He stood up. Even from a distance Kate could see he was a big man. He waved to them with a beckoning gesture. “Come, strangers!” he boomed in a resonant baritone. “Be welcome to the hall of Dairmuid, Lord of Gaillimh!” He clapped his hands. “Servants? Bring food and drink for our guests!”
They walked through the clear spaces between parties of folk. As they passed Kate could see their dress conformed to the general pattern of the guards but with variations on quality and richness. None were so richly dressed as Dairmuid, Lord of Gaillimh. He was broad of chest and shoulder, with bare arms bound with bronze armbands that emphasized his muscles. Long wavy hair the color of fine copper shot through with gray strands flowed down to his shoulders, framing a stern, square face which bore laughter lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Sharp blue eyes gazed at them and her in particular, as they approached. Acting on some instinct as well as courtesy, they bowed to him.
The man raised the great drinking horn he held. “Greetings to you, good people! Speak your names and say from whence you came.”
Kate knew full well the little guy must have told the lord their names, but she figured this request was a matter of formality, so that all present would know who had joined them this night.
“I’m Kate ‑‑ Katherine, of the Susadi,” she said.
“I’m Matt O’Brien.”
“The O’Brien we know.” Dairmuid nodded to Matt then turned his attention to Kate. “The Susadi I too have heard of, but have met only the one of your clan, good Katherine.”
“I think it was my grandfather!” she said. “His name was Thomas.”
“Tho-mas, yes.” Dairmuid nodded as he spoke the name, twisting his lips as if unfamiliar with the taste of it. “Such was his name.”
“We’re searching for him. He has been here?”
“Three years ago. A strange and powerful man, wise in things we poor folk know nothing of.” The lord’s somber face split into a sudden grin. “And by the bowels of Donn, few men could drink like him!”
A tension had hung in the air, so faint Kate was unaware of it until the lord grinned. Everyone nearby relaxed and the tension was dispelled. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “Three years?”
“The effect we talked about earlier,” Matt said to her. “It could be only three years in this time, but thirty in ours.”
“What is this you speak of?” the lord rumbled.
“It seems like thirty years since I last saw my grandfather,” Kate said, thinking quickly. “Because I miss him.”
“I understand,” he said, and gave her a sympathetic look. “Aye, it was about this time three years ago he passed through: Him and his woman.”
Kate gasped. “His woman?”
“Yes, a woman called Maria. An odd name, but she was an odd woman. She referred to herself as an ‘old hippy chick,’ but never explained what that entailed. She tried to fit in here but although her skills in weaving were useful she didn’t really succeed.”
“What happened when Maria heard nothing more of Thomas?” Matt asked.
“She just upped and left one morning saying she had a duty to do. No one knows what happened after she departed. There were rumors of Ulsterman war parties roaming this far south so everyone else was keeping close to the protection of the palisades. The Hound himself had been seen not far from here.”
Kate barely heard him. Her attention was drawn to the rack of objects set behind the dais. She stared. “Are those what I think they are?” she said in a horrified whisper to Matt.
He looked up and his expression went blank. “Oh, shit! I’d forgotten about that.”
A row of over a dozen severed heads hung upon the rack. Some method of preservation had been used to poor effect, judging by the moth-eaten appearance of some of the grisly objects. Others were covered in lime to the point where the features were little more than irregular lumps and bumps under the greenish-white substance. The source of one of the bad odors wafting through the hall was now plain. She felt the gorge rising in her throat and hoped she wouldn’t commit a horrible faux-pas in front of this dangerous man by vomiting all over his dais. A sudden tingle shot through her body, and the nausea vanished. On a subconscious level, she wondered what had caused the relief, but the situation was so bizarre she forgot about it in her distraction.
Lord Dairmuid glanced behind at the rack and then back at them with a broad smile. “I see you appreciate my trophies!” he rumbled in pleasure. “They took me a long time to collect.”
“Yes, they’re a wonderful display of your prowess,” Matt said.
“What are you talking about?” Kate demanded, staring. “Matt, you knew about this?”
