Her eyebrows had been artificially blackened for beauty, and her hair was gleaming. Unbound hair, signifying an unmarried woman. Finn gave her a dazzling smile. “I've not a wound on me anywhere,” he boasted. “I'm perfect entirely, like a king.” He did not show her his thumb.
“You're talking to my wife-to-be,” Iruis remarked.
Finn's smile shrivelled like a tender leaf on a hot rock.
Iruis laughed. “She's called Lannat. Her father's a Connachta clan chief with four more daughters as arm-filling as this one. I could have had any of them. I might take another one yet as a second wife.”
Lannat turned toward him.
“If
I let you take a second wife,” she said with unruffled composure. “Under Brehon Law, the first wife has to give her permission, and I might not. I might not even marry you myself, come to that. We're to spend this winter together to see if we're suited.”
Huamor rescued his son from an awkward moment. “A second wife is a grand labour-saving device,” the chieftain interjected. “I got one for my first wife when she was heavy with my sons. Then my second wife complained of doing all the work of the first one plus her own, so I got a third wife to share the labours. Now they're all happy.”
“Even the third wife?” Conan asked innocently.
Huamor belched a laugh. “Och, doesn't she have the best of me in bed? She's still new enough to make my pole rise!”
His guests joined in his laughter, a hearty rumble that earthquaked around the lodge. The women laughed too, secure in their status. The warriors rolled their eyes at the women, who smiled back as they passed wooden platters heaped with meat and fish. When a male hand happened to fall caressingly on a female flank, no one objected.
As they ate, the men took turns recounting the events of the previous day. They described the weather, the climb up Black Head, the meeting with Iruis and Red Ridge, the cooking of the deer, the battle against the outlaws.
Finn said nothing, content to let the others extol his victory. From time to time he managed a modest little smile.
I wish my mother could see me now, he thought. The smile faded, became briefly sad.
Lannat had settled herself between Iruis's legs and was leaning back against his chest. From time to time he fed her bits of his own food. She asked Finn, “Are you really in charge of these men? You, and not the old one over there?”
“I am in charge. I'm a rÃgfénnid.” He inflated his chest.
“Hmmmm ⦔ Lannat's fingers began describing elaborate designs on Iruis's kneecap. Her nails were neatly trimmed and dyed with a berry stain.
Finn tried to capture her eyes. She evaded him by lowering her chin and looking down. Her eyelids had the sheen of rubbed silk. Turning her head slightly, she allowed Finn to admire the plump curve of her cheek. Then she glanced at him sidelong.
Finn squirmed, deliciously uncomfortable.
Lannat looked pointedly at his tented lap. When she smiled, he could see that she had all her teeth.
Oblivious, Iruis sat with one hand ruffling Lannat's hair while he listened to the conversation around him.
Finn's mouth was dry. He wondered what her armpits smelled like. Was the hair in them soft and moist? Was it dark like her brows, or fair? How would it feel to bury his face there?
Something scratched and whined outside the lodge. “My hounds!” Finn cried with a start, guilty for having forgotten them.
“Call them in,” Huamor invited. “We appreciate good hounds here.” He twisted around to have a look at the dogs. Bran entered first. “What an immense creature!” Huamor said in surprise.
“And not yet full-grown,” Finn replied. “Wait until next year. This next one is a litter mate of the first. I call her Sceolaun the Survivor. She was the runt, but she'll be a fine hunting dog with a little more growth on her. I give her extra fat,” he confided.
Huamor reached out to touch Sceolaun as she passed him but she
curved her body delicately, just enough to avoid his fingers without being insulting, and sidled away. She and Bran threaded their way through the people seated on the floor until they came to Finn, then crowded in on either side of him. When the hounds sat on their haunches, their heads were as high as his.
“How did you come by them?” asked Red Ridge.
Before Finn could answer, Iruis said, “I'm more interested in hearing how our friend here became an officer of the FÃanna at such a young age. He started to tell us last night, but never finished.”
“I'd like to hear that myself,” said Huamor.
