Mac Roth’s bones were telling him the beating had been savage. He could not sit still for more than a few seconds before another ache would begin. His battered face kept his eyes near closed. Earlier in the day, he thought blood was in his stool. It was difficult to tell with black eyes and the early morning light. He made a note to check more carefully after his bones were once more forgiving, and he could bend over the midden with a torch. Tears were running from the corner of his eyes. He put them down to the beating and not the loss of a close friend. He had agreed to the cailleach’s proposal and gladly, but he had not expected to lose Usnech. If he had known what would happen, he would have asked Fergus to go with him to Fiachna’s hall. Usnech and he had been like brothers, he tried to tell himself, before laughing and groaning at the pain.
His grimace persisted when he turned his mind to what she had done. She made the Ulsterman her captain of guards. He knew he would be unfit for a few days, but Conall Cernach as her bodyguard? Had she taken leave of her senses? There were several warriors in the Queen’s Guard she could have asked. Bradán, for instance, was an excellent warrior, even though he did seem to like Fergus.
“Cernach is naught but a Bundún,” he hissed.
“I will return, Mac Roth; I do not mean to disturb you.”
He looked at the entrance where Medb was holding the oxhide cover, a look of concern on her face, which did not mar her beauty. She wore a dress that highlighted her eyes and pushed up the soft whiteness of her breasts. He squeezed his chest with crossed arms, causing a wince. It was uncanny how silent she could be. He was constantly punishing himself for speaking his thoughts. One day, he would end up losing his head, being hanged, or face-first in a peaty bog with a leather necklace. Beautiful, she might be. Forgiving, she was not.
“No, Lady, you are welcome.”
“Are you sure, Mac Roth? You sound to be in pain.”
“I am in pain, but it will pass, and I am always ready to serve. How may I help you?”
“I am here to find out how your mission went.”
“As you can see, Lady, Fiachna—”
“No, no. I meant the other mission,” the queen interrupted.
“I am not following.”
“Your assessment of Fergus.”
“Ah. That. We did not exchange many words, Lady. He is surly and moody. I talked at him from Crúachain to Cooley without so much as a smile in answer.”
“Yes, I know what you mean. But what about his abilities?”
“Abilities for what purpose?”
“Just in general, Mac Roth. Do not fret. I do not intend to make him Captain of the Queen’s Guard,” Medb said, laughed, and shook her head slightly.
“No, Lady, I did not think—”
“I was jesting. Tell me what you learned about Fergus.”
“He is a warrior. He believes in the code. He was ready to raze Dun Fiachna.”
“So, he is a good warrior?”
“I do not doubt he has the—”
“Would he be a good leader of men?”
“I have no way to determine—”
“Come, Mac Roth; you spent three days together; surely you learned something about the man.”
“I did. I learned that although skilled with weapons and a man who commands respect among warriors, Fergus has the brains of a dog turd and the manners of a wallowing cow.”
“Good. Good. Thank you, Mac Roth. Get some rest. I will need you back soon.”
Before standing up to go, the queen leaned over and patted Mac Roth on the wrist. He looked at her and wondered whether she considered him a pet. Perhaps a wolfhound recently returned from the hunt.
***
Even after several days, Fergus’s buttocks were feeling the worse for the rides to and from Cooley. They were telling him he was no longer young in a throbbing, pulsating voice, which some would call the voice of reason, he thought. Age was not a welcome arrival for those who made their oats and mutton using a sword. Aching limbs in battle only ended one way.
How many summers have I seen? he wondered. He tried to put a number on the festivals of Lughnasad he remembered, counting off memories as far back as he could. He would never work it out, he knew. It did not matter. It took his mind from his worries for a few minutes.
A cough interrupted him.
Fergus looked down at the open hatch. Once again, Genonn had arrived without the warning of sound. Fergus looked back at the sun setting over the forest eaves and wondered what to say or do. Conall had been less than forthcoming on how to deal with the druid.
“I find you once more in the gatehouse, a look of concern on your otherwise handsome face.”
“What do you want?” Fergus mumbled, in no way welcoming. Petty compliments might work with some, but of late, he had had his fill of them.
“I detect some hostility,” Genonn laughed. “Have I done something to offend you, warrior?”
“You told me you’re a warrior. Conall says you’re a druid. You look like a warrior and talk like a druid. Which is it?”
“Druid, warrior, where is the difference? Both fight for their beliefs.”
“It’s deceitful. I’ve had enough of deceit to last me to Donn’s mound.”
“Yes, I can see that. I was not being deceitful, Fergus. I am both warrior and druid.”
“So, why didn’t you say?’
“It did not cross my mind. No. Rather, I wanted to talk to you man to man, and it seemed warrior would be the better choice.”
“Or justice of the people, perhaps?”
“Justice of the people. Where did you hear that?”
“Is it important where I heard it?”
“Conall Cernach said it, would be my wager.”
Fergus just stared over the forest without replying. He knew Conall said they needed friends rather than enemies, but this man, be he a druid or a warrior, was hiding something, and those were the actions of an enemy.
