The Matter of Manred Continues...
I would not sell myself so cheap as to be nothing more than a pawn in such a fickle game. If peace and goodwill are to come of our marriage, then peace and goodwill must go into it first. And so I tell you true, a...
Tnúthgal crossed the horse-meadow, lantern high. To any spy, out on his usual nightly inspection of the stable. The early spring air was unusually warm and moist.
Smells like rain. He grinned. That should make Eowain's life difficult.
His spies said Eowain was repulsed from Gluín Hill by Toryn's Cailech-men. Tnúthgal knew that hill well. He'd fought to hold it many times himself.
The news pleased him.
Eowain would be on the other side of the kingdom all through the next day. He could be there above a month, if Toryn just held the high ground.
That would certainly scuttle his young cousin's wedding plans.
Tnúthgal pulled the wooden door of the stable behind him. The horses nickered in their shadowed stalls. He heard a desultory kick against a plank. That would be Ahern, he thought. A spirited war-stallion with a good stud-future ahead of him.
"It's about time you got here." The shadows of the stable whispered, harsh and cruel.
"It's my time to spend. Don't forget yourself, Cael."
The bandit chief was a long, lean man who sidled as much as stepped into the light. Wrapped in peasant rags and a worn woolen cloak, Tnúthgal didn't doubt he wore a chain mail shirt beneath them.
And Cael certainly had a weapon. "It's you what needs me, m'lord, not the other way round."
Tnúthgal wrinkled his nose. The bandit wasn't wrong. It would take weeks, if not months, for Tnúthgal to replace him. "It's my coin and supplies that keep your men fed and shod, all these months. If you'd done your job at Ruakhavsa, we'd be finished already."
"You're the one that went goose-livered. You could have taken the tower, or come up behind and reinforced me at Ruakhavsa. But you withdrew."
"A tactical withdrawal. Once I heard you'd attacked him head on, through all that snow? I knew you were lost. If I'd tried to take the tower, he'd have proof against me. He'd have turned the siege and brought up his troops behind me."
"You left me and my men to die."
Tnúthgal seized Cael by the collar. "You were foolish. Eowain's young, but he's not stupid and he's not weak. The way to beat him is at night, in his bed, with a stick. Not with that rabble of yours in an open battle."
Cael hissed. "If we'd had the help we was promised—."
"There's no helping stupid, my friend." Tnúthgal pushed the bandit and his protest away. "Enough. Done is done. What news?"
Cael sulked and perched on a hay-bale. "We got five groups of ten men each on the High King's Road. They're dressed like common travelers—journeymen, migrant farmers, like that. As the Lady Eithne moves north, these men join up with her supply train, a little at a time, 'for protection.' But they're each armed and armored under their clothes, see? When Eithne stops for the night, we wait for the sign from your man. He's going to get her away from the throng, right? He can be trusted?"
Tnúthgal nodded. "My man knows his business, I assure you. He'll do what needs be done."
Cael shrugged. "Then that's it then. Your man will get her away from her guards, the lot of my men will start a diversion, and a handful will take her. It'll be easier than when we got her at Trígrianna, I'll tell you what."
Tnúthgal glared at him. "Make sure you keep her, this time."
"Oh, we'll keep her. Can't promise what condition she'll be in when she's ransomed, but we'll keep her this time for sure. We got Eowain running all around the houses looking for us now, ain't we?"
"Indeed." He could imagine his cousin's frustration. "Thirteen raids and six kidnappings in the last two months since Ruakhavsa. Eowain's at his wit's end." Tnúthgal had done everything in his power to weaken Eowain's hold on his throne. He relished the idea of the blushing bride-to-be stolen from under his cousin's very nose.
And he wouldn't restrain the bandit-chief's baser instincts anymore either. He'd been kind to Eithne three months ago, tugged at Cael's leash to keep him from her. But not anymore. Let her suffer now as she didn't then. Let the kingdom see how little the self-proclaimed king's protection really means.
Eowain's clients would desert him, his loyal warriors would question him. Tnúthgal's stock would rise. Never mind that fool king Murdach had ruled against his claim. If Droma was to survive the coming onslaught by the Gruin-men, Tnúthgal knew she needed a firm hand on the reins.
His naïve young cousin's need for a bride, and soon after a son, were his greatest weakness. Tnúthgal only needed to keep them apart long enough to see Eithne stolen away, and his own purposes would soon be accomplished.
But could he trust Cael again? The fool had made a muddle of things at Ruakhavsa. Cael had lost the girl once already, and then led his rabble into a trap. He'd let Eowain's bravado goad him into giving up the advantage of his position. Cael's only real success that day was in slithering away before he himself was killed. And it had cost Tnúthgal plenty to hearken together more lawless resolutes to the bandit's banner.
He couldn't trust the law. King Murdach failed him when he dismissed Tnúthgal's suit.
He couldn't trust the kings of Cailech or Ivea. They were a rapacious pair. Once they'd help him unseat Eowain, they were as like to kill him as to hand over the throne.
And aid from the Gruin-men was inconceivable.
That left only Cael and his misbegotten brigands as the only tool still near to hand. Their loyalty to his silver could be counted on so long as the silver lasted.
But his coffers were low, and Eowain's choke-hold on the tolls strangled his ambitions further. He had to bring this matter to an end soon.
Indeed, what choices do I have? Tnúthgal nodded. "See that it's done, then. And don't make a muddle of it."
—33—
Look for the next installment in this Continuing Tale of The Matter of Manred: The Romance of Eowain.
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