The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance (45 page)

He seized the unconscious man by one foot and began to drag him back to the fire. That did not soothe the pain in his chest but at least he heard the child crooning to the cattle and hoped that meant he would not need to chase the cows.

His first task was to secure the man he had first struck. The cattle thief was just beginning to stir and Ailil coldly hit him again. Leather thongs from the man’s own pouch fastened his thumbs together behind his back, as wel as his big toes. Aside from that, Ailil let him lie where he was to go and bind the second man the same way.

The cows were bedded down where they had been original y. The child was now silent except for a shuddering sob now and again. Ailil went and squatted down beside him, drawing his knife.

The child’s eyes went wide. Ailil laughed.

“I only want to cut you loose, little one. I wil do you no harm. How do you wish me to cal you?” He knew enough of the Danaans not to ask for the child’s name.

“Do you want the cows?” the boy asked, obviously trying to keep his voice steady.

“No, indeed,” Ailil replied. “I am not such a fool as to wish to keep the cattle of the Tuatha Dé Danann which did not come to me as a gift or an agreed purchase.” He lifted the child, hissing with pain as what he feared was a broken rib stabbed him again, and set him down closer to the fire so he could see to insert the knife and cut the bonds without injuring the little boy.

The child was silent until he was free and then he sighed on a half-sob, and said, “You can cal me Bress. What wil you do with me?”

“Take you home, of course. And the cows too.” Ailil laughed. “That is, if you know the way home.

I certainly do not.”

The boy began to sob more heavily and Ailil drew him close. He was a little surprised when the child actual y climbed into his lap, pressed against him and clung as he wept. By ten, which Ailil judged him to be by his height and the fact that he was alone with the cattle, most boys would be trying to resist being comforted, not clinging like an infant.

The fire had been somewhat scattered when he landed in it and was now dying. Ailil caught up a stick and, holding the child with one arm, shoved the burning wood together as wel as he could.

There was more wood within his reach and he added about half of that to the fire. After a few moments the flames sprang up. Ailil stroked the boy’s hair and he lifted his face. When Ailil saw his companion clearly, he drew a quick breath. The child he was holding could have no more than six or seven summers, although he was as big as a Milesian boy of ten. The Danaan were a tal race.

The sobs had quieted and Ailil asked, “What happened? How did you come to be taken with the cattle?” He thought there might have been a raid or a battle and the child might be a survivor.

“They said I was not big enough to mind the cows.” The voice was shril with childish resentment.

“So I cal ed to the cattle and they came and fol owed me. You see how they lie where I bade them.” Ailil ’s mouth opened, then closed. He took a deep breath. “You mean you took the cattle yourself? You were not set to watch over them?”

“No one listens to me!” The words were garbled with sobs and sniffs. “I knew a better place to graze them. The grass was thick and tender. So I took them there and they were content. But—”

“But no one knew where you were,” Ailil breathed. “And that is why the Danaan are not on the heels of their precious child.” He raised his voice, holding Bress’ head up with a finger under his chin. “You have been a very naughty boy. Your parents are likely half-mad with worry over you.
Do
you know the way home?”

Bress burst into tears again. “Must we go now? The cows are tired and I am, too.”

“No, no.” Ailil gave him a rough hug. “We wil wait until morning at least. Perhaps your people wil come before we leave and I wil not need to try to fol ow your trail back to the sidhe. Now let me see what food those thieves carried so I can feed you, then get their blankets and make up your bed.”

“No bed for you?” The boy sounded anxious, as if he feared Ailil would abandon him.

“I have my own. I was camping above, up on the hil . . .” Ailil ’s voice faded. He had heard the boy crying but then he had seen the fire. Those thieves were idiots, lighting a fire that the Danaan would see. He shook his head, and said to Bress, “And I must fetch my horse too.” By the time he had fed the child and settled him to sleep, retrieved his horse and his supplies, Ailil was finding it hard to breathe past the pain in his side. He sank down beside the fire, which was dying again, and wondered whether he could force himself to gather more firewood. Surely the Danaan must now be close, even if they had not known just when the boy was lost or from where he had been taken. Would they need the light of the fire to find this camp?

