The Celtic Riddle (31 page)

"Don't think so, either," I replied.

"Reasons?" he said.

"One, I don't think I'm his type somehow, and two, I'm not sure
that's where my heart lies."

"Mmm," he said. We sat in silence for a few moments.

"I've been meaning to ask you something for a while," he said,
suddenly. "You can say no. But I was wondering if you would consider
being Jennifer's legal guardian should anything happen to me. Her
grandparents are getting a little frail for the job. You are the only
person I know I would really entrust her to. She's eighteen, so she's
almost beyond the need, but I think she could use some guidance for a
while yet. You can think about it. I'm a policeman, remember, so the
chances of being called upon to do this are higher than average."

"I don't have to think about it," I said. "If I had a daughter, and
I confess lately I've wished more than once that I did, I'd be pleased
if she turned out like Jennifer. So yes, I'll do it. You do realize,
though, that if I'm your fallback, as it were, then you'll have to stop
following me into these dicey situations."

"You're right, I will," he chuckled.

"What do you think will happen, here, I mean, and now? Be honest," I
said.

"Are you sure you really want to know?"

"Yes."

"I expect whoever it is will either leave us here to rot, or come
back to dispose of us."

"Wonderful," I said. "I'm sorry I asked." We both sat contemplating
that lovely thought for a while.

"Where are we, do you think?" he asked. "Still in the Dingle?"

"Yes," I replied.

"North? West?"

"South-ish, I think."

"What makes you think so?"

"Because we're in a clochan," I replied. "And that's where most of
them are."

"A what?"

"A clochan. A beehive hut. There are hundreds of them around here,
on the slopes of Mount Eagle, most of them ruins, but some in good
condition. I saw them when Malachy, Kevin, Jennifer, and I went looking
for clues. Turn on the light, and look: Think of yourself on the inside
of a beehive. See how the stones are placed to curve up to the top.
It's called corbelling. A work of art, really. These beehive huts were
little houses, dating back to the early days of Christianity and maybe
even earlier. Monks lived alone in them, as hermits, to study and pray.
Sometimes, they were built in clusters around a church. Or when they
were used by ordinary folk rather than priests, around, or in, a fort
for protection. This one is larger and higher than most. I think I've
read that they were usually only about four feet high, but this one is
much higher than that, so perhaps it was a house, rather than a monk's
cell."

"Very interesting, I'm sure," Rob said. "Now can we think of any way
of getting out of this clochan thing?"

"Not really," I replied. I thought for a moment. "Give me that
lighter!" I said. I swept the tiny light over the surface of the walls,
looking for what I desperately wanted to find. The walls were made of
rows of stones placed on top of each other in rather tidy rows, tiny
little stones filling in the spaces between them as necessary. For the
first few feet, the walls angled in barely perceptibly, but as they got
higher, you could see how each row of stones overhung the one below it
just a bit, so that the wall curved up to the top, where an opening of
about six inches had been left open.

"I'm thinking souterrain," I said at last.

"Sue who?" he said.

"It's not sue who, it's sou what," I replied. "Souterrain. Literally
under the ground. If this was used as a house, there might be a
souterrain."

"Dare I say, so what?" Rob said, just a touch irritably.

"So-sometimes the souterrain was just a place to store food where it
would keep cool in the ground. But sometimes it was an escape route.
These shores were often plagued by Viking raids, and people needed an
alternate way out of their homes should the Vikings, or pirates, or
whatever arrive suddenly. The Viking raiders were particularly
interested in church treasures, if I remember correctly, the
jewel-encrusted manuscripts and such. So people built low, narrow and
curved underground tunnels, the easier to defend themselves from anyone
following them, that led several feet or yards outside their houses. If
some marauder came toward the front door, they'd go into the tunnel and
out the back way.

"Look here," I said moving the light toward one side. "See where the
stone pattern changes. Some of the stones are vertical rather than
horizontal here, like a lintel over a doorway. And see, the stones are
not as regularly placed. Perhaps this souterrain was filled in at a
later date!"

Rob looked impressed. "Dry mortar," he said, "no cement or anything.
Just the stones themselves. It should be easy to take apart, relatively
speaking. Let's get to it! Here, you hold the light, and I'll start."

