Fedelm found Biróg busy tending herbs behind her roundhouse. She wished it were time to go back to studying. The smell of the herb garden flourishing with parsley, thyme, and rosemary was what she missed the most. It was quite a contrast from preparing bodies for burial, the task Biróg had taught her first. Allowing her to practice whenever someone died. As a girl who had seen fourteen Beltaines, she was fascinated by the bodies and the rituals. As a grown woman, she understood the reasoning behind Biróg’s actions.
She was always a selfless teacher.
Fedelm could not help the sarcasm but recognized it to be born of pain rather than ill will towards her mentor. She breathed in deeply through her nose to ease her stress. She hadn’t tended a herb garden since before Kathvar dragged her away to try to prevent the battle Medb had so badly craved. Not really. There was the moment when she’d tended her herbs while waiting for Cú beside her roundhouse on the banks of the Bóand. That was for show. A way to make it less obvious she was waiting for him. Not that it was necessary. Carrying her into the roundhouse, he rode her like a freshly broken mare, missing the subtleties of her trickery.
“Don’t stand there grinning like a simpleton. The roundhouse needs sweeping,’ the druidess said without lifting her head.
“I’m sorry, Biróg, I’m not staying.”
“What nonsense is this? I had to let you go when Kathvar needed you. He doesn’t need you now, girl. Unless you intend showing him the way to Tír na nÓg.”
“Genonn needs me.”
“What could that overgrown goat pellet possibly want with a seeress?”
“I’m not yet a seeress, as you constantly remind me.”
“Nor will you become one if you keep running away.”
“I will return, Biróg. You have my word.”
“You were always a wayward pupil. Even from the day you first arrived. I knew you’d be trouble. How will I manage? Who’ll sweep the roundhouse and prepare the herbs for the cauldron?”
“Who did it while I was away?” Fedelm snapped and then relented when she saw the hurt on Biróg’s face. “I’m sorry. I am hurting from the loss of two men I held dear.”
“Yes, well, I’m also sorry. I know you loved that boy with a passion.”
Fedelm folded her arms and pouted at the herbs. “You knew?”
“Yes, of course. I am not blind, girl. Your face blazed like a newly banked fire whenever he was near. How long will you be gone?”
Fedelm shook her head and looked again at the herbs her mentor was tending. Biróg was collecting seed pods from the old ones and lovingly weeding around the new. She sighed and said, “I wish I knew. I fear it will be a long and tough road.”
“Well, don’t stay away too long. You’ll forget all you’ve learned.”
“I’ll never forget, Biróg. You taught me far too well for that.”
“Good. Now help me finish this weeding. My back is breaking.”
Fedelm knelt beside Biróg. They weeded in companionable silence until Fedelm asked, “So, do you believe the boy is Lee Flaith?”
“How would I know?” Biróg replied. “I never met him. Few have met him. He has more claim to the throne than Abradruad either way.”
“How can that be?”
“Abradruad has been proposed because he is Dornoll’s nephew. Is that sufficient qualification?”
“No, perhaps not, but would he make a good High King? Dornoll says he’s calm and not overly fond of war and battles. Do we not need a period of calm like High King Connery tried to bring us? Do we not need unity before the Romans come?”
“What the High King brought us was fire and blood. The Briton would never have invaded if we had not been weakened by Connery’s stupidity. And this invasion by the Romans was an invention of a druid we recently buried under a pile of rocks and turf.”
“You don’t believe the Romans are coming?”
“No. I have no idea why we ever believed they were. We’re not Gaul or Alba. There is a sea between us. Kathvar always said they would not stop, but he was a worrier.”
“There is also a sea between Gaul and Alba, which didn’t prevent them from two invasions.”
“And where are they now, these Romans? They came and saw but didn’t stay long enough to conquer. The Britons forced them away.”
“They were testing the tribes’ resolve. The Romans don’t find the sea to be a barrier, and they will return.”
“Enough of that. Seas or no seas, I don’t believe we have enough to tempt them. They are said to love the sun, which we see seldom and fleetingly. Gold and women, too. I heard their women are plump and short, not skinny and tall like us. They serve their men while we kick ours where it hurts whenever they get out of line, which is often.”
“We have gold.”
“But is it enough? We need a strong king; maybe this Lee Flaith could be that king with the right training. But I do not think we need a strong king to protect us from the Romans. We need a strong king to protect us from ourselves. There is no need to fear destruction from without when we are already destroying ourselves from within.”
“You were set against the boy when Genonn arrived.”
“Well, a woman can change her mind. Now, give an old one a kiss and get away with you.”
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
“You’re not that old.”
“Perhaps not. But one thing I’m sure of, I’m old enough to know when change is needed.”
***
“Where are you going?”
Fedelm started and turned. Bradán was leaning against a stall, arms crossed, ankles crossed, stick poking from the corner of a sardonic grin. She’d not seen him arrive. Or heard him. Thinking about it, she had not seen him since they arrived at the settlement the previous day.
“Where have you been?”
“I was visiting a friend in Caer Gybi. I heard the news and came straight away. How’s Genonn taking it?”
“Not well. He doesn’t seem to know whether to scream or cry.”
“Come now, a true warrior like Genonn would never cry.”
Fedelm looked up sharply. She didn’t think sarcasm was appropriate, given the circumstances. Bradán’s usual grin was still evident, the stick now in the other corner.
“I don’t like your tone!” He held up his palms in apology but said nothing.
“Well?” he finally asked.
“Well, what?”
“Where are you going?”
