“And you are?” High King Connery asked in a bored tone, his eyebrows raised. The man did not appear to be the sort who would usually attend the High King’s court. Still, Connery was too polite to dismiss him without hearing his petition.
“If it please, my lord, I’m Colm, a simple farmer from Munster.”
Macc could see the foster brothers nudging each other and grinning at the front of the retinue in the hall. He recalled another time when he witnessed such behavior from them. It had been a time when a man’s life was in the balance. He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, glad the High King had not seen them. The foster brothers always made Connery uncomfortable, and it would be too easy for someone in the retinue to notice and put it down to weakness.
“And what brings you before me, Colm of Munster?”
“I have been robbed, lord, and seek recompense for my losses.”
Macc frowned at the man visibly shaking. It seemed strange to think the High King was such an imposing figure that he caused his people to tremble? He was intrigued by the farmer’s nervousness and angry that the man had come to the feast hall at Temuir instead of going before his own lawgivers.
Connery looked at Macc, who shrugged, and at Taidle Ulad, who shook his head before also shrugging. The petitioner should not have come here complaining about theft. It was the task of his chieftain and then his king to resolve such issues.
“I do not normally hear petitions of that nature,” Connery said.
“I know, lord, I did not want to trouble you with this,” the man said, bowing his head in apology.
“Then why are you here?”
“I have been left with no other recourse, lord,” the farmer said so quietly Macc had to strain to hear him.
“What is it that has been taken from you?” the High King asked, looking at Macc and raising his eyebrows.
“A piglet, a calf, and a cow have been stolen from me each Samhain since your reign began, my lord.”
Macc wondered about that, thinking it must be a coincidence that the thefts started at the same time Connery took the throne.
“And you have reported these losses to your chieftain?” Taidle asked. Macc turned to see Connery staring intently at the petitioner, his chin in his hand.
Perhaps he won’t notice them.
Macc knew it was a vain hope. He watched them nudging each other, grinning and jesting in voices too low for the words to be heard. Still, the murmuring was disconcerting Connery. Despite their advance in age, the brothers were still acting as though they were in their years before manhood, openly giggling at each of the farmer’s announcements. Macc could see the High King frowning at the lack of respect.
“Yes, this is the jurisdiction of your chieftain.” Connery agreed with Taidle, which evoked a snorted laugh from the retinue.
The High King started and raised his head to stare at his foster brothers. Lee was grinning with his arms crossed over his chest. Gar and Rogain were slightly behind their brother, whispering to each other. The presence of his foster brothers, with their permanent grins, made Connery shudder involuntarily.
“Yes, my lord, and he, in his turn, reported them to Dáire mac Dedad, my king,”
“We know, farmer, who the king of Munster is,” Taidle said in apparent frustration.
“Why has the issue not been resolved?” Macc asked.
“The king has tried to mete justice, my lord, but the thieves laugh and tell him to geld himself with a blunt pig sickle.”
“You know who the thieves are?” Connery asked.
Macc frowned. Even as the High King asked the question, he knew what the farmer would say.
“Yes, lord, they are the sons of Dond Desa, your foster brothers, Lee, Gar, and Rogain.”
The feast hall erupted with a barrage of noise, as each of the retinue clamored to be heard. Most of them were warriors, men who wanted to see some excitement return to the kingdoms. However, even those in the retinue who were not warriors clamored to be heard. The fighting caste were not unique in wanting a return to the old ways. The people were also restless for change. Connery had formerly been called the Peaceful King, but now the most common phrase was the Dull King, or when they used peaceful, it was not meant as a compliment.
“Silence,” Taidle shouted.
The crowd ignored him, and the foster brothers openly laughed. Connery looked at Taidle with a question in his raised eyebrows. Macc stared at the brothers with a frown. Lee stared back with a grin.
The boy challenges me.
“This session is over,” the druid shouted to be heard over the noise. “All petitioners will return on the morrow for the High King to hear their claims. Guards, clear the hall.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Not you three!” Macc shouted as the court broke up, and Connery’s foster brothers began to edge out of the feast hall. “You will attend the High King.”
As soon as the guards emptied the hall, Macc herded the brothers to stand before Connery and Taidle. The three stood with their arms crossed and their boyish grins splitting their faces, annoying Macc even further. It seemed apparent that they’d planned this moment for a long time. The farmer said each year since Connery’s reign began. Macc supposed the brothers were surprised about how long it took for the farmer to come forward. He guessed the king, Dáire mac Dedad, refused to petition the High King because of the pettiness of the complaint and because the brothers were involved.
At least I hope that’s the reason, otherwise it it treason.
“What have you to say for yourselves?” Connery asked.
“Ah, brother, it was just a bit of fun.” Lee, as always, answered for the three.
“It is plundering and punishable by death,” Taidle said through clenched teeth. “And you think it was just a bit of fun? Our bogs are full of the corpses of men who died for less.”
