The Meeting of the Waters

by Caiseal Mor

  Riona was a queen who boasted a royal lineage stretching back to the noblest clans of the Fir-Bolg. By marriage, her mother Eriu was Queen of the Tuatha De Danaan of the East. So Riona was used to her opinions being heard and her wishes respected.

  After Fearna's death, relations between the queen and her king had chilled considerably. To be in the presence of both of them at once had become an uncomfortable experience for all involved.

  Fergus sighed to think that lately Riona and Brocan enjoyed arguing more than they had once reveled in their lovemaking. As these thoughts passed through the veteran's mind a tall red-haired woman with striking green eyes walked confidently toward the fire. Everyone, including Fergus, bowed low before her as she approached.

  The queen's clothes were practical: warrior's breeches, a saffron shirt such as her husband often wore, walking boots and a dark rust-brown cloak to contrast with the copper shades of her hair.

  “Welcome to the camp of Mag Slécht,” the veteran piped up, offering her his hand.

  Riona smiled as her eyes quickly scanned the faces around the fire. “Thank you, loyal Fergus,” she replied formally, her gaze falling on Mahon. “I see you have an honored guest at the royal fire. Isn't it unusual to invite the enemy to dine the night before a battle?”

  “Mahon mac Cecht,” the veteran introduced the warrior, “this is Riona ni Eriu, Queen of the Fir-Bolg of the Burren.”

  “It is my great honor to meet you, my lady,” the Danaan replied politely, standing to take her hand in his.

  As the young warrior sat down again Fergus came closer and whispered in the queen's ear. “What are you doing here?” he asked urgently under his breath.

  “It is my duty to witness any battles fought on behalf of my kinfolk.”

  “The king told me you would be staying at Dun Burren.”

  “That was a week ago.” She shrugged casually. “I waited to arrive until this evening because I wished to miss my husband's temper tantrums. In the days before a battle he is unbearable.”

  “Do you know what sort of trouble this could cause?” the veteran pressed.

  “By the looks of your company tonight there'll be plenty of other upsets to distract Brocan,” she quipped. “He won't have time to antagonize me.”

  “I wish you two would settle your differences,” Fergus hissed. “If only you realized what it is to be around you both when you're fighting, you would surely end your feud immediately.”

  “Brocan should apologize then.”

  “The pair of you are worse than two young children quarreling over a slab of honeycomb. Neither is willing to give in.” With that the veteran coughed loudly to signal his disgust.

  “How did the scouting go today?” Riona asked.

  Fergus coughed again as he nudged his head in the direction of Mahon.

  “There's your answer.”

  He noticed the slightest trace of a smile begin to form on the queen's lips. And suddenly the veteran was certain the queen would not let this opportunity pass her by. Her husband had argued strongly in favor of this fight though she had refused to be a party to it. Now it seemed Brocan should have taken her advice.

  “Mahon,” she went on, “your father is a true gentleman to have sent you here to feast with us on such a night.”

  Fergus rubbed his forehead and tried to think clearly. “Mahon is not visiting our camp,” he explained in as polite a voice as he could muster. Riona was enjoying this immensely. He could sense it.

  “Don't be silly.” The queen laughed. “He is here on the eve of a battle. What else would he be doing but visiting the camp to offer his father's good wishes?”

  “Your sons captured him on the battlefield,” Fergus admitted quietly.

  Riona frowned and shook her head.

  “The battle was today?” she asked, feigning confusion.

  The veteran wondered why she loved to play with people in this way. “The fight is arranged for tomorrow,” he informed her tersely.

  “Then this fellow was trespassing on our territory?” Riona hummed, wagging her finger at the young warrior as if he were a child of three summers who had had been caught stealing butter.

  “It transpires that Sárán and Lom were the ones trespassing. They captured the prince on Danaan ground.”

  Riona cast a brief glance of silent reprimand toward her two sons but gave no other sign of anger. Sárán dropped his head to avoid her gaze. Lom could not meet her eyes either.

