Winter Serpent (33 page)

“Listen to the frogs!” Doireann exclaimed.

“All the toads in the highlands have come to this spot,” Barra muttered. “But I see fish in the pool and they look hungry.”

The warriors dismounted and turned the eager horses into the still green marsh below the falls. Diarmidh and Angus Og fell to work to light a smoky fire to drive away the clouds of insects. The others lost no time in stripping themselves free of their lousy clothes and plunging into the clear pool.

“You will drive away the fish!” Barra protested, but they did not heed him. When the warriors were through, Doireann took Ian to the pool where he splashed about happily. He was as fearless in the water as he was on land, and she clutched him to keep him from slipping out of her grasp. Comac stood on
the bank watching.

“I think this is the biggest fish in the pool,” he commented.

She smiled at him, proud of the chubby child. But he did not smile back. “If you wish to bathe now, the others are by the fire and will not bother
you,” he said.

“I will do so in time,” she murmured. “But not if you stand where you are now.”

He did not move.

“Yet I would watch you if you would allow it,” he said. She turned her back on him and he went away.

The two brothers, macIlreach and Uisedean, had netted some birds and were roasting them on sticks when she returned. Under the smudge was the only place free of the swarms of midges.

Dusk was on them when Doireann went down to the pool and at last slipped into the cool water. She pulled the gown off and hung it on a willow branch near the water’s edge to dry. The pool was quite deep in the middle, but near the shore the bottom was sandy and smooth to her feet. She lay back and soaked her hair, hoping the vermin would leave her. The sound of the falls was loud, blotting out the voices by the fire and the night songs of the birds in the trees. She floated for some time, enjoying the refreshing water. No wonder the tribesmen could talk of nothing else. Without water even man parched like the fields, his skin like a coat which itched to be shed.

“What are you doing here?” she cried out suddenly. She put her feet on the bottom.

Comac Neish moved his hand slightly. “I am fishing.”

“Fishing! But the others are eating.”

“I prefer fish to birds,” he answered. She could not see his face distinctly, for the pale sky was behind it. “Large fish,” he added slyly.

She turned and swam away to the center of the pool. She made straight for the spout of the falls and went under it, coming up behind in a dark and slimy place filled with moss and the glistening webs of spiders. She stood hiding there and scrubbed some of the dust from her face and wrung out her long hair with her hands. She could feel the grime from it pouring through her fingers. She heard the Irishman calling her and smiled sourly to herself.

The sounds of splashing came to her and she ducked under the stream and came up in the pool. Comac Neish had waded waist-deep into the water and was standing with his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting.

“I thought you had drowned,” he cried at the sight of her.

“Let me be, Comac Neish,” she told him. “You need not take it upon yourself to rescue me, for I will not drown.” She swam in a small circle to show him. “Well,” he said, “then I will go back to the bank, for I see you can swim. It

is a gift I do not have.” Yet he did not move.

“If you would be helpful,” she told him, “throw me my arasaid which hangs behind you on the branch.”

He did not turn to look.

“I could not find it,” he said.

“It ill behooves you to play at games,” she said sharply.

“Ah, but it is not a game I play,” he told her. He waded out until he was chest-deep.

She stayed in the middle of the pool, though her arms were becoming tired. “Move aside and let me pass,” she said quietly. “I have left the child with

Barra and must attend him before he will go to sleep.” He did not answer.

She swam far to one side of him and pulled up out of the water. She rose, tightening her belly, holding herself proudly, and walked to where the gown hung. She slipped it over her. He did not attempt to come closer but watched with some amusement from a distance. She began to wring the water out of her hair, throwing it like a rope over her shoulder. He came to the bank and hauled himself out beside her.

“You are right,” he said, picking up the fishing line. “Such games as chasing you about the pool are certainly frivolous, for I have seen the look which comes upon your face, stiff and warning, and it does not become you. Nor does the sorrowing and abused air which I have also seen.”

She looked astonished at this, but he was busy with the fishing line and did not look at her.

“Yes, I see that you think yourself much abused, and it may be that Conor’s bright words have colored your thinking. Or it may be that all this is justified. Yet I still do not see you queenly and tragic for all your beauty. Your body is white and round like a living woman’s and not marred by having carried the child. Your eyes are not like those of the Queen of Sorrows but challenging and sly, as though you secretly relish the turmoil which follows you. Another sort of woman would have drowned before coming out of the pool naked before me. You forget, I saw your lips wet and smiling when I fought Niall Roy by the pigpen, and you looked proud to be fought over.”

“I did not smile!” she cried. “It was satisfaction you saw on my face, for I was hoping that you would kill each other, so tired I am of men’s pawing and arguing.”

“Is this so?” He turned to her now, his fingers caught in the cat’s cradle he had made of the fishing line. His damp hair curled tightly on his forehead and his eyes were pale and ardent.

“Yes, it is so,” she said hastily, retreating. The wet gown clung to her and she held it out with both hands.

He went after her and took her arms.

“You feel soft to the touch and appear to be no myth. Is there truly a curse on you?”

“I have no curse. This is all foolishness.”

“Good, I have enough taboos which I must observe. An inheritance from my ancestors. I am sure that to desire a woman with a curse on her is also forbidden.”

She could not tell by his face whether he was joking.

“Yes, this is true. I am forbidden to wear the color green according to ancient prophecy, for it means my death. I am never to approach the gathering of the kings and chiefs from the north, but always make a circle sunwise about the gathering. I shall never hunt the bear. These are some of my taboos.”

She was suddenly uneasy.

“Do you keep them?” she asked.

