The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance

Roberta Gellis Compeer

Cruachan, Connacht, Ancient Ireland — before 800 BC

Medb was not happy. When her father, Eochaid Fiedleach, Ard Rí of all Eriu, asked her if she was willing to go in marriage to Conchobar of Ulster, she had considered and then agreed. She was young, no more than fourteen summers having passed since her birth, but Eochaid Fiedleach knew better than to give orders to Medb. Nonetheless she was a dutiful daughter who loved her father; she knew Eochaid Fiedleach had been the cause of loss to Conchobar and that providing a wife to Conchobar was part of the repayment of that loss.

As further repayment of the debt, Eochaid had also given Ulster to Conchobar to rule; thus the Ard Rí retained power over Conchobar. And as daughter of the Ard Rí, Medb was her husband’s equal in status; when married she would be Banríon of Ulster.

But the union began to go sour from the very beginning. Medb and her escort had ridden into the dark to arrive the sooner in Ulster. They came into the Great Hall through the easternmost of the seven doors after the eating but while the men were still drinking. Silence grew as Medb walked down the aisle from the door, past the sleeping couches and past the drinking benches, to the high seat.

Medb welcomed the growing silence. She was aware of her red hair and white skin, of her eyes, green as the finest emeralds, of the muscles that rippled in her bare arms. She always intended to be fit to rule. She was well trained with sword and knife, and as well trained to run and fight as to law and logic. She walked tall as a man and proud; she expected to be admired. and she was not thrilled with Conchobar’s greeting.

The Rí of Ulster looked her up and down and said, «Scrawny. One would think Eochaid would have sent something riper for a wife.»

Before Conchobar spoke, Medb had started to bend her head in proper greeting to a husband richer than herself, but she jerked upright at his words and replied, loud and clear, «I am the eldest of the Ard Rí’s daughters, and we will see how I fill out the role allotted to me.»

Conchobar only laughed but added, «The flash in those eyes holds promise, though.»

Medb thought him a fool to laugh at her warning, but she held her tongue. Her goods were not the equal of his, so he ruled the household. And he was many years her senior. If he thought her a child, he might be careless until he knew her better. She might have spoken again, but a movement among the men seated on the drinking benches caught her eye.

The cause of the disturbance could have been called scrawny too; he had the unfinished look of a boy growing into a man, but none of the men challenged him. Medb saw the bones held great promise, and the skin was dark and smooth. His hair was black, which stood out among the lighter browns and reds and golds in the room; his eyes, from where she stood, also looked black. And the eyes were fixed on her, not with curiosity or amusement like most of the others of Conchobar’s liegemen. The expression in them. was hunger.

Not yet, Medb thought, and was surprised. She had to swallow a laugh. To look at another man before her husband’s seed was set in her belly and acknowledged was the ultimate in stupidity. Medb was never stupid. Nonetheless, she was just a trifle regretful. Something about the young man who stared at her with such avidity attracted her interest.

She turned away to the women who had come to escort her to her quarters, unwilling to meet the gaze of her young admirer but wondering how long it would be before it was safe to speak to him. To her surprise Conchobar came down from the high seat to walk with her. He had not spoken to her again, but several of his men had come from their benches to speak to him. Perhaps they had reminded him that the girl he had offended was the Ard Rí’s eldest daughter.

Likely because of the warning of his men, Conchobar decided not to wait for Medb to ripen further, as he had promised her father. He broached her that very night.

That also did not please Medb — not the broaching; despite the pain, which she discounted, she enjoyed the broaching thoroughly. Seeing Conchobar reduced to a gasping, shuddering jelly taught her a valuable lesson. She saw what a woman could do to a man. She guessed at once how the act of love could be heightened to reduce a man and bind him. What angered Medb was that Conchobar had broken his promise to her father. In her eyes by breaking a promise Conchobar had smirched his honour.

Over the following weeks, she had no complaint about his diligence in his marital duties, although she suspected he still did not find her to his taste. «Rack of bones,» Medb heard once under his breath. She held the memory tight. And across the width of the hall on many nights her gaze met that of the black-eyed youth, who licked his lips as if he would eat her with good appetite.

Medb could have taken a bite or two of him herself, but she had not even enquired as to the dark boy’s name. Her will was far stronger than her lust. Fortunately she did not have long to wait. Within the second moon of the bedding, Medb got with child. She found that a source of satisfaction when she told her husband two moons later, and Conchobar was very pleased. He announced it to the whole household when they gathered for dinner. and took a new woman to his bed when the torches failed that very night.

Fool, Medb thought, as she had thought more than once before, but she made no protest even when the women of the dun cast pitying glances at her. She sat in her high seat beside her husband when he gave justice to his people and listened, and at each meal she ate and drank and spoke to him with good humour. Until one day when she had been watching the dark-eyed lad break a horse and came a little late to the table at dinner time. She found Conchobar’s current bedmate sitting beside him in her chair.

«There is a stool at the end of the table,» Conchobar said, and at the long tables set up in the hall for dinner some of the men looked up and chuckled at a wife being shown her place.

Medb smiled and kept on her way as if there were no one else at the table. Conchobar looked down into his ale horn, dismissing her. When she reached her chair, she seized the well-rounded, full-breasted woman by the back of her neck and the front of her gown, lifted her out of the chair, and dropped her off the dais down to the ground.

«I am the Ard Rí’s eldest daughter and Banríon of Ulster.» Medb’s voice rose above the shriek of the fallen woman and the gasps of the men seated at the tables, and silence fell on the hall. «I do not care who you take to your bed,» she continued, her voice ringing in the silence. «It is no great loss to me. But no one save I sits in the Banríon’s chair beside you while I am your wife.»

Conchobar had been so shocked by Medb’s action and the shriek his bedmate uttered when she hit the floor that he had not moved. Now he sprang to his feet and lifted his hand to strike Medb, only to feel a very sharp pain as a knife dug into his belly just below his navel.

«If you hit me, I will rip you open as I fall,» Medb murmured, smiling more broadly. «And then I will go home to my father with your seed in my belly. And Eochaid Fiedleach will appoint a new Rí to Ulster, not of your blood.»

Half the men in the hall had risen from the tables at the sign of physical confrontation. Foremost was the dark boy, until he saw the knife in Medb’s hand. Then, eyes glinting red with lust as he stared at her, he laughed aloud, a full, rich sound, deeper but just as ringing as Medb’s voice — and the tension was broken.

