He could hear them.

They were not visible. A white shroud enveloped the vale. Billowing. Carrying the sound of Ulster’s army as they stomped up the hill, stopping intermittently to bash shields with the shafts of their spears. Cheering. The noise of an army confident in their prowess—unlike the pups, who were shivering and shuffling their feet.

Ahorse, Fergus was slightly behind Medb and Ailill, looking over the mist shrouding the battle lines of the Red Branch. When it came, the banging of shields was earth-shaking, the roar of an invisible leviathan moving and roaring by turns. A veteran of the wall, the shield banging did not affect Fergus. Each time the cacophony played, the pups winced, causing a ripple of fear. Not only could he see fear, he could smell it, ripe on the morning breeze, blowing up from the vale.

When the breeze began tattering the mist, the Red Branch appeared, a disjointed rattle replaced by the torsos of an army floating above the slope, feet hidden in what remained of the shroud.

“It begins,” Medb swung Badb around and smiled at Fergus as she spoke.

Looking at the queen, he saw a tic under her right eye, belying the smile. She kept darting glances at Ailill while trying to calm her mare with pats to the neck and a clucking noise she obviously thought soothing. Fergus smiled inwardly. Bards with slippery tongues and little to occupy them dreamed up her name of Warrior Queen. She had never been in battle. Fergus realized the truth soon after her campaign began. She gave orders no veteran would consider giving. The queen fooled some with the woad and the shield, the boar spearhead on a long javelin, and the ululation from the rear of the shield wall. She played the part well. Fergus knew she was playing but would not betray her.

Her fear was her own.

Most would not see it, and he would not tell. Everyone deserved a chance, even the witch. Fear was not the enemy of a warrior, but acting on it. He would wait to see how Medb behaved before deciding if she was a coward. He expected the queen to be strong, not having shown any cowardice Fergus had seen.

“Their shield wall will soon be on ours,” he said, nodding down the slope, where the Connacht lines waited halfway up the hill. Medb turned her horse and looked down the slope.

“I did not know the Red Branch were so many.” Fergus smiled at the observation. He had told the queen how many warriors Mac Nessa would field. He knew what she meant: she had not realized how a wall of two thousand warriors marching towards her would look. Medb was seeing it now for the first time, as were most of the warriors in her own wall.

It was a sight to take away the breath of even the most stalwart of warriors. There would be fear in them all. Even the most experienced felt some stirring in the bowels at the sight of so many enemies. The veterans felt it, ignored it, and got on with it.

Their fear was their own.

“Two thousand and more. They’ve slightly fewer warriors than we have. Our wall is longer.”

“Longer. Is that not to our advantage?”

“Not necessarily. Depends if we can flank them, which I doubt. Takes an experience the pups don’t have.”

“You do not have any faith in the Connacht warriors,” Ailill said with a rueful smile. “Neither do I, truth be told.”

“Look, there is that coward Longas. Sitting next to Mac Nessa. They say an apple never falls far from the tree. I can see they’re correct,” Fergus nodded at the opposite slope where the king of the Ulaid sat amongst his bodyguard. Twelve well-tested warriors. The best the Red Branch had to offer.

They will not protect you, Deceiver, Fergus thought, looking at them with a rueful smile.

“The coward?” Medb asked confusion in her tone. “You think him a coward?”

“I do, Lady. He ran rather than face me.”

“Or was he spying?” Ailill asked. Medb nodded her agreement with the sentiment. Fergus thought about it. The son of Mac Nessa could have been spying for Ulster. Even when he went to support Connery, he could have been spying. He supposed it made sense. Longas had never given off the aura of a coward, which Fergus suspected is why he managed the pretense for so long.

Conall always suspected, he remembered. He looked over the lines and wished Conall was still with him. He needed the strength and intellect of the warrior. He felt he had no one he could trust in Medb’s army.

Sighing, he said, “I don’t suppose it matters. The hole has gone back to his father. That’s the main thing.”

“What will their tactics be?” Medb asked for the tenth time.

“They’ll advance within spear-throwing range and launch their javelins at our wall. Then they’ll advance until the armies are wall to wall. After that, it’s hack until no one is left to hack at. Slingshots will be used from the edges. I have mounted troops in the rear to chase them away so they can’t do too much damage. The mounted warriors in the rear will shore up any holes. The Ulaid will do the same. It’ll continue until one wall collapses.”

“It all seems a little predictable.”

“It is. Nothing more predictable than a battle.”

