The Fox (21 page)

“Yes, I will teach you. The tattoos you design are good. The tree you drew in the dirt will give honor to the bowl and be a fitting gift to Beathan.” He picked up the bowl he was working on and said, “I promised this one to Darach. He is giving me woven wool so my girls can make new dresses. They grow too quickly. It is a gift from him to his wife for the son she gave birth to six moons ago.”

He walked over to a storage chest and lifted out a bar of metal. “I have just enough bronze to make another bowl for the honor gift to Beathan. You will engrave it, and we will take it to Beathan’s tomb when you finish. Here are the tools I use for the fine work,” he said and opened a leather packet.

Out rolled small iron, copper, and bone tools. There were hammers, and sharp picks with different shaped tips.

“I have a copper bowl that has no engraving. I use it for washing. You can use these tools to practice on that bowl. Learn how each moves the metal and leaves its mark. Learn how you can make them different.” Our last smith had fashioned a large copper bowl that Finlay brought to me. Picking up several tools, he demonstrated. “Hold this one like this and gently tap. Do not pierce the bowl or you will be hammering it back into shape.” He laughed.

I turned the bowl over in my hands, feeling every bump and wrinkle. I said a prayer to Dagda, asking for the energy to create my picture, and began with one small tap. Small nicks and scratches happened at first, but I got used to the way of the tools, and became sure of myself. I worked without lifting my head, lost in the bowl.

Several days later, Finlay lined the second, unfinished bowl with a piece of leather and used small taps to create a finish that reflected shards of firelight around the room.

“It is beautiful,” I said, holding it in my hands gently, as if it would break. I gave it back to him.

He laid it on his hearth. He went to his small altar, near the hearth, and knelt to say a prayer to the smith’s goddess, Brigit. I kneeled beside him and prayed to Bel to inspire me with the skill to complete my work, to Brigit to thank her for the bowl, and to Morrigna to ease my panic and fears. We both rose and Finlay carried the bowl back to the workbench. I brought over the two nearby stools and we sat.

Finlay picked up the copper bowl I had practiced on and looked at it silently. He turned it from the scratches I had created in the beginning to the design covering the other side. “What is this? I have seen it on the bag the druid carries.”

“It is a labyrinth. See how it leads to the center and back? It is a path from the center of the earth to the gods. Lovern brought it with him from his home and he taught me to use it.” I stopped talking for a moment, and remembered my finger tracing the path in my head. “It helped me escape most of the pain of the taking.” I did not tell him that I had not been able to use it since.

Reminded of my trials, he searched my face. Was he looking for signs of lunacy? As if reaching a decision in my favor, his face relaxed and he nodded.

“Hmm,” he grunted. He put the copper bowl aside and picked up the bronze. “I know you will create an honorable design. We can make the trip to place it in his tomb when you are finished.”

In two days, I engraved the design of the oak onto the bowl. I tapped leaves on the strong branches that spread around its circumference. I scratched lines on the acorns. I carved my heart into the heart of the tree. When I stopped to look at it, memories of Beathan flooded my mind. I remembered when he brought food and peat to my mother and me when the snow was deep. When I was small, he lifted me to his shoulders to carry me through the mud. He helped repair our loom when it was overused. I gave thanks to the goddess that Beathan had been a part of my life. Now the bowl honored his life as a caring
ceann-cinnidh
of our clan as well as my uncle.

Pleased with my work, I turned it over in my hands. It was time to show Finlay.

He was fitting a new buckle to Kenric’s war chariot’s leather harness. Kenric wanted all Beathan’s harnesses for his ponies and chariots repaired. Beathan had worn them to breaking.

