The giant cauldron hung above a fire that had settled back to a sullen red glow.  Cathbad sat staring into the embers, deep in thought or devoid of it, while his druid assistants tended the cauldron, chanted, or fidgeted nervously.  Few enough of the small-folk remained, but when word of war had filtered out with those that had left, the men who would fight it began to gather to hear the words of the chief druid.

CuRuada had been seeking Emer at the fair, but he could not find her.  Indeed, Emer and her father had left for the ford of the Red where they lived.  CuRuada’s fellows brought him the exciting word of war predicted by the druid, Cathbad.  With them, Cu gathered near the chanting druids and the blackened cauldron with the other warriors, though the boys of the troop hung together.

CuRuada saw his destiny plain.  He must take up arms today.  As in other things he must excel to claim his bride.  CuRuada knew that the ceremony where young men took up their arms was normally held after the yearly sacrifice and druid divination.  Waiting was torment.  His friends in the boys troop were eager to be men, but Cu needed to be one.  Emer was reason enough and more.

CuRuada opened the carved box and stared at the broach and the knife.  When I take up arms there is no one who can keep me from you Emer.

Murmurs among the assembled men brought CuRuada out of his reverie.  Druids were bringing boiled meat out of the cauldron with meat hooks.  Some of it had already been spread out to cool and Cathbad was methodically eating what was placed before him.  This then was the beginning of the Consumption Vision.  Cathbad would eat all the bullock and after that there would be a vision of great power.

But a man eating can hold attention only so long, for the boys troop less than most.  Their whispered conversation was frowned on by the warriors around about them for awhile, but soon enough the process of Cathbad eating the bull could not hold even grizzled old warriors attention and they joined the boys in murmured conversation.

“I shall take up arms today, if the druid will ever finish his meal,” boasted Conor, a boy of the troop.

“Best think twice Conor, this of war is no business for mere boys,” said Conall, the champion’s son.

“I suppose a shan’t be able to with my arm as it is,” pouted Felmid.

“HAH!” scoffed Conor, “I’d not worry about my arm if I were you.  Better that you grow a couple more years before you think of it, Felmid.”

Felmid shouldered Conor with his good arm, “What do you know, you’re only three months older.”

“Hush now, have you no respect?” said Conall, “Think twice before you take up arms.  There are two ends to a spear.  Make sure you can stay on the right end of it.”

“I will take up arms today,” stated CuRuada flatly.  The druid was still eating, but CuRuada had no more stomach for this show, “Come get me when it is time to take up my arms.”  Without another word he walked off toward where people were gathering their things to depart.  CuRuada went first to where the Lokian smith had been and finding his booth gone went looking for him among the carts and wains of the people leaving the fair grounds.

“That is an odd fellow,” Remarked Conor.

“. . . Said the boy with more freckles than face,” Felmid laughed, but yowled when Conor thumped him on his broken arm.

“Hush you,” whispered Conall, and the boys all fell silent, “Have you no respect?”  Conall pointed to the diaz where Cathbad was finishing his meal.

Cathbad took from an assistant a huge bowl of broth mingled with blood and slowly began to drink.  His helpers hovered near as the great druid finished the last of the bull.  Cathbad dropped the bowl and held his arms out.

There was sudden noise of chanting and drumming the cauldron was drawn off the fire and fragrant incense was cast on the coals.  Others of the druids waved censers about spreading still more fragrant smoke.  In the midst of it all Cathbad sat with his arms held out. 

Then an elder druid came toward Cathbad struggling under the weight of the bullocks hide he bore, eight others carried a platform of sorts with handles where the druids held it up.  The elder shook out the bloody hide and with the help of some of the younger assistants wrapped Cathbad, already red with the blood of the sacrifice, in the bloody skin of the sacrifice.

The eight druids with the elder lifted Cathbad onto the platform which the they then lifted onto their shoulders with Cathbad, entranced, upon it.  The general noise died to silence as the elder druid took up a censer and began to chant.  He led the bearers down off the dais and all the druidry who had been helping with the vision quest fell in behind in a sort of procession.  Everyone else stood or sat around the empty dais as the procession moved off, Cathbad above all on the shoulders of the bearers.  The thin voice of the elder druid was joined by the assembly as they slowly walked away.

“What now?” asked Felmid.

Conall and several older warriors around stared at him disapprovingly.  Conor whispered, unabashed, “Cathbad sleeps off his big meal, has his vision, and then we all hear.”

Felmid considered this for a moment before commenting, “Why in the world did we stand here waiting?”

