r PROLOGUE "Cuculain!" The voice called to him, forcing its way into his uneasy sleep. He dreamed of a tree whose leaves glittered silver in the bright suniight as it grew and spread and bore strange fruit. But the calling of his name seemed to blight it, for the fruit rotted on the tree and fell, and the leaves tarnished to black and fluttered down to leave only bare, gnarled branches. "Cuculain!" said the voice again, soft and bright as a child's laugh, sorrowful and insistent as death. This time it awoke him fully and he sat up in the bed to peer around him at the room. The full moon threw a shaft of light through the single window and lit even the cham-^jber's corners. They were empty. -.:- The voice seemed to have come from the window. He •*• fitted the cover and climbed carefully out of the bed, not wishing to disturb his wife who slept peacefully on. The sharp chill of the air tingled against his skin as he crossed the room to the window and looked out. Below him the Dun Dalgan cliffs dropped sheer away to the sea. At their base the great waves of the Eastern Ocean crashed against the rocks with an endless rhythm. The moon's brilliance struck the sea spray and made the ^rising peaks of water titanic blossoms of light that ^bloomed only an instant before exploding into fragments on the cliff face. ; It was only the sound of the waves he heard, he told himself sleepily, and moved back to the bed. He sat down Upon it, but looked up in alarm as something caused the light from the window to suddenly flicker and dim. A tall, slender woman in a long, gray cloak stood in the 1 2 A STORM UPON ULSTER shaft of moonlight. She seemed barely past childhood, her face smooth, her hair a flow of white-gold. Her skin glowed with a subtle inward illumination as a banked fire glows with the deep-buried embers. She seemed even to emanate a warmth that drove the chill of the sea from the room. In confusion, Cuculain looked from her to the still form of his wife. "It is all right," the woman assured him in a voice as fine as a strand of thinly drawn silver wire. "Your wife will not awaken. It was only you I came to see." "And who are you?" he asked. "Faythleen, I am. Prophetess of Tara." He understood, then. She was of the Sidhe, that, ancient race who seemed more of the air than of the earth. But the realization only deepened his confusion. The Sidhe seldom came out from their hidden places to speak directly with men. "What is it you want?" "You must go out of the Province of Ulster for a time," she answered. "You must leave your home." The words of the Prophetess were without tone, but still they carried some deeper meaning to him. Some hidden fear, it was, that chilled him more than the sea air. "Is something to happen here?" he asked on impulse. "If so, I'll not be leaving. I am a warrior of the Red Branch." "Be easy in your mind. Nothing which you can help will be happening here." She spoke with quiet assurance and he did not doubt her. The Sidhe did not lie. "Then what is it I am to do?" he asked. "I wish you only to come to Tara. A small enough thing for you. I must see you there in a fortnight's time. When you come, you will understand the reasons why." His mind was still hazy with sleep and unable to clear itself. He could find no will to argue her strange request. "I will come," he agreed. She leaned toward him, bringing a scent of warm spring with her. A hand slid forward out of the folds of the cloak' and gripped bis lower arm. It was a long, slim PROLOGUE 3 hand, but it gripped him with a strength that surprised him, the delicate fingers pressing deeply into his flesh. "You will remember?" she said. "I will remember," he replied. A sudden, overwhelming weariness seized him, then, and when she released his arm, he lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. "Remember," said the voice again, drifting away to be lost in the thunder of the waves. When he awoke again, the dawn sun lit the room. He felt he had dreamed a strange dream that had faded almost away. But something drew him to look down at his arm, and there he found five marks where a hand whose strength no mortal knew had gripped him. He remembered. Book One THE BULL OF CUAILGNE Chapter One MEAVE The broad Plains of Ai shimmered with a green glory beneath the clear sun of early spring. The wealth of Eire lay openly revealed in them. It thrust itself up from the earth in the lush grasses, thick with new growth, that covered all the fields. It wandered freely in the cattle herds, swelled with spring calves, that fed on those grasses and filled the plains to the distant hills. Two chariots sat in the heart of those plains, amidst the richness. Their horses grazed quietly while the man and woman who were their drivers examined the cattle about them. "They are a fine spring herd," said Queen Meave with satisfaction. "They are that," said the young man beside her, "and I've seen few finer springs in all my life." His pleasure fairly beamed from him as he spoke, and Meave could not help but smile broadly in return. His open exuberance seemed a natural response to the grand day, and she was