Macc’s eyes were fixed on the one hundred and thirty men, their bodies bound with a rope trailing from neck to neck. Each man had his hands tied behind his back and a loose thong around their ankles so they could walk but not run. He had ordered the brothers to be separated—Lee at the front, Gar in the middle, and Rogain at the back. He did not want them talking during the march to the capital. Macc had considered letting the prisoners ride to Temuir, tied to their saddle pommels, but decided walking, bound together like wayward cattle, would make a powerful statement to the disillusioned people. Were they to witness the High King’s justice, perhaps the whispers of dissent would dissipate? He fervently hoped the whispers would dissipate, yearning for a return of the High King’s popularity.

Mane reined in by Macc’s side and said, “I will be riding with you to Temuir. It is King Ailill’s wish that I witness the trial of these men.”

As he spoke, he nodded in the direction of the prisoners, but Macc could see in Mane’s eyes that he meant the foster brothers and the request had come from her. Queen Medb did not believe Connery would do what was right and wanted a first-hand witness to the events. Macc did not blame her. Connery’s reputation for leniency regarding the brothers was the cause of their rebellion.

The champion of Ériu looked at the prisoners, dejectedly shuffling their feet almost to a man. Most were ashamed of themselves—not of the reaving but of the ease with which they had surrendered. Not so the brothers. Their heads were high, pride in their ever-present grins.

Macc frowned at the line of men. They were the sons of chieftains. Many Macc knew by sight. Their joining the brothers in an abortive rebellion was something he understood but loathed. Macc was conflicted. He knew they had been led astray by the brothers. He knew Lee was the ringleader. Lee had always been the ringleader. When they were children, Connery had stopped it, saving the three from severe reprisals. This time, they had done it to hurt their brother, which Macc found confusing.

Macc saw Lee looking at him from under his brows, his head tilted forward and to the side, with a grin that seemed to split his face from ear to ear. It was the grin Macc hated more than anything.

“Are you satisfied, warrior, now that you have killed or captured the High King’s enemies?” he asked, his eyes dancing with mirth.

Macc ignored him and rode over to Conall, overseeing the provisioning of the warband. “How long will it take to get to Temuir?”

“Three, maybe four days, if we have no trouble from these rag tags.”

“If we keep them separate, the trouble will be lessened.”

“How do you propose we keep them apart at night, Macc, tie each one to different tree?” Conall asked.

“Yes, exactly that.”

If they left the brothers together, it would be a risk. They had already been sitting together, talking in whispers, scheming when Macc separated them after the burial of Fandall. He knew, given time, they would hatch some scheme to escape or some justification for their actions.

Getting the men tied and herding them down the road was slow. By the time the line of roped men finally started to shuffle forward, the sun was well past its zenith.

Frustrated, Macc rode his horse to the front of the line and said to Lee, “Pick up your pace.”

Lee looked up at him, winked, and began to whistle, keeping his pace as sedate as it had been. Macc leaned forward and picked up the leading length of rope. He goaded his horse to pick up the pace sufficiently to cause Lee to almost run or choke.

“Not whistling now, Lee?” Macc called back with a laugh.

That night, Macc was sitting against a tree opposite Lee, listening to the low-voiced murmurs of the guards and prisoners, too tired to talk above whispers after a stressful day. Being in the proximity of the eldest brother would undoubtedly lead to unwanted words. Still, he did not want to lose sight of him. He did not trust the ringleader to go quietly to his death.

The first day’s march had proved to be an exercise in patience. It seemed none of those in Macc’s warband had any experience herding prisoners, and the prisoners had no experience of walking in unison, tied man to man by the neck. The heat of summer pressed down on them, causing thirst and exhaustion to a man. It was after only three hours” march that the first prisoner fell, exhausted, forcing his nearest neighbors to either choke or fall with him. The combined effect was that all the tied men ended up in the road’s dust. It had taken an hour’s rest and a lot of water to revive the first faller. In the end, he had been tied to one of the free horses and allowed to ride.

Macc was unsure how genuine the other prisoners’ exhaustion was. Nonetheless, after the first was allowed to ride, the others soon began to fall. Ultimately, all the prisoners were mounted, and a day had been wasted.

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“That was a successful day, Macc,” Lee said, shaking his head. “The prisoners were handled with real skill.”

“Shut your mouth, and you might survive the march.”

“You are funny, Macc. You think I do not know how your mind works, how you feel? There is no way you would harm me and prevent the people from seeing my brother serving justice.”

“Do you feel no shame, Lee?”

“Why should I feel shame? We were doing what the warriors of Ériu have done for centuries.”

“Murdering women and children? I know of no warriors who murdered women and children.”

“It was not just women and children. There were fighters, too, Macc.”

