meat, and apples out. When Finn glanced up at him, he noted a hungry light in the little man's eye. His own store of food was small, and he had no idea how long it would have to susutain him. But he recalled Bodhmall's teaching that, to a warrior of Ireland, generosity was one of the greatest virtues.
"Would you share some food with me?" he offered.
Cnu smiled in delight. "It's a very fine young man you are for asking me. 1\\ have one of your apples, if youVe a mind to give it."
Finn tossed one to him. "Are you certain that's all?"
"More than enough for me," the little man assured him. "iVe a linnet's stomach, so I have. Though he's always after me to give it back."
He laughed heartily at this, but Finn only stared blankly at him. Noting the reaction his bit of humor had received, Cnu sobered and shrugged.
"Ah well," he said resignedly, "I never claimed to be a clown. "
"What are you?" Finn inquired politely.
"What am I?" he repeated, seemingly surprised by the question. "Why, I'm a musician, of course, traveling Ireland, trading a tune for a meal or a bit of gold. And couldn't you tell that when you heard my playing?"
To illustrate, he took up the wooden tube and blew through one end, while his slender fingers flew up and down its length. A sprightly melody issued from it and Finn listened, feeling the merry spirit of it catch him up. His body began to sway and his foot to tap, unbidden by him.
The Little Nut watched closely, then began playing with more energy. Finn was seized by an extraordinary need to move. The music tickled and teased at him, forcing him to rise. Soon he was capering about the clearing as if he had gone mad, throwing his legs high, waving his arms, whooping and whirling in time to the melody. He could not stop himself, but he had no desire to try, so fully possessed was he by the lively tune.
At last Cnu stopped playing and watched, grinning
widely, as an exhausted Finn, panting for breath, dropped down, staring in amazement at him.
"A very fine jig that was!" he congratulated.
"I don't even know what a jig is!" Finn answered in a bewildered way as he tried to understand what had happened.
"No matter!" Cnu told him airily. 'The song knows how to do it for you. YouVe only to follow."
"You mean it's you doing that? But how?"
"It's a little gift I have," Cnu answered modestly. "I've music to make men laugh or weep, to love or hate, to make them sleep or make them dance their feet down to the stumps."
"It's a wondrous skill to have," Finn said, eyeing the little man with a certain wariness, "and a terrible one."
"It is, and it's done me good service many times. But don't fear, lad, I was only making a show of it to you. I'll not use it on you again unless you wish it."
Finn looked more closely at the instrument that Cnu had used to weave his spell. "And what is that thing you made the tune upon?" he asked.
"Why, it's my whistle, lad!" the man answered, amazed himself now. "Don't tell me that you've never seen one before?"
"Liath told me some about musicians," he said, "but I've never seen one, nor his instruments." He realized that Cnu was giving him a curious look now. "I . . . ah ... come from a faraway land," he added quickly by way of explanation.
"A strange land, indeed, to have no musicians in it," Cnu said musingly. "And why is it you've come here? What are you seeking in the west?"
Again Finn hesitated. How much was it safe to tell this odd little man?
"Come on, lad. I'm safe enough!" Cnu urged, as if he had read Finn's mind.
Finn decided that he was right. There was no reason not to tell him anyway. He would have to reveal his intentions sometime if he meant to begin realizing them.
"I mean to become a skilled warrior," he announced, drawing himself up in what he hoped was a resolute pose.
"Well, well!" said Cnu, sounding properly impressed. He ran a critical eye over the young man's physique and nodded approvingly. "You do seem to have the size and muscle for it. Are you going into fosterage then?"
"Fosterage?" repeated Finn, not understanding the term.
"Yes, lad. You know. To be trained by some chieftain along with the sons of the other warriors of your clan."
"I have no clan," said Finn. "My parents are dead.**
"Ah. Tm sorry for that," Cnu told him. "But where is it you'll go for your training?"
"I was told that there are chieftains who might take me into their service."
Cnu shook his head. "There are chieftains who hire warriors to strengthen their household companies. But they want only skilled fighters. They've no time to waste training young men fi*om strange lands."
