In the Shadow of the Wall (24 page)

“No. He wants you nearly dead,” said Cruithne. “But if you happen to die, he won’t be too upset.”

“Well that is something, I suppose,” said Brude, frantically trying to think of a way to avoid a fight but realising that there was no real option. Speaking so that everyone could hear, Brude said, “You know I don’t want to fight you. I’ve already admitted you are stronger than me, so how about some other sort of contest?”

Cruithne’s brow furrowed. “What sort of contest?”

“What about spear throwing?”

Cruithne suspected a trick. “What will that prove?”

“It will prove who is the most skilful,” Brude said. “You are stronger than me, but I am faster than you. To contest such things proves nothing, so why not have a test of skill? You can throw a spear, can’t you?”

“Of course I can!” Cruithne was becoming riled by Brude’s tone but he still kept a firm hold on Barabal.

“Then you already have an advantage, because I have not thrown a spear for thirteen years,” Brude told him. He looked around, seeking suitable targets. “I’ll make it even easier for you,” he said. “You see that small tree stump over there?” He pointed to an old stump some fifty paces away jutting just above the grass, barely three hand widths high. Cruithne nodded. “That will be my target,” Brude told him. “I will stand over here beside my house and you will stand near the stump. Your target will be the wall of the house anywhere between the doorway and the first beam.”

Cruithne looked doubtful. He could sense that Brude was trying to outwit him in some way but could not figure out how. His target was at least twenty times larger than Brude’s. Having been publicly challenged, he did not want to lose face by turning down such an easy contest. “And if I win?” he asked.

“Then I will acknowledge that you are the better man. I will leave the village and find a home somewhere else.” There were gasps from the villagers and Brude heard his mother protesting. He went on, “But if I win then you will be as a dead man when we meet. You will walk away and have nothing to do with me. If you cannot walk away, you will sit silently, never speaking in my presence. Is that agreed?”

Cruithne thought for a moment, aware that Brude had somehow forced him into a corner but unwilling to back down. He nodded. “Agreed.” He released Barabal from his grip, shoving her roughly back to Seoc. Lowering his voice to little more than a whisper, he said to Brude, “Farewell, little man. The best you can hope for is that you’ll be leaving soon. Spears can be dangerous, you know.” He stalked off towards the tree stump, his warriors following in his wake, leaving Brude in no doubt that Cruithne’s spear throw would be aimed at him, not at the designated target.

Brude turned to Seoc. “Can I borrow your spear?” he asked. The young warrior handed it to him while he wrapped his left arm around his terrified sister.

Fothair tapped Brude’s arm. “Are you crazy?” he asked. “I know you’re good, but he’s an animal. It’s all very well catching flies but this is something different.”

“I need to sort this one way or the other,” Brude told him. “Anyway, you’ll be all right even if I lose. We can go to live in Peart.”

Fothair just grunted in answer to that suggestion.

Mairead pushed her way towards Brude. She grabbed his other arm. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “This is what Colm wants. Don’t you realis? You can’t beat Cruithne. That’s why Colm left him here.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him,” Fothair grumbled.

Brude took off his shirt and handed it to Fothair, saying, “I suggest you keep everyone back out of the way.” He saw Castatin watching him, his young face glowing with eager anticipation. He winked at the boy who grinned.
At least one person thinks I’ve got a chance
, he thought. He turned to Mairead. “Colm wants Cruithne to beat me up. This way, I am hoping that we can resolve things without anyone getting hurt.”

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded.

“What’s the alternative? Try to fight him single-handed?”

She looked at him, her eyes showing her hurt, her lips slightly parted as if she was about to say something more. Before she could speak, he smiled at her, took Seoc’s spear then strode out to face Cruithne.

It was like being back in the arena, only this time the audience was small and most of them were not looking forward to it. Brude felt the heightened awareness of his senses that came with the danger. The summer breeze from the sea felt cool on his bare skin, the grass under his feet seemed soft and he could smell it even over the usual riotous assortment of smells from the village. He looked to where Cruithne was flexing his muscles near the tree stump, his four young warriors admiring him. Unlike the villagers, they were looking forward to this.

Brude had his usual moment of doubt. He was reasonably sure that Cruithne, no matter how strong he was, would be no match for a trained gladiator in a one-on-one fight but he could not take that for granted. Turning this into a contest of skill rather than a fight would, he hoped, give him an even greater advantage. But there was always a doubt.
Don’t mess this up
, he told himself. He walked to stand in front of the partially built roundhouse and stabbed the blade of his spear down into the ground so that the shaft stood upright a few paces from the wall. Cruithne stared at him and called, “You are standing in front of my target, little man.” He did not sound disappointed by that fact.

Outwardly, showing a calmness he did not feel, Brude called back, “This is probably the safest place. I don’t think you’ll come close to hitting the wall.” He heard murmurs of concern and even a few nervous laughs from the villagers standing away to his left but he kept his attention on Cruithne.

The big man grinned. He still wore his heavy mail shirt and his sword was still strapped round his waist. If Brude’s plan worked, this would be to his advantage for the added weight would slow Cruithne down. Cruithne, though, did not seem bothered by the weight. Few men wore mail armour, unless they actually expected a fight, for it was heavy and made hot work of any exertions but Cruithne was so strong it barely seemed to bother him. He hefted the long ash spear with its sharp iron blade and prepared to throw. Brude saw the giant smile. He had obviously decided that if Brude got in the way of his spear then that was Brude’s fault. Cruithne slowly advanced to within thirty paces of where Brude stood, drew his right arm back, took a few running paces and, with a grunt of effort, hurled the spear as hard as he could.

