Bui and Nas

Buí and Nás

The Chronicles of Guiamo Durmius Stolo

Book Five

By Marshall W. Best

Copyright 2018 Marshall W. Best

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Buí and Nás

Table of Contents

Chapter One 37 B.C.

Chapter Two 36 B.C.

Chapter Three 35 B.C.

Chapter Four 34 B.C.

Chapter Five 33 B.C.

Glossary

Chapter One - 37 B.C. Giamonios 29

Pregnant women who had been condemned to death were not executed until they had been delivered. The same law has also been enacted by many Greek states, since they held it entirely unjust that the innocent should suffer the same punishment as the guilty, that a penalty should be exacted of two for only one transgression, and further, that, since the crime had been actuated by an evil intention, a being as yet without intelligence should receive the same correction, and, what is the most important consideration, that in view of the fact that the guilt had been laid at the door of the pregnant mother it was by no means proper that the child, who belongs to the father as well as to the mother, should be dispatched;

Diodorus Siculus Book 1:77

The aging warrior eyed the light-haired youth with ice-cold, soul-piercing contempt. He drew close and glared at the boy with such venomous hatred that the young man closed his eyes in fear and turned his face away. The guard spoke in low, threatening tones that made the boy tremble. He described in specific gory detail what he would do to his legs, arms, face and heart for his unholy depredations if given but half a chance. The guard concluded by spitting into his face, and the young man began to sob convulsively.

A great ragged scar upon the guard’s left cheekbone ran across his mouth where a Fomori blade had hacked into his face a decade before. The line of ruined flesh was partially concealed by his forked beard now heavily streaked with gray. He had once been a proud warrior whose silver armband and heavy torque recalled to all his valor in battle, but on this day, his bravery gave way to brutality.

He made his way down the row of six bedraggled and humiliated prisoners. They were tied by the neck to a log that had been placed to the side of the via praetoria which ran north to south through the center of the longphort of Din-Gwrygon. As he passed by each prisoner, he adjusted the ropes, shortening them to force the four men and two women to bend miserably at the waist.

Humiliated by this awkward stance and with hands tied tightly behind their backs, their strength was tested to the limit. The oldest man soon began to groan and complain loudly, but the gathering crowd gave him no sympathy. His fatigued back muscles soon failed and he collapsed onto his knees in the mud, freshly wet from a springtime burst of rain. The powerfully built guard jabbed him in the left thigh with the point of his cruisech to goad him back to his feet. The prisoner winced in pain and glared up at him, cursing the guard under his breath.

The guard laughed cruelly and placed the sharpened edge of the spear blade under the exhausted man’s chin, applying enough pressure to force him to stand. The prisoner gasped as the iron sliced his chin open. Recoiling against the sting of pain, the man cursed sharply and scrambled quickly to regain his feet. A thin line of blood dribbled down his neck, witness to his tormentor’s cruel play.

A cluster of twenty-nine Druíde watched the guard’s abusive treatment without comment and, uncharacteristically, did nothing. Rather, they seemed to be as amused at the guard’s rough treatment as the two hundred villagers who had gathered to watch the proceedings. The commoners approved of the guard’s tormenting brutality for it was clearly evident that they had no love for the troublesome family of thieves. The vagabonds had made many enemies as they roamed the Cornov lands in search of easy victims and their next meal.

Standing anonymously in the closely pressed crowd, Guiamo scanned the array of white-robed holy men and women. He was clad in bright red-and-green plaid breeches and a sleeveless leather jerkin. He leaned upon an old bronze-tipped spear as a staff and no one paid him any attention. A deep hood on his weathered brown cloak, pulled over his head to keep off the rain, now served to conceal his face.

He was surprised to see that Abartach was not among the Druíde, for the elderly man he had once called friend would normally have presided over such criminal trials. Instead, Cermait, an accomplished, but self-serving Druí dominated the affair. Guiamo was surprised to see him here for Cermait’s power base lay in the support of Rí Túath Etarlám in the land of the Regni far to the east. Cermait’s appearance had not changed much over the years. He was as short as ever, but his beard had grown long and reached well below his waist, giving him the image of a peculiar, wise sage. Some purpose had drawn Cermait to Din-Gwrygon, but Guiamo was not unduly alarmed, for he knew that many changes should occur during his protracted absence.

