When they last hunted, Eterscel and Macc stayed at the hostel of Da Derga in the mountains south of Átha Clíath on Slíghe Chualann. It was a hospitable drinking hole, if renowned for all the wrong reasons. The hostel was near the strand at Brí Chualann, where Dond kept the longships they would use to bring them to Druid Island.
Later that evening, Macc grimaced as they rode their horses over the rise above the hostel and stopped briefly to look down into the vale of Glencree.
Seems peaceful enough, Macc thought.
Happy the usurper’s assassins had not yet arrived, Macc dug his heels into his mount’s flanks and rode down the steep road, followed by the others. Stabling their horses, the group entered the common room. Macc saw Lee, Connery, and Conall sitting at a table towards the back of the room, eating and drinking mead. Rather than being nervous and fretting, the three exchanged banter with the hostel serving girls, seemingly oblivious to their danger.
Da Derga, The Red God, so named because of his immense height and shock of red hair, nodded a greeting at the newcomers. Macc and Dond were both regulars of the hostel, a preferred watering hole for the warriors of Meath and Leinster, so they knew him well.
“Da, mead and boar, and quick about it,” Dond called as they went to join the others at their bench.
“You three seem very pleased with yourselves,” Dond said as he sat.
“We are trying to stay calm. What is this all about?” Connery asked.
“First, we eat. The ride from Temuir was fast, and I have an appetite,” Dond replied.
Beyond that initial greeting, nothing was said until they had satisfied their hunger.
“You tell them, Macc. You have a glibber tongue,” the old warrior said, picking up a boar bone and nibbling on the knuckle.
Despite knowing Dond’s glib words were accurate, Macc laughed, shook his head, and told the story to the trio of listeners.
“He must kill all of us,” Connery said as soon as Macc had finished.
“Yes, he must,” Dond agreed. The foster brothers continued drinking their mead and remained silent, seemingly bored.
Now, they understand their plight.
All at the table knew the usurper could ill afford to have any known supporters of the late High King left alive, supporters who might question the legitimacy of his claim. And, of course, as a blood relative of Eterscel, Connery would be considered a direct threat.
“Why do we not go to my king in Emain Macha?” Conall asked. “The Red Branch can protect us all.”
“That reminds me of something I have been meaning to ask,” Macc said. “Why were no Red Branch warriors in Emain Macha when we arrived?”
“A farmer came to the feast hall earlier in the day and petitioned the king for help. He said there was a party raiding from Connacht under the command of Mane Milscothach...” Conall hesitated, thinking as he spoke. “The king sent Fergus with the Red Branch because he needed to talk to me, or so he said.”
“What do you mean, or so he said?” Dond asked.
“When I think back, we discussed nothing. We stayed awake, drinking until just before sunrise. That is why you found me asleep in the feast hall when you arrived...” He hesitated again before saying, “The so-called farmer did not look much like one who used a plow, either.”
“Do you think King Connavar was involved in the plot to usurp the throne?” Dond asked, looking at Macc.
Macc could see the white of the old warrior’s knuckles as he gripped his cup of mead so tightly he feared it might break. Frowning, he said, “I do not know, Dond, but were it so, I can see how he would benefit from such an arrangement. If it is true, it means he was willing to sacrifice his best warrior to further his ambitions.”
“But what ambitions,” Conall said, grinning at the sarcasm. “Besides, he’s always been a cnapán, truth be told.”
“Sacrificing a warrior who is a warlord of renown is mad,” Dond said. “And trained by the druidess!”
“The king and I have not been in much agreement of late,” Conall explained. “He might currently view me as more hindrance than help. Getting rid of me could be something he would consider.”
“And I suppose Fergus, a great warrior in his own right, would replace you,” Macc mused.
“Yes, Fergus, or King Connavar’s son, Longas, who is also a great warrior.”
“Any of those three might have been involved in the plot,” Dond said.
“Or all of them.”
As Macc spoke, Dond threw down the knuckle of boar’s meat, looked at his mead bleakly, and took a disgusted swig from his cup as though he blamed the mead for what was happening. Finally, he slammed the cup down and gazed morosely at the tabletop where the dregs had spilled.
He feels duped and useless, wondering what use his skill at war.
Macc was feeling something similar. The fact that Nuadu was more cunning than clever didn’t make their lot any easier to bear.
They all sat with their own thoughts for a moment before Dond slammed the table and said with finality, “You are right, Macc; we must go to Ynys Môn and seek the counsel of the druids.”
“Yes, I think it best if we leave now,” Macc said.
“Not before we get my mother,” Connery interrupted.
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“Your mother is here,” Macc looked around in surprise as if he expected to see her sitting in a darkened corner watching them.
“Yes, your message seemed urgent. I did not want to leave her in Indber Colptha if there was any danger.”
“Quite right,” Dond said, rising from the bench. “Alright, Connery, we will meet you by the stables. Be quick, though; we ride as soon as we can.”
***
A short time later, Conall, Macc, and Dond were lying on a sand dune on the edge of the strand at Brí Chualann, staring at the beach. Because of huge watchfires, they could see Fergus and the Red Branch warriors guarding the ships. They could see Dond’s skeleton crews corralled in a makeshift pen on the far side of the beach.
“Why have they not burned my ships?” Dond asked.
“Nuadu is greedy. He would not destroy something of such value unless he had no choice,” Macc guessed.
“But why is Fergus guarding them?” Conall asked.
“The Red Branch were probably here before we reached Da Derga’s,” said Macc. “I think it is now likely King Connavar was involved in the plot.”
“What are we going to do?” Dond asked.
