Galloglass Book VI: Judicia Dei

By Seamus O'Griffin

The saga continues. Ulster is in chaos as clans scramble in late thirteenth century Ireland to hire galloglass to advance their own ambitions and thwart the advance of the ever-encroaching English. Amidst the struggle for power and control Ronan MacAlasdair follows a path of slaughter and destruction to fulfill his destiny and complete his vow of revenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seamus O'Griffin
• Release date: Jun 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215135679

Seamus O'Griffin

Born; Pittsburgh Pennsylvania -1957 Married 2 children

Book preview

GALLOGLASS: BOOK VI

Judicia Dei

Seamus O'Griffin

Copyright © 2023 Seamus O'Griffin

All rights reserved.

Contents

Prologue: The Monastery at Bangor

Book One: It is a long road that has no turning.

I: Ulster / Islay

II: Tír Eoghain

III: Tír Eoghain / Bréifne

IV: West Bréifne

V: Bréifne

VI: West Bréifne

VII: West Bréifne

VIII: East Bréifne

IX: West Bréifne

X: Lough Scur

XI: The Fort on the Lough

XII: Béal Tairbirt

Book II: Need teaches a plan.

XIII: Ulster / Uladh

XIV: Bangor

XV: The Castle of Ard Cuan

XVI: Ard Mhacha

XVII: East Bréifne

XVIII: Magh Slécht

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Irish Words and Phrases / English Translation

Locations – Irish / English

Prologue

The Monastery at Bangor

1328

I awoke this morning to the sound of rain and the rumble of thunder. The smell of the sea from the nearby lough filled my cell and made me wish for the rolling deck of a MacDonald galley and a good crew of hard men. Unfortunately, I am old now, and those days are lost to me. The pain deep in my bowels tells me that soon I will be standing before God and answering for all the blood I have on these hands. As ye sow, so shall ye reap. The words echo within my head. I have heard them often enough throughout my life. They are unfailingly true.

I am no coward. I have never denied my sins and in these, the waning days of my life, I won’t now. There is no hiding from God, nor His retribution. I can only stand before Him and be judged, content in the knowledge of His wisdom and mercy. Strange words perhaps from such a killer of men. God knows I have killed so many. It is not a boast; simply a statement of fact.

Perhaps you are surprised that I am a Believer. You should not be. How else do you explain a bastard’s rise from outlaw to lay brother of the Order of Knights Templar, then on to Knight and Turcopole and bodyguard of Grandmasters? Yet, my good fortune did not end there in Outremer. I survived the greatest siege in history only to leave the Temple with my reputation intact, a good horse beneath me, and armor on my back. I returned to Islay, made amends, and was welcomed once again into my clan and the good graces of my father. I rose from a mere galloglass to Constable of the MacDonald to leader of my own clan. I would be a fool to think God did not have a hand in this. Certainly, He has been by my side. Am I not the survivor of countless battles, sieges, skirmishes, duels, assassinations, and simple tavern brawls? How is that possible?

Now, with time to contemplate the twists and turns of my life, I am aware of two certainties. They have been taught to me through hard lessons written in much blood. The first is "Inscrutabilia sunt judicia Dei. The judgments of God are inscrutable. The second is Esto fidelis usque ad mortem et dabo tibi coronam vitae." Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life. Those two ideas were, and still are, the pillars of my life.

The wind has shifted. The rain has eased. The bells for Matins are ringing. Soon I will hear the brothers raising their voices to God, and another day will begin here in the monastery. Whatever they have been putting in my food and drink has done much to ease my pain. I can move about, and today I believe I will leave my cell and walk to the cloisters to sit and watch the coming of dawn.

I pour myself a cup of wine, laced with the tears of the poppy, from the pitcher near my cot and drain it. By the time I drape the plain habit given to me on my arrival, I can feel my morning pain drifting away. Moments later, I find myself sitting on a low wall beneath the cloisters that connects the dormitory to the church. It is here that I watch the coming of dawn as the rain drifts away and the sun rises. Here Cathal, Abbot of Bangor, my friend and sometime confessor, finds me. Ronan, shouldn’t you be resting? he asks.

I see the concern on his face and smile. I’m not dead yet. Soon enough I’ll be unable to get off my cot. Allow me this small pleasure, my friend.

He nods and sits down on the low stone wall across from me. Shall I send Brother Cormac again today?

Yes, I nod. I fear time is short, and I still have a great deal to tell.

He nods in acceptance. After a few moments’ pause, he speaks. We have had word from the king.

I smile and ask, Which one? Ireland is full of self-styled kings.