“I really don’t think that is any concern of yours.”
“You have released me from your service already?”
Fedelm shook her head and wondered what to do. She knew Genonn would not take kindly to inviting someone to join their little expedition without his approval. She explained the situation to Bradán, who snorted and asked around his twig and grin, “Is he your master, then?”
“I have no master,” she hissed and then waved his words away. “You’ll not be welcome. Genonn is very particular.”
“Let me worry about that aging druid,” Bradán laughed.
“He claims he is a–”
“Hmm,” Bradán interrupted. “Like I said, let me worry about the druid, and tell me where you’re going.”
She threw a saddle over her mare’s back, wondering whether telling him would be any harm. Realizing they had no idea of their destination other than they would search for Conall, she relented and told him they would go wherever that journey took them.
“Conall Cernach?” the warrior asked. She nodded. “That settles it then. I always wanted to meet the man who created the Red Branch.”
“You did? I thought you hated all things martial.”
“Aye, that doesn’t stop me being in awe of a hero. Conall is a walking and breathing legend.”
“Really? You’re disillusioned with the lot of the warrior but worship one because of reputation? Men!”
“Do you know where Conall is, or is it to be a race around the kingdoms in wild hope?”
“No. We will first go to Emer in Dún Dealgan. Conall was there a few days ago, so she might be able to tell us where he went.”
“Now, let me help you with the saddling.”
Fedelm glared at the cinch as she tightened it. Genonn would not be happy about her yielding to Bradán’s pressure. She didn’t want to upset him, but she also thought the company of a warrior like Bradán would be good. Genonn was distracted by grief, even if he was unwilling to accept it. She was too, but at least she recognized hers.
“Saddle the big gelding. Biróg has lent him to me. He’s a little large for my taste, so you can ride him.”
***
Standing beside the gatehouse, Genonn stared back into the settlement, willing Fedelm to hurry. The sun had already set, and they would not have many hours of light. He wanted to be well on the road for Caer Gybi when they made camp. Imrinn had said they could catch a warband at their leisure, but that was no reason to delay. He wanted to set about finding his father’s killer. It was only a matter of time before the bounty seekers from all over the Five Kingdoms and probably beyond would be searching for him.
Lee was in the dirt beside him, studying a small beetle with red and black dotted wings. He shook his head. The boy’s fascination with nature continued to amaze him. When he was a boy, the only things that interested him were hurling and fistfights with the gang from the next dún. He grew up in Emain Macha, so there had been no lack of hurling or opponents to fight. In truth, the two were often combined. Beetles and birds never entered his mind, perhaps going part way to explaining why his forestry was so weak.
He turned from Lee to the path. There was still no sign of the seeress. “Would you hurry?” he hissed.
“What?”
“Nothing, Lee, I was just speaking my thoughts.”
“Where are we going?” the boy asked as he came and stood beside Genonn.
“First, we will go in search of Conall–”
“Conall Cernach, King’s Champion of Ulster?”
“The very same.”
“Why are we looking for him?”
Genonn did not want to answer, preferring the idea of being alone with his thoughts. That said, Lee’s curiosity was no bad thing. Discouraging it was not something he would knowingly do. He also did not want to tell Lee they were racing against killers without compunction in search of another killer and so settled for, “I must avenge my father, but the guilty have armies and palisades to hide behind. Conall might be able to call on the Red Branch for help.”
“You mean we might meet the Red Branch warriors?”
“We might. I cannot make promises.”
As Lee’s face lit up with excitement, Genonn could not help but smile, which immediately evoked shame and guilt. How could he be smiling so soon after his father’s demise? And then he shook his head, realizing he had no time for self-recrimination. He needed to catch this Nechtan while he still had the chance to answer questions. There was no time for guilt. Genonn felt sure Kathvar would not begrudge the odd smile.
The clopping of horses approaching at a walk interrupted him. When he looked up, he saw Fedelm and Bradán coming down the road, each leading two horses. The warrior seemed to be favoring a large black Gelding.
Why do we need four horses? he wondered. “What’s he doing here?” he asked, making no attempt to hide his feelings.
“Where I go, he follows,” Fedelm sighed, angling her head.
“Have you tried telling him to stick his head in the bog?”
“Of course. But like all male warriors, he scoffs, grabs his manhood, and tells me where he would like to ram it.”
Bradán snorted and turned away. Genonn blushed anew and wondered if he would be able to stay free of redness at any stage during the coming days.
“Shall we go?”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Fedelm asked. “You could send a fían to do it?”
Genonn was sure. Like Kathvar, he did not believe in delegating. His father’s oft-cited mantra: to guarantee the outcome of a task, you must do it yourself, one he had absorbed. And, for once, his father had lived by his own rule.
“Of course, I’m sure. Can you ride, Lee?” he asked while wondering about the relationship between Bradán and Fedelm.
“Don’t know. I’ve never tried.”
“Don’t worry, Lee, I’ll teach you as we go,” Bradán promised.
“Why did I ever doubt it,” Genonn said, glaring at the warrior. Despite feeling an ache developing in the bridge of his nose, he could not stop his brow from furrowing.
So, he wants to be everyone’s best friend, he thought, as he swung up into the saddle of the gelding Bradán obviously favored.
“That’s grand. I love a small horse,” Bradán laughed as he helped Lee into the saddle of the smallest mount. Genonn could see Fedelm glowering at him before she turned to the warrior and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. He guessed Fedelm and Bradán knew each other well, so words were no longer a necessary method of communication.