Conchobar dropped his hand; Medb’s eyes fixed for one moment on the boy, took in the long knife half hidden by his tunic and withdrew the knife she held ready to pierce her husband’s gut. She raised her eyes briefly to meet Conchobar’s glare and, still smiling, calmly stepped around her chair and seated herself. From the women’s side, several came forward to help up the sobbing concubine and draw her into their group.

Medb used the knife, still bare in her hand, its tip gleaming slightly red with blood, to cut a tender slice from the roast. She ate it off the tip of the knife and licked the knife blade clean. Conchobar sat down beside her.

«I spare you for what you carry,» he said.

Medb nodded, accepting the truce, and continued with her dinner with good appetite.

From the end of one of the tables, where the least important of Conchobar’s men sat, Ailill mac Máta watched Medb eating. It was clear enough that she had not been frightened by her husband’s threat. Her daring sent a wave of warmth across his groin. That woman was what he wanted.

Her marriage to Conchobar did not trouble him. He knew what Medb would do. She would give Conchobar his son, which would pay her father’s debt, and then she would break the marriage and leave, go back to her father’s house. Another wave of warmth passed through Ailill’s lower body and he drew a quick breath. To have Medb.

Ailill had not missed Medb’s expression when their glances met. But that kind of having was meaningless. She did not yet take him seriously; however, this was a woman who would grow and ripen, would challenge and reward throughout an entire lifetime. To bond with her for life would require much more than a few hot glances and a few sweet words. She would never again, he thought, come to a joining as a husband’s inferior in wealth and he, Ailill smiled grimly, did not intend to be any woman’s — even Medb’s — rag for wiping up messes.

By the end of dinner he knew what he must do. When the servants came to clear away both the food and the tables, Ailill slipped into the shadows to wait. He watched with satisfaction as Medb rose to go with a gaggle of women to their quarters. Brave, she was, but not a fool. She would not make herself an easy target while her husband was still raw with her challenge.

He followed the women, swiftly, silently insinuated himself among them, and stepped to her side. His skin tingled with her nearness and when she turned her head and looked at him a tide of lust rose through his belly to his throat. For a moment he could not speak and what he felt looked out of his eyes.

Medb’s head tipped to the side; she met his gaze without lowering hers and she smiled slowly.

«My name is Ailill mac Máta,» he said through a thick throat. «And I find you the most desirable of women.»

Medb’s eyebrows rose — it was not the most tactful thing to say when she was surrounded by the women of her husband’s court — but before she could speak Ailill shook his head impatiently and laughed.

«I wanted you to know my name and remember me,» he went on, speaking more easily, «for I will be gone from Ulster while you carry Conchobar’s child. Wherever you go thereafter, I will find you.»

«I am not likely to forget you,» she said. «But can you just leave without Conchobar’s permission?»

«I am no liegeman to Conchobar,» Ailill said. «He did not think me worth inviting into his household. I am a hired sword and my time will be ended with the coming of the new moon. tomorrow.»

They were at the door of Medb’s house then. The women who attended her went in, but she could sense them clustering near the door, listening. She grinned at Ailill; she was very tall and their eyes were exactly on a level.

«Goddess watch over you,» she said, running the tip of her tongue over her upper lip and then smiling. «I will look forward to seeing you. whenever and wherever you find me.»

He dipped his head once and was gone. Before it was fully light, he had left the dun, riding the young horse Medb had watched him break, and the first place he turned the horse’s head was to Conchobar’s pasturage. There he could number and judge Medb’s cattle.

She had brought other things to her husband’s house: silver cups and plates, gold rings and bracelets, garments and linens skilfully embroidered. Such would be easy to match. Though he made no show of it, Ailill had use of a whole family of Firbolg treasure. It was the cattle that would give him trouble — not obtaining them but moving them from the Firbolg fastness to the pastures of Eriu.

The herds were easy to track and Ailill saw with relief that they were still separate, Medb’s and Conchobar’s herders not yet friendly enough to allow the cattle to mingle. Nor were they too far apart, as each set of herders feared being blamed for choosing less rich pastureland.

It was easy, too, to know which herd belonged to whom. Medb’s herd was smaller and the cattle, Ailill thought, of better quality, but not by much. Eochaid Fiedleach had been careful of what he sent with his daughter.

Ailill spoke to Medb’s cowherd and fixed in his mind what he had to match. As he rode slowly southward towards the lands his distant ancestors had so briefly occupied, he considered how many extra beasts he should have in reserve. Too many rather than too few. Medb, Ailill was certain, would give attention to her cattle to make sure her value increased. A few too many in his herd would not be important. He could always sell off or slaughter the extra animals for eating.

As the light faded, Ailill found a good camping place, an ancient, grown-over ledge a third of the way up a long worn-down mountain. There was grass for his horse on the flat area and a trickle of water at the far eastern end. Ailill filled his waterskin, watered his horse and hobbled it, threw the horse blanket on to the ground, extracted cheese, dried fruit and journey-bread from his saddle bags and settled down to eat.

It would not be so easy as simply bringing the cattle, Ailill realized, as he watched the thin sliver of new moon-rise. There were all manner of questions to be answered and problems to be solved before he could drive his herd to wherever Medb’s was and propose their mating. Like. should he speak to Eochaid Fiedleach first or to Medb? A small shudder ran up and down his body. That was no easy question to answer, and—

The thought cut off as a thin wail drifted up from the base of the hill. Ailill sat more upright. It did not sound like an animal cry. The sound came again and broke off suddenly into a yelp of pain. Ailill surged to his feet and drew his sword from the scabbard that lay on the horse blanket beside him. That was a child crying.

Upright, Ailill could see there was a fire at the base of the hill. One man sat by the fire. Beside him. Ailill squinted to make his sight longer and, as if at his will, the fire flared up so he could see there was a stake in the ground and a braided cord tied to it. His eyes followed the line to a small, huddled figure at the end. He leaned forward, listening intently and picked up the muffled sound of weeping.

Now, it was no strange thing that a man should strike his son or his servant for ill behaviour or slacking his duties, but that the child should be leashed like a dog made Ailill uneasy. That a son or servant should be desperate enough to need to be tied on a dark night in the middle of a wilderness hinted at a cruel master.

Ailill looked beyond the fire and saw larger bodies. Another flare of light showed him cattle settling down for the night and a second man fixing a flimsy fence of withy boughs around them.

