Son of the Shadows. Juliet Marillier
fight ensued, watched with interest by Cú Chulainn and his warriors from the ramparts high above. And it was not the challenger who lay defeated at the end of it.’
Then I told how the lad vanquished each man who went forth with sword or staff or dagger, until Cú Chulainn himself determined to meet the challenge, for he liked the set of the young man’s shoulders, and the neatness of his footwork, seeing something of himself in it, no doubt.
‘“I will go down and take on this fellow myself,” he said. “He seems a worthy opponent, if somewhat arrogant. We shall see what he makes of Cú Chulainn’s battlecraft. If he can withstand me until the sun sinks beyond those elms there, I will welcome him to my house and to my band of warriors, should he be so inclined.”
‘Down he went, and out before the gates, and he told the lad who he was and what he intended. Father, whispered Conlai to himself, but he said not a word, for he had promised his mother, and he would not break his oath. Cú Chulainn was offended that the challenger had not the courtesy to give his name, and so he started the encounter already angered, which is never good.’
There was a murmur of agreement from the men. I was watching Bran; I could not avoid it, for he sat quite near me, face lit by the fire into which he gazed, his expression very odd indeed. There was something about this story that had caught his attention where the others had not, and had I not known the kind of man he was, I would have said I saw something akin to fear in his expression. Must be a trick of the light, I told myself, and went on.
‘Well, that was a combat such as you see but rarely: the hardened, experienced swordsman against the quick, impetuous youth. They fought with sword and dagger, circling, to and fro, round and about, ducking and weaving, leaping and twisting so that at times it was hard to see which of them was which. One of the men watching from above commented that in stature, the two men were as like as peas in a pod. The sun sank lower and lower, and touched the tip of the tallest elm. Cú Chulainn thought of calling it a day, for he was, in truth, merely playing with the upstart challenger. His own skills were far superior, and he had always planned to test the other only until the allotted time was up, and then to offer him the hand of friendship.
‘But Conlai, desperate to prove himself, gave a nifty little flick of the sword and lo! there in his hand lay a fiery lock of Cú Chulainn’s hair, neatly cut from his scalp. For a moment, just a moment, battle fury overcame Cú Chulainn, and before he knew what he did, he gave a great roar, and plunged his sword deep into his opponent’s vitals.’
There was a murmur around me; some in my audience had seen this coming, but all felt the sudden weight of such a horror.
‘As soon as he had done this, Cú Chulainn came to himself. He wrenched the sword out, and Conlai’s lifeblood began to spill crimson on the ground. Cú Chulainn’s men came down, and took off the stranger’s helmet, and there he was, just a boy, a youngster whose eyes already darkened with the shadow of death, whose face paled and paled as the sun sank behind the elms. Then Cú Chulainn loosened the boy’s garments, trying to make his end more comfortable. And he saw the little ring hanging on its chain around Conlai’s neck. The ring he had given Aoife, nearly fifteen years before.’
Bran had a hand over his brow, concealing his eyes. Still he stared into the flames. What had I said?
‘He killed his own son,’ somebody whispered.
‘His boy,’ said someone. ‘His own boy.’
‘It was too late,’ I said soberly. ‘Too late to make amends. Too late to say farewell, for at the moment Cú Chulainn recognised what he had done, the last breath of life left his son, and Conlai’s spirit fled from his body.’
‘That’s terrible,’ said Dog in shocked tones.
‘It is a sad story,’ I agreed, wondering if even one of them might relate the tale in any way to their own activities. ‘They say Cú Chulainn carried the boy inside in his own arms, and later buried him with full ceremony. Of how he felt, and what he said, the tale does not tell.’
‘A man could not do such a deed, and put it behind him,’ said Gull very quietly. ‘It would be with him always, whether he wished it or no.’
‘What about his mother?’ asked Dog. ‘What did she have to say about it?’
‘She was a woman,’ I said drily. ‘The tale does not concern itself further with her. I suppose she bore her loss, and went on, as women do.’
‘In a way it was her fault,’ somebody offered. ‘If he’d been able to give his name, they’d have welcomed him, instead of fighting.’
‘It was a man’s hand that drove the sword through his body. It was a man’s pride that made Cú Chulainn strike. You cannot blame the mother. She sought but to protect her son, for she knew what men are.’
My words were greeted with silence. At least the tale had made them think. After the earlier jollity, the mood was sombre indeed.
‘You believe I judge you too harshly?’ I asked, getting up.
‘None of us ever killed his own son,’ said Spider, outraged.
‘You have killed another man’s son,’ I said quietly. ‘Every man that falls to your knife, or your hands, or your little loop of cord, is some woman’s sweetheart, some woman’s son. Every one.’
No one said anything. I thought I had offended them. After a while, somebody went around refilling cups with ale, and somebody threw more wood on the fire, but nobody was talking. I was waiting for Bran to speak, maybe to tell me I should shut my mouth and stop upsetting his fine band of warriors. Instead, he got up, turned on his heel, and went off with never a word. I stared after him, but he had disappeared like a shadow under the trees. The night was very dark. Slowly, the men began to talk again amongst themselves, in low voices.
‘Sit down awhile, Liadan,’ said Gull kindly. ‘Have another cup of ale.’
I sat down slowly. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ I whispered, looking beyond the circle. ‘What did I say?’
‘Best left alone,’ mumbled Dog, who had overheard. ‘He’ll be standing guard tonight.’
‘What?’
‘Dark of the moon,’ said Gull. ‘Always takes the watch, those nights. Told us both to get our rest. He’ll have gone up to relieve Snake now. Stands to reason. If he’s going to be awake anyhow, he may as well do it.’
‘Why doesn’t he sleep? You’re not going to tell me he turns into some sort of monster with the quenching of the moon, I hope; half man, half wolf maybe?’
Gull chuckled. ‘Not him. Just doesn’t sleep. Can’t tell you why. Been like that as long as I’ve known him. Six, seven years. Keeps himself awake, until the dawn comes.’
‘Is he afraid to sleep?’
‘Him? Afraid?’ It seemed the very idea was laughable.
Gull walked back up to the shelter with me, and left me there. Bran was inside, his hand on the smith’s brow, speaking quietly. There was one lantern lit, and it spread a golden glow over the rock walls and the man lying on the pallet there. It touched Bran’s patterned features with light and shadow, softening the grim set of the mouth.
‘He’s awake,’ he said as I came in. ‘Is there anything you require help with, before I go outside?’
‘I’ll manage,’ I said. Snake, on my instructions, had prepared a bowl of water with some of the dwindling stock of healing herbs, and I placed this on the stool by the bed.
‘You’re a good lass,’ Evan said weakly. ‘Told you that before, but I will again.’
‘Flattery will get you nowhere,’ I said, unbuttoning his sweat-soaked shirt.
‘Don’t know about that.’ He managed a crooked grin. ‘Not every day I find a fine woman like yourself undressing me. Almost worth losing an arm for,