Robyn Hogan

‘Ye’ll be findin’ a mermaid there.’

Straightening her back, Cait wiped her dusty hands down her jeans before brushing her sticky hair back from her face. ‘Not bloody likely’. She grinned at the old fellow; he’d been hanging around the dig for days, seemed harmless enough. ‘He thinks we’re going to find a mermaid, for god’s sake,’ she called across to Ben, working against another remnant of wall.

‘Sure and ye will. That be where she be buried.’ The man hummed softly before adding ‘Tec-Da-Beoc.’

‘Uh?’ Cait pulled herself up, sat on a mound and reached for her water bottle. Alert now. ‘What do you know of Tec-Da-Beoc?’ She wished she could say the place name as richly as he but her Australian accent held her back.

‘Oh, it were a place of wonders and miracles but, for all that, Murgelt were a mermaid. Baptisin’ her didn’t alter that one bit.’

Cait laughed briefly, as much amused by the rhythm of his speech as the words. ‘I don’t think she was a mermaid. A cult figure, yes. An early CE — Christian era — virgin is our understanding.’

‘Virgin she might have been. I wouldn’t know. She swam the oceans for centuries. From the time when the magic well on the Plain of the Grey Copse o’erflowed and became the great Lake of the Copse.’

‘Is that so?’ Cait sipped at her flask; he was obviously rambling. She shouldn’t encourage him. ‘How do you know these things?’

‘Oh, it be known forever.’ The old man stood swaying, staring out over glimmering Larne Water. ‘She were living Curnan’s prophecy, ye know, but the Christians got her. They netted her there at the inver; the Inver Ollarba it be then.’ Stretching out a thin arm he pointed a bony finger towards the sea inlet. A frown flickered across Cait’s brow; he was correct about the ancient name for the waterway.

‘She be called Liban before they baptised her,’ he added turning back to Cait, his blue eyes shining beneath his whiskery hair. ‘A maiden of the old world, the ancient world when Tara was the greatest fiefdom and Angus, son of the Dagda, lived at Brugh na Boyna.’

‘You’ve lost me there, pal,’ and, setting her flask aside, Cait slid down to resume brushing the soil. The old man lingered awhile, humming an eerie tune, but was gone when Cait next lifted her head.

The following day was damp, soft as the Irish say, but the man was back again, watching, waiting. A shape was emerging with the misty rain; Cait put the brush down and reached for her camera.

‘It were Beoc that were her undoing. Sure, the Abbot Comgall it was that baptised her but it was Beoc that knew she would be coming, arranged with young Fergus for her to be netted.’

Cait paused. This man knew the names of the main players in a legend that had taken the American Professor, their employer, thirty years of scholarship to catch his glimpse of Murgelt. Or so he said.

‘Beoc met her on his way to Rome to see the Pope and learned she always came up the inver with the salmon.’

‘I see.’ Cait focussed the lens, pressed the shutter. ‘There’s definitely something showing up,’ she called to Ben who, in a couple of strides, joined her.

‘Ah, that’ll be her now.’ The old man sat down on the mound, drawing his shabby oil-skin round him, and squinted into the trench.

A frown of annoyance creased Cait’s face, her freckles darkening. She wished now she had never encouraged him. ‘Yes, well,’ Cait murmured, not really listening. Strands of something fine were showing through the soil and she reached for the tweezers to draw them out. They held fast. Breathing softly, she transferred the tweezers to her left hand and sought the brush again. More strands separated out from the soil. ‘Hair’, she murmured, leaning back, smiling triumph at Ben as he picked up her camera and aimed it.

They worked silently, methodically, for several minutes. As more hair came into view a faint but rotten stench tickled their nostrils. ‘What’s the smell?’

‘It be the sea.’ The old fellow spoke positively, intruding into their concentration, a knowing chuckle in his voice. He had moved closer, was peering over their shoulders.

Small beads appeared on the strands. ‘Ornaments?’ Cait, fingers trembling, lifted a couple of hairs. Ben focused the camera and, breathing quickly, took three quick shots.

‘Whelks. ’Tis said she plaited periwinkles in her hair.’

Cait and Ben exchanged glances. The beads looked uncannily like snails.

‘Look, sir, we would like you to move away.’

‘Naw, lad. I’ll not be going anywhere while you’re bringing the mermaid out.’

The rain became heavier. Quickly, they pulled the covers over the hole and scampered for shelter. ‘Is it possible?’ Cait whispered to Ben, ‘that he could be right?’

‘Do you believe in fairies?’

‘But he knows so much of the story,’ she nodded to where they could see him, huddling against the dry-stone wall, ‘maybe more than the Prof. The Prof hinted there was something odd about this cult. Mmm…’

Ben dug her in the ribs good-humouredly. ‘You’re beginning to believe the old fart, aren’t you?’

‘Maybe mermaids aren’t myths. After all, whales once walked on land; perhaps Murgelt was a creature in transition.’

‘We’ll know soon enough. It’s stopped raining.’

They lifted the covers and Cait returned to her task while Ben began working at the other end of the shape. Their fingers flew and the old man wheezed as he watched.

‘Ah! Lovely little Liban it is for sure.’

‘For sure,’ Cait muttered, annoyed by his smug tone and aghast at the tiny skeleton emerging. She and Ben stared, breathing swiftly. A human head and torso but, where Ben had been working, the spine became that of a fish and with no sign of legs or feet. Fragments of a scaly skin poked from the soil, glistening in the dampness.