“You would have us executed for a pig, a calf, and a cow, old man?” Lee’s grin remained as if he were toying with the druid.
Toying with us all but especially with the king.
“A pig, a calf, and a cow each year for how many years? But that is not the point. The point is you have broken the law. If there is no justice in this matter, chaos will follow. The High King must be seen to be firm and just. He cannot show favor.” He paused before adding, “The High King cannot be seen to show any lenience, just because you are his foster brothers. Justice is justice.”
Taidle looked hard at Connery, willing him to accept what he had said as irrefutable. Connery stared at the packed earth at the base of the dais and said nothing.
“My lord, you must act quickly in this matter,” Macc said. “If the chieftains or kings detect hesitancy or leniency in you, it will be construed as weakness.”
Taidle nodded his agreement.
The High King sat rubbing his hands together in silence. Macc couldn’t believe the contrast with when Dond Desa demanded the execution of Conall Cernach. Connery intervened and seemed to show sense in standing up to the old warrior. Suddenly, Macc wondered if the king’s actions that day had been born of strength or weakness. Had the young Connery been standing up for the rights of the champion of Ulster or blanching at the idea of an execution?
Finally, the High King spoke, “You will pay the net worth of all the beasts you have stolen from this man, and you will pay him punitive costs of one cumhal for each year you have stolen from him.”
“My lord, you cannot circumvent your own laws, it will create havoc,” Taidle said.
“I have spoken.”
“My lord—” Taidle tried to argue but Connery did not allow him to go on.
“Peace druid. I have spoken. I will hear no more of it.”
Should I say something? Is it even my place?
Macc hesitated unsure what he should do. Connery needed to be hard to survive his reign as the peaceful king; strong when circumstances demanded. Allowing his foster brothers to openly scoff at his laws could mean nothing but trouble. The chieftains would not stand for it; not only with the chieftains: the Elder Council installed Connery because they needed a cessation of destruction. To face the Romans, the Five Kingdoms needed time to prepare—they needed a period of peace in which to build. It seemed the council had miscalculated. They might have their peace but they had a weak king with it, missing a fundamental rule of the tribes: to fight strength, strength is needed.
***
Two days after the High King’s disastrous ruling, the Elder Council was convened in the sacred glade at Caer Leb. The kings and chieftains of Ériu were in uproar. Some said the crime of the foster brothers was just a game and, as such, insignificant. Others said it was not the severity of the crime that mattered but the breaking of the High King’s law. They all agreed Connery’s weakness in showing leniency to his foster brothers was an aberration. Ériu’s leaders did not want to be ruled by a man who favored some above others or, more importantly, showed weakness in the face of a hard decision. It was the first real crisis the druids had faced since Connery assumed the throne.
“It is as I predicted,” Bres said with such vehemence that Taidle had to wipe spittle off his robes.
He feels vindicated by his actions in favor of Nuadu.
“The boy was weak, and now the man proves to be as weak, if not weaker.”
“Do not be so precipitous, Bres,” Biróg countered. “Connery has ruled well and ended Destruction, as he promised.” Unlike your choice, Bres, Taidle thought. “This is just one small rut in the road.”
“It is not such a small rut, Biróg,” Kathvar interjected. “The kings and chieftains are demanding his head.”
“Do not exaggerate, Kathvar, no one has demanded the High King’s head,” Taidle said.
“Head or no, they want him off the throne,” Kathvar replied, looking quizzically at Taidle, daring him to contradict. “I agree; he is not strong enough to rule Ériu.”
“What do you say, Taidle, about his abilities?” Biróg asked. “You, as his counselor, have spent a lot of time with him and know him better than most.”
Taidle nodded at her. He wanted her plan to succeed, aware of the ever-encroaching threat. To survive, the Elder Council needed the Five Kingdoms whole and functioning. Weak and divided, the Romans would squash the tribes like a pesky ant’s nest.
Taidle crossed his arms and thought long and hard before responding. He could not deny the weakness he’d seen in the High King, condone it, or admit defeat in the sacred glade among his peers. He had not wanted the task of nurturing Connery, but once he accepted it, he would not be seen by the other druids to have failed.
“The High King has always been very fond of his foster brothers. It does not show weakness so much as an error of judgment.”
As he spoke, Taidle kept his eyes averted from his colleagues, thinking it apparent to all in the sacred glade he did not believe his own words. Kathvar hissed his disagreement, and most of the others nodded in accord.
“How, then, do we stop the rulers demanding change?” Biróg asked.
“We could tell them it was the council’s will that the brothers were not to be punished,” Taidle said.
Will they succumb? Biróg, perhaps. She realizes more than the others what is at stake.
“And you think they will believe it?” Kathvar scoffed.
“What choice do they really have, Kathvar?” Biróg asked. She looked at the other members, who were all looking down in defeat. “So, it is agreed. We will take the blame and look to how we might resolve the issue going forward.”
And let us hope the Tuatha are on our side in this.