It was difficult at first, with the stones so closely packed, but in
a matter of minutes, Rob had created a small hole in the wall. He
reached back for the lighter, and carefully placed it into the hole,
and peered in. I held my breath. It could easily just be a storage
chamber, I thought, in fact it was more likely to be. I hardly dared to
hope.

"I think it's a tunnel," he said at last. "Who'd have thought all
that history of yours would be so useful." I almost sobbed with relief.

Within minutes, we'd pulled out enough stones so that we could slip
into the tunnel.

"You go first," Rob said. "I'll protect the rear, in case someone
comes in before we get away."

I pushed myself feet first into the tunnel. It was dank and cold,
and I could see nothing in front of me. Rob passed me the lighter and I
moved into the tunnel. After a few feet I was able to stand, although
bent over at the waist. The tunnel jogged slightly, then narrowed, and
after another few yards, I had to get down on my knees and crawl again.
By the time I reached the end of it, I was lying on my stomach and
pulling myself along with my elbows.

The end was blocked by a large stone. I pushed as hard as I could.
The stone trembled slightly, but didn't give way.

"Small problem," I called back to Rob who was now just a few feet
behind me. I held the light up to the rock.

"Mmm," Rob agreed. "We'll both have to push." He pulled himself
forward until we were lying side by side in the tunnel. "Turn on your
side," he said. "I need some more room."

We were nose to nose and hip to hip by this time. I could feel his
breath on my face. All I could think of was that if our captors came
after us, we'd not be able to maneuver at all. Being a man, Rob saw it
differently. "This is nice, isn't it?" he said. I just knew he was
grinning there in the darkness. I glared back, even if he couldn't see.

"One, two, three, push!" he said. We both pushed as hard as we could
on the stone. It rocked slightly.

"Again!" Rob ordered. We pushed again, then again. The stone started
to rock, and finally, with a jerk, moved, then rolled away from the
tunnel. Rob pushed me out in front of him, and we were free.

Chapter Eighteen

ON WHOM DO THE STARS SHINE?

SO you want to hear the story of how the Celts came to Ireland, do
you? The last great invasion of Ireland. That and the judgment of
Amairgen.

Well, the story begins in Spain with a man by the name of Mil. He
had a number of descendants as did his brothers. Now one of these boys
was called Ith, and one fine day he climbed up on a high tower to see
what he could see, contemplating the world about him. And on that clear
day in winter, what do you think he saw? Ireland did I hear you say?
'Twas. Ireland for sure. 'Twas just a shadow on the horizon, but he
decided to go there. Now some of his relatives were sure he was daft.
'Twas clouds you saw, not land, they told him, and they tried to stop
his going. But he went anyway, yes he did. He took some followers and
his son Lugaid. And when he got there, he asked the inhabitants-and we
know who they were now, Tuatha de, Tuatha de Danaan, Children of the
goddess Danu-he asked them, "what do you call this place?" "Inis elga,"
the people replied."And who's in charge?" Ith asked again. "Mac Cuill,
Mac Cecht, and Mac Greine are the kings, " they said.

So Ith and his son went to Ailech and met the three kings, and Ith
said many good things about the land, so that he and the kings parted
on good terms. But now the story takes a turn for the worse, for some
of the Tuatha de worried that Ith and his followers liked their country
so much they would take it by force, so they hunted Ith down and killed
him. His people took his body back to Spain where his brothers were
sorrowful and angry, and vowed revenge.

So they collected their warriors, and all the sons of Mil and their
relatives, the poet Amairgen among them, and in sixty-five ships sailed
for Ireland. But when they got there, they couldn 't see the island,
for the Tuatha de had placed a spell on it, and the Milesians circled
the island three times, before finally coming to Slieve Mish. You know
Slieve Mish. Then they went on to Eblinne.

