Ailill watched Mac Roth gallop up the slope with a frown. He, too, knew the sound chasing the queen’s guard, but he did not think the warrior needed to have run quite so quickly. The guard could have afforded a leisurely ride back to the protection of the army waiting on the rise—could have at least made it look less like a cowardly act.

The troop galloping into sight confirmed Ailill’s suspicions. There could not have been more than thirty warriors charging for the river. No doubt an advance guard, but not enough to cause such a hasty withdrawal.

When they reached the fords, the warriors did not try to cross but swung down from their horses and ran into the river. They were carrying a bier. The Hound’s retainer, Laeg, was with them. Ignoring the army watching them, the warriors of Ulster ran straight to the corpse of Cú Chulainn and lifted it onto its last bed. They hefted the bier to shoulder height and carried The Hound from the river.

“How did they know?” Ailill asked with a confused shake of the head.

“Know what, Sire?”

“They brought a bier. How did they know the boy would die today?”

“I don’t think they knew,” Fergus said with a frown. “Laeg rode back with them. I suspect he went to tell the Red Branch to bring a bier for Ferdia. Setanta respected him. He would’ve wanted to show that.”

“He had honor, the boy, truth be told,” Ailill said. He could hear the admiration in his own voice but did not care who knew. He acknowledged the respect he saw in the warrior’s frank gaze with a nod.

Fergus nodded back and asked, “Shall we attack, Sire?”

“We withdraw,” Ailill said, waving a hand above his head, his mount swinging in a circle as he pulled the reins around.

“Sire?” Mac Roth asked. “We heavily outnumber them. A few Ulster heads will raise morale.”

“You’re a real dog turd, Mac Roth, you know that,” Fergus said.

“We withdraw,” Ailill repeated. “We let them take the boy. It is the least he deserves after defeating our army at every turn.”

***

The slow pace of the approaching horses, noise limited, and the jingle of tack muted made her wary. There were many approaching, but there was no talk. Heart in her mouth, Fedelm climbed the rise and looked down the road. Laeg was leading Cernunnos by the bridle; there was a bier behind and a man in it. Mounted warriors were in the rear, faces tense and worried. Sad looking. She had never seen any of the warriors but instinctively knew they were the Red Branch, who had come to relieve him.

“What happened?” she yelled, running down the rise, skirts in hand.

“Ferdia is dead. Setanta took a sword stroke to his midriff. We did not know what to do.”

“Is he…” she hesitated, unable to say it.

“Not yet; it is only a matter of time. The gash is from belly to sternum. He cannot survive.”

“Let me see him.”

The nearest warriors unhitched the bier, and Fedelm knelt beside, lifting the hides to see. Torso uncovered, she lifted a hand to her mouth and gasped. She could understand why the warriors thought him close to death, but even a quick look at the wound let her know, although ghastly to look at, it was little more than superficial. Something other than the wound had Setanta in a swoon.

“I cannot do this in the wild. We must away to Dun Dealgan. I will lead Cernunnos by the bridle. You ride ahead and warn Emer we are coming.”

Laeg nodded, mounted, and rode off without a word. Fedelm knew she could treat Setanta’s wounds in the field, but something more fundamental was going on. It was time to stop riding in Dagda’s cauldron. Luck could only last so long before it gave out.

***

“I am a wee bit on the tired side, Fedelm. Can we talk about this in the morning?” Setanta said from his cot, wrapped in a blanket, eyes half closed.

“No, Setanta. It needs discussion, and it needs to be now,” Emer smiled, hoping to smooth the tone of command. Fedelm watched as he looked up at his wife meekly.

“What is it that is so urgent it cannot wait?”

“When you arrived in camp, you were unconscious. Your wound is brutal, but it was not enough to drive you into oblivion. What is on your mind, Setanta?”

“I killed my friend. When I saw his crushed skull, I wanted to die. There, woman, are you satisfied?”

“Laeg told me the witch ambushed you and then ran.”

“Aye, she did so.”

“You have this man, this druid, Genonn, visit you most nights beside the fire. If he goes back into her camp tonight and tells her warriors what she did, they will lynch her from the nearest tree and head back to their homesteads.”

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“Aye, they will. But I cannot do it, Fedelm. She is a coward, so she is, but I am not. I am a warrior—”

“But—”

Setanta held up a hand, stalling her interruption before it had begun. “There are no buts, Fedelm. I am honor-bound to see this through, so I am. Mac Nessa ordered me to defend the borders of Cooley, so that is what I must do.”

“The Red Branch is here now. You can stay here in Dun Dealgan with us and get well,” Emer said, arms crossed.

“I will stay here until I can move freely, then join the battle.”

Fedelm looked at him. She could see an end to this sorry venture if he would just tell Genonn what the witch had done. Her warriors would tear her asunder if they knew she ran from the ambush. She had already broken the code by hiring the assassins. Genonn told them that her army knew because the Cailidín had been lounging outside her tent in full view of the camp. Already close to the edge, they would not tolerate her breaking the code and then running.

