Gallicenae

by Poul Anderson

  Thus it was with a certain relief that Niall received a present from one of his Condachtach kin when they met. This man had been in a clash to the southwest, where his folk overtook a ragtag company living off the land. Prisoners said its leader, who fell in combat, was Fland Dub maqq Ninnedo, who had fled to league himself with Fergus Fogae. Remembering that Niall had set a price on the head of Fland, the Condachtach chieftain brought it as a gift.

  Niall made lavish return. Later, alone by lamplight in his tent, he stared long at the withered thing. Was it indeed what remained of his son’s killer? Men lied, perhaps most often to themselves. They said what others wanted to hear, or their hearts did, and soon believed it. How could he know? In the meantime he could only bring home this head to show, which he had not taken with his own hands. It was a thin revenge.

  III

  1

  Morning mist followed a night’s rain. The Rock of Cassel reared out of it against gray heaven. Seen from below, blurred to vision, the castle on top no longer looked stark. It was as elven as Ys glimpsed across the sea.

  Rufinus and Tommaltach paced the ruts of a road near the foot of the upthrust. Pasture lay empty, a drenched green on either side. Sometimes a sheep bleated out in the blindness that closed in after a few yards. The men could be quite sure that nobody overheard them.

  Although each took every chance to practice the language of the other, today each spoke his own—if Ysan be reckoned as Rufinus’s; for it is easier to be exact when the tongue moves in familiar ways. “You understand, then,” the Redonian said. “I am not here, once again, simply to talk about further trade arrangements, now the Roman expeditionary force is departing Britannia. Trade could take care of itself. My mission is to gather intelligence for my lord, King Grallon.”

  Tommaltach’s young visage writhed. He gripped his spear tighter. “I’ll not be betraying King Conual.”

  “Certainly never.” Rufinus stroked fingers across the hand that held the shaft. “Have I not explained, have you not seen for yourself, there is not conflict? ’Tis Niall in the North who’d fain destroy Ys—Ys where you keep memories and friends and dreams dear to you.”

  “But Niall and Conual are—”

  “They are not enemies. Nor are they blood brothers. They have a fosterage in common, little else. Besides, Grallon seeks not the destruction of Niall. He merely wants forewarning, so he can be prepared to fend off any assault.”

  “What you mean to do is, is underhanded!”

  Rufinus laughed. “Truly? Think. Having learned that Niall will likely be gone for some while, I propose to fare up to his country and see whatever I can see, hear whatever I can hear. No more. ’Tis only that in his absence I, a man from Ys, can travel freer than would else be the case. Conual has already given me leave. Indeed, he’s charged me with carrying gifts and messages to various people.”

  “But he supposes—”

  “He supposes I will be exploring the possibility of peace and commerce.” Rufinus shrugged, spreading his palms wide. “Well, is that a falsehood? Grallon would welcome the event. To you and yonder boulder, I confess ’tis unlikely in the extreme. Conual has told me the same. Yet there is no possibility whatsoever ere we know more about the circumstances at Temir. I am just staying discreet.”

  Tommaltach sighed and gave in. “You’ll be needing guides,” he said. “Sure, and I wish I could be that, but we have another season of war ahead of us here, until himself has gotten the oaths he wants.”

  “I know. May the Gods shield you.” Rufinus was silent for a dozen paces. “Guides will be easy enough to engage. And I doubt anybody without powerful cause will attack a band of Ysan marines. I’ve confided in you, good friend, not because I wish your aid today, but because in future we can help one another.”

  Tommaltach gulped. “How can that be?”

  Rufinus tugged the forks of his beard in succession. “You are son to a tuathal king, and a warrior who has won some fame. Men heed you. Our ships that lie waiting to bear us home—can they be protected by a gess as well as a guard? You could lay one. Also, I am no druid, to read the morrow. It could be that we return here under… difficult conditions. I know not what they may be, but a strong voice in our favor might prove invaluable.