“Yeah. In Celtic folklore, the taking of an enemy’s head in combat confers upon the victor all the best attributes of the defeated man.”
“Oh!” Kate turned to Lord Dairmuid. “My lord, you have bested twenty-three men in combat?”
“Oh, no, I’ve killed many more than that.” He gestured to the rack. “These are only the best, most prominent of my enemies.”
“Lovely!”
“What of you, young man?” Dairmuid said to Matt, and scratched his chin. “You look a likely young fella. Have you seen many battles?”
“I’ve fought many times in single combat, Lord Dairmuid,” he said. “None have beaten me.”
Kate glanced at him. She could only think of the combat with the bandits. “You have?”
“Boxing,” he said, shooting her a glance. “Not just that other thing.”
“Ah!”
“Boxing?”
“Boxing clever against my opponents, Lord.”
“Not a term I’ve heard,” the man said.
Servants came up then with food on wooden platters and horns of drink. Kate accepted hers with dubious grace. A servant poured Dairmuid a refill, and he raised his horn in toast. “Your health ‑‑ and many victories!”
“The blessings of the gods on this house and all within,” Matt responded.
Kate sniffed at the drink, realized it would be bad manners to show doubt about the provender, and sipped. “Whoa! Not bad.”
“It’s mead,” Matt said, smacking his lips.
“Aye. It comes from one of my holdings further upriver.” Dairmuid wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist and set the horn aside. “Now, gentles, tell me what brings you to my hall?”
“We seek a cauldron, said to be magical, on behalf of a wise man of our race,” Matt said. “My friend’s grandfather also came in search of this artifact, but he disappeared. It’s called the Cauldron of Fire.”
“Yes, he spoke to me of such.” Dairmuid scratched his chest through the heavy wool tunic he wore. Kate began to itch in sympathy. “I’ll tell you what I told Tho-mas. It exists in this realm, and is the property of the queen.”
“Queen Maeve?” Matt asked his eyes wide.
“Yes. An artifact of such power is in her hands or in a place she knows of. It is to her you must go.” Dairmuid looked him over and gave a rueful chuckle. “I’ll wager she’ll be pleased to see a handsome young man like you.”
Kate felt a stab of jealousy at the thought of the much-spoken-of queen taking a liking to her companion, and wondered why she felt so. Okay, so they’d fucked back in the barrow. And, in hindsight, it had been good. But there was nothing they shared beyond this crazy adventure. So why did the green-eyed feeling not go away?
“Does the Queen live in Roscommon?” Matt asked.
“Her ráth is there at the grove of Comán, aye.” Dairmuid shrugged. “Whether she be there or not, I can’t say. With the war against the Ulstermen going so well now their champion is missing, she may be with her warriors near the frontier. You can but go and see.”
“Their champion is missing?”
“Aye. The Hound vanished on some quest months ago and has not been seen since.” Dairmuid rubbed his hands together. “With him out of the way, we can strike into Ulster with none to stand against us!”
“Hound?” Kate asked in an aside to Matt.
“Cuchulainn. The name means Hound of Hullainn.”
“Oh! Now him I’ve heard of.” One guy held off an army of men like these? She thought. “Wow!”
Matt addressed the chieftain. “Lord, we are but poor travelers, and require food, clothes and ponies for the journey. Are such to be had here?”
“They are, but at a price.”
Matt looked at her, and she dug a handful of the coins out of her pocket. “We have these medallions of a metal from a far land,” Matt said, gesturing to them.
Dairmuid leaned closer to look at the small glittering pile and Kate offered them to him. He picked one up between broad fingers and peered at it. “This is a pretty little artifact,” he said. “It’s not silver.”
“It’s of a metal called nickel,” Kate said. “My people have similar things.”
“If you ask one of your metalworkers, he’ll tell you the metal is not to be found here,” Matt said. “That makes it valuable.”
