They were on the rise overlooking Emain Macha. Although they were far from the settlement, Macc could hear the women’s screams.
He stared at the dissipating mists with a frown.
“It is a beauty to behold, is it not?” Dond asked, looking over the defensive palisade at the two burial mounds, visible amid the silhouetted roundhouses.
The old warrior’s grin was so wide he was in danger of dislocating his jaw. Macc did not begrudge him. Dond’s three sons were performing their duties well, evidenced by the heads they were carrying.
“Those heads will make excellent trophies above the door of my homestead. What do you think, Macc?” Dond asked with a smirk. “Has your boy found any heads yet?”
Macc looked over but did not react. He knew Dond was trying to get a rise out of him, and he would not give his friend and mentor the satisfaction of a response.
Dond frowned and patted the neck of his mount. Macc could see he knew something was afoot and that he had been excluded, but the younger man did not think it his place to tell him from what or why.
Let the elders tell him.
He was sorry Dond was not involved in the plotting of the Elder Council, but he still felt irritated by the jibes.
“I said those heads, great trophies, Macc. What do you think?” Macc grunted but kept his own counsel.
“You worry over nothing. Look, the boys are well able to handle the Ulstermen,” Dond said, waving toward the reaving.
Macc shook his head and gripped his saddle pommel in whitened knuckles. The old warrior was right, he was worrying; but it was not over nothing. How well the raiding party was faring in the settlement was partly the cause of his scowling face.
Emain Macha was the home of the Red Branch warriors, led by Conall Cernach. As far as Macc knew, no warlord was better trained in the art of war. Macc and Dond had brought four hundred mounted warriors because they expected to be opposed by at least one hundred trained fighters despite the seasonal nature of the Red Branch. However, the settlement was not defended; the victims lying between the roundhouses were old men and women.
“Where is your boy?” Dond asked. “I cannot see him.”
Macc could see him. Connery was sitting on a log on the outskirts of the settlement, covering his ears with his hands as if trying to block out the noise of the screaming women. Macc did not answer, choosing instead to stare at the bloody murder unfolding in the hillfort without really seeing it.
His thoughts were beset with worries over the task the Elder Council had set for him. They wanted a High King in the Five Kingdoms who would put an end to reaving. Such a man would need to be strong, and Macc had been tasked with assessing Connery’s talents. From what he could tell, the boy’s only talent was how loudly he could complain. He seemed to lack mental strength and a thirst for glory, things not usually lacking in the men of the Five Kingdoms. All of which was compounded by his constant whining. It was as if the boy resented being dragged off his mother’s teat to come on the raid.
The druids might want a gentler king, but they will get more than mere gentleness with this boy.
The warrior did not know how the greater intellect of the elders worked. Still, he supposed they chose Connery as a possible heir to the throne because he was beautiful, a physically perfect specimen. Like his mother, Buachalla, Connery was a vision. Apparently, though, he possessed more than just those physical attributes. He was not only fair-skinned and blond but also fair-minded and extremely good at mediating, which had been made evident during his foster years with Dond’s sons.
Macc’s frown deepened. He had been watching the entrance to the settlement’s feast hall and had seen a troop of warriors enter just after the raid began. Those men had still not emerged. If the champion of Ulster escaped, the raid would have been a waste.
The fact that they were attacking a king’s settlement worried Macc more than anything else. He had tried to protest when Eterscel ordered the raid. The High King was aging and prone to overreact, it was true, but Macc thought he would have the sense to take counsel and not rush into a raid over the border, which would achieve little other than antagonize the North.
They had arrived earlier that morning when the hill was shrouded in a rising mist, which hid their approach. The guards were dispatched quietly, so King Connavar’s sleeping people failed to make it into the inner palisade before the murder, rape and pillage began. Even so, the battle would have been hard fought if any warriors of the Red Branch had been there.
With the mist now gone, the two mounted men could see three headless bodies on the ground between the settlement roundhouses. They could see the sons of Dond roaming from house to house with bloodied swords. When the boys reached the center of the settlement, they ducked into the feast hall in the footsteps of the warriors Macc had seen earlier.
“Come, Macc,” Dond said, digging his heels into the flanks of his mount and heading down the rise. It was time to find and count the silver and mete out the summary justice Eterscel had demanded.
As they neared the entrance to the settlement, Connery stood up from his log and walked towards them. The broadsword that Macc had given the boy was still hanging at his side in its decorative scabbard. Macc thought he could see evidence of tears in Connery’s eyes. He looked away in disgust, unable to trust himself not to swing his own broadsword and detach the beautiful, sniveling head from its neck.
“I expected my first battle to be different, somehow,” Connery said.
“Different, how?” Macc asked, unable to look at him.
“Killing old men and raping old women just does not seem glory-filled to me.”
Macc looked at him then. Maybe if the Red Branch had been at home, Connery would have fought and not appeared so weak. He wondered if a sense of shame prevented the youth from blooding his broadsword.