  The queen knew her sons' actions could not possibly reflect on her. The lads were almost of warrior age. They were their father's charges. Brocan would have to wear the responsibility for their foolishness, she thought with satisfaction.

  “And you've let this prince sit naked by the fire after such a breach of custom was committed against him?” Riona noted as she turned back to Fergus.

  “I am waiting for the king to return,” the veteran explained. “The prince has a cloak.”

  “And all this while Cecht is searching for his son, probably frantic with worry,” she went on. “That to me is a much more severe breach of the law. Shouldn't you send word to Cecht that his son is in no danger?”

  “I thought it best to wait,” Fergus repeated tersely. “And Mahon will share in our feast.”

  “Any young man will take the opportunity to eat at a hearth other than his own.” Riona laughed. “But that doesn't mean it is always right to invite him. In this case I am sure Mahon did not consider how worried his father might be.”

  “You're right,” the young Danaan agreed rather hastily. “I should have gone straight back to my father. I will go now.”

  Fergus cursed the chance that brought these two together at this moment. The Danaan was obviously a naive lad with little experience of the world. Riona, on the other hand, was a wily mischief-maker when she set her mind to it. The veteran prayed to the private deities of his heart that the queen would just be quiet.

  Mahon stood up but Fergus placed a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him back to his seat.

  “Wait here, lad,” the veteran advised. “Believe me, there'll be more trouble if you leave now than if you just tarry awhile longer until the king returns.”

  “I should go,” the Danaan insisted, shoving the veteran's hand away.

  Fergus struggled with the young man for a moment but in the end relented. As Mahon rose again the cloak covering him dropped away.

  Riona smiled at the naked young man standing before her. “I wish you could stay,” the queen hummed. “Surely your father would forgive you this one visit.”

  Fergus rolled his eyes.

  “If you think my father would understand my predicament,” the Danaan retorted, “then you obviously don't know him.”

  “I've never met King Cecht,” Riona replied. “Is he anything like you?”

  Fergus brushed the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Suddenly it seemed a very good idea to send Mahon back to his father's camp as soon as possible.

  As it happened the decision was quickly taken out of his hands. As Fergus was wrapping the cloak around the Danaan's shoulders again the lookout announced the arrival of King Brocan and his warriors.

  “Danu preserve the peace at this fireside,” the veteran prayed with sincerity. “I have never before been more sincere in a request. Grant this and I will not neglect the rituals again as long as I live.”

  “Perhaps our guest would appreciate a mead cup, Fergus,” Riona suggested.

  The veteran was just handing the cup to the Danaan when Brocan stepped into the circle of firelight, flung his cloak aside and called for the jar himself.

  The king had noticed his wife's presence as he'd approached and was determined to stay calm in front of his warriors whatever the cost. But then he saw young Mahon seated by the fire. His twin sons stood beside their guest. There was dried blood on the side of Sárán's head.

  Fergus could see the expression change on his foster-brother's face and he expected the worst. But Brocan quic
kly sized up the situation. It was obvious some breach of custom had occurred, but the king realized he could not afford to show any sign of anger toward his sons in front of the Danaan. He did not wish to add a breach of hospitality to the list of his crimes. And most of all he did not want his wife to have any excuse to rebuke him later.

  “Welcome to my hearth,” the king began. “I am Brocan, King of the Fir-Bolg.”

  “I am Mahon, son of Cecht, who is King of the Danaans of the West. Your queen has already graciously welcomed me to this fireside.”

  “I hope you will convey my respects to your father,” Brocan answered placidly, observing the bruise above the young man's eye.

  “You may do that yourself on the battleground tomorrow,” was the cold answer. “After he has defeated you he may at last have earned your respect.”

  “How came this warrior to be among us?” the king asked Fergus, refusing to be drawn by this challenge. Likely the lad's outrage was well justified.

  “This is the man Aoife and Sárán came upon on the hill,” Fergus explained.

