Finn Mac Cool (12 page)
Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
EVERYONE WAS TALKING ABOUT HIM. AT FIRST FINN gloried in being the cynosure of all eyes, the centre of excitement. Then it began to embarrass him. He was uncomfortable with such excess.
A shy, wild boy who lived at the back of his skull wanted to run off into the forest and bathe himself in silence.
But Cormac commanded, “Meet each rÃgfénnid as he brings in his men. Impress them. Show the officers that you're worthy to command them.”
So Finn strode forward with his silver hair gleaming and his face set in savage, triumphant lines. He recounted his victories and gesticulated with his shortsword and dared anyone to challenge him.
He told the tale of the fire-breathing monster so many times he forgot he had ever mistaken it for a human idiot sent by the Ulaid.
Unlike the triennial Great Assemblies that were held at Uisneach and Tara and attracted attendance from throughout Erin, Samhain Assemblies were regional, annual events. Local people came together to celebrate the end of the Celtic year and the beginning of the next with games and rituals and feasting.
At the Samhain Assembly, a provincial king's share of the harvest was delivered to him as part of the tributes due him from the tribes in his territory. Resplendent in the Mantle of Assembly that had belonged to his father, and wearing his grandfather's gold thumb ring, Cormac Mac Airt redistributed some of this wealth in return for oaths of loyalty. Gifts were set aside to be sent to important chieftains outside of MÃd to win their support as wellâa custom originating with Conn of the Hundred Battles.
Meanwhile, territorial brehons adjudicated local disputes in the Fort of the Synods. If a problem was sufficiently complex, it might be held
over and presented to the Convocation of All Brehons at the next Great Assembly.
over and presented to the Convocation of All Brehons at the next Great Assembly.
As rÃgfénnidi brought in their men, the atmosphere grew rowdier. Fénnidi were hard to control at the best of times. There was posturing and challenging between bands, and officers were taxed to their utmost to keep brawling to a minimum. Some decorum must be maintained. In spite of its festive air, the Samhain Assembly was essentially a solemn event, culminating in the Feast of the Dead. Therefore every effort was made to channel fénnid aggressions into sporting competitions as well as single combats judged for skill and style rather than for the amount of blood drawn.
Goll Mac Morna made a point of seeking out arriving officers who had once served under him when he commanded the FÃanna. Before they could ask, he told them with seeming nonchalance, “I'm with Finn Mac Cool now. He's a son of Cuhal Mac Trenmor, you know. Confidentially, that's why this new king named him RÃgfénnid FÃanna. It's a political move to gain Cuhal's people to his own cause. An astute manouevre, but very likely temporary. This lad's far too young and inexperienced.
“Anything might happen. You understand. In the meantime, I'll give him the benefit of my advice and my own extensive experience, of course. At the end of the day, there's no substitute for experience, is there?” Goll would nudge with his elbow and wink with his good eye.
The hard-bitten warriors to whom he spoke understood “Your time will come around again,” they assured him.
Meanwhile, Finn was determined to make himself and his fÃan indispensable. “Cailte, you're to be the king's personal messenger for the duration of the assembly. Later he'll appoint someone else, of courseâbut make certain that person can never he as good as you were, or as fast.
“Donn,” Finn commanded, “you're to examine, personally, all the edibles brought into Tara. When food is prepared for the king, make it your business to he in the kitchens or at the ovens. Add any little touches of your own that will enhance the flavour. When we are no longer here, I want Cormac to miss us.
“Madan, your assignment is to organize a work crew and mend everything that needs mending, no matter how small. Have this place in perfect condition if you can. Grease the hinges, replace worn ropes, do whatever wants doing. Let the king see you taking care of Tara.”
Finn told Blamec. “Since you're so argumentative, the best place for you is nearest the arguments. Stand guard at the door of the Fort of the Synods. You might overhear the debates of the judges. You might even learn something.
“As for you, Fergusâyou're to greet the dignitaries. Flatter even the
most minor chieftain. Smear honey all over them. Win every possible ally for Cormac. And if the king hears you doing it, so much the better.
most minor chieftain. Smear honey all over them. Win every possible ally for Cormac. And if the king hears you doing it, so much the better.
“Cael, go get the burned skull out of the king's firepit and set it up on a pole just inside the Slige Mor gate. Tell everyone who passes about the fire-breathing monster, and who destroyed it. And make it sound good,” he added with a wink. “You know how, Cael Hundred-Killer.”
Cael grinned with delight.
“Lugaid, I have a serious job for a serious man. Oversee the counting of the tributes. Let no one think they can cheat Cormac Mac Airt of one hide or one sack of grain.
“As for you, Conan ⦠is there anything you do better than anyone else?”
“I doubt it,” Conan growled.
“Indeed! You doubt! So stay as close to the king as the skin on his elbow and question everyone who tries to get near him. Let no one within a spear's throw of Cormac unless you're sure they have a legitimate reason to be there.”
Goll was the last to receive an assignment. “You recognize most of the people who've come for the Assembly, don't you?” Finn asked him.
“The nobles and warriors. And not a few of the common people, for that matter,” Goll agreed.
“Then stay with me and tell me their names when we see them, as well as anything else you think I should know about them. I want to be well-informed.”
“There's no substitute for experience,” said Goll Mac Morna.
Later that same day, Finn whispered behind his hand, “Who's that young woman over there, Goll? The one beside the dark man in the leather apron.”
“He's Lochan the smith. She must be one of his daughters.”
Round of face and ripe of body, the woman in question had unbound hair that rippled almost to her knees. Unbound hair.
She also had a dimple in her chin. Finn had never seen a woman with a dimple in her chin before. “Stay here,” he told Goll. Putting on his most winning smile, he sauntered over to Lochan's daughter.
