The King of Sleep (21 page)

Lom frowned, annoyed as much at the insults as he was at being dragged into yet another fight between father and daughter.

“Wait till your teacher hears about this,” the king
snapped. “He told me of your prohibition in penance for neglect of duty.”

“Is there anyone in Aillwee who doesn't know?” Aoife retorted sharply.

“You will wash,” Brocan commanded, “then you will attend me in my hall where Fineen has important news for us. I also have an announcement to make which will affect all of you.”

The four of them passed by to their lodgings to do as the king had ordered. When they were out of earshot Fergus addressed his friend.

“So you've decided?”

“What else can I do? If I do not join an alliance with Eber, Éremon will invite me to side with him. Either way the Fir-Bolg will be drawn into a fight which is none of their affair.”

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. “If I had not been so proud,” he admitted, “I would have encouraged the Fir-Bolg to take the Quicken Brew. We could have withdrawn behind the veil of the Otherworld and lived in peace, health and joy forever.”

“I don't imagine the Otherworld to be so perfect a place as it is claimed,” the veteran replied. “You and Cecht were lifelong enemies, were you not?”

“Indeed we were,” Brocan nodded.

“I would imagine that immortality gives a whole new meaning to the concept of a lifelong enemy.”

Brocan didn't laugh but the thought amused him and he realized it was of no benefit to be talking of “should have been” and “might have done.”

“Éremon is already married,” the king stated. “So Eber will be our choice for alliance in the coming conflict. Only blood ties will be surety enough for me that the Gaedhals intend no treachery.”

With that he turned around and walked toward his hall with Fergus joining him at his side. In a short while they were seated at the fire again, waiting for the others. The Brandubh table had been put aside and furs spread on the floor for the guests.

When Lom arrived in a fresh tunic and with a clean face, Brocan sent him to fetch Fineen. But the young warrior was gone a long while. He returned after everyone else had assembled to report that the healer was on his way.

Lochie had been just about to search through Fineen's baggage when Lom had found him. The young warrior paused when he first saw the Watcher and for a brief moment Lochie was unsure whether his disguise was imperfect in some way.

But Lom didn't flinch when he saw the healer in the full light of the fire. Lochie promised to come along soon and sent the lad on his way. Then he wrapped Fineen's best green cloak about his shoulders and went to the door.

Just as he was leaving the house Sárán arrived home.

“I've been looking for you everywhere, master,” the young man exclaimed.

For all his skills and mastery of devious crafts Lochie was so distracted by the thought of the performance
he was about to give that he almost made a serious mistake. He didn't realize this young student was the twin of the warrior who'd summoned him.

“The king must be impatient to have sent you back after me,” he commented.

Sárán frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You've barely had time to run to the king's hall and back,” Lochie noted. “Is Brocan in such a hurry to see me?”

“I haven't been to the king's hall but once today and that was after I returned from Dun Burren.”

“But I spoke with you a short while ago.”

“Not I,” the young man stated. “It must have been my brother Lom.”

“Are you so alike?”

“You know we're twins,” Sárán replied, puzzled. “But I wear the copper brown breacan of a Druid healer in training. Lom is a warrior. He dresses in a red patterned breacan. Are you unwell, master?”

Lochie silently berated himself for his error and resolved to be more careful in future. Such a blunder could have easily aroused suspicion. He squinted, leaned forward and confided to the young man, “I am a little tired. I've had much on my mind.”

“The news you bear must be a burden, master.”

“News?”

“Of the preparations for war at Dun Gur.”

“Yes.” Then the Watcher reached out to touch the lad on the shoulder. “Which one of the twins are you?” he asked.

“I am Sárán.”

“So you are,” Lochie replied. “I'm afraid my eyes must be failing me at last. I've been working too hard. I must have myself a rest soon.”

“We've been busy these last three moons,” his student soothed as he took his teacher by the arm. “You've certainly not been getting enough sleep. You have so much to think about. It's all my fault. I should be more strict with you.”