Perfectly ordinary. Two men driving home or to market some six or eight cows and bringing with them a youngling who had misbehaved. Ailill urged himself to go back to his horse blanket and mind his own business, but another glance showed him that the child was trembling and his ears made out muffled sobs.

Two men. It would not be wise simply to step into their camp and ask why the child was leashed and weeping. Even if the treatment was well-deserved they might resent his interference. And he was dressed like a nobleman. What he had seen in the firelight was rough garments. Would those who beat a child and did not comfort its weeping try to rob a rich lone traveller? Perhaps if he were closer he could judge better what to do.

Ailill moved off well beyond the firelight and descended the hill carefully. He could hear the child more clearly now, softly between sobs praying for help from — from Mother Dana! Tuatha Dé Danann? The child was one of the fair folk, out of a sidhe? It could not belong to these common men.

Now Ailill moved with even greater stealth well wide of the cattle so that they and the man working on the withy fence were between him and the fire. Something slipped. It must have hit one of the cows, which grunted and got to its feet. A second cow stirred and rose, and then a third. When the fourth began to rise, the man cursed and shouted to the one by the fire to bring the child to quiet the cattle.

Ailill, who liked little ones, watched with growing anger as the child was jerked to his feet and dragged towards the cattle. The boy cried out as his arms, which were tied behind his back, were wrenched and the man holding him slapped him hard and then shook him. The leash, fastened around his neck, flapped and his foot caught in it so that he almost fell. The man holding him shook him again.

«Make them lie down again,» he ordered, and when the child, who was now sobbing hard, was unable to respond, he struck him once more.

Meanwhile Ailill slipped farther around until he was behind the man who had been making the fence. The fence-maker’s attention was all on the child and his abuser.

«Hurry up,» he shouted, waving a branch in the face of a cow that was moving towards him.

Ailill grinned, took three steps forwards, and struck him hard on the side of the head with the hilt of his sword. His victim fell like a stone, right in front of the cow, which stopped, turned aside, and passed the withy barrier.

«You fool!» the man holding the boy shouted. «What did you do? Trip on your own feet? Get that animal back.»

Ailill did not answer. He saw he could not make his way directly through the cattle, more of which were beginning to get to their feet. He tried to run around them but some turned away from him and others stepped right into his path. Unfortunately that made him too slow to reach the man holding the child before he realized something had happened to his partner. Fear made him take fright. He jerked the boy closer by the leash around his neck and pulled his knife.

«Go away!» the man shrieked. «Take your accursed cows and go back to your sidhe or I will kill the child.»

The stupid peasant did not know how rare a child was among the Tuatha Dé Dunaan, how precious. He thought the Dunaan had come after their cattle as a Milesian would.

«And what do you think will happen to you after you kill him?» Ailill asked in a quiet, pleasant voice more terrifying than bellows of rage. «It will take you years and years and years of screaming and begging to die. If you let him go. now — right now — without more harm, I will let you run.» As he spoke, Ailill openly came closer, making sure the light of the fire glinted on the blade of his sword. «If you even scratch him with that knife, I will gut you and leave you here to die with the flies breeding in your belly.»

Ailill could see a small movement, perhaps the man’s hand tightening on his knife. He leaped forwards with a shout, although he knew he could not reach them in time. But the man surprised him. He turned about and threw the boy towards the fire.

The child screamed. Ailill shouted again and twisted his body desperately to divert his path. The boy, catapulted forwards, took two involuntary steps and then tripped on the leash again. He fell face towards the fire. Ailill made another desperate leap and just caught the child, his own feet coming down into the burning wood. Sparks and embers flew, scorching the back of his legs, which gave him impetus enough to leap sideways, carrying the child.

Another desperate twist brought them down to the ground so that the child was on top and not crushed beneath him. Ailill gasped as something snapped in his side, but he thrust the child off him, away from the fire, and leaped to his feet. Running thrust a dagger into his chest with each stride, but only slowed him a trifle and it was no more than thirty or forty strides before he was close enough to strike the fleeing man.

«I said I would let you run, not escape,» Ailill snarled and swung his sword.

At the last moment, he turned the weapon so the flat, rather than the sharp edge, struck. If the Sidhe were as enraged as he feared they might be about the mistreatment of their child, Ailill wanted them to have both villains upon whom to slake their anger.

He seized the unconscious man by one foot and began to drag him back to the fire. That did not soothe the pain in his chest but at least he heard the child crooning to the cattle and hoped that meant he would not need to chase the cows.

His first task was to secure the man he had first struck. The cattle thief was just beginning to stir and Ailill coldly hit him again. Leather thongs from the man’s own pouch fastened his thumbs together behind his back, as well as his big toes. Aside from that, Ailill let him lie where he was to go and bind the second man the same way.

The cows were bedded down where they had been originally. The child was now silent except for a shuddering sob now and again. Ailill went and squatted down beside him, drawing his knife. The child’s eyes went wide. Ailill laughed.

«I only want to cut you loose, little one. I will do you no harm. How do you wish me to call you?» He knew enough of the Danaans not to ask for the child’s name.

«Do you want the cows?» the boy asked, obviously trying to keep his voice steady.

«No, indeed,» Ailill replied. «I am not such a fool as to wish to keep the cattle of the Tuatha Dé Danann which did not come to me as a gift or an agreed purchase.»

He lifted the child, hissing with pain as what he feared was a broken rib stabbed him again, and set him down closer to the fire so he could see to insert the knife and cut the bonds without injuring the little boy.

The child was silent until he was free and then he sighed on a half-sob, and said, «You can call me Bress. What will you do with me?»

«Take you home, of course. And the cows too.» Ailill laughed. «That is, if you know the way home. I certainly do not.»

The boy began to sob more heavily and Ailill drew him close. He was a little surprised when the child actually climbed into his lap, pressed against him and clung as he wept. By ten, which Ailill judged him to be by his height and the fact that he was alone with the cattle, most boys would be trying to resist being comforted, not clinging like an infant.

The fire had been somewhat scattered when he landed in it and was now dying. Ailill caught up a stick and, holding the child with one arm, shoved the burning wood together as well as he could. There was more wood within his reach and he added about half of that to the fire. After a few moments the flames sprang up. Ailill stroked the boy’s hair and he lifted his face. When Ailill saw his companion clearly, he drew a quick breath. The child he was holding could have no more than six or seven summers, although he was as big as a Milesian boy of ten. The Danaan were a tall race.