Over the past ten years, Guiamo had visited his closest friends only infrequently, usually arriving in the darkness of late evening. He dearly missed his friends, but his higher responsibilities kept him apart. So focused, he had labored for ten years in his quest to overturn the deity of the hundreds of gods who were served by the various tribes in Gallia, Íath and Inisfáil. On those rare return visits, he sought to avoid attention from the Druíde who opposed him at every turn. His friends had no need to suffer their displeasure because of their wrath at him.

Guiamo wondered if Abartach, whose health had been declining over the past year, might have died in his absence. The thought haunted him, for he felt oddly conflicted. They had once been the closest of friends, and for that he felt he should have held a deeper concern for the welfare of his former mentor. Their relationship had been ruined by a sharp disagreement concerning the gods, and consummated by Guiamo’s steadfast refusal to heed the instructions of the Druí council. On that day, Guiamo had been removed from the holy order of the Druíde and any further instruction to him prohibited. The support he had once received from Abartach to counter the growing animosity against him among their order came to an abrupt halt. In the days that followed, there had been a degree of healing on a personal level but even this had faded until both recognized that their friendship was clearly ended.

Guiamo knew Cermait’s character well enough to know instinctively that something was amiss. Cermait was a man whose exceedingly short stature gave rise in his youth to continuous heckling from those who sought the life of a warrior. Rather than succumb to misery and failure at weapons play, he strove to best them by sharpening his intellect. Driven to rise above the adolescent rabble which openly mocked him, Cermait, in time, became one of the most discerning and insightful of the next generation of Druíde, but he learned also to thrive on the power his white robes brought him rather than the moral integrity his order sought, and so he was corrupted.

Standing at the center of attention in the crowded main street of Din-Gwrygon, Cermait displayed a smug self-assuredness even greater than Guiamo had observed when they had first met eighteen years before. On that day, Guiamo had been brought as a prisoner before Etarlám, rí túath of the Regni. Although Guiamo had served only as a hireling to care for Ursius’ pack of war dogs, he had been sentenced to death for helping Gaius Julius Caesar’s Seventh Legio despoil the land. Cermait himself had stepped forward with blade in hand to deliver the killing blow, and only with quick action had Guiamo been able to summon his god-made cruisech, Lúin, to defend himself. Two startled guards were killed outright and a third fled in terror. Suddenly finding the cruisech aimed menacingly at himself, Etarlám agreed to pardon him. As the tensions of the moment eased into peaceful acceptance of the young Roman, Etarlám gave Guiamo the similarly sounding, and particularly fitting name Cúmóro which meant both the great dog and the exile from the sea.

In the weeks that followed, Cermait taught Guiamo lessons of the Druíde, but always in the hopes of gleaning secrets from his young pupil that would give him advantage over the other Druíde. Guiamo had recognized Cermait’s one-sided intent and purposefully found reasons to distance himself. In time, their paths parted, but there remained ever after an unspoken, festering animosity between them.

As Guiamo stood among the crowd on the via praetoria with cruisech in hand, he observed Cermait’s self-aggrandizing mannerisms concerning the six prisoners. He realized that Cermait had not changed his self-serving ways in all those years. He had only gotten better at it.

A guard contingent of eight battle-seasoned warriors pushed its way gently, but firmly, through the gathering crowd. The Cornov tribal king, Rí Túath Ruadri followed, taking his stand opposite Cermait and the other Druíde. His hair was now gray-streaked and thinning, and he seemed more stern and care-worn than Guiamo had remembered when they had last met six years ago before. He came dressed in his battle armor, freshly sand-polished, his gold and silver torque proudly hung around his neck, and carried a belted claideb so as to emphasize his kingly authority that Cermait unabashedly disregarded. Even without words being spoken, Guiamo could sense a tense contest of wills between Cermait and Ruadri. Cermait stood with staff in hand and head held high with lordly dignity, his white robes falsely declaring the purity of his mind and actions. The other Druíde seemed to feed off his confidence and Cermait knew it.

