CHAPTER 13

Solomon was looking out over the bay from his room in the church tower. He liked to be high up, to see everything in a single sweep, to watch the patterns of nature and consider their causes.

The boy Brendan called down from the roof. ‘Master Solomon, I can see Rory macShiel’s boat coming round the point.’

He checked for himself and saw the triangular lateen sail emerge past the black rocks on the headland and tack for the harbour.

‘What did I tell you, boy? An Cobh and back in just one day.’ Solomon climbed the ladder to the belfry, with its single bell, and then out onto the windswept roof. He leaned his elbows on the waist-high parapet to steady his telescope.

Brendan macFinn stopped pulling on the rope that wound through a pulley system and down over the edge. ‘Master Solomon? Can I look?’

Without taking his eye from the eyepiece, Solomon answered: ‘When you have finished your chores. Would you rather carry everything by hand? Have I not saved you work?’

‘If you lived on the ground like other folk, there’d be no need for all this hauling.’

Solomon did look up, slowly and deliberately. ‘Do you tire of your duties so quickly?’

‘No, Master Solomon.’

‘Should I look for another apprentice?’

‘No, Master Solomon.’

He checked that the boy looked sufficiently contrite, then returned to the telescope. macShiel sailed the new design of boat well, using the sail to its best advantage. But even with the optics, Solomon could see little evidence of the trade goods he had asked for. Where was the copper to line the cistern? The iron tools he had wanted?

‘Something is wrong,’ he said, and slid the collapsible tube together. ‘macShiel has a face like a dark sky.’

‘We say like thunder.’ Brendan caught sight of the basket peeking over the parapet, and he swung what the African called the winch round so he could deposit the load on the stone roof.

‘My saying is better.’ Solomon started to climb back down. ‘Carry on, boy.’

He tried to think what might have happened. The weather was good, the winds favourable. They had loaded his boat with cloth and leather of good quality. Those had gone, so he’d made land. Perhaps there was a caravan on its way then. macShiel had been able to buy so much that it would have to be sent on later.

He had all but convinced himself that he was right by the time he left the church tower and started off down the hill. There was much to do, and a caravan of the right riches would make his plans go easier. Progress wouldn’t have to crawl along. While the aeoleopile was already housed and being used by a grateful townspeople, the pipework for the cistern was slow in appearing. It appeared that macShiel was the only real craftsman in the entire population. The others knew skills of one sort or another, but nothing that was of any real use. Even macShiel refused to teach another man, or take on a boy. He was saving his knowledge for his own non-existent sons.

Curse him.

There was another crowd around macShiel as he beached the boat and furled the sail. Solomon was fed up with these spontaneous crowds, as if they had nothing better to do than get the latest gossip. They were why his pipes were so long in the making.

At least they parted for him as he swept up, the hem of his robe picking up wet sand from the beach.

‘Did you get there? An Cobh?’ macShiel threw a rope from the bow and waited for someone to tie it off before he jumped into the shallows.

‘Aye, I made it all right.’ He stopped to break off one of the arrow shafts embedded in his hull. ‘I nearly didn’t make it back.’

He waded onto the shore and thrust the broken arrow at Solomon.

‘What is this? No, it is an arrow, I know that. What is the meaning of this?’ the Kenyan asked.

‘It means that as I sailed towards An Cobh, I could see black smoke rising into the sky. Most of the buildings are wooden: fires happen–I was worried for them but not for me. As I came into the harbour, a half-dozen men on the quay demanded that I surrender my boat in the name of the High King of Aeire. I was still a good distance away, and I’m glad they didn’t wait until I was alongside. There weren’t any other boats around, and that surprised me until I saw the tops of their masts all sticking out of the water.’

‘Which High King did they say they served?’ asked someone.

‘Like I was going to hang around and find out! They weren’t taking my boat, and as soon as they saw that I could turn round in a trice, they started calling out to me to stop. One of them had a bow and, God save me, he was good. I had to throw the cargo overboard or he would’ve done for me.’

‘Husband? What’s going on?’

‘I’m all right, Eithne.’ He took the woman in his arms, and she saw the state of his boat over his shoulder. She pushed him back and started checking him for wounds.

