The Hounds of the Morrigan (26 page)

Pidge followed Finn through the breach. He was obliged to turn left almost immediately, and then right. As he walked along this twisting, narrow and deep passage, he was thinking what a great hiding-place it was and how hard it would be for the hounds to find it. He knew that Brigit was behind him safely; for he could hear her telling the ass not to be afraid.

The passage grew even narrower and he understood why the panniers had to come off; there simply wasn’t room to spare. The path now sloped upwards very gradually.

After what seemed a long time, he finally stepped out into the open and the sunshine, to find that Finn was sitting waiting for him. Brigit popped out in a moment with the ass and Old Daire at her heels.

‘Here we are,’ said Finn, ‘the Hidden Valley.’

It was as if they were standing on the rim of an enormous bowl.

They looked down on a broad, shallow valley, bare of trees and scrub, that was a vast mosaic of small stony fields. A road ran down ahead of them, slightly winding. It went all the way to the far end of the valley, where it seemed to come to a finish at the rising wall of rock which formed the opposite end of the bowl where they now stood.

The base of the valley was level. There looked to be miles and miles of it with people all over it working busily, cutting and burning small furze bushes as they cleared the land for cultivation. The distance made each of those who were furthest away seem smaller than a finger-nail. There were a great many fires going and the smoke rose up in straight plumes to the sky as steady as telegraph poles, because there was no wind.

Pidge had never seen such a host of people working together in one place; so many that they couldn’t be counted.

Everything sparkled and was radiant under the sun’s blaze. Wherever there was the smallest drop of water even, it shone like a mirror and the bits of quartz in rocks, glittered and flashed. The men wore homespuns and brightly-coloured jumpers, some red as cherries and others peacock-blue, and they were scattered all over the valley in dabs, like spatters of paint. The women’s petticoats were of scarlet; the grass was a brilliant green.

As they walked down into the valley, people stopped work and greeted them when they passed by, and some, a long way off, paused to wave.

‘There’ll be time for you to get a bit of breakfast,’ said Finn.

‘Good,’ said Brigit. ‘But no hollyhedges or nettles, for me.’

From end to end, the valley was easily four miles long. The houses of the people were of the traditional long, low type, whitewashed and thatched. The roofs of straw had darkened like old honey.

They followed the track down and along the valley-floor and the people all stopped in turn, leaving their chopping and burning and digging-out of roots, to say a greeting. Old Daire and Finn were very well-liked it seemed; and beneath all the friendliness, there was an undertone of great respect.

Finn had lifted Brigit back on to the ass and she had a good view of all that they passed.

‘Are all these your relations and corrections?’ she asked, impressed by their numbers.

‘Yes,’ Finn replied seriously while the other two smiled.

‘I hope you don’t have to buy them all birthday presents,’ she said with sympathy.

‘Ah, they’re far too old for that,’ said Old Daire.

In one of the fields that was well-in from the track and butting right against the base of the rock wall, Pidge noticed a whole herd of donkeys, who left off browsing to watch them go by.

At length they turned in at one of the small fields near the far end and the people there came to meet them. Now as Pidge looked back, the people at the entrance to the valley were the ones who looked small.

There was talk of breakfast for the arrivals. Pidge wasn’t at all sure if they had time and mentioned this in a vague way to the company in general.

‘You’ll be all right for a while, I’m thinking. Throw your length down on the grass and we’ll bring the food outside. Isn’t it all ready and all you have to do is eat,’ Old Daire said reassuringly, and then he went with the people into the nearest house.

Pidge sat on the grass and watched Brigit flash away, chattering to this one and that. He called her but she paid no heed. There she goes not talking to strangers, he thought, laughing quietly. She was following Finn who had gone into the next field to talk with the people there. Everywhere he went, she was behind him; like a pet lamb.

A relaxed feeling stole over Pidge; he lay on his side with an elbow on the ground and his hand propping up his head, as he enjoyed the sun and the air; and the noises the people made while working. His eyes were closing with the languor of it all. From the house there came the homely sounds of crockery being moved and a kettle whistling. He lay flat on his back in the sun and stretched himself out.