Cermait ignored Ruadri’s arrival. Not wanting Ruadri to initiate the trial as was customary, Cermait preempted him by taking a half-step forward and calling out, "These men and women are brought to trial this day for they have committed crimes against the Cornov people, the holy order of the Druíde and the gods of our fathers."

Pointing dramatically to the burly warrior who guarded the six prisoners, he demanded, Declare their names that all may bear witness to their crimes!

The guard walked obediently down the line, roughly tapping each on the head with his cruisech as he called out their names, Toicthech, Sorchae, Gor-ingen, Fomaccáil, Scothglas, Nert.

Guiamo noted that Gor-ingen, the younger of the two women, standing third in the line of stooping prisoners, was actually quite beautiful. Her long red hair was unbound and fell about her head, concealing her freckled face most of the time. The man on her right was likely her husband for he spoke to her frequently in rough whispers. Guiamo then noticed her placing a hand against her belly which showed the bulge of early pregnancy. She was clearly frightened and sought comfort from him. She struggled to find hope where none could be found while the others displayed sad resignation to their fate.

Guiamo was pleased to observe that Cermait and the others had not recognized him standing in the crowd. He never had liked Cermait. The diminutive Druí was consumed by a most unholy ambitiousness, ever seeking recognition and craving authority and privilege. His slight against Ruadri was obvious. The rí túath was expected by custom to conduct the trial, with only the verdict and punishment remaining to be determined by the Druíde. Wondering how Cermait’s version of justice would unfold, Guiamo slowly made his way through the crowd to stand as closely to Ruadri as he was able, just to the right of the rí túath outside the protective circle of guards. He hoped to be able to counsel Ruadri in the event Cermait should further overstep his authority to Ruadri’s harm.

As Guiamo concentrated on the proceedings, Cermait began to enumerate aloud the crimes committed by the six prisoners. The formality of the trial seemed to be greater than what the crimes called for, petty theft in the market place, stealing harvest from the fields and an occasional goose or cow, and a wide variety of creatively unscrupulous trades. With these charges, Cermait described for the people a pattern of wicked deeds, meticulously building his case against them, and then the final charges were declared; the murder of one Bennachtach, a farmer of modest means, and three days later, a Druí, Úrgáeth, who lived in the same village as Bennachtach. The reason for the formal nature of the trial was now made clear to Guiamo; a Druí had been murdered.

At Cermait’s direction, a pimply-faced Druí youth laid a woven bag onto the damp ground. The encircling crowd grew quiet as he untied the drawstrings to reveal a fair quantity of silver and copper rings. The people gasped at such great wealth and shouted their anger at the prisoners, for it appeared to them to be the farmer’s life savings. The young man displayed the stolen items, dramatically running his fingers through the silver and copper rings, performing as Cermait had instructed him that morning.

Guiamo considered the case and recognized that a simple farmer would not likely possess so much wealth on his own right. Although Cermait had not declared it, Bennachtach was known to have been coimétaid for several decades to the goddess, Damara. He was a servant whose charge was to caretake over her earthly wealth, gathering offerings intended to bribe Damara to grant her favor, and spending it to enact the goddess’ will on earth.

The people understood intuitively that the farmer had been slain for the wealth, but few realized the silver belonged to Damara. An honorable Druí would have declared openly that the silver belonged to the goddess, and the people would have understood and heartily agreed to the harshest punishment. For his own unstated reasons, though, Cermait would not declare it.

Cermait displayed no interest in providing any reason the bandits might want to kill the Druí, Úrgáeth, and asked them no questions. He was content to let the people think that Bennachtach owned the silver personally and that the death of Úrgáeth was simply a random act of violence by the prisoners. Instead, he elaborated on the brutal details of each murder to fill the minds of the people with gory, ear tickling details so to distract them from the larger picture.

The crowd responded with revulsion as he had desired. He finally concluded his accusations by declaring that these six should be punished in a manner befitting their crime. The crowd showed their approval with nods and quiet voices, for though they hated the six for their crimes, there was a degree of sympathy for their plight for the harvest had been weak and many had likewise known hunger.