Ailil real y did not want to fol ow the track of the cattle back to the sidhe. He did not want to move at al . If Bress’ people came, he could give them the boy and the cows and lie up for a few days while his rib set. He closed his eyes.

He was to get no peace, however. His long silence had seemingly convinced the thieves that he had gone to sleep. Now he heard one of the men cursing softly and moving about, doubtless trying to free his thumbs. Ailil jerked upright and yelped as it seemed as if a knife stabbed his side.

Gritting his teeth, he levered himself to his feet more careful y. No matter the pain, he had better bind his prisoners more securely.

And suddenly the smal clearing was ful of men, half with drawn swords and the other half with drawn bows. And every nocked arrow was aimed at him. Ailil raised his empty hands.

“I am not the man who took your child,” he said. “Those who did lie bound. The child is here, asleep.”

“I am not asleep,” Bress cal ed, sitting up. “And what this man says is true.” There was a high, musical cry, and a woman came running from behind the men to catch the child into her arms and kiss him. The men lowered their swords and relaxed the tension of the bowstrings somewhat. Holding his side, Ailil let himself sink to the ground. One of the men lifted the hand not holding his sword and gestured. Lights formed bright, misty bal s in the air and the clearing was as bright as day.

Ailil swal owed a shriek of terror. A thin sound worked its way up his throat, but both the cattle thieves screamed their fear aloud and covered his smal exclamation. A babble of sound came from those around the boy, the woman asking questions of the child to discover if he had been hurt, was hungry, was cold, was thirsty. The men were not so sympathetic and mixed scolding with many questions.

Eventual y the tal man who had gestured the witch-lights into being came and crouched down beside Ailil , who swal owed the heart that seemed to be trying to climb up his throat and into his mouth. He did his best to straighten himself.

“How did you come to notice the child and the cattle?” the man asked.

“I heard the child crying. At first I did nothing, believing that a cattle drover had punished his son or his apprentice, but then I heard the little one begging Mother Dana for help . . .”

“So you saved him, knowing he was Danaan.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Ailil started to laugh and then gasped, his hand against his painful ribs. “It was easy because the pair that took him were such fools.” He described how he had overcome the thieves, ending,

“Perhaps they had never heard of the Tuatha Dé Dunaan. But even so, imagine stealing cattle and then lighting a campfire as if no one would pursue.”

“You know it was not the cattle we pursued,” the tal man said. “What do you want for protecting our child?”

Ailil glanced sidelong at the lights floating above the men’s heads, lighting the whole area. He took a breath, wincing and holding his side, but he described his desire for Medb.

The tal man shook his head. “I cannot interfere with a Milesian marriage or—”

“Gods, no!” Ailil exclaimed. “If Medb should learn you had anything to do with freeing her from Conchobar, she would kil me. No, that is her business and she wil manage it. But I must come to her with goods exactly the equal of what she has and to do that I must gather my goods and hold them in this area until she is ready to be bound to me. Only I have no one I can trust to hold my wealth for me until Medb is ready.”

“And you would trust me, who you have never met before, whose name you do not even know, to hold your goods?”

Ailil laughed and glanced up at the magical lights. “What I wil gather wil be riches for me but little above dross for you. I have seen your cattle. I see the clothing you wear to chase thieves through the woods. The torc around your neck would buy a kingdom. And no, I do not want any of it. Medb could not match any gift you gave me and al such wealth would do is wake envy and desire in my equals.”

For the first time the man crouched beside Ailil smiled. “A wise man, and scarcely a man yet.

Very wel , I wil hold your wealth for you although to do that I must give you the key to my sidhe. That I cannot give without recompense; my gratitude for your rescue of our child is not enough.”

“What recompense can such as I give a being who can light up the night?”

“We are strong, but few. If you Milesians gathered together enough force, you could drown us in numbers. My recompense is that you never seek a quarrel with the Tuatha Dé Dunaan for any reason at al . If you are attacked, you may defend yourself but you may not fol ow to gain a victory, even from your attacker.”

