Eamon, gazing at the floor, made no answer, so the druid chief asked the question again. Eamon raised his head and, tears glistening on his cheeks, he said, ‘They never did.’ He dabbed at his eyes with the back of one hand. ‘I raised a complaint. I said it wasn’t right—as any of the Darini warband will tell you—but Vainche … Vainche refused to listen.
‘It was my swordbrothers out there! Counting on us! Fighting without us! Vainche left the field and left them to their fate. If there was treachery anywhere, it was then and there. And I tell you the truth, I heartily regret my part in it.’ He turned his sorrowful gaze on the Brigantes king. ‘Sooner cut off my right hand than ever allow myself to follow that man into battle again. Call him a king? In my eyes, he is not fit to shovel muck from the stables.’
‘Liar!’ shouted Vainche, his voice a thunderclap in the hushed hall. He leapt to his feet and started forward. ‘He lies! Tell them the truth!’
Rónán spun on his heel, putting himself between Vainche and Eamon. ‘Sit down, Lord Vainche. You will have your say, but Eamon holds the rowan staff, and it is his place to speak.’
‘I will not sit in silence and suffer these lies,’ Vainche shouted, spittle flying from his lips. He thrust a finger at Conor and the fianna ranked behind him. ‘They have had more than enough time to dream up a tale for others to tell against me. I will not hear it.’
Lord Aengus, sitting next to Vainche, grasped the outraged king by the arm, whispered something to him, and pulled him back to the bench. Liam, now decidedly pale and ill at ease, turned his face away. When Vainche was seated again, Rónán asked Eamon if he had anything further to add to his account.
‘There is one other thing I would say if you will allow it, brehon lords,’ said Eamon. ‘Most people here will know that Conor was exiled from our tribe and made outcast owing to a plan set in motion by Lord Cahir’s druid Mádoc. This was an attempt to obtain information on the designs and movements of the Scálda. I know for a fact that Conor never did the crime for which he was exiled. That was just part of the ruse that Mádoc devised. Conor was blameless. So far as I know he has never betrayed Eirlandia in any way.’
Eamon handed back the rowan staff and returned to his place at the bench. Liam leapt to his feet and started around the hearth ring. Conor rose and put out a hand to his brother as he passed, but Liam snarled, ‘Do not touch me!’ Swiping the offered hand aside, he shoved past Conor and stormed from the hall.
Conor, birthmark tingling, watched his brother shove through the crowd. ‘Leave him be,’ whispered Donal, bending over his shoulder. ‘He made his decision.’
Eoghan paused to allow the hall to quiet once more, then said, ‘It is my opinion that we now have a better understanding of what happened that day at Mag Cró. I would like to know how many standing beneath this roof agree with what has been said. Therefore, I will ask for a cast of stones.’ The druid chief motioned to two of the filidh, who stepped forward to join him at the hearth. One bard carried a bowl, and the other an empty leather bag. ‘Every man who was on the battlefield that day will come forward to cast a stone into the bag—a black stone if you agree that Vainche is guilty of the charge against him, or a white stone if you disagree and think him innocent.’
With a gesture toward the filidh, Eoghan returned to his chair and sat down as the lords and warriors stepped forward to select a pebble from the bowl and drop it into the bag. Conor was the last to cast a stone into the bag and when he had resumed his seat, Eoghan nodded to Eithne, who rose and stepped to the filidh holding the bowl; she took it into her hands, raised it, and tipped the remaining stones into the hearth. Then, showing that the bowl was empty, she gestured to the filidh with the bag, who proceeded to pour out the contents of the bag into the bowl. This done, she took the bag and turned it inside out to show everyone that it was now completely empty.
Then, taking the bowl, she looked into it, stirred it with a crooked finger, and then carried it to Eoghan. He, too, looked into the bowl, stirred it with his finger, and then directed her to announce the result.
‘The casting of the stones has revealed that the black stones outnumber the white.’
‘No!’ shouted Vainche. ‘Count them! I demand you count them!’
Without a word, Eithne moved to the outraged lord and extended the bowl to him. Vainche peered into it and saw only two white stones shining like lone stars in the night sky.