And then it began. The warriors threw their javelins. A handful went down, screaming, as good as dead. Many more discarded their damaged shields and reached for a backup. There was a roar from both sides and an almighty crash as the walls collided. The left flank of the Connacht wall buckled, and Fergus frowned as warriors began to back away, causing their wall to dogleg.

It should have taken longer. Even the pups should have been able to withstand the first surge. Their bowing so early did not bode well for the rest of the day. Fergus thought they would be lucky to last an hour.

“I must shore up the wall,” he said before spurring his mount and raising his arm, ordering his troop to accompany him.

Shoring up the lines was quick and bloody work. Fergus soon returned to the knoll where Ailill and Medb sat watching the battle. “It is done, Sire,” he said as he reined in beside the king.

“You left some men behind to strengthen our wall?” Ailill asked.

“I ordered Fiachu mac Firaba to remain with a hundred of the troop to keep the weakened part of the line stable. He’s an able lieutenant.”

“What are your feelings, Fergus?” Medb asked.

“About what, Lady”

“About our chances this day.”

“You’ll be lucky to last until the sun reaches its zenith.”

***

“Who is that driving a wedge into our lines?” Medb asked. Fergus looked at her, shielding her eyes against the glare from the sun, pouting, looking worried.

He watched as Mac Roth shielded his eyes and held his breath for several heartbeats before saying, “The banner is for Eogan of Monaghan, Lady. That is Monaghan in the van of the wedge. I would recognize that barrel-chested bodalán anywhere.”

Fergus heard the words at the exact moment he saw the banner. He did not wait for confirmation or to see whether his troop followed. He spurred his horse to the gallop and charged into the fray, knocking the pups over in his eagerness to reach his enemy, where he was swatting the warriors in front of him like so many errant flies.

“Monaghan!”

If there was anyone Fergus blamed more than Mac Nessa for the deaths of Naoise and Deirdre, it was Eogan of Monaghan. It had been Eogan who cut Naoise’s throat and Eogan who drove Deirdre to take her own life. Some would say Eogan had followed Mac Nessa’s orders and should carry no blame. Fergus was not one of them. He did not believe Monaghan would have done it had he not wanted to. He had a reputation as a heartless brute, and killing was fun for him.

“Monaghan!”

Fergus continued to force his mount through the lines. The pups fell, and the enemy tried to pull him from his horse, but he would not allow anyone or anything to stand in his way.

“Monaghan!”

Finally, the brute looked up and started laughing, bushy beard bouncing with his jocularity. Barrel-chested and carrying a massive ax, any warrior would have balked at the idea of facing Monaghan. Fergus did not. He would not shrink from his duty to Naoise and Deirdre.

He needed to avenge them.

“Monaghan!”

“Come, Fergus, get down off that horse. I fancy tickling your chin with me ax,” the brute laughed, giving the blade in question a lazy swing. “Been tickling all morning and have a taste for it. Builds quite an appetite, tickling chins with me ax.”

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Fergus laughed in his turn. Instead of doing as asked, he spurred forward and used his mount’s chest to knock the brute from his feet. Spinning his mare in a tight arc, he rammed his boar spear into Monaghan’s throat. “I don’t know why you thought I would play fair, Eogan. Playing fair is for fools,” he screamed, watching the light leave the brute’s eyes as he stared up in disbelief.

As the chieftain of Monaghan started his journey to Donn’s mound, Fergus looked around. He realized he had breached Ulster’s shield wall. His troop were with him. “On, up the hill. Mac Nessa is exposed. Let’s finish this.”

Digging his heels into his mount, Fergus spurned on up the opposite rise. He did not wait to see whether his troop followed. He had eyes only for Mac Nessa, fidgeting in the middle of his entourage. The king’s guard had drawn their weapons and surrounded their king. It did not matter to Fergus. He spurred his horse to the gallop and leaped from his saddle as the mare veered off. None of the guards had expected the move. By the time they realized what had happened, Fergus was through the shield and pulling Mac Nessa from his horse. His troop engaged the entourage as he forced the king to his knees.

“Here I am, Mac Nessa, as promised,” Fergus said with a grin, pulling his dagger before grabbing the king’s silver ponytail and pulling his head back, exposing his throat.

“I will give you anything,” Mac Nessa said, hands clasped together, pleading.

“Do not do it, Fergus,” Longas said. Fergus looked at the son of Mac Nessa, sitting on his horse, calmly watching his father on his knees, pleading for his life.

“And why shouldn’t I?”

“Show the rat’s cock a bit of mercy. I know you do not want to kill your king.”