So, Finn thought, this first step in his quest was going to be even harder than he thought. He took a rather forlorn bite fi*om his bread and wondered what he would do.
But once more the little man appeared to read his thoughts.
"Don't be despairing, lad," he said brightly, blowing a little warble on his pipe. "You've had good fortune meeting the Little Nut today. It happens that I know the king of Bantry. His fortress is some days west, near Lough Lein. He might help you. He's a good man, and a great friend of mine. I think I could convince him to take you in."
"You could?" said Finn with rising hopes. Then he grew wary again. "But why should you want to help me?"
"You are a suspicious one, you surely are," Cnu told him. "But don't worry, my young Finn. I'm a man who likes to help others, and I've a feeling you need a
bit more help than you're letting on to me. Will you accept that?"
Finn shrugged and then smiled. "I will," he said. "iVe little other choice."
"He couldn't find him!" Tadg said angrily. He threw a stick into his fire with a savage gesture. It flared, sending a red, wavering glow that gave false animation to the watching skulls. Conan looked about nervously.
"We lost his track in the storm," Goll said defensively. "We think he turned another way. But he's left the glens, I'm certain. He could be anywhere now."
"You must search for him. Hunt him down!" Tadg insisted. "He'll raise the blood feud against you one day if he is Cumhal's son."
"I've no doubt about that," Goll said. "I saw him clear enough. There's no mistaking he has his mother's looks"—he put a hand gingerly to his bruised neck— "and his father's strength."
"He's a dangerous lad," Conan put in, "running through us bold as you please and then leading us about in the woods! He left: us so lost it took us all the next day to get out again. A long, cold, and soggy night that was! Why we—"
"Enough of your complaining. Brother," Goll said sharply, then turned to the druid. "But Conan is right, Tadg. This Finn has great courage and great skill."
"Your admiration is misplaced, MacMoma," Tadg said scornfully. "His skills could mean your own destruction. You cannot continue to fail me in this."
"Fail you?" Goll said in outrage. "And when do the sons of Morna act at your command?"
"To fail the high king I meant, of course," Tadg smoothly and hastily amended. "It's for Conn that I speak. He is very distressed."
"We haven't given up the search for him," Goll irritably replied. "I've sent a company of my best warriors to continue the hunt. They're led by Luachra, the finest champion and the finest tracker of all the Fians.
If MacCumhal is within the four corners of Ireland, Luachra will find him."
"rm certain that we all hope so," the druid said pointedly.
Chapter Nine
CAOILTE MACRONAN
"You say that this boy youVe come across is a fighter, do you, Cnu Deireoil?" the chieft:an said, looking across the fortress's yard to where Finn stood by the gateway, gazing about him.
"And have I ever given bad counsel to you, Cian?" the little man answered easily.
The chiefi:ain laughed. "Not when it suits your own ends." He examined the young man with a critical eye. "I suppose he does seem fit enough," he admitted, but added doubtfiilly, "still, he hasn't a warrior's look about him. He hasn't even got a sword."
"He's had no training in the warrior's arts before," Cnu Deireoil explained, putting sorrow into his voice. "Ah, poor lad! He's been an orphan since childhood, hving on his ovm in the wilds, that he has. But he's very quick. I've seen few swift:er or more agile in the moving. And if I'm any judge, he's a quick learner as well. A bit of training and you'll have yourself a marvelous warrior."
The chiefl:ain listened to this cajoling speech with interest, watching the little man's face carefully. When it had ended, he asked, somewhat suspiciously, "What are you about, my friend? You sound as if you're trying to sell the lad to me. I've a feehng I should mistrust you."
"Me!" Cnu Deireoil said in an offended tone. "And when have I ever tried to take advantage of you?"
"Nearly always," Cian told him bluntly.
"Oh, well," the little man said, looking hurt, "if the poor Little Nut can't help a boy out of pity without being taken for a rogue—"
"All right, my friend," the chieftain said hastily, holding up a hand. He liked the musician and had no wish to anger him for fear of his not coming again. "If you are so concerned about this lad, well see if hes the sort that I can use. Just see, mind you!"