The sobs had quieted and Ailill asked, «What happened? How did you come to be taken with the cattle?» He thought there might have been a raid or a battle and the child might be a survivor.

«They said I was not big enough to mind the cows.» The voice was shrill with childish resentment. «So I called to the cattle and they came and followed me. You see how they lie where I bade them.»

Ailill’s mouth opened, then closed. He took a deep breath. «You mean you took the cattle yourself? You were not set to watch over them?»

«No one listens to me!» The words were garbled with sobs and sniffs. «I knew a better place to graze them. The grass was thick and tender. So I took them there and they were content. But»—

«But no one knew where you were,» Ailill breathed. «And that is why the Danaan are not on the heels of their precious child.» He raised his voice, holding Bress’ head up with a finger under his chin. «You have been a very naughty boy. Your parents are likely half-mad with worry over you. Do you know the way home?»

Bress burst into tears again. «Must we go now? The cows are tired and I am, too.»

«No, no.» Ailill gave him a rough hug. «We will wait until morning at least. Perhaps your people will come before we leave and I will not need to try to follow your trail back to the sidhe. Now let me see what food those thieves carried so I can feed you, then get their blankets and make up your bed.»

«No bed for you?» The boy sounded anxious, as if he feared Ailill would abandon him.

«I have my own. I was camping above, up on the hill.» Ailill’s voice faded. He had heard the boy crying but then he had seen the fire. Those thieves were idiots, lighting a fire that the Danaan would see. He shook his head, and said to Bress, «And I must fetch my horse too.»

By the time he had fed the child and settled him to sleep, retrieved his horse and his supplies, Ailill was finding it hard to breathe past the pain in his side. He sank down beside the fire, which was dying again, and wondered whether he could force himself to gather more firewood. Surely the Danaan must now be close, even if they had not known just when the boy was lost or from where he had been taken. Would they need the light of the fire to find this camp?

Ailill really did not want to follow the track of the cattle back to the sidhe. He did not want to move at all. If Bress’ people came, he could give them the boy and the cows and lie up for a few days while his rib set. He closed his eyes.

He was to get no peace, however. His long silence had seemingly convinced the thieves that he had gone to sleep. Now he heard one of the men cursing softly and moving about, doubtless trying to free his thumbs. Ailill jerked upright and yelped as it seemed as if a knife stabbed his side. Gritting his teeth, he levered himself to his feet more carefully. No matter the pain, he had better bind his prisoners more securely.

And suddenly the small clearing was full of men, half with drawn swords and the other half with drawn bows. And every nocked arrow was aimed at him. Ailill raised his empty hands.

«I am not the man who took your child,» he said. «Those who did lie bound. The child is here, asleep.»

«I am not asleep,» Bress called, sitting up. «And what this man says is true.»

There was a high, musical cry, and a woman came running from behind the men to catch the child into her arms and kiss him. The men lowered their swords and relaxed the tension of the bowstrings somewhat. Holding his side, Ailill let himself sink to the ground. One of the men lifted the hand not holding his sword and gestured. Lights formed bright, misty balls in the air and the clearing was as bright as day.

Ailill swallowed a shriek of terror. A thin sound worked its way up his throat, but both the cattle thieves screamed their fear aloud and covered his small exclamation. A babble of sound came from those around the boy, the woman asking questions of the child to discover if he had been hurt, was hungry, was cold, was thirsty. The men were not so sympathetic and mixed scolding with many questions.

Eventually the tall man who had gestured the witch-lights into being came and crouched down beside Ailill, who swallowed the heart that seemed to be trying to climb up his throat and into his mouth. He did his best to straighten himself.

«How did you come to notice the child and the cattle?» the man asked.

«I heard the child crying. At first I did nothing, believing that a cattle drover had punished his son or his apprentice, but then I heard the little one begging Mother Dana for help.»

«So you saved him, knowing he was Danaan.»

«Yes.»

«How?»

Ailill started to laugh and then gasped, his hand against his painful ribs. «It was easy because the pair that took him were such fools.» He described how he had overcome the thieves, ending, «Perhaps they had never heard of the Tuatha Dé Dunaan. But even so, imagine stealing cattle and then lighting a campfire as if no one would pursue.»

«You know it was not the cattle we pursued,» the tall man said. «What do you want for protecting our child?»

Ailill glanced sidelong at the lights floating above the men’s heads, lighting the whole area. He took a breath, wincing and holding his side, but he described his desire for Medb.

The tall man shook his head. «I cannot interfere with a Milesian marriage or»—

«Gods, no!» Ailill exclaimed. «If Medb should learn you had anything to do with freeing her from Conchobar, she would kill me. No, that is her business and she will manage it. But I must come to her with goods exactly the equal of what she has and to do that I must gather my goods and hold them in this area until she is ready to be bound to me. Only I have no one I can trust to hold my wealth for me until Medb is ready.»

«And you would trust me, who you have never met before, whose name you do not even know, to hold your goods?»

Ailill laughed and glanced up at the magical lights. «What I will gather will be riches for me but little above dross for you. I have seen your cattle. I see the clothing you wear to chase thieves through the woods. The torc around your neck would buy a kingdom. And no, I do not want any of it. Medb could not match any gift you gave me and all such wealth would do is wake envy and desire in my equals.»

For the first time the man crouched beside Ailill smiled. «A wise man, and scarcely a man yet. Very well, I will hold your wealth for you although to do that I must give you the key to my sidhe. That I cannot give without recompense; my gratitude for your rescue of our child is not enough.»

«What recompense can such as I give a being who can light up the night?»

«We are strong, but few. If you Milesians gathered together enough force, you could drown us in numbers. My recompense is that you never seek a quarrel with the Tuatha Dé Dunaan for any reason at all. If you are attacked, you may defend yourself but you may not follow to gain a victory, even from your attacker.»

Ailill was silent, considering. If the Danaan should attack and he drove them away, he could still lose men and property and if he could not continue the fight, he would not be able to seize compensation. And then he thought that he had never heard of the Danaan attacking anyone who had not first injured them. Most of them did not live in places where they came in contact with ordinary people. A few did live in the world but. And then he bit his lip to keep from smiling. He would not need to worry about losses. Medb would retrieve whatever he lost for him.

He had forgotten his ribs, started to draw a deep breath of relief, began to cough, and groaned. Nonetheless he managed to say, «I will swear to that recompense.» And as the words left his mouth, an odd tingle took hold in his chest. «You have laid a gets on me.» he gasped.

