Flagon in hand, Fergus looked at the warriors around the tent. There was no banter. No ribaldry. Just drinking and sullen faces. Despite the queen’s wishes, they did not feel like celebrating. The warriors felt cheated. No one had beaten them. The fight was still on when it just fizzled out like an entire troop was pissing on a firepit, and yet the boy had taken Finnabair hostage and ordered the return of the bull.

Fergus could see they were also pensive.

The day’s battle and its outcome heralded a shift in the base of power. They thought Medb had lost her grip. They were starting to show Ailill more respect, bowing and calling him sire.

“Why is there no music?” the queen shouted.

She was naked—painted in blue woad. Fergus could see that the looks she was getting from the men made her feel good. Despite her age and having had eight children, she thought they still found her desirable. They laugh at her, Fergus thought. Instead of bedding her and giving her my oath, I should have laughed at her.

“Where is the bull?” she screamed.

“Lady?”

“The bull. Where is the bull we gave so much to capture?”

“In the paddock, Lady. The king has ordered us to return him to Cooley.”

“Anyone who attempts to take that bull to Cooley can lick my arse. Take a troop and fetch it. We will sacrifice Don Cuailnge to Morrigan. Tonight, we feast,” she called and then started to laugh as the warriors broke into a cheer.

Fergus stared at them and wondered whether they would feel like cheering in the morning. He looked up at the warrior sitting on the bench opposite. Longas. The sight of him made Fergus want to lash out. He was everything Fergus detested. There was something in his eyes, a look, a sneer, something calculating, usually hidden, which peeked out in moments of stress. Just like Mac Roth, he realized. Will she stick her bodkin in your throat, too? “Tell me what happened at Glencree.”

Medb and Ailill thought he was a spy. Fergus thought so, too. What he also thought, however, was that he was a coward. He claimed Scathach trained him on the Shadowy Isle, making his cowardice more loathsome. Nobody had given the death of Caomh a thought. Still, now looking at the face opposite him, Fergus realized Longas killed the informant. Was it a punishment killing or a killing to prevent him from revealing something else? Something other than the desertion of the Galeoin.

Longas looked up from his cup and sighed. Fergus stared at him, compelling him to speak. Eventually, he took a long pull and began his tale of the Glencree battle six years earlier. When Longas finished his story, Fergus continued to stare at him. He believed Longas but did not think him any less of a coward. It was a simple truth.

“So, what now?”

“You betrayed the high king. I’ll not forgive you or forget.”

“I was doing my duty as an Ulsterman.”

“How was running from Glencree an act of duty? It was an act of cowardice.”

“Someone needed to inform my father of events.”

“Yes, so you said. I’m not sure I believe it. The news would have arrived in Emain Macha without you skulking off. Whatever else might happen, you are as finished as your father. I will see to it that word of your cowardice precedes you wherever you go. Now, get out of my sight before I kill you and have done.”

Longas did not need a second invitation.

As Fergus watched him force his way through the crowd of warriors, he saw Medb standing by the entrance. She had washed off the woad and dressed in a jerkin and skirts of leather. He had not noticed her leaving the celebrations. He frowned as she saw him and began to make her way over. He did not want to talk to her. He never wanted to speak to her again.

She used him.

The queen stopped in front of the bench and smiled down. Fergus stared ruefully at his cup, refusing to meet her eye. She held out her hand, which he ignored. “Come, Fergus, let us kiss and make up. We cannot continue to fight now that it is all over.”

Fergus looked at her. He did not trust her. She was evil and would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. But not only was she evil, she was a coward. She hired murderous thugs and then ran from the ambush of Setanta. She ran from the battle earlier in the day. Like Longas, her excuse of moon blood was not convincing.

“Do not take on so, Fergus. We were lovers. We have much in common.”

“We’ve nothing in common,” he hissed, refusing to meet her eye. He would rather stare at the eye of her crow. “You’re evil, Medb, and I want nothing to do with you.”

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Medb sat down beside him, reached, and grabbed his manhood through his triús, giving him a coquettish smile and a seductive squeeze. Tilting her head, she licked her lips and said, “It will be worth it. I promise.”

“I think Ailill has suffered enough,” Fergus said, staring into nothing.

“Ailill. You worry about Ailill? He is hiding in the forest, sulking, no doubt flagon in hand. Sot will never even know,” Medb smiled.

“What of your moon blood?”

“My moon blood, Fergus. What is a little blood between lovers?” she laughed, pulling Fergus to his feet and out of the tent.