“He’s not my king, Longas. I came here to kill him. I gave her my oath, abandoned my friend, and then followed her inept leadership just so I would get the chance. You expect me to give it up? He’s on his knees before me, squalling like a newborn. I will have the coward’s head.”

“Think about it, Fergus. What would be more punishment, cutting the head off the rat’s cock, or a lifetime of him trying to live with the shame of pleading for his life. He will never recover from this. The witch’s professed goal was to ruin my father through shame, which you have achieved. You have won.”

Fergus looked up at Longas, blade resting against the throat of the king. The quivering in Mac Nessa’s neck had caused a slight nick. A trickle of blood was running under the king’s armor.

“When you put it like that,” Fergus said, pushing Mac Nessa’s face into the turf and putting a foot on the back of his head. “You will get up on your horse and ride like the Banshee are after you. I want the Red Branch to see you as you truly are, Mac Nessa.” The king mumbled his agreement into the sod. “You, Longas, will stay here. I want to know what has been going on. I especially want to know what happened in the vale of Glencree.”

Longas nodded, swung down from his horse, and gave the rump of his father’s mount a slap to send it on its way.

Fergus looked around the hill. The battle was still raging. The Red Branch had reformed their shield wall. Despite his earlier misgivings, it seemed the Connacht warriors were holding up. The king’s entourage were all dead, lying around the hill where they had fallen, protecting a man who had not deserved it.

“Why do you want to know about Glencree?” Longas asked, watching his father galloping for the forest.

“I need to understand how you have managed to keep me in the dark for so long. But mostly, I need to know why you betrayed the High King, a man you were sworn to protect.”

Fergus watched as Longas displayed a range of emotions. He was not happy, which was evident, but he was also unwilling to risk a fight. He would rather wait and take his chances. Fergus could not tell if it was cowardice holding him back. There was something else in Longas’s eyes, a look of calculation, perhaps.

“What now?” Longas asked.

“Now, we mount up and ride. Conall is over there on the forest edge and I have a mind to ask him a few questions.”

Riding to where he had caught sight of Conall’s golden hair reflecting in the sunlight, Fergus was surprised to see he was with Laeg and the seeress, Fedelm. “I wondered where you were. Being idle, watching those who work for a living, I see,” he said as he reined in on the forest edge.

“Not idle, watching so I can report.”

“Why did you run?” Fergus blurted, unable to stop himself.

“I was working with Ailill, trying to stop her madness. When he banished me, I knew it was best to be gone. It was a warning.”

“Working with the king? I never knew.”

“Conall is hard to read,” Laeg laughed.

“Laeg, good to see you. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“My loss, Fergus? I am not following.”

“Setanta fell at the crossing.”

“He fell, but he did not die. He is recovering in Dun Dealgan.”

“How is that possible? Mac Roth reported him dead? I saw the stroke myself.”

“It was a gash, for sure, but no main veins were ruptured or organs. Fedelm stitched him. He is sore but alive,” Conall said with a grin.

“Tuatha be praised for that,” Fergus grinned back.

“Aye, Tuatha be praised. Fedelm deserves some credit, though, I think.”

“Yes. I thank you, Fedelm. I thought I had lost him. He’s very dear to me.”

“No one would have believed it,” Conall said with a laugh, offering his friend a wrist to grip. “It is good to see you. Surprised you have Longas in tow. What do you want with that boar’s arse?”

“I can hear you, Cernach,” Longas said, shaking his head, grinning.

“Aye, I suppose you can.”

“Although I’m glad to see you, Conall, I do wonder why you’re here. I thought you would’ve been in Alba by now.”

“Alba? Why Alba?”

“Anything to avoid paying the silver you owe me.”

“Silver? I owe you no silver.”

“You always owe me silver.”

“Hmm.”

“Silver aside, the witch’ll be after you. You heard she sent the Cailidín after Setanta. She’s capable of anything if she feels affronted.”

“How do you know she sent the Cailidín?”

“They were milling outside her tent for half a day. Could only have been one reason.”

“Aye, I suppose. She not only sent the Cailidín, but she painted herself blue and went with them. Ran before the fight.”

“Medb ran. You’re sure?”

“Aye, Laeg told Fedelm, here,” Conall nodded at the seeress, but Fergus did not look in her direction.

“She’ll be after you. Thinks you deserted,” Fergus said, calming his mount with a pat to the neck.

“I did not desert. She drove me away, convinced I was working against her. Feeding the boy with information.”

