The King's Druid

By G. R. Grove

In the mid-sixth century, one hundred years after St. Patrick brought Christianity to Ireland, most of the Irish Kings were Christian – at least in name. But Díarmait mac Cerbaill, in his attempt to consolidate his position as High King, had recourse to an older magic. In about 560 A.D., he held the last “Feast of Tara” – the old Pagan sacred wedding of the King with the Goddess of Sovereignty. And at the subsequent battle of Cul Dreimne, the Chronicle of Ireland reports that Fráechán mac Tenusán cast the "druidical fence" over Díarmait’s army. In the event, Díarmait lost that battle due to "the prayers of Colum Cille" (Saint Columba).

But who was Fráechán mac Tenusán, and how did he come to be practicing Druid magic for Díarmait? “The King’s Druid” is his story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. R. Grove
• Release date: Nov 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005742218

Book preview

The boy sat leaning against one of the large gray stones, enjoying the warmth of the early sunlight after the chill of the autumn night. He had a hunk of stale barley bread in his right hand, having saved it for his breakfast, but he was not eating it; instead he was thinking back to the ritual he had witnessed the night before. The sunlight shone on his shoulder-length black hair, and sparkled in his inwardly-gazing dark eyes. He was seven years old, and should not have spent the night alone on the hill, but he was as indifferent to the possible dangers from wolves or wild men as he was to the beating that he would probably get when he returned to his father’s ráth below. Fráechán always went his own way, whatever the cost.

He had done so ever since he left his mother’s breast. She, poor lady, might have changed him if she had lived, but she had died when he was two years old, and he could scarcely remember her now. His father’s newest wife had had no good influence on him, nor had she any love for him; she was only concerned with her own small son. The only one who had truly loved and understood Fráechán had been his grandfather; but the old man had died in the cold of the previous winter. The boy had wept for a day and a night, and now felt himself utterly alone. Soon he would be fostered to another household, as was the custom among the free landholders of Ériu, but he thought that his father Tenusán had not yet decided as to which one. In the meantime, he escaped to the hills whenever he could—and to the rituals of the Druids.

Ah, said a voice behind him, breaking into his thoughts. Here is our little mouse. Fráechán looked up, startled, to meet the smiling pale eyes of a gray-haired bearded man in a dark sheep-colored woolen robe, who had come so quietly that the boy had not heard him.

Coirpre, he said. I thought you had gone down already.

I had, said the Druid. "But I met a man from your father’s ráth who asked if I had seen you, and I remembered a little shadow in the fringes of our firelight last night. Why did you not go home, boy, when we were through?"

I wanted to watch your dawn offering, said Fráechán.

And did you? asked Coirpre. That was some time ago, and you are still here.

I like it here, said Fráechán. Noticing the piece of bread he still held, he suddenly hurled it away, as if its associations disgusted him. It is quiet here, he said softly, half to himself.

True that is, said Coirpre, nodding. May I sit beside you for a little while if I do not speak?

Fráechán sighed. If you must, he said, frowning. But I might leave soon.

To go home? asked Coirpre, sitting down.

Maybe, said Fráechán. Coirpre smiled but said nothing.

They sat in silence for some time, while the sun rose higher and the morning warmed. Coirpre glanced sideways now and then, and saw that the boy was gradually relaxing to his presence. When he thought the moment was right, he said, May I speak?

Fráechán looked quickly at him, as if he had forgot the Druid was there. Why? he asked after a moment.

Only a question or two—no more, said Coirpre, and waited.

After a moment Fráechán sighed and said, Ask, then. But I may not answer.

How much do you remember of last night’s ritual? asked Coirpre, struck by the adult nature of the boy’s response.

All of it, said Fráechán, with a momentary smile at the memory. All of it that I could see or hear, at least.

Would you tell me what you saw and heard? asked Coirpre; and then, when Fráechán frowned, I am curious, nothing else. Whatever you say will be between the two of us only.

Fráechán glanced sideways again at the Druid. It was a long, assessing look, thoughtful but with no fear in it, not a child’s look at all; and again Coirpre was surprised. Then the boy looked away, frowning in thought. After a while he said, I will tell you what I saw and heard… I was on the hillside, and saw you and others coming up, a little while before sunset. I followed you, taking cover where I could, and went to ground here, where I could see but not be seen. At sunset you lit a fire, and called upon the God Lugh from the top of the mound to accept your offerings and bless you. Then you came down, and all of you began a ritual around the fire. I crept closer to hear better; that would have been when you saw me. I know all the words you chanted, if you want to hear them…

Speak them if you will, said Coirpre, fascinated. And when Fráechán complied, That is nearly right.

