The Hounds of the Morrigan (19 page)

And while he was thinking and marvelling at all this, the steam still rushed out, making a great cloud on the platform, and as he glanced once again at the engine to admire it, a newcomer appeared from the steam; a tall man, dressed in dark clothes and wearing a shapeless soft hat well pulled down, so that his whole face was not visible. All that Pidge could glimpse was a brief showing of a cheekbone, the flash of an eye and a quick showing of the tip of a strong nose. The springs of oak leaves were pinned to his lapel.

Brigit, who hadn’t taken her eyes off the steam engine from first sighting it, said:

‘There’s that man.’ And as the steam jet was now going quiet, Pidge heard what she said.

The man walked to the ticket barrier and they followed him. They were both wondering how they would get on when the ticket-collector asked for their tickets. The man simply walked through the barrier without the ticket-collector even noticing him.

‘Come on,’ Brigit said while pulling Pidge after her, ‘I think it’s free today.’

They were through and out into the town without an official word being said.

As they left the station behind, Brigit gabbled on about the steam engine and how much she liked it.

The man crossed over the turning into Forster Street and walked up a slight incline.

On the left was Eyre Square.

Pidge kept his eyes steadfastly on the dark figure up ahead.

‘They’ve put railings all round the Square,’ Brigit remarked.

‘Have they?’

Pidge took a quick look and saw a low, granite wall as a boundary and tall iron-wrought railings surmounting it.

‘They weren’t here the other day; they must have worked very fast,’ he said.

Trees as well—just inside the railings, a row of trees grew. Some children had made swings on the trees with ropes.

‘What will we do if he goes in for a pint?’ Brigit asked.

‘Follow him in and buy some orange crush.’

‘I’ll
have a glass of champagne,’ Brigit said grandly. ‘And a packet of biscuits.’

‘Trust you,’ Pidge said smiling.

When he reached the great open space in front of the Square, the man looked carefully in every direction before crossing to the left and walking past the two massive cannon, that stood huge and threatening and pointing (rather insolently, Pidge thought) across the space at the Bank of Ireland.

They followed after him past the Browne Doorway and the statue of Pádraig O’Conaire, sitting inside Eyre Square itself. The statue looked newer somehow but, oddly, the new railings didn’t look at all new, despite a fresh coat of green paint. It was possible to see that parts of the iron were corroded and pitted. They looked old-fashioned and very elegant. Brigit spied a drinking fountain built into the wall by the Browne Doorway. It was a sort of stone bowl and there was a heavy copper cup on a chain.

She wanted to stop and try it but Pidge said no.

The man carried on into Williamsgate Street.

Pidge looked back and thought for a moment that the Square, and all the objects that were part of it, had disappeared and that there was just a space filled with people dressed in rough clothes, having a fair day or a market, but that didn’t last long. In seconds, he found that he was looking back through a massive gate in a great stone wall with a tower, and all the people had moved off somewhere or other. He knew he would have seen them through the open gate if they had still been there.

The man turned round the corner at Dillon’s Jewellers and carried on through the town. They hurried to keep him in sight.

Pidge now noticed that among the ordinary people in the street, there were some who seemed the poorest he had ever seen, with eyes that were like dark rags in pale, gaunt faces. Others among the crowd wore unusual dress and some gentlemen, looking very proud, were riding on fine horses.

They went on, past the Four Corners and still on past the Cathedral of Saint Nicholas of Myra. In the crush of people they lost sight of the man with the oak leaves and so didn’t know which way to go—on towards O’Brien’s Bridge, or left into High Street.

Making a quick decision, Pidge grabbed Brigit and ran full tilt down High Street; looking both ways at the Cross Street intersection and on, down to the quays.

Here the streets opened out and there was more space and fewer people. Across where the Claddagh should have been, there were dozens of thatched white houses built higgledy-piggledy all over the place. Sometimes this is Galway and sometimes it isn’t, Pidge thought. And then he had a sudden insight. Times! I think we are seeing different
times;
it’s always Galway, but not always the Galway of today.

