Dutifully I help escort the murderous stonecutter to a small hut at the edge of the keep where he will be kept under guard. He is left in the capable care of Enna, who volunteers for the first watch. Lorcánn whines like a sick puppy, still doubled over from Daire's head-butt to his midsection. The gash on his head, crusted brown around the edges, oozes a greenish pus. Between his miserable squeakings, he rants furiously, making every kind of vile threat to us, the Rian herself, and even to the Ard-Righ. Then he grips his belly and falls back into his moanings again.

The war chief gazes at him in disgust. He sends Daire running off to fetch the healer. We remain until he returns with Moss. The gentle lady looks at Lorcánn with pity. I wonder how she will manage to even lay a hand on him, much less treat his wounds. He rolls his red eyes at her, snarls and snaps his teeth like a wild boar.

I have other thoughts, however, that have been pressing heavily on me since we left the keep to find Lorcánn. When Dobhar dismisses Daire, I turn and say to him, "If there is no further need here, Cath Mille, I would return to my holdings to see about the safety of my kine."

Dobhar nods tersely. "Go, Spearman. Join us for supper and we will talk more of the cattle. With Beltane drawing near, we should double the watch." He gives his long whiskers a thoughtful twist, then claps me on the shoulder. As I leave, Moss is speaking softly to Lorcánn. I am not surprised that the stonecutter suddenly becomes as docile as a lamb.

Smiling to myself, I head down the path towards my home. As I reach the top of the hill, my eyes search the green valley below for my precious kine. There is Guaire, perched vigilently on the fence. The meadow around him is dotted with the tawny forms of the cattle. I count them, whispering each of their names as I go. They are all there, safe and content.

Guaire spies me and waves his stick in welcome. One by one, the cows' raise their heads from their grazing. They begin singing out their greetings in melodious voices that sound sweeter to me than even our chief bard's mellowest tunes. Guaire runs over and opens the gate for me. I am immediately engulfed by an affectionate horde of shaggy golden beasts.

"No trouble since you've been gone," reports Guaire. "Whoever came looking that day, they have not come back. I kept watch all hours, Spearman!"

"You're a fine cowherd, lad," I grin at him. I take time to give each of the cows a good pat, reassuring myself of their health and well-being. Then I hoist myself up onto the fence beside Guaire and we spend the rest of the afternoon together, watching the herd.