As Guiamo watched the trial progress, Cermait skipped past the phase where the six should give their defense. Guiamo was astonished that the prisoners were not allowed to speak on their own behalf. He had once experienced the wrath of the Bandruí Lannosea for this same breach of law. With Cermait’s depth of education, it was clear to Guiamo that this was not an oversight. Coupling this with his usurpation of Ruadri’s rightful handling of the trial, Guiamo knew that something more was at play in this case than what appeared on the surface.

The trail of clues, when filtered through his experiences concerning the Druíde and the ways of the gods, led him to discern how things had actually unfolded. The farmer, coimétaid to Damara, had for years attended diligently to her horde of wealth. Knowing this, one of the thieves had gone deceitfully to the farmer on the pretext of seeking the favors of the goddess, perhaps the pregnant woman seeking a safe childbirth.

Once her request had been made and the fee was paid to the coimétaid, she had departed, but Bennachtach was then followed by the others as he made his way to add the copper rings to the treasure stash buried somewhere nearby. Once Damara’s silver was revealed, the farmer was murdered and the goddess’ wealth stolen.

Such outrageous offense against the gods would have brought a swift and vengeful punishment upon the thieves by those who worshipped Damara, but the simple folk had not considered to whom the stolen wealth belonged. Even yet, the murder of a simple farmer, as the townsfolk understood, did not satisfactorily explain why Cermait so purposefully prevented the prisoners from speaking in their own defense. It was evident to Guiamo that Cermait was not so much concerned that Bennachtach had been robbed and slain, but that his death, in truth, was linked to the murder of the Druí, Úrgáeth, in a way the people did not consider. Cermait would not permit the truth to be revealed to the Pritana people. Instead, Cermait deflected, speaking instead of Úrgáeth’s death as the most unforgiveable act, pontificating about the great virtue of the holy Druíde and how such a heinous act must be greeted with swift and certain retribution.

As Cermait droned on, Guiamo pondered how the theft and the murder of Bennachtach might have been linked to Úrgáeth’s death.

Then it dawned on him. The Druí had discovered the murder and theft, and confronted the brigands. Úrgáeth had not been interested in bringing them to justice or in having them return the silver to the goddess, but rather, he tried to coerce them into turning over to him a portion of her wealth to buy his silence. In reply, the prisoners killed him despite the intensely powerful geis, or taboo, against harming even a hair upon the head of one of the holy Druíde.

Úrgáeth, whose holy order was considered beyond reproach since the time of their most ancient memories, had shown himself to be both a dishonorable thief against the gods and bribemonger. Sinking to the lowest moral depths, Úrgáeth had shown that, contrary to their teaching, even the holy order of the Druíde was vulnerable to corruption. This was the reason Cermait usurped control of the trial from Ruadri, and explained why he refused to allow the prisoners to give testimony. The power he sought through the unblemished reputation of their most revered institution was at stake. He was more interested in silencing their tongues to protect the tight grip held by the Druíde upon the Pritana than in simply punishing them for murder and stealing from the gods.

Guiamo knew the six were doomed and he felt much sympathy for them. Death was the customary punishment for such an egregious offense, and Cermait would see it through, for revealing what crime the corrupt Druí, Úrgáeth, had committed would undermine the authority of the Druíde and threaten everything that Cermait lived for. However, from his own unique perspective, Guiamo understood that the self-serving gods were themselves profoundly immoral, and used the destitute condition of the people to steal their wealth in exchange for such favors as suited their whims. There did not seem to be much reason to punish one thief for stealing from another, although he knew he could not use such an argument to defend the six. There was still the matter of the two murders that could not be ignored.

He looked at the prisoners. They were downcast for they knew their end was at hand, and the women began to weep. His sympathies fell to the impoverished family and not to the goddess who had been offended. Further, it grated at him that Cermait’s twisted scheme to conceal the true scenario was going to succeed.

As Guiamo considered their plight, his thoughts turned to the pregnant woman’s unborn child. It turned his stomach as he considered her unfortunate state. He could not save them, but he knew intuitively what he must do. Speaking just loudly enough for Ruadri to hear, he said, Six are guilty, but seven are being punished. Where is the justice in this?

