Wet, tired, and frustrated, Medb was keeping her own counsel. Ailill had insisted on riding beside her. She knew he wanted to talk; she hoped she knew what he wanted to talk about. His reticence sitting beside her made her feel she had it right. He was over his petulant outburst, trying to build the gumption to apologize and start the reconciliation process.

She would not help him.

Medb had no intention of starting the conversation, making it easier for him. If he wanted a truce and the healing to begin, he would have to work for it—at least a little. She would not make it so hard that he lost interest again, only hard enough to make it worth his while. She knew how men loved the chase.

Medb smiled when he cleared his throat and looked at her. “We need to talk,” he said.

She tilted her head slightly and spread her smile further. “Need to talk. Yes. I think we do. And not before time.”

Medb felt a flutter in her guts as Ailill’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. Her smile faltered when he shook his head and said, “I am at a loss for what you mean. We need to discuss our current situation.”

“Yes, Ailill. I know. That is what I mean.”

“Good. Then I think we agree it cannot go on.”

“We are agreed, Ailill. It has been hurting me deeply. I did not realize you were suffering, too. It comes as a relief, I must admit.”

“What are you talking about, woman?”

“What am I talking about? Our estrangement. What are you talking about?” Medb felt the hope siphon out of her like air out of a punctured bladder ball. The red tinge of embarrassment creeping up Ailill’s face was more eloquent than words could ever be. “Oh. I see.”

“Did you really think I would talk about us after what you did to me?” Ailill hissed.

“No. Of course not. Whatever gave you such a notion? What do you mean, what I did to you?”

“You were humping an Ulsterman in plain view of the court and the army. Everyone knew except me.”

“Oh, that. Do you not think we should keep that discussion more private?”

“Tuatha, spare me. Are you saying it is fine for you to ride an Ulsterman in public but not right for us to discuss it?”

“We did not ride in public, Ailill. We were always discreet. I thought you were untroubled as long as I was discreet.”

“The arse was seen leaving your roundhouse with his triús in his hand.”

“Seen with his triús in his hand. Oh, I did not know. I did not think—”

“No. You never think. You act, and Tuatha take the consequences.”

Medb felt anger building at the words. It was unusual anger. Normally, it would flash and be gone, but this was beginning deep, and she knew it would not abate quickly. “Let us change the subject. What is it about our current situation you want to discuss?”

Ailill frowned at her for several moments before relenting and saying, “You must stop this pigheadedness and give the boy what he wants.”

“So, I am pigheaded, am I? And what is it you think the boy wants out of interest?”

“He wants us to fight. If we agree and send our best against him, we will be in Cooley stealing a bull in no time. Our honor will be appeased, and Usnech’s death avenged.”

“Our best, you say. From what I have seen of them, Ailill, they are not good enough. This boy seems to be killing our warriors at will. He has no equal, not in our armies, I fear.”

“There are many, Medb. One of the Galeoin, for instance.”

“Name one.”

“Ferbaeth is one such warrior. They tell me he trained with Scathach at the same time as the boy, so he must know of Cú Chulainn’s tricks. His peers speak highly of him.”

“Can we trust a Galeoin? I thought this had already been decided.”

“No, Medb. You said we cannot trust them. No one else, truth be told.”

“Alright. I will put it another way. Can we trust a peer of Cú Chulainn’s? I think not. We must continue our course, and I hope the Tuatha will not desert us.”

“The Three Sisters have already deserted us, Medb. Have they shown us luck since we started on this misbegotten venture?”

“Shown no luck? Maybe not, but that must change. Such is the nature of the Three.”

“May the Tuatha take your stubbornness, woman. Nothing good can come of it. Of that, you can be assured.”

“My stubbornness, Ailill. You dare talk to me of my stubbornness when you spend all day drunk? Get out of my sight before I have you restrained.”

“Your will, Lady,” Ailill said, swinging his horse around and riding away from the vanguard. Medb frowned at his back and wondered what she had been thinking: there could be no reconciliation between them. The man was constantly drunk.

“Mac Roth,” she called.