  “They were trespassing on territory assigned to my people in this fight,” Mahon corrected. “They are truce-breakers.”

  “When Aoife withdrew from the fight,” Sárán went on, taking up the part of the tale Fergus had not yet heard, “Lom and I wrestled with Mahon and the other Danaan warrior until we had overpowered them. We could only bring one of them back with us as a prisoner. We chose Mahon.”

  “A senseless act!” his father spat, instantly cursing his inability to keep his mouth shut.

  “We overcame two Danaans without a drop of blood being spilled.”

  “Without a drop of valuable blood being spilled,” the king noted, pointing to his son's head wound. “The rules of war simply must be obeyed,” he stressed.

  “The first lesson a warrior has to learn is to keep within the law,” Fergus agreed.

  “The laws of battle ensure death and injury are kept to a minimum,” the king continued. “You broke a fundamental rule. You disregarded a truce.”

  “How were we to know we were in enemy territory?” Sárán complained.

  “What sensible warrior is not aware of when he is walking his opponent's ground?” Fergus laughed.

  “This whole arrangement of formal battle,” Brocan explained, “is meant to settle a dispute. That is why there are rules and conventions. The Danaans could easily claim victory by the simple fact that you breached the law.”

  “He attacked us,” Sárán protested.

  “And there was another warrior with him,” Lom added.

  Fergus raised an eyebrow and laughed. “You pair overpowered two Danaan warriors?”

  “It was a lucky blow rendered me their prisoner,” Mahon explained. “At sword point they took me when I had recovered a little. My companion dared not intervene for fear they would kill me.”

  “Have you been given anything to soothe your bruise?” Riona inquired.

  The young man shook his head as he touched a hand to his left brow. “The injury is not serious,” he stated coldly. “I have recovered.”

  “This is all your fault, Brocan,” the queen spat, turning on her husband. Fergus stepped back out of the way, fearing the worst. “Don't berate the lads for your own failings. You should have taught them properly.”

  “Stay out of this,” the king hissed. “You are not a warrior.”

  “I was a warrior before I married you,” she reminded him. “And I will be until the day I die.”

  “We've done nothing but fight these last six moons,” Brocan conceded sarcastically. “You're right. You are a warrior.”

  “Your sons put up a good fight,” Mahon cut in.

  “What?” the king asked, distracted.

  “They both fought like honorable warriors,” the Danaan went on. “If they had meant to kill me, I am sure they would have used their swords with more skill. I am as much to blame for this incident as anyone. I should have retreated when I stumbled on them. But my pride would not allow me to withdraw.”

  Brocan frowned in confusion until it struck him that Mahon probably expected to be reprimanded by his own father for the breach. It was in everyone's interest the whole matter be brushed aside.

  “Perhaps we are making too much of this unfortunate episode,” the king ventured.

  “You are very likely right,” Mahon added quickly. “I am not going to pursue the matter. I hope we can forget all about it.”

  Brocan could not believe his luck. “You will feast with us as our guest,” the king declared with relief. “And you will be escorted to your own people this night before the end of the truce.”

  “Thank you,” Mahon replied, bowing his head.

  “We will say nothing more of this?” Brocan pressed.

  “Nothing,” the Danaan replied.

  “As usual my husband has found a solution which avoids the need to consider honor,” Riona noted dryly.

  “How is Aoife faring?” the king asked Fineen, ignoring his wife.

  “It was a clean break and will likely mend well,” the healer assured him, unhappy that attention was now focused on him. “But she is still suffering from the shock of her fall. I have ordered her to rest this night.”

  “In the future she will perhaps think twice before going off in search of adventure,” Brocan sighed.

  “Was the young woman hurt?” Mahon cut in, surprised. “I didn't mean to injure her.”

  “She broke her arm in her rush down the hill,” Fergus told the young man. “It was none of your doing.”

  “It is my fault,” Mahon admitted. “I shouldn't have frightened her so. May I visit her?”