Snatching the bowl from between her hands, Vainche stirred the contents with his finger, gave out a strangled cry of frustrated rage. He hurled the bowl into the fire pit, scattering stones across the floor.
27
The sun went down on the brehon’s contemplations. As the sky took fire in the west, Rónán emerged from the hall to say that the Ard Airechtas was concluded for the day, and that they would resume their deliberations in the morning. Meanwhile, the people of the settlement had got on with their chores: food and drink were prepared, children were bathed and animals fed, clothes were washed and dried. In the lower fields, the harvest continued: grain was cut, the sheaves bunched and stacked to dry; turnips, carrots, cabbage, and apples were picked and prepared for storage; honey and honeycomb were gathered—the honey put up in jars, the wax set aside to be made into candles.
Upon leaving the hall, Liam had gone to his bower and refused to speak to anyone except Eamon. Nor was he to be seen later that night at the board with the other lords. Vainche and Gioll had returned to the Brigantes camp on the Council Plain. Brehon Brádoch suggested the precaution of sending a small contingent of the fianna to place a perimeter watch around the camp lest the lord or his battlechief be tempted to sneak away in the night. Fergal agreed with the precaution, and sent Galart and Aedd along with seven of the fianna to maintain a vigil through the night.
Then, as the moon rose through a cloud-tattered sky, Galart returned to Tara with an unexpected visitor—a late arrival to the gathering: a lady and two attendants, a young woman and a warrior. He escorted her to Conor and Aoife’s bower and ushered her inside, where Aoife had just finished feeding Ciara and laid her down for the night.
‘I am sorry to disturb you at your rest,’ said Galart. ‘But I didn’t know what else to do.’
At the door to the bower, the lady pulled back the fold of the mantle she had been wearing as a hood.
‘Lady Sceana!’ said Conor, rising from the edge of the bed where he was sitting.
He hardly recognised the Brigantes queen. She was dressed in drab clothing with nothing to show her royal rank save the thin gold torc at her throat. Her long, auburn hair was cut brutally short and there was the ugly mark of a purple bruise on her cheek below her eye, and one on the side of her neck.
‘I would gladly have waited until tomorrow,’ she said, ‘but Galart and his men saw us arriving and brought us here.’
‘Come in, come in.’ Aoife pulled her into the bower. The small single-room dwelling was hardly big enough for three with a sleeping baby, but Aoife moved things around to accommodate their visitor and offered her one of the two stools in the room. ‘You will be hungry and tired from your journey. Let me get you something to eat.’
‘Do not trouble yourselves,’ said Sceana. ‘My maiden and I will go to the Brigantes camp and take something there. I just wanted you to know that I am here and stand ready to bear witness to the deceit and treachery of…’ Here she faltered, and then said, ‘… of my husband, Lord Vainche.’
‘You cannot be going down to that camp,’ said Conor. ‘Not tonight. You will stay here at Tara. I’ll have a place in the women’s house prepared for you.’
‘And we’ll have food brought there for you,’ said Aoife. ‘Come sit down, and rest a moment while we make arrangements.’
‘Is anyone with you?’ Conor said. Sceana nodded. ‘I’ll speak to them.’
Conor stepped out, exchanged a word with Galart and the queen’s escort, and sent them away on separate errands. Returning to the bower, he found Sceana and Aoife sitting together, and Aoife
gripping the queen’s hands in her own. ‘I cannot imagine what you must think of me,’ Sceana was saying. ‘Coming here like this … but I could not stay away. How could I remain at Aintrén while the brehons determined the fate of my people? In truth, I had to come to see justice done.’
Conor assured her that the brehons had the matter well in hand. He explained what had taken place that day during the Airechtas—including the witness of Toráin and Eamon. ‘They are to deliver their judgement in the morning,’ he concluded.