“He has slipped into the forest, Lady. I suspect nature has called him away.”

“I see.”

***

Mac Roth looked around the glade for the third time in as many moments. Already risking much, he did not want to be seen. His grip on the cailleach’s skirts had been slipping of late. He could find another sponsor to cling to if he lost it, but he would rather not have to restart at the bottom. Her grip was also slipping. Medb needed help even though she was too proud to admit it.

Mac Roth could hear the army passing, no more than half a league from where he waited. There was none of the usual banter. The noises were mechanical: the rattle of bits, clopping hooves, barked orders. Mac Roth was beginning to wonder whether the venture had any chance of success. When the cailleach first talked of it, success sounded--not only possible--but likely. Things started to fail when Fiachna ordered the death of Usnech, despite it giving the campaign legitimacy.

Mac Roth did not feel any guilt. Could not feel any guilt. He knew it was wrong. He grew up with Usnech. They were in the boy’s house together, had trained together, and joined the guards together. But he felt nothing. Usnech was ever the bundún, he thought, running a hand over his pate and smiling.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Twitching a bit, Mac Roth,” startled him.

“Bodaláin. Do you always sneak up on people, Fraech?”

“Only when their head is so far up their hole they cannot hear my approach. What do you want?”

Mac Roth put a hand up to his ear, tilted his head, and asked, “Do you hear that?”

“What are you talking about? I hear nothing. There is nothing to hear. Rain washed your brains out of your shiny pate, did it?”

“Nothing to hear is my point,” shaking his head, exasperated by the eejits surrounding him. “Spirits are so low I doubt we will have the same numbers by tomorrow.”

Fraech shrugged, “There have always been farmers who return to their farms. It is the nature of war.”

“No banter between warriors. That is not the nature of war. Banter is as important as sharp blades. This army is about to sneak away a handful at a time. Our queen will face the Red Branch with nothing behind her but a flabby tóin.”

“So, what is your point this time?”

“We need this Hound of Ulster to disappear.”

“That’s not hard. She accepts his challenge and sends a warrior down to reduce his height by the length of a head. Easy. The army knows it and sees the refusal as a kick where it hurts.”

“You know what she is like. She will not bow down to what she calls warrior games. She does not respect the code.”

“I ask again, Mac Roth, what is your point?”

“You have been known to take on the occasional unsavory task when the price is right. You have the streak of the Fianna about you.”

“The witch wants me to do what, exactly?”

“You are one of the best trackers in the army. Could you find this boy?”

“Any moron could find him. Just ride up to the next fords, and he will be there, laying another trap or a spancel-withe. He has not exactly been hiding from us.”

“If you remove him, the rewards will be bountiful.”

“You telling me the queen wants me to kill this boy?”

“Yes. And quickly.”

“I am no seeker, Mac Roth. I can send you to Sluaghdhán in the hawker’s camp. He has seekers.”

“The queen would not agree to seekers.”

“I cannot do this. It goes against the code. I could not sit in the hostel with my head up.”

“No one need know. The boy will just vanish, giving us room to steal Fiachna’s herd and return to Crúachain.”

“No one will know?”

“No one.”

“Bountiful rewards? How much is bountiful?”

“You have never dreamed of such riches.”

“Enough of the horseshit. I do not believe in dreams. How much?”

“Three cumals.” Mac Roth shook his head as Fraech whistled between his teeth. Three cumals were enough to last a frugal warrior most of their life. He could see the gleam of greed in Fraech’s eyes. He had been relying on it. Fraech’s reputation as a tracker was eclipsed by his reputation as one who would sell his mother for the right price. Not that Mac Roth had any intention of paying the man, except maybe with a dagger between the ribs down some dark alley. Fraech seemed to be staring at him in the limited light of the forest.

“Three cumals, Fraech; imagine what a life you could lead.”

“I will do it, Mac Roth. I will take my best warriors and have it finished before the end of the day.”

“How can you be sure it will be so quick?”

“He will block the road and force us to Ath da Fert. I will intercept him there. All this army ever needed was a commander with their head out of their hole,” he laughed as he turned and walked away.

