Lifting the oxhide cover, Conall ducked into the roundhouse and allowed his eyes to adjust. He wondered again at Fergus’s choice of wood as the smoke billowed. He could hear the lieutenants coughing on the other side of the fire. Sighing, he made his way through the murk until he could see Fergus standing at the head of his table, illuminated by the torchlight.
“What gives, boar’s arse?” Conall called, evoking some spluttered laughs from the gathered lieutenants.
“The kings have agreed. It’s war,” Fergus said. Conall could see the excitement in his friend’s face despite the fogginess of his roundhouse. “I didn’t think it would happen.”
“Aye, I know, Fergus, I was there. I am the queen’s guard while Mac Roth is indisposed.”
“Yes, of course, I’d forgotten.”
Conall frowned as a cloud gathered on his friend’s face briefly. It was as though Fergus thought he was withholding something. “Why have you got us here in this smoke-filled spoor hole?” he asked.
“To share thoughts on what we must do.”
“It is not difficult. You order envoys to each chieftain and ask them to send a troop here to Mag nAí.”
“Yes, but how many men?”
“How many? Boar’s arse. How many do you think?”
Fergus shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s why I asked.”
“You know how many Ulster can muster. You have led them yourself.”
“I know. Two thousand warriors. But how many would we need in the field to defeat them?”
“They are the Red Branch. We need twice their number to stand any chance, but we are not supposed to fight them. The invasion will happen while they are too drunk to stand in the shield wall. The plan is to cause Mac Nessa to be humiliated and dethroned.”
“Yes, invade during The Pangs,” the words caused the lieutenants to look at each other, questions in their eyes.
Conall frowned. The plan was risky at best. Raiding and invading during any ritual feast was geis, taboo, not done. He thought it a good plan, even if the lieutenants in the roundhouse disagreed. They feared the reaction of the Tuatha. They feared the reaction of the Elder Council.
“Aye, well, just to be clear, Fergus. We are not invading Emain Macha during The Pangs. We will be going into Cooley after the herd of Fiachna. The herd and the bull, Don Cuailnge. Although a vassal, Fiachna is not an Ulsterman.”
“Yes, yes. It’s only a fine distinction, Conall.”
“Only fine, but a distinction, nonetheless,” Conall said as he looked around at the lieutenants. He could see some of them relax, but most were still nervous. Fidgeting.
“Back to my original question. How many from each chieftain?”
“They are simple numbers. We have eighteen chieftains, including those of Leinster and Munster. We need a minimum of four thousand men. How many men can you muster?”
“Three hundred.”
“So, if you ask all the chieftains to field three hundred, the army will be about five and a half thousand strong—a little less. The kings Mesgegra and Mac Dedad will not attend the venture. They have given us Galchobhar and Bréannin as captains, so you ask them to instruct their chieftains to field three hundred.”
“And that will be enough?”
“I do not know, Fergus. How tall is an oak tree?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Boar’s arse does not understand,” Conall said with a shake of the head and a smile, showing Fergus he meant no insult. “A tree is as tall as it is. The only way to discover it is to climb it and find out. We will not know if the soldiers will be enough until we face the Red Branch in battle. Personally, I would not want to face them regardless of numbers.”
“Does anyone else have thoughts?” Fergus asked, turning away.
Conall looked around the table. The lieutenants each looked at their feet and said nothing. He could see doubt in their minds as plain as the logs burning in the fire. It was not a good start to the venture. Going to war with an army unwilling to fight was an exercise in futility. Tuatha spare us an open battle, he thought, as he left the roundhouse and made for the hostel.
***
Gathering fungi in the forest, Fedelm heard the clopping of an approaching horse. Hidden from travelers, she could see the road from her vantage point. Stopping, she watched, waiting for the forest to reveal the rider. She had been back beside the Bóand for several days without seeing another human. The forest could be lonely and unforgiving for those unused to seclusion. She shook her head and smiled at the thought, more used to her own company than most.
Fedelm held the basket of mushrooms by her side, waiting for the rider to come into sight, unsure whether it would be a friend or an enemy. When the horse walked into view, gait easy, rider relaxed, she dropped her basket and ran, swift, sure of her footing, safe in the knowledge he would not hear her: she knew the path too well and easily avoided the tell-tale signs of a person in flight.
She had to beat him to the roundhouse.
Her path was more direct than the road. Unless he gave his horse a dig, she should arrive before him. He had not been hurrying, the horse at a walk. She became a little frantic as she ran, surprising herself. Her heart was beating faster than running would cause. She was afraid and had no idea why.
Arriving in the clearing, the clopping of the hooves drawing near, breath coming in quick gasps, she stopped beside her cauldron, plopped herself down, and arranged her skirts just as the man stopped his horse opposite the fire and stared down at her.
