The Silver Stag of Bunratty (7 page)

‘Oh, don’t be such a baby,’ said Maude. ‘We have to make sure that Sir Richard gives up the hunt. Anyway, this is a chance to spend the day away from the castle. No-one has any idea where we are and they won’t care until everyone has returned home. If they even notice we’re missing then. Let’s have the food Margaret gave us.’

Soon, not only had the hunt gone out of sight, but the children could not even hear the dogs or the horses.

‘Let’s follow the stream a little way and see where it brings us. If we hear the hunt we can always move away.’ Tuan led the way through the hazel bushes that overhung the clear stream that wound its way along the forest floor. There was no noise now, apart from the rustle of their horses’ hooves through the dry leaves that had fallen the
previous winter. Over their heads the new spring leaves formed a bright green canopy, and through it the sky was an intense blue.

Within a few minutes thay had come to a clearing in the wood. In the centre was a pool of dark water that reflected the sky above. It was surrounded by young silver birch trees, and the trees too were reflected in the pool, the light moving as the branches swayed in the breeze. There was something about the place that made them all pull up their horses and dismount, then stand perfectly still. No-one said anything; they listened, but there was no sound apart from a cuckoo’s call through the trees. Then it too went silent.

On the other side of the pool there was a rustle in the green branches. The sky through these branches seemed a deeper blue, a translucent colour that was almost violet, the colour of young bluebells. The heat buzzed with the intense stillness of midday. The horses remained as still as statues. Gile stood, one paw raised, as if he too had been turned to stone.

In the depths of the wood, something bright was moving. The brightness moved quietly out of the trees and faced them across the still pool. None of them could ever properly describe it afterwards, though it appeared in their dreams all
through their lives. Matthieu spent many years trying to capture its beauty in paint. Green leaves behind, blue sky above, the dark pool – a silver shadow gleaming in the depths of the pool like moonlight on water. The Silver Stag raised its head and its great silver antlers branched out like bare, shining trees on either side of its proud and gentle forehead. Its eyes were dark and its glance towards the children held no fear. It was all grace, all dignity, but a dignity that was without arrogance. It was simply itself and did not need to be anything else.

None of them could speak. There was a feeling of absolute stillness – stillness and light. The horses stood with their heads bent, as if in homage. Even Gile remained totally motionless, watching, but not fearful, his ears upright and his eyes very bright.

The time they stood there could only have lasted a moment, for then came the noise of hounds in the distance and the call of the horn.

‘They’re coming,’ said Cliar, her throat dry with panic. ‘The hunt is coming this way.’

The stag still stood, motionless as a figure in a tapestry, its beautiful head raised, watching them. Waiting for them.

Tuan and Maude jumped onto their horses; afterwards, neither could remember who thought of it first.

‘Quick, mount and ride,’ called Tuan. ‘We’ll lead the hunt towards the Shannon, to the grasslands; if the stag crosses the water the hounds will lose its trail.’

At the same moment, Maude pointed to the river. ‘Come, let’s go that way.’

Strangely enough, none of them thought to question whether the stag would follow them.

Cliar nodded, and they all set off through the undergrowth, crashing through ferns and pushing their horses to go as fast as they could. The horses sensed the urgency, and even old Shelly, famous for her laziness, broke into a gallop, or as much of a gallop as was possible in the dense undergrowth of the wood.

And the stag followed them.

But now as they raced onwards they could hear the sound of the hunt coming nearer. Closer and closer all the time. At the edge of the forest they broke into a full gallop. The stag ran by their side through the river fields.

Maude looked behind her and said breathlessly: ‘They’re coming closer. We have to go faster.’

Faster they went, Matthieu clutching onto his horse’s mane for dear life. But they could feel the hunt gaining on them. Matthieu began to panic; he felt that he himself was now the quarry of the hunt. He could almost feel the hot
breath of the hounds on his heels; he could almost feel their sharp teeth sinking into his flesh … But he held on, and pushed his horse onwards. The stag had to be saved.

Tuan glanced back. The first hounds had come out from the edge of the wood with the horses close behind. We won’t make it, he thought, we cannot make the river …

But just as the hunt was about to close in, something very strange happened.

