In the Kingdom of All Tomorrows--Eirlandia, Book Three

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  Corgan and others loudly echoed this assertion, but Lord Garbha, who had previously endorsed the principal, came to Conor’s defence. ‘We have heard enough from you, Vainche,’ he called, thrusting a finger at him, ‘and you, Corgan. We would not be here now if you had not kicked this hornets’ nest. Conor came here in good faith. He is right to remind us that we all agreed to provide payment if the accusations failed. And I will remind you now, that we all agreed in order to allow the airechtas to proceed. It ill serves us now to refuse out of umbrage or spite.’ He put out a hand to Rónán and said, ‘I say we must pay what we owe.’

  Rónán agreed and thanked the Ulaid king for speaking so directly to the point. Turning to Conor, he said, ‘What compensation will you have?’

  ‘I seek nothing for myself,’ he replied. ‘My name is my own and will rise or fall according to my deeds. But the raiding season is upon us and already the Scálda are pressing our farms and settlements along the southern borders and eastern coast. In order to best protect our people, my warband needs horses.’ He turned to Garbha and said, ‘You ask what compensation I would have? It is this: seven horses from each lord here beneath the roof of this hall.’

  ‘This is fair and reasonable,’ agreed Rónán. ‘Seven horses from each lord here. That shall be the recompense in settlement of this judgement.’

  ‘Seven horses!’ the lords cried. ‘It is too much!’ Others shouted, ‘Too much by far! We need those horses for our own warriors.’

  Lord Cahir entered the fray with a smile on his face, saying, ‘If you find this compensation too rich for you, Corgan, perhaps you should have had a care before summoning so many—not all, mind, but many—to condemn a man you should by all rights befriend. As for myself, I will pay the compensation—and pay it gladly—considering it fair exchange for the protection Conor and the fianna provide for our southern borders.’

  ‘I stand with Cahir Coriondi,’ said Lord Sechtán. ‘The Robogdi will do our part.’ To Conor, he said, ‘I will deliver the horses to you at Tara as soon as the mares have foaled.’

  Corgan, red-faced, found his voice at last, and said, ‘Some of us are not as wealthy as Cahir and Vainche. Seven horses is a price we cannot meet without destroying both the herd and the ability to protect our tribe.’

  ‘It is not a question of what you can afford,’ Rónán told him bluntly. ‘If you feel the pinch it may prevent you from wickedly defaming another in the future.’

  ‘And I tell you it is too much!’ cried Torna, the young Volunti lord, shaking with anger.

  ‘Nevertheless, that is my judgement. If you—’ began Rónán.

  Conor, who was enjoying the sight of the chastised lords trying to wiggle out of paying him his due, nevertheless decided he had made his point. ‘How much can you afford, Torna?’ he said, breaking in.

  ‘How much?’ The Volunti lord looked around as if he might see a number he could name.

  ‘Three horses,’ suggested Aengus, and this was quickly endorsed by Toráin of the Concani. ‘We can pay three horses … untrained,’ he added.

  ‘Six,’ countered Conor. ‘Six horses, three of them trained, and you will bring them to me.’

  ‘Four…,’ suggested Sechtán cautiously. He glanced around the ring, gathering approval for his counteroffer, receiving both nods and frowns.

  Fergal, grinning now, leaned over the back of Conor’s chair and whispered to Donal. ‘This is rich fare. See now, they no longer contest the judgement. Our Conor’s got them haggling over the price. We’re going to get those horses.’

  ‘Patience,’ replied Donal. ‘We don’t have them yet.’

  ‘They are as good as ours. Rónán will make sure of that.’

  The horse-dealing went on a little longer, and in the end the reward for the damage to Conor’s dignity and reputation was agreed at five untrained horses for each lord taking part in the airechtas—these animals to be chosen by Conor or one of his men from among those in the herd at the time of collection. Fergal, almost hugging himself over this sudden increase in wealth, strode from the hall, counting the horses to be added to the herd for the use of the fianna.

  7

  The last to leave the Eridani king’s hall, Donal walked out with Rónán, and Conor with Cahir. The other lords, peeved and embarrassed by the thumping they had received, nevertheless held their tongues and marched in sullen lockstep into the shifty light of a sky grown overcast and gloomy.

