from this vantage point; but ask any man or woman where they were, and you would see their finger point with complete confidence to the east, and a little south. It was as if they had a map imprinted on their spirit, that neither time nor distance could erase.
When the hermit was at home, he was happy to talk to us in his quiet, measured way, and he bartered learning for the necessities of life. He knew many different tongues; his knowledge of herb lore was sound, too, and he could set bones with skill. From him I got many of the rudiments of my craft, but my obsession with the healing properties of plants drove me further, and I surpassed him soon enough in this.
There were times when we helped each other in tending to the sick; he had the strength to wrench a joint back into place, or strap a broken limb; I had the skill to brew a draught or prepare a lotion just right for its purpose. Between us we helped many, and people grew used to me, still a child, peering into their eyes or down their throats, and prescribing some nostrum. My remedies worked, and that was all people really cared about.
There’d been some that were hard to help. When the Fair Folk got to you, there wasn’t much hope. There was a girl once, who’d lost her lover to the queen under the hill. Out courting in the forest at night, silly things, and strayed into a toadstool ring while their thoughts were elsewhere. The queen took him, but not her. All she saw was the red plume of his cap disappearing into a crack in the rocks, and their high voices laughing. When the girl got to us, her mind was half gone, and neither Father Brien’s prayers nor my sleeping draughts gave her much peace. He did his best, treating spellbound lover and mazed wanderer with the same commitment as he gave the cuts and burns of farmer and blacksmith. His hands were strong, his voice gentle, his manner entirely practical. He listened much and said little.
He made no attempt to impose his religion on us, though there was plenty of opportunity. He understood that our household followed the old ways, even if the observance of them had slipped somewhat since the death of our mother. From time to time I heard him discussing with Conor the ways in which the two faiths differed, and what common ground they might have, for he shared Conor’s love of debate. Sometimes I wondered if Father Brien’s tolerant views had been the cause of his departure from the house of prayer at Kells, for it was said that in other parts of Erin the spread of the Christian faith had been hastened with sword and fire, and that now the old beliefs were little more than a memory. Certainly, Father Brien never sought to convert us, but he did like to say a few prayers before each campaign departure, for whatever he thought of my father’s purpose, there could be no harm in sending the men on their way with a blessing.
The clank of metal awoke me. I got groggily to my feet, picking straw out of my hair. The donkey had her nose deep in the feed trough.
‘You missed everything,’ observed Padriac, busily forking fresh straw into the stall. ‘Finbar’s going to be in trouble again. Nowhere to be found, this morning. Father was highly displeased. Took Cormack instead. You should have seen the grin on his face. Cormack, that is, not Father. I’ll eat my hat if I ever see him crack a smile. Anyway, off they went, after the old man said his paternosters and his amens, and now we can get back to normal. Until next time. I wouldn’t want to be Finbar, when Father catches up with him.’
He put his fork away and moved to check on the owl, tethered on a perch in a dark corner of the barn. Her wing was close to mending and he hoped to release her into the wild soon. I admired his persistence and patience, even as I averted my eyes from the live mice he had ready for her meal.
Finbar had disappeared. But it was not unusual for him to go off into the forest, or down to the lake, and nobody commented on his absence. I had no idea where he had gone, and did not raise the subject for fear of drawing attention to myself, or to him and our nocturnal activities. I was worried, too, about my poison, and it was with some relief that I saw the four guards emerge, that first afternoon, to sit in the courtyard clutching their heads, yawning widely and generally looking sorry for themselves. By supper time the word had got around that the prisoner had escaped, slipped away somehow between Colum’s departure and the change of guards, and there were many and varied theories as to how such an unthinkable thing could have happened. A man was despatched after Lord Colum, to give him the bad news.
‘The Briton won’t get far,’ said Donal sourly. ‘Not in the state he was in. Not in this forest. Hardly worth going after him.’
On the second day, Eilis and her retinue left for home, with their own six men and two of ours as escort. The weather was turning; gusts of cool wind whipped the skirts of the ladies and the cloaks of their men at arms, and scudding clouds raced across the sun. Conor, as the eldest son still home and therefore de facto master of the house, bid Eilis a formal farewell and invited her to return when things settled down. Eilis thanked him prettily for the hospitality, though in my eyes it had been somewhat lacking. I wondered how long she’d have to wait to see Liam again, and whether she minded very much. Then I forgot her, for Finbar appeared at supper the next night, as if he’d never been away. Padriac, absorbed in his own pursuits, had hardly noticed his brother’s absence; Conor made no comment. I stared at Finbar across the table, but his thoughts were concealed from me and his eyes were intent on his plate. His hands breaking bread, lifting a goblet, were steady and controlled. I waited restlessly until the meal was over, and Conor stood, signalling permission to leave. I followed Finbar outside, slipping behind him like a smaller shadow, and confronted him in the long walk under the willows.
‘What happened? Where were you?’
‘Where do you think?’
‘Taking that boy somewhere, that’s what I think. But where?’
He was quiet for a bit, probably working out how little he could get away with telling me.
‘Somewhere safe. It’s best if you don’t know.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Think about it, Sorcha. Even you have put yourself at risk now. If Father, or Liam, found out what we’ve done, they would be … well, angry is an understatement.’
‘All we did was save someone from being hurt,’ I said, knowing there was far more to it than that.
‘They would see it as a betrayal. Stabbing your own kin in the back. Setting free a spy. To them it’s all black and white, Sorcha.’
‘Whose side are you on anyway?’
‘There are no sides, not really. It’s more a case of where you come from. Don’t the Britons come here to seize our lands, learn our secrets, destroy our way of life? To help them is to go against kinship and brotherhood and all that’s sacred. That’s the way most people see it. Maybe it’s the way we should see it.’
After a long time I said, ‘But life is sacred, isn’t it?’
Finbar chuckled. ‘You should have been a brithem, Sorcha. You always find the argument I can’t answer.’
I raised my brows at him. I, with my bare feet and straggly hair, a maker of judgements? I found it hard enough to tell the difference between right and wrong sometimes.
We both fell silent. Finbar leaned back against a tree, resting his head against the rough bark, his eyes closed. His dark figure blended into the shadows as if he were part of them.
‘So why did you do it?’ I asked after a while. He took some time to answer. It was getting cold, and an evening dampness was in the air. I shivered.
‘Here,’ said Finbar, opening his eyes and putting his old jacket around my shoulders. He was still wearing the same shirt he’d had on that night. Was it really only three days ago?
‘It’s as if everything is part of a pattern,’ he said eventually. ‘Almost as if I’d had no choice, as if it was all set out for me, on a sort of map of my life. I think Mother saw what was ahead for all of us, maybe not exactly, but she had an idea of where we were going.’ He touched the amulet that hung always around his neck. ‘And yet, as well as that, it’s all about choices. Wouldn’t it be easier for me to be one of the boys, to earn Father’s love with my sword and bow – I could do it – take my place at his