Slouching on his throne, Medb could see Ailill’s mind was not in the feast hall. Once again, the king of Connacht was swimming in the mead he had become so fond of. Or ale, Medb allowed. His promises are like so much chaff during harvest—blown away at the first threat of a heavy wind. With a surge of disgust, she thought about when she married him. She thought about the girlish dreams of a new bride—dreams of a strong man, an honest king with potent seed to provide sons and a sharp blade to protect them. Not that she ever had those dreams; her adolescence was snatched away when her father gave her into sexual slavery, honoring a blood debt. She understood dreams of love and happiness but knew she would be a fool to believe in them. By building armies and crushing enemies, the strong made their own dreams.
Sighing, Medb looked at the kings: Mesgegra, king of Leinster, to the left of Ailill; to the right, Daire mac Dedad, king of Munster. It took all her will not to cringe.
Not the stuff of even false dreams; they were lickspittles. Mac Nessa had been making their choices for them for years. Even though the ghouls of nightmare, she needed them. Without Leinster and Munster, the Elder Council would not sanction what Medb intended. Without them, she would fail, and Ériu would fall into the evil hands of the king of the Ulaid.
“Why are we here, Medb?” Mesgegra asked with a frown. “Your envoy said an urgent matter about the health of the Five Kingdoms. What could Connacht have to do with the health of the Five Kingdoms? You are not even on top of your own health.”
“Meaning?”
“I think my meaning is plain,” Mesgegra sneered.
Medb knew he directed his sneer at Ailill. She looked down on the king, loathing him at that moment. To evoke sneers from these two idiots made her want to gag. They had no right. They had bent themselves over barrels for the gratification of Ulster for years. The black bags around their eyes framed their subservience, supported by rounded shoulders caused by forever bowing their acquiescence to The Defiler. Only the events during the Samhain festival made them sit up and take note, at least as far as their suppressed postures would allow. Medb was under no illusions. They would not have responded to her invitation had The Hound not bashed in the brains of the women of the court.
“I think you know why you are here.”
“Tell us anyway,” Mesgegra said, the sneer still plain.
“Tell you anyway. I must put the obvious into words for you.” Because you lack a brain between you, she only just held in. “We have to do something about Ulster, and we can only do it if we unite.”
“Are you mad, woman?” mac Dedad scoffed.
“Woman, is it. I am a queen, mac Dedad. You will address me in the correct manner.”
“Or?”
“Conall,” Medb called.
The warrior walked out from the shadows concealing him. As always, he had his hands crossed over the pommel of his sword, leaving no room for misunderstanding. Medb tried to imagine Mac Roth in place of Conall but could not. Without the ceremonial helmet adding to his stature, her Captain of Guards would be next to useless.
“Conall Cernach, what are you doing in the camp of Connacht?” the king of Leinster asked, a sudden tic appearing on his cheek.
“I, Mesgegra, have seen the turning of the tides. I have accepted something must be done to stop the beast, or we all pay the price.”
“Beast? To whom do you refer, Conall Cernach?”
“Mac Nessa, as you well know, Mesgegra.”
“And now you are being used as a hammer to appease the wishes of nothing more than a nice arse, are you?”
“See it as you will, my friend, but I would urge you to use the proper forms of address,” Conall said, moving his hand from pommel to hilt and taking a step closer to the table.
“We should stop this bickering,” mac Dedad interjected, looking at Conall from the corner of his eye. “What is it you propose, Lady?”
“I think we should unite and take war to Ulster.”
“I repeat, Lady, are you mad? Ulster has the Red Branch. We cannot hope to succeed in battle against them, even if we are united. But, putting that aside, we have no premise for an invasion. The Elders would condemn any action without just cause.”
“You have not heard what happened to my envoy to Cooley?” The kings shook their heads. “One executed, the other beaten and returned to me with a message. I will not repeat the message. Suffice it to say it was very insulting, even to a practiced woman like me. The Elders would find it reason enough for retaliation.”
“That is reason enough, but what of the Red Branch? We do not have the strength to battle them. They are the reason no one has tried before.”
“What if we were to attack while they suffered their pangs?”