  Most began fleeing the scene of their drubbing as soon as their horses could be readied and their men mounted. They would, it seemed, prefer a night out on the trail to spending another moment amid the ruins of their overweening pride. One such was Liam. While Eamon saw to the men and horses, Conor sought out his brother to offer a modest reconciliation. ‘I’m not your enemy, Liam. I want you to know that.’

  ‘Should I care a piss for what you want?’

  ‘We could at least agree to leave our differences here and go our separate ways in peace. I’m willing if you are.’

  Liam swung around and put his face close to Conor’s. ‘Feeling all high and mighty, are you?’ he sneered. ‘Think you’ve won some kind of victory here? You haven’t. You are still just an outcast on a small hill crawling with outcasts. Go back to your refugees and rag-wearing exiles and leave the real kings to do what is best for Eirlandia. Better still, go join Balor Evil Eye—and take your stinking rabble with you. That way we’ll be done with you once and for all.’

  Having delivered himself of this hateful screed, Liam turned on his heel and stalked away. Conor, birthmark blushing crimson with the heat of anger and frustration, watched him go. Hag take you, Liam, he thought. What did I do to make you hate me so? We never were so close, but when did we become enemies?

  Conor turned away and caught sight of Rónán talking to Cahir across the yard and hurried to join them. ‘Thank you, Rónán, for what you did for me in there. That was well done.’

  ‘I merely interpreted the law as I am duty-bound to do—no more, no less.’ He smiled. ‘But if you would thank someone, thank your man here. If Lord Cahir had not sent word, I would never have known about Corgan’s ill-begotten scheme in time.’

  Cahir, smiling at his own cleverness, professed himself more than happy to be of service to a friend; he took his leave and moved off to allow the brothers to talk. The two walked a little apart and Conor said, ‘If I thought you would agree, I would ask you to come and join us at Tara. I could use the wise counsel of a druid.’

  ‘If I thought my ollamh would approve, I would accept your offer.’ He spread his hands and shrugged; it was a gesture Conor had seen his father make when confronted with a situation beyond his control, and Conor felt a pang of longing for his dear departed da. It must have shown on his face, because Rónán quickly added, ‘I see you are disappointed, but I expect it is for the best. From what I’ve seen here today, you will benefit from my services as brehon far more than you would a druid advisor.’

  Conor clapped his younger brother on the back. ‘I reckon you’re right. Even so, you’ll come to me from time to time? I would like that. It is good to see you and, truly, those of us trying to make a home of Tara could use your wise counsel.’

  ‘I will come when I can,’ Rónán agreed. ‘Until then, I wish you well, brother.’

  ‘Must you leave so soon?’

  Rónán indicated a young druid standing a little apart holding the reins of two fine horses. ‘Ovate Milbél, over there, is waiting for me. This visit was unplanned and there are urgent matters elsewhere that require my attention.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Such is the life of a brehon in Eirlandia.’

  Conor embraced his brother. ‘Farewell, for now—but do come to us at Tara. Aoife would like to see you—she is with child, you know.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. Give her my best regards.’ Rónán stepped away. ‘I’ll come when I can. You have my word.’

  Conor watched him stow his staff beneath the horse cloth, mount his horse, and ride from the yard with his assist
ant. Donal and Cahir moved to join him and all three conferred for a moment. ‘Will you stay the night?’ wondered Cahir.

  ‘I’m thinking we’ve had the best of what welcome we received,’ replied Conor, ‘and we will be needed at Tara. Are you staying?’

  ‘Ach, nay, it would be a bleak and cheerless night of it—friend Corgan would see to that. We’ll leave as soon as the horses are ready.’

  ‘Thank you, Cahir. Once again, your friendship has been the saving of me. Certainly, your intervention here has spared us all a great deal of trouble and difficulty—’

  ‘And bloodshed,’ added Donal. ‘It likely would have come to blows if not for you, Cahir. I, too, thank you.’

  ‘Pure pleasure,’ replied Cahir. ‘I have been itching for a chance to slap down that Briéfne upstart. I expected more from friend Corgan, though. He at least is made of finer stuff. He should have known better than to ally himself with a preening magpie like Vainche.’