Cathal sighs. Sometimes my petulance annoys him. Éinri Mac Brian.

And what does that sorry bastard want? I ask.

I should imagine, proof that you are on your death bed, he grins.

Well, he will just have to wait a wee bit for that pleasure. I’m not ready just yet, I grimace.

Does that mean you will see him?

I laugh at the question. Of course. Send word and I’ll receive him in the yard. That should upset His Lordship.

Cathal laughs with me and then we sit for a time in companionable silence. Shouldn’t you be at Mass? I ask.

You know, I could ask the same of you, he responds.

But you won’t because you don’t want to hear my answer, I say.

Stubborn as a bull, you are, Ronan MacAlasdair.

I nod my head. Aye and too late to change. After another pause, I ask, Is there a monk here who once was a soldier?

Cathal looks up and catches my eye. There are several, why?

I’ll be needing help getting into my armor.

His eyes widen in surprise. I can tell he wants to object. By way of explanation, I say, I’ll not be meeting the O’Neill in my habit. The little shite already thinks he’s more important than he is. I’ll not be adding to that notion.

"He’s the King of Tír Eoghain, Ronan," says Cathal reasonably.

Aye because the MacDonald approved his succession after Domhnall O’Neill died without an heir, and no one wanted another civil war with the line of Aodh Buidhe. He’s not fit to hold Domhnall’s piss pot, I snarl.

Then why meet him if you think so little of the man?

I look off through the cloisters to the orchards beyond. I would know what he is up to. He’s not coming here out of any concern for me. He is a weasel, and it is my experience that weasels are thieves. So, that begs the question, what is he coming to steal, doesn’t it?

Cathal doesn’t respond. He knows I’m right. The sun is now shining. In the distance I can hear the faint rumble of thunder. I stand and say, When Brother Cormac finishes with his daily office, I’ll be ready to continue.

Cathal nods. How far did you get, yesterday?

The death of Alasdair Og and my wife, Sorcha, I answer, both of whose memories, now reawakened, are raw and painful.

A hard time, that.

I swallow the painful lump in my throat and answer with a simple, Aye.

Cathal stands and says, Mass will soon be over. I’ll send the good brother along with something for you to eat. I’ll let you know when the king arrives.

He pats my shoulder as I shuffle past and return to my cell. Within the hour, Brother Cormac arrives carrying a small sack of bread and cheese along with a beautiful, carved wooden box that holds his quills and inks. The little monk eyes me cautiously. I make him nervous and, truth to tell, that is my fault, having threatened to gut him on more than one occasion.

My lord, you look well today, he lies as he places the food on a small table near my cot.

I grunt a response and watch as he busies himself setting up his writing desk and arranging his utensils for another day of copying. I find my eating knife among my possessions and pick up a hunk of cheese from the table. Stripping a few pieces from the block, I nibble on them, letting the strong taste fill my mouth.

After a time, Cormac settles himself and turns to me. Whenever you are ready, lord?

I sit on my cot and place my back against the rough wall of my cell. I can still smell the lough, but its tang is much diminished now that the rain has passed. I settle for a few moments and let my mind drift away, back to a time when I was a lord, a lord of war.

Book One

It is a long road that has no turning.

Irish Proverb

I

Ulster / Islay

Summer 1299

Tír Eoghain is beautiful in early summer. Blue skies and an occasional soft rain ripen the grain in the fields, cattle and sheep grow fat on the rich grass of the land, wildflowers are abundant and bloom in chaotic splendor. To see it is to understand why men fight over it so. Yet I noticed poor little of its wonders, and for good reason. Nearly a month had passed since the death of my father, Alasdair Óg MacDonald, Lord of Islay and Kintyre, Chief of Clan Donald. My father had been ambushed north of Ráth Mealtain by the MacDougal and their allies, the O’Donnell and the Mac Sweeney, near the shores of Loch Swilly. His forces had been crushed, massacred, and I was too late to the field to stop it. In the ensuing retreat, I lost two of my companions, Francesco Contarini, who we all called Rizzo, and my friend and personal guard Duncan MacRuari. Worst of all, when I returned to our home at Cnoc an Cloiche, I found that my wife Sorcha had died in childbirth. The losses, coming one after the other, were almost more than I could bare.

My companions did what they could to console me. The MacDonald of Cnoc an Cloiche saw that my children were cared for, but I was grief stricken to the point that I could barely eat or care for myself. I stayed drunk for weeks at a time, quarreled with everyone, especially my friends, and generally made a complete ass of myself. I even fought with Sir Angelo, who thoroughly beat me senseless with a wooden waster. When I awoke from having been knocked unconscious, I had the good sense to beg his forgiveness. He had the graciousness of a true gentleman and accepted.