Under his head, he heard a sound like a muffled gong. At first he fancied that he was only sensing the vibrations made by the blows of implements, as they struck against stones lying unsuspected in the soil near the roots of the furze bushes; but realizing that it was too quick a rate for a man with a spade to work at, and far more muffled than the sounds around him anyway, he turned his ear to the earth.

As soon as it had taken his attention, the sound stopped and he heard a whispering, distinct and audible though very low.

It said:

‘Sow the wheat here.’

It was something like the Voice in the chimney.

Again, Pidge was overcome, but not by shock this time and not by fear; it was pure surprise.

‘Do you mean the seed of The Maines?’ he whispered back.

‘Sow the seed here,’ the Voice said in answer.

There are no other seeds, he thought and felt in his pocket. He had wrapped the grains of wheat in his handkerchief. He scraped away a little earth, undid the hankie and dropped the seeds in the hole and covered them. He watched the spot, waiting for something to happen, some marvellous thing to begin.

Nothing at all happened.

‘Did I do right?’ he asked the earth quietly, as he doubted.

‘You did,’ the Voice whispered back.

Then from the house came a small procession of people, Old Daire leading. Two men carried a long table and four men carried two benches that matched the table for length. Three women came carrying trays of crockery and food.

‘Come on, Your Nibs—your bit to eat is ready!’ Old Daire shouted.

‘Wait a minute,’ Finn shouted back.

‘Wait-A-Minute lost the ducks!’ Old Daire yelled back. He was surreptitiously heeling in the little patch of seeds with his boot, but Pidge saw him do it out of the corner of his eye.

The table was set and Brigit and Finn came back, and everybody sat down to eat.

There were baskets of boiled eggs, and platters with wholemeal bread, and small dishes of butter for everyone and mugs of hot sweet tea. There were two plates of specially scrambled eggs with herbs of some kind for Brigit and Pidge, and they drank some unusual fruit juice that they had never tasted before. All the crockery had a lovely dandelion pattern; rich yellow and green colours on a cream background in the glazing. Brigit especially admired the egg-cups that the other people were using.

Between mouthfuls, she said:

‘It’s nice in this place. All the things are nice and the fields are so small and neat, they look like dolls’ fields.’

‘The same fields have fed the people over and over again from the first; mother and father to us all—the lovely green fields, bless them forever,’ said Old Daire gravely.

‘More bread and butter, please,’ Brigit said.

Daire passed her the plate and took her hand as she reached out.

‘This little hand will do something big,’ he said, and Brigit reddened with pleasure.

‘When?’ she asked.

‘In time,’ he said.

Pidge noted this with a feeling of gratitude; it promised well for the future. As he ate, he looked at the people who had been such good friends. They all had a look of Daire and Finn, and were dressed as they were, in the bluish-grey homespuns. The clothes were all made out of new cloth, it appeared; not even one patch, although they were working clothes. Even as he looked at Daire’s sleeveless jacket, a patch was there just under his left arm; but done very neatly. I was wrong, he thought, and finished his eggs.

One of the women was admiring Brigit’s brooch and saying how nice it looked. She reached over and touched the little silver bow and arrow with hands that had never known rough work, Pidge saw.

‘You’d best be off now,’ Old Daire said when they’d finished and eaten all that they needed. ‘I’m sure you have a long way to go.’

‘Thank you for everything,’ Pidge said awkwardly, not yet old enough to say words of indebtedness to older people easily and on an equal-footing, and not young enough like Brigit to just let it trip off his tongue.

‘You have lovely plates and eggcups,’ she said enviously. ‘Thank you for my breakfast.’

Old Daire held out his hand to say goodbye. Brigit settled her satchel on her shoulder and shook hands.

Old Daire then took Pidge’s hand.

‘You’re one of those quiet, steady ones who sees a lot and says nothing.’

‘I didn’t know that; I suppose I am,’ Pidge said, slightly surprised.

‘You’ll show them the way,’ Old Daire ordered Finn, hitting him with his cap.

