Waves in the Wind (40 page)

Upon reaching my side, Torcán grabbed my arm with his left hand and began pounding my back with his right. “Ossian, my old friend. Oh, and what a fine day this turned out to be. I thought you dead.”

Grunting beneath his repeated blows, I gasped, “If you don’t stop beating upon me, I soon will be.”

“Ah now, it’s sorry I am.” His broad grin gleamed within his dusty beard; his eyes alight with good humor. “It’s just that I’m glad to see you. It’s been, what, two years since we fought together?”

“Almost that, yes.” I turned to introduce him to Goban. “This is—”

Torcán interrupted me as he stepped aside; feet spread, fists on his hips. “I am Torcán, son of Dubhgall, a
warrior and sword for hire. I fought alongside Ossian and led our mounted warriors durin’ a victorious battle against the Christians. Ah, what a fine fight that was.”

Goban grunted and stared him up and down. “From the looks of ye, that was your last victory.”

The warrior dusted his tattered clothing. “Oh, it’s ashamed I am of my appearance. Times are hard for fightin’ men.” He frowned and winked. “A good war is what this land needs, I say; at least a small one to start coins a’flowin’ again, eh?”

“I know ye now.” Goban nodded. “Ye visited Tara a few years back, I think. I am Goban; ye come by me shop and purchased a sword from me.”

“You’re the man who…?” Recognition lit Torcán’s eyes. “Aye, of course! Right you are, and a fine sword it was, for it served me well.”

Eyebrow cocked, Goban asked, “It was? What became of it?”

“Ach, I told you times are hard.” He pointed along the tree-lined trail towards the village. “A miserly shopkeeper has it now.” Dropping his head and dragging a toe in the dust, Torcán muttered, “It’s a sad thing for a warrior to admit, but I had to sell my sword so’s to eat, you see.”

“Come then,” I said, slapping his shoulder. “We stopped for a bit of ale, but perhaps some stew as well if it is tasty enough.”

We were walking towards the hovel’s door when the brawny twins turned to face us, shoulder to shoulder. The one on the left shook his head. “There’ll be none of that ’til we see a coin to pay for it all.”

Torcán looked to me with a shrug. “These are good lads, but there’s been a slight misunderstandin’ between their father and me over payment for a mere few mugs of ale.”

He turned back to the brothers. “Now, don’t be shamin’ me in front of my friends…there’s the good lads. If you’ll just go in and speak with your father—”

“We’ll not be speaking with our father ’til we see a coin,” the same brother replied.

“So tell me lads, were you raised on sheep’s milk? Stand up to your father, I say. Tell him Torcán always pays his debts.”

His face remaining unperturbed, the young man held out his hand, his thumb rubbing his fingertips. “Yer coin?”

I grabbed Torcán’s shoulder as he took a quick step forward, fists clenched at his sides. “Wait. There needn’t be another
misunderstanding
here.” Removing a silver coin from the purse at my waist, I tossed it to the young man. “Take that to your father. It is more than sufficient to pay for the ale Torcán already drank plus everything we will require.”

We trailed behind them as the twins, grinning as one, turned and entered the hovel. Surprisingly, the single room exceeded the impression offered from the outside. Six tables with benches arranged either side, and the aroma of fresh hay scattered upon the ground filled the air. Behind a short counter hung shelves lined with bottles and mugs. The gray-bearded man leaning on the counter and scowling at Torcán I assumed was the lads’ father. He had much the same burly look about him, though he stood a good head shorter than his sons.

We settled around a table, mugs and ale bottles standing before us, and long it was we spoke of old times. Bottle after bottle arrived along with steaming bowls of lamb stew. Darkness fell, and candles grouped on the counter cast a dim glow within the room. Local men, farmers by the look of them, came and went, while ever-growing clusters of empty ale bottles filled our tabletop.

“And so,” Torcán asked, “whatever became of your friend the bard, Laoidheach?”

“He’s dead.” I lowered my face, sipped my ale and then went on to tell Torcán about it. I spoke of my best friend.

When I finished, he wiped the makings of tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “Ah now that’s a sad thing, my friend, a sad thing. Laoidheach was a good man, I think.” He shook his head. “We’ve all lost many good friends, eh? Dead, maimed, gone away somewhere…” He raised his mug. “To old friends, wherever they may be.”

Lifting our mugs high, Goban and I echoed, “To old friends.”

