Turning away from his pleasure, he frowned sourly at the three still-empty depressions in the rich, well-padded cloth. “Hmmph’. I’ll have to get my hands on a pattern of that rediscovered Jewel of Ulaid, then get a new tray made for the Seven Jewels and One. As for the old Sassenach diamond, it can just go into the chest of precious stones yonder—it’s a fine enough specimen, but no longer a Sacred Jewel of Eireann, of course.
“As for the other three, well … my war in Connachta just seems to drag on and on and on. Christ damn that Righ Flaithri, anyway! The old fart has his bolthole, and he knows it and he knows I know it, worse luck, and I’m beginning to think that the only way to run him finally to earth, corner him and get what I want of him, is to somehow, someway close that bolthole in his ugly face. But how, pray tell?
“Maybe send the elder di Bolgia and his condotta. and that Ifriqan and his to Magna Eireann. perhaps? Without that place to flee to, I’m certain Flaithri’d come to quick terms with me. But no, not di Bolgia, not as yet. FitzRobert is too short a time Righ, and at any time, any day, one of those drooling, idiotic FitzGeralds could decide he or one of his nearer kin has better claim to Munster and either slay FitzRobert or raise a warband or both, and in such case I might be faced with just the same troubles I had with Righ Tamhas the Unlamented, all over again, without a strong force on hand to quell any such FitzGerald-spawned foolishness at the onset.
“His Grace of Norfolk? Hmm, now there’s a distinct possibility. He’s even got his own ships, good ones, too, two of them better than anything I own, and were that French liner down in Corcaigh added to the private fleet, I dare to say that the resultant flotilla would be unbeatable by any fleet west of France or north of the Mountain of Jibal Tariq.
“Of course. His Grace’s land force is unbalanced—only horsemen and a few, light cannon. I wonder . . . ? Righ Roberto . . . fagh! That good Gaelic title coupled with that foreign name sounds like an obscenity and leaves a taste of ordure on the tongue. Anyway, though, that man is certain sure to be in dire need of hard money after so many years of Conan Ruarc’s misrule. Sir Ugo tells me that he has in Ulaid no less than three condottas, all now foot, since the late Righ sold all the horses of the cavalry in their absence. He seems on friendly enough terms with His Grace, so maybe His Grace, backed by my money, of course, could arrange to hire away from him enough foot to give some balance to that agglomeration of Scots galloglaiches, Kalmyks, Turks, Irish, Germans. English and Welsh, Pro-veni,-als. and God alone knows just how many other breeds of man.
“But. thinking harder on the matter, I think I’d best wait and see what sort of a job His Grace does for me with my northern cousins. I don’t know—he seemed a very catalyst of sorts in Ulaid. Yes, he got me what I had sent him north to get. but he got it in a way that has begat yet another problem for me—a newfangled problem that just may end in costing me more money, more blood, and, worse, more time than the original did and might’ve cost. Another such ‘victory’ for me by this great captain of Cousin Arthur’s may well serve to ruin my plans for Eireann altogether, may mean that I’ll not live long enough to collect all the Jewels, leave my tray of pretties pan-empty forever.
“No, I’ll just wait and see how His Grace of Norfolk goes about getting me the Striped Bull of Ui Neill, before I do aught else than get him some foot out of Ulaid, perhaps. Hmmm, yes, I’ll do that … or at least try to, for that will not only help him and therefore me and my aims, but it will also weaken the available force of this new Righ of Ulaid, a laudable end, in itself.
On the return march to Airgialla and Righ Ronan’s capital of Ard Macha. Bass had been expecting to meet the vanguard of the young Righ’s scratch-force army just beyond every bend of the road, but he led his squadron back into the Airgialla capital without so doing.
Even before he dismounted, Bass was informed by Righ Ronan’s chief councillor that there was to be a great feast to celebrate his victory in Ulaid on the morrow, but Bass
was just then in no mood for feasts or celebrations of any description. Signing his officers to come with him and his gentlemen, he stalked into the palace and through its corridors, salons, halls, and chambers, he and his armed gentlemen intimidating guards and terrifying courtiers at every turn with their grim, businesslike, no-nonsense manner.
They at length found Righ Ronan and Bean-Righ Deir-dre lying side by side on a wide couch set in the garden behind the palace, sipping wine from a loving-cup of gilded silver and listening to the girl Ita sing a sad-sounding song in Gaelic while her so-slender fingers struck notes from a lap harp. Neither of the royal personages altered position or even bothered to look around when the sweaty, dusty men in their heavy jackboots tramped up behind them to a jingle and clank of weapons and equipment, so Bass deliberately paced around the couch to take his stand between them and the still-singing girl, whose small, heart-shaped face had brightened at the sight of him. despite the sad words she still sang and the doleful notes her hands extracted from the small harp.
Obviously more than a little tiddly, the youthful Righ smiled up at Bass and said languidly, “Ah, our good friend and most doughty champion His Grace of Norfolk has at last returned. Do you know that I have ordered a full feast, with suitable entertainments, for the day after whatever day you returned to Ard Machta?”
“Your Majesty.” said Bass, bluntly and without bothering to try to mask the exasperated anger in his voice, “when first I came upon a very promising situation in Ulaid. I sent Sir Ugo D’Orsini to you with word of it and a request that you immediately bring all available force to Ulaid. along with such spare horses, guns, and supplies as you could quickly amass, the better to take advantage of that situation to your benefit and that of Airgialla. Your Majesty told Sir Ugo that you intended to do just that and in some haste. But Your Majesty clearly did not do that or anything else of note that I can discern. Why not?”
The Righ shrugged. “Oh. Your Grace of Norfolk, look at me; you do not see here in me some sweaty and muscle-brained and bloodthirsty savage of an Irish warrior-righ, nor yet a captain-general such as dear Cousin Brian, the Ard-Righ. I did not come because I could see no point in aping the warrior and possibly getting all of my fine guardsmen—the only men of arms left in Airgialla, since I loaned the army out to Cousin Brian—disfigured or maimed or even killed.
“You see, my dear Sir Bass, I had great and abiding faith in you, in your abilities to bring to a halt all inroads upon my borders by that rude, crude ruffian Conan Ruarc Mac Dallain ui Neill. I knew that you would be triumphant. You have been, and now that you are returned, we will have a grand feast.”
“Yes, I won … in a way.” agreed Bass, then adding, no less coldly and forcefully, “but I might just as well have lost. Because you did not come, chose to not come for poor reasons, I was forced to cart in shipboard guns to use for siege pieces against the walls of Oentreib, not even to mention bombarding and burning to the ground the River Ban Port of Coleraine, killing God alone knows how many men, women, and children. Even if you were loath to send your palace guards to fight, you might at least have taken a half-dozen of the fortress-size guns from your walls and laid them in wains and sent them and gunpowder and shot up to me. Your Majesty is, after all, supposed to be the Ard-Righ’s swom ally, and I am one of his captains.”
“Take guns from off the walls. Your Grace?” The Righ looked and sounded slightly shocked at such a suggestion. “Oh, heavens no. Why, those things are frightfully heavy and terribly clumsy; they weigh, each of them, thousands and thousands of pounds. My guards and my servants together would not be able to accomplish such a thing. I would be obliged to bring in hordes, just hordes, of dirty, smelly, sweaty common workmen from the outer city, bring them into my very palace. Why, such a thing is unthinkable!”