Fergus watched the castle of Scathach poking out through the mists as the ship’s crew pulled against the tide into Loch a’Ghlinne. He was in a contemplative mood, both for the way he had left Conall and for the feelings of doubt about what was waiting for him on the beach below the castle.
Over mead in the hostel the night before, Conall had not kept his anger in check. He felt betrayed by Fergus’s willingness to accept the king at his word. Their parting had not been an amicable one. Fergus did not like upsetting his friend, but he was more deeply worried about Scathach. She was known for her prickly disbelief in anything over which she had no control. But in this situation, she would think her control to be complete. She knew Fergus was a champion of Ulster and Naoise and Deirdre were fugitives of Ulster. She would consider Fergus a threat until he proved otherwise.
Fergus did not welcome the thought of being considered a threat by a warrior who was feared throughout the lands of the tribes. Being considered a threat by Scathach could almost be equated with a death sentence. She had the reputation of killing first and worrying about the consequences afterwards. If the stories could be believed, her daughter was equally as daunting.
Fergus could see two warriors standing on the beach. They looked similar, like two cloaks cut from the same roll of plaid. Both were adorned for battle, with knee length mail coats, horned helmets and swords at their sides. Even at a distance, Fergus could see they were standing with their legs slightly apart and their hands were on their sword hilts.
Fergus wondered if they would be on the beach were the longship not flying the red hand banner of Ulster. He doubted it. Skye had a thriving merchant trade and the king’s messenger did not think the warrior queen would have the time or inclination to send armed men to the beach each time a ship was seen on the horizon of the Loch. No, they were there because the ship came from Mac Nessa.
As he jumped into the surf, he saw the warriors move towards him with determination in their strides. He turned back to the ship and indicated that his retinue should remain aboard. He did not want to provoke a needless confrontation.
“I come in peace,” he said, turning back and holding up both hands, palms outwards.
“What do you want, Ulster?” the one on the right asked.
Fergus was used to female warriors, but he had never seen any the size of the woman who spoke. She was easily as tall as Fergus and obviously broad, despite the accentuation of the mail coat. Her wrist straps also accentuated her forearms, but they too were muscled and showed many hours at work with a heavy longsword.
“Speak,” the other one said, surprising Fergus even more because she too was female.
So, mother and daughter are the welcoming committee, he thought. “I have a message for Naoise and Deirdre from Ulster’s King.”
“I have many couples on my island, Ulster, but none go by the names of Naoise and Deirdre,” the woman on the right said.
Scathach, Fergus realized. And I wager you are Uathach, he thought looking at the woman beside her. “Please, I know they are here. I will sit on the beach and wait, if you will only get a message to Naoise and tell him I am here.”
“And who are you, warrior?” Uathach asked.
“I am Fergus of the Red Branch.”
“Ah, the mighty Fergus, mother. We are honored.” Fergus could hear the scorn in the words, but he said nothing. He knew himself to be a good warrior and that he might be a match for either of the women alone, but together, he stood no chance.
“Go,” Scathach said, and Uathach complied without question. “Sit, then, Fergus of the Red Branch. Sit and hope my daughter returns with good news, because if she does not, your life is forfeit.”
Fergus shrugged and squatted in the sand. He did not doubt that were he deemed to be a threat the woman Scathach would attempt to kill him. What he was not sure of was that it would prove as easy as she seemed to think. The two together would be difficult. Scathach, he thought he could best.
The time soon began to drag. Fergus was beginning to fidget slightly, wondering what could be causing the delay, when he saw Naoise round the bend in the path that led to the castle. Uathach was striding along in his wake. He could see a smile on her face but was unsure whether it was because he was welcome, or she was anticipating a kill.
“Fergus, what are you doing here?” Naoise asked. There was no welcome in his voice. Rather there was wariness and suspicion.
“Mac Nessa sent me.”
“Yes, that is what Uathach said. You have a message for me from The Deceiver.”
“Are you not pleased to see me, Naoise?”
“You are Mac Nessa’s man, Fergus. Why do you think I would be pleased to see you?”
The women stood by and observed. Saying nothing. Doing nothing. Making Fergus’s nerves tingle, sure one wrong word would result in an explosion of violence.
“I give you my oath, Naoise, that I mean you no harm.”
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“And I can trust your oath?”
“You know you can. I have never broken an oath. Not once. I do not intend to start now.”
“What is your message?”
***
Naoise watched Fergus for signs of deceit. He could not see any. Naoise was not really surprised. He had grown up with the deputy captain of the Red Branch and he had always proved open and honest. It was not Fergus who Naoise did not trust. Mac Nessa would be unable to make the same claim about not being an oath breaker. He broke oaths as blithely as he ate his morning oats and mutton.
“The king says that much time has passed since your dispute. He thinks it is time to let the past remain in the past. He says he will pardon you, if you will apologize for disobeying him.”
