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Day Three
Conall
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Godfrid’s impulse was, of course, to tell the truth immediately. It was hardly surprising, but Conall was steadfast. “We can’t,” he said flatly.
“Why not?” Godfrid was on his feet, waving his hands.
“That’s a mare’s nest, and you know it.” Conall leaned forward. “Think about it, Godfrid. Ottar’s treaty with Donnell should be discussed privately, in the dark, on a quest for an outcome that doesn’t rip a hole in Dublin society. Surely you can’t want to see Dublin disgraced before all of Ireland?”
Godfrid took in a breath, seeming to settle himself, and then came back to the table. Cait patted the seat beside her, and he resumed his place. “Instruct me, because I can’t see it.”
“First, there’s Finn.” Conall gestured in the young man’s direction. Maybe they shouldn’t have been discussing this with him present, but as he’d already acted in their interests, killing two men, he wasn’t worried about him betraying them to Ottar. “It turns out he’s a bastard. Do you want to ruin his life? Nobody but Ottar and Donnell are sorry Deirdre’s murderers are dead, and while Finn might not be punished for their deaths, he would lose everything else.”
“It’s more than that, though,” Cait said. “As Rikard realized, you finally have leverage—real leverage—against Ottar. If you reveal the treaty in open hall, Ottar could potentially bluster his way out of it. His supporters will claim it’s falsified and accuse you of treason.”
Conall nodded. “But if you show it to him in private, he can’t appeal to anyone else for relief.”
Cait smirked. “Even while blackmailing him, you keep the moral high ground.”
Godfrid shook his head. “You really are brother and sister, aren’t you?” But then he let out a puff of air. “Maybe you’re not wrong, but it goes against my instincts. While keeping secrets these last five years has become a habit, it has also worn away at me.”
“I am new to this as well,” Cait said, “but believe me, I realize secrets do that. Still, this is Ottar we’re talking about.”
Finn, meanwhile, was acting as if they weren’t there. He’d finished all the wine in his cup and poured himself more before Conall noticed, emptying the carafe. At this juncture, Conall didn’t see a reason to take the cup away from him. If he was honest about it, he wanted Finn malleable for the next few hours while they decided what to do with him.
Conall stood. “Let’s get him to my house.”
Neither Cait nor Godfrid asked why Conall thought moving him was necessary. Finn, however, protested blearily when Conall forced him to stand and, after three steps, started to retch. Cait, a veteran of many feasts and well versed in drunken men, grabbed a bowl from a sideboard and shoved it under his face. Finn sank with it to his knees, his head hanging.
Godfrid patted Finn’s hair. “Get it all out. It’s better that way.”
Conall knew enough of guilt and grief to understand that Finn was vomiting up both along with the wine.
One of the household servants, this one not a slave, appeared out of the back of the hall. He hesitated ten feet away, and Conall motioned with one hand that he should see to his master.
While they waited for Finn to clean himself up—and sober up enough to walk—Conall folded his arms, half-perching on the table. “I don’t think you should tell your brother about this just yet either.”
“Unless he comes to Dublin, I don’t feel as if I have any way to do so,” Godfrid said. “I am under constant scrutiny. If I left by any gate, everyone would know it and want to know why.”
“I am wary of showing Fergus the sailor again too,” Conall said. “This is how I suggest we proceed—”
“My lords!” A breathless Alf burst through the door. At the sight of the three of them talking, he wavered for a moment on the threshold, and then continued, “Some men—” He bent over, gasping for air. “Some men from Brega have arrived, sent by the King of Brega himself!”
Conall didn’t bother to ask how Alf had known that the three of them could be found at Finn’s house. It was now self-evident that Godfrid was right about being watched continually.
Godfrid moved towards Alf. “We only discovered the bodies this morning. How could he possibly know of the deaths of his men?”
Alf shook his head, still catching his breath. “I couldn’t say, my lord. I know only that they do, and that they are here to convey their displeasure. Holm asked that you come to the palace to hear them speak.”
