Gallicenae (33 page)

Domnuald’s troop had remained below to set up camp, save for a couple of warriors who followed him more slowly. The trees hid them. Shouts, lowing and neighing of beasts, creak of cartwheels reached him faintly, as if the simmering stillness crushed every noise under its weight. He was alone beneath the thunderheads.

Of a sudden that ended. Three more roads led to this crest. Out from the eastern one trod armed men. Their spearheads flamed in the ruthless sunlight. Domnuald dropped hand to sword hilt where he sat.
The leader strode toward him, a man as heavy as Domnuald was slender, dark as Domnuald was fair. “And who might you be?” called the Mide prince.

“I am Fland Dub maqq Ninnedo,” growled the stranger, “king of the Tuath Ben Síde, who hold this land from old. And you would be the upstart from Temir, would you not?”

“I am son to the Mide King, your high lord,” Domnuald answered as steadily as might be. “What do you want? The rites are not till day after tomorrow.”

“Hear me,” Fland said. “You would take over our sacrifices, ours by right since the Children of Danu reigned here. You would glut yourselves on offerings we should have made—”

“The holy meat we will share with all who come,” Domnuald cried indignantly. “Do you think the sons of Niall are niggards?”

“Do you seek to buy the favor of our tenants away from us?” Fland retorted. “It shall not be. We, the landholders of three tuaths, say that.” He tried to fight down his fury. The breath grated in his throat. “See here, boy. Let us be reasonable. We, my friends and I, we came early so we could catch you, talk with you, beforehand. Surely you and we between us can make a fair division of honor.”

Domnuald reddened. “How can I parcel away my father’s honor? If you bring livestock of your own to offer, I’ll not be standing in your way.”

“You have taken as much as the land can spare.”

Youth and summer heat broke free like a lightning flash. “And so shall it always be, Fer Bolg!”

As if of itself, Fland’s spear stabbed upward. Domnuald’s escort, arriving just then, saw their leader topple off his horse, to thresh about with blood spouting and flowing.

Fland stared. “I did not mean—” he mumbled. Wit came back. As soon as the Mide men knew, they would attack. And they outnumbered his. Did he surrender, Niall would not likely take éricc payment for this young life, not though the honor price that a man of Fland’s standing must add was high. Best flee north. The King at Emain Macha would have need of warriors before long.

Fland waved and whistled. His companions loped after him into the woods that they knew and the Mide men did not. Behind them, Domnuald maqq Neill’s blood ebbed out, slower and slower, like the blood of an animal slain before Cromb Cróche.

2

Landing at Clón Tarui, Conual Corcc left a guard with his ships, his wife, and certain others. The rest of his followers, a large and well-armed band, hurried through Mide to Tallten. They had hoped to attend the fair, but a storm held them past Lúgnassat. Thus they arrived only on its last day, as it was breaking up.

Even so, what they saw was a mighty thing. Here Lug of the Long Arm had buried his fostermother Talltiu and founded sacred games in Her honor, ages past. Here the Kings at Temir were buried, their grave mounds surrounding Hers like warriors asleep outside the house of a queen. Here the contests still took place, races of every kind, wrestling, hurling, games of skill. Here were music, poetry, dance, both solemn and light hearted. Here was a market to which traders came from all over Ériu and no few countries overseas. Here too was another kind of dickering, for the fair was reckoned a lucky place to make marriages, so that families sought it to discuss arrangements and couples were united in the Glen of the Weddings. Laughter and song resounded through the river valley. Its grass disappeared under tents and booths, and must afterward grow back out of trampled mud. As they arrived and as they left, the lines of chariots and horsemen stretched for miles, not to speak of people afoot.

Above all, the fair was holy. The King himself conducted the great sacrifices; many lesser ones occurred as well. The laws were spoken aloud before the assembled chieftains and ollams. Serious matters were dealt with; an oath sworn or an agreement made here was doubly binding. For a crime committed at the fair, there could be no compounding by payment. Earth-walled fortresses frowned around Tallten, for it was among the royal seats of the realm, but at Lúgnassat season they stood empty; none dared break the peace, enmities were set aside, anyone could come from anywhere and his person be inviolate.

