The Meeting of the Waters

by Caiseal Mor

  Dalan shrugged. “Perhaps you're right,” he agreed. “You treated him harshly and he's as proud as you once were.”

  “Aoife and I have had our disagreements but I don't think she would shun me,” Brocan said.

  “Lom and Sárán are going to be careful with you in future.” Dalan nodded. “Perhaps even distant. Aoife will certainly prove easier to influence. Would you have her back?”

  Brocan turned around to glimpse his daughter laughing at Mahon's side. “With all my heart,” the king replied, the emotion choking his words.

  “She's my student,” Dalan reminded him. “She's bound in duty to go wherever I would take her.”

  “Then I beg you to consider my hall at Aillwee your own and to bring her there whenever possible.”

  “You've abandoned Dun Burren forever?” the Brehon asked, knowing the answer.

  “All my people have already moved into the caves of Aillwee,” Brocan replied. “Dun Burren will be covered in grass before three summers have passed. In three generations no one will remember it was once the stronghold of the Fir-Bolg in the west.”

  “The Bards and Brehons will recall Dun Burren in song,” Dalan offered. “I'll come to live for a while at the bear caves and I'll bring your daughter. She may be the only person living who can heal the rift between you and your sons.”

  “Thank you.”

  The first curragh touched the shore as the Fir-Bolg king spoke, and the oarsman jumped out to lend a helping hand to his passengers. The first Milesian to set foot on the island of Dun Gur was Eber, son of Míl and King of the Gaedhals of the South.

  “Welcome,” Dalan said in his most formal tone.

  Brocan exchanged nods of recognition with the Milesian but they didn't speak. Their business was largely concluded.

  “As Chief Brehon of Western Innisfail,” Dalan went on, “it is my duty to present you to the king of this island, whom you have met only on the battlefield. Cecht of the Danaan has invited you to his stronghold to speak to you of peace. He wishes you to know that until this day no enemy has ever set foot on this soil. It is his hope when you leave here you will no longer count yourself among his foes.”

  “A fine speech,” Eber complimented the Brehon. “I'm sure with your guidance this business will be concluded satisfactorily.”

  “Then let us go to the fire. It's our tradition that such talks be held outside the walls of the stronghold. When all parties are agreed the celebrations commence within the fort.”

  “A wise custom.”

  With that Dalan led the way to where Cecht stood waiting by the fire just beyond the outer wall of his hillfort.

  “Greetings, cousin,” the Danaan king exclaimed for all to hear. “I trust you will find my hospitality more generous than I found yours to be.”

  “I am humbled by your words,” Eber replied politely. “A war camp is no place for feasting. I hope you understand there was no ill intent in the lowly state of your lodgings.”

  The Milesian signaled to one of his retainers who handed over a dozen cowbells to his king. Eber held the heavy bundle by their leather straps, examined them quickly, then handed them to Cecht.

  “I present you with a gift to soothe our friendship, cousin,” the Gaedhal declared. “Twelve cows. These are their bells. They wait for you on the other shore of the lough.”

  “Those are my cows!” Brocan hissed to Dalan under his breath.

  “It seems Cecht will be their keeper,” the Brehon whispered in reply.

  “Is it not enough,” the Fir-Bolg King sighed, “that the Danaan stole my wife, two sons and a daughter? Does he have to take my cows as well?”

  Then Brocan smiled at the way things had turned out. “That's the price of stubbornness,” he muttered under his breath.

  Dalan didn't hear the comment. He was listening carefully for the Danaan king's reply to this generous gift.

  Cecht looked hard at the bunch of cowbells. It was plain he had noticed the workmanship was Fir-Bolg. Dalan thought the Danaan king might raise a protest. But Cecht's mouth began to curl into a smile which mirrored Brocan's.

  “It is with joy,” Cecht began, his face beaming with happiness, “that I accept your offer of peace and friendship.”

  “There's more,” Eber went on, bolstered by such an encouraging reception. “I've brought with me game, fish, butter, a barrel of honey, four oxen ready for roasting, a dozen casks of mead, one hundred skins of the same honey brew, six goats, two barrels of dried apples, a cask of fresh cream and three sacks of dried herbs of many varieties.”