Conor shrugged, Conall frowned, and an elder warrior not far off shushed louder than Felmid’s comment.  Conall muttered under his breath, “have you no respect?”

Meanwhile CuRuada searched for the smith.  He strode along the long line of carts and wagons looking for the short dark Lokian.  When he would have almost stopped he saw the man with his wagon and team.  On seeing him Cu couldn’t imagine what he would say.  The man made up his mind for him when he looked back, and seeing the young warrior, motioned him forward.

When CuRuada walked up beside the wagon the little man called down, “Don’t tell me that you’ve come looking for another gift for yet another lady friend.”  CuRuada’s look of horror made the black-haired metal-worker laugh.  “No?  Well that’s good to hear.  How did your friend like the gift?”

“I don’t know, I couldn’t find her.  Likely left with the rest; left like you.”

“Likely so. . .” said the smith. “So why come see me?”

CuRuada shrugged, “I couldn’t stand waiting for the chief druid’s vision quest.  It’s a hard thing to watch a man eat and eat.  Afterward is the ceremony where boys take up their arms and become men.  I need to take up arms today.”

“The only good reason to wait that I can see is so you don’t miss something you have to have.”

“That is good advice.  Now I owe you twice over, how shall I repay you?”

The dark Lokian laughed, ”There’s no need.”  He thought for a moment and then leaned out of his wagon looking Cu directly in the eyes, “But some day you and your friend could come see me.  I’d like to see that brooch completed.” His blue eyes danced with mischief before he added, ”My name be Goffanon the smith.  Beyond the Red Branch and up in the hills the folk know my name and the paths to my forge.  Seek me when you would find me.”

CuRuada waved, “I will come Goffanon, so says CuRuada.”

With that he rein whipped his team to better speed to close up the gap between his wagon and the next in line.  He shouted back at Cu, “Don’t forget to bring that girl of yours too.”

CuRuada turned to walk back along the cart track.  Far back along the way he saw Conor and Felmid walking toward him.  At that he remembered the smith’s advice and began to run toward his fellow boys troop members.

“Hey there Cu!” shouted Conor, “If you plan to take up arms today you best come at once.  Cathbad has eaten and his vision can’t be far off.”

“How long did we stand around while he ate?” asked Felmid, “I’m sure it can’t come as soon as we would want.”  Felmid fiddled with his splinted arm, “Not that I’ll be taking up arms.”

“I must,” stated CuRuada flatly striding toward the diaz where he had watched the druid’s divination sacrifice.

Conor and Felmid were hard pressed to keep up with him. “Hey now, hair on fire,” Conor jibbed, Felmid laughed at that encouraging him, ”What’s all the hurry for?  Cathbad has predicted war and death, of course the king isn’t too worried about that.  Kings don’t do the dying.”

Felmid broke into a jog that had him clutching his splinted arm in one way and another until he found a comfortable way to hold it.  “Yeah, at least hear what Cathbad’s Consumption Vision has to say. . .”

“It matters not.  I will take up my arms today.”

Conor and Felmid shrugged at each other and fell in behind CuRuada as he strode toward the crowd of men awaiting the Chief Druid’s vision.  As the three of them approached, there was a flurry of activity and the elder druid walked up the stairs and onto the dais followed by an entourage of younger druids.

This fellow was not so theatrical, for as soon as his following entourage took up their places around him he began to read from a wand scratched with runes.  “This is the vision of Cathbad, hear and know the future if you can understand it.” The old man’s voice boomed out over the audience, “Indeed there will be war.  This will waste the good foaling and the fine fishing and what should be blessed will be bitter.  Many will die both in fighting and for greed and for cursing that comes of war.”  The druid spoke derisively, looking down his nose at the king, “All this but reinforces what Cathbad saw from the liver and the entrails.” 

“It was the chief druid’s choice, get on with it.” said Concubar.

The old turned his eyes to where the young men gathered, “Only this word remains, this for the young, this warning before war.  The first to take up arms today will gain fame at the cost of his life, will be showered with glory, remembered forever for his deeds.  Wait you!  Know that glorious is his life, but short.  This Cathbad saw, great his deeds but so soon his death.  This was Cathbad’s seeing and we know that it is true.

Good to have a famous name, but to die young was a bitter thing.  The older of the boys troop hesitated.  Even Conall considered. 

Single-minded, CuRuada pushed through his fellows, “I will take up my arms today.  Better to be remembered than to die in a bed.”  Hearing this Concubar was proud because CuRuada was his son though he did not make it generally known.

