The First Protector

CHAPTER FIVE

Ma'el Report. Day 112,543…

This day I made tentative plans for the visit to Rome and amused my mind by deploying the sensors so that I could overhear and witness my two servants trying not to fight with each other…"

–

Cashel was a small, orderly, and usually busy town which, because it was winter and business was seasonably quiet, was hungry for any form of trade that happened to be passing by. Its buildings showed a few examples of pillared and decorated Roman stonework, but the majority of its places of business and dwellings were of native construction: rounded, wickerwork buildings reinforced with clay and with some of them additionally thatched against the elements. In spite of the earliness of the hour, from one of the larger houses came the sounds of drinking and loud conversations where the king's warriors were taking their off-duty ease. This, Declan knew, was another reason for the peacefulness of the town because it was a matter of honor that if any disorderliness was to occur, it would be they, rather than unruly passing strangers, who caused it.

It was midmorning when their wagon passed the great Rock of Cashel and the royal castle at its top and entered the town itself. The mud of the streets was still solid from the previous night's heavy frost as they stopped in the empty market square. They did not put out an awning and trading stall, so any chance passerby would know that the tinkers were not there to do business and continue to pass them by. Ma'el tossed Declan a purse that was small but not particularly light, then wrapped himself tightly in his cloak and sat on the driving bench while Sean, who had been fighting a senseless war of words with Declan since the second day of their journey, saw to the comfort of the horse.

"Have you visited Cashel before now?" he said when the boy had finished his task. "Would you like to walk with me?"

"No, and no," Sean replied. "Ma'el has promised to give me instruction in the furtherance of my art among other things." He inclined his head toward the oxinking house they had passed and in a sour voice added, "I will know where you are when the time comes to help you find your way back to us."

Declan looked up at Ma'el, who gently shook his head, then he turned and showed his anger by striding away.

The building, which he had already noticed while on their way to the market square, was set back a few paces from the road, solidly built with walls which had been washed in lime to make them almost white. A large wooden awning with thatch on top ran the full width of the building. It gave deep shelter to the entrance which was flanked on both sides with low benches and round-headed wall spikes displaying sheepskins, bolts of homespun cloth, and leather harnesses shaped for man-carried weapons as well as the shoulders of beasts of burden. In a thicket-enclosed yard behind the house there was another, less well-kept building which comprised a stable, a tannery from which drifted the pungent smell of curing leather, and a lean-to washing house from whose partly curtained door smoke and steam were leaking out to cloud the winter air. It was an establishment, he decided, which could supply all of his present needs.

As he entered, Declan tried to make his gait and manner neither furtive like a beggar nor threatening as one come to kill and rob, although he well knew that the fresh, healing, and uncovered scar on his cheek would not be a reassuring sight to those inside.

There was a long workbench scattered with items of clothing dividing the room, with a bent, old man and, Declan presumed, his slightly younger wife behind it. The man was unrolling a bolt of homespun tweed and the woman had a needle in her hand and a garment of some kind spread across her knees. Both of them looked frightened and about to run for the door which he could see a short distance behind them.

Without speaking, Declan unbuckled his sword belt and the long-axe harness and leaned both the weapons and their scabbards against the nearest wall. He unfastened the torn and ragged cloak and let it fall to the floor before walking across to the bench where, without looking at it, let the purse Ma'el had given him fall onto it with a muffled clinking.

The old man did not look at the purse, either, but he appeared vastly relieved as he said, "How may I serve you, good sir?"

Declan smiled. "As you can see," he said, "in my travels I have fallen among thieves and robbers. My needs are for new apparel, a bath, and barbering."

For an instant the other's gaze rested on the weapons leaning against the wall, then he too smiled and said, "One wonders how many of the thieves and robbers are also fallen. My name is Padraig, good sir, and I can fill all of your needs, although I would respectfully suggest not in the order you have expressed. If the bathing and barbering were to be done first, we could use the time to ready your garments. What manner and quality of apparel is your pleasure?"