Conual Corcc made his way among the crowds, toward the hall of the King. It loomed on a rise of ground amidst its outbuildings, long and high, peeled studpoles gleaming from whitewashed cob walls, thatch woven in cunning patterns. Life brawled around it, warriors, attendants, artisans, visitors, men, women, children, horses, hounds, fowl—no swine, which it was gess for a King to possess though he could eat them; but prize cattle were there, sleek of red-white-black-brown coats, prideful of horns. Bright was the garb that swirled from shoulders and waists. Steel shone on weapons, bronze over shields, silver off brooches, gold about necks and arms. Talk surged like surf, along with clamor of children, beasts, smithwork, carting, footfalls, hoofbeats. Smoke from the cookhouse told noses that an ox was roasting.

This morning was brilliant. Conual stood taller than most. His hair burned above the hubbub. Folk stared, made way for him and his troop, but did not venture to address a lord unknown to them—until abruptly a voice cried his name. He stopped, looked, and knew Nemain maqq Aedo.

The druid had aged in the years since Conual went abroad. Stooped and skeletal, he leaned heavily on his staff and walked with the care of those who do not see well. Yet he made haste—a path opened immediately in the throng, and a hush fell—until he and Conual embraced.

“Welcome, welcome, a thousand welcomes, dear heart!” he cried. “How I have waited for this glad day!”

Conual stepped back. An eeriness cooled his spirit. “Did you, then, foreknow my coming?” he asked.

“Ah, there have been signs, not all of them good, but you strode into my dreams and… waking, I looked into the Well of the Dagdae.” Nemain plucked at Conual’s sleeve. “Come, let us go aside where we can talk.”

“Forgive me, but I should not hang back from greeting the King. That would be an insult.”

“It will not, if I enter with you, for I whispered in his ear that I must be off on mystic business. Himself is bidding farewell to his highborn guests who stayed here during the fair. It will take a while.”

The sense of trouble grew colder within Conual Corcc. He gave the druid his arm and beckoned his men to keep their distance. A way downslope was a grove of rowan, with a bench for those who might wish to linger among the sacred trees and breathe of their magic. Overlooking the turmoil of leavetaking along the river, it was a haven of peace.

The two sat down. “Know that you have come at a time when grief is upon Niall maqq Echach,” Nemain began. “The news has reached him that a son of his was slain at Mag Slecht by tuaths restive after he wrung their allegiance from them. Niall could barely keep showing the world a good face and carry on his duties. Now that the fair is ending, he is free to kill. Already he has sent for his hostages from those three tuaths. Tomorrow he will hang them. His vengeance will not stop at that.”

“It’s sorry I am to hear this,” Conual said. “Who is he that fell?”

“Domnuald—Domnuald the fair, we called him, child of Queen Aethbe.”

Conual sighed. “Domnuald, indeed? Ochón! I remember him well. He was only a little lad then, but always bright and merry. May he reach Mag Mell and abide in joy.”

“That is too strong a wish to utter at once,” Nemain cautioned. “Well, Niall mourns the sorer because Domnuald, of all his sons, reminded him most of Breccan, his firstborn, who died at Ys. You have heard about that?”

“Somewhat. I have been busy, you know, faring, warring, and… dealing… in Britannia.”

“You return to claim a dream you have cherished, do you not?”

“I do. It is nothing that threatens Niall. Else why would I seek him first? Rather, he should help me, speed me on my way, for the sake of our common fosterage and the shield I can raise at his back.” Conual frowned. “This redoubles the misfortune that has befallen him. As for myself—” He drew breath. “Nemain, dear, could I meet with those hostages?”

“I knew you would ask that,” said the druid. “Come.”

The prisoners were confined in a shed, tightly bound. Their guards durst not refuse admittance to Nemain, who led Conual in. The three men met his gaze proudly and spoke curtly. “You are ready to die, then?” Conual inquired.

“We are that,” replied one, “thinking on what our deaths must cost Niall later.”

“Hm, now,” said Conual, “your three tuaths can scarcely stand against his might, nor can they look for much aid out of Ulati country. Would it not be better that he seek revenge on the killers instead of laying waste your homeland?”

He spoke with them a bit more. Thereupon he and Nemain went back out and talked at length.

The sun stood past noon when Niall’s last guest had left. He slumped on his high seat, drinking horn after horn of ale. Uneasy stillness filled the hall. The rustle of movement and low voices seemed only to deepen it. Abruptly a shout broke through. The chief of the guard announced Conual maqq Lugthaci, who came in, resplendently clad, at the head of his warriors, at his right hand the druid Nemain maqq Aedo.

