Connery, with a heavy heart, learned about the feud between the chieftains of rival clans from Connacht and Ulster. His leniency towards his foster brothers for the second time in a handful of moon cycles had created a tense atmosphere amongst his subjects. Like the brothers, the kings and chieftains believed Connery’s laws were meaningless. Clearly, a ruler’s laws held no weight if he was unwilling to enforce the punishment that breaking them entailed.
He had to do something to prevent the frustration of so many years of peace bubbling over the rim of the cauldron his reign had become. And so, he ordered a feast day to celebrate the coming of the Autumn Festival.
When Connery announced his plans, Taidle Ulad said, “It is not the time to hold a festival, my lord. Your subjects are itching for a fight, not a feast.”
“I propose that we have mock bouts and wrestling, a contest of hurling; we can lessen the need for blood.”
“Playing at war will not lessen that need, lord.”
“What do you propose I do, druid, to ease the tension in the land?”
“Do nothing; it will pass,” Taidle responded, looking at the oxhide cover. “It is in the hands of the Sidhe.”
Connery watched the druid with suspicion. How could he advocate doing nothing? The kings and chieftains were baying for blood, and not just any blood. He had never heard the druid invoke the Gods when discussing the politics of his reign. There was something the druid was keeping from him.
“Your concern is noted, Taidle, but I, too, need to lessen the tension. We will hold a feast day.”
And so it was that a feast to mark the imminent arrival of a festival day had been proclaimed.
While Connery was in the feast hall with those of his subjects who had bothered to attend, he heard about the feud. Dáire mac Dedad was huddled in a darkened corner with some warriors of Munster. He saw them and found their huddled closeness and lowered voices strange, so he sidled over until he could hear their words without being seen.
“There’s to be a bloodletting soon,” Dáire tried to whisper. However, the amount of mead he had consumed made it a loud hiss, heard by all those near his bench, many of whom moved to create distance between themselves and the drunken King of Munster.
“Who, lord, are to be the first?” one of the warriors asked.
Connery wondered at reference to the first. It sounded like some sort of staged rebellion. After the reaction of the people in the feast hall when he exiled the brothers, he had expected something, but this? He leaned closer so he could hear more clearly.
“Coipre of Connacht deflowered one of Coipre of Ulster’s favorites, and so King Connavar has given him permission to exact a blood price.”
It is always the king of the Ulaid, Connery thought. He was beginning to think he had to do something about Connavar. He had been a thorn in Connery’s foot since before his coronation as High King.
“Coipre and Coipre?” another warrior asked. “Is it a jest, lord?”
“No jest. Both men are named Coipre. I think the King of the Ulaid has a sense of levity about him.”
“Were they not some of the foster brothers of The Peaceful King?” the first warrior asked.
“Yes, they were all dragged up under the watchful eye of the mighty Dond Desa,” the group laughed as Connery turned away and went in search of Taidle.
***
Connery lay awake staring up into the darkness that was the inner thatch of the royal roundhouse. He did not know how to proceed. The three messengers he had sent to Emain Macha demanding the presence of King Connavar in Temuir returned with the King’s deepest apologies, saying he was unable to attend his High King for this or that reason. Connery sighed and rolled over onto his side.
“Are you awake, husband?” Áine asked with a sleep-slurred tone.
“Yes, Áine, but you go back to sleep. There is no reason for us both to lie awake.”
“When you are sleepless with worry, it is my duty to also be awake.”
Connery looked at his wife, even though he could not see her in the dark. They had wed nine years before, at the urging of Taidle Ulad and the Elder Council, to cement the relationship between Munster and the Royal House of Temuir. Connery did not feel any love for the woman lying in the hides beside him, but he did have affection for her. She had produced a son, Lee Flaith, who meant everything to the king, and for that, he would always treat Áine with respect.
“What is on your mind?” she asked in a whisper.
“I am worried about the kingdoms, Áine. Connavar is refusing to come to the capital to discuss the situation, which is building between Connacht and Ulster. They are the two strongest kingdoms. If war breaks out...” he tailed off as his mind pictured the devastation that might ensue. The hard work of years, both his and the Elder Council’s, could be destroyed in a moment.
“But you know of his deviousness, my lord. Him and that evil druid, Kathvar.”
Áine was right. The king of Ulster refused to come to Temuir and attend court at the druid’s behest. Connery did not know why. Lying there, staring at the inner thatch, he decided he would go to the seat of Ulster and face the devious King in his own feast hall.
