There was to be a feast that evening in honor of the flaith who had accompanied the Ard-Ri on his processional and to celebrate the clearing of the nemed and the laying of the foundation for the new chapel. The news of Lucius’s arrival had whipped through the people like a windstorm, and Cadla decided to downplay the event by acting unconcerned. He did not want to enhance Ethne, Ruadh, or Ruadhán’s status by publicly acknowledging them, but privately he was worried. He would have to do everything in his power to secure his own image before the flaith.

“You will wear the finest silks tonight. It will be a credit to me,” Cadla ordered Aífe. His dead wife’s wooden chest was still full of gowns, capes, and jewels.

“Pick something from Nárbflaith’s clothes box. She was far more beautiful than you, but her clothes will make you appear worthy in the eyes of the court.”

His petty humiliations no longer fazed her. He was utterly transparent. He was clearly afraid of her, else why would he try so hard to keep her in her place? As she bathed and dressed for the evening, her thoughts were with Lucius, thinking that surely, surely he would come for her now, or that she would soon receive a message.

The Great Hall was hung with garlands of new wheat and scarlet field poppies in honor of the season. Freshly cut rushes lay scattered on the floors, and the wolf hounds that lurked under the tables to clean up fallen scraps had been carefully washed and combed. Huge loaves of oat bread made from new grain graced the center of the high table, interspersed with wooden vats of freshly churned butter, beeswax candles in intricately wrought iron holders, and small bronze containers of salt. Freshly cleaned woven cloths on the walls provided a riot of color, and the carvings of interlaced animals and plants that graced the room partitions and the large panel behind the throne had been polished until they gleamed.

An entire ox was slaughtered and roasted for the flaith and the warriors, and several sheep and a quantity of chickens were roasted to be distributed to any of the lower classes who hung around the gates. Meat, bread, and ale would also be sent to the revelers attending the Lugnasad fires that dotted the nearby hilltops. Cadla was ever mindful of his reputation, knowing that to be hospitable was the surest route to continued power.

He gave final instructions to Aífe in the privacy of his chamber. “You will act as my hostess tonight, and since it is an official feast, there will be a formal distribution of liquor to the warriors and the flaith. You will pass the cup to me first as the highest-ranking person in the hall, then to the man on my right, Máel Ísu, then to the man on my left. After that, you will fill two bowls to be passed down each side of the table. Everyone will drink in order of precedence, and each will speak a sacred oath over the bowl as they hold it. Do you understand?”

Aífe nodded. She knew she would be distracted—the first thing she would want to do once she entered the hall would be to look for Lucius—but she would have to concentrate carefully on her appointed duty. The passing of a formal bowl of liquor at the feast was a sacred function, and she would be royal consort, hostess, and priestess at once, a serious task.

Warriors had been known to kill each other if the bowl of liquor was handed to them out of order or if they perceived an insult to their rank, and any oath that was sworn out loud over liquor at the feast had to be fulfilled or the speaker be willing to die in the effort. With all the peers of the realm as witness, it was nearly impossible to undo an oath once it was uttered over the ritual cup. The image of the last official caup Cadla had passed to her at a feast still burned within her heart. She used all her Druid discipline to will away the memory.

At last, everything was ready. Huge torches were lit and stuck into the iron sconces that projected from the stout timbers of the walls and from the roof trees. The great central hearth was ablaze; an enormous cauldron of spiced cider simmered on the fire to lend a sweet scent to the room and to provide liquid refreshment.

One by one, the flaith entered and were led to their seats, each one gorgeously dressed in bright colors and jealously guarding their privilege by sitting as near the throne as possible. Each noble who sat at the table had a warrior standing behind him, fully armed and ready to defend to the death the nobleman to whom he was assigned, most often a member of his own kin-group. The women, adorned in their most colorful tunics, best jewels, and elaborate hair braids, sat in rows against the back walls. The air reeked of competition and jealousy.