Ruadri heard the comment and turned to glance at the unexpected protester. He saw a youth with a thin, but unusually long brown beard standing hooded in a worn and tattered cloak just behind one guard. His eyes widened as he recognized his long-absent friend, and exclaimed softly, Mórlános!

Guiamo asked gruffly, Does it not offend you that Cermait rules so arrogantly in your land without your leave or counsel?

Yes, it does, Ruadri replied with a growl. He stepped closer and asked, But what is to be done?

Guiamo asked, "Would you not desire to find an honorable way to show Cermait to be unjust in his rulings as he has demonstrated today, and diminish his standing among your people and his fellows? There are others among the Druíde who should have greater influence than he. Why is he here? He should be returned to serve Rí Túath Etarlám."

Ruadri answered, "He came here uninvited when Abartach died, seeking his honored role. He has been a plague to me since he arrived, but I have no standing with the Druíde to tell any of them to come or go."

Saddened by the disturbing confirmation of Abartach’s death, Guiamo offered, Consider now the woman with the red hair. She is with child. Can you not see this?

Ruadri turned to look at the prisoners and answered, "Yes, her belly protrudes from childbearing, though the way her brat hangs while she stands so makes it difficult to see."

Guiamo observed, "The laws of the Druíde do give consideration to the worth of a child still being knit in its mother’s womb, for the property of the father who dies is given to the child when it is born, if he be a son, in equal portions to his brothers. Surely you already know this."

I had not considered it, but what you say is true, Ruadri answered. Yet, the situation before me is different. We do not judge an inheritance dispute today, but the killing of a child who has done no wrong.

Guiamo said, "The Druíde acknowledge the necessity of protecting an unborn son’s inheritance. How much more so must we weigh the value of that child’s very life? The ancient laws of the Druíde are incomplete and allow for a grievous injustice. This must be addressed."

Ruadri asked, Why do you not speak of this to Cermait?

I must not speak, Guiamo replied. "Cermait would not hear me and I would be but a distraction. See now, you are the rí túath and it is your authority that is being challenged. Take this cause to find mercy for the child, for the babe is innocent of these crimes."

Ruadri nodded in agreement and stepped forward to speak against Cermait’s ruling. The crowd respected Ruadri and turned their attention away from Cermait’s droning address. Cermait was visibly taken aback at the intrusion and sputtered as Ruadri boldly interrupted his speechmaking to openly challenge him.

Six I see here who are guilty of these crimes, Ruadri loudly declared, "yet seven are to be put to death to answer for them. Where, Druí, is the justice in this?"

Cermait was clearly confused, and he looked about as the crowd murmured at Ruadri’s declaration. In reply, he scolded, "What is this? Bide your peace! The holy Druíde judge here, Ruadri, not you!"

Ruadri was not put off and boldly challenged, You have not answered my question! What justice is there in killing seven?

Cermait grew wary and asked, Who is the seventh you speak of?

Ruadri walked directly to the red-haired woman, drew his long-handled bullock knife from his waist belt and cut her neck binding. He motioned for the frightened woman to stand upright. As she obeyed, he placed his left hand on her belly and turned to address the curious crowd. When he had their full attention, he said, "Do the Druíde here today not value every child as your laws proclaim?"

Yes, Cermait stammered with annoyance. What is your point?

Ruadri answered, "Then this child must fall under the protection of the Druíde."

Cermait dismissed Ruadri’s comment, The woman is guilty of murder and theft. She must die with the others.

Ruadri asked, And so you will kill her innocent child as well?

She must die! Cermait insisted. If her child dies with her, it is upon her head.

The crowd grew astonished at his cold-hearted reply and began to murmur against him. There were many women in the audience and their revulsion at the thought of the precious unborn perishing for the mother’s crimes was clearly evident.

Ruadri drew himself up as a sage of old and said, The woman provides nourishment to the babe and a home to reside within while it grows, but the child is not a part of the woman’s body. Its mind is its own and its life is its own.

With a commanding presence, Ruadri continued, Yes, this woman must die, but her child has committed no crime. Such a punishment upon the innocent would make you guilty of murder, Cermait. She must die, but not until after her child is born.

