Prelude

“I was never a warrior, but I have seen the best of them. Aye, and the worst, from within the four seas and beyond. Beyond your imagination, perhaps, you youngsters with your soft clothes and warm houses and the safe lives that you all live nowadays.  Character, that’s what you lack, and individuality. Fashion and fancy clothes don’t make character, they hide it beneath a facade. But you might find that out yourself someday, maybe. Maybe.

I didn’t know where I was born, or when, or to whom. I could only remember being, and the Forest. Always the Forest with its friendly scents and warmth and the birds and animals that were as much of me as they were of themselves. Good days, when there was neither incentive nor desire to think and things just were, without reason or cause. Who needed reason or cause? Not me. I just lived each day, helped by the Voices that guided me to food and shelter. I knew no other life, so I was neither happy nor unhappy; I just was. Until the fatal day that I saw the people. I had seen people before that date but I had paid little heed; they were alien, they did not belong in the Forest.  I paid heed that day, the last day of my old life and the first day of my new, when the scent of fire was in my nostrils and the harsh sounds of humanity cracked open my perceived reality for ever.

Sounds travel far in the Forest, beneath the tops of the high trees and through the tangled greenery close to the ground, but smells travel faster. The animals and I could smell the men coming and we fled from this intrusion into our world. We carried our own scents with us, but with the additional acrid stink of fear. We all ran together, squirrel and cat, pine martin and grunting boar, fox and flitting deer and even the great brown bear that was afraid of nobody and nothing. Except maybe people. I ran as fast as the fastest of them, and my fear matched theirs. I ran until the second scent came. If nothing is worse than the scent of people, then that nothing must be fire and that was what we smelled that day. People behind, fire in front, I ran in circles until I found the sett of a badger and crawled inside, backward, so my head was nearest to the surface and I could watch and listen and smell. Here I was underground, safe from fire and hidden from man. I lay there, quivering, until the sounds came. I hoped that the Voices would guide me, but they were absent so the inside of my head was empty of everything except my own thoughts. There was a long unnatural clearing in front of me; something created by people for their own convenience and which I could not yet identify as a path. It was along this path that the sounds throbbed.

The worst of the sounds was the hollow batter of marching feet that shook the roots of the trees and crept along the forest floor. It was rhythmic; a sonorous beat that was so regular that it was sinister.  But there were other sounds; a brash, discordant rattle, the raucous rasp of voices, the clatter of metal on metal – metal, that only exists where man has torn it from the earth and tortured it into un-natural shapes and uses. Where there is metal there is man, and where there is metal there is death. There was death that day; I saw it march past me on a thousand feet, with half a thousand faces glowering ahead and a thousand hands waiting. Bare feet or feet in sandals, bare legs or legs protected by greaves of metal, and bodies covered in tattoos of grotesquely distorted animals, or in woven cloth or leather torn from the murdered corpses of animals. And metal, always there was metal, glimmering in the sun, rasping against cloth, threatening the world with created hardness and horror.

Although I had never experienced the difference, there were women marching beside the men, spears carried aslant on muscular shoulders, square-cut shields of wood and leather decorated with metal bosses, long knives in leather sheaths, an axe or two, but only the heroes carried swords.

I saw the heroes then. Four, five, six of them. Taller than the rest, four on foot, two balanced astride the backs of horses that wore also wore leather and metal. Heroes were the real death-bringers. They existed to command and to kill. That was their pleasure and their life. Tall, as I said, with metal on their leather clothing and swords kept carefully in polished leather scabbards. One was dark featured, with eyes as bright as a fox and a mouth that smiled. One had hair braided around her neck and greased for protection. One was a man of gold, from the gold cloak that he wore top the jewellery that jingled as he rode. One had a face that bore no expression and the last was the youngest, and she cried and twitched on his horse, but her sword was loose in its scabbard and I could smell the fresh blood on the linen of her tunic. I saw them, but they did not see me. Not then, not yet.