The dogs stopped dead. Their ears flattened. Their tails dropped between their legs. They began to whimper. Then the horses stopped dead too, and reared upwards, unseating some of their riders. They whinnied in fear and pranced around, as if terrified by something the huntsmen could not see. The cavalcade became a shambles of neighing horses and dogs that whined and growled and backed away, back into the edge of the wood, as if an invisible wall was pushing them away from the water’s edge.

‘It’s the ghosts!’ said Cliar. ‘They’re helping us again.’

Now the stag had reached the river bank. It stopped for a moment, as the children looked back to the hunt. The animals were refusing to come nearer, despite the shouts and curses and spurrings of Sir Richard and his companions, desperate to move them on towards the stag.

The great beast looked at the children for a moment, a
moment only, and then leapt into the water and began to swim upstream. The four children stood silently, watching the silver figure of the stag move away and become one with the shimmering water.

Moments later the first dogs had arrived, howling at the river as if trying to make it give back their prey. The Marshal rode up to the children, his face like thunder. ‘Didn’t I tell you to keep to the back of the hunt?’ he roared. ‘You have driven the stag to the river. The bloody beast has escaped us – we’ll never pick up the trail now.’

‘We didn’t drive the stag anywhere,’ said Maude, her voice and face as haughty as she could make it.

Sir Richard rode up, red-faced. ‘What? But didn’t we just see you drive the stag here?’

‘No, we did not,’ said Maude again. ‘We did not drive the stag anywhere.’ It came with us, she thought. We didn’t drive it. It’s almost the truth.

‘Then why the devil did it come this way?’ Sir Richard sounded weary rather than angry. ‘Well, we’ll never get the dogs or the horses to swim across there. In any case, they seem possessed by spirits today; I have never seen such a fiasco from beginning to end.’

‘Aye,’ said Robert, who looked deeply perplexed and
ashamed. ‘A cursed hunt if ever I saw one. What the devil got into the horses and hounds at the edge of the wood? It minds me of the stories of the wild hunts they tell of in the south, in Knockainy – of spirit hounds coming to fetch a soul.’ He shivered. ‘I hope it is not one of ours,’ he said.

‘That is all Irish nonsense,’ said Sir Richard. ‘It must have been something they ate. You must look to your dog boys, Robert, and find out what has been going on. But, then, the horses were no better … Well, the sport is over for the day, it seems. Come. Let’s get back to the castle. The sky is dark – that evil wind has brought rain with it as well as ill luck.’

It was true, and soon the rain poured down, making all the bright clothes wet and bedraggled.

When they got back to the castle, soaked and exhausted, there was a great bustle inside. Margaret saw the children enter and she almost dragged Cliar down from her horse.

‘I need you in the kitchen, and look at the state of you. Get out of your wet clothes and then come straight down. Tonight we have to feed many mouths and on top of everything else, an unexpected guest has arrived.’

CHAPTER 9

P
RIOR
R
OGER
O
UTLAW

t was Roger Outlaw, Prior of the Hospitallers, and half a dozen of the brothers with him.

‘More work,’ Margaret grumbled. ‘As if we hadn’t enough to do with all the hunters here.’

Tuan had vaguely heard of Prior Roger, but he whispered to Maude: ‘Who is he? Who are the Hospitallers?’

‘Haven’t you heard of the Hospitallers?’ said Maude, with a touch of her old, scornful tone.

Tuan dug deep in his memory. ‘Maybe. They’re English Normans, and they fight the Irish too, don’t they?’ he said.

‘They are monks, well, sort of monks, but they’re knights and soldiers as well,’ said Maude. ‘The order was founded to protect the pilgrims in Jerusalem. Now they have houses all over Europe – my father is fighting with them in Rhodes. That’s where their headquarters are. Prior Roger
doesn’t just fight the Irish, though. Actually he’s friendly with lots of the Irish tribes. That’s why he’s often sent out to make peace with the Irish, to make treaties. And he has come to Thomond to get the English lords to sit down and talk to one another. He is the most famous man in Ireland for getting people to talk to one another, and he’s a great soldier too. The Hospitallers are famous for their skill in battle and for their skill in politics. But they look after people who are sick and wounded too, and pilgrims.’

‘It’s little enough of looking after the sick and wounded Prior Outlaw does,’ said Margaret, overhearing. ‘And though they say the hospitality of Kilmainham is second to none, it isn’t for pilgrims, but for the rich that it is provided. Prior Outlaw himself is a fine man, a clever man, who has the ear of the great and rich of the land, the ear of the king himself in England, it is said. And he’s a good friend of Dame Anna. There are some say they’re related.’

