***
That afternoon, the ráth and its immediate environs formed the focus of an uncharacteristically frenzied activity as desperate preparations were made to prepare the defences. Conchenn and Cairbre worked on the food supplies, filling several troughs of water inside the compound and preserving what additional food stocks they could without the use of the main fire pit.
Cónán, meanwhile, drove the cattle outside to the fenced pastures alongside the northern edge of the settlement where they would graze before being driven back into the ráth again before nightfall. Once the larger animals were settled, he rushed off to locate the pigs and goats, some of whom had been wandering in the nearer sections of wood for days.
Bearach, recovered from his gruelling marathon, relieved Aodhán on the gateway, freeing his older brother to work on the preparation of two new javelins and a spear to be added to the selection already set into the gatehouse rack.
For her part, Bodhmhall spent most of the afternoon weaving a wicker panel that could be used to plug a gap in the eastern wall of the upper rampart. During the ráth’s reconstruction, this final section had never been completed as they’d exhausted their supply of wooden pilings obtained at great effort from the nearby wood. Due to other, more demanding, priorities and the settlement’s general lack of manpower, a gap of four or five oak pilings still existed. Located high on the inner embankment, this weakness had never previously been a significant issue but given the size of the fian, this breach was now the most substantial chink in the ráth’s defences. The makeshift wicker barrier, although not a particularly effective measure, would have to do given the time constraints involved.
Immersed in her work, Bodhmhall lost all awareness of time and it was only a sudden drop in temperature that prompted her to look up and realise how late it was. Gazing down the valley, she was relieved to see Cónán herding the cattle closer to the ráth as the sun began to sink behind the trees at the distant valley entrance. She observed the darkening sky with some relief. Nightfall was not far off and soon the valley would be shrouded in a dark mantle more effective as a defence than the embankment and all of their javelins combined.
Determined to complete her task, Bodhmhall focused once more on the wicker panel. Finishing the final weave, she was manhandling the barrier into position when a stone flew past her head and glanced violently off one of the pilings. Startled, she looked towards the gateway where Aodhán and Bearach were gesturing furiously for her to join him.
Her heart sank.
Ignoring the sick feeling in her stomach, Bodhmhall left the panel leaning, unfixed, across the gap and hurried around the narrow earthen rampart to join the grimfaced youths.
‘What? What is it?’
Wordlessly, Aodhán pointed towards the far end of the valley where three shadowy figures were barely discernible against the gloom of the forest.
Gods!
Bodhmhall swallowed a cold lump of mucus that had inexplicably formed at the back of her throat. She continued to watch in silence as the óglach alerted his father and his other brother. Cairbre and Cónán arrived on the gateway rampart as the strangers drew closer, each carrying a javelin and an iron sword.
‘Cónán, take the eastern wall. There’s three of them in sight but there could be more. I think – ’
‘Aodhán,’ Bearach interrupted his brother. ‘Something’s not right. Look at the way they’re running.’
Although clearly displeased by the interruption, the eldest brother grudgingly turned to reassess the approaching figures. The strangers had now progressed significantly further up the valley and were about half-way between the ráth and the valley entrance. Although almost completely engulfed by shadow of night at this point, it was still possible to see that the two individuals to the rear were carrying something between them. The creases in the óglach’s forehead tightened.
‘Bodhmhall, can you ...?’
But Bodhmhall was already drawing on the full ability of her Gift, scrutinising the four bright flares that flickered in the distance.
‘There are four individuals out there. One of them is being carried by two of the others. I can’t see anyone else in the valley or up on the ridges.’ She shook her head with certainty. ‘No. Whoever they are, they’ve come alone.’
Aodhán released a sigh of relief as he stared out at the descending darkness. With a grunt, he reached down to pull a slender baton from a sheltered alcove built into the stone rampart. One end of the baton was heavily wrapped in gauze and smelled strongly of pitch. ‘Stay back,’ he told the others.
Striking two flints, he set the torch alight then grasping the haft, brought his arm back and launched it upwards and outwards into the night. For a moment, the fiery missile fluttered skywards then hung, momentarily frozen in the air, until it started its inevitable tumble. It struck the earth like a falling star, hitting the ground with a glimmering thump on the far side of the causeway.
The óglach was happy with his throw, marking his satisfaction with a tight nod. He advanced to the rampart’s edge once more, the slim haft of a javelin gripped tight in his hand.
It didn’t take long for the intruders to draw close. Although Bodhmhall could make out their glimmering life-lights, the others could not discern them in the gloom. As they halted before the causeway, however, the shuffling of feet was distinctly audible in the quiet evening air.
‘That’s close enough, strangers. Any closer and you’ll have a javelin through your guts.’
Bodhmhall turned, taken aback by the aggressive quality in the young warrior’s bellow, a striking contrast to the soft-spoken youth she’d come to know over the previous three years.
There was a muffled discussion from below then a strong male voice called up out of the darkness.
‘I see Muinntir Bládhma. It is Fiacail Mac Codhna who stands here before you with no aggression in my heart. Can we approach?’
Bodhmhall felt a flurry of conflicting emotions.
Fiacail mac Codhna! Here!
From the corner of her eye she saw Aodhán glance towards her but she was too shaken to offer guidance.
‘Step forward then, Fiacail mac Codhna,’ the óglach shouted. ‘Let’s have a look at you.’
A tall figure limbered nonchalantly into the light of the burning torch. Halting beside its slight flame, he gazed patiently up at the ramparts. Bodhmhall released a hiss of pent up tension. It was Fiacail all right. Just as she remembered him. Handsome, poised, oozing confidence. His moustache was a little thicker perhaps, the hair slightly longer. There was also certain stiffness to his stance but, given the circumstances, that was reasonable. He had, after all, put his life on the line by stepping into the open, an easy target for any javelin that might come flying in out of the darkness.
Although it was unlikely the warrior could see anything but a dark blur beyond the small radius of illumination thrown out by the flames, Bodhmhall could not shake off the sudden conviction that he was staring directly at her. Folding his arms, he shouted up once more.
‘I am accompanied by my men-at-arms, Tóla and Ultán, two loyal kinsmen who have been shadow to my heels since my very first steps. Also with us is your comrade Liath Luachra. She is ...’ There was a flash of a grin in the flickering light of the torch. ‘Having a little rest.’
Liath Luachra!
Bodhmhall immediately focused on the lowest of the four life-lights. Despite the distance, she now thought to make out the hue of the woman warrior’s distinctive internal flame. A heavy weight fell away from the bandraoi’s shoulders. For what felt like the first time in an age, she found herself able to breathe freely again.
An angry muttering floated up from the darkness behind the warrior and Bodhmhall stifled a sudden, almost uncontrollable, urge to giggle. Although the individual words could not be made out, Liath Luachra’s voice was instantly recognisable, the caustic tone unmistakable. The tension on the rampart dissipated in a nervous ripple of laughter. Relieved, the bandraoi reached over an
d touched Aodhán on the shoulder.
‘I know these men. Fiacail is a friend.’
The young man held her gaze uncertainly and tossed an anxious look out at the figures in the darkness before nodding. Leaning forward over the rampart, he shouted down at their visitors.
‘Very well, Fiacail mac Codhna. Approach and our gate will be opened to you.’
Cairbre and Bearach lit two additional torches from the supply in the gatehouse alcove then descended to remove the barrier. Ever vigilant, however, the elder óglach remained at his post, javelin in hand as he watched the newcomers traverse the causeway. Beside him, Bodhmhall drew a deep breath as she mentally prepared herself to greet their visitors. What else could this day possibly throw at her, she wondered. What else?