Flustered and embarrassed at his humiliation before the people, Cermait could find no words to counter Ruadri’s logic.

With an accusatory tone in his voice, Ruadri added, Or are you so perverted and vile that you find joy and satisfaction in slaying the most helpless among us?

Fearful of being accused of murder, Cermait reluctantly acquiesced. Still, his pride would not let him give Ruadri the victor and he declared, You will take this child as your own responsibility and as one of your own household. He then spitefully added, And the woman will be slain by your own hand when she is delivered of this child.

The people saw the cruelty in Cermait’s heart and his proud, petty nature. They murmured angrily against him and for the first time, Guiamo saw him falter.

Suddenly fearful for his own safety, Cermait hastily concluded the trial, proclaiming, "So the Druíde have judged." He turned abruptly and departed with his embarrassed entourage of Druíde trailing obediently, if reluctantly, behind.

Having declared his final judgment, Cermait left the responsibility of execution to Rí Túath Ruadri. The muscular guard was given the bloody task, and he accepted his grim task without hesitation or mercy. He walked down the line of bound prisoners and tightly grasped each in turn by the hair of their head. With a quick motion, he slit their throats and released them to bleed out on the ground. Only Gor-ingen was spared. She was led to a building where she would be held until the day her child would be born.

She wept for her husband and cousins, but as she was led away, she turned appreciatively to Ruadri and shouted, I thank you, lord, for the life of my child!

Ruadri heard her desperate words and nodded back in solemn acknowledgement.

As the blood-sated crowd dispersed, Ruadri returned to Guiamo who waited patiently and unnoticed. Long have you been away, my friend, he said.

Too long, Ruadri. Far too long, Guiamo answered. Six years, I think, since last we spoke.

Taking Guiamo inside where they could sit together and speak in private, Ruadri asked, Mórlános, what brings you back to Din-Gwrygon at this bloody hour?

Guiamo replied, I have missed the company of my dearest friends. I have decided to return to dwell in Din-Gwrygon.

Ruadri snorted and said, You have chosen a poor time for a happy reunion of friends. This trial is but one example of Cermait’s heavy-handed overlording.

Guiamo looked intensely in Ruadri’s eyes, and declared emphatically, Cermait must go. You know this.

Ruadri replied, "Cermait has many allies who would disagree with you. He may be a damnable cockerel, but his reputation as a learned man is unmatched and he is a much sought-after teacher. Some call him Milbél meaning ‘Honey Mouth,’ for his mastery of choice, sweet words he uses when he lectures. My own daughter, Buí, has joined the order of the Druíde to become one of his seven pupils. I must admit, she has learned much under his tutelage."

Guiamo observed, "The mind of a disciple is a great empty flagon that greedily drinks in without question everything the master pours into it. The teacher has more influence on the young mind than the parents, for their experience and wisdom is soon cast away as the ramblings of foolishness. As you know, a prophet is honored in each place he travels but he is not so well regarded in his own home or city, for that which is familiar is considered mundane and he is regarded by those closest to him as possessing nothing noteworthy to be treasured. How much less is the father regarded by the child if he be merely a tiller of the soil or simply a worker of some other common labor? And so the teacher who brings a tantalizing new philosophy, no matter how foolish or wicked, is accepted by the young disciple as possessing a higher, even secret knowledge above all else they had been taught, and so they are easily corrupted.

"You must consider that there is more to lessons than the words the master speaks. Cermait’s self-serving actions teach your daughter as well. Men like him will raise up a new generation of Druíde of his ilk, proud and arrogant. Find her a new teacher before you lose her."

Curious about Ruadri’s family, Guiamo asked, How old are your daughters, Buí and Nás?

Ruadri answered, Fifteen years. It has been fifteen years since you rescued them yet unborn from the fires of Temair’s destruction. It is a joy to see them learning at Téite’s knee.

Guiamo observed, So old? I should have thought they would have been married by now.

Ruadri replied, "Nás desires a husband, but Buí has committed nineteen years to the Druíde. They are both handsome girls, Nás with her bold red locks and gentle Buí with hair as beautiful as falling snow. In her white Bandruí brat, she looks as fair and pure as a goddess. Now Nás has a different temperament than Buí, seeking to play the role of temptress. In this, she is much like her mother."