The elder druid turned away and to his fellows he said, “This too was Cathbad’s seeing and we see it is true.”

I am forced by the format of this Blog to name the post as I begin writing.  Often it does not go as I anticipate and I want to end a post before the story really warrants it, or the story turns and the title does not reflect well the content.  In this case there are a number of things happening that occur before or during Cathbad’s vision (which we don’t actually see) and so this title seems a bit forced as does the ending and the vision.  This last for reason of wanting to wrap up a post while still offering the information promised in the title.  Hopefully I can improve the uneveness if/when I rewrite this tale.

LSO

It was the time of the sacrifice of the bull and the subsequent seeing of Cathbad.  Nobody knew what the chief druid would see, what he would divine from the liver, and from reading the entrails of the sacrifice.  Ever since Cathbad had risen to the chief druid this sacrifice had always been a great show.  People crowded around, hoping to hear a good word, fearing to hear bad.

Concubar found it all a bit too theatrical for his taste.  The process could have been finished in a quarter of the time and all the show could be put aside in favor of the point of the thing, the oracle.  In the main, the visions were not for the rabble, the visions involved the king, his men, and his leadership of the Tuath.  As such, though he found Cathbad’s show an annoyance, there was no denying the power of the chief druid’s auguries.

Concubar sat with Fergus and a few captains of his Red Branch warriors.  They were comfortable enough, but this kind of thing was not for men of action like them, it was the purview of magicians.  As such they sat, feeling like men awaiting the judgement of the Brehon.

Fergus huffed, “by the Dagda above, why can’t they get to the point?”  There was mumbled agreement and Concubar felt the same without being able to express it.  Still it felt good to know that his fellows felt like he did.

It was his bull that was going to get the knife, it always was, and standing there among all the druids it looked as befuddled as Concubar felt, poor fellow.  Cathbad thrust the long thin knife into the air and there was a hush that fell over the crowd.  Quick as lightning Cathbad reached under the young bulls neck and with a quick slice slit it ear to ear.  All the druids hemmed it in and before it truly knew its end it collapsed to its knees and moments later was dead.

Blood was carried away, and Cathbad and his druids fell too with knife and skill.  Cathbad, red to the elbow in sacrificial blood, dominated the center of the maelstrom of druidic activity.  His concentration was absolute, focused on what remained of the animal as his assistants took away parts with practiced efficiency.  “Good water, good crops, good birthings, good wine, all this I see.  Good increase, good trading, good. . .”  Cathbad frowned and bent lower over the entrails, “. . . I see gold, good mining.”

The massed people gasped, the word gold spread to every mouth, whispered  throughout the crowd.  

“Wait!” shouted Cathbad, “Good wheat, good cattle, good oats, but tragedy and woe . . .” Cathbad cut into the liver and examined it avidly, ”Good mining, good milling, good calving, good fishing, but there is trouble.  There is war, there is loss, there is death.”

Concubar sat forward.  This was a telling that he must address, “Tell on druid, what is our path?”  Cathbad turned toward the king, his eyes were dead, vacant as they were when he was thus entranced, dark portals to a wider, darker, world.  “Speak, what should we do?”

“There is no ban, no geasa, no sacrifice that can forestall this.”

“War and doom and no way to avoid it?” Concubar frowned, concentrating, “Who is this augury for?  War certainly, but from where, and who might die?”

“Will.  There is no might in this augury,”

Concubar laughed, “Will die!  But don’t we warriors all hope for this?  Is this woe to a druid, but glory in battle for a man?  Why all the hand wringing Cathbad?  Who dies?  Tell me that so that he can put his affairs in order and make certain there is a bard near to remember his glory.”

Concubar’s statement was reinforced by the men around him, but Cathbad sneered, “Oh yes, a good rousing song is better than you deserve.  Do you think you are the only ones who suffer in war?”

“Tell us then, who suffers loss, who will die?”

Cathbad frowned and looked down at what remained of the sacrifice, “The signs are not clear.”  Cathbad looked puzzled, “Kingly, but not you oh king. A battler, a warrior, a youth. . .”

“This is meaningless”

Cathbad stared hard at the ground, but then shook his head violently, “I can not see.  Maybe if I do the consumption vision.  I can not say for sure.”  Cathbad’s assistants looked appalled.

“Advise me chief druid,” said Concubar, “If this is truly important then choose.  If not. . .”

“I will seek the consumption vision.”  A forceful nod from Cathbad sent his assistant druids scattering.