  The smile dropped away from Cecht's face as he realized much of what the Milesian king had brought with him was probably plunder.

  “You don't have much experience with kingly duties, do you?” Brocan noted, addressing the Gaedhal.

  Before Eber could protest, Dalan stepped forward.

  “Food is the greatest gift of all,” the Brehon declared. “When we share our food with friends we share their company, their dreams, their sorrows, their joy and all their stories. There is no more holy act in veneration of the Goddess Danu. For she is our Mother who provides all our needs.”

  Cecht curled his lip at having to accept Dalan's judgment. But the Brehon had spoken and his word was law unless another judge of equal status could convincingly refute the statement. And there was no such Druid in all Innisfail except the Dagda himself.

  The Danaan king closed his eyes, thought hard for a moment and quickly decided to ignore the origin of the gifts and to accept them in the spirit in which they had been offered.

  “It's only fitting our peoples celebrate their treaty with food gathered by my folk and tendered by yours,” he said slowly.

  Dalan gasped with admiration at the Danaan king's wit. By choosing his words carefully Cecht had managed to accuse Eber of theft, brush off the offense as unimportant to future relations and offer his forgiveness. All in one breath.

  “Now we should begin our discussion,” the Danaan king went on. “It's the custom of my people that all such talks be conducted in the open. There are clouds gathering for a downpour so I would like to finish as quickly as possible.”

  “Will you cede the land to my people?” Eber asked, getting straight to the point.

  “Under certain conditions,” Cecht stated.

  “So your folk don't intend to abandon the country to us?”

  “I'm sure you are aware of the skills of our Druids,” Cecht said in a low voice full of implied threat. “We intend to live within the Otherworld created for us by the Ollamh-Dreamers.”

  “But are you going to vacate the land?” the Milesian repeated.

  “I propose that your people take all the land of Innisfail above the soil,” the Danaan king informed his guest. “My people, however, will retain all that is under the soil. We will withdraw into our underground palaces forever.”

  “Never to walk above the ground again?” Eber pressed.

  “Never to make our homes in the territory set aside for your folk,” Cecht stressed. “It may be necessary for some of our folk to travel across the land of the Gaedhals from time to time.”

  “There will be no war between us?” Eber asked.

  “No quarrel will sully our friendship,” the Danaan confirmed. “As long as our Druids are permitted to instruct your Brehons in law. And only if the Milesian clans follow the Brehon laws established by Danaan precedent.”

  “I have no Druid to advise me on this matter,” the Gaedhal protested. “My brother Amergin is away with King Éremon in the east. I cannot agree to a condition if I do not have a full understanding of all its implications.”

  Dalan stepped forward. “My lord, I am a judge. The law has been my life. And the laws we maintain in this land have been passed down from the Council of the Wise which presided over the Islands of the West in ancient days. These are laws applicable to Innisfail. The customs of your people are suited to the Iberi lands. But you are living in Innisfail now, where life is very different.”
/>   “The laws we have suit us well,” Eber countered. “I have no wish to change them.”

  “In the Iberi lands there is much cattle raiding.” Dalan shrugged. “You have told me yourself it's the only way many poor clans survive.”

  “That's true.”

  “There is no cattle raiding here.”

  Eber looked hard at the Brehon to see the faintest hint of a lie showing on his face. There was none.

  “There's no cattle raiding here?” the Milesian asked, confused.

  “There is no need. The land is rich and fertile for the most part. Grass grows lush. The rains fall regularly. And there is an abundance of game, so only small numbers need be slaughtered for food.”

  The Brehon could see Eber was thinking through the repercussions of this.

  “Without the necessity to raid,” Dalan went on, “wars are uncommon, disputes settled quickly. Killing is rare. Treaties are many. Hunger is unknown.”

  He waited for his words to hit the Gaedhal. Then he went on.

  “Your laws pertain to a different set of circumstances; though they seem reasonable to you now, in time they will seed conflict among your people.”

