Challenge of the clans by Kenneth C Flint Page B

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    in his mind gave him no preparation for what he saw here.
    The large room was oval, its center open, circled by a series of thick posts that supported a peaked roof frame covered with thatch. From the posts to the outer wall, wickerwork partitions radiated like spokes in a wheel, dividing the area surrounding the central space into wedge-shaped compartments.
    The neat, symmetrical nature of the hall, however, was barely discernible beneath the overlying chaos, litter, and filth.
    Objects were strewn everywhere, useful and broken, worthless and valuable jumbled together and treated with equal contempt. Carelessly hung tapestries covered the walls, sagging, ragged, their brilliant colors and elaborate designs discolored by wear. Weapons were everywhere, shields, swords, and spears stacked in great heaps or hung from every available protrusion. The floor was httered, too, ornate goblets of beaten gold rolling about with broken pottery and gnawed bones.
    In the center of the room, several women labored around a large central fire in a round, stone-lined pit. Some turned whole carcasses of sheep and cow on massive spits of iron. Others stirred the contents of great cauldrons hung from iron chains. The steam and oily smoke wafi:ed up in a thick cloud, some managing to squeeze out through the small roof hole, most filling the high canopy and turning the air hazy. The thatch above had long since been turned black by it, festoons of cobwebs dangling down in strands made thick by their coating of grease.
    The space around the fire and the compartments were jammed with a raucous crowd of fortress inhabitants hard at the talking and drinking that preceded an evening meal. All sat on mats or ftirs on the earthen floor behind low tables of rough planks. The partitions allowed them to see into the center and the rooms across the hall, but gave them some privacy from those close on either side. Some rooms held whole families of

    clansmen to the chieftain. Others were filled with single warriors grouped with their closest comrades,
    Finn would normally have been relegated to a small compartment with the rest of the youngest warriors of Bantry. But his destruction of the Master-Otter, which had plagued them for so long, had given him a champion's status, at least for this one night. He dined with the best warriors of Cian's company.
    Across fi-om Finn's compartment was that of the chieftain. It was quite a bit larger than the rest, and with a higher table and benches for its occupants. At the place of honor beside Cian was now seated the Little Nut. He caught the eye of Finn and waved gayly at him.
    Caoilte had stayed close to his new charge on Finn's first night here. He had noticed the young man's fascination with his surroundings and was watching the play of emotions in Finn's face with interest.
    "It's a strange look you've got," he said at last. "What is it you think of our little rath?"
    Finn started to reply, then stopped, not certain what to say. He could not insult those who had taken him in, but he also could not lie. He searched desperately for something to say while Caoilte stared at him, a slight smile revealing his amusement at the lad's obvious discomfort.
    "It's ... a most . . . ah . . . interesting place,** Finn said at last.
    Caoilte laughed. "Don't worry, lad. This place is a
    rubbish heap. We all know that, and it bothers none of
    >» us.
    "True enough," a second warrior put in, wiping some globs of fat from his mustache with the back of his hand. "I nearly left Bantry the first time I came here. My own mother was a cleanly woman, praise her memory, and taught me to be the same." He burped loudly and tossed a well-cleaned pork rib over his shoulder. "But I've gotten used to it."
    "Still, it's a good place," a third said emphatically, leaning toward Finn. "You mark me, lad: you'll find no place more a home to you, and no chieftain more gen-

    eroiis, more friendly, or more kindhearted than Cian. And may the