  “In exchange—Well, I’ve spoken with King Grallon. He’d like having a man from Mumu reside in Ys, to handle such matters as may arise concerning Scoti. ’Twould encourage commerce, and thus be to our advantage. Now we understand that this is a thought foreign to your folk, and so we would undertake to support such a man ourselves for the first several years, with a generous stipend—”

  Tommaltach gasped. He stubbed his toe, nearly fell, came to a halt, and cried, “I could live in Ys?”

  “You could that,” Rufinus said, “and be welcome everywhere, among both commoners and Suffetes, on into the presence of the King and his wives and daughters.”

  2

  By Hivernian standards, the estate of Laidchenn maqq Barchedo was magnificent. Southward it looked down a sweep of meadow to an argent streak that was the River Ruirthech; beyond, vague in vision as a fairyland, reached the country of the Lagini, which Rufinus had skirted on his way north. Elsewhere he saw more grazing for great herds of cattle and sheep; shielings near their small fields of oats or barley; woodlots, coppices, primeval forest in the distance. Rain-washed, the land gleamed smaragdine, incredibly lush, under a sky that had gone deep blue save for white flocks of cloud.

  Rufinus had the idea from what he had heard that Laidchenn did not actually own this acreage in freehold, as a dweller in the hinterland of Ys owned his home ground, nor as a creature of the state like a Roman on his latifundium. Earth in Ériu was inalienable from the tribe that occupied it, unless a conqueror drove that tribe out altogether. However, King Niall had bestowed the trust here on Laidchenn, from which flowed rich proceeds. Likely the people were pleased. These barbarians revered learned men as much as had the olden Greeks. Laidchenn could safely dwell so near the ancient foes of Mide because a poet was inviolable.

  Approaching from the west, Condacht now several days behind him, Rufinus saw a house, long, rectangular in form, loom above its surrounding outbuildings. Moss and flowers brightened its thatch, over peeled studs and whitewashed cob. Hazel trees grew round about; Rufinus recalled that they were not only prized for their nuts, they were believed to be magical.

  Hounds clamored but did not attack. Shepherd boys and the like had long since spied the Ysans and dashed to bring word of them. The few armed men who came forth did not act threateningly. At their head were two without weapons. One, thickset, bushy red hair and beard beginning to blanch, carried a rod from which hung pieces of metal that could jangle together, and wore a tunic and cloak whereon the number of the colors showed his rank to be just below the royal. The second was young, brown-haired, pockmarked, more plainly clad, but otherwise resembled the first.

  Rufinus’s followers kept their seats. It was politic for him to dismount. Leaping down, he raised an arm and said, “Greeting. I am Rufinus maqq Moribanni of Gallia across the water, come here from King Conual Corcc in Mumu, who asked me that I bear word from him to his dear friend, the ollam poet Laidchenn maqq Barchedo. Long have we traveled, inquiring our way. Have I the honor of addressing himself?”

  “You do that,” said the aging man. “From Conual, are you, now? A thousand welcomes!” He stepped forward, embraced the newcomer, and kissed him on both cheeks.

  “You give me more respect than is my due,” Rufinus said. “Forgive me if I, a foreigner, am ignorant of the courtesies proper for my great host.”

  Laidchenn took the bait, though quite likely he would in any case have replied: “You are indeed my guests, you and your men, Rufinus maqq Moribanni, and under my protection. Come, be at ease, let my household see to your needs. Whatever wishes you harbor that we can fulfill, you have but to let us know.”

  There followed the usual bustle. In the course of it, Laidchenn introduced his companion, who proved to b
e his oldest son and student Tigernach, and put some innocent-sounding questions about how the strangers had fared and what brought them to these parts. Rufinus appreciated the shrewdness with which his social standing was ferreted out. He took care to slip in a mention that besides speaking the Roman language, he could read and write it; the latter, at least, he would be glad to demonstrate if anyone was interested. This learning placed him immediately under a poet, more or less equal to a druid or a brithem judge. As for his purposes, that was a long story. Wisest was he that he confer with his host before relating it at the feast which Laidchenn had ordered. Some of it might not be suitable for all ears. “Thus, blame not my followers if they are close-mouthed at first. They are not being unfriendly; they are under gess until I can give leave. Anyhow, they know little of the Érennach language, and nothing of the Midach dialects. You hear how awkward my tongue is.”

