Free Dublin by Edward Rutherfurd

Even his wife could have no complaint about him on that score.
      What should he do? He had consulted the druids.
      Offerings were being made. So far, at least, no one had come up with any further suggestions. The weather at present was fine. A few days ago he had decided that the wisest course for the time being was to wait and see.
      "You were shamed in Connacht." His wife's voice punctured the silence surrounding his thoughts like a dagger. Involuntarily, he winced.
      "That is not true."
      "Shamed."
      "It was my shame in Connacht brought the rain. Is that what you mean?"
      She said nothing, but, for once, a tiny smile of satisfaction seemed to pass for a moment across her face.
      The business in Connacht had been nothing. It was the custom in summer for the High King or his servants to visit parts of the island and receive payments of tribute. Not only did this acknowledge the High King's supremacy but it was an important source of revenue. Large herds of cattle would be collected and delivered back to the High King's pastures. This summer he had gone into Connacht, where the king had received him courteously and paid without question.
      But there had been a shortfall and the King of Connacht had explained with some embarrassment that one of the Connacht chiefs had failed to bring his quota. As the man's territory lay on his route home, the High King had said that he would deal with the matter himself. A mistake, he had realised afterwards.
      When he had come to the chief's territory, neither the man nor his cattle were to be found, and after a few days" search, he had continued on his way. Within a month, the whole island knew of it. He had sent a party of men back to catch the cheeky fellow, but again the Connacht man had evaded capture. He had meant to go into the whole business thoroughly after the harvest, but the rains had distracted him. So now he was a laughingstock. That chieftain would pay dearly for this in due course, but until he had, the High King's authority was damaged. Nonetheless, he would take his time.
      "It will be a poor sort of hospitality we get this winter," she resumed. If the High King collected tribute in summer, in winter he had another way of making his presence felt. He came to stay. And though many chiefs might feel honoured that the High King came to claim some days of hospitality, by the time that the royal party left, they were glad to see them go. "They've eaten almost everything we had," was the usual complaint. If the High King wanted to eat well that winter, he needed to inspire fear as well as love.
      "That man who shamed you. That little chief." She laid emphasis upon the little.
      "It is ten heifers he owes you."
      "It is. But I shall take thirty now."
      "You should not take them."
      "Why is that?"
      "Because he owns something more valuable, something he is hiding."
      It never ceased to amaze the king how his wife could discover the details of other people's business.
      "What is it?"
      He has a black bull. They say it's the biggest on the island. He Keeps it hidden away because he's planning to breed a whole herd: with it and make himself rich." She paused and looked at him bale fully. "Since you don't do anything else for me, you could bring me that bull."
      He shook his head in wonderment.
      "It is like Maeve you are," he said.
      Everyone knew the story of Queen Maeve, who, jealous that her husband's herd of cattle had a larger bull than her own herd possessed, sent the hero of legend, the great warrior Cuchulainn, to capture the Brown Bull of Cuailnge, and of the tragic bloodshed it led to. Of all the tales of gods and heroes which the bards recited, this was one of the favourites.
      "You get me that bull for my herd," she said.
      "Do you wish me to get it myself?" he asked.
      "I do not." She glowered at him. "It would not be fitting." High Kings did not lead small cattle raids.
      "Who should go,