“I ask, Fergus, because I have not heard it for many years. In my youth, I was idealistic. I suppose many of us can be. I saw the people as being suppressed and needing a friend.”
“They were never suppressed. They always had their chieftains.”
“And what if the chieftain perpetrated the wrong against them?”
Fergus could see in the druid’s eyes he was talking from experience. “Then there’s their king.”
“Their king? Have you ever seen a farmer or a woodsman petition a king?” Fergus shook his head. He had heard of one such event, which turned out to be the forerunner of an invasion by a British pirate and the end of High King Connery’s reign. The king’s attempt at justice caused enough blood to float a merchant ship.
“Well, never mind. Let me repeat: I had ideals as a youth. Anyway, that is not what we were discussing.”
“No? I was unaware we were discussing anything.”
“True. Our topic of conversation is yet to begin.”
“And what topic is that, Druid?”
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
“The topic of the queen’s schemes, of course.”
“Schemes?”
“Come now, Fergus. You no more believe the claims of Mac Roth than do I. It would be very coincidental if Fiachna just happened to do exactly what the queen needed at the precise moment she needed it, would it not?”
Fergus turned to look back over the eaves of the forest. Genonn was not only eerily quiet, he was also eerily intuitive. The thoughts Fergus had tried to dispel by counting back over the years had been precisely those. The coincidence of the humiliation, Usnech’s death, and Mac Roth’s reluctance to react in the only way the chieftain’s actions could allow was suspicious even to one with more brawn than brains like him.
“What are you saying?”
“I am saying the embassy to Cooley was not to borrow a few cows but to insult Fiachna and give Medb an excuse to invade.”
Perhaps you’re correct, Druid, Fergus conceded without answering, but it does not change anything I can see. “The council would never allow it.”
“From what I understand, the council has already given the witch their blessing.”
“How do you know that?” Fergus asked, unable to keep the skepticism from his voice.
“I cannot say,” Genonn held up his hands to stall Fergus’s question. “I would not blame you for not believing me. I would not believe me. Suffice to say, if I could tell you I would. It does not matter, though. In a few hours, you will hear it from the witch. She has already invited Leinster and Munster here. They arrive tomorrow.”
“So, what do you want from me?”
“Want, Fergus? I do not want anything from you. I am warning you about what is happening so you can make the right decision.”
“Which is?” Fergus sighed.
“I will not tell you. You must decide independently; otherwise, you will believe I influenced you. I do not want to influence you. However, I urge you to think on my words.”
“Fine, I will think on your words.” Frowning, Fergus turned to the eaves of the forest. He already had much to think about. He decided to tell Genonn he did not have the time, but when he turned back, the druid had gone.
***
“You think, My Queen, that Daire mac Dedad and Mesgegra will go against The Deceiver?” Ailill hiccupped and covered his mouth belatedly. Medb turned her face away from the sickly-sweet smell washing over her. They were in the royal roundhouse, sharing a bed they had shared for years, and most of them happily. Now, climbing under the skins next to a snoring Ailill was becoming too much of a hardship.
“I think, Ailill, these are questions beyond your ability to handle,” she snapped, unable to concentrate. The noises of Crúachain coming awake were ringing through the settlement. Babies screaming for the teat, dogs barking, warriors calling orders to one another, or exchanging banter, arses hanging over the midden trench.
“So, you too now?”
“Me too what?”
“You, too, are pitying me. I can stand your hatred and calling me a traitor, but I cannot abide your pity.”
“Do not be so foolish, Ailill. Turn away from me and continue to sleep off the mead you drank yesterday.”
“I did not drink any mead.”
“Did not drink mead. I can smell it on you like a shroud of rotten fruit,” Medb could not prevent herself from shouting. Ailill did not turn away but continued to look her in the eye. She hated that sometimes he could be strong. When she needed him to be strong, he tended to be drunk. When she needed him to be weak and do as she asked, he found strength from somewhere, only causing her disdain to flourish more quickly.
“I had ale, if you must know.”
“You had ale. We are making distinctions now, then?” Medb shook her head. “Does it really make any difference whether you drink yourself senseless through mead or ale?”
“Well, yes, I find my head less sore the morning after ale. After a quick dunk in the trough, I am ready to face what the day has to bring.”
“I see. Well, dunk your head and chew on some sweet wood root. Your mouth smells like the midden trench. You must attend the assembly in the hall today. You have not forgotten, I hope?”
“I have not forgotten, woman.”
“Sober.”
“I will be as sober as the day I squalled my first. But do you think it is a good idea?”
“What?”
“There is something of a fragile peace. If you incite Munster and Leinster to war, Mac Nessa will unleash the Red Branch on us. On them. What Fiachna did was wrong, but does it justify hundreds of deaths?”
“Can you not show at least a little spine, Ailill? We have the honor of house Connacht to uphold. So what if the Ulster king takes the part of Fiachna? Mac Nessa has become a danger to the Five Kingdoms. He must be stopped.”
“This I have heard before. Does anyone support you? Does anyone else know of the danger he has become?”