feeling the lift of it herself. Hard it was to be a queen when the air was fresh with the scent of new grass and the sky was the cloudless blue so rare in Eire but in its brief spring. Not so many years before she would have played in the fields on such a day, chasing the long-legged calves and climbing the low hills as the energy pent in by the cold rains of winter was released. Indeed, she seemed far from a queen now as she stood in her chariot, her lithe form relaxed, her head tilted back to feel the sun's heat. Though past her thirtieth year, the vigor and freshness of youth were with her yet. The lines 8 A STORM UPON ULSTER of her face were clean and bold, and the brilliant sunlight struck flickering sparks in her flaming red-gold hair as the gentle breezes stirred and lifted it. "It is a mighty job you've done with the herds," the young man remarked. — His words recalled her. She was no longer a girl of the forths and fens. She was a queen, and her pleasures in life were of a different kind. The pull of spring and of the past was brought firmly to heel. "The work here is your own, Fardia, not mine," she tol.d the chieftain honestly. "Your Firbolgs have worked magic with these beasts." "There's many would say the reason for that lies in our being beasts ourselves," he replied. He spoke with a smile, but his words were tinged with bitter truth, as both of them well knew. Still, Fardia himself would have provided little evidence for such reasoning. The young warrior was not a common man of his race. The Firbolg warriors were heavy of body and coarse featured, given to thick beards and long hair that went unfastened and unkempt. In contrast, Fardia's clean-shaven face revealed quite pleasant features, while his dark hair was combed back and caught hi a golden brooch. He was well proportioned in shape and smooth limbed, carrying himself casually erect with a warrior's unconscious pride in his own power. Very young he was, even for a warrior of Connacht, being barely past twenty years in age. But he had fought for many of those years, gaining renown in Eire and in Espan across the Southern Sea. Now he was a chieftain of the Firbolgs and a swiftly growing influence among all their tribes. It was because of this last fact that Meave's voice was grave when she spoke to him again. She needed this man and his savage people. She needed to keep his loyalty. "Fardia, you rmm believe there's no ill ffvljng in me for your people. There is much you know that we would benefit in learning." "Aye," he said, smiling, "that's true enough. But you'll have need of many years to leani w^*t w v*«nw. It was the land itself taught us... and our blood is in the very stones and trees of it!** MEAVE 9 _ "I understand. Your people held the land for a long tune before we came." "No one can hold it," he corrected. "We wandered it, yes. We lived with it and learned soroe of its secrets. Yet, Eire is a fierce arid a lonely mistress that always holds danger for its lover. The land made wanderers of us, divided our tribes and left us unable to stand against the strength of you Milesians when you came. It was only that made us your subjects." She heard a colder tone in this. A hint of something deeper. "Would you wish to change that?" "The druids say my people labored as slaves before they came to Eire. We've a hatred of bondage that lies deep in the heart. We would be free..,." He said this last reflectively, then stopped abruptly and looked toward the queen, as if suddenly remembering her presence. "Ah, Queen, I meant nothing serious by my words," he assured her with obvious embarrassment. "Our freedom would never be at your own cost. There's much you've done for us already. No, we'll earn our rights ... and slowly, if we must." She smiled. "It won't be slow with such as you about." The praise only deepened the young warrior's sense of modesty, and he hastened to shift the subject from himself. "Well, tell me now, have you seen enough of cattle for one day? Would you be wishing to return to the dun?" "Yes, I think so," she answered, looking about once more on the quiet scene. "I can't be forever riding the plains and breathing this spring air like some unburdened child." But even as she said this, the spirit of the day assailed her senses once again and, this time, as if to counter the solemn nature of their talk, she let the spirit win. It was ^intoxication of a kind, a dropping of the sobering limits of r station. Suddenly she felt only the need to do some-|ihing, to find some way of saluting the spring. "Fardia," she said, "I'll wager you can't make it back to the dun before I do!" He was startled by the challenge, and by the note of 10 A STORM UPON ULSTER youthful caprice in her voice. He was uncertain how to react until he saw the glowing of her face and the sparkling in her eye as she lifted the horses* reins in anticipation. For that moment they were but two young people, matched well in daring and in skill, and so he accepted it. "Ill race you," he responded boldly, "but it will be no easy run you get from me!" "Then be about it!" she cried. Together the two chariots