Son of the Shadows. Juliet Marillier
resist such a fine specimen of manhood? But she was a good girl, and followed her father’s bidding. So Cú Chulainn asked and he asked, and at length he learned that the best teacher of the arts of war was a woman, Scáthach, a strange creature who lived on a tiny island off the coast of Alba.’
‘A woman?’ someone echoed scornfully. ‘How could that be?’
‘Ah, well, this was no ordinary woman, as our hero soon found out for himself. When he came to the wild shore of Alba, and looked across the raging waters to the island where she lived with her warrior women, he saw that there could be a difficulty before he even set foot there. For the only way across was by means of a high, narrow bridge, just wide enough for one man to walk on it. And the instant he set his foot upon its span, the bridge began to shake and flex and bounce up and down, all along its considerable length, so that anyone foolish enough to venture further along it would straight away be tossed down onto the knife-sharp rocks, or into the boiling surf.’
‘Why didn’t he use a boat?’ asked Spider with a perplexed frown.
‘Didn’t you hear what Liadan said?’ Gull responded with derision. ‘Raging waters? Boiling surf? No boat could have crossed that sea, I’ll wager.’
‘Indeed not,’ I said, smiling at him. ‘Many had tried, and all of them perished, swallowed up by the sea or by the huge, long-toothed creatures that dwelt therein. Well, what was Cú Chulainn to do? He was not the sort of man to give up, and he wanted Emer with a longing that filled every corner of his body. He measured the distance across the bridge with his keen eye, and then he drew in his breath and let it out, and drew it in again, and the riastradh came on him until his heart threatened to burst out of his chest, and every vein in his skin swelled and stood out like a hempen cord stretched tight. Then Cú Chulainn gathered himself and made a mighty leap, as of a salmon breaching a great waterfall, and he landed lightly in the very centre of the shaking bridge, neatly on the ball of his left foot. The bridge bounced and buckled, trying to throw him off, but he was too quick, leaping again, such a leap that when his foot touched ground he was on the shore of Scáthach’s island.
‘Up on the ramparts of Scáthach’s dwelling, which was a fortified tower of solid granite, the warrior woman stood with her daughter, watching.
‘“Looks a likely fellow,” she muttered. “Knows a few tricks already. I could teach him well.”
‘“Wouldn’t mind teaching him a few tricks myself,” said the daughter, who had something quite different in mind.’
There was a ripple of laughter. Unused to stories these men might be, but it seemed they knew how to enjoy one. As for me, I was warming to my task and wondered, fleetingly, what Niamh would say if she could see me now. I took up the tale again.
‘“Well then,” said the mother, “if you want him, take him. Three days, you can have, to teach him the arts of love. Then he’s mine.”
‘So it was Scáthach’s daughter who went down to welcome the hero, and very welcome indeed did she make him, so that after three days there was little he did not know of the needs of a woman and how to please her. Lucky Emer. Then it was the mother’s turn, and when his lessons began, Cú Chulainn soon realised Scáthach was indeed the best of teachers. She taught him for a year and a day, and it was from her he learned his battle leap, with which he could fly high above a spear flung through the air by his adversary. He learned to shave a man with quick strokes of the sword, a skill with little practical use, maybe, but sure to drive terror into an enemy.’
Dog ran a hand nervously over the bald side of his scalp.
‘Cú Chulainn could cut away the ground under the enemy’s feet, his sword moving so quick you could scarce see it. He could jump lightly onto his adversary’s shield. He learned to manoeuvre a chariot with knives on its wheels, so that his opponents would not know what hit them, until they lay dying on the field of battle. He learned, as well, the art of juggling, which he could do as cleverly with sharp knives or flaming torches as he could with the leather juggling balls. While he was on that island Cú Chulainn lay with a warrior woman, Aoife, and she bore him a son, Conlai, and that began another tale, a tale of great sadness. But Cú Chulainn himself returned home, after a year and a day, and again sought the hand of the lovely Emer.’
‘And?’ said Gull impatiently when I paused. It was late. The fire had died to a glow, and a network of stars had spread across the dark sky. The moon was waning.
‘Well, Emer’s father, Fogall, had never expected the young man to return. He had been hoping Scáthach would finish him off, if the bridge and the sea didn’t. So Cú Chulainn met with armed resistance. But he had not studied with the best in the world for nothing. With his small band of warriors, each of them carefully picked, he routed Fogall’s forces with little effort. Fogall himself he pursued to the very edge of the cliffs, and fought there man to man. Soon enough Fogall, completely outclassed, fell to his death on the stones far below. Then Cú Chulainn took the fair Emer as his bride, and much joy they had in each other.’
‘I’ll bet he taught her a thing or two,’ said somebody in an undertone.
‘Enough.’ Bran stepped around from behind me, his voice commanding instant silence amongst the men. ‘The tale is ended. Those men on relief watch, be off with you. The rest, to your beds. Don’t expect a repeat performance.’
They went with never a word. I wondered how it would feel, to be so in fear of a man that you never questioned his orders. There could be little satisfaction in such an existence.
‘You, back to work.’
It took a moment or two before I realised Bran was speaking to me.
‘What am I supposed to say to that? Yes, Chief?’ I got up. Dog was close behind me, a constant shadow.
‘What about keeping your mouth shut and doing as you’re told? That would be easier for all of us.’
I shot him a glance of dislike. ‘I am not answerable to you,’ I said. ‘I’ll do the job I’m here to do. That’s all. I will not be ordered about like one of your men. If they choose to follow you like terrified slaves, that’s their business. But I cannot work if I must go in fear and be always restricted. And you said yourself, be properly prepared, so you can do your job effectively. Something like that.’
He did not answer for a while. Something I had said had clearly touched a nerve, although that strange face, summer and winter, scarcely moved a muscle.
‘It will help, too, if you use my name,’ I added severely. ‘My name is Liadan.’
‘These tales,’ said Bran absently, as if his mind were on something else entirely. ‘They are dangerous. They make men dream of what they cannot have. Of what they can never be. They make men question who they are, and what they may aspire to. For my men, there can be no such tales.’
For a moment, I could not speak.
‘Oh, come on, Chief,’ protested Dog unwisely. ‘What about Cú Chulainn and his son, Conlai? A tale of great sadness, that’s what she said. What about mermaids and monsters and giants?’
‘You talk like an infant.’ Bran’s tone was dismissive. ‘This is a troop of hardened men, with no time for such trivial nonsense.’
‘Perhaps you should make time,’ I said, determined to get my point across. ‘If what you want is to achieve a victory, what better to inspire your men than a hero tale, some tale of a battle against great odds, won by skill and courage? If your men are weary or downhearted, what more fit to cheer them than a foolish tale – say, the story of the wee man Iubdan and the plate of porridge, or the farmer who got three wishes and squandered them all? What better to give them hope than a tale of love?’
‘You take a risk, talking of love. Are you so innocent, or so stupid, that you cannot imagine what effect such words will have, in this company of men? Or perhaps that’s what you want. You could take your pick. A new one every night. Two, maybe.’
I felt myself grow pale.