Dond looked across at his companion and laughed. “Come, let us see what my sons have found for us in the feast hall.”
The two warriors dismounted and walked around the outer palisade to the entrance. They could see Dond’s sons as they took the track through the gap between the timber uprights, which marked the boundary of the inner defenses. Two men were kneeling in the mud with their backs to the foster brothers in front of the feast hall, constructed of timber walls and a thatched conical roof. Their hands were tied behind their backs with leather thongs. One of the men was old, the other young. Both had their eyes on the ground, ashamed to have been caught with their swords beside them while they slept off the mead from the night’s revels, instead of in their hands while they died.
“Who have you got here?” Dond asked as he approached.
“If they are to be believed,” his eldest son, Lee, answered, “these two are the great warriors, Connavar Mac Nessa, King of Ulster, and his champion, Conall Cernach.”
“Why should they not be believed?” Dond asked, playing the game.
“Easy that. When our warriors entered the feast hall, one was wiping sleep from his eyes while the other was snoring. Not the actions of great warriors.”
Neither of the kneeling men looked up as the ridicule was leveled at them. Macc guessed the king did not know the warriors who had surprised him and his champion in the feast hall or the three boys who came after. However, he had seen the King looking up under his brows as they approached and saw recognition in the look.
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
“What do we do with these two? Ritual strangling and bodies in the bog?”
Macc realized that Dond was playing with the kneeling men but was not in the mood to play the game. “Only the champion is to be executed,” he said, watching as Lee, Gar, and Rogain nudged each other, grinning.
Macc frowned at the forest and scuffed his boots in the mud. He did not believe the story Nuadu had told and knew there would be others who did not, among them the Elder Council. If the druids refuted Silver-Hand’s claims, executing the champion of Ulster would be a costly mistake, regardless of who ordered it.
“Get the knotted hide,” Dond said to anyone listening. Lee ran to do his bidding with a skip in his step.
Macc was surprised when he heard the young Connery say, “Wait,” with a tone of command, halting his foster brother.
Dond looked at the boy with a hard glint in his smoke-gray eyes. Macc knew using a commanding tone with the old warrior was best avoided by all but the High King. Dond Desa was not one to take orders from those he considered to be his subordinates, who included everyone except Eterscel. However, the warrior did nothing but stare at the boy. Macc supposed Dond’s respect for Connery’s intelligence and fairness held him back.
“What is it, boy?” he hissed. “And be quick because I do not want to stand about this homestead exchanging pleasantries all day. There is wealth to find before we return to Temuir.”
Macc could hear the threat in Dond’s voice. If Connery could hear it, and felt threatened, he masked it well. “Despite what Nuadu claims, we cannot kill a champion of one of the Five Kingdoms without first hearing his side of the tale. The Elder Council will need more than supposition, before sanctioning such an act.”
“Speak sense, boy. Eterscel ordered this execution. When last I heard, the High King’s words are final in all matters.”
When Connery opposed the old warrior, Macc was surprised—pleasantly so. He was even more surprised when Connery pressed on. “Eterscel is no longer the wise king he was.”
The evidence Macc had seen during the ride through Ulster and the earlier Destruction was belied by the strength the boy was showing. His hand had strayed to the pommel of his sword, and his chin was jutting forward, challenging the older man. Macc knew his fear of returning empty-handed to the druids was about to be resolved, because Connery would soon join Áedh in Tír nÓg, a respected guest in The Land of Perpetual Youth.
On hearing the words, Dond growled deep in his throat and grabbed his own pommel. Macc looked on with something like awe as the young man held out a raised palm. He knew the boy had seen little more than thirteen summers, and he was showing a fortitude seldom present in one twice his age.
Connery continued hastily, “I do not mean any disrespect, Dond, but did you not hear the tale of Nuadu Necht? Why would any chieftain go on a hunt without his champion? It would be madness to so expose himself.”
Macc held his breath. He had not liked the fantasy Silver-Hand told but had been unable to put his finger on the knot of why. Connery put his finger on the knot and tied a strong bow with a truth, which, when voiced, was so simple. A chieftain would not go on a hunt and leave his champion guarding the women and the settlement. The champion would go with him, as would most of his retinue.
“So now, boy, you are calling Nuadu a liar as well as the High King an idiot?”
Macc could hear the threat in Dond’s words. He grabbed Dond’s wrist just as he went to sweep the broadsword out and decapitate Connery. The look that the champion of Meath turned on him would have felled a leaping wolf.
“Wait, Dond Desa. Hear the boy out. We do not need a war with the northern clans, and I, too, am suspicious of the charges Nuadu laid before the High King.”
Macc could see the whiteness of Dond’s knuckles as he gripped his sword hilt. His bicep was bulging. If Macc was forced to kill his friend, he would never forgive the boy, right or not. It was good to see some strength in Connery—something other than whining complaint—but not at the expense of losing the High King’s champion.
Just as he was about to draw his sword, he felt Dond relax his grip.