The Brigantes queen lowered her head and put her face in her hands. ‘I have been a stupid, foolish woman—and I have no one to blame but myself.’ Despite Aoife’s assurance that there was no need to explain, Sceana seemed determined to make them understand; she went on to explain how, following the death of her husband, Lord Brecan, she was lonely, and woefully unprepared to be leading a tribe as large and demanding as the Brigantes. ‘Whatever else Brecan was, he was at least a king who knew his people and how to rule,’ she told them. ‘He took care of everything. When he was killed, I was lost.’ She looked pleadingly to Conor. ‘You know this. You were there. And more than that, my people were lost. It is an unfortunate truth, but a woman cannot be both king and queen to her people. I was weak and confused, I admit it, and Vainche appeared and made it seem that in trusting him, all the unpleasantness and strife would go away and everything would be just as it was. He charmed me, wooed me, and made airy promises. Foolish woman that I was, I made a rash judgement, and one that I have not stopped regretting since the moment he ascended to the Brigantes throne.’
Sceana lowered her head and a shudder quivered through her. But when she continued, her voice was firm and merciless. ‘The throne was all he wanted—and even that was not enough. He never had a single thought about the welfare of the tribe. His desires, his appetites, his fancies always came first. He cared nothing for the people who depended on him to care for them. He put my people at risk and squandered our wealth, our security, the goodwill of our neighbours—and all to feed his ravenous vanity and greed. Though it shames me to say it, I stood by and watched him rain ruin down upon our tribe. Our people were made to suffer and I did little to prevent it.’ She sighed. ‘I know I must bear responsibility for that.’
‘He deceived you as he deceived everyone who trusted him,’ Conor told her.
‘I knew, Conor. Deep down, I knew. But I told myself that now he was king, Vainche would rise to the high position expected of him. He would be the ruler we needed him to be. He let me believe that.’ Sceana bent her head. ‘But that, too, was a lie.’
Aoife squeezed her hands in sympathy.
Leaning close, Conor inspected the bruise on her cheek and said, ‘Did Vainche do that?’
The queen nodded. She put up a hand and fingered her short hair.
‘That, too?’ asked Aoife.
Sceana nodded. ‘He blamed me for allowing Conor to take the horses. He threatened to kill me if I ever crossed him again.’
‘And yet you came here,’ Aoife said. ‘That took courage.’
‘Let him do his worst to me. I don’t care anymore. I came here for justice for our people.’
Their voices disturbed the sleeping baby, and the infant woke with a cry. Sceana looked at the little swaddled bundle on the pallet. ‘Is that…?’
Aoife retrieved the child and held her close. ‘This is Ciara.’
The queen reached out and cupped a hand to the infant’s pink cheek. Tears came to her eyes. She pushed them away and rose from the stool. ‘I’m sorry.… I—’
‘Here,’ said Aoife, handing the baby to Conor. She put a hand on the queen’s shoulder. ‘You’re tired. I’ll take you to the women’s house and see you settled so you can rest. We’ll talk some more tomorrow.’
The two stepped to the door and Aoife cast a glance at Conor, whose crimson birthmark seemed to take on a fiery glow that reflected the anger burning in his heart.
Morfran
I never expected to be king. My brother Gwydion was destined for the throne, not me. I loved my brother, supported his kingship, gave him my best counsel whenever he asked—and sometimes without his asking. I sustained my ráth and the people within my care according to his wishes and dictates. But when the Scálda killed him, the throne and torc of kingship passed to me, and now it is for me to lead and direct the Tylwyth Teg in this worlds-realm.
I have long been of the opinion that the time has come for the faéry to leave Ynys Afallon and make the journey to Tír Tairngire. We are not as we were. Once the faéry folk were supreme among the firstborn of creation. Alone among the Great Mother’s sons and daughters, the faéry were all her pride. That was long ago in an age past remembering. The mortals, crude in manner, plunder their way through their short, wretched lives, upsetting the ordered balance, threatening our existence in this worlds-realm. If the faéry are to have a future at all, that future lies in the Land of Promise—of this, I was convinced. Indeed, I believe it still.
But others among us disagreed. And though I did not hear in their arguments anything to cause me to change my mind, I listened. It is strange how words are like seeds. Conor’s words of warning were the seeds that sprouted within me, took root, and bore the fruit of peace and renewal. Those few words yielded so much.
If the Scálda defeat us, Conor said, the Tylwyth Teg will be next.