«So I have,» the tall man said calmly. «It will do you no harm, unless you violate your oath. And even then, it will warn you first by what you now feel. Otherwise you will never know you carry the gets.» He smiled again and his eyes looked kind and the odd tingle disappeared from Ailill’s chest. «My name is Bodb,» he added, offering with his name his trust, «and if you will take no other gift, at least let us see to your injury.»

To that Ailill agreed with some relief, for the pain in his side was sapping his strength, but he did not expect to fall suddenly asleep and to wake sitting on his horse in bright daylight in a place he had never seen before. Their party seemed to be emerging from a dense wood that, to his right, opened into a wide valley of grass. In the distance, Ailill could see more cattle, like those with the boy, and a small herd of horses.

To his left was a hill broken by a shallow cave. Ailill could see the bare, unworked rock at the back of the cave because it was illuminated by sunlight.

«Dismount now,» Bodb said, coming to Ailill’s side and offering an arm to help. «How do you wish to be called while you are healing with us?»

Ailill laughed aloud and was instantly aware his rib was still painful, if not as excruciatingly painful as it had been. And when he tried to draw breath, he was also aware that his chest had been bound. He took Bodb’s arm and slid to the ground. One of the men who had been in the clearing when the Danaan found him came and took his horse, murmuring that the animal would be cared for. Ailill nodded thanks.

«My name is Ailill mac Máta,» he said, «my true name since you already have a hand on my heart. And I have also been called Ailill Dubd, Black Ailill, for obvious reasons.»

«Come with me,» Bobd said, offering his arm as an aid when Ailill swayed.

They were headed directly into the cave. Ailill hesitated, expecting Bodb to slow down lest in a step or two they walk right into the back wall of the cavern. But when they came under the cave roof, a sharp pang and a sense like a blow on the back of his neck made Ailill cry out and close his eyes in protest.

He had a moment of bitter shame and rage for allowing himself to be charmed and betrayed, but when his eyes opened an instant later he saw not bare rock nor more Tuatha Dé Danaan to make him a prisoner, but a broad corridor, lit with the same witch-lights that had lit the campsite of the cattle thieves.

Bodb tightened his grip on Ailill’s arm as he swayed again. The corridor was alive with beauty, with such pictures that the walls seemed to open into successive scenes of Eriu: in a moonlit glade couples of Danaan danced; in a sunlit valley the golden cattle of the Danaan grazed; sharp, bare cliffs rose from a landlocked harbour where fishing boats furled or raised painted sails; fields were tended by women with skirts kilted above their knees, who looked, laughing, over their shoulders.

Farther down the corridor a metalsmith worked, the flames of his forge seeming to leap out of the painted image. Danaans sat before looms on which the half-formed weavings were of superlative beauty, a minstrel, lap-harp on his knee, sang to a spellbound audience. Only one part of life did not appear; there were no images of war. No Danaan attired in precious armour swung a shining sword; no Danaan rushed upon another with upraised axe.

Ailill was surprised. It was true that most of the few Danaan he had come across had been minstrels or bards, but the others had served as men-at-arms in the households he knew and they were superb fighters. It seemed that despite their proficiency in arms they did not honour the art of war. Before he could ask about that oddity, the corridor opened out into a huge room. A fire burned in the centre on a polished marble hearth without smoke, although heat waves distorted the air above the leaping flames.

Such flames. red and orange and yellow, yes, but among them and around them were glints of green and lavender, blue and silver. And they seemed to sway and leap and dance to the sound of such music as Ailill had never heard.

Beyond the fire was a dais on which was a high chair cast, it seemed, of silver. Lower than the chair were stools, three grouped together. From one a silver-haired Danaan stood, abruptly cutting off the music of his harp with a hand flat on the strings.

«Lord,» he called, «what of the child?»

A crowd of Danaan rose from the benches that circled the fire and turned to look at them.

«In by a lesser gate with his mother,» Bobd said, laughing. «He was unrepentant enough, proud of how the cattle obeyed him, so that I would not further flatter his vanity by having you all petting him and telling him how glad you are to have him again.» Then the laughter was gone. «That little devil went right out of the lios into the unprotected land where no one thought to look for him at first. We were near two days behind and might have lost him, except for our guest here.»

The bard or minstrel frowned. «A hard-used guest,» he said uncertainly.

«Not by us,» Bodb said, smiling. «This is Ailill mac Máta, who was injured in wresting our ill-behaved babe from the two villains who had seized him.»

A murmur passed through the watching crowd, and two men and a woman began to work their way around the benches to come to where Bobd and Ailill stood. Bobd continued to speak.

«If not for Ailill Dubd’s injury, which I think we must heal before we return him to the world, I would say we had wasted our effort in following the boy’s trail. Ailill was intending to bring the child back to us.» The smile on his lips disappeared. «The thieves he delivered to us bound, and bound they will remain, to labour in the depths of the sidhe without sight of sun or moon until they die.»

The woman had reached them, and she stretched a hand to touch Ailill’s side very gently. She shook her head. «And if you would hold your tongue for a moment or two,» she said severely to Bodb, «we could make a start on the curing. First do something useful. Call for a litter.»

Those words were the last thing Ailill remembered clearly. Because of his sense of wonder at what he had been seeing and hearing, Ailill had been fighting the intense pain in his side and a growing weakness. He remembered fingers gently prying his hand from Bobd’s arm, to which he had been clinging with increasing need. Then he was lying down and seeing with amazement above him a clear blue sky with white clouds and a bright sun.

Ailill closed his eyes. He knew they were underground. He remembered entering the shallow cave, feeling a pain in his head and neck, and then seeing the long corridor form. When he opened his eyes again the sunlit sky was gone and he was lying in an ordinary chamber with a whitewashed ceiling. Beside the bed was an open window that looked out on a corner of the forest and a patch of meadow. Ailill raised a hand and touched cold stone.

The woman from the large hall bent over him, smiling. «It is only an image. You are still in the sidhe.»

Ailill blinked and nodded, understanding. He shifted slightly. The sheet above him was incredibly smooth and the blanket was light and warm, but. He shifted again.

The woman shook her head. «I am sorry the bed is so hard but your ribs will hurt less if you move in your sleep. Now»— she put an arm behind him and raised him up; Ailill was amazed at her strength because she was so slender and looked frail «— drink this and you will soon begin to feel much better.»