Fergus frowned and nodded. He could only accept responsibility. “Sorry, Conall, I should have stood up for you and told her you are an honorable man.”

“Aye, well, no matter. You must be careful, Fergus. You think you are immune? You are on her list, if not right at the top.”

“Maybe. I’m not sure. I think there’re still feelings.”

“Boar’s arse thinks she has feelings for him,” Conall said with a shake of his head. "Do not be so naïve, Fergus. She will seek revenge.”

“Revenge for what. I have done nothing that needs to be avenged.”

“She is evil,” Fedelm said. “If she loses this battle, she will lash out at all around her, whether or not they deserve it. That aside, you let Ulster live.”

“Why’re you here, seeress?” Fergus asked.

“I have come to watch the battle with Laeg so we can report progress to Setanta.”

“You were working with him from the outset?”

“I was.”

“Good. I’m glad. The boy needs all the help he can get,” Fergus said while looking down the slope with a frown. “This battle looks as though it’s going to last.”

“Will you not rejoin, Fergus?” Conall asked. “If you attack from behind, it will be over quickly.”

Fergus looked at the battle and shook his head. He no longer had any interest in Medb’s causes. “No. I’ve done what I came to do. I have no stomach for fighting my kin. Let the coward and the drunk resolve their own battle.”

“We need to stop this needless slaughter,” Fedelm pleaded.

“Why?”

“The Romans are coming. We need a strong and united Five Kingdoms if we are to oppose them.”

“I’ve been hearing this rumor for years. Is it not just something the druids have concocted to keep us under their sway?”

“No, I do not think so, Fergus,” Conall said. “When Setanta went to Jute Land, he saw them. He says they are fearsome and will not stop at the coast of Alba. If Setanta says so, then I think we must take it seriously.”

“Well, the best way to stop this battle is to get him here.”

“Who?”

“The Hound of Ulster. If the pups see him alive, they’ll shit their triús and run for the hills.”

“Did you not hear, Fergus. He is in no state to fight a battle,” Fedelm said.

“He doesn’t need to fight. Just the sight of him will be enough. Tie him onto his horse and let the pups see him.”

***

“Who is that they are all cheering?” Ailill asked, pointing his unsheathed sword. Medb wondered why he had unsheathed it. There was little chance he would use it.

“Strange,” said Mac Roth.

“It would appear the seer told the truth,” Medb said, looking at the rider sitting on the slope beside Conall Cernach before turning to her husband with a frown. “Ailill. You said he was sorely injured and would be unable to fight.”

“That is what the seeress said. It seems she was mistaken.”

“I think I know him, Sire. I thought he was dead,” Mac Roth said with a shake.

“You thought he was dead. Who did you think was dead, Mac Roth?” Medb asked with a tilt of her head and a slight smile. She wanted her retainer to speak the name. She wanted him to say the words. She wanted him to admit he had let her down again.

“He seems to be sitting rather gingerly on his horse,” Ailill said. “A little uncomfortable,” he smiled. “Perhaps she did not lie.”

“Who did not lie, Sire?” Mac Roth tried to avert Medb” s question with one of his own.

Ailill shook his head and spat between the hooves of Mac Roth’s horse. “Bodalán,” he said.

“Such language, Ailill,” Medb laughed. “Who, Mac Roth, who?” she persisted.

“The Hound of Ulster,” her guard finally admitted. “I think it is Cú Chulainn.”

“The Hound of Ulster. I thought I told you to go down to the fords and make sure he was dead. You told me he was dead, did you not?”

“I did, Lady. I went to the fords and made sure he was dead. This must be some sorcery of the witch, Fedelm. She must have brought him back. I made sure he was dead in the river.”

“You did not, Mac Roth. You stood in the water staring at him and ran as soon as you heard the horses of the Red Branch,” Ailill said. “Truth be told, I have never seen anyone run so fast. You even left your boots behind.”

“I swear, Lady…” Mac Roth did not finish his words before Medb’s bodkin was sticking from his throat. She watched silently as he scrabbled at the blade, trying to free it. His eyes were bulging. He seemed to be trying to speak. Eventually, he ceased his fight and toppled sideways onto the hill’s turf.

As he fell, Ailill looked down on him and frowned. “You should have done that before now,” he said. “That man was far too much of a menace.”

Medb nodded but did not respond. She turned back to the battle and watched as her army began to realize who had ridden to the top of the opposite rise.

“Look, Fergus is riding to oppose him,” Ailill said, once more using his unsheathed sword to point.