Where was I wrong? asked the boy. And when Coirpre had corrected his recitation, he said simply, Thank you.

Then what? asked Coirpre.

Oh, then most of you went down, except for you and two others who stayed to make the dawn offering.

And how did we do that? asked Coirpre.

You stirred up your fire; and when the sun rose, you called upon Lugh, and poured an offering into it. Then you sang a long chant which I could not understand.

Ah, said Coirpre smiling. Why could you not understand it?

I did not know most of the words, said Fráechán. Coirpre nodded.

That is because it is in the Old Speech, he said. Fráechán sighed.

I want to learn that language, he said. It was not a request, but a statement of purpose. Coirpre smiled.

You will, he said, standing up. But now I think you should go home. Shall I come with you? To protect you from your father, he thought, having heard the rumors.

No, said Fráechán. Thank you. I will go in a little while.

Go with my blessing, said Coirpre. But if you can come up before dawn three mornings from now…

What then? asked Fráechán.

You will see a sight worth seeing, said Coirpre, and smiled again.

I will come, said Fráechán, and slowly, tentatively, smiled back.

That will be good, said Coirpre, and still smiling walked away.

The ráth of Tenusán mac Aedo was like a big farmstead, but better fortified, as befitted a minor lord, with a bank topped by a wooden palisade around it, and a water-filled ditch outside. In the center of the enclosure stood the round thatched feast-hall, and between it and the palisade were all the other buildings necessary to him and his people—barns and stables, store-houses and kitchens, and dwellings for his servants and his slaves. The fields outside had been reaped already, and black and brown sheep were grazing on the stubble, while in the green pastures closer to the ráth were red and brown cattle and sleek horses. Fráechán exchanged greetings with cowherds and shepherds as he passed. Tired though he was from his night on the hill, he still walked briskly. He did not look forward to what was waiting for him, and wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

Fráechán’s father was not pleased. Where have you been? he asked when the boy stood before him at last.

Walking, said Fráechán. Concealing the fear which he could not entirely repress, he kept his back straight and looked Tenusán in the face unflinchingly.

All night? said Tenusán grimly. Never mind. Go out to the barn and wait for me. And he turned away, leaving his son to follow his orders. Fráechán sighed, but quietly. He knew there would be a long wait; that was part of the punishment. He went back out of the hall and made his way to the hay-scented dimness of the barn. At least this would be a private beating.

When Tenusán came at last, carrying a heavy leather strap in his hands, he found his son still standing, very straight, in the middle of the barn floor. It looked like defiance, but in truth Fráechán had been afraid that if he sat down, he would fall asleep. Drop your tunic and turn around, said his father, a rough edge of anger in his voice. It is glad I will be, when Fergus comes in a few days to take you home with him. Maybe he can teach you to follow orders.

Fergus? said Fráechán, pausing with his gray-green tunic half off.

Yes, Fergus mac Neill. Go on, do as I say! Fráechán complied, and set his teeth not to cry out as the first whistling blow of the leather strap struck his thin shoulders. As blow followed blow, he clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms, and summoned up a surge of anger to keep the tears at bay. He would not weep if he could help it, for that would be a defeat. He could bear pain more easily.

At last it was over. Turn around, and pull up your tunic, said his father’s voice. Fráechán did his best to comply, but the turning was the easy part. As he fumbled his arms back into the sleeves, he looked up defiantly into the black-bearded face and the dark eyes that were so like his own.

May I go now, Father? he asked.

"Yes, but do not leave the ráth, said Tenusán. I want you here when Fergus comes."

When will that be? asked Fráechán, with a sinking feeling in his empty belly.

In three or four days, maybe more, maybe less. What does it matter? You will stay here until he comes, unless you want another dose of this strap. Do you understand?

Yes, said Fráechán, I understand. And passing his father, he went quickly out of the barn, leaving Tenusán staring after him.

He went first to the kitchen, where one of the slave girls gave him bread and cheese and a cup of fresh milk. He took them back with him to the barn before she could notice the pain of his stiffening weals. Once he had finished his food, he found a good spot and stretched out on his belly in the hay, resting his head on his arms, while he tried to think of a way to meet Coirpre on the hill three dawns hence without getting caught. He fell asleep before finding an answer.