It was true enough. The pain in his side disappeared almost completely, but Ailill continued to be weak and very sleepy. By what seemed to him the next day, however, he was able to sit up with only the faintest ache in his side. And the day after that, Bodb came and helped him walk around the sidhe. Ailill was surprised at how feeble he felt although by now the pain was completely gone. He could bend and twist without a twinge. Bodb said he was longer healing than a Danaan would be and suggested that he exercise a bit before he left the safety of the sidhe.

Ailill was in no hurry. Medb had five more months to carry the child and he doubted she would leave Conchobar before her babe had survived the illnesses of childhood. He thanked Bodb for the invitation and sought out those who would be willing to spar with him and teach him.

A week passed. Ailill was thrilled by what the Danaan were willing to show him. His sword work, which had been good, was now superlative. They gave him a bow — he needed time to master its pull without strain. A month passed, and then another. He rode out with a hunting troop and took a boar without help, other than from the dogs, and when he looked at his arms and legs he realized they had lost any hint of boy. He was all man now. Another month passed and another. Ailill bethought him of what he still needed to do to match Medb’s wealth and he told Bodb he would need to leave soon.

A week later, his horse was readied and saddlebags generously filled with travel supplies, his bedroll tied atop. Ailill once again thanked Bodb for his kindness and hospitality and asked, «When I have gathered what I need, how will I find the sidhe?»

Bodb smiled. «Only desire to find it, and you will be drawn.»

Now and again during her pregnancy Medb thought of the dark-haired boy and wondered what had happened to him. With her belly full and the child within acknowledged, Medb tasted this man and that — circumspectly, as she did not wish to annoy Conchobar further. But there were none among Conchobar’s liegemen or among the visitors who came that were much to her taste and she thought again of Ailill mac Máta and the red hunger in his eyes.

However, as her time drew near, Medb began to think of what she would do about the child. Less than ever did she intend to stay in Ulster and she did not want to be tied to suckling a babe. She would need a wet nurse.

She looked at the women who were also with child and due a little ahead of her. Among them, Ethne of the High Hills seemed suited. She was neither unkind nor too tender-hearted; it did a child no good, especially not the child of a king, to be too much indulged. One fault Ethne had was that she was too fond of her husband; she might get with child again too soon. Medb considered whether there was a way to have the man sent away on a long mission but, most conveniently, he went on a raid. and died.

The shock of grief brought on the woman’s labour and she delivered a boy child a few weeks early. Medb thought Ethne might have died of grief herself, except for the child who held her to the world. He lived, but was frail. Medb went to Ethne and asked if she would suckle her child also. Ethne’s breasts ran with milk and her own boy took little.

«Why not?» Ethne said.

Medb made her bargain but she also saw Ethne’s eyes were dark with fear as she looked at her own child. If he died she would have nothing. She would cleave to Medb’s young one.

«You will have the keeping of him,» Medb assured her. «I will be busy with other things.»

She was within days of her time. She had been doing women’s easy tasks for a few weeks, carding and spinning wool, for she was heavy and awkward, but now she took up her sword practice again and went to run down game in the forest. It was no surprise to anyone when her labour pains started. Nor was it much of a surprise when her bearing was quick and easy and a big, strong man-child howled on her belly.

The women sent to Conchobar as soon as Medb was clean, and he came and looked at his son. «What will you name him?» Medb asked.

Conchobar scowled, but his expression softened when his eyes rested on the child. «Name him Glaisne,» he said, and turned and left the house. Medb watched him go. That he had named the boy was important and during the months of their silent, wary truce she had discovered some worth in Conchobar. He ruled his people well. She had learned much sitting beside him as Banríon of Ulster.

Ethne had attended the delivery and when Conchobar was gone she took up the child and cleaned him and wrapped him. Glaisne took the breast she offered and suckled hard.

«I will watch over him,» Ethne said, and Medb turned on her side and slept.

In a week, Medb was well recovered. After that she was seldom in the house. She was giving all her attention to her weapons practice and her herd, which had diminished under the care of Conchobar’s herdsmen. Seeking widely in the pasturage, she found three calves — with the red and white markings of her cows — separated from their mothers. For a moment she fingered the knife on her belt, but then dropped her hand and instead sent her youngest lover to Tara to bring back servants bound only to her.

Medb would not abide treachery. Three things she required of a husband: that he be without fear, meanness or jealousy. Conchobar was brave enough and he took no revenge on the men she now and again took to her bed. But it is mean to steal from a wife’s herd to keep her subservient. He had taken her cattle; she would take his son as soon as he was weaned. But when she returned to her house at the time when usually she was at weapons practice, she found Conchobar bent over the child’s cradle.

Knife in hand, Medb stepped silently towards her husband. To harm his own son just because she was Glaisne’s mother.

But now, close enough, she heard Conchobar’s soft murmur of praise, of love. What held him bent over the cradle with a hand outstretched was no desire to do harm but the tight grip of baby fingers on his thumb.

So Medb waited warily, and the men she had bound to her by lust and by admiration and by the judicious giving of rings and armlets watched her back and helped her avoid strange accidents. She waited a whole year longer, until Glaisne had teeth in his mouth and toddled among the men, already reaching for their bright attractions, their swords, their knives.

She waited until she saw Conchobar teaching the boy with more patience than she suspected he had. Then in the autumn of the year when Conchobar rode out hunting she called the men who answered to her, gathered up her possessions — the silver plates and cups, the gold armbands and neck torcs, the embroidered linens and fur-trimmed wool mantles — and bade her herdsmen drive her cattle south, to Tara.

Eochaid Feidleach was not overjoyed to see her, but he was in contention with Tinni mac Conri, Rí of Connacht, and when Medb offered to lead the men who had come with her in Eochaid’s support he agreed. She did so well that when Tinni was driven out, Eochaid gave Connacht and the dun at Cruachan into Medb’s hands.

For almost a month Medb watched from the walls for a dark-haired, dark-eyed warrior with just her equal of goods. When he did not come, she laughed at herself for being a fool and wondered instead what it would be like to utterly rule her husband. So she welcomed Tinni back into Cruachan and into her bed, making sure he got no child upon her.

That was no success. Although Tinni raised no challenge to her, she learned that her father had not put the man out for nothing. He was useless in the defence of the lands and people of Connacht against any active threat, and he was not honest; he stole, an armband here a neck torc there, to buy warriors. Medb only learned that after he was gone, but it taught her that a husband without possessions was no better than a husband richer than she.