  “I understand,” Eber ventured. “But I can't agree to such terms until a Brehon has advised me.”

  “I am a Brehon,” Dalan stated.

  “I realize that,” Eber replied with uncertainty. “How will I explain this to my people?”

  “It is a sign of the cooperation which will continue between our kin from this day onward,” Dalan suggested.

  Eber searched the Druid's face then turned to Cecht. Both men were expressionless, refusing to give their thoughts. The Gaedhal felt trapped. This was wrong, he thought to himself. No king had the right to barter the customs of his people.

  “I can't agree to this term,” the Gaedhal said at last.

  “If I gave you a gift to seal our treaty, would you consider accepting the terms?” Cecht asked, with a faint smile.

  The Gaedhal thought carefully for a few moments. “It would have to be a substantial and generous gift,” Eber conceded, intrigued by what might be on offer.

  “You are standing on it,” the Danaan declared. “This island, the lough, the lands all around and the fortress of Dun Gur. I give them to you to vouch for the sincerity of my terms.”

  “You would have been vacating these lands in any case.” Eber frowned, sensing some trick.

  “By the power of the Draoi-Music this settlement was to have been withdrawn into the Otherworld,” Cecht cut in. “The lough and the island were to remain within the confines of this world but the walls of Dun Gur were to disappear forever. I am offering my fortress and my friendship.”

  “I must think on this,” the Milesian stated, touching a hand to his chin. “There's much to be considered.”

  “I'm glad you have decided to be so careful,” Cecht told him. “These are weighty matters which deserve deliberation. Go to the shore of the lough and look upon what will be yours if you accept my offer. Taste the waters which will protect your people and soothe the dry throats of your cattle. Walk all around the shore at your leisure. But you may not enter Dun Gur until this treaty is agreed.”

  “Very well,” the Gaedhal replied. Then Eber turned on his heel to walk to the pebbled shoreline. He wandered about for a while and afterward sat staring into the waters, oblivious to the rain which began to pelt down.

  Dalan, Cecht, Brocan and all the assembled Danaans waited on the hillside, forbidden by tradition to move until Eber agreed to the terms.

  The afternoon passed by. The storm clouds grew heavier. And those who waited for the Milesian king were wet through. A cold wind blew up off the lough. Folk began to shiver. The fire danced about so wildly no one could get close enough to it to be warmed.

  Then at last, when the sun was low in the sky, Eber walked back up the hill to face the Danaan king again.

  “Your people have many skills in the Draoi arts,” the Gaedhal began. “I demand an assurance those arts will not be raised against my kindred again.”

  “You have that guarantee,” Dalan replied without hesitation.

  “Yet there may be times when my folk stand in need of that same Draoi craft,” Eber went on. “Will you willingly provide it?”

  “When you request our aid we will do whatever is in our power to help,” Dalan affirmed.

  “You must promise me, however,” Cecht cut in, “that the waters of this lough will be respected and protected by your people forever. The lake has been a defender and a comfort to my folk. I would not see it desecrated.”

  “I will keep the lough as your kin have kept it,” Eber vowed.

  “Then it's settled?” Dalan ventured.

  “The hillfort of Dun Gur would be a fine gift to give as the security for a treaty.” The Milesian nodded.

  The Brehon sighed with relief.

  “But it is not enough,” Eber went on. “If I am to accept your Brehons instructing my Druids in the law, I would require another assurance also.”

  “And what did you have in mind?” Cecht inquired.

  “I have heard there is a sacred tree which your people venerate above all others,” the Gaedhal answered. “I have been told it is named the Quicken Tree.”

  Dalan gasped with surprise. “Who told you about this tree?” he demanded.

  “Isleen the Seer.”

  “And what did she say of it?”

  “That your folk hold it in great esteem. It's the symbol of your kindred. It's a place where oaths are sworn and judgments made. It's a place of sanctuary.”

  Cecht opened his mouth to speak but Dalan hushed him. The Milesian had not mentioned the Quicken Brew.

  “Why do you raise the matter of the tree?” the Brehon asked. “It has no bearing on this treaty.”

