘I heard that!’ he said. ‘What makes you think you’re so much better than me, anyway?’

‘The fact that I’m a pure-blood Norman and you are an Irish savage,’ said Maude coolly, pulling her hair free.

‘Sssh!’ said Cliar. ‘We’re nearly there. I can hear the spinning wheel.’

They all went silent and listened to a soft, humming sound. The hairs on the back of Maude’s neck were beginning to rise. She wondered where the kitchen maid – whom she had often seen but never before spoken to – was leading them. There was a strange, sweet smell that seemed to be coming to meet them on the stairs. It reminded Maude of the incense the priests used in the church and that her nurse in the east had burned to put them to sleep when they were babies. Now there was another noise, the soft murmur
of doves and pigeons. They had reached the top of the stairs and before them was a door with the faint silvery sheen of old birchwood. Cliar stopped and raised her hand, but before she had time to knock, the door swung open gently.

As Cliar led the way in, the three other children gasped. They had never seen anything like the room they had entered. It was a round room, with windows on all sides, all of them open so that the many birds could fly in and out freely. There were curved wooden shelves against one wall, covered in bottles of all colours – blue and green and red and purple and yellow. On a table there was a single blue bottle and a silver basin filled with water. In the centre of the room there was a fire, golden and burning brightly. It was only afterwards that Maude realised what an odd fire it was, for no smoke came from it.

Seated by the fire was a white-haired woman, with piercing, dark eyes. Her face was white too, and finely wrinkled, as if she were very old. But when she stood up to greet them her back was as straight as a young girl’s and she moved as gracefully as a dancer. She was dressed in a black gown, and over her shoulders hung a cloak as white as milk. It seemed to catch the light as she moved, so that when she stood up, the children’s eyes were dazzled.

‘Welcome, children,’ she said.

Cliar went to her and began, ‘I’m sorry, Dame Anna, there was nothing–’

The lady put her hand gently to Cliar’s cheek. ‘Hush, child, there is no need to explain. I saw that you would come to me.’

Then she turned to Tuan and placed her hand on his head. ‘Welcome, Tuan, of the clan Mac Conmara. Your people are good people and you are a worthy child of them. And come to me, you two children of the Normans. Let me look at you.’

Maude and Matthieu came over to her. She took Maude’s shoulders in her hands so that she was looking directly into her face. ‘A brave girl, and proud. But do not be too proud, Maude FitzHerbert, to ask your friends for help.’

Then she lifted Matthieu’s chin and looked closely at him. ‘You are ashamed because you have not the bright, clear courage of your sister. But do not forget that you have your own kind of valour, and your own kind of strength. When you find that, you will know that you can do wonderful things.’

Cliar was standing slightly to one side, and Dame Anna smiled at her. ‘As for you, my helper, you are, I think, already on the path of finding what you will become. Now,
all of you, you must sit with me for a while.’

The children noticed that four stools were already placed close to the woman. They sat down, with Gile stretched at Maude’s feet, apparently already recovered from his ordeal.

Cliar suddenly remembered why she had wanted to see Dame Anna in the first place. ‘It is the stag, Dame Anna, the Silver Stag. It has been sighted and they say there will be a hunt to catch it.’

Dame Anna was silent for a long time.

‘So the stag has been seen,’ she sighed finally. ‘That may mean the end of Bunratty as we know it.’

‘Tell us about the stag, is it magic?’ Cliar swallowed nervously as she said the word ‘magic’. She knew that Dame Anna herself had magical powers, but the word was never used when Cliar worked with her.

‘Magic? You might say so. Or you might not. But first, let me give you some water. You are all looking hot and tired from the chase.’

She went to the shelves and took down four goblets – red, green, blue and yellow. She filled them with water from a silver jug and handed them to the children. Tuan held his yellow glass nervously; he had never drunk from glass before, and he had heard it was very delicate. At home there were pottery and wooden vessels, and sometimes
pewter or silver for great festivals, but nothing like this. Being able to see what you were drinking seemed like a kind of magic to him. He held it up to the light; the glass coloured the water a delicate gold.

Dame Anna was speaking in a low, musical voice. ‘The stag is part of Tradree – that is the old name for Bunratty. Tradree means ‘the strand of the two kings’, and one of those kings sometimes takes the form of the stag. For centuries it has appeared at a time when the land is to undergo great change – it was sighted when the first Normans came here, and again when Thomas De Clare died. But it also appears when there is treachery in the air: when the two Mac Conmara hostages were hanged here, two young boys unjustly killed; it was seen when Sir Richard’s father, old Thomas, betrayed the friendship of Brian Rua O’Brien and had him treacherously murdered though he was a guest within the walls of Bunratty. The stag is part of Bunratty, and in its blood flows the life of the land. It must not be hunted, it must not be harmed. You must not let the stag be killed. Cliar, you and your young friends must stop it.’