She was rid of Tinni without much effort though. It so happened that Eochaid Dála had conceived a hot desire for her during the war against Tinni and he came and challenged Tinni for his place. Medb made no protest, although she did not yet know Tinni had robbed her; she had no distaste for Eochaid and was pleased to take him to her bed and share with him the rule of Connacht.

Yet she still took care not to conceive although she knew she would need an heir for Connacht. She did not know for what she was waiting until, in the spring of the fifth year since she had come to be Conchobar’s wife, she came to the central of the seven doors of Cruachan to welcome a visitor — and her gaze met the hot eyes of Ailill mac Máta.

«You are a little late in coming to find me,» Medb said, Eochaid standing behind her and staring at the black hair and black eyes of her guest.

Ailill bowed his head. «I will tell you why, Medb of Cruachan, but not now when it would seem I was excusing myself for not holding to my word. When you have cause to trust me better I will tell you. Now I will offer my services in what capacity you wish to use me.»

She looked him over as she would a horse offered for sale, except that she did not examine his teeth. There was no need for that; they shone white and strong in his dark face when he smiled. But scrawny was not a word that fitted him now — as even Conchobar would have admitted the phrase no longer suited Medb either. Ailill’s limbs were thick with corded muscle, his chest deep and strong, and his shoulders were three axe-handles wide.

«Conchobar has not forgiven me for leaving him and taking with me my possessions,» Medb said. «Though they do not wear his plaids, raiders come from Ulster to steal my cattle and harass my farmers. I have need of fighting men to protect my land.»

Ailill bowed his head again. «As you order, Rí.»

Behind her, Medb heard Eochain Dála mutter discontent. Although she did not turn, his grumblings did not please her. Eochaid seemed to think that because they were bedmates he had a lock on her body, which was pure foolishness. Her body was hers to seek pleasure with but more important, it was goods with which she won loyalty and paid for debts and favours, just as were the rings on her fingers or the armlets she wore. Any man who wished to be her husband needed to be free of jealousy as well as brave and generous.

But she did not pay Ailill with that coin, and although he ate her with his eyes whenever they came together, he gave no sign of asking for that favour.

Within a month she noticed the men of the dun tended to look towards Ailill rather than Eochaid whenever an action was planned. And over that time she had noticed that the men who served with Ailill came back from their protective forays in better spirits and with fewer injuries. Before the second month of Ailill’s return was ended, a deputation came to her to ask that she make Ailill chief of her warband.

This Medb did gladly, lifting a thick torc of gold from her neck and leaning forward to place it around Ailill’s. He did not look at the gold symbol of power as she offered it; he looked at her bare throat and at the swell of her breasts and he wiped sweat from his upper lip when he bent his head to receive the symbol of his new authority.

Eochaid was not pleased and he whispered to Medb that Ailill and the men he had brought with him out of Erna exaggerated their successes against the raiders from Ulster. He told of secret arrangements between Ailill and Conchobar’s troops that they cease raiding now and when he was seated on the throne beside Medb he would give them her cattle as if they had been won as prizes of war.

Only the men bound to Medb herself did not confirm Eochaid’s warnings and so Medb met the glance of the dark eyes, saw the pink tongue touch the lips in the swarthy face and shook her head at Eochaid Dála.

«No,» she said, laughing. «Cattle are not the pay Ailill mac Máta desires of me. I will not outlaw him on your word. My own men say he is a leader with whom they are content.»

Others came to her also, a few she suspected were in Eochaid’s pay, but she would listen to none of them and her gaze locked more and more often on that of Ailill when he sat just below her on the drinking benches. They laughed at the same jests, and Eochaid’s expression grew blacker and blacker.

Eochaid and Ailill did not ride together and did not know each other’s strength. Ailill, obedient to Medb’s warning of trouble from Conchobar, rode north and east towards Ulster; Eochaid rode mostly south and west to guard against those of Casil. The Casili had no grudge against Medb but they saw no harm in picking up a cow for slaughter that had not come from their herds, or a pig or a pretty farmer’s daughter. Medb rode with a smaller escort, less to fight, although she gave a good account of herself when necessary, than to look over all the lands and the people.

Although Eochaid did his duty well enough, Medb thought less of him as a ruler. He spent too much time trying to rid Connacht of Ailill and too little judging crops and grazing lands. Half the women in the dun threw themselves at Ailill and he welcomed every one with good-humoured indifference, but the hunger in his eyes did not lessen a jot when he looked at Medb. As important, neither women nor that hunger took his attention from the crops and the pasturage or made him a less wise judge of his men and the people.

Unable to turn Medb against her favourite, Eochaid set traps for Ailill, which he avoided and commented on with amusement, enraging Eochaid further. Moreover, Medb was not amused and denied Eochaid her bed until, she said, he should understand that who she slept with was at her discretion alone.

Eochaid then saw that if Ailill died by attack or accident, Medb would blame him. So Eochaid set an open challenge on Ailill. With this, Medb did not meddle; nor did she show any preference when she came to watch the fight.

It did not last long. In a hundred heartbeats Eochaid knew himself to be outmatched. Whereupon he made a fatal error. He desired to mark Ailill before he yielded and launched a fiery attack. Ailill did not match it with defence but with an attack of his own.

Eochaid had his desire; his sword bit lightly on Ailill’s left shoulder, but his extended weapon opened a path. This Ailill leaped upon — his sword struck down. Eochaid was cloven from where his neck met his shoulder down to his breastbone. The jugular was sliced clean through. Blood burst in a fountain over Ailill’s sword and arm, even over his face as he drew his sword out of the wound and the body fell towards him.

«You killed him!» Medb had arrived so quickly that she too was spattered with blood and her eyes were round with shock. «He was not a bad man, just not enough for me. Did you need to kill him?»

«Yes.» Ailill’s breath was still coming hard and his own blood trickled down his left arm. «He called you wife. I will suffer no other man to call you wife.»

«If I take you in marriage, you think you will be the only man ever to lie in my bed?»

Ailill laughed. «Mother Dana forbid. I know you may drop a favour here and there for curiosity or to pay a debt or tie a cord around a man’s heart. That will cause me no pain so long as I know I give you pleasure also.»

Medb stepped back, away from the body that lay on the ground. She glanced down, made a gesture to summon Eochaid’s men to take him up and fit him for burial. Then she looked back at Ailill.