She was looking the other way.
Stopping in front of her, Finn cleared his throat. “My mother has a dimple in her chin,” he began.
She looked at him then, this extremely tall youth, obviously a few years younger than herself, who was looming over her and grinning like a famished wolf. “I remind you of your mother?” she asked coolly.
Finn was taken aback. “That isn't what I meant I meant ⦠my mother is very beautiful.”
“And I'm not?”
Finn looked distressed.
Conan was watching from the doorway of a nearby storehouse. The king and Lugaid were inside, counting a gift of hides. Conan beckoned Goll over to him. “What's Finn doing, Goll?”
“Talking to a woman. You can see that for yourself.”
Conan gave a snort of derision. “Finn doesn't know how to talk to a woman. His mother was a deer.”
Goll chuckled. “I wish he'd raise his voice. It would be interesting to hear what he's saying.”
Finn was saying, “You're very beautiful. As my mother is. That's what I meant.” They were awkward, blurted statement.
“Does she have hair like yours, your mother?”
Finn hesitated, searching for a mental image. “Her hair was ⦠is ⦔
“More beautiful than mine? Longer? Thicker?”
Finn chewed on the inside of his lip.
“I told you he couldn't talk to women.” Conan sniggered to Goll. “Look at him scuffing his toe in the dirt.”
In an attempt to begin afresh, Finn said. “I'd like to know your name.”
“Why?”
“So I can talk with you.”
“Are we not talking now?”
Exasperated, he said, “Do you always answer questions with questions?”
Her eyes sparkled. “I'm famous for it. They call me Cruina of the Questions, can you guess why?”
Meanwhile, Lugaid emerged from the storehouse. “Finn's found a woman,” Conan informed him, indicating the pair.
“That shouldn't be hard for anyone who looks like him. Maybe he'll even take a wife.”
“I don't think he's ready for a wife. He's having enough trouble making conversation.”
Goll said. “You don't take a wife for conversation. A wife involves four generations, clans and property, ancestors and descendants. That's what a wife means,”
“I wouldn't mind having a wife,” said Lugaid wistfully.
“You? You're a fénnid, a spear target, a man of no property. Sleep with any woman who'll have you,” Goll advised, “but forget about wives. A soldier's marriage is good enough for you.”
When his official duties were over for the day, Cormac left the Assembly Hall and crossed the lawn to the area marked out for the footraces.
He saw Finn among the spectators and joined him. “Are any of your fÃan in this race?” he asked.
He saw Finn among the spectators and joined him. “Are any of your fÃan in this race?” he asked.
“My best runner is Cailte, but he'll only challenge the final winner.”
“I wouldn't rely on that. He's been running messages for me all day without stopping to draw breath.”
“Och, that's barely enough to warm him up. You'll see, he'll be rewarded with the ivy wreath at the end of the day. And ⦠ah ⦠speaking of rewards ⦔
“Mmmm?” Cormac's eyes were following the runners as they sped barefoot across sheep-cropped grass.
“You promised you'd improve my situation,” Finn reminded the king. “What will that mean exactly?”
Cormac turned to look at him. “I just made you RÃgfénnid FÃanna. Isn't that enough improvement for a while?”
“I thought there might be ⦠something more. Some token, some emblem of the position ⦔
“A gold thumb ring, perhaps?” Cormac said, displaying his. “Or a silver chain? Do you want something that would make a pretty gift for a woman, is that it? Has some woman heated your poker for you?”
Cormac's gift for accurate guesses was disconcerting. Finn dropped his eyes.
“Listen here to me,” said the king. “Events have moved very quickly for you, you've run where other men walk. I'll give you your share of whatever we win when the time is right, but for now, I have other concerns. There's the condition of Taraâit's a disgrace. It's falling down around our ears. Then there are the Ulaid. Conn fought them, Airt fought them, I'll have to fight them again too. They've had a taste of it, now they'll want to recapture Tara and strut and swan around. As soon as battle season begins, I mean to make a circuit of Erin, aside from Ulidia, and start convincing the other kings of my superiority so they'll stand with me against the Ulaid. We're going to be very busy, you and I, so I suggest you forget this current woman. There'll be plent more when you have time for them, but for now, go easy.”
Go easy. When, Finn asked himself, did I ever go easy?
Women remained very much in the thoughts of the fÃan during the Samhain Assembly. Wives and daughters of clan chieftains in attendance had brought numerous female servants with them. The rounded female form was everywhere, distracting the young males to the poir of madness.
With one exception, Finn's band made the most of every opportunity.
The exception was Conan Maol. He remarked to Cael, who was now introducing himself as Cael Hundred-Killer, “Chasing women is more trouble than it's worth.”
“Only you would think so. You're shockingly lazy. Just look at you, slumped on a bench when you should be standing tall outside the king's doorway.”
“I'm not lazy. I'm just resting before I get tired.”
“And what would Finn say if he saw you?”
“I'll be on my feet soon enough if he comes this way.”
“You'd better be, or ⦠och, Finn, we were just talking about you,” said Cael to the air above Conan's head.
Conan leaped to his feet and whirled around.
There was no one behind him.
Chortling, Cael sauntered away.
A good place for meeting women was the Grave of the Dwarf, a stone cist set in a damp hollow. According to the historians, it was the burial site of a dwarf who had been a great favourite of Conn of the Hundred Battles. The tiny man had been killed while trying to separate two blind beggars who were quarreling over their gifts from the king.
Conn had wept for his dwarf and encouraged the women of his household to mourn with him. Since then, the gravesite had become a pilgrimage for women, a place where they could publicly demonstrate the admired tenderness of the female heart by weeping over the long-dead dwarf.
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