When he awoke, it was twilight. He scrambled up as best he could and made his way toward the hall. Inside the big smoky room, lit by the central hearth fire, the men of the household were gathering for their evening meal. As Fráechán paused, looking for a seat at one of the trestle tables, his father’s physician approached him. Where have you been, boy? the man said, reaching out to brush some clinging straw from Fráechán’s shoulder. Feeling the boy’s flinching away, the man said, Oho. That again. Come see me after we eat, and passed on. Fráechán smiled fleetingly, and turned to find his own place.

Boiled cow meat and barley bread, butter and greens, and fresh milk, cold from the well—a good meal made him feel better. Afterwards he followed the physician to the hut he shared with two others of the Aes Dana – the Men of Art—the ráth’s harper and poet. Happily, they were still in the feast hall, as the physician had expected, so he had privacy for his work. Stripping down Fráechán’s tunic to his belt, he anointed the weals with a sharp-smelling ointment which took away most of the smart, then helped the boy to dress again. Why this time? he asked as he worked.

I was out overnight, said Fráechán briefly.

Hmm, said the physician, finishing his work. I hear you will be fostered soon. Maybe things will be better for you there.

Maybe, said Fráechán. Thank you.

No trouble, said the physician, smiling, as the boy left.

Fráechán spent the next two days in the ráth at various tasks, all of them visible to his father. He had worked out a plan for his escape to the hills, and perhaps for his return, but both of these plans needed luck. At morning and evening, he prayed to the Gods as he had seen Coirpre and his friends do, and on the second afternoon what seemed to be his luck arrived, in the form of Fergus mac Neill and four men of his retinue. Three of them were soldiers, but the fourth was his lawyer, for contractual fosterage—as opposed to fosterage of affection—was a matter of law.

Fergus was a big burly man in early middle age, red-haired but going bald. As he watched while his soon-to-be foster father was welcomed and escorted to the guest house, Fráechán ran through what he knew of the pertinent law. For the fee Tenusán would pay him, Fergus would undertake to maintain his foster son according to his rank for seven years, teaching him horsemanship, swimming, marksmanship, and the board-games of fidchell and brandub. Once the contract was agreed to, the boy could not legally leave until he was fourteen, unless he was being mistreated, or Tenusán was content to forfeit the whole seven-years’ fee. There was no other escape. It was not what Fráechán wanted, but it might be better than what he had at home. If not, he would deal with the situation when it arose. Unfortunately there was no mention of Druidry in the curriculum.

For now, however, he thought that Fergus’ arrival gave him a better chance of putting tonight’s plan into action. Feasting, of course, would run late, and there would be much ale drunk. The watchman on the gate would not be sober, and might need to make a visit of necessity during the small hours. That would be Fráechán’s chance. He had thought of various ways of getting the man away from his post for a few minutes, but it seemed that his luck—his fate—might arrange this for him. In the meantime, he ate a good supper and prepared to wait. If this got him another beating, it might be the last for a while, and he would have made good on his word to Coirpre. That was more important to him than a little temporary pain.

It worked as he had hoped. To aid it along, he came out from the feast as it was ending with a big jug of ale for the watchman, who happily received it. I thought, said Fráechán, that you should enjoy some of this yourself. The man thanked him, and drank down the ale while Fráechán faded back into the shadows. It was now, he thought, a matter of time; and he was right.

Perhaps two hours had passed since the hall was quiet; all lights were quenched except for the lantern at the gate, and everyone else had sought their beds. The waning moon had risen, and shone its silver light into the ráth, leaving the shadows dark where Fráechán sat. He saw the watchman rise from his seat by the gate and look around. A few restless paces back and forth; then the man left his station abruptly, heading for the privies at the back of the ráth. Once he was out of sight, Fráechán threw his cloak over his left shoulder and headed for the gate.

It took him three desperate leaps to catch hold of the top of it, high above his head as it was; then he chinned himself rapidly and swarmed up and over, dropping softly to the road outside. Quietly he crossed the bridge over the ditch, his footfalls barely audible in the night’s stillness. Before ever the watchman could have returned to his post, Fráechán had taken the familiar path through the fields that led to the hills, running quickly in the light of the silver moon and the autumn stars.

Coirpre arrived before the first glow of dawn had touched the eastern sky. The hilltop was quiet except for the sound of the wind in the grass and the occasional cry of some creature in the woods below, faint and distant. Looking around, he wondered if the boy would arrive soon—or at all. It was hard to tell, with a child that young, but certainly the intent had been there…

Coirpre? A soft voice called his name from the direction of the mound.

Fráechán? Where are you, little mouse? said Coirpre, smiling.

Inside, said Fráechán. It is warmer out of the wind.

