The King of Sleep (33 page)

“Why would Father abandon the kingship?” Aoife queried. “But anyway, Lorn is just as hard-nosed as Father.”

“But with myself as his counselor I have a suspicion he won't be too difficult to handle.”

“Then it's agreed,” Aoife said, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it tightly. “We'll go together to the depths of the Aillwee and conquer whatever imaginary demons dwell in that place. In that way we'll earn the right to rule and to bring about the changes we desire.”

“If we return,” Sárán sighed. “Then I imagine there'll be none who can deny us that right.”

With that the two siblings locked in an embrace to seal their pact and made off for the hall of poetry to get as much sleep as possible before sunrise.

N
OT LONG AFTER
S
ÁRÁN AND HIS SISTER HAD GONE
into the hall where the Druids were lodged, two figures emerged from the darkness. They waited in the shadows, whispering for a long while before they moved off toward the house where Eber Finn was lodged.

With infinite patience they watched as each sentry passed them by, then they slipped past the warriors one at a time. At last they were at the door to the guest's hall, breathing hard and shaking with fear.

“I'll wait here,” Mahon hissed to his friend.

“I won't be long,” Iobhar assured him. “Give me the signal if anyone approaches.”

The Gaedhal opened the door and entered the hall as Mahon slipped back into the shadows.

Once he was inside, Iobhar waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The fire had been allowed to burn down so there wasn't much light. He made his way cautiously to what he thought was the form of a man sleeping. As he got closer he noticed the steady rise and fall of breathing under the furs. With heart beating he reached out a hand to touch the figure, but before he made contact he felt something sharp prodding his back.

“Turn around slowly,” a voice commanded. “If you make a move to escape I'll skewer you with this blade.”

In the same instant Máel Máedóc rolled over and grabbed the young man by the throat of his tunic and dragged him closer. The old Druid shook his head when he recognized the face before him.

“It's Iobhar, my lord,” he exclaimed.

The king spun the fellow around and with a stern expression demanded to know what the lad was doing trespassing in the guests' house in the middle of the night.

“I've come to ask a favor of you, my lord,” the young man whispered. “It's not safe for me to remain here. There's a great hatred for the Gaedhals since the death of Fergus.”

“I'm aware of the hostility.”

“I fear for my life,” Iobhar breathed. “I'm not permitted to carry arms within the walls of Dun Aillil and there are many folk who would think nothing of ending my life in revenge for the death of their champion.”

“You're a hostage,” Eber explained. “You're under the protection of the treaty.”

“The treaty was broken, my lord. I'm in deadly danger. I beg you to negotiate for my return to Dun Gur.”

Máel Máedóc put a hand on the lad's shoulder to calm him. “We can't leave him here unprotected while we go off into the caves,” the old Druid argued.

“You may be right,” Eber nodded. “I'm not at all happy with this testing business.”

He sat back and stirred up the fire with a stick. A little flame soon leaped up and the house was somewhat brighter.

“I'll send you back to Dun Gur,” the king decided. “You're to report everything that's happened here. Tell the chieftains about the test that's been set for me and command them to march on Dun Aillil in full force if I haven't returned within a week. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.”

As he spoke there was a sound at the door.

“That's Mahon's signal,” Iobhar told the king. “I have to go now. There are guards approaching.”

“You brought someone with you?”

“He's my friend. Mahon is another hostage, a Danaan.”

“A Danaan?”

“Iobhar!” Mahon hissed through the door. “We must go.”

“I'll come along presently,” the lad replied. Then he leaned in closer to his king. “There's one other thing I'd ask of you, my lord,” he breathed, so low that Eber barely heard him speak.

“What is it, lad? Speak up.”

“There's a woman here I've taken a fancy to,” Iobhar blushed. “I want to take her with me.”

Eber smiled. “Very well,” the king agreed. “My guess is that you're planning this elopement without the consent of her father?”

“If he knew he'd probably kill me,” the lad admitted. “He's well known for his temper.”