The heroes marched behind an advance guard of picked warriors, although I did not know that then. I just saw people and more people. More than I had ever seen before, man after man, woman after woman in a confusion of colours and noise and stink that permeated the sweet scents of the forest and blanketed the songs of nature. Mixed with the people were dogs, sad-eyed animals with drooping ears and gleaming coats, but attached to the people by twisted ropes that marked them as prisoners. One caught my scent, but mingled with badger I was unidentifiable and his master hauled him away. Somebody laughed; somebody else kicked the dog.  I lay until they had passed, and for a long while after I could feel the trembling of the ground and smell the sourness they left behind. Only when it was safe did I emerge, into a Forest that had been changed by fire.

Smoke drifted blue and bitter, shielding the scents, masking the green, baffling the knowledge of the denizens. The animals were confused and ran in circles, wanting to escape but not knowing which way to go. Joining the panic, I followed them, running, leaping, screaming in the fear of fire that is as natural to us as life itself. There were no voices to guide me, and my own senses were dulled and confused by the smoke and the lingering scent of the people I had seen that day. I scrambled over a fallen tree that smouldered and hissed with a host of sparks, and I was concentrating on the devastation caused by the fire so I did not see them, until too late. That was the day that my old life ended, and this one began. That was when I met Dornolla.

 CHAPTER ONE

‘Wait you now!’ The words meant nothing as I struggled to escape the grasp around my ankle. It hurt, that grip, but all my struggling was useless as the person pulled me toward her. ‘It’s not an uruisg, Finn, or a Daoine Sidh! It’s a boy, a dirty little boy.’ The voice was that of a woman, but with the force and edge of a warrior.

          ‘Not much of a boy.’ Finn was taller than the woman, with the eyes of a predator and a long sword strapped across his back so the handle protruded from behind his left shoulder. Red hair was pulled tightly back from his forehead and tied with a twisted piece of bark at the back of his head. ‘He’s a bit scrawny, would you not say? And very dirty.’ Finn recoiled in a disgust that the woman apparently did not share.

          ‘Dirt can be washed.’ Effortlessly, the woman held me up for inspection. ‘And hair can be cut.’  She examined me at leisure as I wriggled noisily at the end of her outstretched arm. ‘And brats can be silenced if they yell.’    Although I did not understand the words, never knowingly having been in such close proximity to a person before, the tenor was unmistakable. I stopped wriggling and yelling at once and hung limp. She put me down carelessly but not brutally.  ‘Stay there while I decide what to do with you.’

          I ran of course, as soon as her grip relaxed, but Finn had expected that and he caught me before I had gone a score of paces. Both he and the woman laughed, but I was not amused when they tied my feet and hands and left me face down on the ground. 'We could just let him go’ Finn said, ‘I think he’s harmless enough.’

          ‘And have him run to alert the Cruithin?’  The woman prodded my ribs with a sandalled foot. ‘He might be spying for them.’ She leaned closer. ‘Are you boy? Are you from the Cruithin?’

          I recognised that name from somewhere. It was a dim memory from deep in the past. Cruithin – and fear. Cruithin – and pain. Cruithin – and death. Cruithin and a loss so intense that it had been blanked from my mind. The name seared into me with an intensity I did not understand. ‘Cruithin’ As I spoke the name it was hardly surprising that the word was convoluted in my throat.   I could not recall ever speaking before.

          ‘Are you Cruithin?’ Finn crouched beside me; he smelled of woodsmoke, meat and the rankness that gave people away long before their voices were heard in the forest. He held a short bronze knife in his hand and pressed it gently against my throat. ‘Nod if you are, shake your head if you’re not.’ The knife pressed harder, drawing a single drop of blood. I shook my head, trembling in fear as my water splashed onto the ground, and onto Finn. ‘You little bugger!’ He backed away in disgust as the woman laughed.

          ‘You threaten him Finn, and he’ll pee on you! Well met young boy; a response that any hero would be proud of!’

          It seemed that I had earned her approval so I tried again, arching my back to reach the cursing Finn. ‘That’s enough boy!’ His kick was not gentle and ended both my momentary glee and my resistance. I curled up, howling. Finn glanced at the woman. ‘I’ll just cut his throat then, Dornolla.’

             Dornolla. The name sounded like the caress of a spring breeze after the chill of winter. Forgetting my pain, I looked up at the woman. She was tall, with hair the colour of a squirrel and eyes that gleamed with life. There was a large brooch decorating her cloak, an amethyst mounted in silver.  'Dornolla' I said, and pulled back my lips in the expression that she used when she looked at Finn. I knew nothing about smiling then.

