The rider’s horse was fine and his posture was ramrod straight.  As he approached, Iamerge recognized Rhaury Ui Birlinn.  He looked as if he’d had plenty of sleep and eaten well too, but perhaps that was Iamerge’s bitterness whispering in his ear. 

“Where are your brothers?” called down Rhaury from on high. 

Iamerge felt the urge to cut the man down to size, but he restrained himself.  Here is the man that may give me my money, best not offend him no matter my mood or his unintended provocation.  Instead of a sharp word, Iamerge smiled, “All of them are at their prayers, so I and Conal are left to see to the men.  I’m sure Gospels and the rest will be available directly.”

Rhaury looked puzzled, “You are not a member of their order?  I guess I assumed since you dress like them and were with Gospels that you were of their brotherhood.  I hope I didn’t give offense.”

“None taken.  Indeed Gospels rescued me from the sea out on the Skellig or I’d not be standing here today, clothed or no.  I was bound for Bellton, but was wrecked in a storm.”

“Truly?  Well that was good fortune.  These Monks, odd though they may seem to me, are a marvelous resource.  I do believe that it was good fortune for my men that Gospels and you came out to assist us.  More would have died, no doubt.”  Rhaury seemed to ponder where to go with the conversation from there while climbing down from his horse, “I came to see the men anyhow.  Perhaps I don’t need to speak to Gospels to see to them.”

“No, not at all, I’m sure that the men would be happy for a visit.”  Iamerge glanced at the bandages before adding, ”Those that would notice your coming anyhow.”  Rhaury looked pensive so Iamerge added, “We’re all in here, come say hello.”

Iamerge pushed the door open and went in ahead of Rhaury.  ”Welcome to our abode, the only one with a door,” quipped Iamerge.

Rhaury ducked as he entered, eyes flicking right and left to take in the interior. “That at least might need to change,”  He said half to himself as he walked into the room, ”Ah, I see Conal at least is well.”

The man beamed at Rhaury from where he lay, propped on his one elbow, “Hello there sir.  Aye, I’m well enough thanks to the brothers. . .” Conal glanced over at Iamerge before adding, “. . . and Iamerge of course.”

“It is good to see you in such good spirits,” said Rhaury.  “I’ve spoken to Niam, told her of your situation. . .”

Iamerge watched as Conal’s face fell, there was worry where Iamerge always found cheer.  Conal looked anywhere but at Rhaury or Iamerge, “I can’t see how I can be anything to her.” 

Rhaury walked over to the man’s bed and sat in thought for a moment, “It is a puzzle, but Niam might have a say in this, don’t you think?”

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

From Clanaboy, to Hebridean, to Portuguese O’Neill to Northern Ireland Rugby baller, all display the Red Hand.  Be it dexter or sinister all  of these of the red hand seem to hail back to one person, Niall Noigiallach.  Perhaps there is cause.  Perhaps this is the cause:

Niall sat at the head table as befits the son of King Eochaid Mugmedon.  This Airgialla board was not for feasting, however.  Would that it were, thought Niall, but instead he’d picked a most inopportune time to visit his father’s subject king. 

A haggard looking fellow from west of the kings seat was speaking, “These warriors are on more than a hit and run raid.  This attack strikes at our heart.  Their aim is clear, they are coming to kill you, oh king.”

“Should we vacate then?  Flee to some safe place, perhaps to the Slave Lord himself for protection?” asked the king of his advisers but looking over at Niall.

He is a king perhaps, but a small king, thought Niall.  “Of course you have the support of my father.  But a king must protect his people and his place or he is no king.”  This one is an old worrier.  He is wondering now if it is worth being a king.

“We can not summon warriors from the our tributary Tuatha,” babbled one of the king’s officials.

“They should come.  It is their sworn duty to come.” said the king.

“But there is no time, we can’t expect . . .”

“I’m their king!  Does that count for nothing?”

“Yes my lord, but we should make arrangements to at least get the royal family clear. . .” began yet another advisor, likely a royal.

“Yes, and some measures to get clear as much of value as we can from . . .”

“No no, we should defend here, with fortification.  If we can hold here perhaps our tributary Tuaths can relieve a seige.  Mugmedon will aid us . . .”

“They are on your door-step, there is no time. . .”

“Will they attack tonight?”

“No, not that soon, perhaps they will be at the gates tomorrow, but no later.”

Niall pounded the table, fed up with the nattering, “Am I to understand that the seat of Airgialla has no warriors at all?”

“Of course, my lord, but. . .”

