“Shh!” King Murchad of Munster loudly quieted his errant son Brian, who was making quite the racket. Oh, the irony of that sentence.
Brian promptly silenced himself, instead focusing on the stag he was about to shoot down. It was a beautiful specimen, truly earning the title “King of the Woods.” It had some of the largest horns he’d ever seen on an animal, and it was larger than either man by a good margin.
When Brian let loose his arrow, it promptly missed, thudding into a tree about two metres away from the stag. He growled lowly, rueing his apparently insufficient arms training, cursing his uncle Lorcan.
The combination of these factors was enough to alert the stag he was hunting to the presence of a predator. It shot its head up from where it was feeding, then bolted as soon as it saw its hunter hiding among the bushes. Needless to say, their attempt failed.
Murchad growled in irritation and loosed an arrow from his position. It speared the stag in its right hind leg, sending it to the lush forest floor, where it cried out in pain.
Murchad and Brian both emerged from their hiding places, but the father far outstripped the son. He speared the stag through the throat, quickly ending its life.
As the stag’s blood soaked into the dirt, Murchad smacked his son upside the head, hard. “Bloody idiot,” he remarked. “Can’t even shoot a bow straight. How’re you gonna go to war if you can’t fight? Leadin’ from behind the lines’ll only get you so far.”
Brian was not remotely fond of his father’s continuous insults. He angrily responded, “I’ll do fine, thank you very much. I’ve got twenty years more’n you, that’s for sure.”
Murchad muttered, unaware of his eldest son being able to hear him, “Please God, let Cwenburg give me a son.” Cwenburg was Murchad’s wife, only three years older than Brian himself. He questioned the king’s choice, but he wasn’t in a position to object, nor would he try to seduce a pregnant woman, his stepmother no less. He had honour.
Brian was very aware he owed everything to his father. Both men may have been short of temper, but neither was stupid. A fistfight would be fun but not productive in the slightest.
Some time later, the stag had been dragged back to the nobles’ cart, horns removed for a trophy and meat carved up for easy transport. Murchad ordered the driver, “Head back to the castle, would you? Get there in two hours or less.”
Brian felt compelled to add, “I’ll pay you double for it.” He earned a brief glare from his father, one which abated very quickly.
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Meanwhile, a pregnant Queen Cwenburg of Munster waddled out of Thomond Keep to greet their newly arrived guests. Namely, the Earl of Dublin and his family.
Murchad had brought his wife and three sons, of course. His father had adamantly refused to attend, citing health reasons. The earl suspected that said reasons had nothing to do with disease.
Murchad, being a much more trusting man than his father, had no issue with celebrating Cwenburg’s pregnancy. At least, that was the official reason for his visit. In truth, he had other, fairly obvious motives.
When Murchad got out of his carriage, he found Tailltu and Cwenburg engaged in a hostile staring contest. Neither liked the other much, it seemed. “What’s this about?”
Cwenburg sourly told Murchad, “I do not see what business a lowly count has with us, the House of Briain. We are the rightful owners of Ireland. You are our rightful vassals.”
Before her husband could say anything, Tailltu sniped back, “And you don’t fit either description, lowborn.” Murchad decided not to point out that she too was lowborn. An insult was an insult, after all.
Nonetheless, peace had to be maintained. Thus, Murchad decided to intervene. “My mother was your husband’s sister, I will remind you.” This immediately earned him Cwenburg’s ire, evidenced by the fierce glare she gave him.
Enna backed up his father’s claim, “Yeah, we’re family. That’s why we’re here, right Father?” Murchad nodded approvingly.
Donnchad, face completely neutral like usual, stated, “Let’s all stay calm here. We don’t need to get angry.”
Murchad bent over and ruffled his youngest son’s hair. He whispered, “Good boy, Donnchad. Now you’re learning.” Enna was almost of age; he didn’t need the same amount of praise the twelve-year-old Donnchad did.
“Anyway,” Murchad asked, “where’s your husband? I notice my uncle didn’t come out to greet me.”
Cwenburg sneered at Murchad and informed him, “Murchad and Brian are out hunting. I presume they’ll be back some time in the next few hours. Please, feel free to wait outside until they arrive.” The lower-ranked noble wasn’t fooled for a second by her more diplomatic language; the sentiment beneath was just as vicious as it was before.