"I can't ask fairer than that," Cnu Deireoil agreed, and the two started across the yard toward Finn.
Throughout their talk, the young man had been quite rapt with his examination of the interior of the fortress. It was the first one he had ever been inside.
It was much as he had expected, though a bit less imposing than he had visualized. Like the other one he had seen, it was a rath— a lios surrounded by a bank of earth topped by a stockade. The whole ring fort sat on a high, smooth-shouldered hill that gave fine vantage over the broad meadows around. This view insured that no enemy could come upon the fortress by surprise and allowed herdsmen to watch over the grazing cattle that were the chief wealth of the tribal tuath .
Against the inner wall of the stockade there were some simple, rickety sheds that comprised the stables and storage sheds for the fortress. Near the center of the yard sat the meeting hall, a large, oval building that showed much wear. Its daub walls of mud and dung were cracked in spots. Sections had fallen away to reveal the basketlike wattle framework beneath. The thatched roof that rose steeply to a high peak was badly weathered, the straw torn away in spots, giving it the look of a hound balding with the mange. Around it were gathered other buildings, smaller and even sorrier versions of the central hall, like forlorn pups around their mother at feeding time.
The space between this cluster and the stockade wall was open, the ground bare and hard-packed by years of trampUng feet. Here some two score men were
hard at work practicing with weapons. From his examination of the fortress itself, Finn's attention went to them, and especially to one young warrior. He was working with a sword, holding two opponents at bay. This he did easily, almost playfully, parrying cuts and thrusts with casual gestures as he danced about the two befuddled men. Finn was quite fascinated with the warrior's skills and began to watch his moves carefully.
So absorbed was he that he didn't notice the chieftain and Cnu Deireoil approaching from the hall until his new comrade hailed him.
"Finn!" called the little man, and he turned toward them.
If he had expected his first sight of a chieftain to be an imposing one, he was much mistaken. Cian was an amiable-looking man, with a round-tipped nose and permanent laugh creases about his small, bright eyes. Fiery red hair was braided loosely at each shoulder and a thick mustache curled out and up on either side of a generous, smiling mouth. His dress was casual to the point of untidiness. A worn cloak hung carelessly around him and his tunic was gray with wear. He smiled warmly at Finn as he addressed him.
"Welcome, young man. I understand that you would like to join my household company."
"I would, sir," Finn said earnestly.
"It's not an easy life," the chieftain warned. "You must work hard and risk yourself for me, and get little for it but food and a roof to cover you."
"I'm used to hardships, and there's no risk I'll not gladly take," he assured Cian. "My chieftain, nothing in life is so important to me now as learning the warrior's skills."
Finn's determined attitude impressed the chieftain, but he still had some doubts. "I'd like to help you, lad, but all of my warriors have been trained since they were first able to walk. And the Little Nut says that you've done no fighting at all."
"True enough, sir," Finn admitted, 'T^ut I have learned the hunter's skills. I can track and stalk and use the spear better than most!"
The chieftain laughed at this boastful statement.
"Can you, indeed?" he said. "Well, let's just see." He glanced around the yard, then pointed toward a wooden t>ing post by a stable against the far wall. "See how close you can come to that."
At that distance, the post was a tiny target indeed. But to Cian's surprise, Finn seemed not at all concerned. He eyed the post for a moment to gauge the throw, lifted one of his spears, and with htde apparent effort fired it toward its goal.
It flashed across the yard, arching sHghtly and then curving down to bury half its point in the hard wood of the thick post.
Warriors about the yard now began to quit their o\\Ti practice and look about to see who had made such a throw. The chieftain stared in wonder at the quivering shaft. Then, not willing to accept Finn's skill so easily, he recovered himself and said in a careless way: "A fair throw. But it could have been chance. Try again."
Finn shrugged and repeated his throw with the second spear. It followed the path of the first, striking home less than a handbreadth below its fellow.
A cheer now rose fi-om the assembled warriors.
"He's a master of the spear, that one is," one commented.
"Aye! Never seen such throwing," agreed another, and voices of praise were heard about the yard.
Finn beamed at their applause while Cnu Deireoil fixed a challenging look on the chieftain.