Finn knew that Goll was watching him. “We need to leave soon,” he said. “We have a long way to go ⦔
“I want to hear!” Huamor roared so commandingly that Sceolaun snarled.
Iruis leaned toward Finn. “I'd tell him if I were you. My father has a temper, he's famous for it.”
“And if I don't tell him?”
“You're expecting payment for your services, aren't you? Some form of tribute to take back to the king of Tara? If you anger Huamor, that payment could be slow in coming. Very, very slow.”
Goll Mac Morna was looking fixedly at Finn.
He might he waiting to see what Finn's decision would be, the better to judge the quality of his leadership.
Or he might be waiting to hear what sort of story Finn might tell in response to the question.
TO GIVE HIMSELF TIME TO THINK, FINN SLOWLY FINISHED the last of his food, savouring every bite, pausing to lick his lips and murmur appreciatively, thus flattering his host. When he could stall no longer, he cleared his throat.
Be careful, he warned himself.
The fénnidi were waiting expectantly for another tale spangled with magic. But Huamor was older, less credulous. His eyes lurked beneath puffy lids like predators in their holes, waiting to pounce on the unwary. He would require a story he could believe.
And what of Goll Mac Morna? What would he accept?
“Your son has heard of my early days,” Finn began to Huamor. “He can tell you about them later.” And if you find the tale too fantastic, you can blame him. he thought to himself. “As for my joining the FÃanna, I'm a son of Cuhal Mac Trenmor. When I was old enough, it was inevitahle I should go to the king of Tara and apply to serve him as my father had done. We are fénnidi. What other course was open to me?”
Goll gave a miniscule nod of approval, Finn noticed.
“The king was surprised to see me. I think everyone was surprised to see me,” Finn added, glancing at Goll, who kept a straight face but had one twinkling eye. “Most men weren't awake Cuhal, had a living son in Erin until I walked into the Assembly Hall at Tara.”
Testing him, Huamor enquired. “Through which of its doorways.?”
“The Door of Beginnings, of course. So the king would know my intentions.”
“You made certain to learn proper protocol before you went to Tara?”
“I did of course. I was very thorough. I had already apprenticed myself to a poet and learned the twelve epics, so I could prove I was a person of education and wouldn't be an embarrassment to the army of
the king. I still remember every word,” he added mischievously, “unlike some, who forgot their poems as soon as they were initiated into the FÃanna.”
Conan glowered and studied his fingernails.
“Who was the poet?” Huamor asked. “Do we know of him?”
Finn's thumb was throbbing again. Without thinking, he thrust it into his mouth to suck on it.
Lannat noticed. “You do have a thorn!”
Finn guiltily jerked his thumb from his mouth. He was embarrassed to have a woman catch him in a lie. “Not at all. I was just ⦠ah ⦠remembering ⦔
“You remember by sucking your thumb like a baby?” Huamor sounded contemptuous. “You're younger than I thought.”
Hot blood rushed to Finn's cheeks. Searching for a reply, he ran his tongue around the inside of his teeth until it found a tiny fishbone wedged between two of them, relic of the salmon he had just eaten.
Finn's eyes lit up. “The poet who taught me was called Finegas,” he announced. “Finegas lived beside the Boyne River, where for seven years he had been trying to catch the Salmon of Wisdom.”
“The Salmon of Wisdom?” Huamor looked blank.
“You've heard of it, of course,” Finn assured him, “just as you know of the fame of Finegas.”
“I do, I do surely, butâ”
“Finegas thought he could catch the Salmon of Wisdom because an old prophecy foretold the fish would be caught by someone with his name. Possession of the fish was his dearest desire. Eating its flesh would give a man access to every form of knowledge ⦠as you know, Huamor,” Finn added deferentially.
The chieftain beamed. “I know that. Everyone knows that.” He looked around the lodge, daring anyone to disagree.
“I spent my time with the poet, and he was a fine teacher. But he could never catch that fish. Then one leafsummer day when my studies were done and we were relaxing on the hank of the Boyne, we saw the salmon leap. Finegas ran for his net. But he was an old man, and easily exhausted. He finally caught the fish but the effort left him too weak to do more.