I should have learned from that but, of course, I did not. They say you do not begin to heal yourself until you are truly ready. I suppose that is true. I returned to drinking and was in the middle of a three-day revel when I heard the door to my cottage open. It was evening. Through the window of my room, I could see a purpled sky slowly giving way to the twilight that passed for summer darkness in these lands. Go away! I called, thinking it was probably Ludger, my priest, come to check on me.

A lifetime in arms is, at times, a blessing. I looked up from my bed in my bleary-eyed state and noticed someone I did not recognize coming through the door, cold steel flashing in his hand. The Mac Sweeney send you greetings!

I rolled clumsily as a dagger came down, just missing my face, and went into the mattress by my head. My right hand went up at once and found my attacker’s throat while my left struggled to trap his wrist before he could bring the blade down again. My attacker headbutted me, making bright lights shoot across my already blurred vision, but I wouldn’t let go, and we rolled to the floor.

Landing on my side, I jammed a knee into his groin to give me space as he tried to get a purchase on the fingers that were digging into his throat. We continued to roll and thrash about on the floor, neither gaining an advantage, until I somehow let go of his throat and got both my hands on the wrist that held the dagger. He immediately hammered a fist into my face, but I didn’t let go. Coming up on a knee, I rotated and dragged his arm over my shoulder so that his palm was facing upward. I pulled down and there was a sharp crack as his elbow gave way. He screamed in agony, flopping across the floor in a spasmodic fit of pain. Looking about, I spotted one of my jugs of uisce beatha rolling about near my bed. I picked it up, stepped over to where he was trying to climb to his feet, and caved his head in, losing some fine whiskey in the process.

Exhausted and sucking wind into burning lungs, I staggered over to the window and hung my head out, voiding the contents of a day’s drinking onto the ground beyond. I retched and retched until I cramped and then retched some more. Eventually I fell to my knees and passed out, slumped against the wall of my bedroom.

My priest found me the next morning. I had left my attacker lying in my bedroom and was sitting, staring into the hearth fire, sipping a jug of uisce beatha, when Ludger entered calling my name. Ronan. Lord, there is someone here to speak with you.

Without looking up, I said, Tell them to go away.

I don’t believe he can, said Ludger, touching my shoulder.

I turned and saw the towering figure of Dáithí an Dubh standing inside my doorway. Dáithí was Angus Óg’s bodyguard, and if he was here, that could only mean one thing: my tenure as Tánaiste of Clan MacDonald was at an end. The ravens are already circling, I snarled. Have you too come to kill me, Dáithí?

The big warrior stared at me for what seemed an awfully long time and then shook his head, his mail clinking as he did so. No. I’m to bring you back to Finlaggan. The council and your uncle would speak to you.

I set the jug of liquor down beside my stool, stood, and turned to face the warrior. He was a good head taller than I and thicker, and I’m not a small man. I spat over my shoulder into the fire, making it hiss and pop. I stared at him a moment and smiled. Not that you could, mind you.

Angus Óg’s bodyguard shrugged, unconcerned, a look of contempt crossing his face.

Mother of God! What happened here? called Ludger from the bedroom as he spotted the corpse against the wall.

I watched the big man’s eyes. They never left my face. They were shining, and there was no fear in them. I knew then Dáithí believed he could kill me. His attitude reeked of violence and death, and I could see he was as unconcerned with the corpse in the adjacent room as I was.

Someone came to kill me last night, I called, holding Dáithí’s eyes. It ended badly for him.

Dáithí broke eye contact and rotated his head to look through the doorway into the bedroom. After a pause, a smile crossed his face. Turning back, he said to me, Must have been difficult. You look like shite.

Ah, but I’m thinking I look better than he does, I said, hooking my thumb at the corpse. I leaned against the hearth and said, Go to the hall, Dáithí. They will feed you and put you up for the night. We can leave in the morning.

He stared at me for a long moment. I supposed he was trying to decide if I was lying. He nodded after a time and ducked back through the doorway, his mail continuing to jingle as he walked. I stared out into the yard and watched his back until he turned out of my sight.

Who in God’s name is that? asked Ludger, concern in his voice. Why haven’t you called for help? Are you hurt?

That was my uncle’s bodyguard, come to fetch me home. I shrugged my shoulders. I would assume I am being called to task for the death of my father and his men, I replied.

Meaning what?

I smiled at my friend and confessor. Meaning I am now in disgrace.

