Andrew Offutt: The Mists of Doom

Bress drew in a breath. Beside him, Eoghan said, “Nor I.”

“Nor I,” Cond agreed, and then Laeg who was now Laeg One-arm, and then Donal of Maghnamadra and then-a new voice came, and quiet it was, and all wheeled to stare.

“Nor would I,” General Conan the Wolfish said, stepping from behind an enormous oaken pillar all bound with brass. “Nor will any of ye be serving anyone at all, an ye keep waiting our king himself!”

And like egg-sucking dogs, the chastised heroes went in to see the king.

They emerged much praised, and rewarded, and Cormac’s genius praised for having made a great decision and plan that cost so few lives when so many might have been lost. They emerged from that audience dizzy, and joyously happy all but one, who was infuriated but silent, for these eight were to be the nucleus around which a new Coichte was to be built, and its captain was named by General Conan and approved most heartily by the king, and his name was Partha mac Othna.

Chapter Sixteen:

The Trouble with Honour

That summer was for Cormac mac Art one of unequalled and almost uninterrupted happiness and serenity. Totally invisible were the terrible black clouds gathering over his head. Storm seemed to have left his life.

New Fifty-chief Partha mac Othna was allowed to pick one man from each of ten other Fifties to form his own Coichte around himself and the new veterans who had served under Forgall mac Aed. Ten more veterans were transferred to his command. These were chosen by General Conan Conda, who was more knowledgeable and more the soldier than Fergus Buadach, the “palace general.” The recruits who completed the number of men under the supposed Ulsterish youth were in need of training.

Cormac held counsel with himself, for his command brought problems with it. Then he conferred with other leaders. All commented that he had chosen good men from their ranks, though never the very best. That, he told them, had been deliberate, and all believed their younger peer. All were pleased to listen to his problem, and to offer advice.

Having heard of those meetings, a Commander of Three Thousand called for Partha. He offered his counsel. And then Partha/Cormac went to General Conan Conda, whom he respected. Conan the Wolfish, too, was pleased to offer advice.

Next Partha announced that his Coichte would be called neither Partha’s Fifty nor Tara-baiter, but after Forgall. Men there were who wept at that, and respect for the honourable Partha mac Othna broadened.

An enemy remained, one who carefully, necessarily gave the appearance of respect, but was nevertheless disdainful and ever a trifle surly-just enough so that Cormac could not mistake it. This was his problem, and he’d had much advice on the matter, and given it much thought. That problem was surprised when the captain of Coichte Forgaill quietly requested a most private conference.

The two of them rode out of camp together, ostensibly to test a new team of chariot horses. Soon, on the back pasture of the farm of Bresal Angair, the chariots stood idle while the horses happily cropped grass. It stood high and rich with the brilliant green of June.

“It’s Champion of Leinster ye be, Bress Lamfhada,” Cormac said, to a man hardly at his ease, “and the rank of Battle-leader. Men are honoured to be trained by your expert self. Up on Magh Broin in the Boruma matter, and at Slieve Argait against the Picts, ye did distinction on yourself yet again, and in valour and in passing ability.”

Bress sat staring, forgetting in his surprise to look supercilious or even disdainful, and yet sorely afflicted with wonder. What would follow this preamble of praise? Cormac spoke on.

“No certainty has ever been on me as to the reason for your instant dislike of me. Mayhap we cannot be friends, Battle-leader. That is not fortunate for we be two of the very best, and each of us knows it.”

Bress continued to stare; Bress continued silent.

“Now the king and our general have made matters more difficult for us both. It’s I have the post I neither expected nor requested. It’s you were Forgall’s second, and expected command. It gives us a problem, and thus Leinster a problem.”

“Leinster?”

“Aye. For the very reason that we are among her very best. So will Forgall’s Fifty be. If none of those new men can come up to what we expect, I’ll be trying to have them transferred to duties that should never require them to fight.”

“Is that-do ye threaten me?”

“Bress, Bress! I do not. I speak of others: recruits. What man wants other than the best beside him, in the shield-splitting? Mayhap Coichte Forgaill will never have to fight. It’s best we’ll be, anyhow. No, Bress. We are here because we have great need to talk, to come to agreement-even if it is to disagree. It’s Champion of Leinster ye be. No other would I rather have training men in my command. No other, Battle-leader. Yet if it’s enemies we must be, then all will know. They will feel it, however we dissemble. In that event all would be the better were yourself to be honouring the command of another captain.”

Cormac raised a staying hand then as Bress opened his mouth to speak, with the look of hostility on him. “A moment, Battle-leader. Tell me now, or by morning an ye wish. Will ye remain with us, with both of us trying to get along as fellow weapon-men of excellence-with a great responsibility, Bress, to these score and more of inexperienced new lads-or would ye prefer that we make a heroic announcement?”

“I-what d’ye mean, Captain?” For Bress called Cormac naught else, with care. “A heroic announcement?”

“Aye. We both know we be good. Others know. We could be going to the general, tell him we think it best for Leinster were we in separate Fifties, that they may be the two best.”

“It’s a high opinion ye bear of yourself.”

“Bress: I do. If the general agrees, we request that he make such an announcement. Will be good for the army of Leinster, and thus Leinster, for our abilities to be put to use training a hundred men, rather than fifty. And-” Cormac smiled, “naturally our Fifties will be rivals. That could only benefit Leinster.”

Bress remained squatting for a long while in silence. He rose. When he paced a few steps to lean against a tree, Cormac also straightened; both warriors knew what was good for the legs.

“Ye could go yourself to Conan Conda, or Fergus Buadach himself most likely, and merely ask that I be transferred.”

“I could have done, Battle-leader,” Cormac said.

“Ye’re already after talking with several captains-and with General Conan.”

Cormac said nothing. He’d known for a long while that Bress spied upon him. At last Bress saw that the captain would not break the lengthening silence.

“Yet… ye give me the choice.”

“Bress: I do.”

“Nor have ye aught of reason to like me or honour me. Why, then?”

“I do have reason to do honour on Bress Lamfhada. He has done it on himself, in training, in the Games at fair-time, and in the shield-splitting combat. How can one not respect Bress of the Long Arm?”

Bress thought about that. “It’s no need I have of your respect, Partha mac Othna! I need no honouring from yourself! I will fight ye now. Or any time. I do not like ye, Captain.”

Because I saved Forgall , Cormac mused, when on his death ye’d surely have become his successor? Or for some other reason? Because I claim to be of Ulster and ye hold some grudge, bigot? Because I seemed-was!-the bumpkin, or just gained too much attention all on a sudden?

“I know, Bress. I willnot fight ye, though. Not in words or with arms, and I know ye’ve striven to goad me to it.” Abruptly Cormac almost smiled-almost, but not quite. “Unless it be next year at Carman’s Fair, for Leinster’s championship!”