I would like very much to see them both, Guiamo said politely. It has been far too long a time since I saw your family. Tell me, are your boys well?

Ruadri grew sad and replied, Múcnaos and Sirsan both fell ill with a fever two years ago. Sirsan recovered with difficulty and is much changed, but Múcnaos was not so strong and so he died. My third son, Feraid, is much like Múcnaos in appearance and temperament. For it, he brings us both joy and sorrow.

The difficult news pierced Guiamo to his core. He replied softly, I had not been told. I am so sorry for his death.

That is the way of this world, Ruadri observed gravely. The god, Donn, visits us with death all too often and so our lives are made miserable to please him. Much has changed in the past six years. But you, Mórlános, you have not changed so much.

Guiamo’s thoughts turned to his difficult, but successful struggle to overturn the deity of Donn four years earlier in a remote and mountainous region of Aladlas. There was no reason to brag that Donn would not be returning again, for even without the god’s interference in the world of men, death would remain a daily occurrence among the inhabitants of Gavatna. Guiamo knew that such words would not be a healing balm to bring Ruadri either joy or comfort. Such a foolish statement would serve only to sting Ruadri yet again. Instead, Guiamo merely observed, I have seen much wickedness and endured great hardship these past years, but of these I will not speak.

Ruadri looked at Guiamo with a curious eye. It does not show on your countenance. He scrutinized Guiamo’s appearance, and said, You look well indeed, Mórlános. Health and youthfulness seem to hover over you. He grew somber again, even wearied, and said, Perhaps you will not look so when you have reached your fifty-sixth year and have lost a child or two as I have. You have retained your youthful vigor, but I can see you have matured.

In what way? Guiamo asked.

Ruadri replied, Your words are less hurried and more deliberate, your eyes, steadfast.

I feel the same, but I carry heavier burdens, Guiamo said. "I will not say what my work has been these past ten years, but it has been meaningful and worth my while. Such labor has given me a new depth of understanding far beyond any Druí lore. But I know little enough of the happenings in Íath. I know more of the affairs of the Cruthin than of the Pritana. Tell me of Íath. What has transpired these past years?"

Ruadri asked, What things of significance do you already know?

Guiamo replied, A couple of years ago, Ursius told me somewhat of a dispute between the merchants of the Dubun and Sílo that had led to a murder and the wholesale slaughter of a village in reprisal.

Ruadri elaborated, "The village Ursius described was but a simple Sílo farmstead of two families living near the border. The dispute would likely have died with them, but one woman who was slain was cousin to Rí Túath Núallach of the Silo people, and the man who led the attack was Soim, the brother of the Dubun rí túath, Antedrigos. So the dispute is not so much between the common folk, but between the noble houses.

"The Sílo tribe are few in numbers and, though they are, as a people, easily bullied, individually, they have learned ways to make their revenge upon those who would oppress them. Soim was killed in reprisal within the week when the barn he slept in was burned to the ground.

"These events soon passed out of remembrance by the commoners for such offenses are considered their miserable lot in life, but Antedrigos would not forget. He paused for many months to lull Núallach into thinking that with Soim’s death, things were set to right, even sending gifts to Núallach to honor the holy days as had been their custom. The death of Soim haunted Antedrigos, and he vowed privately to strike hard when the time was most advantageous to him.

"For two years, he waited. Late last year, in the month of Aedrinios, when the moon was full and the night winds brought relief from the heat of the day, Antedrigos sent men to agitate the Sílo once again. The two tribes clashed across a broad stream and blood flowed freely, turning the waters red. This was followed by a series of minor raids by both tribes along the border. The Sílo received the worst of it, but Rí Túath Antedrigos wanted to use this as a pretext to justify wholesale slaughter. I had hoped the winter would cool their tempers, but early this year in the month of Cutios, Antedrigos gathered his slóg to end it at once and for all time.