“I don’t care what you’re going to do, but I’m going to ride down there and ask Fergus what, in the name of the Sidhe, he thinks he’s doing.”
With that declaration, Conall walked down the dune to where Connery and his foster brothers were watching the horses. Buachalla was sitting on the side of the dune, wrapped in a blanket and lost in her thoughts. He swung into his saddle and called up the dune, oblivious that he might be heard from the beach, “Are you coming, or are you going to lie up there and watch?”
Dond shrugged at Macc.
“I would not want to miss this,” Macc said before following Conall down the dune.
***
To say Fergus was angry would be understating the facts. When he had returned from the fox hunt in Connacht, where there was no evidence of a raid from Ailill’s people, and Connavar said the High King’s warriors had ritually executed his close friend Conall, he promised the Sidhe he would get revenge, however and whenever possible.
“They raided on the orders of Eterscel,” the king had explained.
“I will kill him,” Fergus had shouted, clenching his fists by his side.
King Connavar placed a placatory hand on his arm and said, “You cannot. The High King has since passed away, and Nuadu has been proclaimed High King by the druids.”
“How can he be any kind of king? He is missing a hand,” Longas asked.
“He was proclaimed High King after a Bull Feast. The old law has been changed.”
Fergus frowned at his king. Like most warriors, he was not used to change and did not like it. But like most warriors, he was loyal to his king and would accept it despite his misgivings.
“And what exactly does Nuadu want the Red Branch to do?” he asked.
“The warriors Dond Desa and Macc Cecht were to be tried for the illegal execution of Conall, but they escaped. The High King thinks they might try to flee to Alba and he needs Dond’s ships to be guarded.”
“Where are they?”
“They are beached under the cliffs of Brí Chualann.”
Fergus had ridden within the hour. The same cohort of Red Branch warriors who had followed him into Connacht rode with him. They rode hard through the night and arrived at the beach of Brí Chualann as the sun was breasting the horizon and throwing a silver light over the stillness that was the sea. He dismounted and ordered his men into a cordon around the ships. The guards and skeleton crews were groggy with sleep and easily subdued. They were unaware of what was happening and not expecting trouble.
Then Fergus waited, standing on the strand staring across the sands. He hoped Macc and Dond would not come. Not because he did not enjoy a battle but because he knew the warriors of the erstwhile High King would not surrender without a fight. They would kill many of his warriors before they could be stopped. He wanted revenge for the death of his friend but against the man who had ordered the execution, not against the executioners. His warriors also wanted revenge against Eterscel and not Macc and Dond, who were following orders, nothing more. He frowned. He already considered the Red Branch his to command, with Conall gone only a short time.
When a sentry shouted to warn of riders approaching, Fergus turned towards the sound of slow-moving horses. There was no clopping of hooves in the mud of the road that led to the strand, but the jingle of bridles was distinctive. He could not see the riders because they were yet to enter the light from the watchfires.
“Oh, Camulos, let it not be the fugitives,” he prayed, quietly so that no one would hear.
As the riders came into the light, he knew the God had forsaken him. The height of Macc Cecht was unmistakable. He made his horse look like a pony. Fergus felt pity for the beast before glancing at the rider to Macc’s left and shaking his head, thinking the firelight was playing tricks.
It might be possible. I have been stressed since Connacht.
He did not doubt for a minute his mind was stretched so taut it was liable to snap.
“Wait,” he called to the men on the beach, preparing themselves for a short but bloody battle. He watched as the men looked around, confused but obedient, and then strode out to meet the riders.
“You are supposed to be in Tír nÓg,” he said as Conall reined in his horse.
“Áedh would not allow me enter; too handsome, he said.”
Fergus laughed, and his tension fled, “It is good to see you, Conall.”
“And you, Fergus. Why are you here on this strand?”
“We were sent to guard the ships from those two,” Fergus nodded at Macc and Dond.
“Who sent you?” Macc asked.
“King Connavar sent us. He said you executed Conall and were to be tried, so you ran.”
“Tiubh,” Conall swore.
Fergus saw Macc look at Dond and raise an eyebrow. Having the Red Branch opposing them should have been fatal, but by some miracle of the Sidhe, they had survived.
The Fáithe intervened. Something in this plot has angered the Gods.
“Come, let us drink mead by the fire, and you can tell me all about this mystery,” he said.
A few moments later, the group sat at the central lookout fire, drinking mead with a friendliness common among soldiers who had been enemies only moments before.
“Why did Connavar tell me you were dead?” Fergus asked. “He must have known the lie would be easily discovered.”
“When did he send you?” Macc asked.
“This last night. We rode through the night and arrived at dawn.”
“That means he sent you before we had arrived in Temuir,” Dond realized.
“Connavar kept us in Emain Macha and plied us with mead, so he had time to send a message,” Macc said, remembering the fleeting look of fear on the king’s face. “My guess is Nuadu was meant to kill Conall, and we were going to be allowed to flee right into this little ambush on the beach. Had it worked, we would have been blamed for the death.”
“And taking Dond’s ships was always part of the plan,” Connery guessed.
“Our king plotted your death,” Fergus sounded shocked. “He is capable of—”
“Yes,” Connery interrupted, “and no doubt Conall’s continued survival has been reported to him. What are you going to do?”
“We must take the Red Branch warriors and return to Emain Macha. King Connavar will answer for his part in this,” Conall said. “Him and that gaimbín, Kathvar.’
“Will he be waiting for us?” Fergus asked.
“I don’t know nor care. Everyone mount up. We return to Emain Macha immediately,” Conall ordered, resuming command of the Red Branch.