My breath held in anticipation of what he thought, I walked over to him. He cooled the buckle in a bucket of water. Hot steam rose, and he cautioned me to wait. He went to the labyrinth bowl, washed his hands, and walked back to me, wiping his hands on his tunic. He raised the hem of his garment to sop the sweat from his face. As he raised his shirt, his strong belly muscles rippled. A picture flashed through my consciousness. Lovern’s smooth belly and chest. Gripped with a longing for him, I inhaled through closed teeth and silently begged him to hurry. Come home to help me heal and, I prayed, to forgive me.

Finlay took the bowl and looked at it, for what seemed to me, time enough to grow a new beard. He turned it over and around, carried it to the door, used the sun for light, and came back to the workbench. I could not read his face. He picked up a piece of very soft leather, a bucket of water and a small jug of fine creek sand. First, dipping the leather into the water, he touched it to the sand and began to polish the bowl.

“Use a gentle circle movement.” He handed it to me, nodded, and said, “It is a good and fitting gift for Beathan.”

I was proud and pleased.

“Can we take it soon?”

“If Kenric allows. Tonight I will show it to him and the warriors. I will ask if others want to accompany us to Beathan’s tomb to place it.”

I heard the music and laughter echo through the lodges, late into the night, from the evening meal’s gathering. Just before dawn, Finlay knocked on my door. I was awake. I opened the door, and he stood, swaying, silhouetted by the moon. He spent his night drinking and singing his song, regaling Beathan’s heroic deeds.

“I heard you sing your new song repeatedly last night. It must be liked by the men.”

“Yes, I will teach it to you on the journey. We will have plenty of time. We are readying to go to the tomb.”

The tomb.
We will make the trip today,
I thought.

“There are four of us including you,” he said. “Kenric is coming and bringing his son Logan. He is old enough to leave his mother now. We are loading the ponies. Come to the stable soon.”

“Be sure to take food,” my mother whispered into my ear. “All those men will bring is mead. They must always be reminded that there are things that satisfy a hunger other than mead,” she said with a smile and then coughed blood.

I described the bowl to my mother last night before she slept. Her eyes misted, and she said, “It is a good gift to take to my brother. His spirit is walking at night. I see him, sometimes, in torment. I think he is disturbed at the way he died. He holds his head in his hands and tears fall from his eyes. Maybe this will comfort him.” She nodded and mused with her fingers resting on her lips. “Yes. It is good that you are doing this.”

Her agreement did not take the heavy guilt from my back.

Finlay, Kenric, little Logan and his wolfhound Mialchu were at the stable gathered around the impatient, stomping ponies. Logan, at six sun cycles, was Kenric’s oldest, and looked through his father’s gray blue eyes. His mother’s blond hair was tied back with a short piece of leather. His feet were in one place, but his body bounced all over the stable. I stood and watched, amazed at how he could move yet not move. Small boys were to be watched and kept from harm, but not understood by adults.

Kenric asked whether Logan could ride with me. He was too small for his own pony on such a long journey. Our supplies, Kenric’s and Finlay’s swords and shields were strapped to the rumps of their ponies. There was no room for Logan.

“I will be honored to ride with the grandson of Beathan. I will tell him stories of his grandfather,” I said.

I wore the leather pouch decorated with the labyrinth Lovern had drawn. I tied my dirk to my belt, and a short sword that had been Beathan’s hung across my chest. It was a gift from Kenric when I walked again. It had hung in Beathan’s lodge. Kenric told me to use it for protection. It lay well balanced and not heavy in my hand. With it, I would kill the next man who hurt me.

Finlay handed me the bowl, wrapped in soft doe’s skin, and I slipped it into the bodice of my dress. My corded belt held it in place. I used a small stool to mount the pony, and swung my leg over its back with a grimace. Logan was boosted up. I hoped for some peace as he began to wriggle and grope for a place to hang on. We rode, one in front of the other, down the trail to the lake.

Logan was unsettled so to quiet him for a few moments, I started a story. “I remember, when I was your age, your grandfather, my uncle, would throw me into the air. I loved it, but Mother hated it. She was sure he would drop me. I would cry until she gave in. He would throw me one more time and catch me. He then kissed my mother on her cheek and told me to run and play with Kenric, your father. He was a good man, your grandfather. We are a stronger people because of him. That is why we make this journey.”

