Chapter 14 What Goes Around…

 

Chapter 14 What Goes Around…

In which we learn of the jealousy of Maedhbh and the fate of Dermot.


Things that are ordinary do not great tales make. However the fate that befell Aoibheann was now proving extraordinary indeed. She and Aoife had been gagged, bound and blindfolded in the back of Philly’s dirty Hiace for many hours. When darkness fell Philly and Alex, along with the increasingly scared five lamps gang lifted her and Aoife out of the van on a long pier smelling of the sea and rotten fish. They were thrown over someone’s shoulder and carried down a ladder set in the pier wall and then down another ladder to be laid on some slimy plastic tarpaulin in the dark hold of a shifting fishing boat. Believe me they did not need their eyes to know it had held fish recently. Shortly after they had chugged out of the harbour and journeyed by sea accompanied by the screeches of herring gulls and heart stopping lurches of the hold in the waves.


Eventually they were manhandled back onto their feet and lifted over the side of the boat onto some smaller jollyboat. Oars were plied and soon it sounded as if they were entering a low cavern where the sounds of the waves and oars echoed off a low roof. The boat was hauled up some sand and their hoods were removed to reveal that they were in a low cave set under rock.They were then chained and manacled to rusted rings set in the rock wall for tying up smugglers’ boats.


In the chill of the cavern lit by some amateur electric lighting Aoife could make out crates and boxes heaped up against the rock walls and barrels of rusted iron and blue plastic with a strong smell of engine fuel and paraffin. The five lamp gang were coming and going sullenly being bossed around by both Alex and Philly to do all the menial tasks. Noddy Grundy was sent to take large plastic bottles of fresh water and food supplies out of the boat while the Lawess brothers were sent up the steps to the tower to hang hammocks and lay out the sleeping bags. Spitsy was sent to gather firewood and get a fire going in the tower for Maeve’s benefit. Aoife feared a few hot pokers might be heated to interrogate them about Cúan. Aoibheann looked determined despite all of the ill treatment and Aoife hoped that the Cuchulainn legacy was as strong in Cúan as it seemed to be in Aoibheann.


Heavy footsteps came down the steps and Aoife was surprised to see a uniformed inspector stepping into the cavern. She lunged towards him rattling her chains to catch his attention. Imagine her surprise was when Maeve herself followed him down and smirked at them both without fear or shame.


“I believe you already know Inspector Callan, Aoibheann, your father’s superior officer. He has been very useful to me. I have to thank Carl for getting us into your little home. I think, Carl, that it is time to separate these girls. Bring Aoibheann up to my tower and handcuff her to a big chair . We will have a little girl time together to get to know each other really well, you’ld like that Aoibheann, yes?”

Maeve headed back up the stairs and Inspector Callan marched over and began roughly freeing Aoibheann before marching her up the stairs. When they were gone, things got very quiet.


Then silently and stealthily out of a very deep shadow padded an enormous grey wolfhound with a wrapped package in its jaws. It padded up to her and looked sadly at her with its bloodshot eyes. Then it dropped the package at her feet. The great hound shook herself and then blurred and changed. Aoife was almost screaming with delight and was expecting to be free at any moment. ‘Scátha will save me’was her first thought . Scátha was before her complete with shield, sword and spear but instead of freeing her, just stood and looked at her silently with a cold unemotional expression. Then stooping, she took up the package and turned her back on Aoife without the slightest sign of feeling, care or concern and strode boldly up the stairs.





Cúan and Lee were making great time on their journey down to Dublin on the old R409. Dove was happy to take kilometre after kilometre at a canter and the day remained fine for them as they sped along. Bumble bees , Dragonflies , Butterflies and bluebottles buzzed around them from the hedgerows and meadows on either side. Here and there in the fields Cúan saw mostly contented cattle chewing the cud or nursing their calves. Ewes grazed steadily while around them giddy lambs cavorted or skipped in summer heat. In one flock he saw a lamb standing on the backs of ten to twenty sheep in a flock like the king of the castle. On one headland a group of horses ran around in a large green pasture just for the hell of it, and everywhere the air was sweet with flower’s scents and redolent with twittering migrant swifts and swallows.


Lee kept up a constant description of copse and wood, stream and brook , hill and valley on their way. Cúan gathered that his parents had died leaving him alone to be raised by his grandfather. His grandfather had recently passed on leaving Lee precisely : item one horse, item one racing sulky, item one bothy tent and item one tin kettle minus a lid. However there was nothing of herb and flower, bird or beast, hunting by net, snare or trap that his grandfather hadn’t passed on.


