‘That is for very specific situations and only with Ethne’s blessing. Unless you think I enjoy lying with a stinking sack of pus like yourself?’
Cruibne’s expression darkened at the insult. Britha was not terribly worried, but fortunately the mormaer rediscovered his sense of humour quickly.
‘You always seemed to,’ he said, reaching up to stroke her hair. It was true to a degree. Cruibne was not an untalented lover, which was important for the success of the rites, the sacrifice – her sacrifice – the seed they returned to the earth. He’d had to be trained of course. However, all the magic in the Otherworld could not have compelled her to tell Cruibne that.
‘Don’t make me hurt you and then ask Ethne to come over here and hurt you as well,’ she told him. Cruibne gave this some thought. He stopped stroking her hair.
‘It worries me that the Ce, the Fidach and the Cait did not come,’ Cruibne said, changing the subject, seeming almost sober. Britha nodded. She had been thinking the same. When not thinking about Cliodna. ‘Finnguinne’s a serpent-tongued sheep rapist, but do you think he’s right? That they think I mean to rule them?’
Britha shook her head. ‘Can you see Calgacus of the Bitter Tongue not coming here to tell you what he thought of that?’
‘Do they plan war against us?’
‘Maybe Oengus, for the sake of harvesting heads, but he would tell us to our faces. Besides, things are well now. Why risk that in war? And there are easier prey than us.’
‘I do not like this. Have they fallen to war among themselves?’
‘It seems unlikely that we would not have heard about it, or that one or more of them would not want to ask for our aid. Besides, even at war they know they could come here safely under our protection.’
‘What then? Famine? The Lochlannach?’
Britha just shook her head. Cruibne was more than capable of speculating on his own. He was saying this because he was drunk and wanted to hear a voice. ‘I think we should send a—’ Britha began, knowing that she would have to repeat herself the following day. She was interrupted by a clamour from the circle around the fire. Both of them headed back.
A landsman stood in the circle of flame-shadowed warriors. Britha did not recognise him but he looked ill-used. He had been beaten and cut. He would have been terrified if he had not been so fatigued that he swayed with the warm summer breeze.
‘On your knees!’ one of the Fib warriors yelled. Britha was pretty sure he was called Congus and unlike Wroid he could fight. He was Finnguinne’s champion and known as a dangerous man. From where he sat Congus knocked the landsman’s legs out from underneath him. Britha strode across the circle and kicked Congus in the face. She was not expecting to get away with it but anger overwhelmed better judgement. To her surprise her foot connected and spread Congus’s nose across his face. He reeled back even as his hand went to the sword by his side.
‘What are you so frightened of that a landsman has to kneel?’ Britha demanded. Congus, seeing that it was the ban draoi, did not draw his blade though he had hate in his eyes.
‘There are mormaer present,’ Finnguinne said angrily.
‘So? We’ll make our landsmen go on their knees when we learn to eat swords,’ Britha spat at him.
‘Besides, this is my fire. I decide who gets mistreated,’ Cruibne said from behind her as he knelt to cradle the man and gave him ale from his own skull in a bid to revive him.
‘The man’s clearly a thief,’ Finnguinne said. ‘He came in riding a horse.’
Cruibne glanced at Talorcan, and the tracker went to check the horse.
‘It’s a brave woman who strikes a warrior knowing he cannot return the blow,’ Congus said. In theory there was a ban against striking a dryw. There was also, in theory, a ban on dryw taking part in combat.
‘It is true,’ Wroid said. ‘Poor hospitality is this. The dryw are not meant to strike warriors.’
‘Ours does,’ Nechtan said.
‘What’s your name?’ Britha demanded of Congus. ‘I do not know you. You could not have done much. Are you sure you received your first meat from the tip of a blade?’
‘I am Congus, champ—’ he began angrily.
‘Are you known as Congus the Timid? Congus the Abuser of Landsfolk?’ Britha demanded. It was hugely rude to interrupt a warrior formally introducing himself. There were sharp intakes of breath from all around the fire. Britha knew she was pushing the man hard, but his was exactly the sort of arrogance that she despised most among the warriors.
‘You go too far even for a dryw,’ Congus said dangerously. Behind her she could hear the warriors in the Cirig cateran shifting, readying themselves.
‘Well, Congus the Timid, you have my permission to return the blow,’ Britha said. ‘No ban, no boycott or satire. I promise you the only consequences that you will reap will be those wrought by Flesh Render.’ Meaning her spear. Then she looked Congus straight in the eye. Britha was a fair fighter but she had grown up training to be a ban draoi. Congus had spent his whole life training to be a warrior. She was pretty sure that in a straight fight she would lose, but first Congus had to overcome every bit of inherited dread about crossing a dryw. In many ways, to humiliate him publicly and challenge him was not very fair at all. The two of them stared at each other. Congus looked away first.
‘Is this the brave Cirig? Hiding behind a woman?’ Wroid demanded.
‘We are stronger than you because our women fight,’ Cruibne said distractedly while he looked over the newcomer’s wounds.
‘And any one of us will fight you at any time,’ Nechtan added quietly.
‘We are stronger than you because we know enough not to fear our women or our landsmen,’ Britha told him.
‘The horse is almost as ill-used as he is,’ Talorcan said, appearing out of the darkness. ‘It’s a warrior’s mount, but it has been ridden long and hard and I don’t like the look of its wounds.’
‘See!’ Finnguinne spat. ‘A horse thief!’
‘Hold your tongue, sheep king!’ Cruibne spat. There was deathly silence around the fire. Britha closed her eyes and cursed Cruibne for allowing Finnguinne and his people to bait him. ‘You should consider yourself lucky I don’t take your head for breaking my hospitality. Get from my fire and do it now. Think hard if you want to war with us, and I will think hard on the right compensation for what you have done here.’
There was lots of shifting and muttering from both caterans. ‘Sheep king’ was not an easy insult for a mormaer to walk away from. Finnguinne stared at Cruibne.
Cruibne ignored him. ‘Britha, he needs your healing ways.’ Britha moved to kneel by the man’s side.
Finnguinne stood up and stormed away from the fire. Congus accompanied him, quickly followed by the rest of the Fib, Wroid at the rear, raining insults down on the Cirig, many of whom were on their feet.
Feroth prevented the Cirig from responding to Wroid’s words with violence. It would look ill if they fought the Fib after inviting them to share their fire. ‘They’ll have a hard time on the Tatha the amount they’ve had to drink,’ Feroth said. It was a weak jest but he was trying to lower the tension.
Britha was all but oblivious to this. Instead she was cursing Congus’s arrogance as she peeled away the landsman’s blaidth to reveal a horrible-looking wound. She exchanged a look of horrified surprise with Cruibne, who was holding the writhing man.
It was a sword wound. She had seen many before. Except this one looked wrong somehow, too wide even for the thickest blade, and too ragged. Something about it put in Britha’s mind that the sword had been hungry.