“Then be wary of making her your wife,” Máel Máedóc advised. “Three things are passed down the generations—bad temper, fighting skill and red hair.”

“She has all three,” Iobhar confided.

Eber peered closely at the lad. “What's her name, this lass of yours?”

“Aoife,” he replied. “She's the daughter of King Brocan.”

“Who else knows of your intentions?”

“No one.”

“What about that Danaan outside?”

“He also holds Aoife in some affection,” Iobhar revealed with some embarrassment. “He has no idea I intend to run off with her.”

Eber turned back to the fire so Máel Máedóc wouldn't see the expression on his face.

“Call your comrade in to the fire,” the king ordered after a moment.

Iobhar did as he was commanded and while he was gone Eber whispered a few words to Máel Máedóc. The Druid opened his eyes wide in surprise.

“Why didn't you inform me of your offer of marriage?” Máel Máedóc asked.

“There seemed no need. It's the best course of action. Do you have any objections?”

The old Druid shook his head. “On the surface it would seem to make perfect sense,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Then you will support me?”

“I will,” Máel Máedóc stated, seeing that he had little choice.

“I'm going to call the guards,” Eber told him. “If this lad is seen leaving the guesthouse we will be implicated in the abduction of Aoife. That would be extremely damaging to our cause. There's already been enough damage done by young hotheads.”

“I agree.”

“We must get Iobhar out of Dun Aillil as soon as possible before he has a chance to ruin everything I've been working for.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

“I want you to keep the lads by the fire while I go out for a while. When I return say nothing.”

“Very well.”

Just then Mahon and Iobhar came into the house and crouched by the fire.

“This is my friend Mahon,” the young Gaedhal announced. “He saved me from the wrath of the Fir-Bolg.”

“Did he?” Eber exclaimed. “Then I'd like to show my gratitude.”

The king pulled out a dagger of shining steel from his belt and handed it to the Danaan.

“This was my father's knife. Show it to any of my people and they will recognize it immediately. Take it as a sign of the peace between our peoples.”

Mahon was humbled by the gift but took it with gratitude, promising to remember the name of King Míl of the Gaedhals and to tell the story of the generosity of his youngest son.

“Now I must go out and arrange for the safe escape of Iobhar,” Eber Finn told them. “Wait here until I return.”

The two young warriors agreed and the king made his way out into the night.

“How can I ever repay your war-leader for such a gift?” Mahon asked the old Druid.

“You're too grateful,” Máel Máedóc told him. “Enjoy it while you can.”

With these words the counselor realized what the king was up to. Eber Finn had gone to call out the sentries, who'd discover Mahon and Iobhar in the guesthouse armed with one of the king's own knives.

Máel Máedóc's conscience wouldn't allow his tongue to stay silent. The result of such a breach of hospitality would surely be banishment. And these two warriors were too young to suffer that fate.

“Go now,” he told them. “Go and leave this fortress while you still may.”

“But Eber is going to help me escape,” Iobhar replied, puzzled.

“He has his mind set on wedding Aoife himself,” Máel Máedóc countered. “He's not going to let you stand in his way.”

“Aoife?” Mahon exclaimed in confusion.

“Your friend came here to ask the king's help to get himself and Aoife clear of Dun Aillil tonight.”

The Danaan turned to his friend and shook his head. “Have you lost your senses?”

“I'm in love with her,” Iobhar declared. “And she's promised to come with me to the Kingdom of the Northern Gaedhals.”

“I don't believe you!” Mahon countered. “She holds you in contempt.”

“How dare you speak to me like that,” the young Gaedhal spat.

And the next thing Máel Máedóc knew the two warriors were struggling together, trying to throw each other to the ground. In their frantic efforts they fell back onto the old Druid's bed.

Máel Máedóc tried to tear them apart and talk some sense into them, but to no avail. Mahon still held the king's knife in his hand, though Iobhar was concentrating all his efforts on wrenching it from him.

