10. Return and Triumph
Return and Triumph
The return to Dunath passed quickly and slowly.
The sun's truchai moved farther and farther toward the northern mountains with each day, pouring more heat and light onto the land.
Five tens of cattle now plodded along with the warriors and servants, and the carts creaked with the weight of weapons and cloth and other goods from the hall by the ford.
Fiachta had sent word east, to Ruairi son of Orlaith and Tyreeh, the next in the kin line, telling of the need for a new master of these lands.
Fiachta had left the sheep, but claimed any horses and cattle healthy enough to drive.
The gelding took personal affront at the presence of cattle traveling with the horses and warriors.
Tuathal tired of sitting through the horse's fits of temper, but none of the nameless one's horses tolerated a saddle yet.
Nor were they in condition to carry a man a distance, even a small man.
Two had been killed and skinned by bond servants, a mercy for the bony, ailing horses.
The meat had been buried in a field under a dung heap.
The day Fiachta's band left the lands by the ford, green fuzz had begun to appear on barren fields, wheat or oats, perhaps.
It should be too late for barley, but Tuathal dared not ask the priests.
Eoghan had gone ahead, along with two others from the nameless one's lands.
Tuathal traveled more easily after hearing that news.
The pastures and fields along the trade road looked healthy, so perhaps this would not be a bad year for those caught on the edge of the nameless one's folly.
How many tales recounted the wisdom of tradition and the dangers of ignoring the gods' laws and rituals?
Many. He did wonder about the gods of the far south, the one a merchant had mentioned, his voice lowered as he glanced over his shoulder.
To demand babies be burned in exchange for health and more children?
Tuathal's gut still twisted, sick at the thought.
Oh, he was glad he'd not been born in a place so harsh that it demanded such a terrible price for crops and cattle.
The gelding snorted and shook his head, pulling Tuathal back from his wanderings. "We stop at the farmstead over the rise," one of the servants warned.
Tuathal gestured understanding, and the man went down the row of travel.
Fiachta must have found something, or felt the need to rest the animals.
That ... Tuathal turned in the saddle, careful not to kick the gelding, and looked back to the cloud of dust around the cattle.
Even after the night's rain, dust came from the road once the sun touched it. He faced forward once more.
"Do ye look to see if anyone has claimed your mount's tail?" Cathal asked with a laugh.
"No. I look to see if the cattle follow, or if someone decided he needed them more than the king does."
"No one will challenge us, bard." Cathal laughed, dismissing his words.
"That's what the cattle lifters thought of the low queen of Dunpeider.
The lifters died in the night, and the cattle and more returned to the queen's lands.
" He'd not been on the return raid, but had counted the heads that graced the gate of Dunpeider.
"Their heads hung over the gates for two seasons. "
Cathal's eyes narrowed, laughter stilled. "A queen did that, rode after the cattle?"
"Aye. Dunpeider's queen is the spirit sister of Aisling the Bold." He'd gone wary around his mother's sister.
"Huh." Talk turned to other things.
Once at the farm gate, Tuathal dismounted and led the gelding through the stone posts.
He'd discovered that the gelding delighted in rubbing against trees, posts, and anything that might cause his rider bruises.
Indeed, the beast stopped long enough to rub his rump against the stone stack, or try to.
Tuathal kept him moving so the truchai following did not run them over.
Rian's driver never hesitated to push slower teams or riders out of his way.
Someday, he'd do that to the wrong warrior, and would lose a hand, or his head.
A horse servant approached. Tuathal handed him the gelding's rope and reins, then walked to the edge of the farm yard, out of the way of the warriors and others.
The long farmhouse had a cattle door on one end, and a door for men on the other end, like some to the north and east. Had he stopped here on the way north?
No, because he'd seen no smoke. Why had the place been left empty?
It was not empty this day, no, and the fields seemed to have grain.
Odhran, the eldest warrior, found him watching the men and horses. "What know you, master allav?" the arms man asked.
"I know that land needs a master, and that good land does not go untended without good reason."
They watched the comings and goings, men in bright or dull plaids directing brown and gray clad servants and bondsmen.
"Aye, much truth ye say. The farmer died just after harvest, his wife and sons fled ahead of us, so the servants say.
The king gave word—no taking, we use what we have, and the pastures we use. "
A wise and generous command, indeed. "Fiachta once again shows his wisdom, and why all men praise him."
"Daithi does not." Cathal leaned closer and murmured. "Daithi grumbles over the lost mead."
"Daithi courts blows or stronger for his greed." The gods had spoken, his awan had spoken. Denying the demands of the gods ... brought nothing of goodness.
"Aye."
After more thought, and the loudly screeching arrival of a wagon in need of tending, Tuathal added, "I also know that a wine-filled warrior, an ungreased axle, and a sober bard are three things that never hold silence."
Odhran laughed heartily indeed.
They reached Dunath two days before the start of summer.
"We rest and prepare, and honor summer's coming.
The day after, we feast," Fiachta announced to all who had come down from the hill to greet him and see the spoils.
The grey-robed gathering of priests standing to his right nodded their agreement, although two of the younger men and a woman did not appear pleased.
Had they assumed feasting would come first?
Or was there something stirring among the wise ones?
Tuathal turned his attention back to the king, and to handing the gelding off to someone who would tend it, now that they had returned to the king's court.
He'd been very careful to be certain that the horse and its trappings were no worse than when he borrowed them.
Laming a horse for a reason not of life and death ...
No man did that save a fool or a madman.
Too, doing so might bring his gesh down upon him.
Things borrowed must be returned as they were when he first touched them.
He made his way to his chamber. Two bond servants waited there.
One took his worn clothes, tutting about the state of his trews and the horse hairs that had woven themselves into the fabric.
The other trimmed his hair and his beard, then left him with warm water for bathing.
That he did and happily, removing more dust and horse scent.
He'd washed in a warm stream on the way back, but had sweated and been coated in dust since then.
Cleaner and dressed for court, he reached into the bag someone had tucked into a corner beside the end of the bed.
A silver torc with golden ends emerged, followed by gold rings and cloak brooches.
A richly woven cloak of dark blue and pale brown cushioned the treasures.
The twining patterns of dragons and hounds around the border held no rank, duty, or family meaning.
What had become of those things with the patterns and colors of Fiann's line?
Left in case the sister's son or grandfather's sister's grandson claimed the lands?
Not his to worry about yet. He pulled the cloak over his shoulders and checked the length.
Long, of course, but it would serve and serve well.
He folded it and put it and all but one of the rings into the chest at the head of the bed.
The ring went into a pouch on his belt for now.
He needed to finish the song of the raid.
He also needed to find a place to be away from the priests on the start of summer.
They kindled the fires, and sometimes sacrificed beasts to the gods to honor the fullness of summer's riches.
Very rarely a man went to the flames, but Eoghan ...
Tuathal considered the wise one. He had grown more shadowed?
Was that the proper sense? Something about him had changed since two summers before, and changed even more since the turning of winter.
That the highest-ranked wise one did not believe he had the gift of awan ...
Tuathal shook his head, but only to himself.
Now, he wanted something in his belly, a drink that had not come from a stream, and a seat that did not spend its nights plotting against him.
Come the evening, he sang of the great cattle raid that led to war on the western island.
The men and women ate and drank quietly, some tired from the raid, others saving their energies for other pursuits, especially leaping the bonfires of summer.
The cow servants had penned the southern cattle away from the others until they could be properly smoked and proved healthy.
Already the milk cows gave more, as if leaving the nameless one's lands had freed their udders.
The soft cheese on flatbread tasted of herbs and long summer days together.