In the Kingdom of All Tomorrows--Eirlandia, Book Three Page 14

  ‘I not only gathered the information I required, I have also been to Clethar Ciall to speak to our chief brehon.’ He beamed with pleasure at his news.

  ‘And?’ Conor stopped walking. ‘What did he say?’

  Rónán gave a quick nod. ‘He has decided that the brehons will hear the case against Vainche.’

  Conor smiled. ‘Was there ever any doubt?’

  ‘Not much—and not after I told him I had been to see all the lords involved and even talked to many of the warriors who were in the battle that day.’ They started walking again. ‘The charges will be heard at Lughnasadh.’

  Conor attempted a quick calculation, adding up the days. ‘That is still a month or more away.’

  ‘It is that. But in matters of such grave and terrible consequence, there must be nine brehons to sit in judgement.’

  ‘Nine!’ said Conor.

  ‘Aye, nine. Three threes it is—for an Ard Airechtas. Lughnasadh is a propitious time.’

  Conor frowned. ‘If you really think it will take that long.…’

  ‘The deliberations will be undertaken according to brehon law. That being the case, I can tell you they will wish to call on some of those who witnessed this offence and seek to obtain any evidence for or against this complaint. Naturally, all this takes time to arrange. Trust me, you wouldn’t want it any other way.’

  Conor nodded thoughtfully and stroked his moustache; Rónán saw the glint of a sudden idea spark his brother’s gaze. ‘What are you thinking, Conor? What is it that has set your eyes agleam?’

  ‘A stray thought,’ replied Conor. ‘Perhaps you might care to delay your journey to the druid house and come with me instead.’

  ‘Where?’ wondered Rónán, suspicion edging his voice. ‘What are you thinking, brother?’

  They had arrived at the bower and Conor said, ‘I’ll tell you later. For now, come in and greet Aoife and the baby.’

  Once they were inside the cramped little structure, Conor gave Rónán the chair and settled on the sleeping pallet. Aoife, cradling tiny Ciara to her breast, welcomed Rónán and asked how he had fared on his travels north. He told her that his northern visits had produced better than expected results and, reaching out to stroke the baby’s head, added, ‘I have told Conor that the brehons have agreed to judge Vainche’s betrayal.’ He went on to explain that this special council, the Ard Airechtas, would be conducted at the druid school at Clethar Ciall during Lughnasadh. ‘The lords present at Mag Cró will be summoned to attend, and I will need Conor and Fergal also—and perhaps a few of the fianna if they can be spared their duties for a few days.’

  ‘As to that,’ said Conor. ‘The Brigantes owe five horses and they have not paid yet. Lughnasadh is soon upon us and I’m thinking we should go collect what we’re owed before Vainche is put to the brehons.’

  ‘Lest in facing one judgement the falsehearted rogue eludes another?’ said Aoife.

  ‘We should collect what we’re owed before any other claims are made against him.’

  ‘Very shrewd, husband.’

  ‘Shrewd perhaps,’ allowed Rónán cautiously, ‘but I strongly advise you against making any such demands or advances lest you be giving Vainche an excuse to attack you.’

  ‘But he owes us those horses,’ Conor replied sharply. His elevated tone disturbed the infant and she began fussing.

  ‘My love, Rónán makes a good point. We both know Vainche is not to be trusted,’ said Aoife, rocking the baby gently. ‘Why risk an unnecessary confrontation? We have enough trouble one day to the next, why stir up more?’

  Conor regarded the two of them dubiously. ‘We could use those horses,’ he insisted. ‘And it is but the work of a moment.’

  ‘If so, then send Médon and any of the other Brigantes in the fianna,’ suggested Rónán. ‘But do not go yourself. That is my strong counsel. Send Fergal or Donal to Vainche if you must—but do not go yourself.’

  Conor saw that it was no use pushing the matter further. ‘Who am I to argue with a druid? I’ll send Médon and some of the other Brigantes.’

  ‘Good. That’s settled.’ Rónán stood abruptly. ‘And I must be on my way.’

  ‘Now?’ said Conor. ‘You’ve only just arrived, man.’

  Rónán expressed his regret, and said, ‘I’m needed up near Lough Leagh where a dispute has broken out over an injury caused by a prize bull to a cow owned by a farmer from a neighbouring settlement. A battle is threatened.’

