James White - The First Protector

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."