wall asmost were. A portly red-bearded fellow trod forward. “Welcome to you, travelers, so be it you come in peace,” he called. “This is the hostel of Cellach maqq Blathmaqqi. Fire is on the hearth, meat on the spit, and beds laid clean for the weary.”
Such establishments were common throughout the island—endowed with land and livestock so that their keepers could lodge free all wayfarers, for the honor of king or tribe and the farthering of trade. “Maeloch son of Innloch thanks yuh,” he replied ritually. “We from Armorica.” That much would be plain to any man who knew something of the outside world, as they surely did here.
“A long way you’ve come, then,” said Cellach.
Maeloch beckoned to a crewman who had been on trading voyages to Mumu and could speak readily. “The storm at fall moon blew us off course for the south of your country,” that sailor explained. “Having made repairs afterward, and being where we were, we thought to do what had been in many minds and see if we could find a new market for our wares.” That was true, as far as it went. To be caught in an outright lie would mean the contempt of the Scoti and end any chance of talking with them.
Cellach frowned. “Himself at Temir is no friend to the Romans or their allies.” He brightened. “But his grudges are not mine, nor are they the grudges of my tuath and our own king. Let us help you with your gear and bring you to our board.”
“Yuh no afraid enemies?” asked Maeloch on the way up.
“We are not,” Cellach replied. “Do you see rath or guards? True, the Lagini were close by, but they could never have come raiding without being spied in time for men to rally from the shielings around about. And Temir is some twenty leagues off; though the King there is often away, warriors aplenty would soon be avenging. Even in days when the hostel was founded, the Lagini left this strand alone. And now Niall has reaped their land with his sword, and afterward the poet Laidchenn called famine into it, till nobody dwells across from Clón Tarui. What my wife and I fear, so long as the sky does not fall, is only that we may fail to guest our visitors as grandly as did my mother, the widow Morigel, who had this place before me.”
The main house was built of upright poles with wicker-work between, the whole chinked and whitewashed, the thatch of the roof intricately woven. Windows let in scant light, but lamps hung from the beams, which were upheld by pillars, and a fire burned in a central pit. The floor was strewn with fresh rushes. Furnishings were merely stools and low tables; however, hangings, albeit smoke-blackened, decorated the walls. One side of the cavernous space was filled by cubicles. Two wooden partitions, about eight feet high, marked off each; the third side stood open toward the east end of the hall, revealing a bed that could hold two or three. “You’re few enough that you can sleep alone,” laughed Cellach, “the which is not needful for those among you who are lucky.”
True to his promise, when the mariners had shed their wet outer garments and shoes, he settled them at the small tables. Women brought ale and food. Scoti customarily took their main meal in the evening, but this midday serving was generous, beef, pork, salmon, bread, leeks, nuts, unstinted salt. The one who filled Maeloch’s platter was young, buxom, auburn-haired and freckle-faced. She brushed against him more than once, and when he looked her way she returned a mischievous smile. “Ah, a daughter of mine, Aebell,” said the landlord. He had joined the captain and Usun at their table. “It seems as though she favors you.” Proudly: “If true, you are lucky indeed, indeed. She’s unwed thus far, but not for lack of men. Why, King Niall beds her and none else when he honors this house.”
The eyes narrowed in Usun’s leathery countenance. “When was that last, may I ask?” he murmured.
“Och, only some eight or nine days agone,
Such establishments were common throughout the island—endowed with land and livestock so that their keepers could lodge free all wayfarers, for the honor of king or tribe and the farthering of trade. “Maeloch son of Innloch thanks yuh,” he replied ritually. “We from Armorica.” That much would be plain to any man who knew something of the outside world, as they surely did here.
“A long way you’ve come, then,” said Cellach.
Maeloch beckoned to a crewman who had been on trading voyages to Mumu and could speak readily. “The storm at fall moon blew us off course for the south of your country,” that sailor explained. “Having made repairs afterward, and being where we were, we thought to do what had been in many minds and see if we could find a new market for our wares.” That was true, as far as it went. To be caught in an outright lie would mean the contempt of the Scoti and end any chance of talking with them.
Cellach frowned. “Himself at Temir is no friend to the Romans or their allies.” He brightened. “But his grudges are not mine, nor are they the grudges of my tuath and our own king. Let us help you with your gear and bring you to our board.”
“Yuh no afraid enemies?” asked Maeloch on the way up.
“We are not,” Cellach replied. “Do you see rath or guards? True, the Lagini were close by, but they could never have come raiding without being spied in time for men to rally from the shielings around about. And Temir is some twenty leagues off; though the King there is often away, warriors aplenty would soon be avenging. Even in days when the hostel was founded, the Lagini left this strand alone. And now Niall has reaped their land with his sword, and afterward the poet Laidchenn called famine into it, till nobody dwells across from Clón Tarui. What my wife and I fear, so long as the sky does not fall, is only that we may fail to guest our visitors as grandly as did my mother, the widow Morigel, who had this place before me.”
The main house was built of upright poles with wicker-work between, the whole chinked and whitewashed, the thatch of the roof intricately woven. Windows let in scant light, but lamps hung from the beams, which were upheld by pillars, and a fire burned in a central pit. The floor was strewn with fresh rushes. Furnishings were merely stools and low tables; however, hangings, albeit smoke-blackened, decorated the walls. One side of the cavernous space was filled by cubicles. Two wooden partitions, about eight feet high, marked off each; the third side stood open toward the east end of the hall, revealing a bed that could hold two or three. “You’re few enough that you can sleep alone,” laughed Cellach, “the which is not needful for those among you who are lucky.”
True to his promise, when the mariners had shed their wet outer garments and shoes, he settled them at the small tables. Women brought ale and food. Scoti customarily took their main meal in the evening, but this midday serving was generous, beef, pork, salmon, bread, leeks, nuts, unstinted salt. The one who filled Maeloch’s platter was young, buxom, auburn-haired and freckle-faced. She brushed against him more than once, and when he looked her way she returned a mischievous smile. “Ah, a daughter of mine, Aebell,” said the landlord. He had joined the captain and Usun at their table. “It seems as though she favors you.” Proudly: “If true, you are lucky indeed, indeed. She’s unwed thus far, but not for lack of men. Why, King Niall beds her and none else when he honors this house.”
The eyes narrowed in Usun’s leathery countenance. “When was that last, may I ask?” he murmured.
“Och, only some eight or nine days agone,
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