They blame you for the MacDougal? he asked, surprised.

The council only hears what Angus tells them. My uncle will use this to remove me as Tánaiste of the MacDonald. Given my past, he may try to declare me guilty of the crime of patricide. With enough support, he could have me declared outlaw once again, perhaps executed. Angus means to be Lord of Islay. He sees me as a threat, and he will take no chances. He is going to make sure I cause no trouble. I walked over to my jug and snatched it up off the floor, taking a long, hard pull and then tossed it out the door into the yard. I turned back to Ludger and said, If you would, find Sir Andre, Sir Denis, and Sir Angelo. Tell them to gather my retinue together and let them know we will be making a little trip. I believe I’ll be needing support when I get to Finlaggan. Besides, it wouldn’t do for Dáithí to slip a knife in my back on the journey home, when I’m not looking.

Ludger nodded. What of the brothers? They will ask to come, and I would like to go as well.

I turned back to my old friend and grasped him by the shoulder. I was hoping you would; and yes, make sure Cadoc and Bleddyn join us as well. You never know when we might need a good bowman.

Ludger patted my hand. Thank you, lord. I’ll find some kerns to get rid of the body. Do you know who he is?

I shook my head. No idea, but I know who sent him. It was the Mac Sweeney. I checked his purse. Someone paid him in silver, good English silver.

You are sure of this?

My assassin said so himself just as he tried to dagger me. The coins in his purse are Longshanks’ groats and pennies. Look for yourself.

Ludger lifted the purse off a nearby table and then weighed it in his hands. Who has the means to pay someone with this much coin?

I shrugged. A papal envoy, perhaps?

Orsini? he gasped. How would he know to hire Mac Sweeney. It’s been, what, five years since last we dealt with him?

Who else? The Cardinal has a long memory, and the Mac Sweeney probably saw it as an opportunity to finish what they started with my father, I replied.

There will be more then, said Ludger.

Again, I shrugged. Perhaps. No time to worry about that now. Get some kerns. Carry him down to the village and see if anyone recognizes him. If not, bury him.

The priest crossed himself and then left me. I could think of no one else who would send an assassin besides Orsini. The Cardinal and I had a long history. My killing of his Inquisitor and then his nephew, whom he sent to challenge me in a trial by combat five years ago, had made this vendetta against me personal, at least to him. I was sure this would not be the last attempt he would make on my life. Nor would he be the only one to attempt such a thing. It was a reality that came with being a constable of galloglass.

Eilit, my wife’s former servant, appeared and took me away from my thoughts. She knocked on the doorframe and stepped inside. Clucking her tongue, she swept into the cottage and immediately went to the hearth and began poking the fire. Have you eaten, lord?

I can’t remember, I answered.

Ah, that won’t do now. Not at all, not at all, she quipped as she produced a linen bag and began pulling food from it. Within minutes she handed me a plate of hard cheese, dried venison, and slices of freshly baked bread slathered in butter. The sight of it made my insides twist, but I forced myself to eat and soon felt better.

When I had finished, she said, I have the boys. I’ll keep them as long as you need me to.

It’s a fine woman, you are. You’ve been a great help, and I am afraid I have been less than kind, I said, trying to make amends for my rotten behavior over the past weeks since Sorcha’s death.

The little woman smiled and bobbed her head. Tis nothing. You and Lady Sorcha have been more than kind. You took me in, made me a part of your household, gave me position and respect. It is the least I can do, lord.

I nodded in appreciation and then said, In the morning, I’ll be returning to Islay. If for some reason I cannot come back, the children are to be given to Eoughan MacRuari. He’ll know what to do.

Eilit bobbed her head. Of course, lord.

I watched the poor girl for a time and realized she had finally noticed the corpse in my bedroom. I could tell she wished to tell me something but was shocked by the violence. Using a tone of voice, I usually reserved for my children, I asked, Eilit, do you have something you wish to say to me?

She smiled nervously and swallowed before speaking, I don’t have Lady Sorcha’s sight, lord, but I know you will be back. I also know you are a good man at heart. I’ll see to the children, lord. They will be fine. With that weight off her chest, she smiled and cleaned up after me, letting herself out of the cottage when she was through. I followed her out and sat on the bench beside the door to watch the sun set. The heat of the day was gone. There was a storm coming. I could smell it on the wind, and it made the early evening cool.

Having tossed away my jug, I sat nursing a skin of ale, enjoying the growing gloom. I heard Eoughan before I saw him. The MacRuari was a big man, and his heavy tread was noticeable coming down the lane from the fortress. He came on, feet stomping a rhythm, and his voice carried for at least fifty yards. And why is it, you little shite, that you’re not asking me to go with you to Islay?