The night grew long, the ale flowed and the room emptied of all save the father and his twin sons. We paid them scant attention though the hulking brothers sat at the table beside us. Torcán was sharing a tale with us when the father strolled over with more bottles. “If it’s more ye’ll be wantin’, I’ll be needin’ another coin from ye.”

My hand went to my purse, but Torcán grumbled. “Another coin, you say? I doubt you’ve seen so much silver in the past year. Off with you, unless you’re wantin’ my fist in your eye.”

“A likely thing that,” the father sneered. “Do ye want more ale or don’t ye?”

Torcán flushed and began to rise, but I laid a hand on his shoulder, pushed him down on the bench and gave the man a coin. “I don’t begrudge a man a coin or two when he serves good ale. Keep the bottles coming, my man.”

“You pay too much,” Torcán muttered as the father walked away. “Now, what was it I was saying?”

Goban poured ale in his mug, and looked up. “Ye were tellin’ us about the maid who received a cow for her services.”

“Oh yes, as I was saying—”

A twin leaned over and interrupted, grinning at Torcán. “Ye’d best enjoy yer ale while yer wealthy friend is here. Ye’ll be getting no more of it after he’s gone.”

Torcán ignored him and continued his story. “So, this maid says, ‘It won’t be—’”

“I’d be talkin’ to ye, little man,” the twin goaded him. “Ye’d best be a’heedin’ me lessin’ ye’d be wantin’ more of what we already gave ye.”

His face glowed, but Torcán continued. “She says, ‘It won’t be me who’s—’”

The big man rose, stepped to our table and laid his hand on Torcán’s shoulder. “I said ye’d best be a’hearin’ me—”

It was trouble the brother offered, and he got it. Torcán slapped the hand away, leaped to his feet and threw a fist into the man’s teeth.

The man staggered backwards and his brother and father rushed forward to grab Torcán. Goban hurried to his feet to side our friend.

“Men,” I began, as I stood, thinking to avoid the foolishness. “I see no reason why—”

The father’s fist crashed against Torcán’s jaw, sending him reeling across the room. Goban kicked a twin on the shin and then turned away, ducking as a mighty swing passed over his head.

The father and other twin pursued Torcán, who dodged behind a table.

Crouching, his fists swirling before him, Goban danced about the big man confronting him—a horsefly circling a bull.

My small friend was over-matched, so fearing for his safety I hurried forward. “Now see here—”

The twin’s roundabout punch caught me in my stomach, doubling me over. The following blow I didn’t see coming, only lights bursting in my head when his fist connected with my chin.

Backwards I tumbled, coming to rest on the floor, gasping for breath as I found myself propped against the counter alongside Torcán, who it seemed had suffered a similar fate.

He turned to me and grinned. “Oh, a sportin’ family they are, may the gods bless them.” Scrambling to his feet, he whooped, “Here we go!”

A sporting family?
I snorted.
They brawl for sport?

It was pure idiocy, and I glanced about, concerned for Goban. I spotted him astraddle the fallen giant. How he toppled such a colossus I couldn’t fathom, but Goban sat upon the man’s chest, pummeling him with his fists.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Torcán exchanging punches with the father. My attention shifted to the other twin, who strode over to Goban, lifted him bodily in the air and heaved the small man across our former dinner table, where he disappeared amidst the clatter of breaking of bottles and shrill curses.

Idiotic or not, the fight was on, so I staggered to my feet, and rushed headlong towards the brother who had tossed Goban. He saw me coming as I ran towards him, stepped aside as I missed with a punch and then gave me a shove. Off-balance, I plunged over the table, landing atop Goban in a tangle of arms and legs.

“Get off me,” my friend squawked.

This was my first brawl, and, lacking experience, I wasn’t faring well. It occurred to me that perhaps I could outsmart the twins’ brute force. Our heights were much the same, though I was no match for their muscular frames. Rather than rushing about, I would approach my adversaries with guile and deliberate determination.

The brother who pushed me was grinning as I grabbed the table edge and heaved myself erect. Filled with confidence, I advanced, circling about, my fists poised and moving in front of me, my muscles coiled to deliver a blow. Multi-colored lights flashed before my eyes as the man’s fist seemed to come from nowhere to connect with my chin.

Down I went, rolling across the floor, once more coming to a hard stop with my shoulders resting against the counter. The room was spinning ’round; nearby were panting, grunting, an incoherent shout and the thuds of exchanged blows.

