‘You have my word on that,’ said Fiallach.
‘Then we will speak no more of it.’ With the forge fire blazing
Nanncumal moved to a shelf at the rear of the building and retrieved a thin-necked copper jug. Passing it to Fiallach he said: ‘It is early in the day, but I feel a toast is in order.’
Fiallach hefted the jug and took a deep drink of uisge. ‘Man, that is good,’ he said, handing the jug to Nanncumal.
‘Twenty years old. I have been saving it for just such an occasion. Here’s to you and Gwydia.’ The smith drank deeply, then stoppered the jug and returned it to the shelf. ‘While you are here,’ he said, ‘there is something I must check.’ He grinned, and taking a length of twine he ran it around Fiallach’s enormous shoulders.
‘What are you doing?’ asked the big man.
‘You’ll know soon enough,’ said Nanncumal, marking the twine with his thumb. ‘Yes, that should be about right. It has been worrying me,’ he said.
‘Is this some Three Streams marriage ritual?’
‘No. Have a little patience, young man. You will find out when we see Connavar later this morning. For now let us go and eat.’
Two hours later Fiallach, Nanncumal and his son Govannan strolled across to the house of Connavar. Tae was not present. She was visiting with Connavar’s mother, Meria. As Fiallach entered the house he saw Conn, his stepfather, Ruathain, and the druid, Brother Solstice. Fiallach’s eyes rested on Ruathain, and he felt his pulse quicken. The man was big and powerful, and Fiallach’s fighting spirit flared. Ruathain looked at him and grinned. He too felt it. It was as if they were two proud bulls with a herd at stake.
They shook hands, measuring each other. Fiallach knew of Ruathain’s reputation as a warrior. He had been First Swordsman for almost two decades. He wondered what the man would be like with fists. Their eyes met. ‘My son speaks highly of you,’ said Ruathain. Then he walked back to stand beside Conn.
In the silence that followed Connavar rose from his seat and moved to a chest at the rear of the room. Opening it he pulled clear a shirt of shining mail. Fiallach gazed at it with open envy. It was beautiful, the rings small, but perfectly formed. It handled like heavy cloth. Connavar handed the mailshirt to Ruathain, produced another and passed it to Govannan. Then he lifted a third and walked across the room, giving it to Fiallach.
‘Put them on,’ said Connavar.
‘Now you see why I was worried about the size of your shoulders,’ said Nanncumal. ‘Conn told me you were roughly the same size as his father. In fact you are a little bigger, but I think you will find it comfortable.’
Fiallach lifted the mailshirt over his head. It was heavy. Sliding his arms into it, he settled it into place. The armoured mail reached to his knees. It had been split at the front and back to allow ease of movement for a rider. The sleeves were short, finishing a little above the elbow, and there was a hood, which Fiallach pulled into place. He had never worn such a magnificent piece. His thick fingers ran over the mail rings. They would stop any arrow, and protect a warrior from thrusting knives or slashing swords. It would take an axe to cleave through them. He looked around the room. Ruathain and Govannan were similarly garbed now.
‘It is my intention,’ said Conn, ‘to create a fighting force for the protection of our lands. Each man will swear a blood oath to follow my orders without question. Eventually there will be five hundred of us, each with a warhorse. When that day comes you three will be my captains. That is, if you agree to the oath.’
‘Who are we to fight?’ asked Fiallach. ‘We are at peace with all our neighbours.’
‘The enemy is coming,’ said Conn. ‘You may trust me on this. The Stone army will cross the water, and then you will see slaughter like never before. We must be prepared. Or we will fall, like all the tribes across the sea. I have seen them, Fiallach. They are deadly, their army near invincible. When they stand and fight they lock shields, creating a wall of bronze. I have watched Keltoi tribesmen hurl themselves against this wall and be cut down in their thousands by short, stabbing swords.’ He fell silent for a moment, and his eyes took on a haunted look. ‘And when they have destroyed the armies they move across the land, taking thousands into slavery. Except the children. These are slaughtered. When the land is cleared they bring in settlers from their own lands, and build towns of stone. In order to defeat them we must find a new way to fight.’