“Well,” Murchad diplomatically parried, “how about we wait inside? Surely you have the accommodations to treat us to something finer than what we have at home.” Cwenburg recoiled at the extremely polite jibe, prompting Tailltu to shoot her a smug grin.
“Bah! Suffer in the cold, impudent fools!” Before anyone could say anything else, Cwenburg turned right back around and marched into the secure walls of the keep, locking the Cheinnselag representatives out.
Domnall bitterly remarked, “I told you we should have brought Cathbad. Much as we disagree, he does have quite the silver tongue.”
Murchad quipped, “Not quite as much as the two of us, right son?” Both father and son laughed at his joke, with only the former’s coming out as the full-throated bellow it was meant to be. Domnall’s laugh was more of a deep chuckle. Everyone else present rolled their eyes.
Tailltu started cursing under her breath. “That little upstart…” Murchad filtered her speech to be a bit more palatable; he doubted the people listening would want to hear such obscenities as his wife spat.
Donnchad walked up and wrapped his mother in a hug. Or at least, he tried to; he was too small to make it more than halfway around her waist. He hadn’t quite hit his growth spurt yet, apparently. Hopefully there would be a growth spurt to have.
Murchad’s youngest son reassured his mother, “Don’t worry, Mother. We’ll be in soon, I promise.”
“Aww.” Tailltu rubbed her son’s head, draping an arm about his shoulders and pulling him in tighter. “Thank you for the thought, Donnchad.”
Meanwhile, Enna was bouncing up and down in place. He shouted, “I’ve been sitting for hours! I don’t want to do more sitting!” He thought about his problem for a bit before deciding, “I know, I’m going to go running!” He then dashed off.
“Wait!” Tailltu knew she had no chance of catching her son, and thus didn’t try. “Murchad! Find him and make sure he doesn’t get himself hurt!” He promptly obliged, partly because he wanted to and partly out of fear of his wife’s wrath.
The pair’s run had long since finished when two brawny men, one with a beard and one without, came out of the keep and zeroed in on the family. They looked friendly, so Murchad wasn’t worried.
“Greetings.” The clean-shaven one spoke first. “I would have expected you to bring an escort with you, but I suppose this makes things easier.” Now Murchad was a tad more wary.
All four men present put their hands to their swords, despite two of them being children and another being quite weak. The man who spoke seemed to have realized his error, as he hurriedly stated, “No, that’s not what I meant! My apologies!”
The bearded one then interrupted his partner, “My name Conchobar. He Lorcan.” He spoke in a very strange manner, something Murchad picked up on almost immediately. “We’re both brother of King Murchad.” Something very weird was happening with Conchobar’s speech. Murchad was trying to figure out what it was when Enna shaking his shoulder brought him back to attention.
“I said,” it was Lorcan speaking this time, “would you like to come into the keep?”
Tailltu challenged Lorcan for some reason. Perhaps not her smartest move, but he seemed genial enough. “I thought your Queen refused us entry.”
“Ah, about that…” Lorcan was interrupted by Conchobar.
“The queen lack the authority to lock you out. Murchad put me and my brother in charge of the keep while he left.” Murchad understood the situation now. A rather humorous one, actually.
Lorcan then started apologizing on Cwenburg’s behalf. “You know what they say; a pregnant woman is the least rational human one can imagine.” He lightly chuckled, joined by Conchobar and Domnall. Murchad was considerably more hesitant about joining in, and his wife was angrily glowering at Lorcan.
“I’ve been pregnant three times and I haven’t become a she-devil. Consider getting your brother a different wife.”
Lorcan took Tailltu’s rebuttal in stride. “I think you mean another wife. He already has one, in truth. She is a much more pleasant person to talk with, even if she is near-useless on the more… conjugal… side of things.” Lorcan winced at the thought.
It was an important reminder that unlike Murchad of Dublin, who was a devout Catholic, Murchad of Munster was far more of a typical Irishman. This included taking as many wives as one wished, much to the chagrin of everyone off the island. He just knew that such activities would get the king killed one day.