I waited for him to appear out of the deepening gloom. "Dia duit to you as well," I grinned.

He continued closer until he towered above me, hands on his hips. Eoughan was one of my oldest friends. We met in Outremer before the fall of Acre, and we had been as close as brothers ever since. There was a history of shared suffering and slaughter between us, a bond not to be broken. He understood me as few could. Got your mouth off that jug, I see. ‘Bout time.

I ignored his comment and answered his question. I thought Domhnall O’Neill would need you here.

Eoughan spat. "Christ’s bones, Ronan, he’s surrounded by three corrughadh of MacDonald galloglass. He’s safer than the fucking King of England."

I smiled at that and patted the bench. Come, have a seat. It’s good to see you, brother.

He grinned at me. It’s good to have you back. Had us worried you did.

I handed him the skin and said, It was time. The dead, they’re not coming back.

The big man sat, and the bench groaned from the weight of both of us. He sighed and squirted half the skin down his throat before smacking his lips. Lifting one of his great hams, he passed wind and said, No, boyo, they aren’t. He waited a time and continued. You know, me brother loved you. He died doing what he wanted, and that was serving you.

I shook my head. I should have known. It was all too easy. The O’Breslin told me what I wanted to hear.

Eoughan sat back and leaned his great head against the wall of the cottage. And if he did? Hell, Ronan, as commanders we all make mistakes. Based on the knowledge you had at the time, why would you not have taken the chance to destroy John of Lorne, sorry bastard that he is.

I shook my head, drank some ale and said, I still should have known.

"That’s a crock of shite and you know it. Hell, man, even your own wife, a bean feasa, didn’t see it coming, did she?"

Not the killing of Alasdair, I conceded. But I think she saw her own end approaching.

Eoughan shook his head. That would be like her not to say anything. He paused a moment before he continued. "I’ll be going back to Islay with you. When you walk onto Eilean na Comhairle, the Council Isle, you’ll come as a lord of war with hard men at your back. I’ll be damned if they will see you any other way. You are beholden to no man, Ronan MacAlasdair."

The big man’s words were a great comfort. It was apparent that those closest to me had not lost their faith in me or my ability. I assume you have told Domhnall you are going?

Eoughan laughed, making me grin. Of course, and it wasn’t a request.

I’ll make amends for you when we get back, I said.

Ah, you do that; it will make the wee man feel important, so it will.

The laughter did me good. The sun set. Our kerns arrived and disposed of the body still lying in my bedroom. Eoughan leaned forward and watched them drag the corpse to a cart and toss it on. Someone I know? he asked.

I shook my head. No. Never seen him before. Mac Sweeney.

Ah, is that a fact? Nonplussed, he nodded and laughed, taking the skin out of my hands. Leave it to you to sit here and pass the time of day while there’s a body rotting in your house. It’s for certain I’m coming with you now.

We continued to talk of everything and of nothing. Eventually, after killing two more skins of ale, we called it quits. Morning would be upon us soon, and we both needed to sleep.

My cottage was a lonely place without Sorcha and my children there. I lay down on our bed, and though I was tired, I found it near impossible to sleep. The hours slipped by and before I could drift off, dawn was upon me. I forced myself to rise, went outside, and dunked my head into a nearby rain barrel. The shock from the cold water brought me to my knees. Bellowing in pain, I shook myself like a wet hound and staggered back inside. It was not long after, as I was putting on clean braes and a fresh linen shirt, that my men arrived.

Routine is often comforting, and so it was this day. I had already laid out my clothes and my kit along with my armor. When my men arrived, Eoughan pushed his way inside, dragging two young kerns with him. Pointing a thick finger at me, he said, Don’t you be arguing with me. You run through kerns like a dog with meat on a bone. These two are your new men, and you’re going to take them. The big lout here to my left is Lorcán; the smaller one on my right with the yellow hair is his younger brother, Oisín. They’re from Islay, brothers so they are.

I put my hands on my hips and snorted. Now was not the time to be breaking in kerns, but the look on Eoughan’s face told me it would be useless to argue. Who’s your da?

Cuiag Mackay, lord, they both answered.

I know him, I said. If you become half the man your father is, you’ll make good galloglass. To Lorcán, I said, Make yourself useful. Pack my kit in the paniers by the wall.

The big lad grinned and bobbed his head, setting to at once. Yes, lord.

I winked at Eoughan and turned to the other. "Help me into my gambeson. You can do that, ní féidir leat?

