something of a magician, and I learned of it through spells.»
The tension appeared to relax. «Magic,» said Maev. «Handsome man, you have said a true word that this message should be private. We will hear more on it later. You will be at our table tonight, and there you will meet Ollgaeth. For the now, our son, Maine Mingor, will show you to a place.»
She waved her hand, and Maine Mingor, a somewhat younger edition ofMaine mo Epert, stepped out of the group and beckoned them to follow him.
At the door Belphebe giggled and said, «Handsome man.»
Shea said, «Listen.»
«That I did,» said Belphebe, «and heard her say that the message should be private. You’re going to need a geas as much as I do tonight.»
The rain had stopped, and the setting sun was shooting beams of gold and crimson through the low clouds. The horses had been tied to rings in the wall of the building, and Pete was waiting, with an expression of boredom. As Shea turned to follow Maine Mingor, he bumped into a tall, dark man, who was apparently waiting around for just that purpose.
«Is it a friend of Cuchulainn of Muirthemne you are now?» asked this individual, ominously.
«I’ve met him, but we’re not intimates,» said Shea. «Have you any special reason for asking?»
«I have that. He killed my father in his own house, he did. And I am thinking it is time he had one friend the less.» His hand went to his hilt.
Maine Mingor said, «You will be leaving off with that, Lughaid. These people are messengers and under the protection of the Queen, my mother, so that if you touch them it will be both gods and men you must deal with.»
«We will talk of this later, Mac Shea dear,» said Lughaid, and turned back to the palace.
Belphebe said, «I like that not.»
Shea said, «Darling, I still know how to fence, and they don’t.»
VI
Dinner Followed a pattern only slightly different from that at Muirthemne, with Maev and Ailill sitting on a dais facing each other across a small table. Shea and Belphebe were not given placesso lofty as they had been at Cuchulainn’s board, but this was partly compensated for by the presence of Ollgaeth the druid just across the board.
Only partly, however; it became quite clear that Ollgaeth — a big, stoutish man with a mass of white hair and beard — was one of those people who pretend to ask questions only in order to trigger themselves off on remarks of their own. He inquired about Shea’s previous magical experience, and let him just barely touch on the illusions he had encountered in the Finnish Kalevala before taking off.
«Ah, now you would be thinking that was a great rare thing to see, would you not?» he said, and gulped at barley beer. «Now let me tell you, handsome man, that of all the places in the world, Connacht produces the greatest illusions and the most beautiful. I remember, I do, the time when I was making a spell for Laerdach, for a better yield from his dun cow, and while I was in the middle of it, who should come past but his daughter, and she so beautiful that I stopped my chanting to look at her. Would you believe it now? The milk began to flow in a stream that would have drowned a man on horseback, and I had barely time to reverse the spell before it changed from illusion to reality and ravaged half a county.»
Shea said, «Oh, I see. The chanting.»
Ollgaeth hurried on, «And there is a hill behind the rath of Maev this very moment. It looks no different from any other, but it is a hill of great magic, being one of the hills of the Sidhe and a gateway to their kingdom.»
«Who.» began Shea, but the druid only raised his voice a trifle: «Mostly now, they would be keeping the gateways closed. But on a night like tonight, a good druid, or even an ordinary one might open the way.»
«Why tonight?» asked Belphebe from beside Shea.
«What other night would it be but the Lughnasadh? Was it not for that you would be coming here? No, I forget. Forgive an old man.» He smote his brow to emphasize the extent of his fault. «Mainemo Epert was after telling me that it wasmyself you came to see, and you could have done no better. Come midnight when the moon is high, and I will be showing you the powers of Ollgaeth the druid.»
Shea said, «As a matter of fact.» but Ollgaeth rushed past him with: «I call to mind there was a man — what was his name? — had a geas on him that he would be seeing everything double. Now that was an illusion, and it was me he came to in his trouble. I.»
Shea was spared the revelation of what Ollgaeth had done in the case of the double vision by King Ailill’s rapping on his table with the hilt of his knife and saying in his high voice, «We will now be hearing from Ferchertne the bard, since this is the day of Lugh, and a festival.»
Serfs were whisking away the last of the food and benches were being moved to enlarge the space around Ferchertne. This was a youngish man with long hair and a lugubrious expression; he sat down on a stool with his harp, plucked a few melancholy twangs from the strings, and in a bumpish baritone launched into the epic of the «Fate of the Children of Tuirenn.»
It wasn’t very interesting, and the voice was definitely bad. Shea glanced around and saw Brodsky fidgeting every time the harpist missed a quantity or struck a false note. Everyone else seemed to be affected almost to the point of tears, however, even Ollgaeth. Finally Ferchertne’s voice went up in an atrocious discord, and there was a violent snort.
The harp gave a twang and halted abruptly. Shea followed every eye in the room to the detective, who stared back belligerently.
«You would not beliking the music now, dear?» asked Maev, in a glacial voice.
«No, I wouldn’t,» said Brodsky. «If I couldn’t do better than that, I’d turn myself in.»
«Better than that you shall do,» said Maev. «Come forward, ugly man. Eiradh, you are to stand by this man with your sword, and if I signal you that he is less than the best, you are to bring me his head at once.»
«Hey!» cried Shea, and Brodsky: «But I don’t know the words.»
Protest was useless. He was grabbed by half a dozen pairs of hands and pushed forward beside the bard’s seat. Eiradh, a tall, bearded man, pulled out his sword and stood behind the pair, a smile of pleasant anticipation on his face.
Brodsky looked around and then turned to the bard. «Give a guy a break, will you?» he said, «and go back over that last part till I catch the tune.»
Ferchertne strummed obediently, while Brodsky leaned close, humming until he got the rather simple air that carried the words of the ballad. Then he straightened up, gesturing with one hand toward the harpist, who struck a chord and began to sing:
«Take these heads untothey breast, O Brian.»
Pete Brodsky’s voice soared over his, strong and confident, with no definite syllables, but carrying the tune for Ferchertne’s words as the harpitself never had. Shea, watching Queen Maev, saw her stiffen, and then, as the melancholy ballad rolled on, two big tears came out on her cheek. Ailill was crying, too, and some of theaudience were openly sobbing. It was like a collective soap-opera binge.
The epic came to an end, Pete holding the high note after the harp had stopped. King Ailill lifted an arm and dried his streaming eyes on his sleeve, while Maev dried hers on her handkerchief. She said, «You have done more than you promised, American serf. I have not enjoyed the ‘Fate of the Children’ more in my memory. Give him a new tunic and a gold ring.» She stood up. «And now, handsome man, we will be hearing your message. You will attend us while the others dance.»
As a pair of bagpipers stepped forward and gave a few preliminary howls on their instruments, Maev led the way through a door at the back, down the hall to a bedroom sumptuous by the standards that obtained here. There were rushlights against the wall, and a soldier on guard at the door.
Maev said, «Indech! Poke up the fire, for it is cool the air is after the rain.»
The soldier jabbed the fire with a poker, leaned his spear against. the door, and went out. Maev seemed in no hurry to come to business. She moved about the room restlessly.