leaped forward as the teams obeyed their drivers' commands. The vehicles were for pleasure only and lightly built, and the powerful animals pulled them along as if nothing at all held them back. The racers flew over the broad plains. They met and vaulted low walls and narrow ravines. They skirted rocks and wheeled about alarmed cattle by a reckless margin, and still the drivers urged their steeds to even greater efforts. Fardia laughed aloud at the pace, so exhilarating it was, but his sideways glance at Meave showed him ail opponent grimly intent, crouched low over her reins, calling commands to her team in a clear, hard voice. Ahead of the racing chariots, against the distant gray-green hills, a darker mound began to show. As they moved toward it, it seemed to rise and swell rapidly until its presence dominated the Plains of Ai and structures became visible upon its flattened crest. Tile hill was Dun Cruchane, chief city of Connacht, raised years before by Meave's husband, King Aileel. Then it had been but a simple fortress, an artificially built mound whose brow was crowned by a round, timber palace surrounded by a high palisade. Now Connacht's rise in power was reflected in the new buildings within the fortress walls and the growing town which clustered close without. Meave and Fardia sped toward this goal without a slowing in the pace. For long no watcher could have called a leader. The four animals ran as if harnessed side by side in the same traces, their chariots almost touching hubs. But soon a change was evident. The steady run began to tell on the horses of the queen, while Fardia's, bred and trained by Firbolg masters, went on untiring. Slowly he began to pull ahead. While caught up in the race, Meave could not ignore MEAVE 11 the wearing of her team and was quick enough to judge her chances lost. With a sign to Fardia she reined in, still a good distance from the limits of the town. Fardia circled and pulled up beside her, his expression purposely neutral as he tried to judge how she had taken the loss. "A fair win, Fardia," she said simply, "Thank you, my Queen," he answered with relief. "I think that now we'd best walk them in to cool them." They drove on slowly and in silence for a time. Then Meave smiled ruefully at him and shook her head, "You know, it seems to me it was the jiorses and not our skill that decided this. My team was no match for yours." "And glad I am of that!" said Fardia. "For had your animals been as good as mine, I'd likely be the one left behind." "Ah, but then nothing is solved. We might never know which driver is the better." "But we may," he said knowingly, *'My Queen, you've many fine animals for your chariots of war, but they're bred to size, not speed. No driver with your skill should be without racing horses, and my people have animals the like of which can be found nowhere else. Let me give you a pair I have in mind, both tall and proud and with a fire blazing in their black eyes. They'd suit you well." "I'm certain now your people will achieve success with a poet's tongue like yours to speak for them. I'll accept your offer gladly." Again Fardia flushed with pleasure and embarrassment, and for a moment his youthfulness was very evident in him. "Good, my Queen. Tomorrow you will have a team like no one in Connacht..." he paused and smiled "... except, perhaps, for me. The next time we race, we will be matched for certain!" "A bond I'll hold you to," she said. "But there must be no gifts. These horses must be bought." He tried to protest, but she stopped him. "No, Fardia. Some token amount at least must change hands, or else I'll not feel the animals are truly mine." He nodded. "AH right, my Queen. I understand." 12 A STORM UPON ULSTER MEAVE By this time they had entered the town about the dun's base and they drove up its broad street toward the fortress gates. At the town's outer edge they passed only the small, stone huts of the many workers who provided service to the dun, but nearer the palisades these huts were replaced by the larger roundhouses of higher ranks. As Connacht had grown in influence, so had the number of these residences grown, for more and more people of means sought to be near this seat of rule. Now land near to the walls was very dear, and the structures had begun to crowd upon one another, seeming to shoulder each other away as did their owners when seeking an audience with the king and queen. The two passed many people as they drove, but these only waved or nodded as Meave passed. There was no riotous celebration at her every appearance, for she was often about in the town and well known to everyone. So, thus unhindered, they passed on through the gates of the dun, left always open hi daylight, and entered the Royal Enclosure itself. There they pulled up before low stables built against the inside of the walls. Attendants moved to hold Meave's steeds while she climbed from the chariot. "Take special care with the horses," she told a gray-bearded overseer. "They've been well run today." She noted, then, that Fardia still stood in his vehicle. "What are you doing there?" she asked. "Climb