They started walking in the direction of the king's hall.

“Don't berate yourself,” Lochie insisted. “I should be looking after my own health and wellbeing.”

“But I'm your apprentice,” Sárán protested. “It is my duty to serve you. And I owe you a great debt for my crime and your forgiveness of it. You've given me a purpose in life. I only wish to make amends with you and be a good student. One day I would like to be a healer and be held in the same esteem as you are now.”

Lochie tried to take in all this information. There were so many puzzles opening up to him he was beginning to regret his decision to pose as Fineen.

“I'm flattered that you should speak so,” Lochie nodded appreciatively. “It won't be long before you're a Druid in your own right, if I have anything to do with it.”

“Thank you, master.”

“Tell me,” the Watcher went on, “what do you think of the coming war?”

“My opinion hardly matters.”

“One day warriors and kings will seek your counsel. It's time you practiced expressing your feelings on such matters.”

Sárán stopped walking and turned to face his master. “I don't trust Eber Finn or the Gaedhals. How can we be certain Eber won't turn against us once victory over his brother in the north is achieved? The only way to ensure he doesn't turn is to demand weapons from his own arsenal. Weapons of iron. As for Aoife wedding the King of the South, I have my reservations.”

“Aoife?” Lochie gasped. “Married to Eber Finn?”

And he knew immediately that Isleen had had a hand in the Gaedhal's decision.

“To secure the alliance. The king mentioned it to you before we parted.”

“Yes, I remember clearly now,” the Watcher added hastily.

He smiled at Isleen's ingenuity. She would go to any lengths to win a wager.

“It might be the best course of action to take,” Sárán confided. “She's unruly and not at all interested in her studies. But I object to her wedding a Gaedhal. Surely a suitable husband could be found among our own people?”

Lochie took the lad by the arm again and together they walked on. But the Watcher had already decided Isleen had won this round of their game. To avoid suspicion he would have to play the go-between in the
marriage arrangements. The round was lost but the tournament had just begun. “Tell me more about your sister,” he breathed, mindful of his light-hearted bet with Isleen.

It wasn't more than a few minutes before they arrived at the king's hall but in that short while Lochie learned a great deal that would be of use to him. He resolved to take more care in everything he said. If his strategy were to work it would take his full concentration.

As they entered the hall Brocan stood up to greet the healer.

“We've been waiting for you,” the king stated. “Would you prefer to repeat for us the news you gave me this afternoon, or would you like me to begin?”

Lochie's eyes widened a little in surprise and he spoke before he'd had a chance to think. “My news?”

“The information you told me you received from Máel Máedóc, the chief adviser to Eber the Gaedhal,” Brocan frowned.

“Forgive me,” Lochie begged. “I have been overworking. I am very tired. I beg you tell your news first. I'll wait.”

“As you wish,” the king shrugged. “Take a seat by the fire till it's your time to speak.”

Lochie made himself comfortable with as little fuss as possible. He didn't want to draw any more attention to himself so outwardly he was very calm. But his mind was racing, trying to elaborate upon the preparations for war which the Gaedhals were undertaking.
Sárán sat beside him in the place assigned to students.

Brocan had silenced his visitors and was about to commence speaking when Aoife stood up and interrupted him.

“I wish to withdraw from the Druid Circle,” she blurted. “I am not suited to life in the orders. I lack discipline and the will to study.”

“You're a fine harper,” Mahon cut in.

She smiled at the young warrior but bit her lip so the king wouldn't notice.

“Father, I am asking that you aid me in my petition to Dalan. I wish to be released so that I can pursue the life of a warrior and train for war.” With that the young woman sat down with eyes averted, waiting for an outpouring of anger from Brocan. But it never came.

The king glanced at Fergus and raised his eyebrows before he answered in a calm voice, “I'll speak with you about it later. In private.”