There was an inn, an hostelry and place of rest for travellers, at the fording of the Red River known to all as the Gael Ford, which king Concubar maintained for hospitality, as is proper for a king.  The lord and master of this house was a man named Wil MacCullen, and he had a daughter named Emer.

Now Emer was skilled in needle-work more than any other maid and so at the great meet that came with the funerary games of Macha for three years she went up to Emain Macha to sell some of the fine work she had worked the previous year.  Her father Wil, being prideful, but also thrifty, found it pleasing that she had such renown that brought great credit on him and worth to his family so that he allowed it.  And not for that one reason did Wil of Gael Ford send this daughter before the kings of tuaths and the cattle lords and the princes of Ulster for Emer was fair and well spoken and wise so that Wil knew well that some high lord would pay a surpassing bride price for his daughter.

Emer for her part was not pleased that her father should parade her like a prize heifer, but she enjoyed the freedom she found at the fair.  Emer, though she would not have boasted of it, knew she was possessed of the six womanly gifts.  Though many were taller, and many fairer, and a few brighter of eye, still Emer, no one would deny, possessed the gift of beauty, Some sang sweeter, some spoke stronger, but none could fault her for she possessed the gift of voice, of all other women she was kind in word and generous as a king with her gift of sweet speech, renowned was her gift of needle-work, in spite of her father or by witnessing his faults she possessed the gift of wisdom, and because she knew her own great worth her discretion followed her wisdom and she was known for the womanly gift of chastity.

That day Emer and some other maidens had watched the hurling championship and had seen CuRuada lead the boys troop.  At least for Emer the game had been exciting and she was very impressed by CuRuada’s skill and also by his form.  For many of the other girls, some of the men who were defeated by the troop were even more interesting as were some of the taller boys among the red branch warriors’ sons.

Emer walked with her hangers-on in such a manner that she came up to a group of the boys who were congratulating Cu.  CuRuada was in high spirits from his win and enjoying the attention of his fellows, but when he saw the group of girls he became awkward, blushing slightly, and casting his eyes away from the other girls, but always looking up through long eyelashes to Emer herself.

The boys and the girls soon sorted themselves out, some leaving in a huff, some running off laughing, and some strolling arm in arm until none remained but Emer and CuRuada.

“What do you see, boy?” asked Emer of CuRuada.

“I see a fair country,” he said, though he couldn’t look her in the eye, “And I’m no boy.”

Emer laughed, “mmm, it would take a man to rest in my country.” Saying this she tugged her shawl to cover where his eyes had rested. “I don’t think you are that man, you’ve no beard at all.”

“I’m no boy,” he said stubbornly, “Is it really a beard you need?  I would lay my weapon there.”

“What do you know of weapons?  I’ll grant, you are marvelous with a cam, but it takes more than that to please me.”

Curuada met her gaze and he reached out and tugged lightly at her shawl, “What would please you?  I would lay my weapon there.”

There eyes rested in each other’s gaze and both knew that they were beautiful one to the other.  It was Emer who looked away first, mindful of her chastity, for it seemed impossible that this young man could please her father.  It made her sad in a way she had never been before, “It is no use, my father demands a very high bride price for me.”

“Why should he not?  You are beautiful, you are lovely in voice, in speech,” Cu pulled her closer, caressing her shoulders, “And if you wear your own needle-work then it is exceedingly fine. . .”

Emer shrugged away, and placing her hands on his chest, gently pushed him away, “mmmm, yes, and chaste and above all, wise.  So you see. . .”

“I see the woman I would marry.”  CuRuada smiled so brightly that Emer found her spirits buoyed as well.  “See you, I will get the cows your father demands, but my dear-heart, what would please you?”

He carried himself like a prince, it almost made Emer hope, but he hadn’t even the beginnings of a beard, “If you would please me, then you must know me.”

CuRuada laughed, delighted, “You are indeed wise, there can be no other for me, you are the most virtuous woman in all of Ulster.”

Emer smiled with pleasure, because she knew it to be true. “Who are you?  What is your name, bold stranger?”

“My name is Son. . .” He blushed for shame having broken his gesa, but he quickly corrected, ”They call me CuRuada.  I live here with King Concubar and I train with the boys troop.”

“Hound of the red hair, are you well named CuRuada?  I thought you said you were a man, but you are of the boys troop of the Red Branch Warriors.”

“That is a matter of a day only.”  CuRuada scoffed with supreme confidence, “Today is the day that the best of the boys take up arms and I am the very best of the best of them.  Today I will take up my arms and I will be a man in truth, a warrior of the Red Branch.”

