Forgall liked to stand on his tower and watch the world from its lofty heights. Even on this day, when the wind was howling through the forest around Lusk, lashing rain across his brow, he was surveying the lands over which he held dominion. There was no sign of life, his subjects hiding from the deluge. He was happy they were sensible enough to follow their instincts and stay out of the elements. He was not too surprised. The people of Lusk were mostly self-indulgent and would not undergo hardship if they could avoid it.

Unlike his subjects, Forgall could stand all day in the lashing rain, uninterrupted in his contemplation, and often did. He had no need of shelter from rain. It was not something that could kill, not directly, at least. He thought that no one else in the Five Kingdoms seemed to realize that water was harmless.

A rider coming from the forest dashed that notion.

What madman would be ahorse on a day like this? he wondered. A king’s messenger or a fool, perhaps. The chieftain of Lusk swiped rain from his eyes for the umpteenth time as he watched the rider rein in under the settlement gates.

“Open the gate,” the man called. “I am a king’s man seeking shelter.”

Sitting in front of the gates, stationary on a still mare, the shape of the rider was no longer smudged but took on edges and angles. It was a shape that the chieftain had hoped he would not see again.

Forgall’s heart skipped a beat.

Despite wearing a cowl as protection from the rain and the hiss muddling his voice, Forgall thought he knew who it was. Tall and broad, probably athletic under the cowl. If it was who Forgall thought, he was much more self-assured than when Mac Nessa sent him to Dornoll after being caught fondling Emer’s breasts. The chieftain knew there was no if, though. No other would ooze arrogance like the youth he had sent to die at the hand of Dornoll. The youth, who he thought to have been too arrogant to survive the ministrations of the druidess.

“You were supposed to die,” he whispered.

Setanta looked up from under his cowl at that moment. It was as though he had heard the whispered words through the hissing rain. Forgall stepped back from the tower’s edge, even though the warrior could not see any detail through the sheeted downpour.

“Are you going to stand on top of your tower and let me drown, Forgall?” the youth shouted over the noise of the rain.

Forgall returned to the edge and looked down. He wondered what he could do to get the boy away from Emer. Not a boy any longer, he realized.

“Do not make me force an entrance, Forgall. You would not want that to happen, trust me.”

“Open the gates,” the chieftain called from the tower before climbing down the ladder and whispering instructions to the guard at its base.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Forgall asked as Cú Chulainn swung out of his saddle. “You have a message from the king?”

“No message, Forgall. I am here to woo Emer, as you know.”

Without another word, Forgall turned his back on the youth and strode into the feast hall at the settlement’s core. Setanta followed him with a frown. Conall had warned him what to expect, but he had thought his friend was overly pessimistic. Now, he was not sure.

“Bring mead,” Forgall shouted as he sat at the head table.

The boy sat opposite him, causing the chieftain to frown. A farmer’s son had no right to sit unbidden at a chieftain’s table. Forgall did not appreciate insubordination from the lower castes but in his own feast hall? Men had died for less.

Neither spoke until they were given mead and were staring into their cups. The tension in the hall was almost crackling like a close lightning strike, but Forgall would not bow to it. He would not allow Emer to marry below herself.

“Where is Emer?” Setanta asked.

“She is visiting her married sister in Átha Luain,” Forgall lied.

As soon as he had ordered the gates opened, Forgall sent the guard to tell the women to remain closeted in their roundhouse. Remembering the last encounter, he did not want Emer and this boy to meet again.

He did not want any of his daughters to marry below herself, never mind Emer, who he thought to be the best-looking woman in the Five Kingdoms and far too good to marry a farmer’s son.

He did not believe the stories. The boy was tall, broad, and strong. Fools might think that he was a demigod, but Forgall did not. He was a good-looking boy who would turn the heads of maidens. Nothing more. He could be killed like the next man, and if the chieftain could find no other resolution to the issue, that is what he would do. It needed to be a last resort, though. For some reason, this youth was the king’s favorite, and killing him would only cause his wrath. To anger the king of Ulster was not a good idea. He was renowned for his ruthless treatment of his enemies.

“What have I done to offend you, Forgall?” the boy asked.

“Other than groping my daughter in the druid’s glade, you mean?” Forgall bit back and then regretted it. The look in the eyes of the young warrior was enough to freeze the fires of Ulster’s smith, after whom the king had named him.

“But, youth is youth, they say,” he held up a placatory palm. “I am angry that you saw fit to treat my daughter with such contempt.”

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

“It was she who offered her breast.”

“That may be true,” again Forgall held up a placatory palm, “but she does not remember it like that.”

“I will win your daughter, and the sooner you accept that old man, the happier everyone will be.”

“I think you have misunderstood, Setanta. It is not I who does not want you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have accepted your birthright. You are the nephew of our king. Emer, on the other hand, is not convinced.”