Indeed, and it would be, said Coirpre, making his way to the entrance of the mound. Stooping under the lintel stone, he groped his way into the darkness until his hands touched cloth. There you are, he said.

Yes, said Fráechán, moving away from him. There is more room farther back, but mind this stone in front of you.

I know it well, said Coirpre, smiling. We have some time to wait. How is it with you? Fráechán said nothing for a moment, then he sighed.

My foster father has come, he said. He will take me away with him soon.

Ah, said Coirpre, understanding. And you will miss this place. Glad I am that you could come tonight.

Glad I am too, said Fráechán, with a sort of wonder in his voice.

Was it hard? asked Coirpre.

It was not easy, said Fráechán. But I did come.

Yes, you did, said Coirpre approvingly. I am sorry you will be going away. Who is your foster father?

Fergus mac Neill, said Fráechán. I do not know where he lives.

Ah, said Coirpre again. "I know of him. He has a ráth near Ceannanus Mór, and not too far from Tailtiu. If I come to the Óenach there at next summer’s end, I might see you."

You might, said Fráechán uncertainly. That is a long time.

It is, said Coirpre, nodding. Well, let us go outside now and see how near we are to the dawn.

There was only the faintest pale light in the eastern sky when they went out. By silent mutual consent, they stood leaning against the stones on either side of the entrance to the mound, sheltered as well as they might be from the wind. From time to time Coirpre glanced at the boy, who was standing silently, wrapped in his cloak and gazing out to the gradually lightening east. Fráechán’s face was sad, and Coirpre wondered what he was thinking. For himself, he was sorry that they would not have more time together. Perhaps, in the future… It would depend on how the fosterage went.

When the sun is about to rise, he said softly, we will go inside again, and stand in the two recesses on either side of the backstone. Then you will see—what the sun will show us. It will be better still tomorrow, but we would not then have the morning to ourselves. There will be others here then.

Fráechán turned his head to look at Coirpre; almost he smiled. Thank you, he said, for having me here now. I wish… He shook his head, and turned back to look at the eastern sky.

After a few minutes, Coirpre said, Let us go in now, so as to be ready. They made their way inside and took their stations. Every minute the light in the chamber grew. Then suddenly a bright beam of sunlight crept down the passage and touched the backstone in its upper left corner, illuminating the mysterious symbols carved in the stone. Slowly it widened, moving from left to right as if reading what was carved there. At the same time Coirpre began to chant his dawn song. The strange words echoed in the corbeled chambers of the mound, until it seemed the sun-touched stone itself was singing. Fráechán stood drinking in the magic, his smiling lips a little parted and his dark eyes shining. At last the sunbeam reached the lower right corner of the backstone, dwindled, and disappeared; and Coirpre’s chanting ended with it. In the echoing silence the two stood smiling at each other, and Coirpre saw tears of joy on the boy’s cheeks. Thank you, said Fráechán softly at last. I will remember this—all my life I will remember this. I heard in the echoes…

What did you hear? asked Coirpre after a moment.

I heard… said Fráechán, and paused again. I heard the voice of the God. Coirpre nodded.

Yes, he said simply, and that was all. After a little while, still smiling, they went out silently together to greet the morning.

Sitting down where they had sat three days before, Coirpre reached into the breast of his robe and brought out a cloth-wrapped parcel. When he unfolded it, it proved to contain half a small loaf of barley bread. Will you share my breakfast? he asked.

Yes, said Fráechán, sitting as well, and took the piece of bread that Coirpre offered him. Chewing, he said, I will have to go down soon, but I think they will have missed me already. Coirpre nodded.

Then we can speak a little first.

Yes, said Fráechán again. I wish that I had time to learn your dawn song.

Well, said Coirpre, you have a very good memory; let us try. And slowly, word by word, he began to recite it, Fráechán echoing him. Word by word, phrase by phrase, they built it—once, twice, three times. Coirpre explained the meaning of the words, and saw Fráechán smile. One more time they repeated the chant, and then sang it together—once, twice, three times. Fráechán’s dark eyes were sparkling with pleasure; he seemed a different boy. At last, at Coirpre’s direction, he sang it once more by himself, word-perfect. Coirpre grinned.

You have it now, he said. Do not lose it; sing it every morning.

I will, said Fráechán, still smiling; then he sighed, and the light went out of his face. Standing up, he said, Better I should go now.

Standing up as well, Coirpre said, We will meet again—never doubt it. His own heart was full; watching Fráechán’s face, he slowly held out his arms, and after a moment, cautious as a wild creature, the boy came into them. They stood so for a long while, embracing, with Coirpre’s bearded cheek pressed against the boy’s black hair, then they stepped apart. Go with my blessing, said Coirpre. Fráechán nodded, smiling again, then turned and set off down the hill. Coirpre watched him until he disappeared from sight.