A group of warriors and boys from the boys troop were hurrying toward the event field.  Several of the boys called for CuRuada, hailing him and urging him to come show his skill at the spear.  Emer shoved him away toward the men and boys, “Go play your games. . .” She said.

“I will win the competition.  No one can match my skill with the spear.  Come see if I don’t.”

Emer stepped away smiling, “Be careful you don’t swear a boast you can’t fulfill.” She teased.

CuRuada stopped dead, his face hardened  and his eyes grew fiery, “It is no boast, not this of the competition, nor that I will make you my wife.  These things must be.”

He was so serious that she almost believed that he could, but such was the stuff of legend and not truly wise to contemplate, “I meant no slander she said kindly.  I will come watch you win at the spear.  I promise.”

He nodded, relieved by her words and Curuada turned to go to the competition.  Before he could step away he turned suddenly back, he cleared his throat and was the blushing boy again, “I swear, I will marry you my lady, and no other, but I will find you much easier if I know your name.”

She laughed with joy to see him both boy and man and, she realized, beloved, “I am called Emer and my father’s name is Wil of Gael Ford.  I warn you, he is a hard man and not likely to want to hear that a beardless youth seeks my hand.”

He only smiled and repeated her name, “Emer”

For her own part Emer felt he said her name better than anyone else ever did.  She watched him go with his friends and wondered if it was wise to hope.

A seanachie in brightly colored robes held a crowd of revelers in thrall, “Emain Macha is our home and the seat of our power,” chanted the seanachie motioning to the hill fort above the festival grounds, “Long ago and far away she walked among men and indeed was married to a thoughtless one,” women among the listening crowd nodded their understanding. 

The crowd calmed and the storyteller continued, “Foolishly, the king of that older Ulster, forced Macha to run a race against his finest horse, for the boast of her husband, she ran.  For her pride she won, for her pain, with child was she, she cursed that king and his men, and for the foolishness of a husband Macha, torn within, bereft of child, pale white and drained of blood, she died . . .”

It was the yearly funeral games of Macha, and a feis, and a fair were ever a part of it.  The law was read out, the genealogy of the king was recited, there were stories told by the bards, dancing, tasty treats, good cheer.

CuRuada would not be waylaid, there were things to buy of wonderful craftsmanship and art.  For this reason CuRuada had come to the fair.  He sought something that would please Emer.

Earlier CuRuada had won praise for his battle feats.  He had won the spear caste outright with no rival.  Perhaps  most gratifying for himself, he had lead the boys troop to the victory in hurling.  Though the boys troop won almost every year, there had been cheers on every side for his amazing skill. 

From all this glory had come a few purses, money, and there had been no question in CuRuada’s mind what he would do with his winnings.  Somewhere among the glittering trifles and baubles was a gift worthy of the woman he loved.

But he despaired, he had been looking diligently for more than an hour and though there were many many beautiful things nothing he saw was a fit gift for Emer. 

So it was that Cu stopped his searching and watched a smith at his work.  This fellow was different than others, he was short and squat and his hair and beard were black like many a Lokian of the mountains, but what set him apart for CuRuada was his exceptional skill.  And there, as the fellow fit the pieces of an ornate brooch together from several seeming unassociated parts, CuRuada saw through the magic of it and he gasped. 

At once the smith looked at him with piercing blue eyes a knowing smile on his face, “So young sir, what have you seen?”  The voice seemed absurdly deep from a fellow so short, so small.

“I perceive that your work is fine . . .”

“None finer, but what did you SEE,” The smith’s eyes bore into CuRuada’s.

“I saw,” CuRuada struggled to put words to what he had just seen, “That what looks like magic, how the parts fit together as one, is craft.” The dark man nodded but wanted more. Cu continued, “You use no rivet or clasp because each part is rivet and clasp that holds one to another not by magic, but by your craft.”

“Even so,” said the short smith, turning away and rubbing at the assembled brooch.  Without looking up the smith said, “I recognize my work on you.  That brooch you wear I made for King Concubar.

Cu nodded, “Even so, it was given to my mother by the king and by my mother to me.”  The boy saw that the smith looked at him again and would have had more from him, but he could think of nothing else to say.

The smith pondered a moment, shrugged, and casually tossed the beautiful piece on his work bench, “So you’ve come to spy out my secrets, is that it, boy?”  His words were challenging, but there was a twinkle in the man’s eye and CuRuada warmed to him.