“D’auld ways was best, movin’ on from farm to farm and town to town like,” exclaimed Lee “ Divil the writin’ or arthritis we’d need, me or grathur and we out snarin’ hares or nettin’ salmon on the rivers”


Cúan could well believe it as he stretched back on the seat. He had a coat folded beneath him as a cushion and the Gaebolg laid across his lap. Strung on the back of the seat was a duffel bag with some clothes , a sleeping bag and some of what Lee called his ‘unnaturals’ namely soap, shampoo, a towel and toothpaste and brush. Lee plucked berries from the hedges and straw to put in his teeth. From time to time they’d stop to give Dove some feed by a stream or graze the long acre by the verge of the road.


About an hour into their journey before Straffan Manor a garda car had a checkpoint across the road and were checking the occupants of each vehicle. Lee laughed and pointed out that the checkpoint was right next to a large gate bearing the name of a famous Hotel and Golf Club owned by one of the richest men in Ireland. They sailed up past the line of cars on the wrong side of the road towards the two guards talking to the compliant motorists.


One of the guards bearing a Sergeant’s stripes tried to wave them down by standing in front of them waving frantically but Lee just cracked the whip and urged Dove on all the faster. At the last minute the Guard hurled himself onto the verge to save his skin and Cúan hung on to the frame of the sulky as Lee and Dove executed a sharp left turn behind the first guard and sailed through the wrought iron entrance to the prestigious club.

Dove was enjoying a fine gallop up a flat tarmac surface when the wail and siren sound of the Garda car came up the drive after them giving chase. “ We can’t out run a Garda car,” cried Cúan hopelessly. “An té nach bhfuil láidir ní foláir dó bheith glic.” replied Lee ominously. “What the hell does that mean?” “I don’t know but it’s something my grandad always said whenever he met the guards,” was the answer Cúan got. “It’s like ‘ now is a good time for a bit o’ divilment. Crafty-lee” and with that Lee yanked the right hand rein hard. Dove’s whole head pulled righr so Cúan caught the flash of light reflected in the horse’s right eye in a wide pupil behind the blinker. Then Lee pulled a fine fishing line tied to one of the reins. Both blinkers jerked upwards and Dove was given his head.


Cúan glanced around. The Garda car had tried the same sharp turn ,mounted the concrete curb and now was following them across the rough towards a fairway. Sods of expensive turf were being imprinted with Dove’s huge hooves as the horse galloped freely with his head plunging up and down with great snorts and the odd whinney of pleasure. Behind them the unfortunate Garda car was still gaining but at the expense of two ugly grooves of mud ploughed out of the 18th fairway. Ahead Cúan could see the 18th green fast approaching.


“Now,” said the giddy Lee “Let me show you what a Garda car can’t do, Jump.” Dove then jumped clear of a huge deep sandtrap. Up they sailed clear in the air over the trap to bounce down safely on the green. Lee’s small hand reached out and claimed the 18th flag as a victory trophy. Behind them the Gardai attempted to swerve but it was too late and into the sandtrap they sailed only to be hopelessly bogged down in the soft sand. They laughed when they saw the Sergeant shaking his fist on the edge of the 18th green as they cantered off between the gates back on their way.


Dermot trudged into the hallway without any hope or energy. His usual contacts in the criminal underworld knew nothing about Philly O’Leary and he had been driving around randomly looking for vans fitting the description of the one that abducted Aoibheann. He knew that it was foolish because white was the most common colour for vans and no doubt Philly knew that too. He also knew that he had been avoiding facing Gráinne. The lads in the squad car had flashed their lights at him as he drove in and he had waved back. Now he just wanted Gráinne’s arms around him and the support of her love. He heard her hoovering upstairs. It was not a good sign. She always started cleaning when she was worrying as if a clean house would make everything better.


In the kitchen he flicked the kettle on and put a teabag in a mug. He turned to the fridge to get some milk. There, wrapped in clingfilm, was an untouched apple tart. Suddenly he realised how hungry he was so he unwrapped it and cut himself a big slice which he slid on a plate. The sound of the hoover died away upstairs and the kettle whistled and cut off. Gráinne called out “ Is somebody there?” “Just me Love,” he answered pouring the boiling water over the teabag and adding the milk. He heard her steps coming down the stairs and he lifted the apple slice in his hand and bit deeply into it.