“As he lay gasping on the bank, he asked me to build a fire and cook the salmon for him. I was happy to think he would have his dearest desire, for he had been generous with me.”
Finn allowed himself a quick glance around the room. They were caught up in the story now, netted and held. Even Goll was listening with half-parted lips.
Satisfied, Finn continued. “I roasted that fish for Finegas. When a
blister came up on its skin, ruining its perfection, I pressed the blister down with my thumb. But the roasting fish was very hot, and touching it burned my thumb. I put it into my mouth just for a moment, to ease the pain. Then I took the fish to my teacher.
“When I set it before him, he asked if I had eaten any of it. I said I had not, which was true, because I knew he wanted it for himself. But I did tell him I'd burned my hand on the fish and sucked my thumb.
“âCould you taste the salmon on your thumb?' he asked me. When I admitted I could, he looked as if he would cry. âYou had first taste of it then,' he said, âso the prophecy was meant for Finn and not Finegas.'
“I protested but he would not listen. Sad though he was for himself, he made me eat the whole of the salmon and digest the wisdom it containedâand it a fish that had lived since before the before, swum everywhere, seen everything.”
“A mighty amount of wisdom, that,” said Lugaid.
“Indeed.”
“And now you have all that wisdom yourself, do you?” asked Huamor. He did not sound convinced. He was on the verge of disbelieving the entire episode.
“Not at all! I only have access. When I need to know somethingâlike the name of the poet, which had momentarily slipped my mind in the enjoyment of your hospitalityâI can put my thumb into my mouth again and the answer comes to me. Without my thumb in my mouth, I am no more wise than any other man.”
“Astonishing,” murmured Red Ridge. There was no doubt in his voice.
Finn sneaked a quick look at Goll Mac Morna, but the older man's face was a careful blank.
“That's how I knew we were about to be attacked last night,” Finn claimed. “I put my thumb in my mouth and at once knew there were dangerous men creeping up on me in the dark.”
Blamec cried, “That's no word of a lie! I was the sentry and I couldn't see or hear anyone, yet Finn insisted they were there. He knew, when there was no way of knowing.”
Huamor peered at Finn through a veil of fire smoke. “If that's trueâand your man here seems to back it upâthen you're valuable indeed, Finn Mac Cool. Too valuable for me to let you go back to Tara. Spend the winter with us in the Burren. You did good work last night, but for all we know, Ceth and his clan will regain their nerve when their bellies are empty enough and try to raid us for our cattle and corn. I'll need you then. You can break battle on them and destroy the whole wretched brood for me.”
“I've already invited Finn to stay.” Iruis said.
“And I've refused,” Finn explained. “We don't fight in the winter. Summer's battle season, Beltaine to Samhain. The winter is cold and wet and it's impossible to fight when you're floundering in mud up to your apples. I thank you for your invitation, Huamor, but we have to go now. I mean to be out of the Burren by nightfall.”
Huamor's bushy eyebrows rushed together like stags attacking one another. “And I mean you to stay. I need you.”
Finn tried to be polite. “You must understand, it's impossible.” With an apologetic smile, he held out his hands palm upward.
“You have to,” Huamor snarled, all semblance of politeness abandoned. “I insist. You have to be here with me now thatâ” He checked himself abruptly. Cleared his throat. Essayed an unconvincing smile. “I mean, with the winter coming and the nights drawing in, we need a good storyteller to entertain us. We have none. I want to hear more of your tales, Finn. As for you ⦔ he turned toward Goll “ ⦠what did you say you're called?”
“Goll.”
“One-Eye. I can see that for myself. How are you known?”
“As Goll Mac Morna.”
“Indeed! That's who I thought you were. I know about you, you were RÃgfénnid FÃanna for the Son of the Wolf. Now here you are, trotting along behind this young one. What happened? Did your apples fall off?” Huamor laughed at his own witticism.
Goll went pale with anger.