  “You do very well,” said Laidchenn graciously, “while I lack all Latin.”

  He put no urgency on his guests, except in making them as comfortable as might be. Rufinus had taken hospitality as he found it in the island, from a herdsman’s cabin to the hall of a tribal king, but not since leaving Castellum had he encountered any like this. After a bite of food and drink of ale, he was brought to a bathhouse to steam himself clean. On coming out, he found fresh clothes waiting. The attendant explained that women had taken his own down to a brook to wash, and these were his too. He would have private sleeping quarters: a small bedroom among several in the main building, formed by partitions that did not reach the roof but were amply high. The attendant said a girl was available if desired, and added she was pretty, skilled, and more than happy to make the close acquaintance of a man from abroad. Rufinus replied that he was grateful, but at the moment he had too much wish to meet with the poet. He selected a carnelian brooch from the city’s finest jeweler to take along, as a preliminary gift in return for the garments. At the feast he would make his real presentations.

  Laidchenn received him in a hut outside, well furnished in a rough fashion. “This is for when I would be by myself to think and compose, or speak with someone privately,” he said. “But since the day is beautiful, shall we walk about instead?”

  No guards followed. He had no need of any. Those men of his who met the new arrivals had taken weapons simply to mark his dignity. Soon he and his visitor were sauntering alone over the grass. Bees buzzed in clover, which nodded white heads in answer to what the wind whispered. A lark caroled high aloft.

  “Now what would you be telling me?” Laidchenn asked.

  Rufinus had rehearsed his speech in his mind, careful not to wax fulsome. “I have told how I carry greetings from Conual Corcc. In my baggage are gifts he charged me with bringing you. His affairs prosper, and he wishes the same for his foster-kinsman King Niall and yourself. I have much more to make known, but that can be said before everyone.

  “I cannot call on Niall. First, the word they have down in Mumu is that he is making war on the Ulati and will not likely return until late in the autumn, or even winter. Second, it would be rash of me. I will not lie to you; that would cast shame on us both. Here I tell that I am a Gaul as I declared. But I live in Ys, whose King I serve, and my companions are warriors of his.”

  “Ys!” burst out of Laidchenn. He stopped in midstride, swung around, stared and then glowered.

  “Hear me, I beg you.”

  “I must,” Laidchenn growled. “You are my guest.”

  “Dismiss me if you will; but first please hear me out. Remember, I come by way of King Conual. By and large, Mumu has had good dealings with Ys; and you yourself are a man of Mumu, are you not? My mission was to talk about furtherance of trade and other such matters of common interest. Hearing of Niall’s absence, I thought perhaps the Gods had brought me to Ériu in the same year. Well does the King of Ys know what a bitter foe he has in King Niall. He does not share that feeling. He would far rather make peace and become friends. My thought was that here I had a chance to fare north and speak with leading men, who might afterward convey my message, and meanwhile give me an idea as to what hope there is for reconciliation. Conual did not believe it possible, but he approved my intention, and suggested I seek you first, you being the wisest.” The scar on Rufinus’s cheek contorted with his smile. He spread his arms, baring his breast. “Here I am.”

  Laidchenn eased his stance. He nodded heavily. “I fear Conual Corcc is right. Niall of the Nine Hostages does not forgive.”

  “Still, enemies also often exchange words.”

  “True.” Laidchenn ruffled his beard and pondered. “May long life be glorious Niall’s, he who has been so generous to me. Yet the Mórrigu has Her own dark ways—as all the Gods do Theirs—and each of us must someday die, and new men bring new times…. Knowledge is a drink that never quenches need for itself.” Abruptly, enthusiasm blazed from him. “And you dwell in Ys! Ys of the hundred towers!” He seized both Rufinus’s hands in his. “You shall stay with me as long as you desire, and we will talk, and—and maybe I can do more than that.”

  “You are—how does one say ‘magnanimous?’—yours is a spirit as large as the sky.” It was an odd feeling to Rufinus to realize he meant it.

