"This creature," she gestured contemptuously toward Lailoken, huddled now along one edge of the room, between his guards, "wormed his way into the confidence of Briton queens and kings, offered himself as go-between in the matter of alliance between Briton Galwyddel and Irish Dalriada. I embraced this alliance with joy, seeing the good it would do all our peoples, Briton and Irish alike, for we all face a rising threat from the Jutland Danes, the Saxons, the Angles from Denmark's Angeln Peninsula, and their cousins of Frisia. I gave my only child, my greatest treasure, in marriage to the king of Galwyddel, to forge an alliance I believed necessary for the safety of both our peoples.
"When this foul poisoner fled," Lailoken withered beneath her cold contempt, trying to cower down through the floor, "betraying Briton and Irish alike, Queen Morgana and King Medraut risked death to warn us of the treachery he had committed. They could have remained silent, could have allowed me to drink from a final, poisoned gift, but rushed to prevent yet more deaths and the senseless blaming of innocents that would surely have occurred, had not their honor driven them to act with greater courage than any I have ever witnessed."
A stir ran through the room, at that, surprise at the candor and the compliments.
The Druidess let the buzz of hushed reaction die down, then continued gravely. "My king, Dallan mac Dalriada says, the murder of four thousand Dalriadan Irish only strengthened my resolve to destroy this Saxon threat to both our peoples. I raised an army from the countryside around Dunadd, sailed for the town of Belfast, where kinsmen joined us to meet these Saxons in battle. And when Artorius' charge scattered the Saxons ahead of him on the plain, we were waiting; Artorius' hammer crushing them against our Irish anvil, preventing their escape. Together, Briton and Irish soldiers kept these Saxons from regrouping elsewhere with a fighting force still capable of waging war."
That point, at least, could not be argued. Stirling had seen it almost at once, so had Ancelotis. Given the look in Artorius' eyes, he could see the truth in it, as well. Without the Irish "anvil" stopping their headlong retreat, the Saxons might well have escaped to regroup elsewhere—making another battle and another after that, for months or years, painfully necessary. Together, they had accomplished something profound.
Riona Damhnait gazed at each of the tables in turn, each of the kings and queens and princes, each of the princesses and royal advisors seated beside and behind them. "We ask only two things of this council. Give this alliance a chance. Honor the pledge these young people have made to one another and to peace between our peoples. Give us a chance to exchange artisans and craftsmen, to send home any Britons who were taken from their homelands while we were enemies, with compensation for them and their families. Give us a chance to marry Irish widows to Briton landsmen, to knit up the damage wrought by war, give us all the chance to build something better in its place. And give us the traitor, Lailoken. I, Dallan mac Dalriada, King of the Scotti clan of Dalriada, thank you for the chance to ask these things, and for the hospitality and honor you have shown us."
The Druidess returned to her seat.
For a moment, absolute silence reigned.
The explosion of voices rattled dust from the rafters. Artorius was on his feet, banging the hilt of his sword against the table, shouting for silence. "Is this the way Britons greet guests and allies?" he snarled into the babble of angry words. "You shame us, shame the good names of your royal families and clans!"
Mutters finally died away into silence once again. Artorius glared around the room, pinning each and every one of them with an icy stare. Cadorius had the good grace to look troubled. But young Clinoch of Strathclyde was on his feet, literally shaking with rage.
"Ally ourselves with the butchers of Dalriada?" the boy spat. "We've fought them across our borders longer than I have been alive! They killed my grandfather's brothers, they've taken our people into slavery, plundered our fishing and trading fleets, and you would ask me to break bread with them? To call them allies? Kinsmen?"
Before anyone could answer the boy's vitriolic burst of hatred, Keelin rose to face him, pale to her very lips. She promptly astonished everyone in the room by speaking fluent Brythonic.
"Honored Clinoch, King of Strathclyde, our nearest Briton neighbor, I beg you to remember that I, too, have lost kinsmen in the wars between Strathclyde and Dalriada. My uncles, my grandfathers, both of my own beloved brothers were killed in the fighting. And our fleets have been attacked by Strathclyde's, as well, sometimes with cause, in retribution for raids, but sometimes not. There has been wrong on both sides of this war. Yet when Medraut of Galwyddel came to Dunadd and offered alliance, I put aside the grief for my own much-loved brothers. I recognized the great courage it took for him to sail into Dunadd Harbor, to ask for this alliance. I married Medraut, with all the anguish of the past between us, because I believed it was the best, the only way, to ensure that no one else from his people or mine ever grieves the loss of loved ones in a war that we have the power to stop, now and forever."
Tears were running openly down her cheeks. Medraut, visibly stricken, drew her close, his tenderness and care so open and honest, a low hum ran through the assembly, softening expressions and defusing much of the tension that had tightened so dangerously through the room. Clinoch of Strathclyde stood silently for long moments, jaw clenched as he, too, fought powerful emotion. Children, Stirling realized with a pang, these three passionate souls deciding the fate of all Britain, are mere children. Clinoch was barely fifteen, Medraut and Keelin no more than sixteen and seventeen. It was, perhaps, only fitting that the future of Britain rested in the grief and pride and courage of her children.
In a gesture that surprised everyone, perhaps except Stirling, Princess Iona of Ynys Weith rose with outstretched hands, clasping Keelin's trembling fingers in her own. "I know the grief you feel, know it to the depth of my heart. The Saxons have wounded us deeply. I, Princess Iona of Ynys Weith, formally greet you as sister."
She embraced the trembling Irishwoman, kissed her cheek, then turned and faced Clinoch of Strathclyde. "Your father is but a few weeks in the ground, Clinoch, but remember that it was not Dalriada who murdered him."
"If the Irish had not driven the Picts from their homeland—"
"You would not now be king, faced with a choice that will affect your grandchildren's grandchildren. Would you throw away the chance to stop war between them and Keelin's great-grandchildren? When you have been given the chance to build peace, instead? To strengthen your borders against enemies of both Strathclyde and Dalriada? To pull men needed badly elsewhere away from a border that no longer needs guarding? You have younger sisters, do you not?"
He nodded, face a mask of anguish.
"Would you have them grow to womanhood, wed, and watch their sons march to war, knowing that you could have spoken the word that would send them north as kinsmen and guests, instead?"
Bright water glistened in his eyes. "Would you have me forget the wrongs done us?"
"Would you have me forget the butchery of my family? It was in my hands, the fate of Cerdic and all his kinsmen. A man who drank ale from my father's skull and laughed while he did so."
Clinoch flinched. So did many others listening in silent judgement.