Eventually, the Sons of Mil went to Uisnech ofMide. Uisnech you see
was, and still is, if only we knew it, the sacred center of Ireland. It
sits within the mystical fifth province-the Irish word for province is
coiced, don't you know, and that means a fifth. Now that causes
problems for some amongst us. Because there are only four provinces,
you see: Ulster, Connacht, Leinster, and Munster. Oh, they argue it
away by saying that at one time or another Munster was actually two
provinces, but those who hold the ancient stories in our hearts know
there were five, and the fifth is called Mide-the place where the other
four provinces come together.

And so Mide and Uisnech are a very special place. From there, on
Uisnech Hill, you can see a ring of mountains all round. The whole of
Ireland, if you had the vision, can be seen from there: the sacred
sites and political centers of the other four provinces in olden times,
Rathcroghan in Connacht; Emain Macha in Ulster; the Hill of Allen in
Leinster; and Aine's Hill and Lough Gur in Munster, all lining up
across the moun-taintops. And just across another hill, Tara, Seat of
the High Kings of Ireland.

And in the old days, the Beltaine fires lit at Uisnech could be
repeated on the mountaintops all round, and seen from all of Ireland.
Yes, Uisnech is the eye of the fire of the gods. And on its slopes sits
Aill na Mireann, the Stone of Divisions, a huge stone cleft in four,
yet still together. Just like Ireland. It was a magical place for a
long, long time, until St. Patrick cursed its stones and the magic
disappeared.

But that was much later. Who would Amairgen and the Sons of Mil meet
at such a special place? The goddess Eriu, none other, the third
goddess. Eriu, Fotla, Banba, three goddesses in one, like the shamrock
or the holy Trinity. She welcomed them to the island, telling them it
had been prophecised that they would come and hold the island, the best
place in the world, forever. And she asked that her name remain on the
island. Amairgen made a solemn promise that hers would be its chief
name forever. 'Tis too, as Erin.

Next, they went to Tara, where the three Tuatha de kings, Mac Cuill,
Mac Cecht, and Mac Greine, husbands of the three goddesses reigned. The
Sons of Mil gave the three kings three choices: Give us a battle, the
kingship of Ireland, or a judgment of some kind, they said. The kings
chose the judgment and they asked that Amairgen himself deliver it.

Amairgen, in making the very first judgment in Ireland, said the
land would belong to the Tuatha de Da-naan until the Sons of Mil
returned to take it by force, and, so that the Tuatha de would not be
taken by surprise, that the Milesians would sail nine waves away from
the shores before returning.

The ships sailed away the nine waves, magic waves they were, and the
Tuatha d£ called upon their druids to cast a spell. A mighty storm
overtook the invaders' vessels, and there were many losses, but
Amairgen thought it was a druidic storm and not a real one. He sent a
man up the mast to see if the storm was higher than the mast of their
ships. It was not, but the man died in the telling of it. Then Amairgen
made a spell of his own, for the poets in those times were druids, you
see, and the sea became calm. At last Amairgen stepped again on
Ireland's shores. "I am the sea-swell, I am a furious wave," he said,
casting a spell on this isle. Then the Milesians, the Celts as we now
know them, made their way to the Slieve Mish Mountains, right here in
the Dingle, where a mighty battle was fought with the Tuatha de Danaan;
then another battle at Tailtiu, where the three kings of Ireland, and
the three goddesses, Banba, Fotla, and Eriu died. And from that time
till the Christian era, and some say long after, Ireland belonged to
the Celts.

We picked our way carefully across the fields and stone walls
heading down toward the sea and the road along the coast. It was very
late, but at last we came upon a farmhouse. "I'll go to the door," Rob
said. "You hide well back, just in case we've picked the wrong place."
But it was all right. The farmer and his wife, once roused, called the
local gardai station, and within a few minutes we were on our way back
to town. We made statements to the police, and then they dropped me at
the Inn, while Rob said he was going to take the police back to try to
find the clochan we'd been thrown in.

Wearily I climbed the stairs to my room. It was almost dawn now, and
I was very tired. I carefully unlocked the door to the room I shared
with Jennifer in order not to wake her. She was not in her bed. On the
desk was an envelope with my name on it.

Paddy and I think we can find the treasure, the note read. We're
taking his bike. Don't worry, I'll call you tomorrow. I left Dad a note
too. Hope he isn 't too mad. Love, Jen.