  ‘Like all birds of his feather, Vainche is able to charm and beguile even the most perceptive. I’ve seen him do it before. If it had not been Corgan, no doubt someone else would have fallen under his sway. All the same, I had hoped to convince a few lords to see the settlement of Tara in a different light—maybe change a few minds. But now it looks as though I have driven some potential allies further away from me.’

  ‘Don’t be thinking the worst. You made a good accounting of yourself today. And those that were against you will stay against you, and likely always will. Some of the older, wiser lords, those who do not know what to make of you yet—I imagine they will have been impressed by you.’

  ‘I hope that is true.’

  ‘So you are determined to keep the hill?’ asked Cahir.

  ‘Was there ever any doubt?’

  ‘Ach, well, I can think of worse neighbours.’ Extending an arm to Conor, he said, ‘You have my support, son. Trust that I will do whatever I can to aid you.’

  ‘Again, my friend, I thank you.’ Conor took the extended arm and gripped it firmly. ‘I have no doubt I will be calling on that friendship before too long.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ laughed Cahir. ‘And you’ll be wanting horses when you come.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ Conor told him. ‘Cahir, I gladly relieve you of the burden to provide—’

  ‘Stop right there! Fair is fair. I am no different than all the rest who owe you compensation, except…’ The aging lord’s voice took on a sombre tone and his gaze became direct. ‘Except, I do it proudly and in eager anticipation of your success in making Tara a haven and refuge for Eirlandia in these anxious times.’ He released Conor then and moved away, calling, ‘Make us proud, Conor mac Ardan. Make us proud.’

  Conor watched him walk away. ‘A true friend,’ said Donal.

  ‘Aye,’ agreed Conor. ‘We could use a few more like him.’

  They moved on to find Fergal and the ardféne and make their own departure, but had only gone a few paces when a rancid voice called out from across the yard. ‘You squirmed out of it this time, worm. Next time, you won’t have your brehon brother to pluck you from the fire.’

  ‘One kinsman to support me, aye,’ replied Conor, turning back, ‘just as you had one of my kinsmen to oppose me. I’d say that levels the board, wouldn’t you, Torna?’

  ‘You won’t succeed,’ shouted the Volunti lord. ‘You’ll fall off that hill of yours soon enough and I just hope I’m there to see it.’

  ‘We’ll meet again soon enough—when I come to collect my horses. Be sure to have them ready for me. I don’t want to be kept waiting.’

  ‘The Hag Queen take you!’ spat the young lord, and stomped off.

  ‘Ignore him,’ Donal advised. ‘He’s a fool who doesn’t know head from arse. Let him fret and fume. It means nothing.’

  ‘Do not think the worse of us,’ called Sechtán, hurrying forward. ‘You know we were honour bound to obey the summons, but not all of us were against you. Remember that.’

  ‘I’ll not be forgetting what happened here,’ Conor assured him. ‘But perhaps we can sit down and share a cup together next we meet and put all this behind us.’

  Fergal appeared with their mounts then, and Conor and his ardféne departed as soon as everyone was mounted. They rode from Bennaél and out into the rolling green expanse of Úaine Coll, a hilly range of smooth moors. The day was fair and so they rode with swift purpose through the Eridani territories. Conor gave Búrach his head and the stallion took the low hills at a flying gallop. The next day they edged Volunti lands and came in sight of the Brigantes’ borders. Two days later, Tara Hill rose on the southern horizon. Just the prospect of the place and what awaited them there lifted the heart. Leaving Fergal and the ardféne behind, Conor raced across Mag Teamhair and up the long, steep slope to the hilltop, urging Búrach faster with every galloping stride. Heart racing with anticipation, he came pounding into the wide oval yard, where he found the ordinarily busy yard in turmoil: heaving with people and animals, and strewn one end to the other with tents made of rags and branches. Wagons, carts, and barrows stacked with baskets of household objects, clothing, and tools, and bundles of provisions of all kinds—an entire settlement plucked up and dropped in the centre of an already-crowded yard.

  8

  Such was the upheaval on the hilltop, Conor’s sudden arrival went unnoticed. He paused for a moment to appraise the disarray and then slid down from his mount and began picking his way through the teeming jumble. Upon reaching the hall, he called out to announce his presence and was met at the entrance by Dearg, his hearth master, who greeted him and welcomed him back. ‘And the council?’ he asked. ‘It went well?’