Finn’s gaze was directed back at the spot high up on the rim, where they had first come into the valley. He gave a low whistle and all of the people, even those at the greatest distance away, stopped work and looked at him.

They followed his gaze at once, everyone turning to face the ridge and stare at the hounds on the skyline.

It all went very still.

The columns of smoke that had been rising in straight unruffled lines, suddenly bent at right angles when they were level with the rim and drifted to form a swirling thick blanket, that carried right to the edge where the dogs were now watching. There, it gathered and thickened even more and billowed out at either side; a grey and yellow mass that screened all that was in the valley from the dogs’ eyes.

Finn hoisted Brigit onto his back and motioned to Pidge to follow. He then went, not by the road, but through the remaining fields, to the way out of the valley. It was a dark tunnel, hidden by growth, and he silently led the way, out to the countryside beyond.

By a huge thorntree, he stopped and set Brigit onto the ground. He bent and plucked a dandelion clock which he gave to Pidge.

‘Run,’ he said. ‘Keep running until the last seed remains—then stop.’

And then he was gone.

While Pidge took a moment to look about him, wondering which way to go, Brigit began to search the ground in a frantic, angry way.

‘I’ve lost my brooch,’ she said furiously.

‘Oh no! Not now! We’re supposed to be running!’

‘I’m not going without it,’ she said hotly, as if she thought he might argue with her.

‘Of course you can’t go without it,’ he said glumly, and together they went back through the tunnel, searching all the way.

They had to go all the way back before they saw it lying on a bit of grass, just inside the valley. Brigit snatched it up and Pidge helped her to pin it back on her cardigan, fumbling a bit because he was anxious to be gone.

Naturally, they both had a quick look to see if the smoke was still working, and saw that it was thicker than ever. But all of the people had vanished; perhaps into their houses, and hundreds of hares had come out to play; boxing and jumping about and chasing each other in their usual, crazy way. The donkey-herd was no longer there; instead nibbling the grass, there were well-bred horses; and that was odd too.

They went back though the tunnel and stood again by the thorntree.

‘Hold my hand, Brigit,’ said Pidge and they ran.

T
HEY
went swiftly and easily because of the herbs they had eaten; Pidge with the fluffy little dome held out in front, where he could watch it. As they sped along, some dandelion parachutes pulled free and drifted. Pidge snatched a look behind and could not be sure that the Hidden Valley had not changed into a hill-fort, already diminished in the distance behind.

They flashed over moorland, turf-bogs and streams. They pounced at and leaped over ditches, brooks and small boulders. They swept round small lakes and young spinneys and skirted spongy clots of moss, and ran over flat pasturage and lumpy, sedgy ground where water tumbled into suds and made bubbling pools.

And the parachutes blew away, spasmodically.

It was taking a long time.

The sun moved and the shadows changed; the day had a different feeling to that of morning-time. They felt not the smallest bit tired. Brigit chattered about the things that caught her eye as they passed by, but never once asked to stop either to play or explore, in all that time.

It came to it, at last.

Two parachutes remained.

When one went sideways and took off, they immediately stopped running.

‘We’re supposed to walk now,’ Pidge said, although he knew inside himself that they could still run fast if they wanted to.

The last parachute fell and he threw the stalk away.

Close by was a large crag, sheer but for one sloping side. Wishing to know how far they had come, they climbed to its top to try to find out. For a few quiet moments they stood looking back, surveying the astonishing distance they had travelled. There was no sign at all of the Hidden Valley or anything even resembling it.

Even as they watched, the far-off shapes of the hounds appeared, seeming to rise out of the ground because they were so remote; but running marvellously.

Perhaps because he was instinctively looking for them, Pidge saw them first.

‘Would you ever believe it; they’ve found us already,’ he said softly.

‘Where?’

He pointed.

‘Way back over there? Do you see them moving?’

‘Oh yes. They look so small—like rabbits. I hope they all break a leg!’

‘We must walk on as if they’re not even there. Right, Brigit?’

‘Right!’

They scrambled and slithered down from the crag and set off to walk to wherever they were going.