Kate’s trained ear detected the desperation in his voice and hoped the canny old chieftain hadn’t picked up on it. She watched as Dairmuid picked over the coins, examining each. His brows came together. “Some of these are identical!” he said, looking up perplexed. “Not just alike, but identical. How can such skilled workmanship be?”
“It’s a skill my people have in abundance, as do a few others,” Kate said. “Would they be worth the price of two ponies, clothes and food for our journey?”
“Perhaps they are,” the chieftain said. “I’ll see what I can do for you. In the meantime, go and find a place in my hall for the night and be welcome to food and more drink. We shall speak later.”
“That went better than I thought!” she said as they bowed and walked away. “So we’re going to Roscommon?”
“Yeah. I hope the cauldron we’re looking for is there anyway.” They found a clear space on one of the long benches and sat down. “It’s a pretty powerful artifact. If it’s going to be in anyone’s hands around here, it’ll be in the queen’s.”
“I remember your saying she used it to get away from being whipped by Cuchulainn.”
“Yup. Hopefully we’ll find her and it together.”
“So we’re going to march up to her throne, make a Lewis and Clark type speech about the Great Father in Washington, and so stun her with rhetoric she’ll hand it over without a qualm?”
He looked at her. “Y’ know, that’s not a bad idea ...”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh brother! Anyway, what’s all this about a war?”
“It’s the war between Connacht and Ulster.”
“Is it famous in our time?”
He shot her a surprised look. “You’ve not heard of it?”
“Matt, humor me; my discipline wasn’t in Celtic history, and my studies were cut short anyway.”
“Okay, sorry. Yes, it’s famous in Irish folklore. Here’s how it began.”
He settled into a comfortable position. “The law in Connacht is that no king can rule unless he’s married to Maeve. She was ‑‑ is ‑‑ said to personify the kingdom, the land of Connacht. Maeve married a guy called Ailell, and she and he got to comparing who had the most possessions. They were a pretty even match, right up to the last thing they counted ‑‑ a huge bull belonging to Ailell. Maeve had owned the bull, but it had decided Ailell was the better master and defected to him.”
“The bull defected?” Kate said, staring at him.
Matt laughed. “Hey, this is the Ireland of legend we’re talking about. It was said that the bull had a dash of immortal blood in him, and was more intelligent than most men. Anyway, Maeve was angered and demanded of her warriors that they locate a bull to match this splendid beast.
“One was found ‑‑ in Ulster. He was called Donn Cuailgne, the great brown bull of Cuailgne, and belonged to a man named Daire. Maeve sent her herald Mac Roth, the foremost of his kind in the land, with a generous offer to hire the bull from Daire for a year. At first Daire agreed to the price she offered, but Mac Roth’s escort boasted over their drink that night that had Daire not agreed to the deal, the men of Connacht would’ve taken the bull by force quite easily. Daire learned of their boast from his servants, who’d overheard the men. He got mad and rejected the offer.
“When Mac Roth reported back to Maeve, she flew into a rage and organized a raid to steal the bull and carry it back to her lands.”
“They started a war over cattle rustling?” she asked, amazed.
“Yeah. Hey, the same kind of thing happened in the Old West, Kate,” he said with a shrug. “Anyway, the men of Ulster didn’t take kindly to this, and so began a war between them and Connacht.
“The truth was the men of Ulster were laboring under a curse that affected every man in the kingdom. It rendered them weak and unfit for battle.”
“Major bummer!”
“Yup. I should’ve said it affected every man bar one, and his name was Cuchulainn. His father was the god Lugh Light-Hand, the sun god, so a curse wouldn’t affect him the way it did mortals ‑‑ if it touched him at all.
“The warriors of Connacht thought the war would be brief and a pushover for them, but Cuchulainn proved them wrong. He was such a powerful warrior he laid waste to their armies and slew any who stood before him in single combat.”
“He sounds like a pretty meaty guy,” she said. “So what happened?”
Matt paused in his story and looked around. “Kate, seriously, I’d better not go on. Loose lips sinks ships, and these servants tend to have sharp ears. It may be that much of what I know hasn’t happened yet, so I don’t want to affect the future.”