down. Here, someone, take his horses." None of the attendants moved. They only looked uncertainly toward the gray-bearded man. "The Firbolg's, my Queen?" the overseer asked, distaste evident in his words. Meave flared. "Yes, the Firbolg's! And now! Take bis horses and give them the same care you give mine." There was no threat. She needed to make none. It was in the very tone of her voice. Five men leaped at once to take the Firbolg's horses. But still Fardia hesitated. "My Queen, perhaps I should not go...." "Fardia," she said firmly, "I've business with you. Come along." With great reluctance the young warrior climbed from his chariot and released it into the attendants* care. He 13 and Meave then started up the slope toward the Tec Meadcuarfa, the immense gathering hall of the dun and the center of its life. At its wide doors Fardia paused once again, and Meave looked quizzically at him. "For one so quick to race not long ago, you've certainly a slowness on you now." "My Queen, you're not meaning for me to go in?" "And why not?" she demanded. "Are you afraid of my company?" "The opposite was more in my mind, my Queen. Few of the Milesians share your friendship with the Firbolgs. We've just seen the evidence of that." - "More reason, then, for me to welcome you," she said with decisiveness. "Come, let's go in." Though as a warrior Fardia had faced many terrors, unafraid, he felt a strange kind of apprehension when he passed the threshold and entered the cavernous space beyond. The Firbolgs were a subject race and had no part hi the running of the province. Even Fardia, a chieftan, had been but twice within the dun and never in the great hall. As it opened before him, he was awed by its size. From the top of an outer wall of thick logs set upright to form a wide circle, roof timbers rose toward a central pillar. Much of the vast area thus enclosed was filled with rows of low tables; enough to easily serve hundreds of the warriors of Connacht. At this hour of the day, however, the hall was empty save for a few servants at work sweeping the stone floor, and a few sleeping dogs who impeded their moving brooms. Meave and Fardia started toward the room's farther end, stepping over a massive wolfhound who merely Opened one incurious eye to note their passing. Beyond the middle of the tec and its immense, central pillar, they reached and circled a broad fire-pit .of stone, deeply Sunken in the floor. Here, and for more days of the year than not, a fire blazed of such size as to warm the entire phall. Today, for the first time since late fall, the warmth 'of the weather allowed that fire to be put out, and several 'jfcen labored to clear the pit of the ashes that had filled it its edge. The fire-pit formed a barrier of sorts between the rulers 14 A STORM UPON ULSTER MEAVE 15 and those ruled. Once past it, they left the section devoted to the warriors and entered the domain of the sovereigns. There the dais of the king and queen rose waist-high above the floor and, from the couches of state that sat upon it, those two could see about the entire room and be heard by all if they should speak aloud. "We'll talk in the sunroom," Meave told Fardia. "Today we'll have a fine view of the plains." She led the way toward a wooden staircase on one side of the dais that mounted to a balcony along the outer wall. As she went up, the warrior followed her at once. He made no further protests, for a boyish curiosity had fully seized him, and he could only look about in wonder at this edifice of power. ' When they reached the balcony, he found that behind it was a high room running across the upper-rear portion of the tec. At least, Fardia assumed it did. At the moment they entered it he found he could really see very little, for the room was dark and quite filled with smoke. The young warrior could scarcely breathe without coughing. "What is happening?" said Meave and moved away from him to disappear into the gray cloud. In a moment there was a rattle of metal against wood, and light appeared as she thrust open broad shutters to let in the day. "It is too fine outside to be shut up here," Meave said chidingly. Her tone confused Fardia, for he certainly agreed with her. But, before he could reply, another voice spoke up from the smoke. "Fine for you, perhaps," it said hi a thin, complaining tone. As the smoke began to clear from the room, Fardia could dimly see the speaker, crouched by a small peat fire that was vented, but only in part, through a brass-edged leather chimney hung above. Meave moved along the outer wall, throwing open all the windows to air the room and bring in the sunshine. Finally Fardia was able to see the figure clearly, and barely managed to suppress an exclamation of surprise. It was Aileel himself, High-King of all Connacht, who squatted on a tiny stool and shivered before a tiny fire. "The day is a fine one for us all," Meave insisted with good cheer. "It is bright and warm." "No more for me," Aileel replied. "The light is only a dim one to my eyes, and the sun cannot drive out the winter cold that has settled itself in my bones." "That I'll