Gráinne came into the kitchen just in time to see Dermot choking. His face was red, his mug of tea went flying off the counter onto the floor as he dropped his remaining slice of tart as well. Both of his hands flew to his throat as he gagged and paled before sliding unconscious to the floor. Gáinne rushed over to him and tried to revive him. “Dermot..Dermot..” she called but his eyes were fluttering and his breath was growing ragged. He was slipping away from her. She whipped out her phone and was on the point of dialling 112 when the figure of a white haired old woman wearing a black shawl appeared at the patio doors. She stretched out her two hands in a silent appeal to Gráinne followed by a finger on her lips. The old woman’s expression was sympathetic and her eyes never left Gráinne’s in a sign of honest sincerity. Wordlessly Gráinne, without quite knowing why, rose and unlocked the patio door admitting the old woman.


The old woman stepped into the kitchen and took Gráinne’s hands and studied her eyes.“Gráinne Cullen your courage may well have just saved your husband’s life. I’m the Cailleach and I know what to do to save your poor poisoned Dermot. Do you have whiskey, vinegar, salt and eggs in the kitchen? ““Yes I do,” said Gráinne cautiously. “Good,” crowed the Cailleach. Mix a tablespoon of vinegar, with a dessert spoon of salt and three eggs in a jug and stir them well. When you are done we must add my powder and get it into him.” “What about the whiskey?” reminded Gráinne. “Sure we’ll all have some when he’s better won’t we?” quipped the Cailleach.


When the mixture was ready the Cailleach carefully sprinkled her powder from a paper twist she produced from her deep black pocket through the mixture and kneeling over Dermot she tipped back his head to open his throat to pour the mixture down it and massaged his larynx to aid him swallowing. Soon his breathing improved and deepened, his eyes fluttered open and he looked up at the two women kneeling over him. “What’s going on?” He croaked.

“ Tis time for the Uisce Beatha now for I’ve a great tale to tell you and it will be long in the telling. You must know now that Maeve Naughten cannot to be trusted. She it is that has taken Aoibheann but ‘tis all of you she has set out to destroy. Most of all she has set her heart on killing Cúan. We will pay her back for this and she will learn that what goes around comes around. Out with us now under the stars to the patio with that whiskey, for I never drink or smoke indoors and now I need to do both.”


Aoibheann was tied firmly by both wrists and ankles to a heavy wooden upright chair that looked as if it had been rescued from the Ark. Inspector Callan stood behind her and disturbingly said nothing. His face was blank and devoid of emotion. It was as if someone had found his personality switch and turned it off. Aoibheann thought sadly that there was something hollow and empty where previously the man she knew was caring, witty and wise. Now all she saw was a shell. A shell holding a solid black pistol.


Maeve was excited with her eyes shining at how her plans were coming together. She had changed into a strange outfit. Her blonde curls were now surmounted by some fine tiara. She had donned a full length off the shoulder ball gown of some glittering gold cloth. Over her shoulders she had thrown a warm cashmere scarf mixed in the colours of the purple and pink heathers of the west of Ireland. She paced around the circular room confidently, protected on all sides by a solid cannon proof stone wall. She would occasionally stop to look out the narrow slits or glance above to where Alex had been sent to keep watch for approaching boats.


“Now Aoibheann I want you to tell me about Cúan,” she said coaxingly and acting as if she were just another girl instead of some demented rich kidnapper. “He’s my little brother,” replied Aoibheann “and I don’t see what he has to do with selling my horse.” For a moment Maeve looked confused “I have no interest in your horse now,” snapped Maeve “ I want to know all about his spear, the Gaebolg! I want to know where he is hiding!” “Are you talking about the Gaebolg that was Cúchulainn’s spear? Cúan doesn’t own a spear. He’s just a fifteen year old boy.” “Lies,” screamed Maeve “I saw him holding it myself. He plucked it out of Loch Allen two days ago.” “All I know is that he found some ancient hurley in a boghole down in County Kildare,” responded Aoibheann “ask Alex,he hit him on the head with it!”


Suddenly from behind her Aoibheann felt her hair being grabbed and pulled viciously back so her face looked up into Maeve’s glittering eyes. She saw madness dancing within them, an insatiable bloodlust for power and control and for more , more and even more. This was no mere spoilt brat she was facing but a maniac, a fanatic and curiously someone she felt a profound sorrow for. ‘What has happened to this poor girl? Has the loss of her horse driven her insane altogether?’ but outwardly she just said “Maeve I know we haven’t been the best of friends but if you really need someone to talk to, I mean to tell your troubles to,I would like to help you.”