Niall roared. He bounded from his seat and plunged down the length of the hall to seize his fosterbrother to him. His folk howled, stamped the floor, beat fists against benches and shields, in their joy at seeing darkness lifted from the King.

Conual’s followers carried gifts worthy of him, weapons, fine garments, Roman glassware of lovely shape and swirled colors, Roman silver which included a tray whereon were reliefs of heroes, maidens, and curious creatures. Niall made lavish return. Chief among the treasures he ordered fetched from his hoard and gave to Conual were a golden torc and a bronze trumpet whose workmanship drew cries of admiration from everybody who beheld.

Though the feast that day was hastily prepared, it was grand. After Laidchenn had hailed the newcomer in a poem and received a fibula in the form of a charging boar, he said, “Fine this is, but before I know what the deeds of our guest have been, I cannot properly praise them.”

The building became still as heed turned toward Conual. He smiled. “That story will take long,” he answered. Scowling: “Much of it is sorrowful.” Loftily: “But I shall go to wrest out a new fate for myself.”

As he related or stopped to answer questions, he never conceded defeat. Yet clear it was that woe had betided the Scoti in Britannia. Under Stilicho’s leadership, Romans and Cunedag’s Britons had pressed in ever harder. This year, the last Scotic settlers in Ordovician and Silurian lands had perforce abandoned their homes and gone back across the water.

“But mine was not a sad leavetaking,” Conual avowed. “I had gathered picked fighting men from among them. Others have I brought with
me too. They wait in my ships, for they would be strangers and awkward in this company; but they shall soon be working wonders.”

“What is your intent?” Niall demanded bluntly.

Conual laughed. “Why, what else but to claim my heritage in Mumu? I am of the Eóganachta; I will be as great a King as any of them, and afterward greater!”

Niall stroked his beard. “That would please me well, darling,” he said. “I fear I cannot offer you help. There is too much on my hands. However, abide here until Nath Í returns from the fair he was attending. Do you remember him? He is my nephew, and now my tanist. He has travelled widely in those parts and should be able to give you sage counsel.”

“You are very kind, darling,” Conual replied. “So sweet are you that I make bold to ask a further boon.”

“You need but ask.”

Conual sat straight, looked the King in the eyes, and spoke weightily: “You will recall the command laid upon me, that I am to redeem any captives I meet whenever I can. This day I have met with those hostages whom you have condemned to die tomorrow. What I ask is that you let me ransom them.”

A gasp went around the hall. Fists clenched, glances flickered between the two men and the hanging shields and the doorway.

Niall stiffened. The blood came and went in his face. At last he said, word by slow word: “Do I hear aright? My guest and fosterbrother would not mock me, I am sure. Perhaps you have misunderstood. Know, the tuaths for which they stand surety have murdered my son Domnuald. Shall his blood cry in vain for revenge?”

Nemain lifted a thin hand. “Not so,” he agreed. “But they who slew Domnuald, Fland Dub and his fellows, have fled beyond the Walls of the Ulati. What honor lies in burning poor little shielings, driving off poor little herds, butchering innocent tenants? The Gods will raise the just man up, and They will cast the unjust down.”

“I will pay, in gold, the éricc, and add thereto my own honor price,” Conual declared. “Deny me not, if you love me. I may no more refuse to seek the freedom of men in bonds than you may traverse Mag Callani after sunset or let sunrise find you abed at Temir.”

Niall hunched his shoulders. “Shall those men go home free, to boast that I dared not avenge my son?” he growled like a wolf at bay.

“They shall not,” Conual answered quickly. “I will take them south to Mumu. I think they will serve me well. And we are allies, you and I.”

“As for vengeance,” Laidchenn reminded, “it awaits you at Emain Macha.”

Said the druid: “The ransom that Conual pays will provide Domnuald a burial such as few kings have gotten, ana endow honors for him as long as Temir abides.”

Niall gusted a sigh. “I yield you this, Conual. But it was not well done of you to trick me into making the promise.”

With his pride thus bulwarked, he was presently at his ease, still somber but readier to talk than he had been of late. In the course of the time that followed, Conual remarked, “I was surprised to hear your nephew Nath Í is your tanist. Would you not liefer have a son of yours succeed you?”