          ‘Careful, Dornolla – he’s going to bite us next.’ Finn was attempting to dry his legs with a handful of grass.

          ‘No – I think he’s trying to smile.’ Dornolla came closer to me, knelt at my side with a curious expression on her face. She had green eyes, tinted with flecks of brown that matched the cloak that covered her body from neck to thighs. There was an intricate pattern around the hem and neck, like interlocking plants, except more regular. ‘Now you behave yourself boy.’ She examined me again, poking at my body with a finger whose hardness belied the elegance of its’ shape. ‘I don’t think you’re Cruithin at all. Their children wouldn’t be allowed to run around in such a state. When were you last washed boy?’

          I stared into those eyes, watched the movement of her mouth around teeth that were too white for the red tongue and trembled with memories that I could not bring to the surface. ‘Dornolla’ I said, and pulled back my lips again. I would have watered for her, but Finn would kick me again and I did not like that. ‘Dornolla.’

            ‘You’re no Cruithin.’ Dornolla decided, straightening to her feet in a movement as lithe as a lynx. ‘But I’m damned if I know what you are. Maybe you are an uruisg after all. You’re not Dalriad, that’s for certain.’ Stepping away, she lifted something from a bag and thrust in into my mouth. ‘Eat that if you’re hungry.’

          It was meat, burned in a fire and so tender that the juices dribbled down my face. When she saw that I was having difficulty Dornolla released my hands so I could eat better. I watched her as she moved, trying to remember something, but not knowing what. I finished the meat, cracked open the bone to suck out the marrow inside and again pulled back my lips the way that Dornolla did. They were talking together, Finn and Dornolla, with the words now harsh and venomous, now soft and caressing as they altered from subject to subject. Only occasionally did they look at me, and once Dornolla spoke, but I did not understand even the meaning. Then came words that I recognised and I wriggled closer.

          ‘The army won’t be far off’ Finn was saying, ‘and they’ll hunt us down like dogs, the six heroes of Fortrenn.’

            ‘Heroes!’ I knew that word, and the name. ‘The six heroes of Fortrenn!’

          Both looked at me, but only Finn groped for his knife, until Dornolla stopped him with a single finger on his wrist. ‘The six heroes boy? You know them? Nod if you do.’

          I nodded vigorously to show that I knew them, and pointed in the direction I had come. ‘Dornolla! Six heroes!’

            ‘Cruach!’ Finn glanced toward the forest, as if he could see through the trees. He was only a person so he could not see as well as I could. ‘You’ve seen them?’

            Knowing the rules now, I nodded.

          ‘Can you show us?’ Dornolla’s teeth were showing, but not in friendship. There was something else in her face, something that hurt us both. I nodded again; Dornolla had fed me, Dornolla had laughed when I peed; Dornolla had stopped Finn from hurting me. I would show Dornolla; Finn could come if he wished.

With hardly a glance to Finn, Dornolla cut me free and I stretched, enjoying the knowledge that I could run again.  There was no need for Dornolla to warn, ‘don’t try and escape, now’, for I would not let her down, not Dornolla.

          They were slow in the forest, and very clumsy. Twice Finn broke twigs as he lumbered behind me and even Dornolla scuffed the bark from a tree with her sword scabbard. Although I had run in circles, I remembered the location of the badger’s sett where I had lain and led them straight there. The smell of smoke still pervaded the forest, but even Finn could sniff at the stench left by the marching army, while the trail they left in trampled mud and broken plants was plain.

          ‘How many?’ Finn asked me. I looked at Dornolla, who nodded.

          ‘I think he’s adopted me.’ She said to Finn, before pointing to herself and holding up one finger. ‘One. I’m one.’ She pulled Finn close to her and said ‘two’, holding up two fingers.

          I nodded; I do not know how long I spent in the Forest before I met Dornolla, but I do know that I could always catch onto a new idea. I held up my hand, fingers spread. 

          ‘Five?’ Dornolla looked at me. ‘Only five? One hand?’   Shaking my head, I closed by fist and opened it again, and again and again until I reached the number I estimated to have marched past with the Heroes. Dornolla and Finn counted intoning words and figures that were quite meaningless to me as I concentrated on my memory, recalling each individual soldier by the colour of his tunic or the way he held his spear. 