“Unless this is all a mythical experience, it could be our coming here already affected history,” she pointed out. “After all, we’re going to trade modern coins for transport out of here. If those coins are still around to be found in our time, they could cause a lot of head-scratching for archaeologists!”
“Good point, but I’m not going into the time paradox right now,” he said and cracked a smile. “My major was archaeology, not quantum physics!”
* * * * *
A servant brought their belongings from the door along with some blankets for them to use, and as the hall settled for the night, between them they managed to contrive a kind of nest. Much to Kate’s amusement, when they settled for sleep, Matt insisted on her being closest to the wall. “Do you think I need protection?”
He looked uncomfortable. “Not in the least! It’s just the way things are done around here.”
She gave him a long look. “If it makes you any happier, I’ll do it.”
With a blanket and a cloak between her and the beaten earth floor, she managed to get comfortable. She slipped off her coat and bundled it under her head to serve as a pillow. Matt settled alongside and yawned. “It’ll be good to sleep in some comfort again,” he said.
Kate thought back to the cold, damp night spent outside the barrow and nodded. “If we’re going to Roscommon, it’d be a good idea to find a pair of tents.”
“A pair?” He shook his head. “I can understand if you feel you want privacy, but Kate, I don’t think our funds will stretch that far. Besides that, there’s security to think of. If we’re separated in the night, anything might happen to either of us without the other knowing.”
“Okay, I’ll give on the tents.” She draped the blanket over her body. “I just hope this trip to the queen’s ráth doesn’t take long.”
“Fifty miles? Figure on making fifteen to twenty a day, it’ll take three days max.”
“I can do math, you know.”
He held up his hands. “Sorry! Far be it from me to cast aspersions on your capabilities.”
She stuck her hand out from under the blanket and poked him. “I’m not serious! Dammit, Matt, I thought you were lightening up!” He winked, and she poked him again. “Oh, you! Settle down, go to sleep.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Kate was familiar with co
mmunal sleeping arrangements, but the experience of Dairmuid’s hall that night was something out of the ordinary. Over fifty of the Lord’s family and retainers slept under the same roof with scant attention to privacy. The fires were banked down for the night, and the great chamber was filled with the susurration of breathing and at least a dozen snores, all at different pitches from a high whine to a basso-profundo rumble.
Kate thought back to the violent animal fuck she’d experienced in the barrow. The sex with Matt and Colm had been so far out of her experience, and yet she hadn’t lied to Matt; it had been enjoyable. As she looked at him sleeping beside her, she imagined what it would be like to have a relationship with him. He was handsome and fit, and his cock had fitted very nicely, thank you, and once he dropped the Boston Brahmin act, he was even likeable.
They had a long road to travel the next day, and the land was an uncertain place to be. She thought of the bloodletting at the barrow and shuddered. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced and hoped they’d never encounter the like again. A treacherous small voice told her that wish was unlikely to be granted.
Chapter Seven
The next day Kate woke early. As sometimes happened, she opened her eyes without having a clue where she was or what she was doing there. She looked up at the tattered thatch a few feet above and frowned. There was also a weight draped across her stomach and someone was holding her breast in a loose clasp. Memory kicked in and she drew a deep breath. “Matt?”
He grunted alongside her, and she turned her head to see him open his eyes with evident effort. “Wha ‑‑?”
“Good morning.”
“Umph. Morning.” He smacked his lips, and she smiled at his dishevelled appearance. Somehow a strand of straw had contrived to become tangled in his hair as he slept, and the whole gave him an air of raffish charm. “What time is it?”
“It’s time you let go of my tit,” she said without rancour.
He jerked, released his clasp and drew his arm back. “Sorry.”
“Not a problem.” She craned her head to look around the hall. The air was hazy with lingering smoke from the fire and the general fug of close-living humanity. A few other figures were stirring, mostly servants by the look of them. “Where’s the washroom around here?”
The Collector 3: Cauldron Page 9