Maeve snarled “Don’t you pity me you bitch from Ulster’s Hound. I’ll have your tongue.”

With that a sharp stiletto knife flashed in Maeve’s free hand and she pressed the blade onto Aoibheann’s lips drawing blood with the tip. “Or I’ll rip out your eyes and see how you like never being able to ride again!” Now she brought the knife tip to the pupil of Aoibheann’s right eye. For a moment Aoibheann froze…


Then a voice spoke “ Does your Highness wish me to wait until she is finished or shall she give audience now?” Inspector Cullen brought his pistol up and aimed it at the shadowy figure all in grey that had crept into the room unobserved. The figure was hooded and muscular, armed with black weapons but just standing peacefully with head respectfully bowed. She, for her voice was feminine, knelt on one knee. Maeve recovered herself, gave a regal nod and with an exaggerated wave of her free hand indicated that she would sit on another upright chair as if on a throne. She swept past Aoibheann and called out clearly, “Who is it that craves an audience with me, show your face and reveal yourself.”


The hood was thrown back and then Scátha looked up: first at Aoibheann with interest, then at Carl Cullen with a professional assessment and finally at Maeve in subservience , “I am Scátha, warrior woman of Skye, tutor to Cúchulainn and more recently of Cúan. I am mistress of the shadow arts, druidess, mage and your humble servant.” Maeve examined her coldly and then asked “ Why are you here?” Scátha replied “I come for the sake of my soul. This is my tale. Long ago when Cúchulainn bested me in battle he extracted certain things from me.” “Yes, yes” said Maeve testily “ He forced you to teach him your feats of the warrior, to give him your daughter as his woman and to predict his future career. Everyone knows the story.”


“There was one more thing which was known to none but Cúchulainn and myself, replied Scátha ”When Cúchulainn went to cast aside my daughter and return to his betrothed Emer he feared my wrath. One night he came and stole a hair while I lay sleeping. Dark magical spells he uttered to steal my soul and turn me into his shade, his servant without freedom or will.”


Maeve looked confused. “But it is the way of magic that when the one who casts the spell dies their spells die with them. Their shades are freed and regain their souls.” “Then Cúchulainn is not dead.” replied Scátha simply. Maeve went white and stared at Scátha like some wild woman. Her hands gripped the sides of the chair involuntarily and when she spoke her voice was a harsh whisper. “Cúchulainn lives? How?”


“I believe his Spirit lives on, in fact I believe it is here in this very room.” replied Scátha confidently. Maeve started up from her chair and hurried over to where Inspector Callan covered Scátha with his gun. She looked around terrified “Where is he?” She hissed.

Snakes emerged from above her shoulder blades and their heads turned this way and that trying spy as if by magic the invisible warrior. “He is here,” said Scátha reaching behind and with a flourish jerked out a rolled up cloth from beneath her cloak. The bundle rolled across the floor until the Claiomh Solais clattered out onto the floor.


“My Lady, well known among the Ulaidh is the tale of the death of Cúchulainn. It is told how you set the three sons and three daughters of the wizard warrior and Fomorian Cailitin to avenge their father’s death by Cúchulainn. One daughter in the guise of his friend Conall Cearnach’s wife, Niamh, lured him to an ambush where three magic spears supplied by the druidical Clan Caitlin in the hands of Erc Son of Cairbre and Lughaid son of Cú Roí finally wounded Cúchulainn mortally.” Intoned Scátha.


Maeve cut in “But then he died. They showed me his head and hand in Tara. I hope you are not suggesting he is walking around without his head Scátha? He is dead.” declared the witch queen of Cruachan.


“I thought so too,but my soul did not return. It is not something I can prove but from that moment I have lacked joy and will in my life. Only I can sense this lack, like a light that has gone out in me, like a well so deep it gives back no reflection like a deafness which no birdsong can ever lift to sound a dawn. Truly I am soulless and so Cúchulainn is still alive, but where?” Here the warrior woman looked at the Claiomh Solais. “ A long time ago I heard how when Lughaid pulled back Cúchulainn’s hair to remove his head Cúchulainn’s sword hand fell severing Lughaid’s own hand. At the time I felt it was surely unlucky of Lughaid. Yesterday I overheard a tale of Cúan, a descendant of Cúchulainn, talking to the Claiomh Solais. That is when I realised the meaning of Lughaid’s loss of his hand. Not ill fortune nor the carelessness of an excited warrior. Don’t you see?”


