It was not death because he could hear voices. At first, they were indistinct, indecipherable through the grogginess. Little by little, he could distinguish the words. When they became clear, he became confused.

“It is good to see you, Ferbaeth, but why did you come?” Ferbaeth? he asked himself, without opening his eyes. Ferbaeth is the spy. I was sure of Fergus.

“My troop have gone back to Leinster. I had to make an excuse for staying. I could not think of anything except honor. I told her I would fight you today.”

“Ah, I see. No matter. I will yield the fords. It would be a shame to lose my eyes and ears, so it would.”

“What is Mac Roth doing here and sleeping like a baby?” Ferbaeth asked.

“Says he is a messenger from Fergus. He got a little feisty, and I gave him a tap with Lorg Mór, so I did,” he heard Ferbaeth chuckle.

“Really. Why would Fergus be sending you messages? He is oathbound to the cailleach. If this one returns to the queen with false accusations, Fergus will suffer.”

“Aye, you are right. I should kill him, as Laeg says.”

“You could. It would be better to return Mac Roth to the army and denounce him.”

“How will you explain being here?”

“I will say I came to agree terms and found him here reporting to you. He will deny it, but Medb will see his claims as desperation.”

“Maybe. What would be the benefit of me not killing him here?”

“Medb’s pups are low in spirits. Watching her captain dangling from a tree will finish them. We could return home and save the Red Branch a ride out.”

“They enjoy a ride out, so they do. Against the pups of Connacht, they could use it as a training day.”

“Normally, Setanta, I would agree, but straight after The Pangs? Their heads will be like peat and I think they would rather not.”

“Good point. You have convinced me. How will you take him without a weapon?” Ferbaeth shrugged. “Why did you come unarmed?”

“In case someone saw me. I thought it would arouse suspicion if I came to set terms while carrying weapons.”

“Aye, that makes sense. Take this spear. He will behave if you keep reminding him of it with a prod, so he will.”

“My thanks.”

“Wake up, Mac Roth,” preceded a dousing of water in his face. He sat up, spluttering. “You are going back to your queen to explain your treachery, so you are. Ferbaeth, your terms are agreeable. The sooner you return, the sooner we can contest the fords. The quickest way is the scree slope.”

“I will see you shortly at the fords,” Ferbaeth said with a nod.

The slope of the path was treacherous. Scree moved with each footfall. Mac Roth held his breath and tested the ground with each foot. He was barefoot and, although uncomfortable, was glad he was not wearing his boots. Smooth soles on the stones would be treacherous. And as the thought manifested itself, Ferbaeth slipped and tumbled past him, the spear landing at Mac Roth’s feet. He picked it up and rode down the slope with a grin. As he rode, he watched Ferbaeth on his hands and knees, coughing up dust from his tumble. He did not speak to the Galeoin as he reached him; he just thrust the spear between his shoulder blades and laughed as Ferbaeth’s coughing up dust became more colorful and fatal.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

***

Ailill returned to his tent and, even though it was a summer’s morning, ordered the braziers lit despite them emitting an oily smoke, which caused him to cough and his eyes to water. A good meal and a soft bed in Crúachain seemed so much dust and ashes: dreams of the overly optimistic, rainy days, insipid gruel, tough mutton, and the realities of war. Blood and shit. Dead or disappointed warriors. Dead fénnid. Dead sons. Now, dead informers. And not least, unfaithful wives. Could the acquisition of a bull and a milch herd justify it?

Ailill shook his head.

In the future, anyone who tried to convince him that war was a noble undertaking would receive a slap with the flat of his sword. “There is no glory in war,” he whispered at his fire. No life is worth it. Already, the deaths numbered too many, even if they would not miss some of them.

“Sire?” the spy at the entrance asked.

“Nothing,” he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, just a little rest.

Mac Roth calling from the tent flaps woke him. He looked through the gap and could see a brightness hinting at afternoon. It seemed Ailill had been more tired than he realized. He rubbed his hands vigorously over his face.

“Sire, a moment?” Mac Roth repeated.

“Not really. Is it urgent?”

“It is, Sire.” Ailill waved his hand and gestured at the seat opposite his own.

“What is it, Mac Roth?” Ailill watched as the queen’s guard fidgeted and held his tongue. “Out with it.”

“You heard Ferbaeth say he must do the honorable thing?”

“I did. The whole camp heard. What of it?”

“He went to The Hound to agree terms for the battle.”

“How do you know this?”

“The queen made me his second. I was with him.”

“What did they speak of?”

“I did not hear the words, Sire. Ferbaeth made me wait out of hearing.”

“And?”

“They spoke at length. Ferbaeth was arguing and throwing his hands about. The Hound seemed calm throughout. I heard Ferbaeth shout he would not do it and then turn his back…”

“Would not do what?”

Mac Roth shrugged. “I do not know Sire. I did not hear the bodalán’s demand.”

“This is all very interesting, but why are you telling me? Should you not be reporting to your paymaster?”

Mac Roth looked at the ground. He seemed confused. A redness began to creep up from the neck of his jerkin. “My paymaster, Sire?”

“The queen, man. Why are you telling me instead of the queen?”

“The queen is indisposed.”

“Indisposed how? What do you mean, indisposed?”

Mac Roth shook his head, his confusion evident. “I went to report, Sire. She screamed at me and told me to leave her alone. I did not think it wise to argue.”

“So, why did you not go to Fergus?”

“I do not trust him, Sire. He is a bodalán and an Ulsterman. I never understood why the queen trusted him.”

And I never understood why the queen trusts you, Ailill thought. Mac Roth was not an Ulsterman, to be sure. Still, he was as slippery as the eels infesting the shallows of Ériu’s waterways. “What is it you want to tell me, Mac Roth? Ferbaeth met with Cú Chulainn, and then what?”

“He killed him, Sire.”

“Who killed who, Mac Roth? You really should try and be clearer.”

“Sorry, Sire. Cú Chulainn killed Ferbaeth. Threw a spear at him as he walked away. Stabbed him in the back.”

“In the back? You are sure?”

“As sure as I will ever be about anything, Sire. Saw it with my own eyes. Bodalán stabbed him in the back with a spear. He was in a rage, Sire.”