«How would I know that? Your eyes promise, but you have never sought to fulfil that promise. You seek to share the rule of Connacht. Agreed you have saved me much loss in protecting my lands, but if I share what is mine with you, we will both be poor.»

«No!» Lifting his hand in protest, Ailill very nearly spitted Medb on the bared sword he was still holding.

He gasped and pulled the hem of his tunic out to wipe the weapon so he could sheathe it. Medb had hopped aside from the motion of the sword, with practised reaction to the weapon’s movement. She did not even look at it as she spoke.

«But I have resolved never to take another husband who had nothing of his own.»

«Most rightly,» Ailill agreed, smiling. «I will go tomorrow to fetch my own property and we can match what we have.»

Medb stared at him for a long moment. «I will not wait another five years for you to make good your word to me.»

Ailill laughed heartily. «No, indeed, I promise you I will not step even one foot inside the sidhe.» He started away.

«Inside a sidhe?» Medb echoed to his back. «Is this what you promised to explain to me when you first came?»

He turned back towards her, leaned forwards suddenly and put his mouth to hers, not trying to embrace or hold her to him. His lips were firm but soft, not dry but not wet with spittle either. And then, just as she was about to embrace him, he drew back.

«I must go and have this shoulder bound up before I lose too much blood.»

She saw then that a fine sheen of sweat glistened on his face and remembered that the lips that touched her had been cool; his skin was pale and greyish and he was unsteady.

«Go then,» she said quickly. «Go and have your wound bound. You can tell me about the sidhe tomorrow.»

But he was gone before dawn the next day. Medb said several words that delicately raised ladies did not know. He had taken about half the men he brought from Erna with him. Medb questioned the men he had left, but they knew nothing of where Ailill was going. They had come to him with his possessions after he had come from the sidhe. if that was from where he had come.

So Medb cursed Ailill to unease and sleeplessness and went with some of her own people to Tara. Her father was sorry to hear what had happened to Eochaid Dála, who had supported him in several wars. He asked whether Ailill was likely to be as useful and all Medb could say was that he would be even more useful. if he had not disappeared again. Eochaid Feidleach shook his head at her and told her she should not be so careless with her men — one dead and another missing. Medb ground her teeth and set out for Cruachan to guard the lands Eochaid and Ailill had watched.

But when she came to the dun, Ailill was there, his cattle in the pasture, his goods spread out on the trestle tables where the people of the dun sat down to eat. There was no lack in the goods, in the silver cups and the horns wound with gold wire in their gold stands, in the platters and the linens and the close-woven cloth. He laughed at her rage over his departure and she stamped on his foot so that he howled and hopped about holding it in his hand. And then they fell into each other’s arms, both laughing, and called witnesses to count over what was hers and what was his.

It was a very close thing, very close indeed, except. The bull with Ailill’s herd was far superior to that in Medb’s. Both were silent as the witnesses gave their judgment and they looked into each other’s eyes. An icy chill ran down Medb’s spine. A bull would bring disaster to her. Still.

«I promised myself that I would not take a husband to whom I would be subservient,» Medb said.

«I desire you for my wife far more than I desire to rule you,» Ailill said, «but the law is the law. All I can offer is to geld the bull»—

The chill struck Medb again. «No!» she cried. «It would be an evil thing to spoil so fine a bull.»

Ailill nodded. «You are too clever to destroy something of value. And think, Medb, you have a dozen yearling bulls that are already better than their sire. Take me for a year while those yearlings grow into their full power on my oath not to use my authority.»

Medb thought. It would not be so easy to rid herself of Ailill as of her previous husbands, but the hunger in his eyes roused her as no other man’s gaze ever had. She held out her hand and he clasped it, and so they were wed before the people of the dun.

Medb ordered a great feast to mark the occasion, taking care that exactly so many steers and sheep and pigs came from Ailill’s goods as came from her own. But they themselves did not attend the revels for long. When the serious drinking got underway, Medb and Ailill slipped out of the hall to her house, where Ailill’s hunger was slaked at last, and then slaked again, and still again so that Medb knew no satisfaction would still it for long.

In the morning, they still lay together, sated, yet Medb was eager to start the day to see how well Ailill would keep his promise not to try to rule her. When she started to rise, however, he held her back and she laughed.

«You still desire me so much?»

«Yes.»

«You think me the most beautiful woman you have ever seen?»

Now Ailill burst out laughing. «No, indeed I do not.»

«You are at least honest,» Medb snapped.

The laughter died and he said, solemnly, «With you, Medb, always.»

Ailill held out a hand and Medb put hers into it. Ailill smiled at her. «With others. I am honest as is most profitable. But those beautiful women — they were from the sidhe. The beauty of the women of the sidhe is unmatched and they are free with their favours. Only. they had nothing else — and I do not mean goods and cattle. They do not care, not for me, not for their own men. And the men are the same. Sometimes kind but always careless, especially of us mortals.»

He told her then about rescuing the sidhe child and that he thought he stayed there no more than five or six months. «When I left, I thought I would be coming to seek you soon after you left Emain Macha. I had no idea I had been five years with the sidhe, and none of them ever thought to tell me that time runs differently in their lios — slower.»

That was a weight off Medb’s mind; there had always been a doubt in her about Ailill’s constancy, whether he might disappear again. So she tightened her grip on the hand she held as he told her how careful he had been when he went to gather up what Bodb held for him, so as not to get caught in the time trap.

«That was well done,» she said. «You have made a good friend in Bodb.»

She made to rise again. This time — a little to her regret — he did not hold her back, but also rose from the bed. When they were dressed though, he stopped her from leaving at the door.

«Wait here,» he said. «I have a morning gift for you.»

Medb burst into laughter. «I was scarcely a virgin when we came together, my love. My morning gift»— Her bright eyes darkened with remembered hurt; Conchobar had given her nothing.

«— was not paid,» Ailill said. «I could do nothing then. But you will have it now and it will content you for all past injury.»

Which left Medb blinking and wondering as Ailill left. A very short time later the door was flung open again and Ailill stood at the side, holding the halter of. a bull. It was red and white as were Medb’s cattle but it was every bit as fine a beast as the black and white bull that Ailill owned.

«Your morning gift,» Ailill said. «Now we are equal.»

Medb’s eyes widened with understanding. She would go her way; Ailill would go his, but they would always be together.

«Compeer,» she breathed. «Partner.»