“Bodalán,” Mac Roth whispered, watching Fraech’s back vanish under the forest eaves. He mounted his horse and rode back to the road, spurring to reach where the queen was riding alone, deep in contemplation.

“Are you well, Mac Roth?” Medb asked as he reined in beside her.

“My Lady?”

“You were away for a long time. Is your stomach not well?”

“No, it is nothing. Just worry, I think. I guess…”

“Your injuries are not troubling you?”

“My injuries, Lady?”

“Your beating at the hands of Fiachna. It was savage. You are suffering?”

“No, no, Lady, I—”

“The queen is needed in the van,” interrupted him and caused Medb to frown.

“Shall I ride ahead?” he asked, relieved he did not need to answer.

“No. I shall ride with you. I am becoming immune to the problems. Whatever it is now will not kill me.”

It might, cailleach. It might, Mac Roth thought as he spurred his horse on. Watching the faces of the warriors as he rode to the front of the column, he noted their mood. They were all downcast. There was no spirit in any of Medb” s fighters. If a battle were joined at this moment, the army would run before the enemy had time to form a shield wall.

Mac Roth could see the cause of the new problem long before they reached the front of her army. A huge tree was lying across the road, roots standing proud. Driving the army’s wagons around would only be possible with hours of digging and leveling. He looked at Medb, staring into the forest, saying nothing. Mac Roth could see the frustration creasing the skin around her eyes and mouth. Like the rest of the army, she began to tire of the constant setbacks.

“We can clear a way around it, Lady, but it would take time,” Mac Roth said, shaking his head. Medb did not answer but gazed at the forest on either side of the road.

“Can we not just cut a road through?” she asked, and then winced as a warrior called from beside the trunk.

“There is an Ogham challenge cut into the bark, Lady.”

“What is inscribed?” Mac Roth shouted back.

“Looks fresh.”

“What is inscribed, bodalán?” Mac Roth was losing patience. “Do not make me come down and relieve you of your magairlí.”

Medb looked at him and said, “The boy again. Can no one rid me of him?”

“It is another challenge, Captain. He challenges us to ride our wagons over the tree.”

“That is meaningless,” Medb said. “He is losing his mind or baiting us at the least.”

“Yes. His plan is to bait us, and it is working,” Mac Roth shook his head.

“Working? His plan? What do you mean?”

“Something needs to be done, Lady. Warriors are getting twitchy.”

“Have you ever seen an oak as big?” she asked. She seemed to not want to think about her army’s spirit. The cailleach had to think about it. Even Ailill knew spirit was critical to a successful campaign.

“No, Lady?”

Mac Roth frowned as Fergus reigned in beside them. He was grinning, which annoyed Mac Roth immensely. He had never been more convinced Fergus was working against Connacht.

“What is your advice, Fergus?” Medb asked without looking at him.

“My advice, seemingly, isn’t worth hearing.” The queen said nothing. Stared at Fergus and said nothing.

“If you have nothing to say, bundún, why are you still here?” Mac Roth asked.

“Shut your hole, Mac Roth.”

“Yes, why are you here, Fergus?” the queen asked.

“Unfortunately for us all, I gave you my oath,” Fergus said as he turned his horse and rode for the rear of the column.

Mac Roth watched him go with a smile. At last, everything was back to the way it should be. The bodalán was out of favor, and the cailleach was turning to her Captain of Guard.

“We should send an envoy to the boy and accept his terms,” Ailill said.

“You never think, do you. We could accept his terms, but who would we send to fight him, Ailill? You? We will retreat and find another crossing.”

“The best crossing would be at Ath da Fert,” Mac Roth said.

“If it is the best crossing, will The Hound not expect us to go there?”

“I have sent ahead, Lady. The crossing will be secured when we arrive.” And Cú Chulainn will be dead, Mac Roth thought but decided not to say. He did not want the warriors within hearing to know he had broken the code.

“How did you know the road was blocked?” Ailill asked.

“We should move, my Lady. We need to make some progress before nightfall.”