Chapter 2 – Fosterage

Riding beside his new foster father in the cool autumn sunshine, Fráechán felt that so far things were going well. For one thing, he had escaped the beating he had expected to receive on his return to Tenusán’s ráth. True, his father had been very angry, but Fergus’ presence had restrained him. For whatever reason, he had contented himself with a verbal rebuke. His farewell to his unsatisfactory elder son had been brisk and unemotional; probably he was as glad of the parting as Fráechán was.

Fergus was asking him a question. I am sorry, foster father, said Fráechán. I was not listening. What did you say?

I was asking, said Fergus good-temperedly, "if you know the board games fidchell and brandub. If not, I or one of my other sons will teach them to you, for that will be part of your training."

"I know fidchell, a little, said Fráechán. Not the other one, but I will be glad to learn." This was not entirely true; before his grandfather died, the old man had been teaching him fidchell, and Fráechán had shown considerable aptitude.

Well, that is good, said Fergus. "We should reach my ráth this evening, and you can meet your foster brothers."

How many sons do you have? asked Fráechán, surprised.

Six, said Fergus, smiling, and all fostered. For myself, I have only daughters. But you will see.

Fráechán nodded silently. This was something he had not thought of. He remembered the tale of Cúchulainn and the Boy Pack that a traveling bard had told once in his father’s hall, and he hoped that his reception would prove more friendly.

The gray pony which Fergus had brought for him to ride had an easy pace; the morning was bright, with only a little breeze; and the sky above him was blue and clear. All around him the countryside was taking on its autumn colors; the frost-touched bracken was foxy-red, the rowan trees by the streams hung heavy with glowing red berries amidst their still-green leaves, and the gorse bushes beside the road still flaunted their golden blossoms. The air smelled pleasantly of moist earth and peat smoke, and less pleasantly of recently silaged fields, but it was a good day to be traveling. Fráechán felt an unaccustomed lightening of his heart with every mile he put between him and his father. He hoped that Fergus would have a lighter hand.

Fergus’ ráth lay close by the Blackwater River. It was twilight when they arrived, but Fráechán could still see the flat countryside around it, rather strange to one brought up in the shadow of the Sliabh na Caillí. The ráth itself looked much like Tenusán’s. The guard at the gate, however, was armed.

As they rode into the courtyard, servants came to take their horses and welcome home their lord. They were followed by several youngsters of different ages—clearly Fergus’ foster sons. The youngest might have been Fráechán’s age; the oldest perhaps fourteen. Fergus greeted them cheerfully, saying, Quiet now, lads! I have brought you a new brother.

What is his name? asked a thin red-haired boy of perhaps ten years.

His name, said Fergus, is Fráechán mac Tenusán. Fráechán, this noisy fellow is Flann.

Flann mac Conall, said the boy, grinning.

Your pardon, said Fergus, laughing. As to the rest—that tall brown-haired fellow is called Níell. He is almost fourteen, and will probably be leaving us soon. The short yellow-haired one beside him is called Art. The other red head, the quiet one, is called Eochu. The little curly black-haired one is called Domnall, and he is your age, Fráechán. There should be one more—where is Colla?

The other boys shook their heads, but after a moment Flann said, grinning slyly, Probably in the kitchen as usual.

Fergus chuckled. Well, we will see him later. In the meantime, Fráechán will be sharing a bed with you, Domnall. Take him to your house, and show him where to put his things. The rest of you, go along to the hall. I will join you there soon.

Fráechán took the bag of his gear from one of the grinning soldiers and followed Domnall. He had never before in his life met so many new people all at once, and was feeling a little overwhelmed, but he tried to act as if this were normal. In the meantime, he took note of everything around him as Domnall led him through the maze of buildings which filled the ráth.

The foster sons’ hut—the Boys’ House—was a small thatched building near the wall of the ráth. In addition to its small central hearth, now unlit, its double wattled walls with the moss-filled space between them promised warmth in winter. Domnall left the door open, and the leather door curtain inside hooked back, to allow a little of the fading twilight to enter the single room. Groping in the gloom, he found a lantern on the floor beside the door, and lit it with its strike-a-light. We usually bring back a lit dip from the hall, unless the hearth fire is burning, he said. The lantern’s feeble light showed Fráechán six low beds attached to the sides of the round room. This one is mine, said Domnall. You will be sharing it with me until Níell leaves, unless someone else comes first.

