The following morning, Eowain in his hall received petitions and passed judgments. Commoners and lords alike presented grievances, seeking their King's justice. Eowain did his best to be even-handed, with the Lord-Drymyn Medyr beside him to advise him on the precedents of their tribe's common law.

Then the merchant and the acolyte were brought forward. Eowain had received good reports of their travels since their arrival back at Dúnsciath. "We've heard tales of adventure against monstrous vermin and terrible bears. We thank you for your courage and the services you've done our kingdom."

The merchant and the acolyte did another reverence in gratitude. Then the merchant clapped his hands. One of Eowain's own scouts—joined by the merchant's tall, brawny Foreigner—bore between them into the hall a basket overflowing with some rank animal's hide. Another servant carried an iron-bound case.

The merchant flourished the magnificent hide of gleaming black pelage from the basket. "This was the fur of the bear mikil-skaftjan, greatly made by the Gods, ja?" It cascaded to the floor between his hands, and shone in the torchlight. "The House of Pelan would like to offer it as a gift to the great king who is called 'Eowain the Bear'."

Then the case was held open to reveal precious gems. "Won on our adventures through your countryside, Mighty King. Another gift for you, Your Grace, as a sign of the esteem in which the House of Pelan holds Your Magnificence."

Eowain was grateful. Such a beneficence would go some way to depleting the tribe's treasury.

Eowain's chamberlain, with an appropriate apology, ventured into the hall and awaited permission to interrupt. "Your Grace, here in the great court is your cousin Tnúthgal, with a delegation of northern chief-holders, asking leave to speak with you. They say the matter is urgent."

Eowain allowed his black, level brows to rise a little, and indicated that Tnúthgal and his worthies should be admitted at once.

Relations between Eowain and his cousin, if never exactly cordial—that was too much to expect, where their interests so often collided—were always correct. Their skirmishes conducted with wary courtesy. Eowain had an idea why Tnúthgal and his cronies were there, and scented battle, but sought to give no outward sign.

The men entered the hall in a solid phalanx, no less than ten of them. His eldest cousin, Tnúthgal son of Ferudach, third in the line of Donnghal, led them. He was a portly, vigorous man not yet forty, bearded, brisk, and dignified. He had a river-holding to the north, above Dúnsciath, with good farmland and horses, and was aware of their excellence and his own worth.

For this occasion, he'd put on his best, and made an impressive figure, as clearly he meant to do. Several of those grouped at his back were well-known to Eowain: Bran the Handsome of Maladarach, Fionnguine of Greanvaile, Eigneachan of Careganath—men of substance, every one.

"You are welcome, gentlemen. Cousin," said Eowain. "I would introduce to you the Master Corentin of Aukriath, newly-returned to us from his recent adventures."

Tnúthgal considered the Foreigner up and down, then did him as little honor as courtesy allowed before the chamberlain ushered them aside.

The abrupt arrival of his cousin irritated Eowain, and insulted him in an underhanded way. The merchant had been presenting him with gifts after all. Yet he restrained himself and waved to Tnúthgal. "Speak, cousin. You'll have attentive hearing."

The ten made their reverences gravely, spread their feet, and stood planted in a battle-square, all eyes alert. Eowain concentrated his own attention on them, and hoped he had much the same effect.

Tnúthgal lowered his head.

Eowain thought of the wild ram, before he clashed horns with his rival.

"Your Grace," said Tnúthgal, "We've come to speak of this 'spring fair' of yours. During the busiest season for trade on the High-King's Road and the river, when we might do well out of tolls on carts and pack-horses and man-loads passed along the road or the river to reach the fair, we must levy no charges, neither murage nor pavage. All tolls belong only to the King. Goods coming up the Gasirad by boat tie up at your jetty, and pay their dues to you. We get nothing. And for this privilege, you pay no more than thirty-eight bronze drychids, and even that we must distrain from your tenants in our holds."

"No more than thirty-eight drychids!" Eowain raised his brows a shade higher. "The sum was appointed as fair. And not by us. The terms of the charter of the Airthir Federation have been known for many years."

"They have, and been found burdensome enough. But bargains must be kept. We've never complained."

Not yet about this, anyway, thought Eowain.

Tnúthgal went on. "Bad years or good, the sum's never been raised. It falls hard on us so pressed as we are now, to lose the best tolls of the year. Just this winter, Droma was under siege by bandits above a month. A scourge from which we still suffer, I might add." There was a murmur of agreement from the assembled lords. "We have only defended ourselves after great damage to walls, and to the great neglect of roads and trails."

And whose fault is that? Rumor had long implied that Tnúthgal himself had supplied the bandits with arms and comforts. Eowain's hold on his throne was undermined by his cousin's encouragement of their depredations.