He threw it with incredible force. It sped through the air faster than Brude would have thought possible, aiming almost straight for him. It was as good a throw as Cruithne could ever hope to make and both of them knew it.

Brude moved. No matter how fast the spear was, for a man trained to fight in the arena, it was an easy target. He took a half step to his right, swivelled his body so that he was side-on to the approaching spear and snapped his right hand out, catching the shaft just behind the blade as it went past him. Without pausing, only dimly aware of the shouts of astonishment from the watching villagers, he grabbed the spear in both hands and started running towards Cruithne.

The giant warrior stood with his mouth open, a look of utter disbelief on his face as Brude swiftly covered the ground between them. As he approached, Brude made to dodge round him but Cruithne, realising what Brude was attempting, moved to intercept, bellowing a roar of anger as he tried to grab him and wrestle him to the ground.

Brude swerved, avoiding Cruithne’s first lunge but the big man was still between him and the tree stump and coming for him again, faster than Brude had expected him to move. Brude had to adjust his plan. He stopped, swinging the spear low, catching Cruithne hard on his right shin but had to jump back, spinning away as the giant warrior ignored the blow and reached to grab the spear. Cruithne charged again, intent on simply flattening Brude to the ground. Brude had to leap back again, swinging the spear as he did so and this time landing a powerful smack on Cruithne’s left hand. That blow must have hurt because Cruithne instinctively pulled his hand back. In doing so he left an opening, which Brude pounced on, driving the butt end of the spear forwards to stab Cruithne in the belly. Even with his mail shirt with its leather undercoat and a woollen jerkin beneath that, the blow struck home so hard that Cruithne gasped in pain and doubled over. Despite this, he tried to grab the spear with his right hand. Brude quickly drew it back, whirled it in his hands then brought it down with a crashing blow which hit home on Cruithne’s head just behind his left ear. The big man staggered then fell face down, unmoving, on the grass.

Brude exhaled deeply then walked to the tree stump and rammed the point of the spear into the hard wood. He shot a warning glance at the four warriors who stood nearby, nervously looking at each other, unsure of what to do. The other villagers were watching him, their faces displaying a mixture of awe and delight. Castatin pushed free and came running over to meet him, carrying Brude’s shirt, which he had snatched from Fothair. “That was amazing!” he said, as he handed the shirt over.

Cruithne groaned as he pushed himself up, his long hair hanging down around his head. He struggled to his knees, looked at Brude with unfocussed eyes and then saw the spear standing proud on the tree stump. He groaned. “Kill me,” he said.

“Don’t be silly,” Brude told him. “In fact, I think we should forget our wager. I’d prefer it if we could just get along without fighting. What do you think?”

Cruithne looked at him blankly. “What?”

“Never mind,” laughed Brude. “Come over to Seoras’ house and we’ll have a look at your head. That must hurt.” He held out his hand. Cruithne stared at it for a moment. Brude thought he was going to refuse but then the giant reached out, allowing Brude to help him to his feet. Brude wrapped Cruithne’s arm around his shoulders and helped him walk slowly towards the village. “Go and fetch his spear,” Brude told Castatin.

Practically everyone in the lower village gathered round Seoras’ house while Brude sat Cruithne down on a stool at the doorway and carefully examined his head. Castatin stood, proudly on guard, holding Cruithne’s spear upright. The four warriors hovered nervously nearby, uncertain and confused but at least doing nothing more than watching. Brude gingerly pulled Cruithne’s straggled and greasy hair aside so that he could examine him. There was a nasty bruise, purple and yellow, and a rising lump but the skin was not broken. He applied a cold cloth, telling Cruithne to hold it firmly in place while he mixed a potion for him to drink.

Brude told the crowd, “He’ll be fine. Just a sore head. You know how tough he is.” He acted as if Cruithne was an old friend who had simply had an accident.

Some of the villagers started to wander off, chatting animatedly about what they had seen. A few who had missed the fight but had come to see what was going on, expressed doubts but the evidence of Cruithne’s defeat was there for all to see.

Mairead and Fothair stood nearby, not sure what to say. Mairead watched Cruithne nervously but Brude calmly made the big man drink his potion. “It will help with the pain, but it might make you sleepy,” he told him. “Probably best to rest here for a while before going back up the hill.” He shot his mother a warning glance to stifle any protest she might make.

Seasaidh came up to Brude and said, “If you’re not marrying Barabal, you should marry me. I like a man who is a good warrior.”

Brude raised his eyebrows. He saw Fothair stifling a laugh. “At the moment,” he told the girl, “I have no plans to marry anyone. But I’ll certainly remember what you’ve said.”

“Don’t wait too long to make up your mind,” she pouted. “I won’t wait forever, no matter how strong you are.” She blew him a kiss before going back to Seoc and Barabal. The three of them headed for their own house. Brude saw that Seoc was giving Seasaidh a talking to. Fothair was laughing aloud.

Brude turned back to Cruithne whose eyes were now more focussed. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Cruithne winced as he withdrew the cold compress from his head. “Where did you learn to fight like that?” he asked in his throaty growl.

“
Rome
. I told you, they like to watch slaves fighting. They have special schools where they train men so that they can offer better entertainment.”

“Maybe I should go there and learn,” Cruithne rumbled. “Did you have to make it look so easy?”