The heat in the feast hall in Crúachain was stifling. Medb sat on the throne, looking at Ailill standing before her in his boiled leather cuirass. She wondered if Ailill saw the irony of the scene. Latterly, he had taken to complaining that Ériu’s kings and chieftains considered him her vassal, and yet he always behaved as though he were.
“We do not have the men, my queen,” Ailill waved his flagon for emphasis. “I have been chasing them around Connacht like an inept sheep farmer.”
“Why do we not have the men?” Medb asked, wondering why her husband needed to turn to a flagon so early in the day.
“Our standing army is small. Since the advent of The Peaceful Kingdoms, most of our warriors returned to their farms.”
“Can we not call them back?”
“We could, but I think it would be more apt—say nothing of quicker—if we petitioned the High King.”
“Connery? Do you think he would respond? Is he not too peaceful?”
“As soon as he learns it is his foster brothers, he will have no choice but to react.”
***
Macc sat in the feast hall pondering Beltaine.
It was a time of year enjoyed by all, but more especially by those partial to a little mead. There were fairs during the day when the people sold their wares and feasts at night when they drank their profits. Night had fallen on the first Beltaine after Connery failed to punish his foster brothers in the same hall. Mead had been flowing for several hours; warriors could not remember the last time they raised their swords and were drowning themselves in the sweet liquid.
Morose and dangerous.
Macc looked at Connery with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He wanted to be lying with his queen or playing with his son, Lee Flaith, not listening to drunken warriors slurring their displeasure at their lot. Each tried to outdo their peers by slurring louder and drinking more. It was a type of horseplay that Macc knew Connery did not enjoy.
When the horseplay suddenly hushed and heads turned to the front, Macc looked up to see Mane Milscothach, son of Ailill and Medb, a known warrior of Connacht, striding up the hall with dreadful purpose. He was not stayed by the festivities but made straight for the dais where Connery was now sitting up and staring at the newcomer’s grim face in surprise.
This visit can mean nothing good.
“My lord,” Mane said as he reached the base of the dais. The greeting was curt. Macc suspected that as a warrior, Mane would not appreciate being sent as a messenger, especially to a man he did not respect—a man who’d broken his strict martial code.
Connery inclined his head, “Mane, you are welcome in Temuir.”
The messenger did not waste time on petty formalities, “There is a raiding party who are reaving in Connacht, raping women and killing farmers. They leave death behind them wherever they go.”
Mane’s impatience was evident in his words. He was itching to return to Connacht, feeling his father and his kingdom would be better served if he were hunting the reavers.
“You are sure?” Taidle Ulad asked. The druid stood behind the throne with one hand resting behind Connery’s head.
Mane looked at the druid with disdain. “Yes, lord, they have razed several settlements and killed and raped with impunity. They have stolen untold cumhals and are laughing in the face of my father’s attempts to catch them.”
“Who are these men?” Connery asked with a tone of outrage. “From across the sea, no doubt, adventurous Britons.”
“No, lord, they are the sons of chieftains from Ériu.”
“You are certain of this?” Taidle asked. Macc could see anticipation written across the man’s furrowed brows. “It is not some trick by clever Britons?”
“Many of them have been recognized, my lord, and they are led by the sons of Dond Desa.”
The quiet, if possible, became even more profound. The people in the hall knew the High King was soft when it came to the crimes of his foster brothers. However, stealing a few cows and paying for them when ordered to do so was a different kind of crime. Raping, pillaging, and killing in one of the kingdoms could only be met with wrath. Were Connery to show any leniency at all, his reign would not be worth the mud in the base of the Bull Ring.
Mane crossed his arms and waited.
“My lord,” Macc prompted while he watched the revelers start to fidget. Connery had to be decisive and not show any hesitation. Any indecision or weakness now would be ruthlessly dealt with. “Say something.”
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Connery looked at him with pleading in his eyes. Macc could see the king knew what had to be done, but those eyes were asking Macc to do it for him. Leaning over, he whispered in Connery’s ear, “This is something you must do, Connery. If you do not, the kings and chieftains will depose you—but not only depose you. You would be lucky to survive. They abhor weakness and know only one way to deal with it.”
“You are sure? They did not depose me before,” Connery whispered back.
“Yes, I’m sure. Only the druids intervening stopped them strangling you with a leather thong when last you failed to act.”
“The druids?”
“Aye. And they will not be able to save you if you fail to act again,” Macc stressed, his whisper audible to only the High King and his counselor. Connery looked up at Mane Milscothach.
“How many are in the raiding party?” he asked, playing for time while he gathered his thoughts and strength, Macc hoped.
“There are no more than one hundred and fifty in the party, my lord. The king has chased them all around Connacht but is unable to catch them. They are proving to be very wily. My mother asks you to send more warriors to help trap the reavers.”
He freely admits it is the queen who rules in Connacht.
“We must help Queen Medb,” Macc whispered.
