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will earn the thanks of all who enjoy the advantages of life in this kingdom.
    “Sons of Slievmordhu! You will now take an oath to King Uabhar Ó Maoldúin! You have the joyful privilege of taking an oath to a king who is a paragon amongst rulers, who always acts with honor and dignity, and who always chooses the right path, even when at times some of his advisors fail to understand why.
    “You take an oath to a king who follows the laws of providence, upon which he acts independently of the influence of worldly powers. Through your oath you bind yourselves to a king who was sent to us by way of thegrace and generosity of the Four Fates who rule our lives. He who takes an oath to King Uabhar takes an oath to great Slievmordhu! Make the vow! I swear upon my life that I will obey my king without question!”
    Throughout the Fair Field the troops, rank on rank, repeated the oath, after which trumpets sounded, the flags were raised in the city and Conall Gearnach cried, “We salute the king!”
    Dreaming in King Thorgild’s hunting lodge, Prince Ronin of Slievmordhu moaned and tossed upon his feather bed, slicked with sweat. His nightmares changed; not for the better.
    One afternoon several days after the oath-taking Ronin and his three brothers had been strolling with their mother beneath the sun-flecked elms in the palace gardens. Presently their lauded father had joined them, shadowed at a judicious distance by his usual entourage.
    The king of Slievmordhu, a man of middle height with powerful, sloping shoulders, had thrived throughout forty-one Winters. His face was square, the jaw flabby and beginning to sag. The broad, mottled forehead was molded by salient brows. His wide nose and flaring nostrils jutted above a mustachioed upper lip. Firm and rounded was his chin, his cheeks somewhat puffy. He was in a jovial mood, and anxious to announce the reason for it, so that his progeny might understand his achievements to an extent over and above the considerable degree to which he had astounded them in the past. Of his wife he took little heed.
    “Lord Dubthach MacRoigh is no longer a thorn in our side,” Uabhar proclaimed, grinning broadly, “and never more will be.”
    Queen Saibh stifled the look of horror she had spontaneously directed at her husband. Her fragile grip tightened on the arm of her eldest son, and her step faltered, but she spoke no word. The party came to a halt beneath a leafy bough as the youngest prince, Fergus, exclaimed, “Well, is it done, then, Father?”
    “It is indeed, my son,” Uabhar affirmed, scratching his nose with an air of smugness. “The wretch admitted to treason not an hour since, under the diligent questioning of my inquisitors—just in time, fortunately, for shortly thereafter he passed from this life.” Gleefully he rubbed the back of his neck. “Which saved the cost of an execution,” he added. “Once again, justice prevails!”
    “And MacRoigh being guilty of treason, his considerable estate is forfeit to the crown,” said young Fergus, not without delight.
    “His lands and all his possessions,” Uabhar said, shrugging, “according to law.”
    “Such a windfall will certainly swell the royal coffers,” Prince Kieran commented, “for which we must be grateful. However ‘tis a pity it happens at the expense of a man’s life. Until the last twelvemonth, MacRoigh’s reputation was impeccable. Who could have foreseen such an unaccountable alteration?”
    “If not for Father’s excellent spies, the man’s plotting would never have been uncovered,” said Prince Cormac.
    “Indeed, loyal lad,” the king said approvingly. “I am not suspicious by nature, as everyone knows, for I myself am as honest and forthright as the day is long; yet I yield to the counsel of those who are more distrustful than I, and sadly my beagles sniff out rotten meat occasionally.”
    Ronin said quietly, “Like you, Father, there are many who would prefer to believe no ill of their