Godfrid made a shooing motion with his hand. “Tell Holm to consider us on our way.”
“Yes, my lord!” And Alf was off again.
Conall came to stand beside Godfrid to watch Alf go. “Ottar all but ordained Holm the murderer. How is he going to explain these deaths away to Brega?”
Godfrid glanced back to Finn. His servant was dabbing at his cheeks with a wet washcloth. “Do we leave him here?”
“I think we have to. We don’t want him anywhere near King Ottar or these emissaries from Brega. Not today, and he would present quite a spectacle, limping through Dublin on the way to my house.”
Cait refused to be left behind either, so they brought her, hoping that everyone would be so unsettled by the arrival of these ambassadors that they wouldn’t question her presence.
Sure enough, they arrived at the palace to find it in an uproar, more even than it had been on and off during the last three days. Alf’s headlong run through Dublin was rewarded too, since they arrived in time to have missed only the initial greetings between Ottar and the four representatives of Brega’s king, Gilla. Conall wondered if these four knew what the two dead representatives had been doing. By appearing in Dublin, they could be putting their lives on the line for Gilla. At the same time, there was definitely safety in numbers, as well as a public spectacle.
Conall was honestly surprised that Ottar hadn’t cleared the hall to speak to these ambassadors in private and whispered as much to Holm, whom he stopped beside.
“They asked that everyone remain to hear what they had to say,” Holm said in an undertone.
Conall frowned. Something was wrong here—more wrong, that is, than murder and intrigue had already produced.
A richly robed man took a step in front of his fellows, who stood in a line facing Ottar’s high table. All four men wore clothing similar to what Conall himself wore today, as necessary when visiting a king. While the Danish men around them, in keeping with their warlike past, wore short tunics, breeches, high boots, and summer cloaks, these men wore more flowing garments, with longer tunics, floppier pants, and ankle-length boots.
Conall routinely chose his clothing with the idea of using it as a mask to hide behind, and what unfolded in the hall over the next quarter of an hour was in keeping with that principle. Ottar knew some truths, and Brega’s emissaries knew others, but because they were in open hall, they could admit none of them. Cait and Godfrid might prefer not to keep secrets, but Conall himself was very much enjoying the fact that nobody but the three of them knew the whole story.
The ambassador spread his arms wide. “King Gilla of Brega seeks justice for the murder of his men and demands that you produce the one responsible!”
King Ottar didn’t bother gaping at the man. Given the ambassadors’ solemnity, the purpose for their visit couldn’t have been a surprise. Instead, his eyes narrowed, and Conall could see him adding up his options and deciding that he had no choice but to pretend that the surface reason for this meeting was the only one. Ottar’s impulse was always to be combative anyway. “Your men murdered a leading merchant of Dublin. They died as a result.”
“Who says they murdered anyone? We demand proof!”
“I say. And we have all the proof we need.”
The two men glared at each other, neither backing down.
Then Ottar waved regally in Conall’s direction. “I asked the ambassador from Leinster, who has experience in these matters, to look into Merchant Rikard’s death. He can tell you that our conclusions are valid.”
Conall was surprised to be called upon—and suspicious of Ottar’s motives—but he could hardly refuse to reply. “What King Ottar says is true. These men came to Rikard’s warehouse for a meeting, a meeting that left Rikard dead and his servant strangled. A bloody length of rope was found in the pocket of one of your men.”
The leader of the ambassadors, a tall, spare man with red hair the color of Conall’s, glared at him. “So you say.”
They’d been speaking in Danish, which Conall had done deliberately, and Ottar pounced. “We do say. From whom did you hear a different version of these events?”
The ambassador turned magisterially back to the high table. “They had a third man with them, who stayed with their horses. He witnessed the murder, but could do nothing to stop it. Because he feared for his own life, he rode for home immediately afterwards.”
Conall took three steps towards the ambassador and switched to Gaelic. “Did he get a good look at the attacker? Could he describe him?”