Cadla entered the hall followed by Aífe, keeping a pace or two behind, as she had been instructed. She used all of her will to keep her awareness in the objectivity of her third eye, as she had been taught in the lesson of súil inmedónach, forging a mask of tranquility on her face as she scanned the hall for Lucius. Where was he? Forbidden to speak, she could not even ask for him, lest she receive another welt or bruise. She hid past bruises and dark finger marks with a silken shawl.

Aífe’s golden diadem gleamed in the firelight as she bent over a side table to fill the ritual cup and bowls. The orb on her head proclaimed that this was no ordinary feast but rather one with sacral overtones, a solemn occasion of state.

Máel Ísu, seated to the right of the throne, enjoyed the spectacle as if it were his own personal triumph and proudly stood to open the proceedings with a prayer as but a short time before it would have been the role of a Drui to do:

Brethren, be joyful.

Now that you have been set free from sin

And you have been made slaves of the one true God

You will get a reward leading to your sanctification

And ending in eternal life in heaven.

Thanks be to the one true God for this glorious food
and this splendid company.

And thanks be to the one true God for our new church. Amen.

He sat, and Cadla rose to address the gathering. “Welcome, my friends and relations. The sacred drink that we are about to partake of is a symbol of my esteem for you all. Aífe will act in the stead of my beloved Nárbflaith, who should have been the one to officiate at this meal. The cup that Aífe will pass is filled with fion, a substitute for blood. It symbolizes the red blood of kinship and the mystical blood bond that you as the flaith of In Medon share with me and my sons. We are all one family here.

“As each of us takes a sip, let us remember our sacred duty to uphold and defend each other, just as if we were blood-kin. Let each of you utter a sacred oath over your cup in the hearing of your wives. For two things encourage a warrior best: when the family fights together, and when women are witness to a warrior’s actions.” Cadla smiled graciously towards the ranks of women seated against the walls.

The air in the room grew thicker. The business of making a sacred oath was often a deadly one, with many unforeseen turnings.

Suddenly, a cold wind gusted from the direction of the door. Torches guttered as everyone craned their necks to see what had caused the disturbance. Then a collective gasp escaped from every mouth.

Ethne, Ruadh, and Prince Ruadhán entered the hall dressed in gorgeous attire, thanks to the efforts of Abbott Germanus. Golden torcs glistened on their necks, and each wore a richly colored tunic covered by a six-colored cape, fastened with an enormous golden brooch.

Ethne’s hair was carefully braided into intricate loops and whirls and woven through with golden ornaments. Ruadh and Ruadhán had golden armbands and long swords sheathed in scabbards of intricately worked red leather. Each had a beautifully polished bronze and silver shield strapped over his shoulder. It was a splendid entrance; there was no mistaking the royal rank of the three.

Most recognized Ethne and Ruadh, remembering them from years past. But none knew who the handsome young stranger at their side could possibly be.

The flaith waited for Cadla to change the order of precedence for seating; clearly the newcomers were of royal rank and deserved to sit at or very near the head of the table. But Cadla did not follow accepted protocol. Instead, he ordered the slaves to bring an extra bench and seat the three at the foot of the long line of guests.

A flurry of hushed whispers swept the hall. Why was the king making such a dangerous blunder?

“Silence!” Cadla roared, red-faced and flustered, aware that he had made a possibly fatal mistake but determined to diminish the status of his old rival. How dare that woman show herself here now? This is a celebration of the triumph of all my plans and of the new religion. She has no business inserting herself just when that old witch Gaine is finally dead! he thought in dismay.

“I am not impressed by your rich robes and gleaming jewels,” he said. “Your day is long past. A new order rules in this kingdom, and there is no place left for Pagani like you. Your place is in the forest with outlaws and thieves, but I will allow you to sit at the very lowest end of the table.”

The reference to outlaws and thieves was clearly aimed at Ruadh, and the mention of a new order was meant to insult Ethne and all the Druid, but the three at the foot of the table made no move to defend their honor. Their faces remained impassive, their tempers cool.

“Aífe, pass the cup now,” Cadla commanded.