The High King’s champion looked at Lee and felt some pity for him. He had no idea what battle meant. He had no idea about the blood, the sweat, the fear, or the stench of the shield wall. He was thirsting for glory that had never been, trying to recapture what the wise men of the clans had decided was crippling the world in which they lived. The innocent farmers of Connacht had paid for those misplaced dreams with their lives.

“You raided farming settlements. The only warriors there were those many years out of practice, more skilled with a hoe than a sword.”

“We still lost men to battle. We gained the experience Connery denied us.”

“And what of Dond Desa? Have you not shamed him?”

“King Connery shamed him with those ridiculous laws he passed,” Lee shouted, causing the murmur of low-voiced talk to stop.

“The constant fighting between the clans was bleeding Ériu dry. The druids advised Connery to pass those laws to save the kingdoms from Destruction.”

“But Destruction is what we do, Macc. It is not something that should be changed.”

“The merchants and farmers needed that peace so they could flourish and grow, and we could grow with them. Do not doubt, boy, the Romans are coming. Those laws were the only thing that would save Ériu from annihilation. Connery’s laws saved the people.”

“And what of the warriors? Who was to save the warriors?”

Macc turned away then. He agreed with the Lee’s words. No thought had been given to the warriors when the greybeards dreamt up how Ériu was to be saved. He knew he should have seen the rebellion coming. It was only a matter of time before a warring nation would thirst for blood. He was angry and frustrated that it had come from the foster brothers, but subconsciously, he had known it was coming.

“Do you not think your father will be hurt when the king orders your execution?”

“It hasn’t happened yet, Macc. Don’t think tomorrow’s march will be easier than today’s. We might never get to Temuir,” Lee said.

Macc could see the glint of mischief in his eyes. During the day, he had suspected that Lee had somehow caused the disruption. Now, he was sure of it.

He stood up and called, “Listen,” loud enough for all to hear. “Tomorrow, you will be on foot. The first man to collapse from exhaustion will be hanged from the nearest tree.”

No one believed the threat, and they just continued whispering among themselves. However, the next day, the first man to fall from exhaustion was hanged from the nearest tree. The prisoners were forced to watch as he kicked his life away, which brought an end to whatever mischief Lee had planned.

It was late on the evening of the fourth day after they left Crúachain that they sighted the hill of Temuir. Despite what it meant, the rag tags were foot-weary and happy to see the end of their march. The Red Branch and other warriors were also weary.

Macc frowned at the sight of the gates. Members of the Elder Council were standing beside them, watching the prisoners approach.

“What do you think they are doing here?” he asked Conall.

The warrior of Ulster shrugged. “You know they are like ravens, attracted to death.”

“But how did they come to be here so quickly?”

“If I were to guess, and you know how I feel about guessing…”

“…know your enemy…” they said in unison and laughed.

“…they left their island as soon as they heard of the reaving in Connacht.”

“Do you want to ask what they want?” Macc asked.

“This is your command, Macc. I am here only to help get the prisoners back.”

“I will ride on and talk to them. You should herd the prisoners to the pen to the left of the gates.”

“I saw it,” Conall said with a smirk.

As Macc neared the group of druids, Kathvar broke away and walked to intercept him. Macc could see that Taidle was not in the group and wondered at that.

“Good evening, Macc Cecht,” the druid said. “Once again, we meet in a time of need.”

Macc nodded and frowned. The last time he had seen the druid, he was naked, sitting on the banks of the river Boyne after murdering Nuadu Necht in his bed. “Why are you here?” he asked.

“We have come to witness the High King’s justice,” Kathvar responded.

“No, I mean, why are you here, outside the palisade?”

“We are running an errand for Connery.”

“What, all of you? And where is Taidle?”

“Taidle is with the king. They wanted some privacy to confer and asked us to leave them. We thought it a nice evening to stand before the palisade and await your arrival.”

“What is your message, Kathvar?”

“The High King has decreed that his foster brothers are to be separated from the others and kept, not in the pen, but in the Mound of Hostages.”

“Are you mad, druid? You could not keep three rats in the Mound of Hostages.”

“The discomfort of the mound is intended to be part of the punishment.”

“We went to great pains to keep the brothers apart. Now you want to corral them together in a space that is hardly sufficient for one?”

“Not I, Macc Cecht, your king.”

Macc turned and rode back to the shuffling line of prisoners without replying. He did not know what the council was doing, but he did know that the idea to put the brothers in the Mound of Hostages did not come from Connery. He had never caused his brothers to suffer. After becoming aware of how bloodthirsty they were, he had done everything possible to keep them at ease. That was not about to change on the eve of when Connery was to pronounce a sentence of death on them. No, separating them from the other prisoners was the work of the council.

“What was that about?” Conall asked as he reined in at the head of the prisoners.

“We are to put the brothers in the Mound of Hostages.”

“Will they fit?”

“Just about. But the guards will have to let them out each morning because there is not room enough to squat.”