In the confusion Máel Máedóc gave a cry and withdrew from the fight to sit by the fire. And just then Eber returned with the sentries. Before the lads had a chance to object they were disarmed and laid out on the floor with warriors pinning them down.

Then King Brocan was at the door demanding to know what all this commotion was about in the middle of the night. He took one look at the two lads then turned to Eber Finn for an explanation.

“They broke in here,” the Gaedhal explained. “Talking some nonsense about stealing your daughter away. I went to fetch the sentries and when I returned I found them struggling with my counselor.”

Máel Máedóc shook his head as he showed his bloodied hand where the knife had cut him. “It's nothing. Just a little scratch,” he assured the kings. “They meant no harm.”

“No harm?” Brocan bellowed. “They've entered this house uninvited and cut one of my honored guests. And what's this talk of abducting Aoife?”

“She's promised to run away with me,” Iobhar struggled to say.

“Has she?” Brocan scoffed. “Well you're not the first young male to fall for her subtle ways. I can forgive you your delusion. But I can't forgive a breach of hospitality. What were you thinking, coming here armed?”

“We weren't armed,” Mahon protested.

“Then how did this cut appear on Máel Máedóc's hand?”

“They used this,” a sentry interrupted, handing the knife to the Fir-Bolg king.

“That's my knife,” Eber announced. “It belonged to my father.”

Brocan squinted, sensing all was not as it seemed.

“Do you recognize this blade?” he asked the old Druid.

Eber Finn stared hard at his counselor.

“It was King Míl's knife,” Máel Máedóc confirmed guiltily. It wasn't a lie, it just wasn't the whole truth.

The Fir-Bolg king was satisfied.

“You are hostages in my home,” Brocan told the lads. “So I don't need to invoke the powers and wisdom of the Brehon judges. You have broken with hospitality, stolen a knife, threatened to abduct my daughter and wounded a Druid in the hand.”

He waited a moment while he caught his breath. He didn't want to appear as if rage had got the better of him.

“I banish you beyond the walls of Dun Aillil. If you come back within the precinct of my home I will command my warriors to kill you.” Then he remembered Mahon had taken the Quicken Brew. “I'm sure I could devise a suitable punishment for you, Danaan, if I thought hard on the matter.”

Then he ordered his guards to throw them both out the gates with nothing but the clothes they were standing in.

As soon as they were dealt with Brocan offered his apologies to the King of the Southern Gaedhals.

“If I had suspected they had this in mind I would have thrown them out earlier,” he assured his guest. “I trust you will find it in your heart to forgive me this terrible imposition?”

“I have already forgiven you,” Eber told his host
smoothly. “This won't be an impediment to our negotiations, will it? I hope to present an attractive offer to you.”

“Do you mean with regard to my daughter?”

Eber nodded.

“Let's conclude the test first and see whether you're worthy of her hand,” Brocan declared. “Now I must go to my bed. There's much to be done in the morning and I need rest. Goodnight.”

Then he was gone and Eber was left alone with Máel Máedóc.

“I'm sworn to truth!” the old Druid hissed as soon as the king sat down by the fire.

“Then you did a pretty good job of sticking to your vows and serving your king at the same time,” Eber quipped.

“Don't ever ask me to do such a thing again.”

“You are a servant of your people as much as I am,” the king informed Máel Máedóc.

“I'm indentured to the law and to the truth.”

“Then it is certainly time you considered retirement,” Eber finished. With that he rolled himself in his furs and tried to get some sleep.

As the night sky began to retreat before a pale gray morning Brocan rose from his bed and dressed himself in battle array. He pulled on his leggings and strapped them tight. Then he put on his deerskin boots and his shirt of fine linen. Over the top of that he wore a sleeveless leather tunic and a cloak of the
finest wool dyed green and black. He had experienced the cold in the deeper parts of the cave and knew he would freeze without adequate protection.

He buckled his belt about him and arranged the breacan cloak so that it was tucked firmly in at his waist. Then he tied his sword sheath to the belt and placed his blade carefully within the leather protector.