Aífe had watched the entrance of the three with fascination and relief. She knew that her liberation was finally at hand, and she was overjoyed to see her foster parents Ethne and Ruadh in the full splendor of their rank, but she could not fathom why Lucius should be with them and dressed in such finery. It was very strange to her eyes. At once, she recalled the vision she had of him dressed in princely garb. He must wonder at me in these silks, she thought. And yet the sight of him was like feeling the warm breeze of Innis nan Druidneach blowing softly across the summer sands.

Cadla’s words still echoed in her ears. She remembered his stern instructions to pass the cup first to the highest-ranking person in the hall. If Cadla could insult Pagani of royal rank by seating them at the foot of the table, well, she would right the wrong by turning the insult on its head. As priestess and cup-bearer, it was her choice how to order the cup offering. She recalled the lesson of commus, learned at such a cost on the cliff face of Innis nan Druidneach. Suddenly the candles around her glowed like the yellow citrine in her crane bag, carefully hidden under her gown.

She walked to the foot of the table amidst the shocked whispers of the dinner guests and solemnly handed the ritual cup to Ruadh. But Ruadh refused it with a hand gesture and graciously offered it to Ethne. Ethne also refused it politely and handed it to Ruadhán, who accepted it with a bow of his head and a smile.

“I will accept this cup from your hand, lady,” he said, addressing Ethne but looking into Aífe’s eyes.

As he spoke, the warriors drew their swords and the flaith pulled out their dirks, prepared to avenge the deadly insult to the Ard-Ri.

“Friends, lay down your weapons,” Ruadhán said in an even tone, rising slowly from his seat. “Do you not know who I am?”

The hall went silent as the black door of midnight. Everyone waited for an explanation.

“Germanus, tell them.” Ruadhán looked in the direction of the old man sitting in the shadows, gumming a piece of soft bread. Germanus cleared his throat, spat on the floor, and rose, leaning heavily on his stick.

“This young man is the son of the Ard-Ri Crimthann and of the Ard-Rígain Ethne, who sits here at the bottom of the table. Cadla did wrong to put them at the foot of the table, and he knows it. Prince Ruadhán is a trained Cristaide brother who would have been a priest, except he has returned to rule In Medon.” The old man sat down, gloating toothlessly.

“I have something to say too,” Aífe quickly interjected, pitching her voice of authority to ensure everyone’s attention. She bared her arms and revealed the bruises and marks of Cadla’s fingers.

“This is the work of the Ard-Ri. I did not cry out until now because he threatened to kill me if I did, and I could think of no one who would come to my defense.”

Ruadhán let out a roar and moved to charge Cadla, but Ethne threw her arm forcefully against his chest. She would not lose her son again, not now and not in this way.

“The shame!” Ethne cried out, seeing Aífe’s bruises.

“This is not the behavior of a just king!” Ruadh exclaimed.

Cadla knew instantly that this blight on his character would cost him the throne. He rose from his seat so quickly that it was knocked over. “You bitch!” he cried. With nothing left to lose, he unsheathed his sword and charged at Aífe, his weapon aiming for her heart. But he was blinded by rage, and Ruadh was quicker and more focused. As Ruadh lunged forward, Cadla stumbled, toppled, and fell onto his blade.

The guests sat, frozen. To avenge the dying Ard-Ri would place them on the wrong side of Prince Ruadhán. No one was willing to take that risk save Tanaide and Eógan, who pulled their swords from their sheaths, preparing to defend their wounded parent. But with no one to help them they slowly backed down, watching helplessly as their father’s life-blood seeped into the rushes.

“It is the will of God,” Máel Ísu pronounced as he knelt over Cadla to administer the last rites.

The crowd in the hall waited in horrified silence until Ruadhán raised the ritual cup and intoned an oath so that all could hear. “I vow to hold an election for the position of Ard-Ri, and I vow to handfast Aífe, the woman I love.”

He took the ritual sip and solemnly passed the cup to Ethne, who vowed to defend and protect her son and Aífe to her dying breath. Then Ruadh pledged an oath to give his right arm, his battle experience, and all the strength of the fiana to the prince.

The cup was passed from the bottom of the table to the top, and no one objected, so amazed were they by the events of the evening and so grateful that they would not have to fight and die for Cadla’s honor.