.
I said that. Sorry I said you were plain. I didn’t mean it.’
I sighed. ‘It’s all right.’ She had a habit of coming out with hurtful words when she was upset, and taking it all back later. Niamh was like an autumn day, all surprises, rain and shine, shadow and brightness. Even when her words were cruel, it was hard to be angry with her, for she meant no harm by them. ‘I’m not looking for a husband anyway,’ I told her, ‘so it hardly matters.’
She gave a sniff and drew the blanket over her head, and that was as far as we got.
The season drew on towards Beltaine, and the work of the farm continued, and Niamh retreated deeper into herself. There were heated words exchanged behind closed doors. The household was quite unlike its usual self. When at length Eamonn did return, he received the warmest of welcomes, for I think we were all glad of anything to ease the building tension amongst us. The tale he had to tell was indeed as strange as the rumours had suggested.
We heard it the night of his arrival, as we sat in the hall after supper. Despite the season, it was cold, and Aisling and I had helped Janis prepare mulled wine. Ours was a safe household, where all were trusted, and so Eamonn told his story openly, for he knew the depth of interest in what had befallen himself and Seamus and their fighting force. Of the thirty from Liam’s garrison, but twenty-seven had returned. Eamonn’s own losses had been far greater, as had Seamus Redbeard’s. There were women weeping in three households. Nonetheless, Eamonn had returned victorious, though not quite in the way he would have wished. I watched him tell his tale, using a gesture here and there to illustrate a point, a strand of brown hair falling across his brow from time to time, to be pushed back with an automatic sweep of the hand. I thought his face bore more lines than it once had; he carried a heavy responsibility for a man so young. It was no wonder some thought him humourless.
‘You know already,’ he said, ‘that we lost more good men than we could well afford on this venture. I can assure you that their lives were not lightly thrown away. We deal here with an enemy of quite a different nature from those known to us, the Britons, the Norsemen, the hostile chieftains of our own land. Of the one and twenty warriors that perished in my service, not two were slain by the same method.’
There was a murmur around the room.
‘You’ll have heard the tales,’ Eamonn went on. ‘It may be they spread the tales themselves, to increase the fear. But these rumours are founded in fact, as we discovered for ourselves when at last we encountered this enemy.’ He went on to tell of a northern neighbour with whom a long-running dispute had flared into action, of cattle raided, of retaliatory strikes.
‘He knew the strength of my forces. He would never, in the past, have done more than attempt to herd away a few head, or light a small fire somewhat too close to one of my watchtowers. He knew he could not match me in battle, and that any action he took would bring about swift and deadly retaliation. But he covets a parcel of land I hold, bordering his own most fertile area, and has long schemed to acquire it. He tried once to buy the disputed territory from me, and I turned him down. Well, he found another use for his silver pieces.’
Eamonn took a mouthful of his wine, wiped his hand across his mouth. His expression was sombre.
‘We began to hear of lightning raids by an unseen enemy. There was no damage to the guard towers, no sacking of villages or burning of barns. Just killing. Highly efficient. Imaginative in its method. First an isolated post, where two lay dead. Then a bolder ambush. A troop of my guards patrolling the western margin of the marshlands, taken, all of them. A nightmare scene. I will spare the ladies the details.’ He glanced quickly in my direction, and away again. ‘Not cruel, exactly. There was no torture. Just … extremely efficient, and – and different. There was no way to tell what we were dealing with. No way to prepare. And my cottagers, my farmers were in a state of sheer terror. They thought these silent killers some Otherworld phenomenon, creatures that could appear and disappear in a flash, some hybrid of man and beast, devoid of any sense of right or wrong.’ He fell silent, and I believed his eyes saw an image he wished he could erase from his mind.
‘You would think,’ he went on finally, ‘that on our own territory, backed up by Seamus’s men, we would have no difficulty in expelling any invader. My men are disciplined. Experienced. They know those marshes like the back of their hands; they know every forest path, every place of refuge, every potential trap. We divided ourselves into three groups, and sought to isolate the enemy in one particular area, where we believed his force was concentrated. There was success at first. We captured many of my northern neighbour’s men, and thought the threat all but over. It was strange, though; our prisoners seemed nervous, always looking over their shoulders. I suppose I knew, even before that point, that the attacks were not made by a single enemy. My neighbour’s silver had bought him a force he could never have mustered himself. A force such as none of us here has at his disposal.’
‘Who were they?’ asked Sean, who was hanging on every word. I sensed his excitement; this was a challenge he would have relished for himself.
‘I saw them only once,’ said Eamonn slowly. ‘We rode through the most treacherous area of the marshland, returning to our main camp with the bodies of our slain. It is not possible to mount an attack in such a place. I had not thought it possible. One false move, and the ground will shiver and shake and swallow and all you will hear is the little ripple of the water as it takes a man under. It is quite safe, if you know the path.
‘There were ten of us,’ he went on. ‘Riding single, for the track is narrow. We bore the bodies of our dead across our saddle bows. It was late afternoon, but the mists in that place make day seem like dusk, and dusk like night. The horses knew the way, and needed no guidance. We kept silence, not allowing our vigilance to lapse, even in that forsaken place. I have good ears, and sharp eyes. My men were hand picked. But I missed it. We all missed it. The smallest pipe of a marsh bird; the croak of a frog. Some little noise, some signal; and they were upon us. Coming from nowhere, but rising each at precisely the same instant, one to each of us, taking his man from the horse, despatching him neatly and silently, one with a knife, one with the cord, one with the clever thumb to the neck. As for me, my punishment had been selected especially. I could not see the man who held me from behind, though I used all the strength I had trying to break his grip. I felt my own death at my back. But it was not to be. Instead, I was pinned there, watching, listening, as my men died before and behind me, one after the other, and their horses crashed in panic off the path and were swallowed by the trembling waters of the marsh. My own mount stood steadfast, and they left him alone. I was to be allowed to return home. I was to witness, helpless, the slaughter of my own men, and then to be set free.’
‘But why?’ breathed Sean.
‘I am not sure I understand that, even now,’ said Eamonn bleakly. ‘The man who held me had a grip around me, and his knife against my throat, and enough skill in his hands to stop me from struggling long. In this kind of combat he possessed an ability such as I could hardly imagine. I could not hope to break free. My heart was sick as I waited for the last of my men to die. And – and I almost thought the rumours true, as the shifting mist showed me a glimpse, here and there, of those that took their lives with cool detachment.’
‘Were they indeed half man, half beast?’ asked Aisling hesitantly, afraid, no doubt, of sounding foolish. But nobody was laughing.
‘They were men,’ Eamonn said, in a tone that suggested there might be some doubt. ‘But they wore helmets, or masks, that belied the fact. You might think you saw an eagle, or a stag; some, indeed, had markings on the skin, perhaps above the brow or on the chin, to suggest the plumage or the features of a wild creature. Some had helms adorned with feathers, some cloaks of wolf pelt. Their eyes … their eyes were so calm. As calm as death. Like – like beings with no human feelings.’
‘What about the man who held you?’ asked Liam. ‘What manner of man was he?’
‘Evasive. He made sure I did not see his face. But I heard his voice, and will not forget it; and as he released me at last, I saw his arm revealed when he drew his knife away from my neck. An arm patterned from shoulder to fingertips with a delicate web of feather