The bed was certainly wide enough for two small boys. Like the others, it was wattle framed, filled with moss and bracken under a woolen sheet. A heavier blanket was folded at its foot. At the end of each bed was a wooden chest. You can put your bag on top of the chest for now, said Domnall, or on the foot of the bed if you had rather. We can sort it out tomorrow. Would you rather sleep against the wall, or away from it?

Away from it, said Fráechán, who had been thinking. I am often awake at dawn or before, and would not want to bother you if I got up and went out.

That will be fine with me, said Domnall, and grinned. I am no early riser. Let us go to the hall now—it is time for meat, and I am hungry if you are not.

So am I, said Fráechán, and smiled back at him.

Fergus’ round thatched hall was full of people, noise, and smoke from the central hearth fire when the two boys arrived. Fergus’ other foster sons were gathered at one long trestle table near the door. Domnall led Fráechán to a seat at one end of the bench opposite that occupied by Art and Níell. Did you get him settled? asked the older boy.

I did, said Domnall, grinning.

That is good, said Níell. Fráechán, we will start you on some of your training in the morning. Being the eldest, I am in charge of most of it. Let me know if you have any questions.

I will, said Fráechán, nodding. At this point serving men began to bring in food, and everyone turned their attention to their meal. It was bowls of stewed pig meat and onions—different from what Fráechán was used to, but tasty—together with barley bread and fresh butter. As he ate, he glanced along the table at the other boys, wondering how best to work his way into the Pack. If he was going to be here for seven years, he would need friends—or at least allies—to keep his back for him, if nothing else. He was not Cúchulainn, to defeat all of them by himself.

Aside from the boys, the smoky fire-lit hall was quite full of other people. Fráechán saw Fergus seated at one table with several adults, including a woman who was probably his wife. The benches at another table held a number of strong-looking men, mostly young, and Fráechán recognized the three soldiers who had escorted Fergus and his lawyer to Tenusán's ráth and back. Servants came and went with food and drink; presumably they would eat later elsewhere.

As the meal came to an end, Níell stood up, and most of the boys followed him. The exception was Colla, who had not been in the courtyard with the rest earlier. A fat yellow-haired boy with blue eyes and a friendly face, he was still busily working his way through his third serving of stew. Come on, Colla, said Níell. It is time you went to bed.

I am almost through, Níell, said Colla. Please let me finish.

Well, do it quickly, said Níell. Turning, he led the rest of the Pack out of the hall. Fráechán followed close behind him, glad to be leaving the hall noise and curious as to what would happen next.

Did Domnall show you the privies? Níell asked him as they walked.

No, said Fráechán.

Then I will show you them now, said Níell, smiling. Go along, the rest of you, and get yourselves ready for bed.

Thank you, said Fráechán as the other boys headed for their hut. I do have questions.

I thought you might, said Níell. And I have some for you. How much riding have you done? You looked competent enough when you arrived this evening, but riding with a group is easy.

I have ridden some, said Fráechán slowly, thinking of his father’s restrictions. But more practice would be good.

Níell nodded. Have you had any training in arms?

No, said Fráechán.

Then we will start with that tomorrow, said Níell. Do you swim?

No, said Fráechán again. There was no lake or river near Tenusán’s ráth.

Something else to start with, then, before winter is upon us, said Níell. Now, what were your questions?

I think you have answered some of them, said Fráechán. I will save the rest for later.

Good enough, said Níell, nodding. Can you find our hut when you are finished here?

I will find it, said Fráechán.

Do so, then, said Níell, and left him.

Fráechán took his time returning to the Boys’ House. Guided by the light of scattered torches, he made his way first to the gateway of the ráth. The soldier there was friendly-looking, but curious. Fráechán explained that he was Fergus’ newest foster son. Ah, said the man, nodding. Another little b—boy. Are you lost, son? It’s a big place we have here.

True that is, said Fráechán, making himself smile. Can you get up on top of the wall?

Of course, said the soldier. Hard would it be to defend elsewise. See, there is one of the ladders right beside us.

Could I go up? asked Fráechán.

Not now in the dark, lad—it would not be safe. In the morning you could.

Ah, said Fráechán. Thank you. I will try it then. And turning away, he made his way slowly back to the Boys’ House.

Níell was waiting for him outside the door. Did you get lost? he asked as Fráechán came up. I should have stayed with you.

No, said Fráechán. I looked around a little.

Well, go to bed now, said Níell. I will blow the lantern out when you are settled.

Thank you, said Fráechán, and went inside.