“I was expecting you,” she said.
Fedelm did not need to look up. She could hear the smirk in the rider’s words, “Since when, Fedelm? Since you saw me riding up the road a few moments ago?”
“You saw me?” she slapped the ground in frustration.
“No. I heard you crashing through the woods like a wounded boar, and now, you puff like an overused bellows.”
Fedelm laughed and stood. “I thought you had returned to your wife. Word is, you retired to Dun Dealgan. Many a woman in the Five Kingdoms has been mourning your loss.”
“Aye. It is why Mac Nessa married me off in the first place, so it is. Too many women of the Five Kingdoms find me irresistible, which their men find aggravating enough to try me in battle. Never a good choice.”
“You enjoy it. Tell the truth.”
“Which, the battle or the humping?”
“Both,” Fedelm laughed. “But especially the humping.”
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“Those days are behind me. I need to forget them,” the rider said, face drawn as he swung down from his mount.
“I am surprised you remember them, Setanta,” Fedelm chuckled. Her mind was never free of the frenzied hump beside the river Afon Braint just after he arrived in Caer Leb. His mind would not be so generous. He had swamped it with mead and anger. “Why are you here?”
“I come seeking favors.”
“The last time you needed a favor, Setanta, it involved me on my back with my legs in the air.” With you above me screaming in your despair.
“Not this time, Fedelm.”
“Then I will not do what you ask,” she said with a pout.
“Meaning?”
“Unless you put me on my back and hump me, I will not do as you ask.”
“On the riverbank, like the last time?”
“You remember the riverbank, then?”
“Aye, for sure. How could any man forget a hump beside the Sinann?”
“You think we were beside the Sinann? One river is much as another, eh, Setanta,” Fedelm laughed.
“Was it not the Sinann? I was sure, so I was.”
“It does not matter. I have a roundhouse with a cot and hides. We can hump in comfort this time.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” the warrior said, tying off his horse and lifting Fedelm into his arms.
***
Looking up from the flames lapping the underside of her cauldron, Fedelm smiled at Laeg as he rode into the clearing and swung from his saddle. Setanta’s retainer was not a man Fedelm knew to see, but Setanta had described him well. He loved him as a brother, praised him with gusto, and made him as familiar to Fedelm as if she had known him all her life.
“Where is he?” the warrior asked.
“In the roundhouse. We talked late into the night. He is sleeping.” The resulting sneer caused Fedelm to laugh. She put a hand over her mouth, trying to conceal it, but Laeg did not seem to take offense.
“I am sure you talked. Setanta was always one who enjoyed a lengthy chat. Can you wake him?”
“No need, Laeg. I am awake, so I am.” Fedelm looked up to see Setanta standing at the roundhouse door, naked as the day his mother pushed him into the world.
“By the Sidhe, Setanta, will you not at least put on your triús? There is a lady in the company,” Laeg chuckled. Setanta ignored him and came and sat beside Fedelm.
“What news, Laeg?”
“They muster on Mag nAí.”
“Did you count them?” Setanta asked.
“Yes. They number around five thousand. Slightly more, if anything. Warriors all. With followers, there must be near twelve thousand. I have never seen so many camp followers. Looks like all of Connacht has arrived on the plain.”
Setanta took Fedelm’s hand and patted it, smiling. “Are you still willing?” he asked.
“Am I your pet wolfhound,” she hissed, then regretted it. The look that flashed across his face made her glad she was not a warrior.
“I did not mean offense,” he said, looking through the trees at the river.
“Nor I, Setanta. You know I will do anything to help you. You must trust me to back you.” Not because I love you, but because I have been instructed to prevent the coming battle, she smiled.
“It will be a risk. There is no way to know how she might react.”
She looked at the youth, inexperience shining from his hair-free upper lip to his nakedness. She knew he was right. He could not predict Medb’s reaction. But Biróg had trained Fedelm as a seeress, and she had more skill in forecasting. “I will do it. Now put on your triús so we can eat. I refuse to wield my utensils so close to free-hanging jewelry.”
***
The members of her inner circle were standing on the palisade, watching the armies muster on Mag nAí. It was a sight none of them had seen in their lifetime. So many warriors, whores, hawkers, and hangers-on, and such variety. There were purple cloaks and grey cloaks, green cloaks and brown cloaks, cloaks of all colors spreading away from the settlement like a patchwork carpet from one of the exotic countries to the east—not only color but also power: stabbing spears and throwing spears; longswords and broadswords; round shields and long shields; mounted warriors and warriors afoot: men and women of war. The noise, too, was not something the people of Crúachain had heard before. The plain was abuzz with the voices of excited warriors, happy to find a return to the life they knew best. Their excitement spilled over into the occasional fight. Ribaldry was given and received. The whole, creating a cacophony.