not believe," Meave said quickly, glancing toward the young Firbolg. But there was no hiding the truth in the king's words, and she could read the shock in Fardia's eyes, He had never seen the Ard-Rie closely. Those recent times Aileel had shown himself outside the dun, he had been but a distant fluttering of cloth and flash of jewels. Now, divested of the trappings of a king, he was but a wasted, shriveled old man whose near end was prophe-sized in the death's head he already wore. Fardia looked from the king to Meave and assayed her with new eyes. So now he knew all the stories were true! She it was who ruled Connacht, and she it was who in these past few years had extended its powers across Eire from the Southern Sea to the very borders of Ulster. And this same woman he had raced today with the reckless abandon of a child! Meave met Fardia's gaze, then, and he saw in her expression a plea for support. He recognized her need to comfort this failing man, and he hastened to give her his aid. , "My King," he began, trying to assume a hearty tone, "you look to me now as you did when I saw you as a boy. A fine, proud warrior you seemed, striding through our village in victory." ' Meave nodded and smiled gratefully, but the words bad a different effect on Aileel. He started violently and swiveled himself on the stool to face the young warrior. As he did so Fardia realized the reason for his astonish-ment, for the deeply sunken eyes which peered toward him were only a faint glitter dimly visible in the black ifcpckets. 'Who is that there with you, Meave?" the king de- anded querulously. He pulled himself -upright and ed his cloak about him to hide his frail limbs. "You lould have told me you were not alone." "It is young Fardia," she replied. "What, the Firbolg?" he said. 16 A STORM UPON ULSTER Fardia feared some hostility from the king but, once more, he was surprised. Aileel relaxed and smiled with real pleasure. "Glad I am to see you here. Many a Firbolg warrior did I fight when I first came to Connacht, and never have I fought better." "I have heard the same praise given you by my tribe,'* Fardia told him truthfully. At that the king laughed, and a ring of youthful vigor could be heard in it. "Meave tells no tales when she speaks of you," he said. "She has told me what work your people are doing with our herds." '*They are, indeed," said Meave with satisfaction. She went to a window and gazed out across the plains below. "And, Aileel, it is a fine thing to look out from here and see broad Ai so filled with our herds." "That's your doing as much as ours, my Queen," said Fardia. "It was you who asked our help,.and you who had the white bull brought from Alban, He's the cause for many of those strong, healthy calves." From where she stood, Meave could see the giant animal Fardia had mentioned in its stable close within the palisade. A powerful bull he was, but Meave noted with amusement that today he must have felt the pleasure of the spring as did she, for he stood quiet and content beneath the stroking brushes of his attendants. "He is a fine bull," she told her husband. "I believe what you say," Aileel answered with good humor. "There's little else you've talked about since his arrival. I am glad you find him worth the price." "It is far more than just his value in new blood for our herds," she explained, trying to help him see the reasons for her pleasure. "He is a symbol of our new power... of the new strength we will bring to all of Eire." "Then, a poor enough symbol he is, my Queen," said a quiet voice. Meave turned from the window and found that a man had entered the sunroom. She had not heard him come, but there he was, standing at the top of the main stairway. At his sudden appearance she shivered slightly, as from an unexpected draught of chill air. Chapter Two THE ENCHANTER "Calatin," said Meave. "You frightened me." 'That is often my purpose, my Queen," said the man in a voice soft and slow and filled with mild amusement, "but... only with others. Never with you." Meave wondered at the truth of that. Her high-druid had never failed to serve her well, but she had more than once sensed a pressure, a force that seemed to demand acceptance of his advice. She knew others who claimed to have felt this force more directly, for he had worked his way to his position hi a few years and was said to make use of many kinds of power. She had even heard many strong, fearless warriors confess to feeling that Calatin wore horror about him like a cloak. Still there was nothing visible about him to explain the feeling. In appearance be was a broad, strong man with coarse but not unpleasant features. His only blemish was in a spot of baldness high on his head, partially concealed by the long, dark hair which he combed back across it. In dress he was modest, avoiding the extravagance in clothing many of his station displayed. His only marks of office were the multi-hued cloak on his shoulders and the golden tore about his neck. "What is it you want here?" Aileel asked irritably, for i the old king disliked this man and made no attempt to " "de it "I only came to see if there was anything you might be jjdcsiring," Calatin explained graciously. It was an effort for |him to speak so, to tolerate this attitude from the king. :From any lesser man such a tone would have drawn a ; swift and venomous reply. 