  Thereafter he set himself to charm the natives. That was easy. For the most part, he told about the fabulous city. They bore no special hostility to it. Some had lost kinsman in Niall’s fleet, but that was fifteen years ago, seeming now a whim of war and weather; few remained whose memories of the perished were sharp. They would follow Niall if bidden, but the undying hatred was his alone.

  Simply by virtue of what Rufinus had learned in Ys and the Empire—he, the runaway serf, bandit, scout, who had picked up his information in fragments, like a magpie—he was reckoned an ollam. Laidchenn conversed familiarly with him, Tigernach eagerly and deferentially, the visiting chieftains and judges almost shyly, everybody else humbly. At meat he received the chine of the animal, second to the thigh served kings and poets; and sat at the upper end of the hall, on Laidchenn’s right, his seat just slightly lower; and had the privilege of passing to his host every third ale horn, while Laidchenn’s wife sent each third of his to him. He could go wherever he chose, even to the holiest groves, springs and rocks. His counsel and blessing were worth much more than any material goods.

  His followers, the marines, benefited. Their company much sought despite their meager stock of words, they made merry with drink, women, hunts, rides, rambles, athletic contests. Rufinus’s abstention from love-making raised no doubts about his virility, but instead increased the awe of him. Thus it was doubly effective that most of the time he was cheerful, amiable, as ready to greet the lowliest tenant or rumple the hair of the littlest child as to sit with the mighty and the wise.

  In a few days he felt ready to drop a hint. Delightful though this was, he said, summer was wearing on. If he wished to return home with his business completed, he had better go about it, or else risk being weatherbound.

  “You are right, my dear,” Laidchenn replied. “I have been thinking the same. In the absence of Niall and his three oldest sons, their brother Carpre has the royal duties. He was a colt in the year of the evil, and so has scant ill will toward Ys. Mind you, I would not be saying anything against his faithfulness; but it is no secret that he chafes under his father’s hand and longs to win glory for himself. That whole brood does. The eagle’s blood is in them.”

  “Do you think, then, he will receive me?” Rufinus asked.

  “He shall that,” Laidchenn replied, “for I myself will go along with you.”

  3

  In the high King’s absence, Carpre could not reside at Temir, only visit it for ceremonies. Progressing among the homes the family owned around Mide, he was at present a day’s journey from the sacred hill, beyond a river which the travelers crossed on a rude wooden bridge. That valley was very fair, with much forest for hunters and swineherds. Similar to Laidchenn’s, the estate stood by itself in a great clearing to which roads led betw
een the trees. A palisaded earthen wall, a rath, ringed it in, causing people to seek the grassy space outside for their sports.

  Carpre, a young man with the blond good looks said to be his father’s, took Rufinus in at Laidchenn’s request. His reluctance the man from Ys deemed feigned. Though the prince doubted Niall would ever take any éricc and honor price for what had happened, and therefore no maqq Nélli could—while Niall lived—nevertheless he would consider Rufinus a herald, untouchable in anger, and hear him out. Through the days that followed, Carpre asked questions and listened as ardently as the rest of the Gaels. Again the Ysans had no dearth of frolicsome fellowship.

  Again Rufinus kept aloof from it. Besides maintaining the dignity he found so useful, he did not care to waste time in romping, especially with women—time all too limited, during which he might accomplish something for Gratillonius and could at the least gather intelligence. Let him bring back such a bird, to lay at the feet of his master; let him see a smile and hear a “Well done”; then he could go rejoice in those ways that were his.

  The blend of rigor and geniality continued to serve him well. At first Laidchenn showed him around, when they were free to stroll. On the second afternoon, coming back from a hallowed dolmen in the woods, they saw half a dozen men being led out the portal of the rath under guard. It was a leaden, drizzly day. Rufinus stopped. “Who are those?” he wondered.

  Laidchenn frowned. “The hostages from Lagini,” he said.

  Rufinus looked closer. The men had nothing on but tunics of the roughest material, ragged and scruffy; hair and beards were unkempt, unwashed; faces were gaunt, limbs lank, skin sallow. The equal number of guards urged them offside and leaned contemptuous on spears while the prisoners began dispiritedly exercising.