  ‘A weighty case then,’ remarked Conor, rising.

  Rónán bade Aoife and the child farewell, and Conor followed him out of the hut to see him on his way. ‘At least have something to eat before you go.’

  ‘I suppose I might take a little something with me,’ Rónán replied. ‘And you take this with you, brother mine. Do not go to Aintrén and confront Vainche. Those horses are not worth getting killed over. Do you hear me?’

  ‘I hear you, brother,’ Conor answered, somewhat resigned to the argument. ‘And I’m sure it’s good advice.’

  15

  The high walls of Aintrén glowed in the bright midday sun beneath a high blue, cloudless sky. Conor sat on his stallion Búrach regarding the Brigantes fortress. It was much as he remembered, but there was something about it that had changed and he could not readily tell what it was. The walls were still just as high, the ramp leading to the gates just as long, and the fields round about just as verdant as any he recalled. Even so, something was amiss. Perhaps, he thought, it was just the stillness. Here it was the heart of day and he could not hear a sound nor see any activity anywhere—neither in or around the stronghold, nor in the surrounding fields.

  ‘Seems quiet up there,’ mused Fergal from his place beside Conor. ‘There’s still time to turn back.’

  ‘Why would we be wanting to turn back?’ said Conor. ‘I didn’t come this far to be turning back.’

  ‘Rónán said to stay away from here to avoid picking a fight with Vainche.’

  ‘That’s why I left the fianna behind,’ Conor countered. ‘Anyway, it’s horses I want, not a fight.’

  ‘Ach, well, it’s a fight you’ll be getting if I know Vainche at all.’

  Conor glanced around at Médon, silent beside him. ‘What do you think? Should we be going home to avoid a fight?’

  The warrior glanced sideways at Fergal, who was shaking his head. ‘We’re here now. We might as well see it through.’

  They had left Tara in the middle of the night, just the three of them, and had ridden hard to reach Aintrén before the day was out. Conor had kissed Aoife and told her to go back to sleep as he crept from their bed. He then met the other two outside the stable and they set off.

  From his extensive knowledge of the place, Conor assumed their approach had been seen and that Vainche had been duly informed; but there was no sign from the ráth, no warriors had put their heads above the walls, and the gates stood open.

  ‘Soon done is soon home,’ said Conor. ‘Let’s make a start before the day is too much older.’ Lifting the reins, Conor gave Búrach a gentle kick with his heels and started up the long ramp to the Aintrén entrance. The three rode through the open gate and into the yard, paused to take in the state of the place. There were a few folk going about their affairs, and though several of them stopped to see who had arrived, no one challenged them. As they stood waiting, two warriors came out of the hall, saw the strangers, and ran to meet them. ‘You there!’ shouted the first one. ‘Stand where you are.’

  Médon stepped forward. ‘Feobhil!’ he called. ‘Is that you, lad? You remember me, aye? And you—Mongan … you know me—swordbrother and battle leader to you of a time.’

  ‘Médon,’ said the one called Feobhil. ‘What are you doing here? And who’s that with you … Conor? Fergal?’

  ‘So you do remember us,’ said Conor, stepping up beside Médon. ‘We want to speak to your lord. Maybe you could go tell him we’ve come to see him.’

  ‘If that’s why you’ve come, then your luck is
not with you,’ said Feobhil. ‘Lord Vainche is not here.’

  ‘He went out hunting with some of the men,’ Mongan told them. ‘They left early this morning and won’t return until nightfall—if they hold to the usual run of things.’

  ‘Ach, well, too bad. He will miss the chance to share a welcome cup with us weary travellers,’ said Fergal. He looked to Conor, who said, ‘If the queen is here, maybe you could go and tell her we’d like to talk to her instead.’

  ‘You want to talk to the queen?’

  ‘Aye, that would be grand,’ said Conor.

  The two exchanged a brief word, then Mongan gave a shrug and strolled off in the direction of the king’s house. As soon as he was gone, Feobhil joined his former friends. ‘Why do you want to see the king, anyway?’

  ‘It’s about the horses,’ Médon told him. ‘We’ve come for the horses.’

  The warrior appeared confused. ‘What horses are those then?’

  ‘The five horses we were granted at the airechtas,’ said Fergal.

  Feobhil again looked confused.