17 18 A STORM UPON ULSTER THE ENCHANTER 19 "We desire only to be left without interruption," Aileel said. "Well enough," the ard-druid replied and turned to go, but Meave stopped him, "Wait, Calatin! What did you mean about our bull? Is there something wrong?" Calatin had expected that and he smiled inwardly. He knew he had managed to pique her curiosity with his first remark. "There is nothing wrong," he said with elaborate ca-sualness. He stepped to the window beside her and looked down into the bull's enclosure. "Nothing... if you are satisfied with this animal." "Satisfied?" Meave looked at him closely. She knew his methods. He was building toward something, but she would have to draw it from him. "And isn't this the finest bull in all of Eire?". "There is one other," he said as if it were a fact of small importance. "He has only a score of attendants to brush his great hide and bring fresh grass to him. And he is entertained merely by harpers and bards who play soothing tunes and recite noble tales for him." "That talk is foolish," Aileel said with harshness.. "Is it so?" Calatin responded evenly. He did not look toward the old man but only toward Meave. "My Queen, many of your own chieftains can support what I say. They have seen this bull themselves, in Ulster." "What is it you are speaking about?" Meave asked impatiently, already weary of trying to play this game with her druid. "Tell me now, Calatin." Her advisor hesitated. To this point he had ignored Fardia's presence, but now he cast a contemptuous look toward the young warrior. "Send out the Firbolg," he said with undisguised arrogance. Meave was surprised. "And why might I do that?" 'These are important matters," Calatin explained, "They're not to be discussed before thralls." 'Tardia is no thrall to us," Meave told him coldly, "It is my invitation which brings him here, and-he may stay by his own choice.** **No, my Queen, it is all right," the young warrior said quickly, unable to hide bis anger and chagrin. "Fve no place here. I'll be feoing." But, as he turned to leave, Meave. stepped forward, smiling warmly to counter the druid's insulting attitude. "Wait, Fardia," she said soothingly. "We've a matter yet to settle between us. Please, go to the hall below. Refresh yourself. We'll talk later." The Firbolg nodded stiffly and left the room. Meave watched him start down the stairs, then turned her gaze back upon her advisor. "Now, Calatin, what of this bull?" she asked him curtly, annoyed by his harsh treatment of Fardia. "Why is it I've heard nothing of it before?" He shrugged. "That is simple enough. Since word has come into the southern provinces about this animal, many a chieftain of Eire has gone to Ulster to try to purchase it. It would be a prize indeed to have such a bull..." he paused, then added slowly "... a prize to make its winner the rival of Meave herself.** "Your foolish talk grows worse, Enchanter," said the king. "Madness it is, now.*' "Maybe not mad," Meave told him thoughtfully. "Aileel, you cannot deny that many of our chieftains are capable of this." "A few," he conceded unwillingly. "But, for such men, would ownership of this bull make a difference?" "Not in fact, perhaps,*' said Calatin, "but, in the minds of some of your subjects,.." He left the implication of this for Meave to grasp. He had no fear that she would fail to do so. The queen was shrewder in dealings than any man he had ever met. Honed by the constant challenge of equaling men in strength, her wits were sharply attuned to even subtle threats to her carefully built authority. He saw the idea working on her as she moved back to :the window to stand, looking out without seeing now, lost •In the twists and turnings of the problem. Aileel had understood none of it. He shook his head ; angrily. "The minds... the minds,** he said, "What matter are 20 A STORM UPON ULSTER they? The arm and the sword it is that makes the difference. What does it mean to own a bull? Either we have the power or we do not. What good is this plotting?" Calatin looked with disdain at the king. To him the weak, aging man was something to be pitied. Aileel would never understand that ther,e were better ways to power, that it was no longer a matter of mindless bravery and bloody combat. .The world was not that simple anymore. But the druid felt no unhappiness that the king and the other warriors of Eire seemed incapable of understanding this. Their single-minded honor and casually ordered society often made things much easier for him. "My King," said Meave, "I've no liking for plots myself, but if this bull is what Calatin says, then we have little choice! We cannot afford anyone in our provinces of Eire to own it but ourselves." "No one in Eire will have it." The king had become insistent now. "Ulster is no friend to us. It has never been one. And now that we control the other provinces, it