  ‘Where’s Aoife?’

  ‘Lady Aoife has been staying in the women’s house these last few days,’ he explained. ‘It is quieter there and…’

  Conor thanked him and hurried through the sprawl to the yet-unfinished house and pounded on the door post. After a moment a hand pulled aside the cloak used as a door covering; a fresh face peered out, then disappeared—replaced a moment later by that of his own dear wife.

  ‘Conor! I was just thinking about you and here you are.’

  ‘I’m back and with good news.’ He gathered Aoife into his strong embrace and gave her a tight squeeze.

  ‘Ouch! Be careful.’ She kissed him and then held him at arm’s length and made a face. ‘Did they have no soap and water wherever you were?’

  ‘So eager were we to get home,’ replied Conor, ‘we did not stop to bathe.’

  ‘The ardféne,’ she said, glancing around, ‘what have you done with them?’

  ‘They’re right behind me.’ He turned and, with a wave of his arm, indicated the ramshackle mess that filled the yard and the strangers—some of whom who now stood looking on amid a welter of stuff: high-sided wagons full to groaning with tools and utensils, cloth and fleeces, bags and baskets crammed with provisions of all kinds; here and there cattle were tied to stakes in the ground; pigs and goats wandered freely; there was even an anvil and bellows for a forge. ‘What’s all this?’

  ‘Ach, well, the Auteini have been driven from their lands,’ she explained. ‘They have come seeking refuge here.’

  ‘The Auteini,’ Conor repeated dully. He passed his gaze around the crowded, teeming hilltop. ‘How many have come?’

  ‘All of them,’ she replied crisply.

  ‘All of them? What do you mean?’

  ‘Their lord and battlechief is here, too, and he is that anxious to see you. I expect he will have better answers for your many questions.’ She turned and motioned Dearg forward and said, ‘No doubt you’ll find the man himself in the hall where he has been the last two days when he’s not out here demanding food and supplies for his people.’

  Conor sighed. ‘Just when I was hoping for a space to draw breath.’

  ‘Go see him and hurry back, we will talk later.’ She gave him a quick kiss and sent him on his way.

  Conor turned away and, taking his hearth master b
y the arm, said, ‘Now then, Dearg, let’s go see his lordship and find out what is to be done about all this.’

  At the entrance to the hall he was met by a gaunt, hollow-eyed warrior wearing a silver torc and a much-abused yellow siarc with a frayed red-and-white-checked cloak that still bore the traces of recent bloodstains. ‘My lord, Conor,’ he cried, bounding forward. Two haggard warriors followed in his wake; both were as dishevelled and way-worn as their lord, both wore torcs and armbands of tarnished copper, and both had visible bruises on their forearms where shield grips were likely to rub. ‘Tobha, here, brought word you had returned.’ He indicated a sandy-haired man beside him. ‘As you see, we have taken you at your word.’ He offered an embarrassed smile. ‘Later than planned, but the Scálda scum gave us no choice.’

  ‘My word?’ said Conor, glancing at Dearg.

  Seeing Conor’s uncertainty, the stranger asked, ‘Don’t you know me, lord?’

  ‘You have me at a disadvantage, friend, I—’ Conor broke off as the memory came flashing back: the night of the massacre … warriors on a rain-soaked battlefield huddled around the body of their dead king … and himself speaking earnestly to them, trying to convince them to abandon the corpse and join the fight elsewhere … the battlechief pointing to the cloak-shrouded body of his lord and saying, ‘… leave our king behind? That we will never do.’

  Then you will soon join him, he had told them. ‘Dead, you can do nothing for your lord. Stay alive and you can avenge him,’ Conor repeated aloud his words of that fateful storm-racked night. ‘You are the Auteini battlechief who took command when your king was killed.’

  The lord smiled. ‘Aye, and you said we must think what is best for our people—that they would be needing us in the hard days ahead.’

  ‘And it is right you were there, lord,’ said the sandy-haired warrior. ‘From that day to this it has been one hardship after another. Until this last—’

  ‘So it is,’ resumed the lord. ‘I am Morann mac Mahon, King of the Auteini. And this is my battlechief, Ruadh, and with me, my chief advisor, Tobha.’