‘Not a scratch on me, wife. Leave me be.’

Solomon threw the arrow shaft down. It stuck, feathers up, in the sand. ‘Will someone explain what is going on? Who is this High King? Why is An Cobh burning?’

‘Who are we to explain the doings of the King of Coirc? He’s annoyed his neighbour, and they’ve laid siege to An Cobh. The city still stands, for the harbour is outside the main walls, but they must be losing because they’d never give the place up without a fight.’ macShiel swung his wife round by her hands. He pretended to be hard, but it was clear that he was glad to be home.

‘Will they come here? Are you not subjects of the king?’

‘That’s not how it works, Solomon. The Kenyan emperor might command huge armies with–what did you call them: elephants?’ macShiel’s mocking tone burned Solomon’s pride yet again. ‘It must have got serious for the two kings even to have drawn their swords. It’s a shame for An Cobh, but look at us. We don’t count in the schemes of great men, and we’re glad of it.’

‘I cannot believe you take this so lightly.’

‘If Father Padroig were here,’ said macShiel, ‘he’d say, “There’s more than enough evil in one day to be worrying about tomorrow.” Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home. With my wife,’ he added pointedly.

He strode away up the path to the town, and the crowd began to disperse. Some of them started off up the path themselves, while others formed small knots and pointed at macShiel’s boat.

‘Don’t you mind him, Solomon,’ said Rose. ‘It’s bad enough with the sea trying to kill you without some fool with a bow trying to spit you like a pigeon. If he’s angry enough, I might even get a grandchild out of this.’

‘Can you see what this means?’ said Solomon. ‘All those things you cannot make yourselves I will never be able to have. An Cobh is in flames!’

Rose naMoira linked her arm through Solomon’s and pulled him away. ‘Calm yourself, man. There are more markets than An Cobh, though that is the closest and the one we’ve always sold and bought at. There’s one at Loch Garman that I know about, south and west along the coast.’

‘Will not your king punish you for trading with another?’

‘Mercy, Solomon, why would he do that? If he can’t keep his own house in order, why shouldn’t we trade elsewhere?’ Rose stopped him and turned him round. ‘If that’s how your emperor carries on, then I’m glad he’s over the water from us. We’re just simple folk and all we want is to be left alone to fish and weave. If anyone tried to take our crops, well…’

‘You could not stop them, could you?’

‘I suppose not, but we’d appeal to the king and he’d be honour-bound to help us.’

‘What if it was the king?’

‘You know, you’re giving me a headache. Kings don’t behave like that. That’s not what they’re for. They’re supposed to protect the likes of us, not rob us blind.’ She kneaded her temples with her knuckles. ‘Do you understand now?’

‘No, not really.’ Solomon skulked off to the shoreline and threw some pebbles into the slowly rising sea. ‘If this is the case, why is the High King laying siege to An Cobh? What has the King of Coirc done to deserve such a thing?’

‘Am I the king’s adviser that I would know?’ With that, she left him trying to bounce spinning stones across the wave-tops.

He had no copper for his cistern, and his design for a water-powered drop forge would have to wait. He did, however, have another plan. He threw the last of his stones and watched as it hopped once, twice, three times, then sank. He went back to the church tower.

         

‘Brendan macFinn? Where are you, boy?’

‘Here, master.’ Solomon could hear scrabbling above him as he entered. The sudden sounds of industry could not fool him.

‘I have an errand of the utmost importance.’ He climbed the stairs up to his room. When he got there, he found Brendan standing exactly in the middle of the room, his hands behind his back, and looking nowhere in particular.

Solomon’s gaze travelled slowly around. His copper still, taken from the poteen makers, hissed and bubbled gently. His writing set and book were tidily on the table. His light-cloth shone brightly enough, held on the wall in a wooden frame.

‘What have you been up to, boy?’ His voice was a low growl.

‘Nothing, master,’ said Brendan, too quickly.

‘Whatever it is will have to wait. You need to take a message for me to the High King, who is currently at the gates of An Cobh.’