***
“King Connavar,” Connery said as he began to walk down the aisle towards the dais. The king of Ulster was seated between Conall, his champion, and Kathvar, his counselor. The king’s son, Longas, stood behind him, resting his hands on the back of the throne.
Connery had not seen Ulster’s King since the raid on Emain Macha all those summers before. Despite the king being at the Bull Feast when Connery was tested, the gravity of the occasion meant the boy had not seen anyone—at least not clearly. Indeed, he’d seen none of those who stood around the edges of the Bull Ring and asked questions about his worthiness, or more accurately, his lack of worthiness.
Because Connavar had been involved with Nuadu and helped with the plot to kill Eterscel, Connery had avoided him. The High King told himself if the druids had not preferred to accept the poor excuses of the king of Ulster, Connavar would have ended in a black, wet tomb. For the druids, though, it seemed a war between the clans would have been a step too far, and executing the King of Ulster would have led to war. Of that, Connery had no doubt. Before assuming the throne, relationships had been fickle at best. He did not like it but thought it in the best interest of Ériu to treat with Connavar as if it had never happened. The time had arrived when he could no longer avoid talking to ‘The Devious King.’
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After hearing about the threat of war, Connery repeatedly demanded Connavar’s presence in Temuir. Those demands were ignored, so the High King came to Emain Macha. Taidle and Macc considered his actions a poor choice, which only reiterated to the people how weak their High King was. For Connery, anything was better than the clans of Coipre and Coipre blooding each other. After Meath, Connacht and Ulster were Ériu’s two most powerful kingdoms. A war between them would be bloody and protracted.
“You were expecting us, King Connavar?” Taidle Ulad asked.
Connavar said nothing, just remained in his seat with a stance of defiance, arms crossed over his chest, sword bare and across his knees. Everyone in the feast hall noticed he did not rise to greet the High King, as etiquette dictated.
Connery frowned. He needed to get this man on his side to prevent war from breaking out between North and West, but not at the cost of him believing he was above the High King’s rule, somehow exempt from the norms of court law. It was enough that he had refused to attend the High King in Temuir. The refusals always came with an excuse, however unbelievable. Connery knew his position as High King had been on a very tenuous thread since he exiled his foster brothers. Now was the time to show strength and start rebuilding his reputation.
He realized with a frown that coming here to this disrespectful King was not a good start.
“Macc Cecht,” he said, nodding to his champion.
“You will stand in the presence of your High King.”
Connery watched Macc as he spoke. The meeting could quickly turn violent, and he wanted the reassurance of the warrior’s strength. Macc would not meet his look. Rather than nod and smile his encouragement, he just frowned, looking straight ahead.
Connery looked at Ulster’s champion, smiling with obvious pleasure at their arrival.
Conall has not forgotten I saved his life. He will not intervene.
“Macc,” he said again. Macc pulled his sword two fingers length from its scabbard. Connery saw the Ulster king look up at his champion, frown, then nod slightly as though discovering something he had always suspected to be true. Begrudgingly, Connavar rose to his feet and nodded perfunctorily in the general direction of the delegation.
“Connery, to what do I owe the privilege of this visit?” he asked.
“I am here regarding the matter of Coipre and Coipre,” Connery said, thinking of the delicacy of the situation.
The two Coipre had never been close to him, even during the shared fostering, when they stayed on the periphery of the close relationship Connery enjoyed with Lee and his brothers. They were always fighting, and the poor relationship between Connacht and Ulster seemed to be reflected in their interactions.
“There is a blood debt. Coipre of Connacht has wronged my vassal—also called Coipre—and I have given him leave to exact his vengeance,” King Connavar said, waving a dismissive hand. “The matter is decided.”
“You cannot decide matters of this magnitude, Connavar; it is for the High King alone,” Taidle said with quiet force.
The King of Ulster turned a disdainful look on the druid and grinned a lopsided grin, “You are in my feast hall, Taidle Ulad. You will not speak until I give you leave to do so.”
Connavar’s words caused the people in the hall to freeze. Kathvar was staring at the king as if he had become addled.
“How dare you speak to the High King’s counselor in such a way? He is a druid,” Macc stormed, as his hand shot to the pommel of his broadsword.
Connery grabbed Macc’s wrist and said, “Do not draw your sword, Macc; we must resolve this issue amicably. If we leave here and Coipre and Coipre go to war, all my good works as High King will be lost.”