Logan told me his stories of when Beathan tossed him into the air, too. His mother had reacted the same as mine.

“I miss my grandfather,” said Logan.

“Yes. So do I,” I said.

Beathan’s bowl began its journey.

C
HAPTER
11

AINE

April, 2005

George’s thick white eyebrows lifted in recognition when he saw Marc waving. He waved back, and then his hand fell to his balding head as if to straighten hair he’d remembered he used to have. He wore his uniform of khaki, multi-pocketed pants and a tan, long sleeved shirt.

“Good,” he said. “I was hoping both of you would be here.”

He leaned his tall, work-stooped frame just enough to kiss me on my upturned cheek. I smelled coffee on his breath and saw crumbs of his breakfast on his shirt. His rough hands brushed my cheeks. He hated wearing gloves when working, always afraid of missing something. Time had created a road map of capillaries on his face that was new since the last time I had seen him. He also looked tired.

“How are you, my girl?”

He was a trusted friend of my family. He knew my dad when they were younger and my dad made him promise to watch over me at university. Although my father died years ago, George still looked out for me.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m so glad to see you again. It’s been far too long.”

I put my arm through his and noticed he seemed a bit thinner than I remembered.

“How have you been?” I asked, patting his shoulder.

“Oh, you know, all the aches and pains that come with age. But I find, now that I’m retired, I have more work to do than ever, so I don’t dwell on my problems.”

He retired three years ago, but was still invited to most of the digs in Great Britain as a consultant. We were lucky to have him.

Marc picked up George’s bag and we climbed into the Rover. We dropped his bag off at Mrs. Dingleberrie’s and were on the hilltop by mid-morning.

“We’ve only been here two days but have part of a domicile excavated,” I said. “I’m expecting to find more very soon. I’m really excited about being here.”

I immediately saw the look I dreaded from his class when I would go to him and ask for an extension on my papers. I could never get them pared down to the page number requirement.

“You’re always trying to make something bigger than it really is, Aine. Well, we’ll see. I needed a small vacation for a day or two and then it’s back to my report. It’s worth the trip just to see you both on a job together,” he said, smiling.

“Yes. It’s been enjoyable so far.” Marc said, looking at me with a smile. He winked and I blushed. “We have a small crew, but all hard workers.”

We stopped at the edge of the excavated area where Matt and Tim were on their knees, trowels and brushes in hand.

“Did it stay dry?” I asked, changing the subject.

Tim and Matt stood and shook George’s hand.

“We had to use a bucket to get some of the water off the tarp before we moved it, but it’s dry enough here,” said Tim.

“Good. I see standing water in places. We could have been up to our knees if we hadn’t covered it,” I said.

“It is a good thing the tarps worked,” said Marc. “We probably don’t have enough money to get a pump and generator if we flooded. We’d have to break camp. We may have to do that in a day or so anyway if something more doesn’t show up.”

“I really don’t think we’ll have to worry about that anymore, Marc. I feel it in my bones,” I argued.

“As nice as your bones are, they could be mistaken,” Marc said.

I gulped and had no answer to that truth. My stomach was back on its nervous roil as Marc and I walked George around the site.

“You must have trusted Aine’s instincts somewhat,” George said as he reached over, tucked me protectively under his arm, and gave me a hug while we walked. “You called me and I’m glad you did. I’m happy to be here for her, even if only for a few days. I’ll help in any way I can.” He smiled at me. “You were a great help when my Sophie died. I’d’ve had a hard time of it if you hadn’t come and helped me. I’ll look around. If I think it is warranted, I know where we can get some funding.”

My hope leaped at this bit of good news, but the pressure was on. All I had to do was find something in the next few days.
Jahna, I need you now, more than ever.