The kings both glowered at Medb as though she genuinely was mad. Typically, the looks would have caused her to order their deaths. Instead, she held a hand up to Conall. Despite the disrespect in their stares, she did understand. Attacking Ulster during The Pangs, when the warriors of Emain Macha were unable to stand, would break a pact that had been in force for hundreds of summers.
“I think I have heard enough,” Mesgegra stood up from the table and turned to leave.
“If we were not to attack Emain Macha directly?” Medb asked.
“What do you mean?”
“We could march on Cooley without attacking Ulster or Emain Macha. Taking the herds of Fiachna would be humiliating to Mac Nessa, and he would never recover. The Ulaid would depose him.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. Whatever was to happen with these lofty plans, Lady, I hear nothing of interest for Munster,” mac Dedad said, leaning forward in his chair.
“Send for Mac Roth,” Medb called.
Mac Roth shuffled up the aisle of the feast hall. Slowly. In obvious pain. One of his eyes closed, the other swollen to near closure. Lips split and a scabbed gash in his pate; he was using a spear shaft as a crutch. The kings looked at him but said nothing.
“Mac Roth, please tell the lords what you saw in the feast hall of Fiachna.”
Mac Roth bowed and said, “I saw great wealth. Retainers were well dressed; warriors bedecked with golden torcs and an abundance of meat on the table. He had twenty warriors in the hall. The gates were unguarded. We passed his herds on the road. They were protected only by herdsmen, without warriors.”
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“What would you surmise from what you saw?” the queen prompted.
“Fiachna is one of the wealthiest lords in the Five Kingdoms, but he is arrogant and unprotective. Relying too much on Ulster. His wealth is there for the taking.”
“So, kings, there you have it. If you support me, you will have access to the easiest plunder in The Five Kingdoms.”
Medb smiled to herself as she saw the eyes of the two kings take on an animation hitherto not seen.
“Thank you, Mac Roth, you may go.”
The warrior bowed, gave Conall a dirty look, evident even through his bruises, and hobbled from the hall without another word.
“So, with the Red Branch in their cups, we invade Cooley and steal this wealth. And how much of this plunder would you give up?”
“All of it, my Lords. Connacht is motivated by the safety of the Five Kingdoms, not by the pull of easy plunder.”
Neither of the kings noticed the rebuke. Both were too engrossed in thoughts of what they could do with their share.
“Medb, what is happening?” Ailill mumbled, bleary-eyed and unsure of where he was.
“Nothing, Ailill. Go back to sleep.”
***
He was walking as slowly as he could without tripping over his feet. He had not been to the roundhouse since the queen humiliated him, and he did not relish returning. She demanded his presence, and so he had to go, but not without promising himself he would not fall for her wiles again. Conall could boil his head. Fergus would not climb between the legs of the madwoman for a second time. He did not care if it was for the good of Ulster.
“My Lady,” he called from the door, not lifting the cover.
“Come in, Fergus. I have been expecting you.” Stealing himself, he lifted the oxhide with a sigh. The interior was pitch black. He could not see his hand in front of his face.
He entered and dropped the oxhide before calling, “Where are you?”
“I am here, Fergus,” she whispered into his ear as she put her arms around him and grabbed his manhood through his triús.
***
She was kneeling with her back to him, head bowed, leaning forward, hands in the mud. She was silent, rocking gently backward and forwards. “You betrayed him,” he heard, nothing more than a whisper, quickly borne away on the wind. Now, he could hear the sighing of the trees in the forest. The branches seemed to be repeating the word betrayal, over and over. He could not speak but shook his head violently. It was not me, he wanted to scream, but the words would not come. He ran around her so he could lift her up and plead with her to believe him but stopped when he reached her front and saw the pools of blood under her hands. Her wrists were gashed, the pools were significant, and there could be no blood left in her veins. Then he saw her skin’s shimmering paleness in the moonlight. Bloodless skin, a body ready for internment, only she was moving. She lifted her head, looked at him with accusing eyes, and hissed, Fergus.
“Fergus, Fergus,” she was hissing in his ear.
“What, woman?”
“We need to talk.”
“Can I not sleep?”
“No. It is important.”