"He knew the slóg of the Sílo would be woefully small and so Antedrigos invaded along a broad front, burning all in his path. His men were encouraged by the promises he made of certain victory, and mercy was shown to neither stooped, grayed head nor suckling babe. At last espying Núallach’s tiny slóg of only a few hundred farmers, Antedrigos advanced boldly across a vast meadow to make his slaughter. The Sílo stood in pitiful battle array and poorly placed just in front of a great forest, which pleased Antedrigos greatly for he knew the trees would block any retreat and their defeat would be assured.

"As the Dubun slóg drew near with voices raised in songs of slaughter, the banners of the Belga, Demeta, Damnon and Durotrige tribes suddenly issued forth from hiding in the forest. At this signal, a great host of men rose to their feet from their places of concealment in the tall growth of the meadow. As one, they began to drum their claidib against their bocóit, and the heart of Antedrigos melted and his knees shook in fear. The cairptiu of the five túatha that had been concealed in the forest drove out suddenly from on his right flank and a great host of horsemen on his left.

"Antedrigos’ men immediately saw they were overmatched and fled at once in panic. The great slóg of the five rígrad had many cairptiu, most outfitted with scythe blades upon the wheels. There was no place of concealment for a great distance and the meadow ground was dried hard and flat, making it easy for the cairptiu and horsemen to make their slaughter. Most of the Dubun men were cut down by the cairptiu in the merciless pursuit that followed, and Antedrigos and his three sons were killed as well.

"Few indeed have returned home to tell the dreadful tale. With their slóg annihilated, the Dubun lands became ripe for picking and the five rígrad túatha have made the most brutal use of this opportunity. All the land is laid waste.

"Eager to destroy their rivals, Núallach’s men brutalized the Dubun people. Their sole town of Borg Corin was burned to the ground. All its foodstuffs and animals were taken. They took as slaves any they chose and all who resisted were slain cruelly. The land is nigh empty. Those who could, hid, and even today they conceal themselves as well as they can, scratching a living off the land. Many of the babes have perished miserably, both by the sword and from starvation. Mórlános, it is the wickedest deed done in Íath by men upon other men. The desolation is as if the Fomori orc lords have returned."

Aghast at the unchecked slaughter, Guiamo asked, Is there anyone to rally the Dubun people for their own defense?

"There is one, Eísubre, who is doing what he can. He is Antedrigos’ nephew, a bull of a man with the hot and prideful temperament of his uncle. He is trying desperately to forge alliances with the Ordwik and Aittreb to support him in his bid for the Dubun crown, but they seem reluctant for fear of the might of the five túatha. He has little enough wealth to enable him to bribe them effectively. With no other as strong as he or daring enough to face five túatha at once, Eísubre will surely be unopposed for the Sílo throne by any serious contenders."

What value is a crown upon your brow, Guiamo observed skeptically, if your head is to be lopped off for wearing it?

Ruadri answered, "He has the wit to recognize that his own people cannot oppose five rígrad túatha on their own strength, so he is trying his best to form alliances whatever the cost. Without help from other rígrad, he is sure to fail."

Disturbed by the enormous challenge facing the Dubun tribe to merely exist as a people, Guiamo asked, Is he wise enough to seek a peace if he should not gain the alliances he seeks?

Ruadri’s answer sent chills through Guiamo’s veins, No, he will fight without regard to cost. He is a brute by nature, without a hint of conscience or mercy, and driven for revenge. His reign will bring blood to every tribe he can inflict himself upon, and likely death to himself and most of his people. Anticipate his reign to be violent and short-lived.

And after him? Guiamo asked.

Ruadri observed, "I would lay my bet on either Comuxios or Cattios to succeed him. They are cousins on his mother’s side. Comuxios and Cattios are brothers, but by different mothers. There may be a ray of hope for the Dubun people for Cattios’ mother is sister to Allód, rí túath of the Durotrige, and her son may find favor with him."

Guiamo interjected, For a price.

Ruadri agreed, Of course. Allód is no fool and he will bargain Cattios landless if he can.

Guiamo said, "But perhaps with Cattios and Comuxios, the region will stabilize. They are only distant kin to Antedrigos, and Núallach will withhold his claideb as the crown moves to another. Núallach is a clever schemer, and he may even now see how things will unfold as do you. He may even prefer to deal with the youthful Cattios rather than Eísubre."

Ruadri said, "Indeed, but