Though I was angry with Rhiannon for going against my wishes to meet with him, her report of that forbidden meeting rang true. Conor’s warning that the Aes-sídhe had developed a weapon to wield against us caught my full attention. And the fact that Conor turned down Lord Lenos’s proposition to supply the Dé Danann with weapons of strong iron rather than allow them to be used against us moved me deeply. Conor had a difficult choice put before him and though it meant a loss to himself, he chose to protect us. That was the decision of an honourable man—a man to be trusted.
This realisation, along with Conor’s warning, began to work in me. I summoned my council of elders and advisors to my palace at Tarren Awelon and there had Rhiannon and Gwyddno tell what they had learned from Conor. Some of these had met Conor when he and his friends sojourned among us when Gwydion was king.
Becoming entangled in the affairs of mortals, as distasteful as that was to me, seemed an inevitability I could no longer avoid. And though I had vowed before my people never to involve them in human dealings again, it occurred to me that I might ameliorate the dilemma somewhat by going to the Aes-sídhe and seeking the aid of Lord Lenos. In exchange for his help, I would uphold the peace that my Lord Gwydion had proposed—the same he had been about to pledge when he was captured and killed by the Scálda. It seemed to me that together we might aid the Dé Danann and avoid becoming further ensnared in mortal concerns. Moreover, if we succeeded we would be rid of the repulsive Scálda.
I proposed this very thing to my council and they agreed to support the plan. Accordingly, I have chosen a delegation—Rhiannon and Gwyddno among them—to go to the Aes-sídhe and argue for their aid in exchange for peace. This was my brother’s dream, not mine. But I will do it in memory of Gwydion, and should anything come of it, I will count it his victory, not my own—assuming I can even persuade the contrary Lord Lenos to speak to me at all.
Ha! A bold and likely futile assumption, that. No friendly word has passed between us for far longer than I can remember. And my memory’s reach is long indeed.
28
‘Every betrayal is a mockery of honour and a desecration of belief,’ began Chief Brehon Eoghan. Rising from his chair, he clutched his druid staff in his right hand and moved to the centre of the ring next to the hearth where a small fire burned. ‘But betrayal in battle is the most potent form of disloyalty, for it destroys trust, destroys faith, destroys hope, and all too often results in death for many—death of kinsman and brother, friend and ally, and any who had placed their confidence in the betrayer.
‘Those so affected by the betrayal naturally demand to understand the reason for the act. A
s Lord Conor has reminded us so eloquently, those who were made to suffer demand an answer. They want to know why. Why was this cruelty visited upon them?’
The Ard Airechtas had reconvened as soon as everyone had broken fast and assembled in the hall. This time, the crowd of observers was tightly packed as grain in a sack. The circle around the hearth had been made smaller to allow more people in, but people crammed the doorway, straining for a look at what was happening inside. In among the spectators were the wives, mothers, and families of the slain warriors of the fianna. Conor had seen to it that they should be included, so that they could see and hear all that took place. Aoife, with Queen Sceana at her side, stood behind Conor’s chair—much to Vainche’s chagrin and displeasure. He scowled at his wife and mouthed murderous threats, but she refused to look in his direction and kept her attention on the brehon chief as he stood before the gathering.
The chief brehon moved to the hearth and stood leaning on his staff. He raised his head and looked around the overcrowded hall. Lifting his voice, he said, ‘In brehon law we find that the cause of certain crimes is of little importance in determining the ruling or judgement to be applied. Treachery in battle is one such crime. For, whether from cowardice, hatred, malice, or spite, the consequences flowing from that evil act are much the same. And those consequences can be and, alas, most often are catastrophic—not only for those on the battlefield, but for those whose lives and livelihoods depended on the warriors who were so wickedly deceived. We know from ancient tales that whole tribes and races have been destroyed by simple acts of betrayal—as the suffering of the Auteini even now attests.’
The chief brehon took a half step to the side and, planting himself directly before Vainche, gripped his staff in both hands and said, ‘Vainche mac Simach, stand up on your feet and receive the judgement of the brehons.’
The Brigantes king made no immediate response, but was prodded to his feet by Aengus and Liam on either side of him. Gioll, his battlechief, stood gripping the back of his lord’s chair, his bloodless hands clenched like claws.
In the Kingdom of All Tomorrows--Eirlandia, Book Three Page 23