  ‘You don’t know about the judgement of the airechtas?’ asked Médon.

  ‘I don’t even know what an airechtas is.’

  ‘Ach, well, it wouldn’t do to start worrying about it now,’ replied Fergal. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ He nodded toward the royal residence, where Queen Sceana had just appeared in the yard. ‘Here comes your lady.’ Turning to Conor, he said under his breath, ‘They know nothing of Corgan’s airechtas. Vainche didn’t tell them about the horses.’

  ‘Or much of anything else, I’m thinking.’

  Conor watched as the queen, her brow creased with concern and curiosity, crossed the yard to meet them. Slender and regal as ever, her long russet locks curling down along her neck, her thin gold torc gleaming, she was dressed in a fine linen gown of new grass with a richly embroidered girdle of red and blue and gold about her waist and a light yellow mantle over all. Yet despite the splendour of her clothes, Conor noticed a darkness behind her eyes and she possessed an air of sorrow, or weariness—or perhaps, Conor thought, even desperation.

  Behind her appeared an older, grim-faced woman who hurried across the yard to join her, and quickly fell into step beside her. Before the queen could speak, the woman demanded, ‘Who is it that would disturb the peace of this place?’

  Conor dismissed her with a glance and Conor stepped forward, saying, ‘Lady Sceana, forgive our unexpected intrusion.’ Handing his spear to Médon, he raised the back of his hand to his forehead in acknowledgement of her sovereignty and thanked her for agreeing to meet them.

  ‘If you had sent word, I am sure his lordship would have wanted to receive you in the manner you deserve,’ replied the queen primly.

  Conor smiled at the double meaning of her words. ‘I have no doubt of that whatsoever.’ Still smiling, he said, ‘I see you are thriving here. It is good to see you looking so well.’

  She stiffened slightly and that, to anyone looking on, told the tale.

  ‘You would do well to leave now and come back when the king is here to receive you,’ said the queen’s stern companion.

  ‘This is Lord Vainche’s sister,’ explained Sceana. ‘She is become companion to me and mistress of the hearth.’

  ‘Why are you here?’ demanded the woman. ‘It is not, I think, to see how we fare at Aintrén.’

  ‘Indeed not,’ Conor told her. Turning once more to the queen, he said, ‘We have come to collect the horses granted me in the airechtas judgement.’

  Sceana pursed her lips and regarded the three before her with a wariness approaching apprehension. To Conor, it seemed as if she sensed a nasty jolt coming. ‘And what airechtas judgement would that be?’

  ‘Five horses in compensation for the false accusations made against me by Lord Corgan and several others—Lord Vainche among them.’

  Again, a look of concerned uncertainty passed over the queen’s features. She gave a sidelong glance at the frowning woman beside her. ‘I know nothing about any such accusation or compensation.’

  ‘Then I must beg your pardon, lady. I had assumed your lord would have told you,’ said Conor. ‘If I had known—’

  ‘My lord keeps his own counsel,’ interrupted the woman shoving up beside the queen. ‘We should all be so wise.’ She put a hand to the queen’s arm as if to pull her away. ‘I think we’ve said enough here.’

  ‘And yet, my question remains unanswered,’ insisted Conor.

  ‘What question is that?’ said the queen’s sour-faced companion.

  ‘Where are the horses I was promised?’

  ‘This airechtas judgement you mentioned,’ Sceana said. ‘What was it?’

  Conor drew breath to reply, but Médon interrupted. ‘Allow me to answer, my lord. I was there and I can tell what happened.’ Conor assented and the former Brigantes battlechief quickly told how Conor had been summoned by a gathering of northern lords who accused him of stealing Tara Hill and surrounding lands for his own, and how these kings—Vainche included—told lies about Conor. He described the late arrival of the brehon to take control of the proceedings and ensure that true justice was delivered. The former Brigantes warrior concluded, saying, ‘The accusations against Lord Conor were shown to be baseless and without merit. My lord was vindicated and was awarded reparation in the form of five horses from each of the kings who took part in the gathering. It is these horses we have come to collect.’

  While he had been speaking, a small crowd assembled in the yard—mostly warriors, but others as well. Médon finished and the queen regarded the three visitors for a long moment, then said, ‘If horses were promised, then horses shall be given.’ She turned to the warriors who stood looking on. ‘You there, Irchel, go and tell the stable master to bring five horses.’