Connery spoke so quietly that only Macc could hear him. The warrior looked at him with dead eyes, the eyes he would show to an intended victim as he swung his broadsword in the killing blow. Still, Connery kept his hand on the warrior’s wrist and did not look away. Macc’s tension fled, and he tried to hide his relief. He knew himself to be a man of contradictions and knew his champion hated that it was so. Connery needed his protector to understand, though. Without him, he would be nothing.
***
As he regained his composure, Macc assumed Connery’s courage existed because he knew his bodyguard would not harm him. He wondered about the veracity of such a belief. When the High King refused to pass a sentence on Lee, Gar, and Rogain only a few moon cycles before, the champion exerted all his mental strength to stop himself from killing Connery. His broadsword had been out of its scabbard, its point resting in the dais, so the strike would have been easy. His abhorrence at being known as a king killer kept the point stuck in the dais. He’d gripped the hilt so tightly that after the hall was cleared, it took several moments for the blood to come back to his whitened knuckles.
“Macc?” the High King prompted.
The warrior relaxed and allowed his sword to settle back into the scabbard at his side. He looked at the Ulster King as he said, “The only reason I have not taken that grinning head off your hunched shoulders, Connavar, is the respect I have for your champion.”
Macc gripped his pommel waiting, for the reaction his words must provoke. His friend would be in the way, but Macc did not care. Whatever happened, he needed to kill someone, preferably not the High King. Conall would defend Ulster’s king—known as The Deceiver, not without reason—and Macc would kill them both.
“Conall, you will evict Macc Cecht from my feast hall,” King Connavar seethed, not looking at his champion. “If he will not go peaceably, you will strike him down.”
The King’s words prompted no noticeable reaction from the warrior of Ulster and he turned to his champion, standing by his side on the dais with his right hand on the hilt of his sword.
“I will not,” Conall said without raising his voice.
“You will deny your king?” Connavar asked, incredulity evident in his voice.
Macc saw that Conall was steadfast in his resolve. He would not do the Ulster King’s bidding. Macc’s bloodlust abated somewhat. He released the pommel of his sword and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I will when his demands are not in the best interest of the kingdom I serve.”
“Since when, Conall, do you serve the kingdom and not your king?” Connavar asked with a dismissive wave of the hand.
The gesture was nonchalant, but Macc suspected the king was not feeling that nonchalance. The gesture was nonchalant, but Macc suspected the king was not feeling that nonchalance. Having his champion side with his enemies did not bode well for the King of Ulster, especially when that champion was considered the best strategist and warlord in Ériu.
“Since my king ordered my death as part of his plotting to overthrow his liege lord and High King,” Conall replied, causing the tension in the feast hall in Emain Macha to return.
“It is the feeling of the Elder Council that this bloodletting cannot take place, my lord,” the druid Kathvar said, looking directly at the king. “As I have already told you.”
Connavar frowned at his counselor and asked, “Tell me, how long have the druids been deciding the policies of my kingdom?”
Macc smiled at the druid’s face. Kathvar did not want to exacerbate the situation by telling the king that the druids had always decided the policies of his kingdom.
“It is not that we are deciding your laws, my lord; we are merely seeking to advise you on the best course of action,” he said.
Macc watched the Ulster King frowning at the druid. He knew the council professed to have the interests of the kingdoms as their primary function. Connavar seemed less than convinced. Macc was unsurprised because his dealings with the druids tended to be underhand and not always what was best for Ériu. Nuadu claimed the council was complicit in the plot to overthrow Eterscel—claiming the High Kingship by right of a Bull Feast. The druids did not so much deny the words of the chieftain as ignore them completely, which was another reason Macc was skeptical about the truth of Nuadu’s claims.
“What, then, does the council advise, Kathvar?” King of the Ulaid asked with a tone of sarcasm.
“Coipre of Ulster was wronged, and he needs to be appeased. Still, the price could be paid in silver and not blood.”
“The warrior will not be appeased by silver,” Connavar said.
“The warrior will be appeased by whatever his lord tells him,” Taidle said.
“I will go with my retinue to Crúachain and order Ailill to have Coipre pay the blood price in silver,” Hugh King Connery said, effectively forestalling any arguments. “You, Connavar, will instruct your vassal to accept the silver as a blood price.”
When the Ulster King remained silent, Connery nodded and strode from the feast hall, his retinue trailing after him.