Part 9

“Watch yer slosh, Maológ.”

Under a full moon, the kitchen squires of Carrickfergus Castle moved a rickety cart up the road. Its load clanged, giant jars poured to the top with the squeezings of fermented apples.

“Watch yer spill!”

“A little water,” Maológ grumbled, “and they'll be brimmed.” He pulled on the cart rope while the other two pushed and steadied from the back. A shine from the moon sparkled the white of some water parsnips pond-flowering near the shore. Eventually, their trudge ended and the boys stood before the muscular trunk of the old Taunting Tree. Asclán, the biggest, hugged a jar under his chin and held just below a low hive. Clagarnach, the surest with a knife, cut the hive's root and a hunk of honeycomb sank into the slosh.

The squires repeated this process many times more, sealing each jar with wax. Just before sun-up, they carted them back to the castle's wine cellar. Each was placed efficiently, if not carefully, on the damp earth floor to meld honeyed cider with bee venom until the rise of October’s full moon.

The next morning marked Balor's day for settling at Carrickfergus Castle and ridden horses began arriving early. Uachtarán traveled from Aduaine and didn't reach the coast till nearly noon. The hairs on his arms rose as he rode past the Taunting Tree where displaced bees flew in uneven circles, playing a song of anger on frenetic wings. The steed of Uachtarán shuddered, muscles rippling under its skin. But its hooves kept on, clipping ever closer to Balor's castle. From half a mile, its rider first spied the square stone keep jutting tall and wide into the sky, a grey stalk grown from Fergus Rock at its base. Castle stones stitched an imposing barrier of fearsomely quilted walls while white limestone corners morticed these speckled granite slabs that squatted, sentried, on the Irish sea.

He pulled back the reins as he approached the gatehouse and his steed stopped short. “I am Lord Uachtarán, Knight of the Fourteen Lands of Aduaine. I wish to be present for the September settlements.” He dismounted and handed his reins to the gate squire. More bees flew, lacking aim inside the curtain wall of the castle yard. Yet the sky's watchful sun seemed disinterested in Carrickfergus, preoccupied behind an account of clouds and a ledger of birds.

Inside the castle keep, large, leathered men punctuated the Great Hall. Six of Balor's squires huddled under a yellow flag that hung against a whitewashed wall. Depicted against the yellow was the Red Hand of Ulster, an open palm, unfisted, but signaling a stop. Balor busied himself, seated on the Hall's far end, examining the scrolls of his household.

“Squire of the wines!”

Clagarnach stepped up to Balor's wooden throne. “Bring twelve flagons on the kalends next for the warrior's tasting of mushroom wines. Find the best bottles of the Fly Agaric.” This mushroom was known for instilling bravery. He looked again at the scroll held by the money changer standing at his side. “Squire of the pantry. Table squire.” Asclán and Maológ stepped forward. “Obtain two cows for the Feast of the Nutmeat. Forty men will sup.” Balor noticed his knight from Ulster approaching. “Ah, Uachtarán! Step up.”

“My lord.”

“What news, knight?”

“The gallowglass have settled in Faodail and Laird Leannán houses them in the shire just north of the fields of Jabbot.”

Balor grunted approval. “How many?

“Forty-seven, my lord.”

“Forty-seven new men. That, minus the tax on your fees in Aduaine...” The attendant made a notation that he showed to Balor. “You'll receive ninety pounds settled for the upkeep of your men.” He nodded to his money changer, who began counting each coin as it dropped into a burlap bag.

Uachtarán shifted on his feet. “Will the coins be weighed, my lord?”

“The changer is counting them.” Balor noticed the grind of Uachtarán's jaw. “I am the moneyer of Ulster, Uachtarán. These coins will be accepted in Aduaine on pain of death.”

“Excepted, Balor?”

The petty monarch shrugged and turned away. “If the merchants of Dea Verdoya wish to spur the coins passing through their hands, then by legal proclamation they'll be accepting those same coins back for grain. It only hurts them. That's how the law protects you, knight.”

Uachtarán again shifted his weight.

“Let it be known!” Balor shouted to the room, over the murmurs of his men. “There is a new law this day! The weighing of coins is heretofore outlawed. All monies shall be counted and counted only!” His attendant hurriedly scratched Balor’s yellings into the parchment.

Outside, the bees in the courtyard hovered over the steps leading down to the wine cellar. One by one, they perched in the crags of the stone wall and considered their continuing attack, a coordinated flutter against stone and glass with the forged weapon of chewed paper.