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hot-breathed women cloyed, and others pressed close behind.  My lady girl, then.
And he went round the circle, trying to ignore the shouts and reaching hands, for
it was true battle and gushing red death he knew all too well, and not people so
civilized as to fawn on heroes of combats fought with the swords of boys. He halted
before the end of the nobles platform where sat Cumal, and Aine his wife, and the
veiled Samaire, and Cumal s two sons and daughter. He who was to be champion or
runner-up gazed into bud-green eyes above a grass-green veil.
 I meet the honoured weapon man of the King of Leinster now, for the
championship of Eirrin, my lord and ladies. A token?
 YE WEAR MY BOAR! Cumal shouted, with boyish gladsomeness.
Aine s hand went to a brooch she wore purely for the beauty of it and no good
cause, but she remembered to glance questioningly at her husband.
 Carry this against Bress of the Long Hand, Samaire said,  and would it were
Dark Feredach himself, and your sword of good steel rather than mere oak! And
she bent forward to hand Cormac a linen glove. It was of blue, the primrose of her,
father s house and of Feredach s.
 Were it in my power, I d make thee lord of lands! Cumal cried without
restraint or dignity, as his  Ceann held high Samaire s glove, to show all that he
carried Leinster blue against Leinster itself.
 Mayhap it is within my power to make yourself lord of a champion, Cormac
said.
 Mind ye keep your roving eyes on your opponent, Samaire snapped from
behind her green veil,  and off those eager tid-bits I see crowding you, hulking
barbarian!
Cormac smiled, and looked about overhead.  Methinks I hear the Morrigu, and
her gone all green of eye, he said. As he turned away he added,  But a dairlin girl,
for all that.
The Lady Aine turned to give her veiled cousin a long look. Gazing after
Cormac, Samaire either affected not to notice, or did not.
Bress basked and Cormac chafed in the adulation of their admirers and
well-wishers, and shot each other occasional glances. The clowning pair of  weapon
men in the combat area was called back. A trumpet rose to lips and set a note
atrembling on the air. The chief judge rose. Cheers greeted his announcing the name
of Bress mac Keth of Carman in Leinster, champion of every fair and twice in Tara
of the Kings.
Even on those loyal supporters Bress turned a smile that was open contempt,
for he was a superior man and well knew it.
Then was called the name of Ceann mac Cor, of Tara in Meath, and others
shouted and cheered. Earrings landed, at his feet and about him, and a steward
hurried to clear the ground of those possible obstacles, that might roll beneath the
feet of contending men. Cormac looked not from the ruddy, not unhandsome face
of his opponent in this final passage of arms.
It was time.
Bress walked away to the opposite side of the large circle, rather than to its
center. He turned to stare at Cormac, and the Leinsterman held sword and round
blue buckler contemptuously at rest.
Cormac walked forward three paces.
 MEATH ADVANCES ON LEINSTER! That call rose above the many
others, and there were grins and dark frowns from the nobles on the platform. The
shout was repeated by many.
As though ambling on a summer stroll, Bress moved forward three paces.
 LEINSTER COMES TO TARA!
It s come to that then, Cormac mac Art thought. First I was of Connacht, and
then of Leinster, and then of Dalriada in Alba, and then I strove for none but
myself. Now it s all Tara and Meath I stand for, and the ancient bad feelings over
the Boru Tribute that Leinster hates.
He watched Bress, who stood still, arms down.
So he does what I do, then, Cormac mused, and raises not sword or shield a
fine sense of drama the man has! He glanced back. A little farther from the people,
Bress dairlin, and then we ll see.
Cormac paced forward two paces more, and halted, and mocking Bress moved
the same.
Cormac pointed, and laughter arose at the one word he called forth.
 Stay! he ordered, as though to a sheepherding dog, and he turned and walked
back toward the spectators.
A pace away from staring, wondering faces a dark female eye
winked Cormac wheeled, again voiced that awful savage s shout, and charged at
the run.
Bress, like Cormac, was a warrior. A professional studied others, and Bress had
done. He d seen this charging tactic worked on Oisin, and to good purpose.
Naturally he was prepared as Cormac knew he would be. The Leinsterman stood
his ground as the other man bore down upon him. At the last moment he pounced
aside and swung a mighty chop calculated to strike hard on the back of the Meathish
champion as he raced past.
Unlike fighting with steel against strangers, this sort of staged combat, with
opportunity for the combatants to study one another s ways, was like a war between
great generals known each to the other. B knew L s ways, and assumed that L would
in all likelihood think first of tactic N. For that, B could prepare. But L knew that B
knew and expected, and so he considered other tactics. Still, this B would realize,
and try to prepare for a surprise, except that L knew that B knew that L knew, and...
Bress erred early in the sequence of secondguessing. He assumed that the man
he knew as Ceann mac Cor was launching upon him the same attack employed so
successfully against Oisin. Cormac did not; he did not consider Bress an idiot, but
an expert.
The passing back at which Bress struck was not there. Its owner had swerved
quite differently, and turned, perhaps as much as a full second before the movement
of the supercilious Leinsterman.
The sword of Bress of the Long Hand clove empty air; his shield was not at all
in line; the other man s unpointed sword-end drove forward low to thud against a
hard-muscled belly.
Bress looked at once much surprised and much in need of breath.
The crowd went still.
That quiet was shattered by the clarion note of the trumpet, as the air was
disturbed by the white cloths dropped by judges. As surprised as Bress, they
nevertheless agreed to a man that the Champion of Eirrin had just been stabbed in
the entrails.
Withdrawing from that swift hard lunge, Cormac heard the long horn. His
peripheral vision caught the white flutter of the judging-cloths. He straightened,
triumphant and Bress wooden sword, hard swung in a sideward sweep, crashed
into his side.
The crowd muttered and roared. The judges stared. One remembered to signal
the trumpeter, who blasted forth another mighty note. By that time Cormac s grunt
of pain had risen and he d backstepped two full paces, gritting his teeth. His dark
slits of eyes were fixed on the man who had struck after the combat was over.
Again Bress struck, his face twisted in rage. Command of his brain was lost to
him.
Angered, Cormac knew he was expected to endure or flee until men of the
High-king interfered. None had lost aught but Bress; gone was his hold on the
championship; gone now too were honour and good name and high esteem. But
Cormac mac Art was no civilized player at the game of swords, whether he held
steel or bronze or wood. He too ignored the rules.
The second hard-swung swordcut of Bress he met with a sweep of his own
hardwood brand, with all his strength. At the same time he struck with his
shield and drove his foot up like any sensible man of his time or any other, to
whom fighting was no game to be played at, bounded about with limits and rules.
Bress was hard jolted, three ways at once. He was commencing to double over [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]