Someone crashed against the counter beside me, overturning the candles, and the room went dark. No doubt Goban and Torcán encountered trouble with the father and his giant sons. They needed my aid, so I shook my head, reached up to the countertop and pulled myself upright.

Lacking any sense of the positions of friends or foes, I groped my way through the darkness. A dimly seen shadow moved before and slightly below me, so I leaned closer, hoping for a better look.

“Yeow!” The irrepressible yelp escaped me when hard knuckles encountered my nose. Tears streamed from my eyes as I cupped my throbbing nose in my hand.

“Ossian?” It was Goban. “Was that ye, lad?”

I spun about, encountered a wood bench and sat down on it. Rocking back and forth while still cupping my nose, I almost gagged when blood trickled into my mouth. In that moment I became a casualty, lost to the fight.

Goban’s hand grasped my shoulder. “Are ye hurt, lad?” he muttered. He might have said more, but another loud crash came from the vicinity of the counter followed by the sound of shuffling feet.

“What say ye, men?” the father’s voice rang out in the darkness. “Have ye had enough?”

No response came. I was gasping through my open mouth, my nose clogged, streaming blood and on fire.

“What say ye?” the man called again.

“Aye, that’s enough,” Goban replied.

“Well then, we want to thank ye boys for a fine evenin’s entertainment. Stay here and make yourselves comfortable for the night, ye’ve already paid for it. I’m quite the jolly host, wouldn’t ye agree? We’ll be happy to accommodate ye again tomorrow.” The father and sons’ laughter joined, and I heard the sound of backslapping as they stumbled through the door.

As for Torcán, he never uttered a sound.

* * *

Goban held my arm as he squatted before me, staring at my nose. “Oh, it’s sorry I am, my friend. I thought it one of the brothers loomin’ above me in the darkness, so I let me fist fly.”

Pre-dawn light revealed the battle-scarred room in gray shadows. Seated on a bench, I glared at him past my swollen nose. “‘I let me fist fly,’” I mocked. “Do you often let it fly away when you’ve no idea where it’s going?”

“No, well, that is, I thought…” He cleared his throat. “So is your nose broke, do you think?”

I winced as I swiped at the dripping thing with a linen rag, and growled, “And just how would I be knowing that? All I’m certain of, it’s swollen to twice its normal size.”

Throbbing pain had allowed me no sleep throughout the night, though I had removed my blood-spattered kirtle, replacing it with another from my bundle. It was with a foul temper I glanced at Torcán, who still lay beside the counter, flat on his back and snoring.

“Look at him there.” I pointed. “He sleeps like a gorged bear, while…ach.” Glowering, I stood and started towards him. “We’ll see about that.”

Goban arrived alongside me, and chuckled as he stared down at Torcán. “Well, at least the man’s not dead.”

Arms crossing my chest, I stood over him and prodded his stomach with my toe. He smacked his lips, smiled and then resumed snoring. I prodded him again, with no intention of being gentle about it.

Torcán awoke with a snort, shook his head and then leaped to his feet, his balled fists outstretched before him.

Hands upraised, I backed away. “Whoa, warrior. The war’s over.”

Purple swelling surrounded his red eyes as he gawked at me. “It is?”

“Aye, so you can lower your fists.”

He scrubbed his face with his hands, and then glanced sideways at me. “Did we win?”

Dabbing away blood oozing from my nose, I groaned. “I’m afraid not.”

“Bah.” A grin spread across his face as he winked at Goban and pointed to me. “Now there’s a painful nose for you. The brothers can throw a punch, can’t they?”

Goban grunted, and scurried behind me as the warrior continued. “Ah, but it was a brawny fight nonetheless, wasn’t it?” On wobbling legs, he glanced around and reached across the counter for a bottle. “I say we celebrate it.”

My stomach churned at the thought, and I waved a dismissive hand. “I had quite enough last night, thank you. Besides, Goban and I must be leaving soon and we’ll not be traveling with muddled heads.”

“Yes, and to Trá Lí, I recall you mentioned last night.” Torcán took a long swig from the bottle, and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “And why would you be goin’ to such a place? I’ve been there and little there is to it.”

“To Trá Lí and a bit beyond,” I nodded, “along the coast of the penninsula south of it. A man waits for us.”

“Ah yes, I know the place.” He scratched the tangled beard on his chin. “It was in the mountains there we fought a small battle, ten years ago it was. I remember the fight well because it was then poor Aimhirghin, son of Morann, got his head chopped. Did you know him?”