***

Ailill was sitting on a log in a glade in the forest. A small fire was burning by his feet. Although away from the rest of the army, he could hear them celebrating the bull’s death. Ailill could smell the roasting meat. He could hear Medb holding court, making the warriors laugh. She seemed more animated by the noise than she had for a long time. He could imagine her in her woad, breasts exposed. Most men no longer paid any attention, but Medb seemed oblivious. She still saw herself as the blushing thirteen-year-old virgin who fled from Mac Nessa’s groping hands. She had not noticed her tits were no longer as pert as they once had been.

Ailill was happy to be away from the warriors—sick to his stomach with the immaturity. What army celebrates defeat? he wondered. But, of course, he knew the answer. She had dressed it up as a victory. They withdrew from the battle but still had the bull, so what did it matter?

Truth being, they no longer had the bull.

The warriors were eating Don Cuailnge in celebration. She had the head cut off the bull with a battle ax to prove her point—a waste. A magnificent beast was slaughtered to no avail. The battle was lost, and tomorrow, as they recovered from their drunken haze, the warriors would remember it. They would see the bones beside the fire and realize what they had done, what she had made them do.

“My Lord?” The question caused the king to jump. Conall could approach without making a sound when he wanted to, a skill that unnerved Ailill more than anything. He could kill me without me even knowing he was there.

“Conall, well done. You have my eternal thanks.”

“For what, Sire?”

“You achieved everything I asked of you.”

“You think so? I am not so sure.”

“Medb’s invasion failed.”

“Yes, Sire, although it was not easy to prevent it, I am not sure Medb has yielded. Your queen still harbors ill will toward Mac Nessa. She will continue with her quest. We have delayed it, nothing more. I have a thirst,” the warrior said, pointing at the ever-present flagon.

Ailill handed it over. Conall took a swig and looked up in surprise. “This is water.”

“Yes. Soon after my wife announced this sorry expedition, I stopped drinking mead and ale. I drank my last ale the night before Leinster and Munster gave their foolish assent.”

“Everyone thinks you are—”

“I know what everyone thinks, Conall.”

“I remember you when Mesgegra and Mac Dedad were in the feast hall, asleep in your seat, drunk.”

“Ah. You should know, Conall, appearances can deceive.”

“But why, Sire?”

“It suited my purpose to be considered drunk and incapable. I knew I needed to do something when I saw what my wife had become. She cannot be allowed to continue. With Mac Nessa running from the battle, it is now more important than ever.”

“Aye, but she also ran.”

“She blamed the moon blood. Most will allow her that excuse. Mac Nessa knelt in the dust at the feet of Fergus and then ran. It was cowardice. The warriors will see it as nothing else. I am not sure it is the best outcome, truth be told.”

“Oh, why?”

“We need balance if we are to succeed against the Romans. With Mac Nessa so weakened, I wonder if we have it. With Medb pushing, even less so.”

“Aye, put that way, I cannot argue. When did you decide she was pushing for power?”

Ailill stared into the flames for a moment. He did not recall when he saw through her claim to be working for the good of The Five Kingdoms. Was it before or after the mustering of the armies? he wondered.

“To begin with, I was trying to help save the kingdoms, but as I became more lucid, I began to doubt her motives. I think it started with her ordering the death of the Galeoin—”

“When she did, she was right,” Conall interrupted. “At least to doubt them. Perhaps her solution was a little drastic, but her fears were not unfounded.”

“That might well be, but as the venture progressed, I knew someone needed to stop her. With lucidity came clarity.”

“And you did that while appearing to be drunk.”

“Yes. I have a little flare for acting,” Ailill said and smiled.

“Well carried, Sire,” Conall nodded his approval of the tactics. Ailill nodded in his turn, feeling the wave of respect coming from the warrior. He was glad of it. It warmed him, even though he did not understand why.

“How is Fergus coping?”

“I feel sorry for him. His standing among the warriors is destroyed.”

“You think. Is he not a respected warrior?”

“Once he was. His dalliance with, excuse me, Medb has cost him. The Red Branch now sees him as weak. A warrior who gave up his homeland for a red-bushed mound and a glib tongue. An enemy tongue, at that.”

“But without his initial warning, Setanta would never have been in time to meet the invasion of Cooley.”

“Which is not common knowledge. No one knows that Fergus sent the lad a message.”

“Where is he? We need to warn him to be wary. She will not take kindly to this outcome, and I foresee Fergus as the likely scapegoat.”

“I will seek him out, Sire. I feel responsible for all that has happened to him.”

“Why?” Ailill asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It was me who suggested he allow Medb to succeed with her seduction. I am to blame for your hurt, Sire.”

“It was Medb who did the seducing. I have lived with her infidelities for many summers, so do not worry yourself. Go now. We will talk again soon.”

“Sire.” Ailill watched Conall leave the glade, glad the warrior was not his enemy.