He sat up and frowned at her. What could be so important that he could not sleep? She was sitting in the bed beside him, knees drawn up, chin resting on them. It annoyed him how women did not understand that after spending his seed, a man needed sleep to replenish his strength. It was not a complex concept, yet he had not met a woman who understood.
Medb smiled and said, “I have to thank you.”
“Thank me? For what?” he mumbled.
“Mac Roth told me you were determined to defend our honor against Fiachna.”
“Now, there’s a turd I’d love to scrape off my boot.”
“Fiachna?”’
“No, Mac Roth. Why do you keep him? There must be better, surely.”
“I promised his father.” The glint in her eye hinted at what Roth had done to receive such a special favor.
“Come, Medb. I’m sure you elevated the arse because of his father; that’s no reason to keep him.”
“Sometimes I wonder. I think he is good at his job.”
“You do? He gives me the feeling he wants to stab me in the back whenever I look at him. There’s something about a man who tortures animals.”
“Tortures animals? What do you mean?”
“His spurs are designed to inflict pain. Did you ever see the flanks of his mare?”
“He just wants to be in control, Fergus.”
“Yes, he does, and I’d wager not just over his horse.”
“Enough. I did not bring you here to discuss Mac Roth.”
“No, I think—”
“That is not what I meant,” Medb interrupted, smiling. “I have a proposition for you.”
Fergus raised his eyebrows, not quite sure he understood the distinction. “Well?” he finally asked.
“I have the agreement from Munster and Leinster. They are to provide troops for the raid into Cooley.”
“Which raid into Cooley?”
“We have the blessing of the Elder Council and the support of Mesgegra and mac Dedad. We are going after the cows and the bull Fiachna murdered the warrior over.”
“Usnech,” Fergus said.
“Who is Usnech?” Medb asked, frowning.
“The warrior Fiachna had murdered.”
“Ah, yes. I did not know his name.”
“He was a good man. His loss—”
“I did not ask you here to discuss the merits of dead warriors,” she interrupted. Fergus looked at her and frowned.
“Why then, Lady?”
“Lady, is it? You did not call me lady while humping me.”
“No, I didn’t. You didn’t answer my question.”
“I want you to give me your oath.”
“My oath. You’re not serious, Medb? How can I give you my oath? I’m an Ulsterman.”
“You told me you crave vengeance against Mac Nessa. He betrayed you. I am the only ruler in the Five Kingdoms who recognizes the threat of him. I have the Elder Council’s agreement and Leinster and Munster’s alliances. What I do not have is a captain to take charge of my army.”
“What about Mac Roth? Is he not your Captain of Guards?”
“Commanding a guard troop and commanding an army are different things, Fergus, as well you know.”
“What about Conall? He is much more adept as a leader, believe me.”
“I do believe you, Fergus. I do not, however, trust Conall Cernach. I am convinced he is not truthful about why he is here.”
“I’d trust Conall with my life. He—”
“But I cannot. He is an Ulsterman. He was captain of the Red Branch before he professed to come here in search of you. Did he ever tell you why he came?”
“I am also an Ulsterman.”
“You defected to Connacht because Mac Nessa betrayed you. You are now one of us. Answer me, Fergus. Did he tell you why he came?”
Fergus looked at Medb and wondered what to believe. He had thought about why Conall came and even asked him occasionally but did not give it weight. He came because they were friends. When he asked the question, Conall always dismissed it with a shrug or changed the subject. Could his friend really be working for Mac Nessa? If he was, he was hiding it well. But then, Fergus knew Conall to be far sharper, and it would not be the first time someone had fooled him. “No, he didn’t. But he does not need to. It is enough that he is my friend.”
“Enough about Conall. If you give me your oath, I will make you captain of the joint armies.”
“I don’t know, Medb. You ask me to lose faith in a warrior I’ve trusted since I left The Shadowy Isle.”
“I did not ask you to lose faith, Fergus. I just told you why I do not have any. You can choose to believe in Conall’s fealty if you wish. I am asking you to give me your oath and command my armies. Nothing else.”
Fergus looked at her. He could not see any guile. He knew he was not a good judge of character, but the queen seemed to be speaking honestly. “Very well, Medb. You have my oath.”