“Is it not a beautiful sight?” Longas asked.
Medb nodded but did not respond. The captains Galchobhar and Bréannin of Leinster and Munster stood in the gatehouse; Medb had never seen two more unlikely-looking captains. Where Conall and Fergus were soldierly and impressive, the warriors supplied by her allies were squat, ugly, and about as frightening as the cockroaches infesting the storerooms of the settlement. Conall told her their troops were as impressive—farmers with rusty swords and little desire to be on the plains of Mag nAí. Still, they were there to make up numbers. There would be no battle, so it did not matter.
She looked at one of the more professional troops, plainly visible, their purple cloaks standing out in the wash of colors. The warriors had pitched their tents and were watching others as they arrived. They offered no help. Just stood, arms crossed, watching. They were the Fergus troop, led by Longas—true warriors.
Medb turned to the son of her enemy and wondered whether she could trust him. The warrior claimed Mac Nessa exiled him from Emain Macha after he tried to defend Fergus. He could easily be a spy, but she needed Fergus and Longas, who were part of his company, so Medb took him in and asked Mac Roth to watch him.
“It is a beautiful sight,” Mac Roth agreed. “A sight that has been missing for too long.”
“Missing for too long, he says. The boar’s arse is too young to remember the hardship of war and battle,” Conall said to Fergus, but loud enough to be heard by all standing under the cover of the gatehouse roof. “Aos Sidhe protect me from the foolishness of innocence and the hogshit of the untried.”
Medb watched Mac Roth staring at the older warrior but saying nothing. Despite his aches and bruises, she could see her captain was smarting. He hated her choice of replacement. She had not done it to upset him but because she wanted to keep Conall close. However, watching Conall at his task and comparing him to Mac Roth, Medb knew who she would prefer guarding her. The kings of Leinster and Munster visibly shook at the threat of Conall Cernach. The only things that shook at the threat of Mac Roth were bellies, shaking in mirth. Fergus was not wrong. It was high time she considered a change. Roth had been dead these many years, and she had surely kept her promise. How much favor would one well-endowed hump buy?
“How many men are gathering?” she asked of no one.
“Each chieftain has a troop of three hundred men,” Fergus replied. “We have eighteen troops, including your two and mine. The army is around fifty-four hundred, Lady.”
“Are they enough?” she asked. Conall looked at her with a calculating tilt of his head, which made her nervous. She smiled, trying vainly to disarm him with her wiles before remembering he had no interest in her wiles.
“Enough for what, Lady, stealing a few cows from Cooley? Aye, maybe—for invading Ulster and defeating the Red Branch warriors? It would be difficult to say. If your army invaded Ulster when the Red Branch were in their cups, then yes. If they are too late, then who knows? Much will depend on the spirit of the armies when they face each other in battle.”
“How large an army can Ulster muster?”
“Large enough,” Conall said. “It is not only about size. The Red Branch is the best-trained army in Ériu, Britain, and Gaul before her defeat. You would need a big numerical advantage to stand any chance.”
Medb looked at the warrior and wondered, Can I trust your words, or are they born of an exaggerated sense of your own achievement or misplaced loyalty for old comrades? “I see. Well, Conall, we shall march, and we shall see. Five days should be long enough, I feel.”
“Yes, my queen, march and see,” Ailill mumbled from where he was leaning on the palisade, looking over the plain.
“Go back to sleep,” Medb hissed.
“Now, there is a good idea.” Medb frowned at her husband as he climbed down the ladder, missing the bottom step and falling on his arse in the dust.
“We are going to Cooley to get a milch herd and a bull, so we will be in and out before the Red Branch have recovered from their drunk. Mac Nessa will be humiliated, and his people will throw him down.”
“Whatever you say, Lady,” Conall said before turning quickly back to the forest edge, a frown creasing his forehead.
As much as it could, the noise of an army mustering on a plain had abated. Each of those standing on the palisade looked toward the forest as a rider came into view. She had a shock of wild red hair, and judging by the reactions of the men nearest her, she was beautiful.
“Who is that?” Medb asked as the woman rode through the ranks at a leisurely pace. Whoever she was, Medb could see she was eliciting calls and looks from the gathering men. Watching the rider’s approach, she frowned.
The men around the queen shrugged. No one knew who she was, although they could see she was a young woman of rare beauty as she neared. Her hips and chest were rounded and full, her hair red and long. There was an air of self-confidence about her as she reined in under the gatehouse and looked up at her admirers with sea-green eyes.