          ‘Ninety? A hundred?’ Finn looked at Dornolla with his eyes wide. ‘Too many for us, but not for the tuath.’

            ‘Perhaps.’ Dornolla sounded doubtful. ‘Was there just the one force?’ she looked at me again. ‘Were there more armies?’

          I stared at her, uncomprehending. The words ‘force’ and ‘armies’ were novel.

          ‘Cruach! He’s the stupid one!’ I cringed as Finn lifted a huge red-furred hand. ‘I’ll get the truth out of him.’

          Again Dornolla stopped him with the gentle pressure of a single finger. ‘No. That’s not the way.’  She crouched down beside me again. ‘Can you follow their trail? Can you lead us to the six heroes?’

          I nodded and made off down the obvious track that they had left, with Dornolla and Finn somewhere in the rear, and the Forest watching. I hoped that the Voices might come to guide me, but there was silence inside my head; perhaps the people scared them off. We passed a buck and his harem standing static amidst the trees, and we passed a chattering colony of squirrels, red fur merging with red bark as they sat safely on their fragile branches. There were birds calling again, so the army was safely ahead and I ran openly, pausing only to wait for Finn and Dornolla to catch up. A smirr of rain cooled us, settling the ash from the fire and blurring she sharpness of the tracks, but it was not until full-heat that I could hear the army ahead. Only when it was obvious that Dornolla was not listening did I pull at her sleeve and cup a hand to my ear.

            ‘Listen?’ she waved to Finn to stop; both were panting deeply although we had been moving very gently and for a short time. ‘What can you hear?’

          Was the woman deaf? There was an army ahead, no longer marching but singing, talking, arguing. There was the clatter of equipment, the scuff of horse’s hooves, the crackle of fire. Did these people not have a sense of smell? Were they not aware of the aroma of cooking meat, the acridity of urine, the stench of people excreta and the sour smell of sweat and wool? I shook my head and pointed violently to the trees on either side. ‘What? In the trees? The army is in the trees?’ For the first time Dornolla unsheathed her sword and the long blade shimmered in the air.  

          I shook my head and tugged her, trying to make her understand she had to be more careful now. Strangely, it was Finn who obeyed, following me as carefully as he could so he made only marginally more noise than a rutting boar. Even with both people behind me, I reached the army encampment without being seen, and lay within a clump of bracken while Finn and Dornolla stared at the army. They spoke softly together, naming the Heroes as if they knew them, evaluating their fighting potential quietly, but with their hands never far from the hilt of their swords.

          ‘How many do you make it Finn?’ Dornolla spoke softly as she lay at my side, but I could sense the tension that made her muscles quiver and the sweat start from her pores.

            ‘Ninety-five, including the heroes. And four blood hounds.’ Finn was more relaxed; he looked at me and bared his teeth in a facial gesture that I was now recognising as meaning pleasure. ‘Well done boy; you brought us straight to them.’

          ‘I make ninety three, but we won’t quibble about a couple of spear carriers.’ Dornolla began to edge slowly back out of the bracken, making as much noise as a gaggle of geese landing in the autumn. ‘We’d better tell the others.’

          ‘There might me more’ Finn warned. ‘This in only the personal retinue of the heroes.’

          ‘It’s a fighting column’ Dornolla disagreed. ‘No dancers, no sennachies, no harpers and all the women present carry weapons. Nothing to relax the warriors after a hard days boasting.’

            ‘They’re after us then.’ Finn loosened his sword still further; I could smell the goose grease on the blade, making it easier to slide from the leather scabbard. ‘I think we should lessen the odds.’

          ‘Not yet. We’ll hit them at night. With the others.’

            Dornolla led the way back through the forest, trotting beneath the trees with me at her side, attached by a long piece of rope around my neck. As Finn brought up the rear he brushed away our tracks and scattered thorn branches and strong scented mint to delay the dogs. It was early evening before we reached the camp, and other people crowded around us.