  “That won't be possible,” the veteran replied uneasily and he noted the disappointment in the Danaan's eyes. “She needs rest. Best she isn't disturbed.”

  “Then please offer her my apology for the pain she must be suffering.”

  “I will pass on your thoughts to her,” Fergus promised.

  “There is an example of true nobility.” Riona pointed to Mahon. “Your father must be an honorable man to have taught you to inquire after your enemies as if they were your greatest friends. I'm sure you can see why I don't blame my sons for their foolishness. The guiding hand of a good father is more valuable than anything in this life. The lack of it will bring dishonor and misery.”

  Fergus put a hand on the king's shoulder, hoping to interrupt before Brocan had a chance to retaliate.

  “Lochie the Bard has returned to us. And he has brought his wife Isleen with him.”

  “His wife?” Mahon exclaimed. “Isleen? I had no idea Isleen was married.”

  “Where is she then?” Brocan inquired.

  “She is sitting with your daughter, my lord,” the Bard answered, stepping out of the shadows.

  “Bring her to the fire then,” Brocan ordered. “I'll meet this woman you have told us so much about.”

  Lochie bowed and turned to summon his companion. “Isleen!” he called sweetly with obvious delight in his voice. “The King of the Fir-Bolg would like to meet you. And he has a guest. I believe you know Mahon mac Cecht quite well.”

  After a long silent pause she poked her head out of the door and nodded a greeting to everyone.

  “Come out and let's see you,” Brocan demanded good-naturedly. “I've been looking forward to meeting Lochie's wife for some time.”

  As Isleen brushed past her companion she leaned in close to whisper venomously, “You should have mentioned this to me!”

  Lochie shrugged his shoulders boyishly.

  “How long have you been planning to introduce ‘your wife’ to these folk?”

  Her companion rolled his eyes and turned up the palms of his hands to indicate this was not the time to enter into such a discussion.

  “Remind me to have a quiet word with you later,” Isleen hissed.

  “This is my devoted wife, Isleen,” Lochie announced, ignoring her tone. “She's a Druid-Seer of some renown.”

  Broca
n took Isleen's hand. Mahon smiled sweetly to her when she acknowledged him.

  “I know you have told me the story,” Lochie cut in, “but the details seem to have slipped my mind. Where did you two meet?”

  “At my father's court,” Mahon answered for her.

  “I'll wager you had no idea her husband was a famous Bard such as myself.”

  “I didn't know Isleen was married,” the young man replied.

  Riona smiled broadly, understanding exactly what the Bard was doing.

  “Isleen,” Lochie went on, “this is Riona ni Eriu, Queen of the Fir-Bolg of the Burren.”

  The Druid-Seer took Riona's hand and lowered her head in a respectful bow.

  “Have you spent long at the Danaan court?” the queen inquired pleasantly. “Perhaps you can tell us something of the Danaan king. I find I have growing fascination with Cecht.”

  “I would be happy to speak with you privately later in the evening.” The Seer smiled. “I can tell you the winter may be bitterly cold but it is never long enough when spent in the company of the Danaan king.”

  Brocan grunted. Riona sighed with contentment to know she had slipped her attack under his guard. And Isleen was impressed with the queen's ability to manipulate conversation to her will.

  “Now if you don't mind,” the Seer excused herself, bowing again, “I would like to return to sit with your daughter. Aoife needs the nurturing of a woman to calm the shock she has suffered.”

  “My wife will sit with her,” Brocan interrupted. “With her mother to fuss over her the girl will soon recover. So you, Isleen, should stay with us and feast.”

  Riona flashed a glance at the other woman which clearly expressed her thoughts on the matter.

  “A queen should be at the fireside with her guests and her husband,” the Seer pointed out, intrigued by the little sparks flying among everyone at the fireside. “The girl has a slight fever and I am well versed in the treatment of that condition as I come from the north. I'll join you when I am sure your daughter is sleeping peacefully.” Then Isleen nodded politely to everyone and withdrew silently to the hut.