for his face. The rest of them were a delicate-looking people, clad with Hellenic simplicity in wrap-around tunics. Their furnishings seemed a point more primitive than those in theIreland from which they had come — the building they were in had a central hearth with a smoke-hole instead of the fireplaces and chimneys he had seen there.
«It will do you no good at all to be going on like this,» said the King. «So now it is nothing at all you must lose but your heads, for the black-hearted Connachta that you are.»
«But we’re not Connachta!» Said Shea. «As I told you.»
A husky man with black hair said, «They look like Gaels, they speak like Gaels, and they are dressed like Gaels.»
«And who should know better than Nera the champion, who was a Gael himself before he became one of us?» said the King.
«Now look here, King.» said Shea. «We can prove we’re not Gaels by teaching you things no Gael ever knew.»
«Can you now?» said Briun. «And what sort of things would those be?»
Shea said, «I think I can show your druids some new things about magic.»
Beside him Belphebe’s clear voice seconded him. «I can show you how to make a bow that will shoot — two hundred yards.»
Briun said, «Now it is to be seen that you are full of foolish lies. It is well known that we already have the best druids in the world, and no bow will shoot that far. This now is just an excuse to have us feed you for a time until it is proved you are lying, which is something we can see without any proof being needed. You are to lose your heads.»
He made a gesture of dismissal and started to rise.
The black-thatched Nera said, «Let me.»
«Wait a minute!» cried Shea, desperately. «This guy is a champion, isn’t he? All right, how about it if I challenge him?»
The King sat down again and considered. «Since you are to lose your head anyway,» he said, «we may as well have some enjoyment out of it. But you are without armor.»
«Never use the stuff,» said Shea. «Besides, if neither one of us has any, things will move faster.»
He heard Belphebe gasp beside him, but did not turn his head.
«Ha, ha,» said Nera. «Let him loose and I will be making him into pieces of fringe for your robe.»
Somebody released Shea and he stretched his arms and flexed his muscles to restore circulation. He was pushed rather roughly toward the door, where the Tuatha De Danaanwere forming a ring, and a sword was thrust into his hand. It was one of the usual Irish blades, almost pointless and suitable mainly for cutting.
«Hey!» he said. «I want my own sword, the one I had with me.»
Briun stared at him a moment out of pale, suspicious eyes. «Bring the sword,» he said, and then called: «Miach!»
The broadsword that Shea had ground down to as fine a point as possible was produced. A tall old man with white hair and beard that made himlook like a nineteenth-century poet stepped forward.
«You are to be telling me if there is a geas on this blade,» said the King.
The druid took the blade and, holding it flat on both palms, ran his nose along it, sniffing. He looked up. «I do not find any smell of geas or magic about it,» he said, then lifted his nose like a hound toward Shea. «But about this one there is certainly something that touches my profession.»
«It will not save him,» said Nera. «Come and be killed, Gael.» He swung up his sword.
Shea just barely parried the downstroke. The man was strong as a horse, and had a good deal of skill in the use of his clumsy weapon. For several panting minutes the weapons clanged; Shea had to step back, and back again, and there were appreciative murmurs from the audience.
Finally, Nera, showing a certain shortness of breath and visibly growing restive, shouted, «You juggling Greek!» took a step backward and wound up for a two-handed overhead cut, intended to beat down his opponent’s blade by sheer power. Instantly Shea executed the maneuver known as an advance-thrust — dangerous against a fencer, but hardly a barbarian like this. He hopped forward, right foot first, and shot his arm out straight. The point went right into Nera’s chest.
Shea’s intention was to jerk the blade loose with a twist to one side to avoid the downcoming slash. But the point stuck between his enemy’s ribs, and, in the instant it failed to yield, Nera’s blade, weakened and wavering, came down on Shea’s left shoulder. He felt the sting of steel and in the same moment the sword came loose as Nera folded up wordlessly.
«You’re hurt!» cried Belphebe. «Let me loose!»
«Just a flesh wound,» said Shea. «Do I win, King Briun?»
«Loose the woman,» said the fairy King, and tugged at his beard. «Indeed, and you do. A great liar you may be, but you are also a hero and champion, and it is our rule that you take his place. You willbe wanting his head for the pillars of the house you will have.»
«Listen, King;» said Shea. «I don’t want to be a champion, and I’m not a liar. I can prove it. And I’ve got obligations. I really come from a land as far from the land of the Gaels as it is from Tirna n-Og and, if I don’t get back there soon, I’m going to be in trouble.»
«Miach!» called the King. «Is it the truth he is telling?»
The druid stepped forward, said, «Fetch me a bowl of water,» and when it was brought, instructed Shea to dip a finger in it. Then he made a few finger-passes, murmuring to himself, and looked up. «It’s of the opinion I am,» he said, «that this Mac Shea has obligations elsewhere, and if he fails to fulfill them, a most unfavorable geas would come upon him.»
«We may as well be comfortable over a mug of beer in deciding these questions,» said the King. «We command you to follow us.»
Belphebe had been dabbing at Shea’s shoulder. Now she caught his hand and they went in together. The big sword was awkward, and they had taken his scabbard as well, but he clung to it anyway. When they were inside, and King Briun had seated himself again, he said, «This is a hard case, and requires thinking, but before we give judgment, we must know what there is to know. Now, what is this of a new magic?»
«It’s called sympathetic magic,» said Shea. «I can show Miach how to do it, but I don’t know the old tongue, so he’ll have to help me. You see — I’ve been trying to get back to my own place, and I can’t do it because of that.» He went on to explain about the court of Maev and Ailill, and the necessity of rescuing Pete and getting back with him.
«Now,» he said, «ifsomeone will give me a little clay or wax, I’ll show you how sympathetic magic is done.»
Miach came forward and leaned over with interest, as someone brought a handfull of damp clay to Shea, who placed it on a piece of wood and formed it into a rather crude and shapeless likeness of the seated King. «I’m going to do a spell to make him rise,» said Shea, «and I’m afraid the effect will be too heavy if you don’t chant. So when I start moving with my hands, you sing.»
«It shall be done,» said Miach.
A verse or two of Shelley ought to make a good rising spell. Shea went over it in his head, then bent down and took hold of the piece of wood with one hand, while he murmured the words and with the other began to make the passes. He lifted the piece of wood. Miach’s chant rose.
So did a shriek from the audience. Simultaneously an intolerable weight developed on Shea’s arm, a crack zigzagged across the floor, and he half-turned his head in time to see that the royal palace and all its contents were going up like an elevator, already past the lower branches of the trees, with one of the spectators clinging desperately to the doorsill by his finger-tips.
Shea stopped his passes and hastily began repeating the last line backward, lowering his piece of wood. The palace came down with a jar that sent things tumbling from the walls and piled the audience in a yelling heap. Miach looked dazed.
«I’m sorry,» began Shea. «I.»
Patting his crown back into position, King Briun said, «Is it ruining us entirely you would be?»
Miach said, «O King, it is my opinion that this Mac Shea has done no more than was asked, and that this is a very beautiful and powerful magic.»