Wide eyed, the youth nodded. Yes, lord.

The young kern was as good as his word. In no time I was in my best gambeson and had my sword belted at my waist. I intended to travel quickly and decided not to wear mail. However, this was Ireland, and trouble could fall upon you in an instant, hence the gambeson.

They brought my rouncey for the ride north. She was a good, sturdy horse, and suited me well. My plan was to ride for Dún Sobhairce—it would take two days of steady riding—spend the night at the fortress, leave our horses with the O’Cahan, and take ship from there to Islay. If all went well, I would be in Finlaggan by mid-day, three days hence.

We collected Dáithí on our way out of Cnoc na Cloiche. Angus Óg’s bodyguard made no comment when Eoughan rousted him out of the fort’s barracks. To his credit, he was already packed and ready to leave when we arrived. He kept to himself during the journey, speaking only when necessary, but I could feel his eyes upon me. Eoughan thought he would challenge me once we reached Finlaggan. I was certain of it. What remained to be seen was if it would be a dagger in the dark or a straight up confrontation.

The journey to Dún Sobhairce was uneventful. We arrived at the fortress early in the evening and were passed over the dry moat and through the outer wall. A guide led us up the path to the castle that sits atop a granite rock overlooking the anchorage below. Dermot O’Cahan, ally of the O’Neill and owner of this fine fortress, came out of his tower to greet us when word reached him that we were asking for shelter for the evening. I had been using the anchorage here since my arrival in Éire, and we were quite familiar with each other.

Dermot was old and crusty but sharp as an Italian dagger. I was wondering when I would see you, he said by way of greeting. I heard about you and your Da, bad business, that.

Aye, going back to Islay, so I am. Angus Óg has questions, I replied.

He looked over the men with me until his eyes rested on Dáithí. That explains the likes of him then, doesn’t it?

I smiled. He’s only dangerous to himself.

Dermot laughed and then pulled me aside. "Listen, word travels fast with us being on the edge of the isles. You realize it’s not ‘Fáilte a chur roimh na baile! Welcome home, nephew!’ they’ll be greeting you with. Word is your uncle is blaming you for Alasdair’s death."

I shrugged. Aye but I have to go. To refuse a summons would be to admit I did something wrong.

Dermot slapped my shoulder. Just so you know what you are getting yourself into.

I do. Sometimes fate is a terrible thing, I replied, the smile never leaving me.

He nodded and then stepped away. "Welcome to Dún Sobhairce, my men will take your horses and kit. There is food and ale in the hall. We are honored to have the MacDonald for the evening. Rest well. Your ship will be ready at dawn."

I thanked Dermot publicly and then followed him out of the yard to his tower and the hall within. I spent the rest of the night eating and drinking in the hall of the O’Cahan. If Eoughan and the rest of the men knew the possible danger they were in, they gave no indication. Like the good soldiers we were, we swapped tales of past adventures and friends lost and then retired to the barracks for the night.

The O’Cahan made sure our kits were delivered to the ship before we boarded. Our horses were left in his care, to be collected upon our return. Upon reaching Islay, I intended to requisition horses for the journey to Finlaggan.

The passage from the anchorage at Dún Sobhairce to Dún Naomhaig was surprisingly smooth. The weather was fair with no thunderstorms or unexpected fog to contend with. The captain was a man known to me, Cormac an Tsnáithe, Cormac of the Strand. He had earned a reputation for raiding in the Orkneys several years ago and was quite competent. I knew that Raganvald had spoken highly of him in the past and that counted for much. Leaving just after dawn and with a good wind, we arrived at Dún Naomhaig around mid-morning.

Dáithí was surprised when we took the time after landing to arm and armor ourselves in the gatehouse of the castle before taking our horses from the stabled spares kept there for that purpose. Getting ready for a fight? he asked.

I pulled my arming cap down over my head and tied it into place before I answered him. Better to have and not need than need and not have. I’m still the Tánaiste and Constable of the MacDonald, Knight and son of the Lord of Islay and a lord in my own right, Dáithí an Dubh. I have the right to come armed onto Eilean Mór or Eilean na Comhairle as I please, when I please, with whomever I please. Both you and my uncle would do well to remember it.

I’ll be sure to remind him, he said, aware that Eoughan and Sir Angelo were now behind him to either side.

You do that, but I’m thinking I’ll probably beat you to it.

The big galloglass clamped his jaws shut and busied himself with last minute adjustments to his saddle. Andre walked up beside me and said, We are ready to ride when you are.

I let the tension in me drain for a moment and then nodded, Aye, let’s be off.