“She seemed more than convinced in the druid’s glade, Forgall.”

“She was toying with you. Unforgivable, I know. As far as she is concerned, you are a farmer’s son, smelling of swine and chickens,” he held up another placatory palm. “Her words, not mine, you understand.”

“What am I to do?” the boy asked, a warrior full-trained but a novice when it came to the games played by politicians. He did not understand that Forgall was toying with him just as much as he claimed his daughter had.

Forgall shrugged. “I do not know, young warrior, what you can do. It is a conundrum, to be sure.” He shook his head and gulped some mead, watching Setanta over the top of his cup.

“There must be some way for me to convince her.”

“Oh, I am sure there is some way, but no man in his right mind would consider it.”

“Which way?”

“It is just the kernel of an idea, you must understand.” The boy nodded knowingly and held his breath, waiting for Forgall to elaborate.

“Well, the girl is not convinced that you are, as your uncle claims, a demigod. Right?”

“Right.”

“Despite your having the physique of a demigod. Right?”

“Right.”

“She does not believe her eyes, but maybe she would believe an action.”

“What sort of action?”

“I do not know, something heroic, perhaps.”

“What type of heroism? There are no battles to be fought. There are no reavers to slay.”

“No. I know. It is a difficult problem, young warrior.”

Forgall took another pull from his cup and looked at the youth. His face bore a look of concentration as he stared into the cooking fire in the middle of the hall. It took all the chieftain’s will to stop himself from laughing. Setanta might have the body of a demigod, but he had the wits and sight of a mole to be so easily led. Or maybe he is being led by his third leg? Forgall mused.

“I have heard tell of a monster in the land of the Jutes. Perhaps if you returned with the head of the beast, that would be sufficient proof.”

“What monster?”

“Grendel. He eats man flesh and drinks man blood. He is the scourge of Denmark. To bring back his head would be an act that would win a maiden’s heart, I think.”

“Killing the monster will convince Emer that I am what my uncle claims?”

“I cannot say for sure, Hound, but if I was a young, impressionable girl, I think such an act would convince me.”

Forgall watched Cú Chulainn as he sat in thought for several minutes. He could see a gamut of emotions crossing the youth’s face before he finally banged down his cup and declared. “I think you are right. I will do it. I will seek out and kill this monster, Grendel.”

Saying which the boy rose from his seat and left the feast hall. As soon as the young warrior was out of hearing, Forgall whispered to himself, “Whatever else you do, you must die there in the land of the Jutes.”

***

The rains had stopped, and a bleak, dark day was now merely gray. Setanta saddled his horse and rode out through the settlement gates with determination. He would do as the chieftain suggested and win Emer’s heart. As he passed through the gates, the young warrior heard a whistle from the forest path down which he had followed Emer the last time he had visited the settlement of Lusk.

He looked over and could see the form of a woman standing just under the forest’s eaves, with her face hidden by the hood of her cowl. He rode over and reined in beside her.

“What is it?” he asked, impatient to get away.

The woman threw back her hood and stood there gazing up at Setanta.

“Emer. I thought you were visiting a sister in Átha Luain?”

“No, that was father’s invention. He did not want us to meet.”

“But why?”

“He does not want me involved with a farm boy.”

“He said you did not want to be involved with a farm boy.”

“He would. And you believed him and are now running away. Giving in so easily?”

“No, I was going to win your heart with a heroic deed.”

She smiled, and the edges of her mouth dimpled as she turned her face sideways, “Come, Cú Chulainn, let us sit in the druid’s glade.”

Saying which, Emer turned and fled down the path. Setanta could not ride after her because the trees beside the path were too low, and he would be knocked from his mare’s back, so he swung from his Mount, tethered her to the nearest branch, and ran after Emer.

When he caught up, Emer was sitting on the same log where he had fondled her breasts. He stopped abruptly and stared at her. Memories of the pillowy softness had stolen his hard-won manliness. Once again, he was helpless in front of her.

“Sit,” she commanded. Setanta complied without hesitation and then scolded himself for being so subservient.

“You think the monster, Grendel, exists?”

“How do you know about Grendel?”

“I was listening to your discussion, of course.”

“You knew I was not running,” he said with a frown. It seemed that Emer’s games were never-ending. It made him wonder whether she was her father’s daughter.

Emer pouted, smiled, and pulled his face into a kiss. The kiss seemed to last for an eternity, and by its end, Cú Chulainn had forgotten what he had been feeling only moments before.

“Why did your father lie?”

“He wants you to prove your worthiness.”

“By killing a monster that probably does not even exist?”

“The land of the Jutes is wild and dangerous, Cú Chulainn. Even if the monster does not exist, you will have adventures and prove your worth.”

“You think that I should go, do you not?”

“My father will not be able to prevent us from marrying if you return from Jutland as a hero.”