“Not so, I’m no smith, it is for a gift that I’ve come seeking.  You have the best of the best,” At this the boy sighed, “and yet I’ve found nothing yet fit for Emer.” 

The little smith tugged at his beard, “No, it is true, you are no smith, but what you are is difficult to say as well.” Again CuRuada began to feel uncomfortable under the smith’s intense gaze. The dark man spoke as if his words were a magic incantation, “I saw you at hurley and the fine work you did with the spear.  No smith surely, but no common warrior either are you.  You wear a broch made for a king, a prince you must be.  Or a god.”  Cu blushed, the dark man smiled.

He turned away and ducked down beneath his work bench, “And a fine judge of craftsmanship too . . .” The little man brought out an ornately carved wooden box and with a flourish drew open the cover.

Within was a brooch of surpassing beauty, a true masterwork of the Lokian’s craft.  Golden jewel studded and enameled it was, but so much more. For the second time CuRuada gasped, the beautiful spiralings and clever twinings drew the eye deeper and deeper into details smaller and finer.

“You might not be a smith, but you know,”  The dark man drew out the brooch and showed Cu the elegant eating knife with a hilt that matched the brooch without being a copy, in fact, as the smith drew them together CuRuada could see that the one was nothing like the other and yet it was its perfect mate, like a duet in jewels, and for the third time the boy gasped.

“beautiful . . .” he breathed reverently.

“Will the gift outshine the gifted?” The Lokian smith asked.

CuRuada blinked stupidly, stunned until he realized that the smith was speaking of Emer.   He thought of her and imagined the brooch glittering at her long white throat and how it would look against her hair and the poniard in her elegant hand.  “No sir,” said Cu with conviction, “She is the only one who could complete them.”

Nodding, the smith handed the little box to him with a mysterious smile, “And so they shall.”

Fergus and the King, Concubar, were at a game of Ard Fidchell when the chief druid of the Ulster came upon them, “It is not my wish to anger you, my lord, but there are matters to discuss relating to the games of Macha and too, the taking of arms of some of our young warriors, most notably sons of your Red Branch warriors.”

Concubar frowned, “Though you say it is not your wish to anger me, why is it that you are so adept at doing so? 

“It is just that last time we spoke there was tension. . .”

“Tension?  I remember it differently.  As I recall it, I threw you out.  I do not wish to hear you on the subject of Fand or of the boy.  Now, if you can avoid those topics, then there need not be any fear or you, Cathbad, saying, ‘I do not wish to BUTs’.  So, bring me news or council and let there be no buts about it.”

“As you say, my lord.” Cathbad began again, “The celestial bodies are in particularily good alignment for the games of Macha and always this has been an opportune time for our young men to take up arms.  As part of the latter we druids expect to read augures of a sacrificed bull. That is I will read the entrails . . .”

“This is not news.  You do this each year.” said Fergus.

“Even so, yes, and usually a bull has already been provided . . .”

Concubar nudged Fergus, “Did you know it isn’t the Druid’s bull that pays the blood price each year for their augures.  Cathbad begs a bull of me.”

“Oh!” supplied Fergus.  Cathbad reddened.

“Well then, chief druid, you know where my kine are, pick the one you want.”  Concubar made a show of turning back to the game board and ignoring his druid.  He winked at Fergus and then seemed to notice that Cathbad hadn’t left, “Is there anything else?”

Cathbad gathered his dignity, “I have seen the boy at arms practice.  I do not think it wise, but it is not my place to say so.  It has only been a very few days, but . . .”  Concubar was preparing to interrupt, but Cathbad plunged on, “He was a boy the day he came, but the little fellow he was he is no more.  Curuada, Son, is as near to a man now as makes no difference.”

Concubar glanced at Fergus, “Is that so? It has only been a few days.”

Fergus looked confused, “He is no taller.  Not even a hint of a beard. . .”

“He is a man.  Surely the way he swings the prince’s sword tells you that.  What child could hold it at all?”

“As I told you, CuRuada is unrivaled among your warriors. . .”

Cathbad saw his opening, “He will take up arms this year unless you do something.  Surely you see how dangerous it would be for him to do so.”

Fergus looked confused, Concubar vexed said, “If he is a man then why not?”

Cathbad gaped, “Have you forgotten?  He is not human . . .”

“HE is my son!”

“And if he dies who’s son will he be?” yelled Cathbad, “Who can pay the price for that death?  Who will ask it?  I say we will all pay for such a death,” and without asking leave Cathbad strode away.