Untitled #3
After all sought their rest that night, Tuathal found his own bed.
He lay down, but sleep preferred other company.
A sense of unease troubled him. Something deep moved.
What stirred, other than men seeking to regain honor?
It was more than that, although ... A question of honor had been sufficient to send half the kings of the western isle against the other half when Bryghi seized the Great Ram of Harmo in order to win a boast against his brother-in-law.
"Not this night," he whispered. He began reciting his sire's ancestry in his head. By the eighth generation after the Winter of Unmaking, sleep claimed him.
The next day, Pyder's messenger departed, unsatisfied.
Fiachta had given him a better cloak, and food for the journey, and leather to mend his shoes.
That would sting Pyder, should he learn of it.
Tuathal found a corner of the weaving hall and played quietly, matching the work song two of the bond maids sang as they passed the thread carriers back and forth on the double loom.
He knew a version of the tune but not this one.
After two verses he had it, and wove a song weaving of his own around their warm voices.
Power came to him, awan strong and unbidden. "A three-fold curse I am weaving, am weaving," he heard himself crooning as his fingers played. "Three-fold curse of land and labor I am weaving, am weaving.
"Once on the seed of the land, cursed be the sower.
"Once on the beasts, cursed be the wearer of the wool.
" Once on the bees, cursed be the brewer.
"Waters rise to wash the land, waters bitter, waters bitter.
"A three-fold curse I am weaving, am weaving."
The gift left him and he let his fingers slow, the clarsach fall silent. Had any others heard? It appeared not. Who had been cursed? Not Fiachta, that he knew.
Once the sun crossed the peak of the sky, Tuathal strolled down from the great hall and its buildings, out the gate, and south to a sheltered house inside a waist-high border wall.
The gate stood open, but Tuathal stopped and waited.
Múinti Aodhin would not welcome an unannounced guest. A bondsman came to the gate, bowed, and gestured toward the house.
Tuathal followed the silent servant around to the sunward side, where a years-bent elder sat on a bench.
An ornately carved staff lay across Aodhin White-hair's knees, and he rested knob-jointed hands on the gleaming wood, wood worn smooth with use.
"All honor to one who knows the law," Tuathal called.
A dry chuckle greeted his words. "A bard who knows not the law is no allav."
"Which law, Múinti Aodhin? Those of the east come quickly. The Dinalai law? As an island, in sight but not always clearly seen or swiftly reached."
Warmer chuckles and a smile eased Tuathal's concerns. "Now that is a bard's wisdom. Sit, and ask. I shall endeavor to answer."
Tuathal sat cross-legged on the cool dirt and grass at the feet of the master of law. "What are the full and proper laws of hospitality, greater to lesser, two days only?"
"Aahh," the old man began, pleasure in his exhalation.
He stared into the distance, one finger tracing carvings half-way down the length of the staff.
"Three days a guest may ask shelter without dependence or duty.
Roof and fire are always due to an honorable guest, roof and fire as fits his rank.
Water if he asks, but better to offer before the asking. Bread too, as befits rank.
"The guest owes honor and peace to the household, news should he carry any. If the house is attacked, he must not fight unless in defense of the host, of his free will." Aodhin frowned. "To betray one's host ..." His words faded.
Tuathal shivered. All knew the penalty for that treachery. He nodded and raised his left hand, palm up. "If a host slights a guest, treats him without dignity and refuses an offered gift, what duty the guest?" Had Pyder truly insulted him?
"Hmmmm. An insult unknowing? It is to be ignored, the same as an insult of ignorance. They are excused, passed by in silence. Words or deeds to demean a guest? Repaid, but later, unless it is a blow or grip. Then equal for equal only."
Because the host had violated the gods' laws, and those of men as well. Tuathal considered—Pyder had been drunk. But not so drunk as to be ignorant.
Aodhin continued, "If the host demeans a gift, or demands better when the best is given, or claims rank and worth that he lacks? He is owed respect under his roof, but no respect in the open." A warning finger rose. "Speak the truth only, but no honor undeserved owes the guest still."
"Ah. Thank you for the teaching, speaker of the law. The greater sense is the same, but the fine stitches differ."
"Wise is he who knows what he does not know, and seeks the answer."
Tuathal inhaled the cool afternoon air and sang his newest finished song for Múinti Aodhin.
"Thank you. Great is your gift, bard of two kingdoms."
Tuathal bowed where he sat. "Coin for coin, words for words, allav of law, Múinti Aodhin."