with their hair tied back. He didn't know why keeping it loose at festivals was a sign of respect for the gods. If he was a god, he'd prefer people to stay tidy. If there was ever a chance to mention it to Inis ap Fathag, he thought he might, because it would be interesting to know. Just looking at Laig made Ferdia want to straighten and smooth down his own hair. Elenn's hair always looked smooth; he wondered how she did that.
"Have you seen Darag?" he asked.
Laig stopped and ran a hand backwards through his hair, which might have accounted for the state it was in, except that it also seemed to have grass in it. "Yes, he's down by the hurley field,"
he said, his voice slurring a little. "But don't go and disturb him. Tonight all the young married women are looking for dancing partners.
Page 39
Darag's got his hands full. Even I have had offers. More than offers." Laig leaned towards Ferdia confidingly.
Ferdia shrank back a little from the ale on his breath. "That's where I was," Laig said. "Pressing the grass flat. Plowing the fields. And with a champion, too. I won't tell you her name, that isn't the thing to do, but definitely not one of the ugly ones."
As Ferdia remembered Conary's champions, that left two possibilities, and one of them had three children already. Though Laig might be counting charioteers as champions, being a charioteer himself, which left much more scope. Not that Ferdia wanted to guess, but how could anyone avoid it when he said things like that? "Well done," he said, because Laig was definitely expecting some such response.
"You should try it yourself," Laig said. "Plenty of them would want you, being a king's son.
You'd be even more popular than Darag, and Darag is very popular." He laughed.
Ferdia shook his head, absolutely certain. "I don't want to," he said.
Laig giggled. "You might find you liked it if you tried it. But it's up to you. The unwilling gift isn't a gift at all, better a gift unoffered than a gift spurned, and all that. Well, I'm going to find more ale and then see what other dances I can learn tonight."
He wandered away unsteadily. Ferdia set down his own cup in sudden disgust. There wasn't anything here for him. He wished he was back home in Lagin. He wished he were still a child to go to bed after the first dance.
He thought he might as well go to bed anyway as stand here watching the people dancing in the firelight. The only thing that stopped him was the thought that it wouldn't be quiet enough to sleep for hours yet. Standing here wasn't good, but being inside awake listening might be worse.
Ferdia hesitated, then decided he could always stuff his blanket into his ears. He set off through the press towards the Red Hall.
Everyone seemed to be laughing and touching. Several women, some he barely knew, insisted on kissing him for luck. He realized that Laig was right, he would have no trouble finding partners if he wanted them. He was quite sure he didn't, not at all. He was glad to win safely to the shelter of the Red Hall. He made his way to the other side of the building, where the door was, away from the crowd.
Old Senna had left the door, there was nobody there now but Inis, who was sitting on a stool by the door, rocking to and fro a little. He did not look up until Ferdia was almost up to him.
His eyes seemed very bright in the lantern-light.
"Well met on the Feast of Bel, son of Cethern," Inis said.
"Well met, ap Fathag," Ferdia said uncomfortably. He wanted to get past Inis and go in to bed.
He hated the necessity of being polite while making sure to ask no questions, even the most innocent.
"Not dancing?" Inis asked.
"I've had enough of it for tonight," Ferdia said. "I'm tired and ready for my bed."
"Seeking your lonely bed," Inis said.
Ferdia didn't know if he was making a comment or quoting something. It sounded like a quote, but it wasn't from any song he knew. He didn't know if it was something he might reasonably be expected to know but had
"Have you seen Darag?" he asked.
Laig stopped and ran a hand backwards through his hair, which might have accounted for the state it was in, except that it also seemed to have grass in it. "Yes, he's down by the hurley field,"
he said, his voice slurring a little. "But don't go and disturb him. Tonight all the young married women are looking for dancing partners.
Page 39
Darag's got his hands full. Even I have had offers. More than offers." Laig leaned towards Ferdia confidingly.
Ferdia shrank back a little from the ale on his breath. "That's where I was," Laig said. "Pressing the grass flat. Plowing the fields. And with a champion, too. I won't tell you her name, that isn't the thing to do, but definitely not one of the ugly ones."
As Ferdia remembered Conary's champions, that left two possibilities, and one of them had three children already. Though Laig might be counting charioteers as champions, being a charioteer himself, which left much more scope. Not that Ferdia wanted to guess, but how could anyone avoid it when he said things like that? "Well done," he said, because Laig was definitely expecting some such response.
"You should try it yourself," Laig said. "Plenty of them would want you, being a king's son.
You'd be even more popular than Darag, and Darag is very popular." He laughed.
Ferdia shook his head, absolutely certain. "I don't want to," he said.
Laig giggled. "You might find you liked it if you tried it. But it's up to you. The unwilling gift isn't a gift at all, better a gift unoffered than a gift spurned, and all that. Well, I'm going to find more ale and then see what other dances I can learn tonight."
He wandered away unsteadily. Ferdia set down his own cup in sudden disgust. There wasn't anything here for him. He wished he was back home in Lagin. He wished he were still a child to go to bed after the first dance.
He thought he might as well go to bed anyway as stand here watching the people dancing in the firelight. The only thing that stopped him was the thought that it wouldn't be quiet enough to sleep for hours yet. Standing here wasn't good, but being inside awake listening might be worse.
Ferdia hesitated, then decided he could always stuff his blanket into his ears. He set off through the press towards the Red Hall.
Everyone seemed to be laughing and touching. Several women, some he barely knew, insisted on kissing him for luck. He realized that Laig was right, he would have no trouble finding partners if he wanted them. He was quite sure he didn't, not at all. He was glad to win safely to the shelter of the Red Hall. He made his way to the other side of the building, where the door was, away from the crowd.
Old Senna had left the door, there was nobody there now but Inis, who was sitting on a stool by the door, rocking to and fro a little. He did not look up until Ferdia was almost up to him.
His eyes seemed very bright in the lantern-light.
"Well met on the Feast of Bel, son of Cethern," Inis said.
"Well met, ap Fathag," Ferdia said uncomfortably. He wanted to get past Inis and go in to bed.
He hated the necessity of being polite while making sure to ask no questions, even the most innocent.
"Not dancing?" Inis asked.
"I've had enough of it for tonight," Ferdia said. "I'm tired and ready for my bed."
"Seeking your lonely bed," Inis said.
Ferdia didn't know if he was making a comment or quoting something. It sounded like a quote, but it wasn't from any song he knew. He didn't know if it was something he might reasonably be expected to know but had
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