“See what? All I see is a sword. There is no warrior here!” blustered Maeve scornfully. “Remember O Queen, I once taught Cúchulainn, mostly lessons of great feats of skill for which he was renowned but he had other lessons from me that he hid from others. He rode a chariot glittering with shining weapons and great boasts. In the end they availed him naught. When his end was near the lessons I taught him of deception,distraction and concealment were all he had left. What if, my Queen, his hand did not shift the sword but the sword did shift the hand?” Here Scátha growled “where better for the soul of Eriu’s greatest hero to bury itself but in the Claiomh Solais waiting for the helping hand of the warrior of light to wake him unto battle again.”


“If this be true, Warrior woman of Skye, why bring it to me, the enemy of the Dé Danann? What would you of me?” Demanded Maeve. “Surely Mannanán or Lugh have the magic to give you what you want?”


“I - am - owed - a - soul. The Dé Danann have hidden that sword for over a thousand years.Their thoughtless, pitiless, remorseless actions reflect what you and I both know. They fear us and they deceive us for are we not just women to them? They would not let you rule. They will not risk letting my spirit free. They are men and they are cowards. They have never suffered the pangs of birth nor do they feel the loss of an unborn child as we do.They treat us as things and marry us off like beasts at a fair. I have brought you freedom from your greatest fear, so you can give me mine!”


Maeve looked at Scátha anew. Aoibheann saw a hunger in her eyes as Maeve craved to reach out and touch the sword, yet she held back for fear of the same cursed and possessed blade. Aoibheann detected a shift in Maeve’s attitude towards the other woman. “No easy task do you request of me. I do have some knowledge of the magic of which you speak and I see a way to help you while helping myself.” admitted Maeve. Aoibheann nearly laughed because the woman had turned nearly everyone around her into walking zombies and sycophants. “One obvious way is to destroy the Claiomh and put an end to Cúchulainn for all time. “ Maedhbh again eyed the Claiomh greedily dwelling on its rich gilt chasing and the deep purple amethyst set in the hilt. However I see another path, a test. My consort Fergus Mac Róich has been lacking a sword for some time now. This blade is worthy of such a great warrior once King of Ulster before being lured and deceived by Nessa King Conor’s clever mother. If this sword contains a warrior why may it not contain two? A battle will be fought within that stone and one warrior will emerge. If it be Fergus, Cúchulainn will be dead and you shall be free, however if it be Cúchulainn that emerge I shall have my revenge after all these years and shoot him down like a dog hero or no hero. This I think shall satisfy.” Maeve seemed as pleased as a cat with two mice to play with. “FERGUS!” she suddenly shrilled.

Within a minute Aoibheann saw the tall lithe figure of Alex O’Leary stride into the room with a quizzical look upon his face.


“For what reason have I been summoned to neglect the watch upon the ramparts?” He stopped and looked at Aoibheann and then at Scátha and the sword. “Scátha.” he spat.

Maeve ignored his question and instead asked him “ Warrior of Ulster tell me of this sword Scátha has brought me. Is it a fit and proper sword for you to wield?” Fergus carefully went over and picked up the blade unselfconsciously with all the eyes riveted to him. He grasped the handle and swung it in an efficient figure of eight and up on guard. “ Well indeed I know this sword. It is a sword of anger and sorrow. A sword of pride and of a fall. It is a sword of great deeds and foul.” “Explain your words.” demanded Maeve. It is Cúchulainn’ s sword an Claiomh Solais and I know it by sight and touch and sound. It was siezed up in anger when your warriors marched into Uladh when the men of Ulaidh were laid low with the pangs of pain from Macha’s Curse. It was used in sorrow when Cúchulainn fought at the ford against his dear friend that you sent against him with the promise of your daughter’s hand. It is the sword wielded with pride when Cúchulainn placed it against your breast Scátha forcing you to take him as your apprentice. It was a sword of a fall of the great Cúchulainn when he used it to slay his own son Connla whom he did not recognise.

It is the sword that he used to defeat your army, Maedhbh, a great feat indeed. It is the sword he used to carve your own foster son Etarchomal from crown to navel breaking the truce of fighting one man only each day which I negotiated with him. Still it is a fine sword and any warrior would be proud to own it.” Fergus finished offering the handle to Maeve.

Maeve just looked at him coldly and said I think it is time you finally proved your worth Fergus. I am sending you to kill someone you know well. If you succeed the sword will be yours.”