Ailil was silent, considering. If the Danaan should attack and he drove them away, he could stil lose men and property and if he could not continue the fight, he would not be able to seize compensation. And then he thought that he had never heard of the Danaan attacking anyone who had not first injured them. Most of them did not live in places where they came in contact with ordinary people. A few did live in the world but . . . And then he bit his lip to keep from smiling. He would not need to worry about losses. Medb would retrieve whatever he lost for him.

He had forgotten his ribs, started to draw a deep breath of relief, began to cough, and groaned.

Nonetheless he managed to say, “I wil swear to that recompense.” And as the words left his mouth, an odd tingle took hold in his chest. “You have laid a
gets
on me.” he gasped.

“So I have,” the tal man said calmly. “It wil do you no harm, unless you violate your oath. And even then, it wil warn you first by what you now feel. Otherwise you wil never know you carry the
gets.”
He smiled again and his eyes looked kind and the odd tingle disappeared from Ailil ’s chest. “My name is Bodb,” he added, offering with his name his trust, “and if you wil take no other gift, at least let us see to your injury.”

To that Ailil agreed with some relief, for the pain in his side was sapping his strength, but he did not expect to fal suddenly asleep and to wake sitting on his horse in bright daylight in a place he had never seen before. Their party seemed to be emerging from a dense wood that, to his right, opened into a wide val ey of grass. In the distance, Ailil could see more cattle, like those with the boy, and a smal herd of horses.

To his left was a hil broken by a shal ow cave. Ailil could see the bare, unworked rock at the back of the cave because it was il uminated by sunlight.

“Dismount now,” Bodb said, coming to Ailil ’s side and offering an arm to help. “How do you wish to be cal ed while you are healing with us?”

Ailil laughed aloud and was instantly aware his rib was stil painful, if not as excruciatingly painful as it had been. And when he tried to draw breath, he was also aware that his chest had been bound. He took Bodb’s arm and slid to the ground. One of the men who had been in the clearing when the Danaan found him came and took his horse, murmuring that the animal would be cared for. Ailil nodded thanks.

“My name is Ailil mac Máta,” he said, “my true name since you already have a hand on my heart. And I have also been cal ed Ailil Dubd, Black Ailil , for obvious reasons.”

“Come with me,” Bobd said, offering his arm as an aid when Ailil swayed.

They were headed directly into the cave. Ailil hesitated, expecting Bodb to slow down lest in a step or two they walk right into the back wal of the cavern. But when they came under the cave roof, a sharp pang and a sense like a blow on the back of his neck made Ailil cry out and close his eyes in protest.

He had a moment of bitter shame and rage for al owing himself to be charmed and betrayed, but when his eyes opened an instant later he saw not bare rock nor more Tuatha Dé Danaan to make him a prisoner, but a broad corridor, lit with the same witch-lights that had lit the campsite of the cattle thieves.

Bodb tightened his grip on Ailil ’s arm as he swayed again. The corridor was alive with beauty, with such pictures that the wal s seemed to open into successive scenes of Eriu: in a moonlit glade couples of Danaan danced; in a sunlit val ey the golden cattle of the Danaan grazed; sharp, bare cliffs rose from a landlocked harbour where fishing boats furled or raised painted sails; fields were tended by women with skirts kilted above their knees, who looked, laughing, over their shoulders.

Farther down the corridor a metalsmith worked, the flames of his forge seeming to leap out of the painted image. Danaans sat before looms on which the half-formed weavings were of superlative beauty, a minstrel, lap-harp on his knee, sang to a spel bound audience. Only one part of life did not appear; there were no images of war. No Danaan attired in precious armour swung a shining sword; no Danaan rushed upon another with upraised axe.

Ailil was surprised. It was true that most of the few Danaan he had come across had been minstrels or bards, but the others had served as men-at-arms in the households he knew and they were superb fighters. It seemed that despite their proficiency in arms they did not honour the art of war. Before he could ask about that oddity, the corridor opened out into a huge room. A fire burned in the centre on a polished marble hearth without smoke, although heat waves distorted the air above the leaping flames.