has become the more arrogant about its freedom. King Con-chobar and his Red Branch warriors suspect everything we do. They'd not sell even a dry milk-cow to us." Meave nodded. "My husband speaks the truth. If this bull is Ulster's, what can we do?" "There are ways of gaining things, even from Ulster," said Calatin; speaking slowly as if picking each word with a mind to its effect. "I have talked with many who went to the North and have found out much more with... other methods. I think there is a way." This drew jeering laughter from Aileel, "And what would that be, Enchanter? Are you thinking to cast your spells on the warriors of Ulster, and walk the bull away while they're asleep?" The druid's calm remained. His reply was smooth and softly spoken. "There are means more direct." "But not more honest," the king shot back. "Certain I am of that!" , ' . "Please, my King,'* said Meave soothingly. "I must have the knowledge my advisor has." At that the king turned away on the stool and began poking angrily at the glowing peat with an iron rod. Freed THE ENCHANTER 21 of his harassment, Calatin turned his full attention on the queen. t "It is Dary, King of Cuailgne, who is custodian of the bull," he said. "I see hope hi that for two reasons. The first is that the tuath of Cuailgne is in the south of Ulster, on its borders with the rest of Eire. It is a great way from Ulster's capital of Emain Macha and from the power of Conchobar." "Loyalty to Conchobar does not depend on distance in Ulster," Meave noted, "and his chieftains control the duns to the very borders of the province." "You'll have no argument on, that," the druid agreed. "Still, there's another thing in our favor. Dary is a proud man. He has ruled Cuailgne since long before Conchobar was high-king of Ulster. He is independent. The proper offer made to him might... .'* "Might do nothing," Aileel grumbled, looking down at the fire as if addressing it. "Dary may be an independent man, but he is not a foolish one. He'd never risk all Ulster's wrath by selling something put into his trust." "Perhaps so," said Calatin with a smile, "but if the price we offered was not to buy?" "There it is, now!" The king was triumphant. "The Enchanter plans to bribe the bull from them!" "I have hi mind to borrow it," the druid replied calmly. "It might be that the bull could be brought from Ulster to Connacht for a season, to strengthen only the blood of our herds." "Very dear would be the price for that," Aileel complained, "There the king is right," Calatin grudgingly admitted to Meave. "You must be prepared to pay a great deal." "What is this talk of paying?" Aileel looked up toward Calatin, the light in his dim eyes flaring brightly with anger now. "We've made our herds fat with the taking of ;> animals in raids on others. It was the strength of arms did •it, not bargaining like the old women at market.** "Things change," Meave told him brusquely, as a tutor ^ might address a troublesome child. "We can't fight battles over a few cows. We're no longer small tribes. We're a vast nation. It would be too costly.** 22 A STORM UPON ULSTER THE ENCHANTER 23 AileeFs anger died at that. The pride in his warrior past that had brought him erect left him, and he seemed to shrink back. "It may be you are right," he said wearily. "I am an old man now. Then our tribes were small and so were our battles. We fought one another to survive. I am sorry. I've lived no other way." At once Meave regretted her words. His years of fighting had brought them much, and she had made it sound as nothing. She moved to him and placed a hand upon his shoulder. "My King, I've been a warrior at my heart since I was wed to you. It was you taught me the pleasures of nestings and war, the feel of a true spear, the biting weight of a good sword. A child of the Morrigu I am, and as far from understanding these new methods as yourself. Still, our power is now great enough to show itself in other ways. We'll build with it. We'll create a stronger Eire." Her words seemed to cheer Aileel. He lifted his head and smiled at her. "Ah, thank you, my wife. No better partner could a man have to cover his back in a fight. You've made right choices for us this far, and all my trust lies with you." "Then we'll have this bull of Ulster's," she said and met the druid's eyes levelly. "But understand, Calatin: we want the bull only to strengthen our herds, and not because of any fear that others might have it." "Why, of course, my Queen," Calatin assured her solemnly, bowing his head incompliance. As he did, the hint of a smile tugged upward at his lips. He knew she would never voice any fear of threat or challenge, for that would be a show of weakness. Yet he knew well enough it was the real reason she would have to act, and he was satisfied. "We should move swiftly," Meave said decisively. "We'll decide upon a generous offer and carry it to King Dary at once." The druid nodded. "Well said. I will make preparations to leave for Cuailgne." "You?" Meave was surprised by this. "I have never 'known you to go on such missions. My thought was to' send a messenger." "This