There are roughly twenty miles separating Dún Naomhaig and Finlaggan. Stopping only to rest the horses, we covered that distance quickly and rode across the causeway to Eilean Mor late that same afternoon. Trotting through the gates, I stopped and sent one of the guards on to the hall to let my uncle know I had arrived and would attend him shortly. Dáithí quickly disappeared as we rode through the fortress. I was sure he sneaked off to report to Angus Óg, weasel that he was.

Once through the fortress, I rode to my old quarters, just down the main road from the hall. Sorcha and I had lived there for several years before moving to Éire, and it held good memories. It was also occupied. There was a woman standing in the doorway, a toddler on her hip. Her eyes traveled from me to the men around me, noting we were armed and armored. Looking down from my horse, I asked, Do you know me?

Her face flushed in anger. Pushing a strand of hair out of her face, she snapped, I know who you are.

Her tone was not in the least respectful, so I smiled and crossed my hands on the pommel of my saddle and replied, "I know who you are, lord."

Nearby, people were stopping to stare at the growing confrontation. She looked about, huffed, and after a pause said, "I know who you are, lord."

Still smiling, I nodded and said, Now that we have established who I am, tell me, who are you and why are you standing in the doorway to my house?

The woman shook her head. Your house? This is the home of Dáithí an Dubh!

And I suppose you are his woman?

I am, she said proudly.

I’m beginning to like your Dáithí less and less. Turning in my saddle, I said to Eoughan, And you know what happens to people I begin to dislike?

He grinned and it wasn’t pleasant. They have a habit of dying quite suddenly.

I turned back to the woman, whose face had quickly drained of its color. If I don’t see your Dáithí first, be sure to tell him what I said.

I pulled my horse around and walked it down the road toward the hall, my men following. On arrival, we dismounted and climbed the steps to the entrance. There were four guards at the door to greet us. I knew all of them. The largest of the four stepped forward and said, Lord, you will have to disarm before you can enter.

I put my hands on my hips and said, Not bloody likely. Run in there and tell my uncle he can piss off.

The four guards were scared and caught between their duty to Angus and the realization that this could go very badly in a heartbeat. Go on and tell him, Ruadhán, isn’t it? I asked.

The galloglass bobbed his head. Yes, lord. The problem is your uncle said to hold the door until the barracks could be turned out.

Well, that’s a problem then, I said, the anger in me growing. I’m going through that door. I would prefer not to kill anyone to do so. Your choice.

One of Ruadhán’s mates pulled him aside shaking his head. Moments later, they stepped away, and I entered my father’s hall.

The room was packed and quickly went silent as my men and I made our way through the tables on our way to the dais at the hall’s opposite end. The harpist stopped playing as all eyes turned in our direction. Atop the dais I knew so well, Angus Óg sat at table with several of his closest galloglass along with three or four members of the council. The hall was full of men I knew well. As I walked through the tables, I could hear the talk, the low rumblings of anger. They blamed me for the disaster in Éire and my father’s death. I expected no less. This was not a place to show fear or regret or weakness of any kind, for there would be no sympathy.

I believe you were told to leave your weapons at the door, said Angus, loud enough for all to hear. The rumblings that had swept through the hall at my entrance now died away.

Aye, I heard, I said, continuing my walk toward the dais. I didn’t think much of that considering I am still the Tánaiste of the MacDonald and the son of Alasdair Mac Angus, and you have not the right to deny me entrance to this or any other place on Islay, Uncle, armed or not.

I continued forward, flanked by my men. The galloglass surrounding Angus stood, hands on their sword hilts. I pointed to them. What are you afraid of, Uncle? Had I intended you harm, you would already be dead. Tell your men to stand down.

Angus waved his hand, and after several tense moments, his men sat. Though he did not trust me, I was at the bottom of the dais, several feet away and no real threat.

I looked about the hall and then back at my uncle. In a voice loud enough to carry to all corners of the room, I said, I told you repeatedly and anyone in this room who would listen, I have no desire to be Lord of Islay and Chief of the MacDonald. My mind has not changed in this. So, now that I have settled that, why exactly have you called me here?

The hall roared back to life as the men of Clan Donald reacted to my words. Angus stood, his face darkening in anger, and said, That question will be discussed tomorrow, on Eilean na Comhairle, not here.

I stopped my march just before the steps to the dais and shook my head. No, I think not, Uncle. I’m here; let us be done with this farce.