          ‘Who’s the boy? A captured Cruithin?’ Perhaps ten people, as colourful as the Cruithin but even noisier, they laughed as they spoke, poking at me with brawny fingers and nudging each other. ‘Not much of a prize that one.’ Mostly men, but with two women; all carried short spears and long knives, one with a scar across his face that had removed an eye, another lacking some fingers. ‘Did you find the Fortrenn army?’

          ‘Part of it only.’ Dornolla replied, one hand around my shoulders in a protective gesture that I instinctively enjoyed. ‘This lad here guided us to the heroes and their retinue. Ninety warriors, four dogs, six horses.’

          ‘How far?’ The one eyed man, grey haired and tired, acted as spokesman 

          ‘We can be there by full dark. Stir them up a bit.’

          ‘We’ll do that then.’ It appeared that Dornolla’s opinion was important in this camp. ‘You rest first, eat something and we’ll leave when you’re ready.’

  I thought I was forgotten and hoped to run back to the Forest, but Dornolla pushed me into the centre of the people. ‘This boy helped us, and I want to bring him into the tuath.’    If I had expected a reaction I would have been disappointed. One man shrugged, a woman spat on the ground but the others only turned away. ‘He was running wild in the forest, just as you see him now.’

          The spitting woman laughed. ‘You mean dirty and naked? What sort of addition to the tuath is that?’

          ‘It seems he can’t talk much.’ Dornolla continued, forcing her point onto the apathy of the camp, ‘but he can understand, and he’s amazingly silent in the forest. Better even than Finn and me.’

          That statement brought some response. ‘Better than you?’ The one-eyed man stared closer at me. ‘What is he?’

          ‘Not Cruithin.’ Dornolla explained. ‘I’m sure he’s not Cruithin.’

            ‘Dalriad?’ The man knelt beside me; face wrinkled and mouth pursed. ‘Cruach! He’s stinking! Do you think he was a captured settler?’

          ‘I’m not sure.’ I heard Dornolla take a deep breath and sensed she was nerving herself for something. ‘But I think he’s Daoine Sidh.’

          Those two words silenced the camp. Two men pulled out their knives, one of the women made the symbol of the cross, but most of the others either backed away or merely stared at me. I said nothing, but the words were as familiar as ‘Cruithin’ had been.  ‘Daoine Sidh?’ Only the one-eyed man had not moved. ‘That could be the answer. Dirty, stinking, good in the Forest – is he stupid? Backward I mean?’

            ‘Anything but.’ I heard the anger as Dornolla denied the accusation. ‘I think he’s very intelligent.’

          ‘Has he got a tail? Turn round boy! I’ve heard that the Daoine Sidh have tails.’ The man turned me round and his fingers probed at the base of my spine. ‘Not a trace.’ He spun me again. ‘I’m not sure.’

          ‘Nor am I,’ Dornolla said, ‘I’ve only heard about them, never met one.’

          ‘Has anybody?’ The one-eyed man raised his voice. ‘Has anybody ever seen a Daoine Sidh?’

‘My father saw one – it attacked his cattle.’ The spitting woman stepped forward. ‘Kill it now, before it murders us at night.’

          ‘My neighbour was chased by a pack of them.’

          ‘They killed my dog – tore its throat out one night.’

          ‘That was a wolf – I heard them.’

          The one-eyed man waited until the clamour subsided before speaking again. ‘These are all maybes and rumours. Has anybody actually seen one.’   Nobody had and the one-eyed man put a heavy hand on my shoulder as he straightened up. I heard the crackle of elderly tendons and knew he would not last long in the forest. ‘Nor have I, although I’ve heard that they can be tamed if caught young. Even if this boy is Daoine Sidh, he has helped us today, so I think he should be allowed into the tuath, if Dornolla wants him.’

          ‘I want him.’ Dornolla said quietly.

          ‘It’s your responsibility’ One-eye told her, ignoring the mutterings from the others.

          ‘I know that.’ Dornolla nodded.

          ‘He could be trouble, mind.’

          ‘All boys are trouble.’ Dornolla grinned to me, ‘but I can handle him.’

          ‘So be it then.’ One Eye surveyed the camp. ‘This boy, once Daoine Sidh, is now an initiate of the Tuath and of Dalriada, with all the obligations and advantages that accrues. Anybody treating him different from other Dalriad children will answer to me, or to Dornolla, God help you.’   There was a laugh at that last sally, which relieved the tension as much as it was meant to. One Eye glared round at the circle of people before addressing me again. ‘What’s your name, boy?’