“Does anyone else know, you ask? I know, and, therefore, I must act. But put your worries aside—”
“Is it not for the Elders to act?” Ailill interrupted, causing Medb to frown and feel rage begin to stir just below the surface.
“Perhaps. It so happens that the Elders have all but given their blessing for the venture.”
“Did they say it in words?”
“No, but you know what the Elders are capable of. They can give blessing without opening their mouths.”
“I have also seen what the Red Branch warriors are capable of. They are fearsome. They would rip our pups to shreds without losing their breath.”
“Fergus and Conall are here with us. The Red Branch warriors are leaderless.”
“Not leaderless. Mac Nessa has given the captaincy to The Hound.”
“But he is just a boy. He does not have the experience to fight a war against the combined might of Connacht, Leinster, and Munster.”
“Have you not heard the stories of his feats?”
“Some,” Medb said while thinking back to when she met the warrior briefly, protecting Lugaid from her wiles. He had caused her to pause in her actions; fear had gripped her guts momentarily. She had also seen him from a distance in Temuir, leaving a tryst with Dervla, sneaking away from her roundhouse in the early hours. He had seemed like any other warrior then, except more secretive. “But they are just stories, I think,” she said with a shrug.
***
Hands crossed over the pommel of his sword, Conall could see the queen was feeling some doubts. He did not care to know what she was doubting. Conall was a warrior who believed in the code, and the longer he spent in Crúachain with the witch, the more he realized she did not. Her sitting on the king’s throne, staring at him unspeaking, did not convince Conall otherwise. “You sent for me, Lady?”
“I seek your advice.”
“My advice about—”
“Have you eaten?” she interrupted.
“I have. My advice about what?”
“How best to win over the kings of Leinster and Munster.”
“I am a warrior. I am not sure giving political advice is something for which I can claim any skill. Surely your druid would be better suited?”
“Tadg is good with herbs and potions, prophecy, that sort of thing. Besides, I was never one to seek the advice of a druid. Permission, on occasion, but seldom any advice.”
“If you need to know when to send out scouts and where to set your shield wall, then I am your man, but wooing the kings of the Five Kingdoms?” Conall held out his palms, fingers spread and pointing to the floor. He hoped the gesture was enough, vainly.
“You heard what happened to Mac Roth and Usnech?”
“I was in the feast hall, Lady.” As you know well. “Usnech executed; Mac Roth beaten and shamed in the feast hall of Fiachna; lost your ceremonial helmet. Boar’s arse of a chieftain perceived some slight against his honor. Fiachna was ever on the touchy side and coveted baubles like ceremonial helmets.”
“I sent Mac Roth as an envoy to buy the use of a milch herd. Fiachna’s response was to kill one envoy and beat another. You agree that such action cannot go unpunished?”
“It should not go unpunished, it is true. How to punish him, though, is another question.”
Unable to stop himself, Conall started to fidget with his sword pommel. Everyone in Crúachain had been talking about this moment. How would she engineer an invasion of Ulster? Now, she was laying it on a platter for Conall to digest; only his palate was rebelling.
“How is it another question?”
“He is protected by Mac Nessa, by the Red Branch. It makes him untouchable, at least by Connacht, with my respect.”
“What do you suppose will happen if I take the herds from Cooley?”
“Mac Nessa will send the Red Branch to retrieve them, and then he will retaliate. He might be a boar’s arse, but he sticks to his principles.”
“So, there would be war between Connacht and Ulster.”
“Aye, Lady, there would be war. It would be short-lived and very costly to you.”
“Costly to Connacht. Could we not win it?”
No, you could not, and it is foolhardy to think otherwise. “Anything is possible, but only with great difficulty in this instance. You would need allies and the blessing of the Elders. If the druids were to go against you, the war would be over before it began. All the chieftains of Ériu would turn against you. Quite possibly, even those of Connacht.”
The queen nodded and said, “The Elders will not support any war with Ulster unless the other kingdoms join us.”
“They have told you this?”
“By inference. They never speak in plain terms in case their schemes fail. They have taken a firm seat in the school of non-commital.”
“It is a conundrum, Lady, because Leinster and Munster will not join you, and the druids will not give you open backing. They do not have the balls of a badger between them.”
“We are of like minds when we consider them cowards. But can you think of something to override their urge to run? Can you think of how I might convince Mesgegra and Mac Dedad to join our cause?”
“Our cause, Lady?”
“My cause, then.”
“Aye. Both kings are weak and afraid of Mac Nessa. I have watched them for years, sucking up to Ulster. What I have also seen, however, is their eyes light up at any talk of wealth. I cannot be completely sure, but I think you might convince them to join your cause by the promise of gold and silver.”
“You have set my mind at rest, Conall. I, too, think wealth is the way to their allegiance.” She smiled at him, which made him want to wince.
What is your game? he wondered.
“When I have convinced the kings to join me, I will appoint Fergus as the captain over the joint armies. What do you say?”
“Say, Lady? I have nothing to say. Your choices were ever your own.”