“Speak then. What is it you propose?”
The tension fled as quickly as it had arrived. The company exhaled, punctuated by a ting, as iron sword hilts settled back into bronze scabbards.
“I think we must ask the champion of Ulster for his side of the story.”
Dond Desa nodded and said, “If it will please you, Connery, we will listen to a tale before we strangle the champion. Well?” he asked the younger of the two kneeling men.
***
King Connavar could see Conall looking up with defiance in his eyes. He knew Conall might have just avoided being strangled with a knotted leather thong and dumped in a bog. Still, it would not stop the warrior’s shame at being bested because he was sleeping off mead.
King Connavar could read the tension in the knotted muscles of his champion’s neck. Conall was trained by the druidess Dornoll. He was the leader of the Red Branch warriors, the most feared warband among all the tribes, even those of Gaul. The king of Ulster knew pride and not sense would dictate the warrior’s actions. King Connavar had been at odds with his champion for a long time but still thought he knew the warrior well enough to know how he would react. He was surprised, however, when Conall swallowed his pride and said, “Before I can answer you, you must tell what I am being charged with.”
“Ha. Do not take us for fools, Conall Cernach; you already know what you are charged with,” Lee said.
“Hush, son, it is not your place to speak here,” Dond said before turning to the king’s champion. “You are accused of leading the Red Branch on a raid on Nuadu Necht’s homestead, of killing his champion and stealing ten cumhals of his wealth. Nuadu was under the protection of the High King. The sentence is death. To be—”
“I know nothing of this. Conall, is it true?” King Connavar interrupted, causing Macc to look at him askance.
“When am I supposed to have carried out these acts? I have not been in Leinster for more than a year,” Conall said.
“What else would you say,” Lee said, speaking out of turn again. His father gave him such a look that King Connavar thought the boy would not speak again for many days, in turn, or not.
“It was at the last full of the moon,” Connery answered.
Conall smiled and shook his head in denial. “At the last full moon, I was at Crúachain with King Ailill and Queen Medb. The Red Branch were with me—”
“I did not know this,” King Connavar interrupted with a hiss, staring at Conall with a strange expression. The warrior stared back but said nothing. “Why was I not informed?”
Conall shrugged.
“Will Ailill stand as a witness?” Dond Desa asked, looking at Macc, who nodded.
There was no love lost between the house of Ailill and the house of Connavar. Connacht and Ulster were old and bitter enemies. Despite the rancor, if Ailill would attest to Conall’s presence at the last full moon, Nuadu’s tale would be proven to be a lie.
“What now, Macc?” Dond asked.
“We must return to Temuir and petition the High King,” Macc said. King Connavar smiled at the surprise on the younger warrior’s face.
He is not used to being consulted, King Connavar realized.
“I agree,” said the older warrior.
Macc looked down at the two men kneeling in the mud and said, “Lee, free the prisoners. Conall, you must come with us to Temuir and put your case before Eterscel. You can ask him for justice.”
“Nuadu will be lucky to stay above a peaty grave if I know the High King,” Dond said.
Conall nodded.
“I cannot allow the leader of the Red Branch to put himself at so much risk,” Connavar protested loudly, still on his knees with his hands tied behind his back.
“What risk?” Dond asked.
“If Conall walks into the feast hall at Temuir, the High King is more than likely to have him executed on the spot, together with the warriors who brought him there,” Connavar elaborated.
Lee hesitated before cutting the king’s bonds.
“We will protect him and inform the High King of Nuadu’s treachery,” Dond said.
“I cannot allow my champion to take that risk,” King Connavar repeated. “Here, the Red Branch can defend him. In the High King’s feast hall, he will be defenseless.”
“We are not offering you a choice here, King. Either Conall comes with us to Temuir to put his case, or we will bring you in his stead. You can then explain to Eterscel why your champion was not executed.”
King Connavar looked around the group of men. He could see no give in any of the warriors standing before him. With no Red Branch at his back, he was powerless. He nodded, realizing that further argument with the champion of Meath was futile. Dond Desa intended to take Conall before the High King, no matter what he had to say.
“It is agreed then. Tomorrow, we return to the capital, and Conall will present his case.”
***
Macc crossed his arms over his chest and watched as the warband collected the dead and laid them side by side at the center of the hillfort. Aside from the two guards killed at the entrance, there were only five dead: two old ladies and three old men.
Why so few, he wondered?
The way Dond’s sons had acted, anyone would have been forgiven for thinking the dead would be piled higher than the settlement palisade. He frowned and looked at Dond as he said, “Lee, untie the king.”
Macc watched as the youth cut the king’s bonds. King Connavar was looking at the mud, his face showing a conflict of some sort before he masked it with a smile and said, “Let us go to the feast hall and make plans for the petition to the High King.”
As they walked towards the hall, Macc put his arm around Connery’s shoulders. “That was well done, Connery,” he said, finally realizing that Dond’s belief in the boy’s fairness and firmness might be justified.