Smoke filled the hostel, smarting his eyes. The benches were all occupied, and the patrons were rowdy. Fergus stood at the entrance and looked through the clouds for a friendly face. Those seated looked back at him in their cups, grinning.
“You look lost, Fergus,” a warrior shouted. “One of Ulster’s finest who cannot even find a pot of ale. Or are you looking for the midden trench?”
They roared laughter, banging their utensils on the benches, the sound of wood on wood cacophonous. Fergus met the laughter with a frown. The ribaldry at his evident confusion would have left someone without a head had they been in any other setting. Finally, spotting the face he needed, he pushed to the back of the hall.
“I was hoping to find you here, Conall,” he said as he slumped on the bench opposite, nodding to Longas, who sat at the end.
“I was listening to one of Longas’s tall tales about the feats of Cú Chulainn. Boar’s arse claims he saw The Hound throw a spear and run along its shaft—”
“It is true,” Longas interrupted. “I swear on me ma’s life.”
“Your ma’s been dead six summers or more,” Fergus scoffed.
“Ah, yes, so she has. Anyway, I shall leave you rat cocks to your maudlin supping; I have a tryst with a pretty redhead.”
“I do not trust that man,” Conall said as Longas ducked out of the hostel. “Why is he here? Keeps nagging at me.”
“I might ask you the same question, Conall. You never told me why you came.”
“Aye, you might, but instead, take a pot. Tell me what is troubling you, my friend.”
“Why’d you say something is troubling me? I might just want a warrior to talk to or an Ulsterman.”
“Just a warrior the boar’s arse says. Granted, that could be. But why does your face look as long as a summer full of clouds and rain?”
“A normal summer, you mean?”
“Here in Ériu, maybe. I have heard that the land where the Romans come from is always sunny and warm. That is why they have wine, and we have this piss awful mead,” Conall raised his cup and laughed.
“If that is true, why are they so keen to take our lands, where it is never sunny and seldom warm?”
“Who knows, my friend, maybe they like the wet. Maybe that is how they get that nice rusty brown color on their armor Setanta told me about. But then, he said it was shiny, so probably not?”
“Boy, bring some mead and lots of it,” Fergus called to the server, taking the time to gather his thoughts, wishing for once Conall would cease the banter. “I’ve a question for you.”
“A question. Unlike you to take the time to ask questions, Fergus.”
“I’d a visitor on the gatehouse the other morning. Meant to speak to you sooner, but it slipped my mind.”
“Aye, now you mention it, I saw him, all in black. Who was it?”
“The warrior, Genonn.”
“Genonn is a warrior? I always thought he was a druid. They call him The Vigilant, or Justice of the People. Seems to think the people need justice, which I think a strange idea. They have chieftains and kings for that. Anyway, what did he want?”
“Told me I’m having doubts. Doubts about invading Ulster.”
“We do not know if we will be invading Ulster. From what I can tell, the Witch Queen is undecided. Or unable to press her suit hard enough for the Elder Council to yield.”
“What should I do about him?”
“Do? Do nothing. He might be a friend.”
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“He might also be an enemy.”
“We do not have many friends, Fergus. Better not to go looking for enemies everywhere. If he is an enemy, we will learn soon enough.”
Fergus stared at the tapestry on the hostel wall and wondered if Conall was right. It seemed a little innocent to take this Genonn at face value. He had already lied. Shaking his head, he asked, “Speaking of the queen, have you seen her recently?”
“Ah, the queen is why you sought me out?” Fergus nodded and looked at the large flagon from which the serving boy was filling the smaller one on their bench.
“Just leave the big one,” Conall waved at the boy. “Come. What is on your mind?”
“The woeful attempts at seduction are a worry; I can’t deny it. Playing with her hair. Sticking her leg over the arm of the throne so I can see where she hides her treasure.”
“Hides her treasure. Ever the straight talker, Fergus. Trying to get at what is in your triús, you mean?”
“Yes,” Fergus said, feeling a tinge of embarrassment creeping up his neck.
“Looking for another spear to add to her collection,” Conall laughed.
“It’s not a matter for laughter.” Conall held up his palms in apology.
“You worry too much, Fergus. The queen has a reputation, my friend. You are not the first stallion’s phallus she targeted.”
“If I had a stallion’s phallus, maybe I wouldn’t worry so much,” Fergus shook his head, wondering if he would give her what she wanted if he did have an appendage worthy of a horse.
“There are few with such a spear in their armory, Fergus. I would not let that worry you over much.”
“What of Ailill?” Fergus asked, staring slightly above and to the left of his friend’s head.
“Ailill is weak. He has drowned his manhood in mead. A woman like Medb needs a man, not a sponge.”
“He’s still the king,” Fergus stared at his cup morosely.
“Have you seen this king recently? He is no longer a man, never mind a king. Spends his time swimming in mead and pissing in his triús. It would not surprise me to learn he lacks a straight spear.”
“Really?”
Conall nodded and looked up from his mead. “You might do us some good, Fergus if you let her have her way.” Scowling, Fergus wondered how he might gain an advantage by bedding another man’s queen. Nothing sprang to mind. He took a gulp and banged his cup down a little too hard, spilling a wave of the sticky contents.
“Steady, Fergus. What has you so riled?”
“I yield, Conall. What could I achieve by humping the queen of Connacht other than angering the Sidhe or making an enemy of the king?”
“Think about it, my friend. We are Ulstermen. True, we have turned our backs to Ulster, and not without good reason, but will Medb and her chieftains ever trust us? No, not fully.”
“I suppose not, but is it worth angering the Sidhe over?”
“Would you stop grabbing that coire ansic around your neck and calling on the Sidhe? They have far too much to do without taking on the troubles of us mortals. Think, Fergus. It could be beneficial if you get into a position of influence.”
“You don’t think it would anger the Sidhe?”
Conall shook his head and sighed. “No. They are like monstrous children, and we are their toys. They like to watch us mortals as we flounder and then laugh at our expense, is all.”
“Are you sure? Because when we made Connery high king, the fortunes of the Five Kingdoms took a downward turn.”
“There might be some truth in the fortunes of the Kingdoms, but why do you think the election of Conaire has any bearing?”
“He was born of incest. The Sidhe hate those born of incest. Nothing good ever comes from them.”
“Ah, my friend, you can be so gullible at times. I would not want another man beside me in the shield wall, but your intellect is apt to let you down.”
“What do you mean,” Fergus demanded, hand straying towards the pommel of his sword.
Conall held his palms up again, saying, “Do not take offense, Fergus. I intended no insult.”
Fergus sighed and felt the fight leak out of him. “I’m sorry. I’m on edge.”
“No matter, my friend. Conaire was not born of incest. It was a ruse to legitimize his claim for the high kingship. Conaire died because he took away the livelihood of us warriors, not because he broke his geasa or angered the Tuatha. The boar’s arse was an idealist who did not understand how our society works. Only that.”
“But can you be sure?”
“Aye, I can.”
Fergus looked at Conall and frowned. He had no idea how his friend could be sure, but he was willing to accept it on trust. “So, what is it you think I should do?”
“Give the queen what she wants. Enjoy it. But get inside her head as well as between her thighs. We learn her intentions, and we might be able to put them to good use.”
“Would it not be better if you did it?”
“You know I cannot, Fergus,” said with another sigh. “It is not in my makeup.”
Fergus sighed and nodded, “Drink up. I’ll order another flagon.”