Cliar nodded. ‘He has always been kind to me too,’ she said.

‘Well, Cliar, get into the kitchen now, I’ll need your help with the sugar swans,’ said Margaret. ‘And the rest of you go and change those wet clothes instead of getting under my feet.’ She turned to Maude and Matthieu. ‘Her ladyship will want you two to be dressed in your best when you meet
Prior Outlaw. I’ll send Allison up to help you when she has finished in the kitchen.’

When Tuan entered the Great Hall to take his place at the table, the first thing he did was look up to the top of the table where Sir Richard sat with his guest at his right hand. Outlaw was a broad-faced man, with large, piercing green eyes and a thick mane of greying red hair brushed back from his face. He had a scar on his right cheekbone. He was not at all like any monk Tuan had ever met. He did not even wear a monk’s robe, but a white tunic with a red cross blazing across its front. At his side hung a large sword. As Tuan came in, Maude and Matthieu were being introduced to him, and he was smiling at them kindly. Yes, thought Tuan, he may be a kind man. But I don’t think I would like to cross him.

‘One of the cleverest men in Ireland,’ Cliar whispered as she served Tuan his meat. ‘They say he’s as wily as a fox, that he can leave a room with everyone thinking they have got their own way, when they are all doing exactly what Prior Outlaw wants.’

He does look a bit like a fox, thought Tuan. It seemed that his hearing was as good as a wild animal’s too, for Outlaw glanced down the table as if he had heard Cliar’s
whisper. Then he leaned his head towards Sir Richard and said something to him.

Sir Richard raised his voice. ‘It seems that Prior Roger would like to meet our Irish guest. Come to the top of the table, boy.’

Tuan made his way up until he stood in front of Outlaw, and then he bowed.

‘You are one of the Mac Conmaras, is that not so?’ said Outlaw.

‘Yes, of the Conall Mac Conmara branch. I am the son of Sorley Mac Conmara and Sive O’Dea,’ said Tuan.

‘A brave man, your father,’ said Outlaw. ‘I had dealings with him more than once. We will talk more later, perhaps.’ He turned to Sir Richard. ‘I understand that this boy and your two wards saw the escape of the Silver Stag today? It seems the legend that he will never be caught is a true one.’

Sir Richard grunted. ‘We almost had him today. It was pure mischance that he made his way to the river. But, in any case, the hunt was a shambles from beginning to end – sick heads and hounds that could not keep to the trail.’ He sighed. ‘No doubt there will be other days and other hunts. We will get him yet and his antlers will be hung on the walls of the castle, along with all the other game we have
caught.’

‘I have heard them say that fairy horns led the hunters astray too, and that all the misfortunes happened because the hunt was held on Mayday.’ This was Lady Johanna, her voice spiteful.

Sir Richard turned his eyes upwards. ‘Oh, no doubt that will be the story the Irish will tell. Along with their tales of banshees and fairy queens at Knockainy. Outlaw, you have spent time at the Hospitaller house at Knockainy, haven’t you? Have you ever seen the fairy queen? What’s this her name is – Áine?’

Outlaw smiled. ‘I have seen many strange things in my life, Sir Richard. But I take it you have no time for tales of such things? Your mind must be on more immediate troubles. How goes it in this part of the country?’

Sir Richard sighed. ‘As always: war and trouble. I have just today got news that the Mac Conmaras have been seen on the borders of our lands, rustling cattle. I will ride out tomorrow to see what the truth of it is. ’Tis true I have no time for fairy tales – women’s fancies – with such things going on. Outlaw, tell me, what is the news from Dublin and the north?’

‘Not good: war and famine. Lord, I would wish for a few years’ peace where crops could grow and herds graze
safely. Do you think we will see it in our lifetime?’

De Clare laughed. ‘Perhaps in your quiet part of the country near Dublin. But not here. These are the swordlands that can only be held by the sword. And, in truth, I would not live my life any other way. Time enough to rest when we are dead.’

Cliar jumped, nearly spilling the jug she was pouring from. In the moment’s silence that followed what Sir Richard had said, she was nearly sure she heard Brian Rua, the ghost who had been killed in Bunratty, whisper in her ear: ‘Which may be sooner than you think.’