is a task which needs some care," he told her. "It would interest me to undertake it." Aileel roused himself again. "Meave, you can't be sending this one. He's despised by every real warrior who sees him. Their" very spirits are repulsed by the presence of Mm ..." "Aileel," Meave said sharply to cut the flow of words. "You'll not be speaking so of my advisor." She turned to the druid. "Calatin, I am sorry ..." "Do not apologize for me," the king said fiercely. He was angered by his wife's patronizing tone and refused to be silenced. "If you will not heed my warnings about the enchanter, then at least think of this: you will have trouble enough hi Ulster trying to secure the bull without sending any outsider there. Calatin admits himself how much care is needed. Be sending someone who has a chance of getting the animal!" There was much sense in that, and Meave considered it. "But who could do it?" she asked. "Who might you be thinking of?" "Fergus MacRogh," Aileel stated with simple finality. For a moment Calatin's face went-rigid with astonishment, but then he exploded with laughter. "Fergus!" he said. "You pick the one man in Eire who would never go! Fergus is an exile from Ulster, a man who went to war against his own king and was expelled by force for it." "To become the commander of our armies," Aileel •added stubbornly. "The best I have ever known." "Only more reason he would never be tolerated in Ulster." The druid argued forcefully now, amusement - gone from him as he realized the king's sincerity. "He is right, Aileel," Meave agreed. "How is it Fergus .could help? His own son was killed by Conchobar in a dispute. Fergus and all his tribe swore vengeance for it. They are the enemies of Ulster," ; "Not of all Ulster," Aileel persisted. "There's many a warrior who sympathized with Fergus for Conchobar's 24 A STORM UPON ULSTER wrong to him. Many chose to be exiled with him, including the king's own son, young Conlingas. But for loyalty to the king, all of Ulster would have joined the revolt. To most, MacRogh still carries the fame he earned as a right arm to Conchobar. Very little would be denied him in his old homeland, and never would his word be doubted." "That's true enough," said Meave thoughtfully. "Any offer he might give would be believed. If Dary was certain he could trust our offer, he might lend the bull." Calatin shrugged. "Ah, it is possible, but Fergus would never go back to Ulster. You may ask him, but he would refuse.** "If I ask him, Calatin, he cannot refuse," Meave answered pointedly. Inwardly the druid cursed his ill-chosen words. To suggest that MacRogh's power might allow him to defy the queen only challenged her to prove that he could not. The commander was too popular with her people and too outspoken to let even a minor dispute be won by him. Calatin had judged her reaction correctly, for those same thoughts were hi Meave's mind as she walked to the balcony overlooking the main hall. Below her, alone at a table, Fardia still waited patiently, sipping at a mug of heavy ale. "Fardia!** she called to him, and he looked up toward her. "Yes, my Queen?" "Could you find Fergus MacRogh for me? I've need of him here." "He's at the training ground, teaching chariot-fighting to the young warriors," the Firbolg called back. "Hell not like to come away from it.*' This second suggestion of her commander*s independence brought all Meave's sense of outraged authority to the fore and Fardia, unknowing of his sin, caught its full force. "It is very little I care about him liking it or not," she said, commanding and cold as the full moon on a clear winter's night. "Tell him to come ... now!" "Yes, my Queen," the Firbolg said, bewildered by this change in Meave's demeanor. He rose at once and all but ran from the hall hi his haste tor do her bidding. Chapter Three FERGUS MACROGH Fardia went down from the Tec Meadcuarta on foot, passing out of the main gates and turning to circle the dun to the broad field beside it. The training ground was little more than a wide square of dirt, grassless and beaten to smooth hardness by years of wheels and hooves. It was filled now with warriors at their chariot drills. To one untrained in the subtleties of warfare, the drills might have seemed little more than a confused and dangerous milling of vehicles, horses and men. But to Fardia, the chariots sweeping dangerously close to one another with warriors climbing precariously about in them were being precisely choreographed to perform with lethal purpose. Many different activities were underway on the field. On one side lads of fourteen or fifteen years, paired with veteran drivers, learned to cast their spears from moving chariots or to swing the longswords swiftly from side to side to hold a circle of enemies away. Most of the young warrior's normal fighting position. One hand held a drawn finer points of this hard, fast method of fighting. Fardia walked about the field, seeking Fergus MacRogh in each group of men. Then he saw a familiar face lifted above the center of a crowd and went toward it. It was Cormac Conlingas, son of King Conchobar, second