“No but!  We take up arms and we crush the enemy . . .” shouted Niall, he watched the room fidget.  Fearful to do what they should or to oppose him directly.

“. . . my lord, that is impossible . . .” said the advisor who was for getting as much of the wealth to safety.

“If you hide in your tec these Connachta will burn it down around your ears.  Why would your subject tuatha come if you are too cowardly yourself to go out against the invader?  But if you go out and surprise this rabble when they think they will catch you in your bed, well then you might still win.  I’ll tell you this, your tuatha will come out if they know that after you crush this enemy you may come to them for not doing their duty.”

“. . . but if they come too late . . .” began the king, but Niall could not let a weak king spoil all these men.

“If I may have your leave, I will lead your forces to crush these Connachta invaders.  Know that you have the full support of my father the Ard Righ. . .”

“but none of his strength. . .” muttered an advisor.

Niall ignored that and rushed on, “Now, this hour, send out your champions and your warriors and I will go out with my men.  There will be outriders and spies that will know it if we do not come out against them and if they return bloodied these Connachta will come with more care.”

“One day, or two, that is not enough time to gather the Tuatha . . .”

One of the younger warriors spoke for Niall, “We can bloody them. . .”

“They can make sure that no raider escapes alive to brag of this affront.” said Niall, “be sure, my father will hear and he will act.  As to these tributaries of yours, I can not say what they will do, only what they should do.”  Niall scanned the faces around the table and saw support on a few and doubt on many more, ”Look you.  A king presides here who is above their own king.  Go call these minor chiefs in their own lord’s name.”

“They might come in that way to swell our ranks.”

“See you, here is what we will do,” Niall left no room for contention, “We champions will go out to punch the Connachta in the eye.  They will come on slower and there is high ground between here and there that we will hold in the morning.  You, oh king, will gather every able man, every boy, every tall woman and you will give each of them a spear and a shield.  In the full morning with Sol Nua behind us, our ranks will look stronger than they imagine we could possibly be, but there we will stand.  Then too, you will fill the plain behind us with many cook fires, we will look like a host in the night and a more than that in the day.  Send to every clan chief and cattle king around and tell them to come in the name of their own king.  These little lord will not oppose you and what will their king say after the fact?  Of course the messengers will go on to inform those greater lords of your commands.  In twos and threes and tens and fifties they will come to swell our ranks, and the kings of your Tuatha will hound what is left of them if they do not reach us in time.  There will be doubt, and if we can overwhelm them with our first attack they may flee, thinking we have the better of them and that time is now on our side.  Having the son of Eochaid Mugmedon at the head of the host may well decide it, they may believe this larger than expected host is mine.”

“What if this puppet show doesn’t work?”

“What matter? The women and children can flee from the hill as well as they can flee from the fort.  Worst case, we retire to your stronghold and fight on, but more likely they do not expect opposition until then and they will turn back assuming their defeat before it is proved.”

“You have the command and everything you need I give you.” said the old king, caught up in the moment.

Niall blushed slightly, nobody would know it for embarrassment, “Then in addition to the things I’ve mentioned, I will need to borrow a shield of you.  I did not know I would be at war.”

The king smiled, “I have a new one of finest quality being crafted for me.  It is nearly finished but bears no mark or adornment yet.  Pure white it is.  It is yours.”

*  *  *

Niall and his body guard in three chariots rumbled along the cart track, going far too fast, but needing the haste they risked.  Night was gathering quickly and they needed to be at the hill. 

In truth, he should have been in the trailing chariot, but his men were too cautious of his safety for good speed, so he led.  His concession to safety was arming his driver and turning the reins over to a local.  The young man drove like a demon and swore like one too.

As they topped a hill and began to round a long slow curve there were men beside the track, surprised faces turned to him.  “Are you with the Ard Righ?” he managed to shout, knowing the answer.  An ill aimed spear cast that hurtled over all drove the driver to new heights of foul language and the horses responded.

His men leaped from their chariots to engage the enemy along the road, but Niall had his Airgialla driver wheel around so that Niall might cast at them from their flank and, as it turned out, harry their retreat.  They did not face his men for long, Niall’s hardened vets killed a few, but the better part of them showed their heels.

Niall took a few in the back with spear casts and, when his casting spears were all gone, his driver used the blades on the war chariot’s wheels and Niall his long sword to bring another few low.

Chariots and guard all gathered around Niall in his war chariot.  “Are you wounded?  Should we pursue?  Now do you see why you should not be in the first chariot?”  Were questions all hurled at him.

