Night of the Fifth Moon (10 page)

‘I wonder what Riona's feeling now,' said Ket.

‘Ashamed and embarrassed,' muttered Nath-í.

Ket and Nessa glanced at each other. They both knew Nath-í was remembering his own feelings when he'd been cast off by a wood-turner for his clumsiness and sent to the druid's camp in disgrace.

‘There's nothing to be ashamed about,' said Nessa stoutly. ‘Every person has to find the path that suits them. The druid's path just wasn't right for Riona. She thought she wanted to learn magic, but really she'll be much happier being a farmer's wife, doing cooking and spinning and all that womanly stuff.'

‘Would you prefer that too, Nessa?' asked Nath-í.

‘Me?! Can you see me standing at a loom and weaving all day? Or cooking? I hate cooking! I don't mind hunting for game, but someone else can cope with the feather-plucking and pot-stirring, thank you very much. No, I'd much rather be a druid.' There was a moment's uncomfortable silence, and she flushed. ‘That's if Master Faelán chooses me,' she added. ‘But of course, he'll probably choose one of you.'

Nath-í shook his head gloomily. ‘He won't be choosing me. I always fail at everything.'

Ket felt sick. He hated wishing that his friends would be sent away so that he could win.

Bran and Lorccán rolled to the ground, punching and yelling, just as Faelán appeared in the clearing.

‘Maura,' called Faelán, ‘these twigs are in need of some exercise. Time for a session of weapon-training.'

‘
Weapon-training
?' squeaked Nath-í. ‘But . . . but . . . I thought we wouldn't need that any more.'

The look of dismay on his face was so comical, they all burst out laughing.

‘Young man, I would be failing as your foster father if I neglected your training in arms,' Faelán replied. ‘Only one of you is destined to be a druid, and even he, or she, should have a knowledge of weapons. Maura, are you ready?'

Maura was balancing an apple on top of a pole.

‘Oh no, we don't have to try to hit that, do we?' moaned Nath-í, as Maura headed purposefully towards them, slingshots swinging from her hand.

‘I'll show you how to do it,' said Lorccán, already casting around for a suitable stone. But as he straightened up, weighing one in his hand, Nath-í pointed.

‘Look!' His face lit up with relief. ‘Visitors!'

Sure enough, through the gap in the trees, they could see a procession of people crossing the plain.

‘They're from your clan, Nessa,' exclaimed Ket.

In front plodded the lawgiver, Brehon Áengus, face shining, belly bulging, and the gold Collar of Truth gleaming around his short neck.

‘Fáilte,' he called. ‘Good health to you.'

‘Good health to you,' replied the druid.

The visitors halted.

‘Welcome to the Sacred Yew,' said Faelán.

‘We bring offerings.'

Brehon Áengus was puffing as he bowed over his fat belly. Two young boys staggered out of the crowd, balancing a basket between them. They laid it down and the fosterlings' eyes widened in rapture. They could see the yellow rind of a hard cheese, the crust of a loaf, and a fresh, bloody haunch of oxflesh.

‘We'll eat well tonight,' whispered Bran.

‘Druid of the Forest,' said the brehon, ‘the clan of Ardal are come to ask the spirits for guidance in settling a dispute.'

‘What is your dispute?' queried Faelán.

‘Well, this farmer here . . .' Brehon Áengus indicated the man beside him.

‘Uncle Tirech!' breathed Nessa.

‘Tirech,' continued the lawgiver, ‘makes a claim against Gortigern.'

Nessa gave a little gasp.

‘He claims that Gortigern entered his house without permission—'

‘You liar!' A huge, brawny man thrust his nose into Tirech's face. ‘You invited me.'

‘Invited you?!'
Tirech's voice rose to a squeak. ‘Not likely.' He shook his fist under Gortigern's nose. ‘You insult my wife, you kick my dogs, you knock over my lamps, you deliberately leave my gates open so my animals wander out. You . . . you . . .'

Gortigern burst out laughing. ‘You snivelling weakling,' he jeered.

Tirech's face grew purple, and he ripped his sword from its scabbard.

‘Show him, Tirech!' yelled a voice, but the druid stepped between them.

‘Enough,' he said.

‘Oof!' Nessa stamped her foot in frustration. ‘Gortigern deserves it,' she growled. ‘He bullies everyone!'

‘Gortigern of the clan of Ardal,' said Faelán sternly, ‘do you deny the charge?'

‘Pah,' snorted Gortigern.

The druid turned to Tirech. ‘Tirech of the clan of Ardal, are you prepared to submit your claim to the Cauldron of Truth, and abide by the decision of the spirits?'

Tirech thrust his sword into its sheath and nodded.

‘Very well, we shall prepare the Cauldron of Truth,' said Faelán. He turned to the fosterlings. ‘Nath-í and Ket . . .' Ket started with surprise. ‘Bring me the water from the Sacred Spring.' Faelán gestured to the ox horn, traced in silver, suspended from the branches of the yew. Every morning he took the vessel and refilled it in a secret ceremony at the Sacred Spring deep in the forest.

Ket grabbed Nath-í by the sleeve before he could move. ‘
I'll
carry it,' he whispered. ‘You might spill it!'

Conscious of everyone watching, he reached into the tree and closed his hands around the smooth, yellowed horn. He lowered it slowly, careful not to let it brim over. With firm, proud steps, he moved towards the cauldron, tilted the vessel and let the water trickle in. There was a lull as everyone waited for it to heat and simmer, and then, to his astonishment, Nath-í began to chant.

