When all had toasted Rourk,

Donal led the way to the feasting table.

Food. Talk. Drink. (Gaer drank a lot.)

At dawn, they went outside,

walked the path to the inner dike.

Cold. The ground wet with dew.

Four men to carry the bier,

Donal and Connol at the head.

No widow to weep.

No one to send the body home to,

Rourk childless, wifeless.

So they put him in mud and stone

near other soldiers

who’d died without family.

Gaer helped to fill in the grave.

King Donal shoveled,

all the soldiers took turns,

even Xau’s nursemaids,

but fucking Xau did fucking nothing.

Then it was finished;

Rourk buried, the sky paling above them.

A good man dead,

and Xau, who had barely known Rourk,

who had fought against him,

standing by his grave,

just six feet away from Gaer,

fucking nursemaids beside him—

Fuck Xau. Funeral done. Time to fight.

Gaer lunged at Xau

to knock his teeth out.

Xau backed sideways a step,

deflected Gaer’s fist with his injured arm

while his other hand grabbed onto Gaer—

grabbed Gaer’s right arm—

pulling Gaer forward, then left, off-balance,

Gaer’s wrist bending.

Fuck. Gaer crashed down onto the dirt,

not sure what happened,

how it happened.

Xau looked down at him.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

Gaer got up, slowly,

sobering up just enough to realize

he was in trouble.

“Gaer.” Fire in Donal’s voice,

his sword drawn.

“Anything you want to say?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

Gaer stood straight as a spear,

trying to sort out what had gone wrong.

Xau not the man he’d taken him for.

“You’re demoted,” said Donal,

“and sentenced to fifty lashes.”

∗

Later, much later,

Gaer worked out that the nursemaids—

standing right by Xau when Gaer attacked—

would have killed him

save that Xau had signaled them not to.

He was never certain

why Xau had done that.

EIRDRE

Four foreigners in the stables

when Eirdre, sister to Queen Fian,

arrived with her escort.

She handed her horse off,

looked hard at King Xau’s men:

all four plainly dressed

in black pants, black jackets,

three of the four armed with sword,

bow, dagger, studying her

as she studied them.

The fourth, his left arm in a sling,

sword at his belt,

but no bow on his back,

had evidently been relegated

to the menial work,

brushing the horse—King Xau’s horse?—

the horse inclining its head toward him.

She liked his unhurried gentleness,

the quiet way he spoke to the horse

as he worked.

Not the man’s fault

what his king had done.

∗

That evening in the castle’s great hall

a crowd of people waited to meet King Xau.

King Donal led Eirdre past the crowd

to the fourth man from the stables,

the man’s clothes plain as before,

but a silver crown on his head.

Xau, their former enemy.

Xau, who had widowed her,

Eirdre’s husband killed by Xau’s army.

“This is Lady Eirdre,” said Donal,

“Queen Fian’s sister.”

Xau bowed to her,