"Despite our efforts," his cousin went on, "there's still great need for work on them. It's costly labor, after all the winter's losses. Not half the dilapidations are yet put right. In these troublesome times, who knows when we might be attacked again? The traffic of your fair pass through our streets. They'll add to the wear and attract more banditry, while we get nothing to make good the damage."

"Come to the point, cousin." Eowain kept his tone tranquil. "You are come to make some demand. Speak it out plain."

Tnúthgal bridled. "Your Grace, I will! We think—and I speak for all the holds along the High-King's Road—that in such a year we have the best possible case to ask that the throne should either pay a higher fee for the fair, or, better by far, set aside a proportion of the tolls on goods, whether by horse-load, cart, or boat. Hand over this to the hold-chiefs, and we'll restore our defenses. A tenth share of the profits would be most welcome, and we should thank you for it. It is not a demand, with respect—"

Eowain saw the look in his cousin's eyes. Annwn-fires and bloody damnation, he thought.

"—but an appeal, Your Grace. We believe the grant of a tenth would be nothing more than justice."

Eowain considered the phalanx of stout men before him. They'd all been men of the King's Company once, in younger days. Some still were. They were none of them openly armed, but he took for granted they knew how to use their belt-knives to terrible effect. Granting this boon would put more ready coin in their hands. Coin they might use to finance further rebellion. "Do you, now? All of you?"

Some of the southern chiefs looked away, but Tnúthgal answered him. "We do. And all our tenants too. There are many who voice the matter rather more—forcibly—than I have done." His hand stayed deliberately away from the hilt of his belt-knife. "But we trust in your fellow-feeling, and await your answer."

The faint stir that went around Eowain's hall was like a great, cautious sigh. Most of the courtiers, guests come early for the fair, looked on wide-eyed and anxious. Younger ones shifted and whispered, but warily.

Eowain leaned forward, rested right elbow on knee, and put his hand conveniently near the sword resting against his throne. "A decision has been made on this now, within the past month, since the bandit siege of which you complain. His Grace King Murdach of Aileach confirmed to us our ancient charter, with all its grants in lands, privileges, rights, and titles, just as they were held aforetime. Do you think he would have countenanced such a grant, if he hadn't held it to be just?"

Tnúthgal sneered at him. "I don't conjure for a moment that the thought of justice entered into it. I make no murmur against what His Grace of Aileach chose to do, but it's plain he held Droma to be a hostile tribe, and most like still does hold it so, since your father garrisoned the tower and held it against him. But small say we of the land-holds ever had in the matter, and little we could have done about it. The tower declared for the usurper, and we had to put up with the consequences. Now your father is dead and safe out of reach, while we pay the price. Your Grace, is that justice?"

The rebellion of Eowain's father had been several years ago, and Murdach, after a brief exile, had since been restored to his throne. But Tnúthgal raised it now to serve a purpose, to put it once again into the public ear that Eowain's father had committed treachery.

"Is that justice, Your Grace?"

Eowain replied without haste. "We are considering, are we not?" He leaned back. Then, "No," he said, and raised his voice peremptorily when Tnúthgal would have resumed his arguments. "Say no more! We've heard and understood your case and we're not without sympathy. But the spring fair is a right granted to the throne, on terms we did not draw up. It's a right that inheres in me not as a man, but in this throne. In my passing tenure, I have no authority to change or mitigate those terms in even the smallest degree. It would be an offense against King Murdach's Grace, who has confirmed the charter, and an offense against my successors, for it could be taken and cited for precedent in future years. No, I will not set aside any part of the profits of the spring fair to your use, I will not increase the fee we pay you for it, and I will not share in any proportion the tolls on goods and stalls. All belong here, and all will be gathered here, according to the charter." He saw half a dozen mouths open to protest so summary a dismissal. Eowain rose in his place and put a chill in his voice and his eye. Lord-Drymyn Medyr put a hand on his shoulder. "This audience is concluded."

Some among the delegation who would have tried to insist. Tnúthgal, however, had a better notion of his own dignity. He made a deep and abrupt reverence, turned, and strode out of the king's hall. His defeated company recovered their wits and marched just as haughtily after him.

—33—

*8/16/2016: Since this was first published on Wattpad, revisions have changed the placement of this scene, moving it earlier into the story. And Will Hughes, of WHVoiceOver graciously agreed to narrate the scene for me. A portion of his narration is included in the YouTube book trailer video, but the rest can be found at his website: http://www.willhughesvoiceover.com/delegation/ (click the "external link" below!).

Look for the next installment in this Continuing Tale of The Matter of Manred: The Romance of Eowain.

Want to learn more? Check out MDellertDotCom/The-Romance-of-Eowain. Join the waiting list now and get a free preview of the first five chapters and updates as they become available.

And please vote, tweet, post, pin, share, and otherwise help get the word out about this exciting new Adventure in Indie Publishing!