Chapter 4 #2
She did so and he didn’t try to help her. She almost smiled. He knew that she might resent any indication that she was less capable as a woman and therefore needed help in all things physical.
They headed through the forest and, as expected, upon reaching the next clearing where a length of farms and workshops began, they were met by guards.
“This is Deidre, daughter of the Rí Eamon O’Connor,” Kylin began.
But the man knew Deidre. He had been at various council meetings through the years.
“Aye, lass! ’Tis good to see you. And this young warrior . . . I know you, too, young man. Your father is the great Sigurd!”
She hadn’t heard Kylin’s father called “great” before.
But then, perhaps this man had fought with Kylin’s father years before.
“It is good to see you, too, but . . . we’ve come to warn the ard-rí,” Deidre explained.
“My father’s lands were attacked the night before last. We were able to best the enemy, and .
. .” She glanced over at Kylin. “Sigurd was able to speak with one of the wounded. There is a large-scale attack planned against the isle.”
The man looked at her gravely, nodding. He turned to the younger man who had stood guard with him.
“Get them quickly to the ard-rí!” he said. Looking back at Deidre and Kylin, he added, “Naturally, we have feared such a thing. Peace and prosperity among our people draws envy from some. Please, go safely!”
“Come, I’ll lead you straight in,” the younger man said, going for one of the horses tethered just at the edge of the woods.
They crossed through the outer farmlands, rich with grazing cattle and sheep, with crops rising in many a field.
A profusion of more homes began to rise as they grew closer, some old stone, some wood, with thatched roofs. Then there was a clearing, and before it, the great stone wall with the double gate that protected the ard-rí’s ancient stone castle.
The young guard called out. The great gates swung slowly open.
“Come through.”
The inner courtyard was filled with stalls where locals worked as blacksmiths or with metals, where crops were sold, along with fine woolen and linen tunics, breeches, blankets and more.
They were watched as they made their way to the castle where again, the guard called out and gates were opened.
Entering, they were met by an armed servant who told them to wait in the great hall.
But Ard-rí Declan quickly appeared on the balcony above them.
“Deidre!” he called out. “And Kylin, is it, son of Sigurd?”
“Aye, sire!” Kylin returned. “We’re here at the bequest of both our fathers—they fear that an attack on the isle is imminent and that it’s imperative that you be warned of what we’ve learned.”
“Come to the council room,” Declan told them. “Others are present, and it might be wise to see that all are warned.”
Kylin glanced at Deidre, and she realized that he wasn’t pleased: the warning was meant for the high king alone.
Because someone on the island intended to band with the invaders.
And they didn’t know who.
But, of course, if they had told the king in private, it might not have mattered. He might not know if any of the great lairds and rís from throughout the land were ready to reach for his power.
Kylin glanced at her, and she knew that he was thinking along the same lines. He nodded in silent agreement—as they must accept the ard-rí’s invitation—that they would use it for an opportunity to study those who were there, all offering council and loyalty.
They climbed the stairs to the chamber room where the ard-rí sat in his wooden chair, one that was not ostentatious.
He was a man who commanded respect not by demands or riches, rather he worked for and with his people.
He was a man of about forty and had held his position for over a decade.
His hair and beard had once been a vibrant red that seemed to create the blue fire of his eyes.
Now strands of gray were moving in, perhaps a natural course of aging but also likely his age having been affected by the trials of his position.
He was beloved by most.
And yet, they knew, not by everyone.
They followed, and as he took his seat, he introduced them to the various lairds and rís who were in conference with them.
“My friends, we have now among us representatives from Eamon O’Connor and Sigurd Anderson.
Deidre, Kylin, we have among us Angus of Ui Neill, James of Munster, Eion of Connaught and Berach of Linns.
We have been speaking about trade. It seems that men from the continent, from Briton and from the Northlands have been reaching out, seeking better trade relations.
But, Angus! These two have come to us with a dire warning.
There was an attack on the seashore. The invaders were bested, but one survivor warned Sigurd that greater forces were coming. ”
Angus of Ui Neill was a young man, perhaps in his midtwenties, striking and a bold warrior. Deidre had met him upon occasion as his land was to the north, but also bordered the water. He had recently taken the title of rí when his father had passed, but apparently his title was well-earned.