          As before, I understood what he said, and this question was easy to answer. ‘Boy’ I said, confident of his approval.  The resultant laughter hurt me strangely, although I joined in as much as anybody else.

          ‘If he is Daoine Sidh,’ a gap-toothed woman prodded at me with a stick, ‘he won’t have a name. Or it’ll be something unpronounceable.’ She made a horrible clicking noise with her tongue. ‘Something like that, only worse.’

          ‘Well, we can’t call him that.’ Dornolla decided. ‘And we can’t call him Boy either.’

            ‘Flann’s a good name.’ One Eye decided, but Finn shook his head.

          ‘No. That’s too common; beside my brother’s called Flann and he might think that the brat’s one of his. I think we should call him Fergus, after Fergus Mor.’

          ‘A royal name for a naked Daoine Sidh!’ There was something like shock in One-Eye’s voice, but then he nodded, smiling sourly. ‘Aye, why not. Fergus it is. You understand, boy? You’re called Fergus now. Fergus Beg – that means little Fergus.’

          And so I became Fergus. That was the first name they called me, and I kept it for years. I think I preferred Boy at the time, but I became used to the name and answered to it whenever I felt inclined. Of course I always answered when Dornolla called, and often for Finn or One-Eye. The others I could ignore, usually. That first day was more of a watershed than I knew, and the new experiences continued. We ate then, great haunches of cooked meat that tasted better than anything I had tried before, and something I learned was bread, barley ground down and rolled out into thick cakes. We drank too, but while the people drank something foul-smelling from polished horns, I was only allowed water from the burn. As it was all I had ever drunk I did not consider this much of a hardship.

          It was strange to keep moving though, for I had usually rested in the heat of the afternoon. Not that day. As soon as the grease was dry on our faces we were moving again, with the people crashing clumsily through the Forest and me guiding Dornolla to the smoothest ground. Sometimes she heeded my advice as I showed her the undulations of leaves that concealed pits and thorns, but not often. She had a lot to learn then, but I had time to teach her. Even although my belly was full, I still plucked berries from the bushes, for one never knew when one could eat again, and I munched happily on a long worm until Dornolla pulled it from my mouth with a look of disgust.

          We came to the army just as the rooks were gathering, and their calling concealed some of the appalling noise my adopted people made. They had no idea how to travel through the Forest, but as the army was just as noisy, it did not seem to matter much. Dornolla held me back as we neared the army. ‘Careful now Fergus. We don’t want the Cruithin to see us.’

          Not understanding, I did as I was bid. Used to the ways of the Forest, I thought that the smaller group, the Dalriads, had become lost from the larger group, the Cruithin, and were going to join them, much as the rooks gathered in the evening. I did not understand what was about to happen. It is difficult to understand how naïve I was, but you must remember that I had no recollection of the actions of people.

          One-Eye seemed to be in command, for he whispered quiet orders to the Dalriads, who lined up at the edge of the Forest, watching as the army settled down for the night. There was much noise and laughter, a couple of strength-contests between the men, which in my ignorance I presumed to be mating rituals for the favours of the women, and a lot of drinking from horns similar to those used by the Dalriads. The smoke from their fires only partially concealed the stink that they created. ‘Wait with me.’ Dornolla placed a hand on my shoulder, ‘and when it starts, stay still. Don’t worry, I’ll come back for you.’

          In my ignorance I was not at all worried and watched these strange proceedings with some interest. I had frequently seen People in the Forest, but only in small groups, never as a herd, and found their strange rituals absorbing. I knew they were the same shape as me, if larger, and their bodies had the same functions, but this was my first opportunity to study them in depth. I watched as most of the army lay on the ground to sleep, with their long spears piled beside the fires, and the horses and dogs tethered. The dogs were aware of the presence of the Dalriads, but their masters ignored their obvious calls. It was easier to kick the dog and drink from a horn than to investigate even a short distance into the Forest. The heroes remained together, talking more loudly than the rest, until it was full dark, when they lay in a tight circle, each facing a different direction. Ten people remained awake; walking around the perimeter of the camp in some ceremony that entailed a lot of muttering and much narrow-eyed peering into the Forest. One walked right over me without noticing I was there. They were no use in the Forest, those people.