They went back up and turned left at Cross Street and then left again and on to O’Brien’s Bridge in a few minutes.

The river below the bridge rushed in mad white froth towards the sea and it seemed to be at a higher level than even in the rainiest weather. People moved over the bridge and to Pidge it seemed that they too were like a river moving endlessly forward, all the time. So many people and all so different. Who built this bridge anyway and who was O’Brien? It’s a funny thing that I don’t know really, he thought. And all these people! How often I’ve walked over and thought—this is Galway; this is my town—just like anyone would. And all these hundreds and thousands of people from the past; they thought this very same thing, I shouldn’t wonder. And what about the ones who are to come? I can’t imagine them walking here and not knowing about all of us. This town has belonged to so many.

He studied the faces passing him by; all different, all human. And he suddenly realized, all beautiful in a special human way.

But where is the man? Have we somehow passed him?

He looked back to see, and there was no spire on the Church of St Nicholas. And then he heard from a distance what sounded like the dull thud of cannon and he saw puffs of smoke. But oddly, the spire had gone before the cannon-fire, as though one thing had nothing to do with the other.

Suddenly, there was riot and confusion and the sound of trumpets, and again the sound of cannon and the air thick with the stench of gunpowder. He could hear the long low whistling sound of cannon-balls rending the sky and landing with that awful ‘crump’ sound that said death and destruction and fire and pain. The city was under siege.

The moment was brief and soon over and they saw the man standing at the other end of the bridge, which was now unaccountably made of wood instead of granite. The man was turning right, into Nun’s Island.

They hastened after him.

Everything was ordinary again and through one window, they saw a man sitting reading a newspaper in the front parlour.

Most of the houses had lights on early because there was an early dusk that was brooding, and the sun turned to a vivid red disk in a sky that was purple and awesome.

Leaving the houses behind, they followed the man past tall mills and mysterious yards behind high wooden gates.

On the left, there was a high stone wall built in a broad sweep. It should have been the new Cathedral of Our Lady and Saint Nicholas, but Pidge knew that it was the old jail which had stood on that piece of ground before being knocked down to make way for the Cathedral.

The man turned right on to the Salmon Weir Bridge. Brigit ran and peered through the balustrades and Pidge ran after her and looked too. Down below, the fat beautiful salmon lay packed as tightly as sardines; rising in layers on top of one another and all facing upstream, waiting to jump the weir and get up to the lake.

Pidge urged Brigit to hurry and they carried on over the bridge and saw the man, who had waited for them, at the back of the old Courthouse. He turned to the left and went down the Waterside.

Once more Pidge looked back, not expecting to see very far because of all the tall buildings in the way. But the buildings had vanished and in the distance was a walled city with fourteen towers. He couldn’t understand how he could know at a glance that there were fourteen, but he did. As he looked, the city seemed to shiver and go like a dream, and all the buildings were back in their usual places.

Reaching a short wooden jetty, the dark man stopped and waited for them to catch up. He motioned them towards a small boat with sails. Holding hands, the children climbed on board.

After untying the mooring rope, the man too climbed aboard. He stood tall and proud in the stern and pointed to seats in the bow, and the children immediately scrambled forward and sat down. Then the man simply pointed with great authority towards the lake and the boat began to move of its own accord. The canvas filled out and the boat sped forward, up the river towards the lake.

The sky was dark now and full of menace. Lightning like whips of fire appeared in the sky, lashing and cracking and belting the clouds which scattered like sheep from dogs. Then it hit the earth on either side of the river with savage, venomous spits.

The sails cracked loudly as the wind caught at them and the boat moved at an unbelievable speed. Still the man pointed and the boat moved forward tight on its course, as if the boat and the wind were linked in obedience to the man’s wishes.

They were passing the Dyke already. To think I only cycled up there the day before yesterday, without any idea in the world of what was to happen, Pidge said to himself, marvelling. He was holding Brigit tightly. He thought that she must be too terrified to talk.

The lightning stopped and a terrible blackness came, through which they could see nothing at all. Brigit clutched at him and he held her as hard as he could, to comfort her. Rain poured down and drenched the sails.

