The small party stood in the dark and waited for Captain Clodagh to light the braziers. They were nervous because the stench hinted at what would be revealed once the shadows were driven back. The four heads mounted on stakes in front of the blockhouse also gave a clue. The heads looked to have been there for some time. The crows had removed all they could or all they wanted. The skulls were exposed in places and covered by lank hair in others. Detritus was littered throughout Ráth Droma. It had a shocked feel about it, as though the people had abandoned their homes in some haste.

“I wonder what happened,” Fedelm said, gripping his hand hard. As a seeress in training, she worked with the dead but never liked working with those who died by violence.

“I would say rogue warriors raided after Gáirech,” Genonn replied. He expected a similar tale would be told throughout the Five Kingdoms. The battle saw the defeated warriors angry, hungry, and in pain. Their only release was raiding settlements across the lands. Stealing cattle and mead. Pillaging. Collecting the heads of their vanquished foes. The practices High King Connery and the Elder Council had striven to stop. The practices that Genonn would prevent now he was Council Leader. As soon as they crowned a High King, he would create a standing army and have it trained by Conall. He would unite the kingdoms through a common enemy, goal, and warband. He thought if he made them comrades, they would learn to love each other. Convincing them of the danger the Romans posed would unite them through a common enemy.

Finally, Clodagh got the braziers lit, and they could see the remains of Mathaman hanging from a beam above the dais.

“What do you want to do, Kathvar?” Captain Clodagh asked.

Genonn looked over his shoulder, expecting to see his father before remembering he had assumed his father’s mantle. His surprise caused a snort from Conall, who was standing with his arms crossed. Genonn was not yet used to the new name. It would take time, but he had time, he supposed. Conall snorting whenever someone called Genonn, Kathvar was not helping. He shook his head, needing to think.

“Why haven’t they buried them?” Fedelm asked, staring at the grotesquery.

“I guess they’re afraid. Hiding in the forest,” Conall said, shrugging. “They must have run when the raiders arrived.”

“Shall I send out scouts?” Clodagh asked.

Genonn shook his head. “No need.”

The people would return to Ráth Droma when they felt safe enough. They would elect a new chieftain, and life would return to normality, at least until the next raid. Raiding had to stop, but Genonn was not so simple as to think it would happen quickly. One step at a time. The first step, find and crown a new High King.

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“Captain, order half your guards to bury the remains. The rest will ride with us to Da Derga’s,” he said. “You can remember where you found him?” he asked Conall.

“Aye. I buried Macc next to Connery. He served him well until the end.”

“So, the journey is not yet a disaster,” Genonn said.

They had come to Ráth Droma because Biróg told them she believed the story about Lee Flaith, that Niamh existed, and Macc Cecht had left Lee in her care. Mathaman told her the tale, and he got it from the old woman herself. Niamh lived in the mountains and visited Ráth Droma from time to time. On one of those occasions, worse for the mead, she told the story to the chieftain, who told it to Biróg, trying to impress a visiting dignitary. Biróg seized her opportunity to stop Dornoll from usurping the crown.

They were in the Wicklow Mountains to hear the story directly from Mathaman, but no matter. They would follow the mountain pass to Glencree and start searching from the hostel. Niamh told Mathaman she kept a lean-to a couple of valleys from that little dingle on the rise behind the hostel, and Conall agreed.

“Tell me again how you found Macc Cecht,” Genonn said to Conall as they mounted their horses outside Mathaman’s blockhouse.

“It was maybe two days after I buried the High King. I was in some hostel somewhere when a filí claimed he sat with Macc, who was mortally wounded. Said Macc told the story of Connery while he died. Claimed Macc began the tale from when they were sent by Eterscel to execute me in Emain Macha and continued until Connery’s death. He had Macc’s sword and knew where the body was, but I didn’t believe him. You know how the filidh embellish their tales.”

“But you found the body where this filí said, and his story is the same as the story Mathaman told Biróg,” Genonn mused.

“Aye. I found Macc’s body and built a cairn over him next to Connery, on the rise above the hostel. It seemed right, not because I thought he was Connery’s father but because he served his king well. Cairns side by side.”

Genonn sighed. Talk of cairns brought recent deaths to the forefront of his mind. Even that of Queen Medb, to say nothing of Bradán. Conall refused to talk about how he acquired the queen’s head or where Bradán had gone. Genonn did not press him. Realizing that the Old Bull wanted to forget. He guessed they fought, and the remains of the sardonic youth would be under a cairn similar to the one on the hill.

Too many cairns, he thought. Too many funerals. Too many friends feasting at Donn’s table.

“Shall we do this?” Fedelm asked, a glint in her eyes. She wanted to vindicate her belief in Biróg, which Genonn understood. Even admired in some respects.

“Come, the sooner we leave, the better. Beltaine is fast approaching.”

“And the Romans are coming,” Conall, Fedelm, and Clodagh said as one, laughing as they swung into their saddles.

Shaking his head, Genonn dug his heels in and cantered out through the gate, calling over his shoulder as he rode, “Let’s go find a High King!”