          One-Eye was slightly better. I saw him crawl forward to that walking man, then quickly pull at his legs. As the man fell the spitting Dalriad woman thrust a knife into his throat, covering his mouth with her hand so he could not scream.

          I watched, not sure whether to alert Dornolla to this terrible deed, run into the Forest or stay and learn more of their habits. I supposed they were going to eat the man, although I had thought that only the wolves killed their own, and then only in the hungriest days of winter. I was wrong. They only dragged him beneath a bush, and I saw that others of the walking men had been killed. Not stupid enough to speak, I nonetheless tried to alert Dornolla to what was happening, but she shook her head at me. ‘Keep still’ she warned, and crawled into the camp of the army.

          I could not believe what happened next, and I still remember my horror at the deeds of that night. Of course I had seen killings before, and I had killed too. It’s part of existence in the Forest; you kill to eat. But I had never seen anything like this. I had thought that only foxes kill for the joy of it, and then only other, smaller animals, but these people were worse than any fox. There was an orgy of death as the Dalriads ran screaming into the camp, thrusting their spears into every sleeping Person they could, slashing with knives and swords at those who rose, killing, maiming, wounding.

          There was no need for Dornolla to warn me not to move, for my limbs could not have obeyed the most frantic commands of my mind. Since then I have learned of the term petrified, and it describes exactly what I felt. It was horrible. No wonder that all life in the Forest ran when the people were about. They killed and screamed and laughed for the sheer fun of it. Savages; that’s what I thought they were, and I lay trembling amidst my bracken as the Dalriads carved their way toward the Six Heroes of Fortrenn.       

          It was horrible, but fascinating too, in its own way, as the people hacked and slashed and jabbed at each other in a blood threshing frenzy. At that time I could not appreciate the niceties of armed combat, so all I saw was chaos. What was obvious, however, was the difference in skill levels between the combatants. While Finn, One-eye and Dornolla were expert among the Dalriads, the Six Heroes matched them for the Cruithin and it became apparent that all the others were only there to make up the numbers. Not a single Cruithin spearman could stand up to Finn or Dornolla, while those of the Dalriads that penetrated to the Six Heroes were butchered with frightening ease. In the end, numbers told and the Dalriads withdrew, having lost three of their men and one woman, all casually slaughtered with a flick of a hero’s sword. The fox-eyed hero had done the killing, talking casually to the woman with the pale braided hair, who took no part in the fighting. Instead she stood quietly on her horse, examining her features in a looking glass and singing some song.

          ‘Back to the Forest!’ One eye gave the command. ‘We’ve done enough for the day.’

          It was a fighting retreat to the edge of the trees, spear clashing on spear, sword on sword until the Dalriads penetrated the green rim of safety, turned and fled. Only Dornolla remembered me, and lifted me by the scruff of my neck as if I was a puppy. I hung supine, content to be carried and heedless of the blood that covered most of her body and dripped from the blade of her sword. They ran stumbling into the trees, having strange difficulty in the darkness but laughing, content with the slaughter they had caused. Only when we reached the camp did somebody mention the loss of four of our number.

            ‘There’ll be a fine wake held for them.’ Dornolla dropped me with casual unconcern and began to clean the blade of her sword on a wisp of grass. ‘And they died in battle; what better way is there to go?’

            ‘Personally, I want to die in bed.’ One-Eye sounded weary. ‘Between two plump women.’

            ‘You’re losing your fire.’ Dornolla teased him. ‘Did you see the way I killed that axe-man? A feint to his eyes, then an underhand chop to his groin! I wager you could hear him scream in Dunadd!’

          I stared at her, unaware then how much the culture of people valued prowess in battle, and wondered just what sort of monsters I had landed amongst. They were all at it, boasting of their prowess, recalling the deeds they had done, the Cruithin they had killed, the skill they had displayed.

          ‘More importantly’ One-Eye stretched himself, replaced his sword in its scabbard ‘we’ve blunted their raiding. Now they know we’re aware of their presence, Dalriada will be safe for the season. We can get the crops in. Homeward bound Dalriads; we’ve done our bit.’