“Anyway,” Conchobar once again interrupted, “I’m getting bored. You want to go in now?” Murchad had a hunch as to what the problem was, but he refused to state it. Being nice sometimes took one a long way.
And so it was that Murchad’s family were treated to much more comfortable amenities inside the keep. Enna and Donnchad were allowed on the sparring grounds with the other youths and young adults inside Munster’s capital, Domnall was introduced to a lovely young maidservant, and Tailltu was treated to a plate of fresh fish.
Unfortunately, Murchad could indulge in none of these, for he was called to the king’s study to discuss business. According to Conchobar, he had ordered ‘Only [him]. No family.’
Murchad the weaker found Murchad the stronger reclining in what looked to be a very comfortable chair, with his wife, about three months pregnant by the looks of things, standing beside him. Conchobar and Lorcan stood behind them, barring the door.
“So,” Murchad stroked his fiery orange beard, “What’s it you wanted to talk about, nephew? I don’t have much time, I’m afraid.” Murchad the black-haired very much doubted that.
“I wanted to ask about an alliance. We are, after all, family. Would it not be best to stand together, against the foreign rulers of Wales, Scotland, and England?”
Cwenburg interjected, “Like you’ll be any help. I would sooner ally Connacht than you, and nobody’s been able to find him for ten years!”
Her husband waved her off, ordering her, “Go away, woman. You have no stake in this.”
However, Cwenburg adamantly refused. “I do! I am the Queen of Munster, carrying the potential prince!” The existence of her stepson Brian was conveniently forgotten about by the queen.
That was not the case for the king, however. Not at all. “I have a son! He may be a disappointment, but he is my heir, and I will not have you trying to oust him!” Murchad flared up awfully quickly, to the point where the other Murchad was starting to regret his visit. “Now go away, woman!” He got up from his seat and forcefully shoved her toward the door.
This did not cow the queen, however. She marched right back up to her husband and slapped him across the face, her long nails drawing blood. This likely helped nothing. She spat at her husband, “Do you want a fight?! Because if so, a fight is what you’ll get!”
Murchad the earl felt frozen in his seat. What was he to do? He wanted to break things up, but he also didn’t want to endanger his alliance.
Murchad the king had his fists clenched, and was breathing heavily. “I will tell you one more time. Go away. My temper is running short, and as much as I would like to force you into submission, you are carrying my child.” Cwenburg did not leave, however. She stared her husband down, fire in both partners’ eyes.
It was at that time that Murchad the black-haired sighed in relief, as Conchobar and Lorcan charged in to break up the fight. Conchobar ordered, “Lorcan, take Cwenburg. Be gentle.”
“Got it, brother.” Lorcan easily picked up the much smaller Cwenburg and carried her out of the room.
Conchobar then rounded on his brother. “What are you doing, brother? Letting your wrath override your judgement? If I not there, you could have hurt her. Hurt your baby.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Murchad dismissed his brother’s concerns and turned back to his negotiating partner. “Apologies for my wife there; she’s not normally this much of an arse.” The other Murchad didn’t respond. He felt sorry for both partners in that marriage, but this wasn’t the time to piece together his uncle’s household.
“So, did you think about my offer?”
“Yeah, I did. The answer’s no. I gave you an audience in my sister’s memory, but it doesn’t seem like my dad made a great decision.” That one stung.
“What do you mean, exactly?” Murchad was able to keep his composure, but the disappointment weighing on him was growing in size. It was like a gigantic sandbag had just been thrown on his back, and he was struggling to stay standing. Even though he wasn’t standing.
“I mean that you’re weak, friend. Your old man isn’t helping me any time soon, and you don’t have any more men on you than any of these other pathetic earls on the island.” That was true, even if it hurt to hear it said out loud.
Murchad of Munster sank back into his chair and stared into Murchad of Dublin’s eyes for a good thirty seconds before testily asking him, “Any more business to bring before me, or can I be rid of you now? The truth was that there was no more business.
As Murchad left the study of his fellow Murchad, fuming at his rejection, he knew one thing; the Duke of Munster would be his greatest adversary and final obstacle to uniting all the Irish under one banner.