Niall answered with few words. “Mount!” he said to his men and to the demon driver, “get us to that hill as fast as you can.” The boy was a wonder.  Perhaps, if he lived, Niall would see if his master would part with him.

As they rumbled along a goat path Niall wondered if the men he’d frightened off would remember his shouted question or just the dead they’d left behind.  He wondered if his terse orders and fear had worked to motivate the weak king of Airgialla.  As they topped a rise Niall saw down in a valley beneath a great hill half a hundred cook fires.

All was lit with the strange light of a double sunset as Spark and Sol Nua plunged below the horizon.  It was a rare thing to see.  Niall wondered if it boded well or ill.  Niall nudged his Airgialla driver and pointed to the hilltop, “To the top, let’s see where the enemy lies.”  Niall motioned for his guard to flank him as they rumbled toward the summit.

He saw them long before his three chariots reached the knot of men at the summit.  This time he was ready and he urged his men on with a mighty, “For the Ard Righ!”  The dozen or so men almost held their ground, but a chariot charge is a fearsome thing.  A few of the less agile fell to spear casts and one unfortunate was ridden down my Niall’s Airgialla demon driver.  Niall would have liked to follow up the charge, he saw his men’s blood was up, but the wise thing was to hold the heights, that was the plan.

“See there,” said one of his guard, “two chariots.”

“Aye,” said Niall, “And there two more, and I count five coming from the fires.

“And two more from the North.” cried another of his men pointing, “Oh look you, they’ve caught some sneakers too.”

Niall saw.  The chariots wheeled and turned a couple of times before they stopped briefly, likely to retrieve weapons before hurrying up the hill toward Niall and his men.  Niall nudged his old driver, “Put up the standard.  If there are any who lurk, let them see while there is still some light.

Niall looked down the hill in the direction of the retreating enemy.  There was a dark blotch on the grassy plain.  “There is their main body, too late to give battle today.  Set the fires on the heights.  They’ll know we are here, but set the pickets a bit down the hill toward the enemy.  I don’t want them sneaking up on us fire blinded.”

The king of Airgialla rolled up with the five chariots from the fires.  “Have we won our race?”

“Aye, we drove some skulkers off the heights.  They saw the fires, no doubt, and they likely know that forces of the Ard Righ are here, but not how many or our disposition.  I think the morning charge will break them.”

“Pray it is so.  I’ve women and children down by the fires.  They can hold a weapon, but not much more.”

“They will look a proper army on the hill,” Niall said, confidence in every word  “Did you see the sunset?  It will rise at our back as I’d hoped.  We will press them for an early fight, our eagerness will be just another worry to them.”

Chariots kept rolling in filled with eager men.  The energy was contagious.  “We could attack them now, sweep them from the field.”

“If its a fight you want then go at night, five or six chariots together, there will be more lurkers still.  We must keep that horde from going around and keep them blinded too.  Change the drivers and the fighters each round so everyone stands a rolling watch.  We can’t let them sneak around us and they won’t know if all the racket is the same chariots or all your lords coming to your aid.”

“This is a masterful plan,” said the king, “I was wise to put the defense in your hands.”

Sadly, this post has gone on too long.  I think all this but sets the stage for the story I mean to tell of the origin of the Red Hand associated with Niall and his progeny.  I should add geographical and dynastic information and may do that when I revise this.  But the real meat of the story is yet to be revealed.

LSO

Lugh jogged a little to catch up to Oatey and stalked along now as annoyed as she seemed to be angry.  “So what did I do?” He began, “I’m used to being treated as a pariah, but at least I usually know my offense.  Commonly it is the same one. . .”

“I don’t want to talk . . .” said Oatey but Lugh cut her off.

“Well, I DO want to talk.  I always want to talk.  If you want to spend time with me in the future you will have to become accustomed to my talk, because that’s what I do, I talk.”  Lugh took a step or two more before adding, “and though I don’t mind carrying a conversation I do like to hear the occasional word. . .”

“I’ve nothing to say.”

“As if that makes any difference,” Lugh mumbled to himself before trying again, “First, perhaps you can tell me what I did.”

“Nothing at all.  I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Nothing AND I don’t want to talk about it.”  Lugh countered, “So there IS something.”

Oatey stopped dead and Lugh stopped a bit beyond her, turning back as she said quietly, “Why are you following me Lugh?”

Her pain was palpable, overwhelming, and it shocked Lugh into silence.  She stared hopelessly into his eyes a moment, but a couple of Norfolk walked up to them in the corridor, and in making way Oatey pushed past him.  She continued on up the corridor without his answer.  Lugh followed silently.

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.