Climbing out, they pulled the covers over securely, hardly noticing, in their shock, the man scampering away into the mist.

They telephoned the Professor in California.

The conversation did not go well. Indeed, the Professor was furious; he should have been appraised of progress days before. He needed to be there. They were to stop work immediately. What security had they set up? None? Who was guarding the site now? No one? Does anyone else know?

‘Well, yes,’ Cait’s voice was that of a frightened child.

‘Who? What?’ bellowed down the line.

‘There’s an old man, a sort of vagrant…’

‘Jesus B Christ! You entertained a trespasser! I own that land and ruins. I’ll have him prosecuted. As for you two: you’re sacked! Don’t touch another bloody thing. I’m on my way.’

‘And so are we,’ Cait muttered slowly replacing the telephone, blinking back tears. ‘Ben,’ she shook her head, clearing it, ‘it’s our find. Do you reckon we could get more of the story?’

‘I was thinking the same.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘Let’s try the pub.’

Ben set the pints down on the table. ‘Barman says he should be here anytime now. “Regular as the rain” were his exact words.’

‘Awesome. Awesome.’ Cait shook her head and took a long taste of the beer. ‘Mermaids are not myths. And I think the Prof knew what we were looking for. Owns the land. That seemed important to him. What is he planning?’

‘Ah, there.’ Ben stood to beckon the man, rather tidier looking than usual, to join them. The knowing barman followed with a beer and a whiskey chaser.

‘Name’s Paddy.’ He took time to settle himself before speaking. ‘And what is it you would be asking?’

‘The story of Murgelt. But please keep it simple.’

‘Tis as simple as time is long.’ Paddy sipped his beer slowly. ‘Man has always been careless of things he does not understand; of creatures that be different.

‘The story goes’, he lifted his voice, attracting attention, ‘twas Fergus, the youngest of the holy ones, who lowered the net, pulled it tight round her.’ He swirled his beer mug leaving circles on the table. ‘I can see it now, minnows dropping free in the splash, as he hauled the beautiful creature into his boat.’

He rose, his voice louder as he moved into performance mode. ‘The people clamoured to see her, to admire the men who had taken her from the depths, but they drew back. Liban, she did strain and stretch,’ he was acting energetically, ‘beating her tail on the boat leathers, lurching for liberty, howling her fear and anguish.’

‘“Ooh, the poor wee thing,” they crooned, shading their eyes lest the enchantment touch them too.’ In full flight now and the pub patrons gathered round.

‘Ooh, ooh, ooh,’ they chanted, urging their Paddy on.

‘And in fear the people asked, “who owns this creature?” And they did answer themselves, “Comgall! The Abbot. She be caught in his territory”.’

‘But the Abbot Comgall denied she be his. “Fergus caught her in the river mouth and that be common to us all.” ’

‘“Fergus!” they cried, “it was his net that captured her”.’

‘“An accident,” he lied, “and she has ripped the strings most cruelly. It will be days of mending before I fish again”.’

‘Beoc!’ Several of the audience began taking over. ‘He held the promise. Met with her again.’

Cait and Ben cast anxious glances at each other; an unruly atmosphere was developing. And the grinning policeman lounging by the door did not reassure them.

Paddy stretched out his arms like an old-time prophet, regaining control of his story. ‘Yes! Beoc remembered the heat in his loins when first he saw her; the lurch of desire when they met again. “She is sin,” he said.’

‘“She’s a wild, ungodly creature!” the Abbot declared. He dipped his hand into the lake’ — again action accompanied the words — ‘and, flinging the drops over her, cried out: “I baptise thee Murgelt, name her Mermaid”.’

‘Murgelt the Mermaid! Worker of miracles!’ the bar crowd yelled, clapping, thumping their tankards on the tables.

Another pint was set on the table beside him. Paddy grinned his gratitude. ‘This be thirsty work.’ He took a long draught of beer and wiped the froth from his mouth.

‘What happened then?’ Cait tried to keep the tremor from her voice; the crowd was red-faced, restless, worrying.

‘Ooh,’ he said, sadness heavy in his tone, ‘she did languish and she did die there in the little boat and no one could save her ’cause she was a creature of the deep.’

‘And another species bit the dust,’ Ben whispered to Cait as the crowd swayed and moaned in sympathy.

‘But,’ Paddy gestured silence, ‘she has come back to us. Murgelt is with us again!’

‘How is that, Mayor Paddy?’ a lone voice above the cheers.

‘At this very moment her bones lie in her grave for all to see.’

‘Oh, God, Ben, he can’t do this!’

Beads of sweat broke out on Ben’s forehead. ‘Paddy, Paddy’ he strove for attention, ‘that land is private.’

‘The land, yea, lad, but the miracle maker belongs to the people. We knew the Yank was up to somethin’ what with his nosin’ around but, whatever, Murgelt belongs to us.’

‘Murgelt the Mermaid is ours! The miracle maker belongs to us!’ As one, they spilled out into the evening chanting, forming a rough procession, heading towards the ancient church ruins.

Only Cait and Ben were left in the pub, heads bowed, seeing their careers finished before they had begun. Then a friendly voice they knew too well called to them. ‘Now don’t you be aworryin’; she be a worker of miracles be our Murgelt. We be taking her to her new shrine now.’

***