The ambassador transferred his glare to Conall. “No.”
Conall subsided. “Pity.”
The Bregan returned to Danish. “Your supposed proof does not satisfy me, nor will it satisfy my king. His wrath at these deaths is very great.”
“You dare threaten me?” Ottar surged to his feet, forced to bluster through a difficult situation, one which Gilla couldn’t help but misconstrue. Ottar had invited his men to Dublin as part of their new alliance, and they’d ended up dead. It looked as if Ottar had changed his mind and the so-called alliance had been intended as a ruse—to what end Gilla couldn’t be sure.
“It is not I who threatens, my lord.” The man bowed and held the pose. It was a good reminder that these men themselves had done nothing wrong, and Ottar slowly lowered himself back into his seat. “We take our leave. Bring the guilty man to the ford of the Liffey at Lucan tomorrow at sunset.”
Ottar remained sitting with his elbow on the armrest of his chair and one finger tapping his lower lip. “Or what?”
“My king warns you not to test him. If we do not have the culprit in hand by tomorrow night, you will not like the consequences.”
Ottar felt he was being bullied. Conall could see it in his face, but Ottar couldn’t very well expose the ambassador and the King of Brega for what they were, lackeys for Prince Donnell, without exposing himself. Conall had started out in his role as ambassador with an open mind as to the character of both Ottar and Godfrid. Of course, Godfrid was Gareth’s friend, so he was predisposed to like him, and today, the differences between the two men couldn’t be more clear.
Today, Ottar’s lack of a solid core could be the ruin of Dublin.
Then Helga appeared out of the shadows. He’d never seen her approach her husband in the company of men when they were consulting, but she did it today, to the point of resting a hand on his shoulder. All side conversations going on around the hall stopped, and Ottar appeared frozen to his chair.
Helga lifted her chin. “We will not be delivering any citizen of Dublin to your king.” Her deep voice resonated throughout the hall. “You may as well return to him right now and tell him so. If he decides to come at us with an army tomorrow at the Liffey, he will find us there to meet him.”
Dead silence greeted this announcement. The ambassadors had no idea what to make of her. The chief ambassador appeared to be stuttering. Helga was calling his bluff.
Some Danish farmers had ventured to settle north of the river as it ran west to east and flowed into the Irish Sea, but the vast majority of Danish settlements outside of Dublin, including Brodar’s steading, were to the south and southwest. The Liffey was a major river and formed the border between Meath, of which Brega was a client kingdom, and Leinster. If King Gilla crossed the Liffey with an army at the village of Lucan, he would be taking a great risk. King Diarmait would see it as an act of war against Leinster.
For Ottar’s part, he reached up to place his hand on his wife’s where it still lay on his shoulder. “You heard her. My men will be pleased to escort you to the gates of the city.”
There was some scuffling as people backed away from the men from Brega while Holm and Alf moved to their side with an alacrity that was almost comical. In short order, the entire party had left the hall. Ottar, meanwhile, was whispering with Helga, who’d pulled out the chair next to him so she could sit.
Once the door closed behind Holm and the others, Ottar turned to face his audience and swept out an arm. “Leave us.”
There was some grumbling among his advisers at their summary dismissal, especially since Helga’s intervention had possibly committed them to war. Godfrid exchanged a look with Conall, tipping his head towards the door, but before either could take a step, Ottar barked, “Not you two.”
It was Conall’s preference to stay anyway, so he turned back. The detached part of him that had nothing invested in the outcome was highly amused by the entire situation. Godfrid, for his part, was emotionally and personally invested. Even so, he managed to keep his expression blank, and together they approached the high table.
Out of the corner of his eye, Conall saw Cait move towards a side wall, behaving as if there was nothing out of the ordinary in her staying. She had learned these last weeks to blend into the background, and Conall had no intention of calling attention to her.
Within a few moments, the only people left in the hall were Ottar, Helga, Sturla, Godfrid, and Conall, with Cait leaning against the wall by a post.