‘Spirit of the Water

Spirit of the Fire

When the lots are cast

Reveal who is the liar
.
'

The song ended, and Ket backed towards the yew.

‘Hey, Nath-í, that was really clever,' whispered Nessa. ‘Did you make that up?'

Nath-í grinned. ‘Was it all right?'

Ket looked at his friend's glowing face, then at Faelán nodding approval, and a dismal, sinking feeling sucked at his stomach. This task had been a chance to prove his worth, and all he had done was carry water. While Nath-í – fumble-fingers Nath-í – had composed a poem, and cloaked himself in glory.

As Ket struggled to look delighted and admiring like everyone else, Bran slid up beside him. Ket braced himself for a jeering remark.

‘How can you smile like that?' demanded Bran under his breath. ‘If I was you, I'd want to clout him.'

Ket was dumbfounded. Bran was offering sympathy instead of scorn.

‘It's my own fault,' muttered Ket. ‘I should have let him carry the water.'

‘If you'd let him carry the water, he would have spilt it!' protested Bran. ‘You stopped him making a fool of himself and now look, everyone's fawning over him instead! That's not fair.'

Ket sent his surprising ally a glance of gratitude, then they both turned to watch as the druid opened the pouch at his belt and rummaged inside.

Faelán drew out two carved birch rods and lifted them into the air.

The five fosterlings looked at each other.

‘It's ogham!' hissed Lorccán.

‘These lots represent Gortigern the defendant and Tirech the accuser.' The druid crossed to the fire and held the rods above the steaming water. He looked sternly at the two men. ‘I shall cast them into the Cauldron of Truth. If your lot floats on the surface, you are speaking truth. If it sinks, then you are guilty of lying.'

The lots landed with a splash, and everyone crowded forward. Ket stretched on his toes and craned his neck, trying to see what was happening.

‘They're both floating,' said a disappointed voice.

‘Ha,' said Gortigern.

At that moment the water bubbled more violently, and one of the rods tilted and began to sink. The crowd rumbled with excitement.

‘Which one is it? Which one?'

Faelán leaned over the cauldron and plunged his arm into the boiling water. With no sign of pain, he stepped back, holding the lot aloft so everyone could see.

‘Gortigern mac Ardal,' he boomed.

Gortigern glowered and crossed his arms.

Ket stared at the black strokes then glanced round eagerly for Nessa, but she was gone, wriggling through the crowd to Tirech's elbow. Ket closed his eyes, burning the shape of the feda into his memory.

‘It must be
G
,' he thought, ‘
G
for Gortigern! And the other is
T
for Tirech.'

Brehon Áengus clapped his hands. ‘Gortigern mac Ardal, I pronounce you guilty. If this judgement be false, may the Collar of Truth tighten and choke me!'

There was a quivering, expectant pause. Everyone pressed closer, trying to see the gold torque around his neck. Ket felt a sharp elbow in his ribs, and someone's noisy breathing filled his ear. The brehon waited, his arms spread out dramatically, then Faelán's voice broke the silence.

‘The spirits have spoken,' he cried. ‘The judgement is made and proven.'

Excited murmurs rippled through the crowd.

The lawgiver held up his hand. ‘The penalty for entering a dwelling without permission is a fine of one heifer-calf.'

‘Gortigern, step forth to accept your penalty,' ordered Faelán.

The press of bodies shifted to make way for the glowering Gortigern, but Ket had seen enough. He wormed his way out of the crush and burst free, his eyes flying to the Sacred Yew. Lorccán and Bran were there already, crouched beside the ogham rod. When they saw him coming, they ran off laughing.

Nath-í sat in a forlorn huddle a short distance away.

‘I didn't see,' he moaned. ‘I got pushed out of the way, and those two won't tell me anything.' His eyes flicked in the direction Lorccán and Bran had taken.

Ket looked into the doleful face and sighed resignedly. How could he refuse to tell?

‘Wasn't that exciting!?' cried Nessa, running to join them. ‘When Brehon Áengus called out that challenge about the Collar of Truth, I almost died. What if it had really tightened and choked him? Imagine having a magic neck torque like that!' Her eyes were as sparkly as the gold beads in her hair. ‘Do you think Gortigern will pay his fine? I bet he refuses. And then what will happen?' She twisted round to watch her clan march off down the path. ‘Oh, I
wish
I could go home with them and see!'

Ket stared at her in astonishment.

‘Aren't you interested in the ogham?' he asked. ‘We found out two more.'

‘The ogham!' Nessa swung back towards him. ‘I nearly forgot. Let's look at the message.'

As they crouched by the rod, Nath-í leaned over their shoulders.

‘Look!' Ket exclaimed. ‘The second feda – it's the
T
from Tirech. That means the first word starts with
h-t
. . .' He stopped, bewildered.

‘That's silly,' said Nessa. ‘There isn't any word that starts with
h-t
.'

‘There must be. Wait, if we put in the other feda . . . We don't know the one with three flat strokes, but then . . .' He sounded out each feda as he pointed. ‘There's
m-n-o
. And the second word is
r-o
. . .' His voice trailed away.

‘
Ro
isn't a word either.'

They glared at the ogham rod.

Nath-í brushed back his long fringe and peered earnestly at the markings.

‘I don't get how you worked out any of it,' he muttered. ‘How did you get
ro
? And
ht
?'

Nessa threw up her hands in exasperation ‘It doesn't matter. They're not right anyway. We must have made a mistake.'

As Ket slumped back on his heels, Lorccán came sauntering over.