"I require a warm cloak and thick, woollen garments," Declan replied, seeing no good reason to give his own name, "that are suited to a long journey by sea and land. And high, tight boots, and oiled skins to keep the water out and the warmth in. If you have other advice that would be helpful in this matter, please speak it."

Slowly and with much protesting of age-stiffened joints, the old man ducked under the bench and came forward with measuring cords and a writing slate in his hands. The seamstress pushed aside her present work in readiness for this new commission that was plainly of greater urgency. While the other plied his cords and called out dimensions to his wife, Declan remained silent, not because of deliberate discourtesy but due to the fact that the man was so pleased and excited by the advent of this unexpected patron that he left no spaces between his words for anyone else to speak more than a single syllable.

It was more than likely, Declan thought, that the tailor would also be a barber. In the event it came as no surprise that he had guessed aright.

Padraig continued to talk as he trimmed the overgrown hair but fell silent in concentration while he was scraping the tufts from Declan's chin and face, particularly when he was working around the fresh and older scars. This furnished the opportunity for Declan to ask a few questions rather than politely refusing to answer the other's.

The place in Cashel in which to relax in convivial company was further down the street, the drinking house owned by his younger brother, Prontius, who would bid him a warm welcome if Padraig's name was mentioned. Declan had expected to spend time there collecting information that might be helpful on their journey. He had not concealed from the other that his destination was Cobh because, considering the type of clothing he had ordered, there was no other place he was likely to be going. But now it seemed that he would have to spend very little time in the brother's drinking house because the old tailor was a very knowledgeable man where the safest tracks and passes were concerned and when, if unforeseen circumstances should arise with people on the way, the mention of the name Padraig of Cashel might well ease matters.

"And now for your bathing," the old man went on when the barbering was complete. "We can offer a cleansing block of the soap we import from Gaul. There is cold, clear water taken from a stream or that which is warm, but more odorous, drawn from the tannery-"

"Let it be warm and soapy," said Declan firmly. "The smell of tanning leather will not inconvenience me."

He was led out to a small bath house that had a stone-flagged floor and a sunken, man-sized tub tiled in closer-fitting stones. While it was filling, Padraig offered him a large, coarse towel and an apology.

"I will leave you to bathe without company or conversation," he said, "because I needs must help my wife with the cutting and stitching. Most of the garments we have in stock but a few will require alteration. This will be done while you soak yourself."

Declan nodded and the old man hurried away.

The trickle of heated water entering and leaving the bath had kept it comfortably warm and he was relaxed and half sleeping with all but his head and knees submerged for he knew not how long, when he heard approaching voices. Both were familiar, one for a longer time than the other. The old man entered closely followed by Sean.

'This boy was seeking you in the chinking house," said Padraig. "My brother sent him here. Is his company welcome?"

"Yes," said Declan, the water splashing about as he sat up quickly. "Sean, is aught amiss?"

"No," the boy replied, shaking his head. "I, we, wanted to know if you fared well, or needed help to…" He shook his head again, this time in perplexity. "This place is not where I expected to find you. And, and I see that you have many scars. The wounds are not neatly mended, at least not as neatly as I would have done the work. But ease your mind, Declan, we are not required back with any urgency."

"Good," he said, standing up. "The water is pleasantly warm and still fairly clean, and it will help ease the sores and stiffness of travel. Would you like to disrobe and…?"

"No," said Sean with unnecessary loudness, turning away. In a quieter voice he added, "I shall await you outside."

Declan smiled at his departing back and to Padraig he said, "The boy is serious in his study of the arts of healing according to the Druidic tradition which, I believe, includes bathing only in icy mountain pools while reciting interminable tribal lays, with a view to concentrating the mind."

Padraig gave a small shudder. "At my age," he said, "that would not be my preferred method of cleansing myself. You may remain soaking if you wish, the garments are not yet ready for you."