Taking pity on him, Finn said, “We haven't time for this, we must leave right now. We have a long way to travel and the king expects us at Tara for Samhain.”
Like a trout in a muddy pool, something moved in the depths of Huamor's eyes. “The king?”
“Feircus Black-Tooth. Whom you asked for some of the FÃanna.”
“Feircus Black-Tooth,” Huamor echoed. “Not a Connachta, or even one of the Laigin, but a northerner. A Ulidian. I swore loyalty to him, though. I thought he could do more good for me than anyone else could, and I suppose he was a good enough king.”
Finn felt a sudden tightening in his scrotum. “What do you mean, he was?”
Huamur smiled with secret knowledge. “He's dead. Killed by a usurper in a battle at Crinna on the river Boyne.”
In a choked voice, Goll asked, “Who's in control of Tara now?” The puckered skin around his ruined eye began to twitch spasmodically. “Who seized the kingship this time?”
“I couldn't tell you. A runner just brought me the news this very morning. He didn't even know. All he could say was that the survivors of
the battle were sending word to Feircus's loyal chieftains to prepare for a retaliatory attack in the spring.
“That's why I want you to stay here,” Huamor went on, speaking into a shocked silence. “If the Ulaid have a good chance of regaining Tara, we'll join with them of course. But if this usurper, whoever he is, looks strong enough to keep the kingship, we'll support him. I'll be in a grand position myself, bringing in a band of the FÃanna.”
Finn's men were exchanging looks of astonishment. Even Goll was uncertain, caught off balance. “Feircus,” he murmured, shaking his head as if the world was moving too fast for him.
Then one decisive voice spoke up. “This band of FÃanna is on its way to Tara right now,” said Finn Mac Cool.
Moving swiftly, Huamor blocked the doorway with his body and outstretched arms. “I think not, you're staying here. I have a clanful of good fighting men to hold you by force if you try to refuse my generous offer of winter quarters.”
“If he has as many men as all that,” Conan said behind his hand to Finn, “why did he need to send for us?”
“I think you exaggerate,” Finn told Huamor. “Your numbers of fighting men must be low or you wouldn't have requested help from Feircus. But even if you had nine nines outside your door right now, you couldn't hold us.” His hand was a blur across his chest. Then the point of his shortsword was pressed into Huamor's throat while the air still hissed with the sound of the blade being drawn from its scabbard.
Huamor's eyes bulged.
Several of the women gave soft little shrieks, and they all moved back against the walls. Red Ridge and the fénnid were quickly on their feet, looking from one to the other, wondering if Huamor would fight, wondering if Finn would kill him.
Only Iruis remained seated. He helped himself to Cael's abandoned cup and sat watching with relish as someone at last stood up to his father.
Huamor thought of the knife in his own belt.
Finn read the thought on his face. “Don't,” he said softly, pressing his sword point deeper.
The two men locked eyes with the blade between them.
“We're leaving,” said Finn Mac Cool.
Huamor was no coward. But whatever he saw in Finn's level gaze was profoundly discouraging.
“Go, then,” he said at last. “If you feel that way, it would be wrong to hold you.”
“Not wrong, impossible.” When Huamor's shoulders slumped, Finn slid his sword back into its sheath. The hilt guard met the metal rim of
the scabbard with an audible click, the loudest sound in the room except for the crackling of the fire.
“Before we go,” Finn told Huamor, “put what you owe in my hand.”
“wheat I owe?”
“For our services. You requested the FÃanna and we came. Now I must carry your payment back to the king. The king of Tara doesn't supply warriors for free.”
“What king of Tara, you young fool? You don't even know who he is now. You've missed a tremendous opportunity to be on the winning side by waiting with me untilâ”
“The payment,” Finn said with no inflection.
Iruis spoke up. “Give it to him, Father. Give him what he earned by protecting me. I would be a hostage, or perhaps even dead, but for him and his band.”
Huamor glowered at his son, but he said over his shoulder to the nearest woman, “Give Finn Mac Cool a silver cup, then.”