Aoife was so surprised at the calmness of his reaction that her mouth dropped open in disbelief. But Brocan went on as if he hadn't noticed.

“I've received an invitation from the King of the Gaedhals to attend his fortress at Dun Gur for a festival to celebrate the harvest and the first blackberries. Fergus and I have discussed the matter and I've decided there is too much to be done here at Aillwee for me to go. So Lom will represent me and accept the hospitality of the foreigners.”

The young man stood up and bowed to his father.
“I will do my best to serve you, Father. Thank you for this honor.”

Brocan waved at him to sit down. “I will also ask Dalan to go as a representative of the Druid Circle and of the chieftains.”

Lom was immediately deflated—his role would be as a mere symbol, the son of the King of the Fir-Bolg. It would be Dalan who would be conducting any business or negotiations.

“The Council of Chieftains meets here in two days time. The other news I have must wait till then.”

Lochie looked up, expecting to be asked to speak. But Brocan wasn't quite finished.

“I have an announcement to make,” he went on. “I have decided to appoint Mahon to the task of supervising the building work on Dun Aillil. That is the name I've settled on for the fortress we are constructing at the mouth of the caves.”

Mahon stood up to acknowledge the commission but he didn't get a chance to say anything.

“Of course you will have to stay here when Lom and Dalan travel to Dun Gur,” Brocan went on. “For we have much work to do and you cannot be spared.”

The king sat down. He'd decided not to tell Aoife of his decision for the moment. And in the event it also silenced any objections Mahon may have had for he assumed his lover would be staying with him.

“Now Fineen has some news which he asked to share with my closest family and advisers.”

Lochie stood up and tried to look confident even
though he had only a broad idea of what he was expected to say.

“Go on,” Brocan urged. “I have a lot of work to do tomorrow. The longer you delay the less sleep I'll have tonight. And Fergus is setting off for his family home after this meeting.”

The Watcher coughed.

“What word do you bring from Máel Máedóc?” the king insisted.

“His greetings,” Lochie stammered. “The Gaedhals send their good wishes to you in the hope they will have your company for the Lughnasa fires.”

“Is that all?” Brocan asked tersely.

“Yes, my lord.”

The king frowned, realizing that Fineen must have a reason for staying silent about the preparations for war going on at Dun Gur. On reflection he understood the wisdom of this silence. He didn't want any rumors circulating about impending conflict before he'd had a chance to open negotiations with Eber Finn.

“Will you be going past Dun Gur before midsummer?” the king inquired.

“Quite possibly,” Lochie nodded.

“Then take my message to Eber Finn. Tell him of the work I'm doing here to fortify the caves. Apologize for me that I cannot accept his invitation. And inform him my son and a chief among the Druid kind will come in my place.”

“I will, my lord,” Lochie bowed.

“Now everyone to bed,” Brocan snapped. “Lom and
Aoife, stay where you are. I wish to see you both after the others have left.”

Mahon, Sárán and Lochie departed the hall. Fergus waited by the door to make sure there were no interruptions.

It was Lom who faced his father first as soon as the others were gone.

“When I issue a command to you, you obey me immediately and without question,” Brocan raged. “If I can't rely on you in times of peace, I certainly can't rely on you in battle. Follow my orders in future. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Go to bed.”

“Yes, Father.”

And without another word between them Lom left the hall.

Then the king turned to Aoife. “You've been trying to get Dalan to dismiss you for some time,” he chided. “Everyone knows you would rather be a warrior than a Druid. And no one would want you to do anything against your will. You would be a bad Brehon judge because your heart isn't in it.”

The king reached for his mead cup and took a sip.

“I don't mind feeding Dalan from our storehouse,” Brocan went on. “He's a good judge and a wise counselor. But I will not provide for one who cannot match his talent and devotion. We live a precarious existence. One among us who is not worth her dinner is one too many.”

“I'm so glad you've started to see things my way,” the young woman replied. “Will you help me?”