“Oh, some of them, when I remember. Now, the bear I have often hunted, but without success. If one is to fall, it always dies by other hands than mine. A strange thing. As for green, I do not like the color.”

Now he was teasing. She laughed.

“What?” he said, putting his face very close to hers. “Are you laughing?” At that moment Flann came upon them. Doireann tried to pull away from
Comac, but he held her tightly.

“I heard someone calling your name,” Flann said, “and I thought some trouble must have occurred.” He looked at Comac Neish, who grinned, Flann looked disconcerted.

“Are you coming by the fire?” Flann asked. “The child is growing fretful.”

“I am coming.”

Comac gently let his hands fall.

The light died quickly in the dense trees of he valley, but the sky above was pale and shimmering with the northern light. The birds twittered uneasily in the short darkness. Doireann and Flann lingered by the smudge fire after the others had rolled themselves in their cloaks to sleep. The air was full of gnats and whining mosquitoes, and the late stayers used this excuse for not retiring. Doireann had covered Ian with the plaid to protect him, but it was too warm for this and he slept restlessly.

Comac had seen to the horses. He joined Flann and Doireann and they talked for a while at the fire. Occasionally they laughed at some remark of Comac’s and roused the sleepers who sat up in alarm, blinking at the noise.

“Are you hungry?” Flann asked Doireann. He extended the pile of bones from the supper. There were still some uneaten pieces. She shook her head.

In the silence which followed, Doireann hugged her knees and hummed softly to herself. Comac looked up and asked the tune.

“‘The Vale of Laidh,’” she sang softly, “‘O the Vale of Laidh. There I slept under soft coverlet; and the fish and the venison were brought for my pleasure. “‘The Vale of Eti, O the Vale of Eti. In it I raised my first house. Lovely
were the woods on rising; the milking house of the sun was the Vale of Eti. “‘Glendarua, O Glendarua! My love to everyone dwelling there. Sweet is

the cuckoo upon the bending bough on the cliff over Glendarua.

“‘Dear is Droighin over the far shore. Dear are its waters on white sand. I would never have come willingly from it, had I not come with my love. My love.’”

“So did Deirdre sing of her longing for the land of the Scots,” Comac said thoughtfully.

“I long for it too,” Doireann said dreamily. “I do not fear my returning, for I have been away for too long. It was this vale which made me think of her lament, so sweet that it is.”

“What was singing here?” a frightened voice cried. Diarmidh was sitting up, his face pale in the dark.

“I was singing,” Doireann called to him.

“I thought it was a sidhe,” he said wonderingly, “a fairy among the trees. There is a spell here, as in all places with falls and streams. A spirit living here.”

They laughed.

“Come, join us,” Comac said.

“No,” the young warrior answered. He sank back upon the ground. But they could tell by his tossing that he did not sleep.

“Well, I have had enough of the singing,” Flann said abruptly.

“What is the matter?” Doireann asked, puzzled.

“Nothing, nothing,” he told her. “But the curadh is right. This is not the place for ancient songs, pagan songs. Time passes too slowly in the vales, and little changes.”

The man and the girl stared at him.

“Listen to the night about us,” Flann continued. “With the sound of the ancient music in the air you would think the dark past had never left us. But this is the world created by God, and we are His children in it!”

He flung himself away from the fire and disappeared into the darkness. “Is he displeased with me?” she asked Comac.

The other smiled.

“There is no telling. All monks and priests are sensitive to the night and the voices in it, whether they be yours or others’. That is why some of them stand to their necks in the cold stream praying, and starve their bodies, wandering in rags in the winter’s wind.”

“I do no understand you.”

“I do not understand priests.”

She laughed at this, then shivered, rubbing her arms. “It is time for me to leave the fire also.”

He stood up with her and took her hand, drawing her to him.

“Come away from the fire,” he urged. “Come down to the pool and see how it is in the night, and whether the sidhe comes up from the depths to sing Deirdre’s Lament.”

She shuddered.

“Do not say these things, for I am uneasy. Besides, you do not wish to view the pool or anything in it, as well I know.” She tried to draw back her hand.

His eyes were like pale lights in his face.

“Do not be obstinate,” he told her. “If the Culdee has filled your ears with talk of sin then he has deceived you. The greatest pleasure comes from sinning. Besides, the Culdees take no vows of chastity as do the Roman priests. He probably has a wife and ten children on Iona’s Isle of the Women.”

“He has not said anything to me of sin or wives.”

“Then do not look so frightened. I only wish to make love to you. You know this.” “Do not speak to me like this!” she cried.

“Why not? From the first I have wanted you. I have not hidden it. And yet I am no fool to take you unwillingly. A man should not destroy the very thing he desires. He should be gentle before a woman and she should glow with her love so that all may see and envy him.”

“Yes, it is the man who profits,” she cried, “not the woman! She is torn between those who want her, like a lamb between dogs, and does not get much pleasure from the feel of their teeth on her.”

He laughed long and loudly.

“So you tell me that you do not desire my hands on you or the things which I might do?”

“Oh, be still!” she cried. “That is what I thought.” He snatched her close.”

“I find your body warm and yielding despite what your mouth says,” he whispered. “Why do you not listen to it a little? It says, I come to you, I bend to you.’”

She held the edges of the shoulder of the gown together, for it would fall if she let it go. She would have to pin it up when it was daylight. The others would see that it was torn and she could picture the grins on the faces of the curadhs. Now she felt pleasantly guilty and pleasantly ashamed for the wild things she had done and said this night, and for the wild things which the sleeping man beside her had done and said also. He was a demon, a fairy god with curling hair, and his skill betrayed the fact that he had known many women. But she had been as wild as he.