"My thanks," said Declan, dropping to his haunches and sliding under the water again. "But the boy. He, too, needs to be fitted for the same journey as mine, with warm garments, a cloak, high sea boots and oiled skins…" he hesitated, "… if there is enough to recompense you."

As he turned to leave, the old man waved a dismissive hand. "More than sufficient," he said. "But the boy is slight of build and looks not to be strong. Would smaller, less weighty weapons be required? My youngest brother is a smithy and armorer and would willingly…"

"No," Declan broke in. "You will remember that he studies the healing arts and for this reason, he tells me, has forsworn the use of all weapons."

Slowly the water grew cool and lost its warm temptation. Declan climbed out and toweled himself vigorously until it felt as if the coarse material was removing his skin as well as the moisture by the time he had finished. Padraig entered then carrying a tray containing a flagon of mulled wine and pieces of spiced bread still hot from the oven which he placed on a nearby bench with apologies for the delay, which would not now be of long duration, in providing Declan's clothing. "The boy?" he asked.

"Your healer," said Padraig, inclining his head and giving a small smile, "was served as you have been, although the hot wine was scarcely touched, and has also been appareled as you directed. We talked of many things, of concerns for the future as well as the secret things that the young sometimes reveal to those who are older and, presumably, wiser, and which, you will understand, I shall not pass to you. But as a result of our talk and the healer's advice I have been given, I have taken the liberty of adding protective enhancements of my own which should prove useful for both of you in your future journeying together…"

"Rest your mind, Padraig," Declan broke in, "I have no wish to pry into the small secrets of a boy. We appreciate your concern for us, but I have not the wherewithal to pay for enhancements."

"… It is a helmet of thick, layered leather," Padraig went on, his old eyes shining with enthusiasm for this latest work of his mind and hands, "with a strong fore peak. Strips of thinly hammered metal give it strength without too much weight, and it is padded within for comfort and to deaden the force of heavy blows. The fore peak shelters the eyes, and a square of oiled cloth placed on the head before donning it will give protection to the face and neck in inclement weather or, should you travel to hotter climes, a square of lighter material will guard you against the burning of the sun."

He tried to speak again, but the old man gave a gentle smile that was not unlike Ma'el's and raised a hand. "Please," he said. "Consider the headpieces as my gift to you both. If they give useful service, you may want to mention the name of Padraig of Cashel among those you chance to meet"

By the angle of the sun shining into the street outside, Declan judged that six hours had passed before the work was done and he was again fully dressed and accoutred. His undergarments were warm and easy, the long leather tunic fell halfway to his knees, the boots were long and tightly fastened and the peaked helm of which Padraig was so proud sat firmly but with comfort on his head. His cloak, which was the rich, dark color of a ripened plum, was warm and long, but not so long that it would sweep the ground and muddy its hem. And the leather of his scabbard and the long-axe harness had been cleaned and oiled until they shone.

The work had been well done, he was greatly pleased and felt comfortable with it, and he told the old man warmly of his feelings. Then he made a small bow to Padraig's wife and seamstress, who looked up at him and smiled a secret smile. Declan wondered if she was remembering another young man and, perhaps, times and people and opportunities long past, and walked out to join the waiting Sean.

The boy stared at him for what seemed like a long time without speaking, then said, "Of a certainty, Declan, you do not now look like a beggar. In truth, you look very well."

He eyed the boy up and down. "We both look well," he said.

Sean gave a long sigh. "But now you will visit the drinking house," he said, "and I must wait close by to help you find your way back to the wagon?"

Declan drew out Ma'el's purse and shook it gently. From the light, quiet sound it seemed that there were very few coins remaining in it.

"Not this day," he replied. 'The information and guidance 1 would have sought in the drinking house has already been given to me by Padraig. I have a mind to return Ma'el's purse to him while it is not quite empty, and surprise him."

The boy smiled for the first time in many days.

"Do that," he said, "and you will certainly surprise me."