  “If the Gaedhals are guardians of a sacred tree where the law is enacted,” Eber reasoned, “they will be more likely to accept the laws which it represents.”

  “The Quicken Tree stands for the old ways of Innisfail which after this treaty will blend with the new,” Dalan declared. “Let there be a new Quicken Tree planted to symbolize the friendship among all our folk. Around about where it grows will be a sanctuary safe from conflict, dispute, revenge or insult. And beneath its branches our people will meet in their councils openly. Danaan, Gaedhal and Fir-Bolg will share this neutral territory forever.”

  At last Eber seemed satisfied.

  “That would put my mind at rest.” He nodded. “But my warriors would be the guardians of the place and Milesian Druids would preside over all lawsuits brought before the tree?”

  “As long as your Druid judges are trained by our Brehons,” Dalan confirmed.

  “Very well.” The Milesian shrugged. “Then I can see no other impediment to this treaty.”

  Dalan could hardly believe his luck. Then he realized it was not good fortune. Isleen may not have revealed all she knew about the Quicken Tree, but she would have had her reasons. Still, the Brehon did not have time to consider her motives for the moment.

  “As a seal on our agreement,” Dalan decreed, “let us share our drink from the Cup of Welcome.”

  Once more Eber turned to his retainers and gave a hushed order. Before Cecht had produced the silver cup which his kinfolk traditionally offered to guests, Eber held out a magnificent silver bowl with exaggerated spirals etched into its surface.

  “This is the Cuaich Cup,” the Milesian announced. “It has been with my family since the days when my ancestors served the priest-kings of Maat on the eastern shore of the Middle Sea. I give this as my last gift to King Cecht as assurance that I and all who rule after me will honor the Treaty of the Quicken Tree.”

  Cecht took the Cuaich Cup, handed it to Dalan to fill from a mead cauldron and then passed over his own cup.

  “Take this, Eber,” the Danaan king intoned. “It was crafted in the days before the Danaans came to Innisfail. It is known as the Cup of Welcome. May it always speak of your hospitality and ge
nerosity and spread the fame of your bountiful table.”

  Eber took the vessel, laid it to his lips and drank deep. Then he passed the cup around his followers.

  “So by these acts,” Dalan asserted, “we do solemnly swear our treaty as agreed. And I propose we meet here at Samhain to decide a place best suited for the site of the Quicken Tree. At Beltinne it will be planted and a great feast held in celebration of this perpetual truce.”

  “Aye.” Eber nodded.

  “Aye,” Cecht agreed.

  “I'm your witness,” Brocan cut in to remind everyone he was there.

  “So for now let us forget all disagreements of the past,” Dalan continued. “All strife is put to rest. All disputes settled. Let us look forward to the peaceful future. Let's dance, drink and welcome our cousins from across the seas.”

  Everyone at the wall, Danaan, Milesian and Fir-Bolg alike, raised a joyful “Aye!” And then the gates of the fortress swung open to admit the new master of Dun Gur.

  On the western edge of the Forest of Dun Beg, in the center of a clearing where the grass was well tended, there was a small and ancient hill. Sárán's fire had destroyed the southern and eastern reaches of the woods. Here there was a strong smell of charcoal on the breeze, but the forest had escaped unscathed.

  At first sight this little knoll seemed no different from any other one might encounter anywhere on the island of Innisfail. But within this grassy mound were stone foundations, a passage and a large chamber.

  And there Lochie found Isleen. Under the earth she had waited for him while the Milesians and the Danaans sealed their futures together in bonds of promised peace.

  “You're welcome in my house,” Isleen declared when she sensed her companion was hovering silent and invisible nearby.

  Lochie hummed. Then he began to take on a physical-shape. First his outline was discernible, then his long black cloak, boots and finally his face. Isleen turned up her lip when she saw he had taken on his old form with a perfectly bald head.

  “I liked you much better as a Bard,” she told him.

  “It suited me,” Lochie agreed with a shrug. “But it's time I returned to what I know.”

  “Is the treaty agreed?” Isleen inquired.