Setanta shivered and wrapped his blanket tighter around his shoulders. “I will sleep now. I am ready to drop, so I am. Tomorrow will be another battle, and I must be fresh.”

“You sleep, Setanta. I will watch over you.”

“I will watch over him,” Emer said. Fedelm turned to Emer, surprised by the look Emer returned.

Does she know? she wondered. Setanta would not have told her. But then, she was a woman, and women were all seers in their own way.

“Conall Cernach is here,” Laeg said from the roundhouse door. Fedelm looked over at Setanta, but he was sleeping. Nodding, she walked through the door, knowing she would never again feel The Hound’s fierce grip.

***

She sighed when Mac Roth entered her tent without announcement. He was developing a misconception about his own importance.

“Lady,” he said, standing before her.

“Well?”

“He is dead.”

“You made sure?”

“I did before I had to retreat in the face of the attacking Red Branch.”

“The Red Branch attacked? How many were they?”

“I would say a scout troop, Lady. Maybe thirty riders.”

“We destroyed them, of course.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“The king ordered a retreat.”

Medb looked at Mac Roth and thought everything was going against her. Why would Ailill not take the opportunity to shatter their enemy’s confidence?

“You may go,” she said. “Tell them to send the king to me. Oh, and Mac Roth, the next time you presume to come before me, make sure you wear suitable footwear.”

“Your will, Lady.”

“You ordered a retreat?” Medb asked as Ailill ducked into her tent. She poured herself a cup of mead and looked at him, raising her eyebrows in question. “Well?”

“I did.”

“Why would you? I do not understand. Are you so much of a weakling you cannot bear the sight of your enemies’ blood?”

“The boy deserved some respect, woman. Even you must admit it.”

“Admit he deserved some respect. We are at war, Ailill. Corpses in rivers aside, we heavily outnumbered the troop. You could have dealt a blow for the cause. Watching the Red Branch warriors die, even a handful of them would have raised the spirits of my army.”

“So, it is your army, is it?”

“It has not been your army since you turned to the mead, Ailill. We are at war, and we need to act like it.”

“And I thought we were on a mission to humiliate Mac Nessa and then run. I am confused, truth be told.”

“Confused. There is nothing new in that, is there? Even so, we must not have you confused, now, must we?”

“What are you driving at?”

“We are here to punish Fiachna for executing an envoy. That punishment was confiscating his herd and prize bull, so I will do that.”

“And how will you do that? The Red Branch is here. We would have had difficulty facing them in the field with our army—sorry, I should say your army—intact. I suspect you are at half-strength. Warriors have been abandoning your cause almost from the outset of this, this, misguided adventure.”

“Misguided adventure. Abandoning my cause. Who? Who has been abandoning my cause?”

“The Galeoin are gone, as you know, but they are not the only ones. It would surprise me if your army is even half-strength.”

“Not even half strength. I see. But they will not continue to run, Ailill. They were deserting because of the boy. What he did to us. Now he is dead, they will not desert.”

“But neither will those who have gone return. Conall said—”

“Conall said,” Medb interrupted. “When were you talking to Conall?”

“I often sat with him before he was banished.”

“Well, you cannot believe anything that warrior said. He is an Ulsterman. Ulaid from his greying crown to the soles of his tatty boots. I would wager everything that he is now at the dais of his king, revealing all he learned during his sojourn with us. He is Ulaid.”

“As is Fergus. You believe him.”

“I believe Fergus. Do you think so, Ailill? Why do you think I believe Fergus?”

“Because he has been humping you, that is why. Your judgment is clouded by the pleasure he gives you.”

“Ha. The pleasure he gives. Do you have any idea how idiotic you sound? He never gave me pleasure. The man is an inexpert lover. His only goal when he climbs on top of a woman is to spend his seed with as little effort as possible. My pleasure. I hated every second of it. I did it for Ériu.”

“Yes, of course you did. How insensitive of me to suggest otherwise,” Ailill hissed.

“If you must know, we have not humped, as you put it, since this venture began. I know you do not believe me, but it is true.”

“I no longer care, truth be told.”

Medb looked at him and could see his words held meaning. He no longer cared. She wondered if he had ever cared. Had it ever been anything other than a marriage born of a mutual need?

“No. You care for only one thing, Ailill. It is why the army and the people have deserted you. No one wants a drunk in control.”

“You still have not answered my question,” Ailill said, looking over Medb’s shoulder. His growing hatred shone from his face like a beacon fire in the night.

“Your question. Which question would that be?”

“How do you expect to steal the bull with the Red Branch on the other side of the fords?”

“You, Ailill, are going to feint an attack across the Dee, and during the diversion, we are going to slip away and cross into Cooley through Windy Gap.”

“And you think I will agree to this mad plan?”

“You will, Ailill because the one thing you want more than anything is respect from the warriors of this army.”