I looked around at the upturned faces in the hall and saw that I had their attention. This would be my one chance to thwart most of my uncle’s plots. I had no intention of letting it slip past. You want me on the Council Isle, Uncle, so that you can accuse me of some sort of patricide in front of a crowd of your choosing. Do you honestly believe that I have plotted with the MacDougal? Me, Ronan MacAlasdair, conqueror of Kintyre and Skye, destroyer of MacDougal galleys, and protector of the O’Neill? I wheeled on my uncle and pointed up to him. For what purpose? For what gain? I shook my head and there was no sound in the hall. I had them. I will never be the MacDonald, the Lord of Islay. I have renounced that ambition repeatedly in the presence of all here many times before in years past. If you remember, it was one of my father’s terms for allowing me to return to Islay. So, again, Uncle, for what purpose would I have murdered my father?

Angus was caught but not about to give up. He shrugged and said, All here know you hated Alasdair. This was payment, vengeance if you will, for a hard and humble beginning. Something you never forgave him for.

Aye, I might have thought that at sixteen. But it was not out of hatred that Alasdair sent me to the Templars. I was sent there to be given a chance at life. Ten years as a monk will give a man plenty of time to reflect on his past. I was violent. I was arrogant, ill-tempered, and insufferable as a youth. My father understood that for me to remain here was a death sentence. It was only a matter of time before the relatives of Seamus of the Long Arm would have seen to that. Alasdair did as any father would do to protect his child. He sent me away. I was a liability to the clan, and when I returned, I was a warrior and an asset. Ten years as a Templar taught me humility and patience. Whatever anger I held was burned away in my service to God and the Temple. In the end, I harbored no hate nor ill will.

Yet it was your information and your inaction that killed Alasdair just the same, sniped Angus from atop the platform.

You of all people know better, Angus. I believed the information I was given about the location of John of Lorne. So did Alasdair. That is why he went to Éire. He judged it reliable. I turned back to those seated in the hall. I did everything possible to reach the scene of my father’s destruction before he was overrun. Three times I forced river crossings to get there. We marched with little rest, always pushing onward, to the point of exhaustion. It was not to be. The O’Breslin, the O’Donnell, the Mac Sweeney, the MacDougal, they plotted well and timed their ambush perfectly. You know this to be true uncle because the O’Neill sent word almost at once. You have been in constant communication with Domhnall O’Neill ever since. Did you think the O’Neill would keep any of your correspondence from me? I have known for quite some time what you have planned for me.

By the look on my uncle’s face, I could tell he had no idea Domhnall and I were so close. Looking like a fox caught in the yard with a chicken in his mouth, Angus looked about for support. His personal galloglass were sympathetic; the counselors who sat with him, less so. Those men knew me, many since my youth. More importantly, they knew my uncle. His attempt to blame the death of my father on me was quickly falling apart.

I turned back to Angus. Do you or do you not accuse me of murder? If so, say it and be done!

Angus flushed red. He had nothing and he knew it. It was then that Dáithí an Dubh stood. Your uncle doesn’t have to say anything. You are a liar and a coward. Before all here I accuse you of conspiring with our enemies to murder your father, Alasdair Mac Angus, Lord of Islay, and thwart the interests of Clan Donald.

The hall went silent as though the entire place held its breath, waiting for my reply. To be honest, I was shocked. I didn’t think Dáithí had it in him. My uncle must have promised him a great deal.

I smiled, Dáithí, are you sure you want to do this? A dagger in the dark is more your style.

There were snickers then and hard guffaws throughout the hall. Dáithí flushed red like his master. Tomorrow then. Noon in the training yard by the barracks, across the causeway.

I nodded in acceptance. My choice of weapons. Swords, no armor other than gambesons and gauntlets.

The big man paled slightly. He would now be forced to fight me using his arming sword while I would carry my longsword. I would have an advantage in reach. Things were not going quite the way he had planned, I was guessing.

To my uncle, I snarled, Don’t worry, Angus. I meant what I said about the lordship. Talk nice to me, and I might even support you.

My men and I left the hall in turmoil. Now that everything was out in the open, Angus would be forced to rely on Dáithí’s prowess with a sword. It was enough to make the bastard squirm for the rest of the night.

Eoughan walked up beside me. Handing me the reins to my horse, he grinned and asked, Is there somewhere you have in mind for us to sleep tonight? Your old house is occupied, and I do not think we are welcome in the fortress.

I shrugged. That leaves the barracks on the other side of the causeway. Not great but better than a hayrick.

This should be interesting, he laughed.

Our party mounted and rode back through the fort and across the causeway to the barracks. We should not have worried about our reception. To the men, I was still the Constable of the MacDonald. I had led them to victory on numerous occasions and had shared their hardships as well. We were