She had only met him on occasion, but she knew that he had spoken with her father—regarding her. He’d wanted to cement friendship between their lands. But she had begged her father not to use her, not to sell her, after Eamon had suggested that she might like the man.
He had been . . . a bit too superior in his attitude. She couldn’t imagine being in a household where he held her as chattel—certainly not after years as her father’s daughter, being taught her own worth.
James of Munster was an older man, closer to her father’s age. He was strong and fair from all that she had seen. He was fit, a man who still practiced the craft of fighting with his warriors.
Berach of Linns was young, also a man who knew her father well—their lands abutted.
He had held the title of rí for about five years and seemed to be holding his deceased father’s position well, just as Angus of Ui Neill was doing.
She saw him often enough. He came to her father sometimes for advice.
He was a tall man, well-built, and like anyone in his position, determined that the appearance he gave was one of strength.
She didn’t know Eion of Connaught. He was a distance inland from her father’s land and while her father knew him from councils with Declan, she hadn’t come with him when the man had been in attendance. He appeared to be about forty and, like the others, tall, broad-shouldered and capable.
It was Angus who spoke first, and he seemed both confused and angry.
“A great sailor came to see me with a small retinue, threatening no one!” he said. “The trade this man offered suggests a great gain for me, for my people.”
“This jarl was Swen Jorgensen?” Kylin asked.
“Aye, that is the name of the man,” Angus said.
“He came in peace. You say that you fought a great battle. We know, we have known throughout the years, that Northmen come in bands and battle for what they can. Many need no authority to gather a clan together to come and attack us, our churches, seeking riches. This man has likely lied to you, seeking to live!”
“We don’t believe so,” Deidre said evenly. “The man spoke when his life was under no threat. You all know my father. He grants mercy whenever he may. This man spoke not because he was being tortured, not because he faced death, but because he was grateful to be alive.”
“And you were there. You were sure the things that he said were true?” Berach demanded.
“I was not there—”
“How do we know that Sigurd has told us the truth?” Berach persisted. “The man came from abroad himself. And I have had emissaries arrive from the man he accuses—they have improved trade and led to greater relations between our lands!”
Deidre glanced at Kylin, hoping that he wasn’t about to explode in fury. She spoke quickly, trying to ease the tension that was growing.
“Sigurd had been an amazing asset to my father through many, many years,” she said. “He is honorable and loyal and has protected us with all that is in his being and beyond. There is no reason to doubt the word of this man.”
To her surprise, at her side, Kylin shrugged.
“Were he not a man of such honor, it would be most unlikely that my father would want harm coming to my mother, my sisters, or all those he has come to love, honor and cherish through the years,” he said.
“He threw himself upon Eamon’s mercy decades ago, seeking peace, but ready to defend that peace.
Our peoples have all prospered due to the alliance they have formed. ”
“I have little say in this for it is the Britons who have sought greater trade with me,” James of Munster said.
“And I, my young friends, have been in council and even on the battlefield for petty skirmishes with Eamon and Sigurd. I would be grateful to have either man at my back in any battle. But, suppose this man, even grateful for living, lied to your father, anxious to disturb the new trading being proposed, anxious for another, lesser leader perhaps, to step in when defensive measures lead to out-and-out war?”
“My father is a good judge of men, as is Eamon. Neither believed that the man lied. That is why we have been sent here, Great Ard-rí. To seek your wisdom in this—”
Eion of Connaught spoke up. “Sire, I see no reason to ignore such a warning, yet tread carefully, lest we do create bloodshed where none was intended.”
“I will not let words from a bested man destroy new trade!” Angus said.
“Then, Angus, you need not send men to be prepared—neither shall your regions be first in our line of defense should these warnings prove true,” Declan said.
“I have been aided, respected and honored by Eamon at every turn, and he fought with and for my father before me. I will respect this missive from him.”
“Ah, but sire!” Angus argued. “If this danger is so great, why did he send Sigurd’s son, notably one of his best warriors?”