‘Darkness and Light are old companions, two sides of one thing. They are part of the great natural balance. One wouldn’t even have a name if the other didn’t exist. Do not fear Darkness,’ the man said very plainly and matter-of-factly. The tone he used made it clear that he thought little or nothing of this strange, impenetrable blackness.

But it persisted for some time and was dense and horrid and very hard to bear. It was eerie being out in a small boat and not knowing where they were going. If only it were possible to see
something,
even the surface of the water!

The lightning began again and, against all reason, it seemed preferable because it took away the sense of being smothered and enclosed. They were now approachng the Friar’s Cut—a narrow channel cut through to the lake as a quicker way than following the river.

This means we’ve passed Menlo Castle already, Pidge knew.

They were within yards of the Cut, when lightning struck like a snake, at the banks on either side and at once, two walls of flame roared on both sides of the channel. Pidge dragged Brigit down onto the floor of the boat and shielded her with his body.

The dark man continued to point and the little boat obeyed and sailed through the walls of flame. After what seemed to be ages and ages, the boat emerged with sails not only dried, but scorched; and they now sailed out on to the lake.

The lightning kept on beating at the sky and the earth, and in its light the children saw that the tall, dark man had a face that looked noble and handsome, and that he was dressed in flowing robes and had long hair under a strange head-dress. In his hand he held a staff of oak with some leaves still growing on it and mistletoe twined all around it and, beneath his belt, there was a golden sickle.

‘Why! You’re a Druid!’ cried Pidge.

T
HE
wind snatched the words from his mouth and took them away ahead of them to the side of a quiet river in County Mayo, where an angler, who had a poor opinion of himself in everything, stood hopefully.

‘Why! You’re a Druid,’ the wind said into his ear and at that second he hooked the biggest salmon ever, onto his line.

‘Why! I am! I am! I
must
be!’ he cried, and took a different view of himself from then onward. And was the better for it.

The tall, dark man in the boat heard the words quicker than the wind taking them away.

‘I am Cathbad,’ he said and Pidge now knew for sure. He had read of Cathbad, the wisest of the Druids.

The bottom of the little boat scraped on shingle and Cathbad, by a sign with his hand, showed them that this was where they should land.

They climbed out and on to the dry earth, both of them amazed that everything, including themselves, was not wet through after such rain and wondering where exactly they had landed.

They were now on the west side of Lough Corrib, but it was so big a lake and with so much shore-line, they could be anywhere.

There was heavy cloud and the sky was still dark with unspent storm. Rain was still falling in the distance and as he looked about, he fancied he saw the shapes of mountains to the right of him through the haze. If that’s north, they should be the Maamturks and we’ve come ashore below them. If I can see other mountains in the west, they’ll be the Twelve Pins, he surmised.

He tried to pierce the rainhaze by focusing his eyes in a narrow stare. If he could just see the shapes of the Twelve Pins on the skyline he was sure that he would recognize them and get a bearing. But it was no use.

He turned to ask Cathbad but the Druid had gone, and all that was to be seen was the speck of white of the sail, where his boat was a dot far away on the expanse of the water. It was small enough to be only a seabird.

‘What do we do now?’ he said.

There was another flash of lightning.

‘There’s no hounds; run for shelter,’ Brigit said and they ran.

As they ran, the blackness came down again like a thick quilt of sorrow and the thunder exploded across the sky and sounded as if it were overthrowing temples and ethics and crashing them down like sixpenny plates. Lightning darted and streaked in long, crooked daggers of white fire; a knife-throwing act of some mad and wicked God.

That’s what it is, Pidge was thinking. So it’s magic and there’s no realness in it and if it hits us—it would probably be no more dangerous than a blow from a bubble.

But, just in case, he still ran with Brigit.

The blackness was even more solid and they had to rely on the light from the flashes to see ahead and know where to run when the light had gone. They saw before them the low wall of a field and ran to climb over. Just as they reached the wall, the blackness came down again and they could barely make out the stones, but their hands were on them, so feeling their way, they climbed in.