He awoke in a strange place, knowing that it would soon be dawn. The room was warm and stuffy and full of snores. Someone, in fact, was snoring close against his back, and had also pulled most of their shared blanket off of him. Then he remembered—he was in the Boys’ House at Fergus’ ráth, and the warmth against his back was Domnall, with whom he was sharing this bed. With the thought, he rolled over to sit on the bed’s edge, and groped on the ground beside it for his shoes. Without bothering to put them on, he stood up and made his way carefully to the pale rectangular outline which marked the edge of the leather door curtain. The wooden door outside had swung partly open, and pushing it gently aside, he went out.

The clean night air was like good ale, delicious and invigorating. The stars above had only began to fade; he had time to put on his shoes before looking for a way up to the wall walk. The nearest ladder was not far; he climbed it carefully, for the distance between the rungs was gauged for men, not boys. At the top, he turned to the right, following the beaten path on the top of the wide earthen bank. The sky in the east had only started to lighten; he would be in time for the dawn.

At the far eastern curve of the wall, he was delighted to see a gap in the distant trees which gave him a wide view across the river to the gently rising land beyond. He saw no one else on the wall; he would have this moment to himself. Another time he would have to bring an offering as well, but at least he could sing the dawn hymn, as he had done every morning since Coirpre had taught it to him. He spared a moment to remember their parting embrace; it had been good to feel for those few moments that someone in the world loved him after all. He wished that he could have been fostered with the old Druid, but unless something changed, he would have to make the best use that he could of his time here instead.

Even as he thought this, a golden glow touched the eastern horizon—a glow that spread and grew like a fire. Softly, as the sun rose, Fráechán began his song, and the warmth that touched his face was like the blessing of the God.

Then the sun pulled free of the horizon, and the moment was over. He knew he would not always be this undisturbed; the sky would not always be this clear, nor the weather so pleasant. But for today, he had kept his promise—to Coirpre, to the God, and to himself. Smiling, he went to find a ladder and make his way down to the feast hall for breakfast.

Of the boys, only Níell was already in the hall when Fráechán reached it. Hello! he said. You are an early riser!

Yes, said Fráechán, sitting down at the table across from him. Where are the others?

They will be here soon, said Níell. Art is rousting them out. He usually has the morning duty, although sometimes we switch. Fráechán nodded, reaching for a wooden cup and the pitcher of fresh milk which stood beside it. Pouring himself a cupful, he drank part of it, then took a piece of bread from the platter between them. You are a quiet little fellow, said Níell with amusement. Are you ready to start your training today?

Yes, said Fráechán, pouring himself more milk. At that point the other boys came noisily in and took their places. Yellow-haired Art brought up the rear like a herd dog, grinning.

I see you found our stray, he said to Níell.

He found himself, said Níell, grinning back. I do not know where he was. At the privies, maybe.

Were you? Art asked, looking at Fráechán, who shook his head, his mouth being full.

Níell laughed. He does not talk much. Fráechán, when you finish your breakfast, join me in the practice yard. Anyone will tell you where it is. He stood up, smiling, and left the table.

Finishing his food quickly, Fráechán followed him, and caught up with him as he crossed the courtyard outside. Níell! he said, and Níell turned.

What, were you ready then? he asked.

Yes, said Fráechán. And I still have questions.

Come along, then, and ask them, said Níell, smiling.

Walking beside him, Fráechán said, You said last night that I would be learning fighting this morning and swimming this afternoon.

Yes, said Níell, and grinned. The swimming lesson will wash off the blood from the morning.

The same tomorrow? asked Fráechán, ignoring the joke.

No, said Níell. Tomorrow you will ride in the morning, and play games in the afternoon—hurley if the weather is good, and board games if it is not. That is the order for Monday through Saturday. Sunday you may go to church if you like, and then have the rest of the day free. Are you a Christian?

I am not sure, said Fráechán. Níell laughed.

Well, he said, you can go to church with me and decide. Now, here is the practice yard, and here is our weapons master, Lugaid. Hello, Lugaid, here is another victim for you!

Ho, Níell, said the graying thickset man in the entrance to the weapons shed. You have brought me another small one. Who is this minnow?

His name is Fráechán mac Tenusán, said Níell. And he is—seven years old, is it not, Fráechán?

Yes, said Fráechán. This was the second time in two days that he had heard his full name, and it still sounded strange to him.

That is a good age to start, said Lugaid. You have not had a chance to learn anything wrong. Have you had any weapons training at all?

No, said Fráechán. And that was true, but he had often watched his father’s men-at-arms at their practice, and looked forward to putting some of the things he had seen to use.