The boy blinked in surprise. ‘But Master Solomon, I don’t know the way.’

‘Then you will have to find it. You are the only one I can trust with such an important task.’

‘Master, I’ve never left An Rinn. This place is all I know.’

Solomon brushed his excuses aside. ‘Then it is about time your horizons were broadened. Can you read?’

‘No, master.’

‘Good, for this message is for the High King only.’ He sat at the table and started to trim his quill. ‘Can the High King read?’

‘I don’t even know who the High King is. We heard last autumn that it was a man called Cormac, but the year before that it was someone different. Perhaps they take it in turns.’

Solomon dipped his quill in his inkpot–Father Padroig’s inkpot–and opened his book. He turned to the back and started to write, carefully and with the occasional crossing out and furrowed brow. ‘You will need, boy, food for the journey. The weather is fair but the night is cold, so take a blanket with you. I will seal this letter, and no man but the High King himself is to open it. If you are stopped by the High King’s men, you are to tell them that the emperor of Kenya sends his greetings to the High King of Aeire. His name is like coin in the hand, boy, so choose to spend it wisely.’

He took a knife and cut the page free, then held it up to the light. Satisfied that it was dry, he folded the sheet up so that no writing was exposed. Brendan was still standing there, hopping from one foot to the other, in a state of high agitation.

‘Master Solomon, please.’

‘In my country, apprentices who refuse to do their master’s bidding are beaten with sticks. Then they still have to do their duty. If you want to wait here while I get a stick, I will be glad to act as a master should.’ Solomon held out the letter. ‘Who do you give this to?’

Brendan’s shoulders sagged in defeat. ‘The High King.’

‘Where will you find him?’

‘An Cobh.’

‘No, outside An Cobh. He is laying siege to it. I expect that he will send men and horses back with you to find me, so you must guide them here. Do you understand what you must do?’

The boy took the letter and turned it over in his hands. ‘Is it west or east of here?’

‘East. Towards the setting sun. If you follow the coastal path, you will get there some time tomorrow. And yes, you must leave now. No going down to the town to say goodbye to your mother.’

‘But…’

Solomon got up and stood in front of the boy. He was huge compared to him, far taller than any adult had a right to be. He held the boy’s shoulders and shook him firmly. ‘Are you not yet a man? How many summers have you seen?’

‘Thirteen in all.’

‘Then in my country you would be a man, with a man’s privileges and a man’s responsibilities. Why do they keep you as a child? Should I look for you playing with the babies, wiping their bottoms and rocking them to sleep? No? Then be a man, Brendan macFinn, a man your father can be proud of. Take what you need for the journey and be about your master’s business.’

Brendan took a blanket and slowly descended the stairs. Solomon went up to the roof and watched as the boy eventually left and started off over the hill, weighed down by his provisions. He stayed for a while to make sure that the boy didn’t double back, then went down to check on the still.

The smell from it was acrid, briefly burning the lining of his nose. It was a good, strong acid he was distilling, just right for his electropile. He walked around the room, checking by hand the things he had checked by sight earlier. He knew the boy had been meddling with something, or at least ought to have been. Curiosity was the best trait a natural philosopher’s apprentice could have.

He had a trunk. It used to contain the priest’s vestments, but he had emptied it out and moved it up into the tower. He opened it up and decided that the contents had been moved around. Brendan had been nosing inside, and Solomon thought it a most excellent moment. Even as the boy tramped the hills towards An Cobh, he would be thinking about the marvels he had seen. When he came back, he would beg Solomon to explain them to him. One at a time, and never enough, Solomon would.

He took out the heavy cloth-wrapped shapes and laid them out on the table: a set of three glass prisms that would not just bend light but shatter it into a rainbow. He dug deeper to find an oilcloth. He opened it out to reveal a brass machine that fitted into the palm of his hand, and another cloth that held a handful of steel discs, pierced in the centre and serrated around the circumference.

Further down was a big, solid object, wrapped in some animal skin that Solomon failed to recognize. This was his prize. He heaved it out and laid it on the table next to the prisms and the machine.

Reverently he unfolded the furry skin and ran his hand over the cold metal cover of a book.