“Does he? And I suppose you believe him. You were ever gullible, Fergus, even as a child. I remember you were often the one with the bruises because you would stick your head in before any of the others.” Naoise looked down and scuffed his boots in the sand.
“He made a proclamation in front of the rulers of Ulster.”
The words caused Naoise to look up suddenly, seeing a glimmer of hope. He thought that Mac Nessa would be honor bound by such an oath and were it broken, it would be done so in full view of the men he needed to appease. They were proud men and they would depose him for less.
“Scathach?” Naoise asked.
“He is a wily man, is Mac Nessa. I would be wary of any proclamation, but on the face of it, it is a binding oath.”
Naoise nodded. He wanted to believe though. He had been away from his home for too long. He missed the camaraderie of the Red Branch. He missed the forests around Emain Macha and riding on patrol. He even missed Conall, although he would not admit that to Fergus or Scathach, and Uathach.
“I will speak with Deirdre. I would not do this without her blessing. Scathach, can Fergus remain on the island until I have a decision?” The warrior queen nodded and turned to stride back up the beach.
***
They were nearing Emain Macha. Fergus was happy to be riding side by side with Naoise. Deirdre was directly behind them. Ainnle and Ardan, Naoise’s brothers, were at the rear, singing bawdy songs making Deirdre smile, blush and chastise them at the same time.
Fergus could not recall ever having been as happy as he was on this morning, riding with his friends, free from danger and with the autumn sun dappling the forest leaves. The longship crew had pulled against the winds and tides, to the point where they seemed to be sailing backwards for most of the day. Even that had failed to dampen his spirits.
“For the last time, brothers, stop with the smut,” Naoise called over his shoulder for the umpteenth time. It was called with a smile and a laugh in his voice, so the brothers ignored it and broke immediately into another song, this one about a serving girl in a hostel who took umbrage at the groping hands of the revellers.
The sound of the arrows as they thumped into the brothers brought the merriment to a bloody end. From the moment of the whooshes and thumps everything seemed to race. Fergus was still looking over his shoulder and watching as Ainnle and Ardan fell into the mud beside the road. He looked down when he felt hands tugging him from his saddle. Armed men, looking at first glimpse like outlaws, were swarming over them.
Brigands, he thought as he fell into the mud, thinking that it would be only moments before he would feel an iron blade start to leech his life’s blood. But nothing like that happened. He scrambled to his feet and drew his sword, only to find himself surrounded by a throng of smiling bearded faces. On closer inspection, he could see that their arms were top quality and well-tended. It was obvious the men wanted the appearance of brigands but had the skills of hardened warriors.
Fergus tried in vain to bring the fight to the attackers. Each time he took a swing, his assailants would dance back out of reach of his sword or parry the blow. None of them would stand and face him.
“Fight, Gods damn you,” he called, growing ever more frustrated.
***
Deirdre was dragged from her horse by two warriors. She screamed and struggled to no avail. The men were too strong for her. The way they dragged her from her horse, she might as well have been a bag of wool.
She looked for Naoise. He was being held by several men, his arms trapped at his sides. They were holding him so tightly he could not struggle. Deirdre saw the back of a tall man as he came to stand before her husband. His sword was bare, and he was holding it loosely by his side. She could see the look of resignation creep into her Naoise’s eyes.
“No,” she screamed in vain.
The last thing she saw before being struck on the back of the head and losing consciousness, was that sword being driven into the guts of Naoise. He was looking over the shoulder of his killer directly at her. She could see the realization of his death in his eyes and something else, an apology perhaps, and then darkness.
***
Fergus swung in a circle with his sword extended. None of the warriors attempted to harm him. They parried each of his frenzied strokes and laughed. He was completely enclosed and there was no means of escape. Why will they not finish it? he wondered.
He could see the body of Naoise lying where it had fallen. Deirdre was unconscious beside it. Two of the would-be brigands were rifling Naoise’s bags. Each time he turned around, he could see the brothers face first in the mud, backs peppered with arrows, dead by the time they had hit the ground.
“Fight, damn you all!” Fergus shouted.
“We are ordered to let you live,” Fergus heard from behind.
He turned to see Eogan of Monaghan ahorse, smiling down on him, with his arms crossed over his chest. He too was dressed as a brigand, but his bearded face and megalithic frame were unmistakable to those who knew him.
“Ordered by who?”
“Mac Nessa, of course.”
“The king ordered you to ambush us on our return from Alba? I find that hard to believe, Eogan.”
“And I suppose you think I give a rat’s cock about what you believe,” the chieftain chuckled.
“I will see you dead.”
“Do not threaten me, boy. Mac Nessa ordered your safety, but accidents do happen. I can kill you now, and no one will be any the wiser.”
“Have done and kill me then.”
Instead of which, Fergus saw Eogan nod and felt a strike to the back of his head, before darkness descended.