  ‘My lady, I think it best to wait until—’ began the elder woman.

  The queen waved her to silence. ‘I have spoken.’ To the warrior, she said, ‘Go now and fetch the horses.’

  The warrior departed on the run and Sceana turned back to Conor. ‘I trust this act of good faith will suffice to mend whatever hurt you have suffered.’

  Something about the way she said it—as if belittling the harm caused by Vainche—rankled, and Conor felt his scarlet blemish begin to prick and burn. ‘The small obligation to me will be satisfied. But the hurt to the men he betrayed at Mag Cró will take more than five horses to heal.’

  ‘Why?’ The queen’s back stiffened and her green eyes narrowed as she feared the answer. ‘What happened at Mag Cró?’

  ‘You don’t know?’ said Conor. ‘I thought Lord Vainche would have told you all about our great battle in the north.’ He glanced at Vainche’s sister, and added, ‘No doubt he withheld any mention of his cowardly action on the battlefield.’

  ‘Very wise,’ snorted Fergal. ‘The man is a very champion of wisdom it seems.’

  Ignoring him, Conor said, ‘Some few weeks ago, Scálda ships made a landing on the western coast and took Auteini territory. Neighbouring kings rode to help reclaim the stolen lands—the Brigantes warband and the fianna of Tara foremost among them. You will recall that Lord Vainche and his warband returned unharmed—’

  ‘Owing to the skill of the brave Brigantes warriors,’ said Sceana’s companion. ‘Yes, we know of the battle.’

  Conor was shaking his head before she finished. ‘Nay, lady. The safe return of your warriors was owing to the fact that Lord Vainche perpetrated a foul act of treachery and deceit. He abandoned his brother kings in the midst of battle and removed the Brigantes warband from the field.’

  The crowd began muttering among themselves, and the colour fled from the queen’s face. ‘That could not happen,’ she said, her voice growing small.

  ‘It is the truth, my lady,’ said Médon. ‘I was there in the leading rank. With these eyes in my head, I saw this treachery committed.’

  ‘You need not rely on our word alone,’ Conor continued. Lifting a hand to the warriors sta
nding nearby, he said, ‘Ask them—your own men will tell you.’ Raising his voice, he addressed the warriors. ‘Who among you rode north to Mag Cró? Who among you was there on the battlefield the day we met the Scálda chariots?’

  Most of those looking on either shrugged or looked away.

  ‘No one?’ said Conor. ‘None of you were there?’ He glanced at Médon, and said, ‘Why am I finding that difficult to believe?’

  ‘Difficult, perhaps, because it is not so.’ Turning to the warriors ranged behind the queen, Médon said, ‘For a fact, I know that you, Comgall, were there—and you, Mongan. I saw both of you among your swordbrothers before the battle began. Not so?’

  Comgall glared at Médon, then jerked his chin down. ‘I was there, aye.’

  ‘And you, Mongan?’ The warrior muttered something in reply and Médon said, ‘Speak up, man, we did not hear you.’

  ‘I was there. Everything Conor said is true, but we were sworn to tell no one what happened that day.’

  ‘Who forced you to make that vow?’ asked Conor.

  ‘Who do you think?’ muttered Mongan darkly.

  ‘Never fear,’ Conor told them, ‘I will not ask you to break your vow.’ To the queen, he said, ‘The battle plan required the close cooperation of every battlechief and warband. We all had our work to do. Yet, when the charge began and the Dé Danann joined battle with the enemy, Lord Vainche removed his warband and that of the Darini from the battle. They fled the field, leaving those of us in the thick of the fight at the mercy of an enemy that has never been known to show the least mercy to anyone.’ To the two Brigantes warriors, he demanded, ‘Isn’t that so?’

  Again, the two stared at one another glumly.

  ‘Say nothing more to these men,’ said Vainche’s sister, her voice taking on an ominous tone. ‘Or you will answer to your lord for your insolence.’

  ‘You will answer to your queen first,’ Sceana told them. ‘Tell me—does Conor speak the truth?’

  Mongan drew a long, shaky breath and confessed, ‘Aye, my lady. To my shame, I confess it is the truth. Lord Vainche withdrew from the fight and ordered us from the battlefield. We rode for home without looking back.’ Having spoken he lowered his head, waiting for the wrath to break upon him.