Connery nodded and looked up at the messenger. He spoke in a voice that all could hear and with a strength Macc knew to be fleeting at best. “Macc Cecht, you will take my warriors and intercept the raiders. You will bring as many back alive to face the wrath of their High King as you can. Is that understood?”
“Yes, lord,” Macc said, frowning in the knowledge Connery was telling him to spare the foster brothers if he could. He hoped he could spare the sons of Dond Desa, not to save their father, his old friend, from further shame, but because he wanted to bring them before Connery so the king could save his crown.
Momentarily, he wondered if the High King would have the strength to do what was necessary; he doubted it. To do what was required, Connery would have reacted immediately and with an anger fearful to behold.
“Mane Milscothach, will you travel with the warriors and help to arrest the fugitives?” he asked.
“Yes, my lord.”
***
Macc did not lead the warrior band of Temuir directly to Connacht but went first to Emain Macha to enlist the aid of Conall and the Red Branch. Standing before King Connavar in the feast hall, he wondered about the wisdom of coming. He had not seen the king after the Bull Feast when Connery took the throne. Since when the two kings had avoided each other through some unspoken agreement, and Connavar was now showing the years had not lessened his disgust at having his plans thwarted by the intervention of Connery, which led to a year in exile in the company of another king for whom he had no respect.
“And why, Macc Cecht, should I release the Red Branch to you? I must protect myself and my homestead if raiders are about, surely?”
“Yes, lord, but I do not need the whole Red Branch. I have one hundred and fifty warriors. Another one hundred and fifty will be enough. Fergus can stay in Emain Macha and protect you.”
“That is very generous of you,” Connavar said. “I am grateful that you have decided to appoint Fergus as my guardian while you go galivanting in Connacht with my champion and my warriors.”
Macc tried to hide the depth of his anger. Even so, Connavar smirked as if he were enjoying Macc’s emotions.
“No, Macc Cecht, I cannot allow you to command me in my own kingdom. I will not allow you to steal my warriors, regardless of how dire you think your need to be,” the king finally said.
“I beg you to reconsider, lord. The risk is not only to Connacht but to all of the Five Kingdoms.”
“My mind is made up, Macc Cecht. You are welcome to the hospitality of my feast hall, but I cannot spare my warriors.”
Macc Cecht bowed and left.
“Back to Temuir?” Mane asked as they arrived at the stable where their horses were tethered.
“Aye, probably. We need a larger force if we’re to catch these bodaláin.”
“My mother’s warriors are available.”
“But are they enough?” Macc asked as if talking to himself. “Come, we can decide as we ride.”
The warriors Macc had brought from Temuir were lounging about the road outside the settlement, too many to enter the feast hall.
South or West? Will one hundred and fifty warriors be enough to suppress the raiders? he wondered.
Finally deciding it would not, he was about to lift himself into the saddle when he saw Finn, one of the Red Branch commanders, running over.
“Finn.”
“My lord, Conall begs you to wait for him in the forest at the base of Mount Fuaid.”
“For what reason?”
Macc was unwilling to waste more time. He needed to get back to the capital as quickly as possible. It was imperative he get a large enough force into Connacht before the brothers could do more damage. Connery’s reign was already hanging by a thin thread. Any lack of speed or commitment on the part of the High King’s forces would be seen by the rulers of the Five Kingdoms as weakness. It was not only the peace of Ériu at stake. The life of his king was in the balance.
“Conall Cernach has gone to beg the king’s leave to ride with you out of courtesy, but he will bring the Red Branch warriors to support you on your quest into Connacht, regardless of what the king says.”
“You are sure?”
“Yes, lord. Conall was clear he will meet you and bring the Red Branch. All of them, if he deems it necessary.”
“We’ll wait,” Macc said before ordering his warriors to ride south. At least the meeting place was on the road to Temuir, so if Conall did not keep his appointment, for whatever reason, not too much time would be lost.
By the time night fell, the fires were already lit at the base of Mount Fuaid. Macc sat against a tree, fretting that Conall had still not arrived. He was starting to believe they would come, even though Conall had promised. He respected him but knew he was tied to the martial code most warriors followed, which might cost the High King’s life. The longer Macc delayed, the more it would be perceived as inactivity born of Connery’s weakness.
Each hour, Macc said, “One more hour, then we leave.”
They could still ride down Slíghe Midluachra through the night, but Macc wanted the warriors to be fresh when they arrived to battle the rebels. No doubt, the brothers led an untried rabble, killing farmers and old women. Still, a tired warband would be a warband without the advantage of their training.
The sound of a fast-approaching horse broke into Macc’s thoughts. He looked up from the fire and was surprised when Conall leaped from his saddle before his horse had come to a stop. He was alone. Macc sighed, realizing his fears had come to pass. King Connavar had not released the Red Branch to join the hunt for the rebels. He returned his gaze to the fire after nodding a greeting to the warrior of Ulster.
“So, no Red Branch?” he asked of the dancing flames.
“What?”
“Mac Nessa would not release them?”
“That man has no control over the warriors, Macc. I command the Red Branch. They are gathering and will meet us on the border of Connacht at sunrise.”