“Will Leinster help us?” Ottar said without preamble.
“Are you making a formal request?”
“Yes.”
“It depends on your intent.”
“We will march, of course,” Helga said. “We have no choice now.”
“It would probably be important for King Diarmait to know that Connaught as well as Brega is involved,” Godfrid said, his tone casual, as if the statement was a mere by-the-way.
Ottar’s jaw clenched and bulged. “Why would Connaught be involved?”
“Because you made a treaty with Prince Donnell, the heir to the throne of Connaught and the High Kingship.” Godfrid’s expression was severe. “You conspired with him to murder his brother and my brother. As part of the exchange, you agreed that when Dublin falls to Brega tomorrow, authority for Dublin would transfer from Leinster to Connaught.” The second half of that statement was only a guess, but Conall thought it was a good one.
Ottar’s expression turned fiercer, but it was Conall who spoke, “I see you don’t deny your conspiracy.”
“Where is the document?” Ottar spat out the words.
“Safe,” Conall said.
“I can send men at any time to rip your house apart,” Ottar said. “Then you will have no proof of anything.”
“The way they tore apart Rikard’s warehouse and murdered the merchant and his servant?” Godfrid was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. His ire was up, and he was focused. “The way they tore apart mine?”
Sturla scoffed. “We had nothing to do with any of that.”
“Nothing? Why are you lying?” Godfrid canted his head. “Tell me the truth. I have the treaty and the warrant for my brother’s death. I know Sturla was at Rikard’s warehouse that night, meeting with the men of Brega. Just admit it.” He glared at the steward. “Did you kill Deirdre yourself, or did you let the Bregans do it for you?”
“Don’t answer that, Sturla.” Ottar’s eyes were like ice. “Why does it matter?”
“Because I want to know the truth.”
This time it was Helga who scoffed. “The truth is for children.”
But Sturla was too intent on his own survival. “What do you intend to do with the document?” It was, of course, the only question that mattered.
Ottar sighed. “He intends to expose me in open council.”
“He can’t,” Sturla said.
“He can, Sturla,” Helga said. “You know he can, and he will be believed.”
“What I do, I do for Dublin.” Ottar leaned forward, his attention focused on Godfrid, who was standing directly opposite from where the king sat at his table.
“What you do, you do for you. As usual,” Godfrid shot back.
“As usual, you misunderstand. By the end of the day, Dublin won’t be bowing to Connaught.” Ottar snorted. “We will be free.”
Conall released a puff of air as he comprehended the intricacy of the plot, which it appeared Ottar had come up with on very short notice once he understood that the treaty with Brega was dead. “You intend to put Leinster and Connaught at each other’s throats. We will bloody ourselves, while you sit by and watch.”
Helga whispered something in Ottar’s ear, and though he shook his head, he was listening to her.
Cait came forward from her place against the wall, emboldened, perhaps, by the presence of another woman in the room to whom the men were listening. “Why did you tell the ambassadors that Dublin wouldn’t give up the killer? Give them Holm, if that’s who you think killed the Bregans, and be done with it.”
Conall answered for Ottar. “It would show an unacceptable weakness, Cait. King Gilla believes Ottar to have ordered the deaths, so he asked for the culprit precisely because he knew Ottar couldn’t give him up, no matter who was guilty of the crime. It would be too great an offense to Dublin’s sovereignty.”
Cait scoffed. “So much for your new allies.”
But Godfrid gave a low whistle, as he finally understood what was really happening here. “All of you want war, but for different reasons, and each of you thought you could trick the other into it.”
Cait shook her head. “So that means King Diarmait shouldn’t come because then he will be at war with Connaught.”
“No, Cait,” Godfrid said. “That would play into Donnell’s hands as well, because he sees it as an even better way to gain the upper hand over his brother. He seeks—”
“—to conquer Dublin for himself.” Ottar’s voice was heavy. “Again I ask, will King Diarmait support us with an army?”
Conall could feel no sympathy for the man. “Not if you lead it.”