Good, said Lugaid. Now…

I will leave him to you, then, said Níell. The rest will be coming soon.

That is fine, said Lugaid absently. Now then, Fráechán… Come here and let me look at you more closely. And when Fráechán came, Stretch your arms out—above your head… now to the side. Bend over and touch the ground… Good. Run to the other end of this yard and back… Good, you seem fit enough. Have you done any archery or spear work?

No, said Fráechán, who was finding Lugaid’s instructions interesting.

You will, said Lugaid, smiling. Ah, here come the rest! as the other boys came in. You can partner with Domnall today, since you are the same age. Here is your stick; I will show you how to hold it when the others have theirs.

The other boys came over and took their equipment—wooden swords and light shields matched to their sizes. Colla and Eochu were paired as being the nearest in age, as were Flann and Art; Níell, being the odd man out now, was delegated to watch and coach them, while Lugaid gave his attention to Fráechán and Domnall. He showed Fráechán how to hold his equipment, and then set the two of them to exchanging slow weapon strokes. It soon became apparent that Fráechán was the fitter of the two, but Lugaid kept them at it for as long as the smaller boy could hold his wooden sword straight. Take a break, he said then, while I check on these others. And leaving them, he walked over to watch the other two pairs.

Whew! said Domnall, dropping his shield and rubbing his right shoulder. You must have done this before!

No, said Fráechán slowly, but I have done other things. He was watching Lugaid as the man walked back and forth between the other boys, commenting and correcting. Níell came over in a little while to take charge of the younger boys and set them to work again. If Domnall doesn’t kill you this morning, he said to Fráechán, grinning, we will see if I can drown you this afternoon.

I think I will like that, said Fráechán, and smiled.

The reed-bordered pond looked cold. Perhaps thirty feet across, it was close outside the ráth, between it and the Blackwater River. The older boys would get their swimming practice in the river, said Níell, but this was a safer place for beginners. Glancing at the swiftly flowing water, Fráechán silently agreed.

Again he was paired with Domnall. Níell took off his clothes and had the other two do so as well; then he waded into the pond. You first, Domnall, he said. You have had some lessons already. Show Fráechán how this is done.

Taking a deep breath, Domnall followed the older boy into the pond, shivering as the cold water reached his waist. Swim across, said Níell, and Domnall valiantly flung himself forward and began a clumsy dog-paddle, heading toward the far side of the pond, splashing and gasping but determined. Níell grinned, but said nothing until Domnall reached the far shore. Very good, he said then. Watch me now, Fráechán. And he launched himself smoothly into the water, and swam across and back. Come toward me now, Fráechán, he said when he was again standing in shallow water which came up to his knees.

Fráechán waded into the pond slowly, managing not to gasp as the cold water rose to his waist. Taking a deep breath, he threw himself forward as he had seen Níell do. Stroking with both arms, he managed to raise his face out of the water and take another breath. This success astonished him, and he repeated the effort. Good! he heard Níell say, and trying to blink his eyes clear, he aimed for the older boy’s voice. Stroke after stroke, he followed Níell across the pond, until Níell said, Stop now and stand up. Fráechán complied, and was surprised to find himself standing in waist-deep water again.

Are you sure, asked Níell incredulously, that you have not done this before?

No, said Fráechán, still gasping for breath. I have not.

Then how did you know how to do it? asked Níell.

I watched you, and tried to do the same thing, said Fráechán. Was that wrong?

It was not, said Níell, shaking his head. Well, both of you, swim back across—you first, Domnall, and try to splash less this time. Domnall grinned.

I will try, he said, and he did.

Fráechán found it easier the second time. Kick as well as stroke, Níell had said, and with a little concentration he managed this. Níell followed him in case of problems, but did not need to help. With rest breaks between, he guided his charges through three more laps of the pond. After this they dressed and returned to the ráth, passing in the courtyard the older boys who had been in the river.

You did not drown them, then, did you, Níell? called Flann mockingly.

No, said Níell grinning. They swam too fast for me to catch them. Domnall laughed, but Fráechán only smiled. He was beginning to dislike Flann, but was careful not to show it. He did not need to create any enemies here if he could avoid it.

Tomorrow morning, said Níell at supper to Fráechán, unless it is raining hard, we will ride, and in the afternoon—have you ever played hurley?

No, said Fráechán. But I have seen it played.

Well, we will see, then, said Níell. "I will get you a camán and a ball, and you can practice with that at first."

Thank you, said Fráechán.

Chapter 3 – New Challenges

In the night Fráechán