Her immediate intention was to get away from Ulster and so to order
her conduct in the meantime that the king, who suspected everything
and foresaw all, would have no suspicion of this: therefore, if she
cogitated her plans she kept them in her own mind. She would have no
confidant until the action was decided and the hour for it had struck.
And in this matter she had much to think of. But she patiently resolved
these complexities, so that each went at last into its place in her
plan, and she had the leisure to review and revise it until she could
be certain that nothing was forgotten and that a perfect piece of
machinery had been created. The machine was not visible, but it would
appear as at a wave of her hand, and it would begin to move at the hour
of its birth. It was not by chance that this lady was called by a
masculine name,[5] for she had patience and tenacity and a clear, cool
head.
Had it been merely a question of getting comfortably away there would
have been nothing in the prospect to exercise the queen. She would
have mounted her chariot, and, whether her husband was looking or not
looking, she would have driven wherever she wished to go: she would
have driven over him if he had stood in her way, and through his army
if that had been unavoidable. The difficulty was that she did not
intend to leave with Conachúr the possessions she had brought to Ulster
and those that she had since acquired, for the High King had endowed
his daughter in a manner befitting his condition and the rank she was
to occupy; and, as a wife’s possessions were secured to her by the law
of the land, she did not intend to leave Conachúr richer than he had a
right to be.
It was the transport of this vast baggage which exercised the queen.
She owned flocks of sheep, herds of cattle, droves of horses and pigs.
These naturally had multiplied during her residence at Emain. She
had vessels of gold and silver, of findriny and bronze. She had rings
and bracelets; shoulder torques as big as plates, and breast brooches
that were twice as big. She had pleasure chariots and war chariots;
she had rich fabrics of linen embroidered with gold and silver thread;
many-coloured, silken shawls with deep fringes of gold or with tassels
and bobberies of silver. She had head-dresses of every material and
metal. Bronze spears, each with an hundred loose rings of gold that
clashed musically up and down the handle, and on each of the rings
there chimed a little silver bell. She had shields and breastplates of
solid silver and gold, and they were set out with patterns of dainty
gems. There were quilts of silk and fur, cushions that delighted the
head or the eye that rested on them. She had bird-cages of ivory and
crystal. Beds that had been chipped out of monster blocks of amethyst.
Cups of carved ivory, each with a different gem set inside at the
bottom so that it twinkled at you while you drank. Chess-boards of
precious metals, and each man on the board had occupied the cunning
artificer a long year of his age to fashion it. She had her own
machinery for brewing and baking. What had she not got? Her dresses
alone would pack a house and burst out through the roof and tumble down
the glass of her Sunny Chamber like an untimely sunset for colour, and
like a billow of the sea for exuberance.
She did not intend that as much as one thread of her threads should
remain behind her in Emain Macha.
“No other queen shall waggle her toes in my draperies, nor enjoy what
is proper for my enjoyment alone,” thought Maeve.
Conachúr was preparing to go on a visit to Cairbre Niafar, King of
Leinster, for he thought an alliance could be formed from which good
might possibly come to Ulster. The neighbouring kingdom of Connacht had
grown strong and stronger, and he knew that the people of that kingdom
would be glad to think that Leinster and he remained at arm’s-length.
He would travel in state, and such a journey had to be organized
carefully. Houses for rest and entertainment on the way must be
arranged for. Heralds and messengers sent days in advance and
dispositions made so that their reports might be received on his
journey. Several thousand men would be in his company, and the shelter,
feeding, and entertainment of these had to be thought of. So for a
little time he was busy. But he was not too busy to remark anything
that might chance to be remarkable.
* * * * *
Lavarcham sat with him in his retired room at the centre of the
Royal Branch. From this room the great circular mass of his palace
radiated in all directions to its ten-acre circumference, and in this
deep-placed, well-secured centre the king sat, as a spider might sit in
the middle of his gigantic web. The room he occupied was sufficiently
large. The ceiling was an intricate medley and very encrustation of
carved wood, and pushing out of that chaotic centre came a great
shoulder and a grotesque head which held in its mouth a bronze chain
with a crystal ball swinging from it, and that ball was so round and
pure it seemed to be one great drop of clear water. Sometimes Cathfa
came here, and would read matters in the crystal to the king. The walls
of the room were panelled in polished red oak, and between each oaken
panel was a panel of ruddy bronze, with a silver rail above it, and a
golden bird was perched at the end of each rail; so that the light from
the torches gleamed gently again from the walls and multiplied itself
in faint winks and reflections about the room. There was one large
chair there, and a small stool.
Lavarcham was seated on the stool. She was permitted to rest in her
master’s presence, for she usually had much to say to him and he always
found her interesting.
“Good my soul,” said the king. “I am glad that you are a woman.”
“I am not badly contented about that myself,” she smiled.
“For,” he continued, “if you had been a man I should have been afraid
of you.”
“How so, master?”
“Because you could have taken my kingdom whenever you wanted it.”
“Indeed, master, I would not accept a kingdom if I got one as a
present. There is too much responsibility and there is too much to do.”
“It is no lie,” he conceded.
“I like,” she continued, “to do my work, and then I like to forget my
work; but if I had the bad luck to be a king, or a queen, I should
never again know what a rest meant, as you, my dear master, do not know
what it is to rest yourself.”
“Still,” said the king smilingly, “the queen does get an occasional
rest.”
“A king wants rest but cannot get it; a queen, however, may not feel
the need to rest, and may not wish for it.”
“How do you intend that, my friend?”
“I mean that a woman gives herself up more than a man does, and when
she so gives herself to love or power or hate she gives all that she
has, where a man may keep back something.”
“But the queen, Lavarcham, as you have spoken of her, what do you think
of her?”
“How would I dare to think about the queen, master?”
“Do you like her?” he insisted.
“She is very lovely.”
“I perceive that you do not love the queen,” said he; and then, after a
moment, but severely--“Do you love me, Lavarcham?”
“I do love you indeed,” she answered gravely.
“But,” he insisted, “do you love anybody else as well as me?”
“I love nobody else except my babe.”
“Ah, that fabulous babe! Is she still getting new teeth, or what is it
she is getting now?”
“She is getting to be a beautiful young girl, master.”
“Ah, yes, you told me that.”
“She is thirteen years of age.”
“But tell me now, my heart, why did you draw the talk a moment ago to
queens and their hate and restlessness?”
“Indeed, master, I did not draw the talk round in that way.”
“Perhaps,” he mused, “the queen has not treated you courteously.”
“You are wrong indeed,” she said happily, “for this whole week past the
queen has been most kind to me.”
“Ah!”
“And to-day she called me ‘her Dear Branch, Lavarcham,’ and spoke with
me for an hour.”
“Ah!” said Conachúr. “Have you been among her women?”
“I have, master.”
“And her men?”
“They too.”
“What have you found?”
“Nothing, master. Not a word, not a wink, not a stare, not a
hesitation, not an eagerness, not a question; I found nothing.”
“And in the queen what did you notice?”
“Affection for me, master.”
“I wish I were not going away,” said the king. He stood from his chair
and strode weightily in the room.
“I too wish it,” his companion agreed.
He halted and regarded her gravely.
“Be very friendly with the queen,” he counselled.
But Lavarcham smiled pityingly at him.
“Why should I waste my time?” said she.
He nodded at that also, and became deeply and unhappily thoughtful.
[5] The word Maeve or Mab seems to mean “Intoxication.”