“The king wants you in the feast hall,” the guard said. Conall looked at him and contemplated refusing. He had a lot on his mind, and it was not a good time to be interrupted by the king. Now Fergus had gone, he needed to select a deputy, and there were so many likely lads who could fill the role, he was having difficulty choosing one.

“Tell him I will be there presently,” he said.

“You are to come to the feast hall immediately.”

Conall looked over at the guard again. He was fidgeting nervously from foot to foot. The warrior could have refused and then the guard would have been forced to compel him and would have died. He might be a husband and have children. To die because his king had ordered him to achieve the impossible would have been a sorry end.

“Are you ordering me into the king’s presence?” The guard nodded. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I am to compel you, lord.”

Conall stood up and the guard moved his hand onto the hilt of his sword. Conall frowned and waved a dismissive hand. “Today is not your day to die. I will come with you.”

Conall watched the man visibly relax. It made him feel somehow benign to have allowed the guard at least another day’s life. He shook his head and followed the man to the feast hall. He was not surprised to find Kathvar standing at the king’s shoulder. Nothing ever happened in Emain Macha without the druid’s direct input. Conall wondered if the king would be able to clean his own backside without directions from the elder.

“You sent for me.”

“Do you not call your betters by their title, Conall?” Kathvar barked.

“I do, old man. I do not see any of my betters in this feast hall, however.”

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“Am I not your king?” Mac Nessa seethed.

“You stopped being my king when you sent men to kill me,” Conall returned without emotion.

He no longer felt anger at what had happened. He knew in time, the fat king would pay for his betrayal with his life. He would die and there would be an end of it. Anger was just so much wasted energy.

“Why do you serve me?”

“I ask myself the same question each day. And each day I come to the same answer. I do not serve you. I serve Ulster.”

“I am Ulster,” the king barked.

“There was a time, Mac Nessa, when I believed that to be true. That time has passed. All you are to me is a fat old man sitting in a chair that is too big for him, despite the size of his arse.”

“Guards!” the king called. “Guards!”

The guards who were on the door entered the feast hall. “I want you to arrest Conall for treason.”

They looked at each other and drew their swords reluctantly. One was the guard who had come to bring Conall into the king’s presence.

“I would not advise you to raise them swords against me,” Conall said matter-of-factly. The guards looked at each other again, before reaching the same conclusion at the same time. They both placed their swords on the ground and turned and ran from the hall.

“Where is your bodyguard?” Conall asked.

“I sent Cú Chulainn on an errand. He will be here shortly, and then we will see who is master in this feast hall.”

“Fortunately for both you and he, Mac Nessa, I have pressing business in Crúachain. I bid you good day.”

A short time later, Cú Chulainn walked into the feast hall and looked at Mac Nessa sitting on the dais with Kathvar leaning over him, whispering in is ear, as he so often did. The warrior did not like the image. It spoke of the king’s reliance on the druid. Cú Chulainn did not trust Kathvar. There was something about him that instilled a sense of unease.

“You sent for me, sire?”

“Hound, yes. I have a job for you.”

“What job?”

“I want you to ride after Conall and arrest him for treason.”

“Arrest Conall for treason. Very funny,” Cú Chulainn laughed and strode from the hall, laughing as he went.