After the folding of the noble chariot fighter, Scathach languishes in my arms, drowsy with the dew of our lovemaking. As she sighs and turns to me again for one more kiss, I push her tangled hair away from her face and discover that this is not Scathach after all! The face that smiles up at me does not have the rough hewn beauty of the warrior queen. I pull her to me by those strands of hair and demand to know who has been so bold as to take Scathach's place.

"It is I, Uathach," the young woman giggles. She rolls her lithe body over and in one smooth movement she is cloaked and standing beside the chariot laughing at me.

Hastily I throw on my clothing. "What is this trick?" I am thinking hard, trying to remember if I noticed any changes or can figure out when she and Scathach traded places in the chariot that served as our bed.

Uathach arches her back in a languid stretch that makes me catch my breath. "My mother doesn't mind," she says in the voice of a spoiled little girl whose impudence has always been encouraged and never scolded. She looks at me and tosses her head. My newly aroused interest is plain to see and for a moment I expect her to return to the cozy nest we made.Instead she turns her back and runs off.

Over her shoulder she throws out an inviting wink, "Wash yourself, warrior, and meet me at the feis!"

When I have had a long and refreshing swim in the icy waters nearby, I weave my pale hair, bleached almost white from many limings, into a dozen long tight braids. I look into the water and see a face staring back at me, marked with scars of war and rites of passage. The eyes glare out from hollows deep and fierce. I think of Scathach and I think of her daughter. I smile and the weathered face in the water smiles too. I feel born again, stronger and wiser than ever.

Inside the hall the feast has already started. The room glows with fire that lights rows of shields along the wall. The other contenders, Scathach's two sons, and a small assembly of warriors who must be the other residents of this privelidged isle are gathered around a long low table which groans under the weight of many platters of every kind of food one would possibly imagine and more. Golden cups and silver trenchers are set at each place. A serving girl takes my arm and ushers me to an empty spot.

"May I fill your cup, noble lover?" I stare at her and realize it is Uathach, in servant's dress. She winks again and leans softly against me while she pours the rich golden nectar. Then she sets the flagon down and bows to me as a good servant should. "Is there anything else I do to please you, dear Sualdam of the chariot's bed?"

The honey scent of mead mixes with the tantalizing aroma of Uathach's body, a whiff of crumpled grass and crushed flowers so irresistable that I forget myself and snatch at her supple waist to pull her down into my lap. Teasingly she pretends to protest and pushes away. One of her fingers catches on my brooch and she cries out in pain.

The pin has pierced her forefinger. A tiny drop of blood falls before she puts the finger into her mouth.

With a shout and a crash, a huge red-faced warrior flies across the table, landing between us. "What have you done?" he thunders at me, unsheathing his sword.

"Cochar, it's just a wee scratch," Uathach smiles and holds out her finger for inspection. "See? It's nothing and it was my fault anyway." Her smile could melt a winter's worth of ice in the blink of an eye. It does nothing to cool the temper of Cochar Cruibne. "My mother's champion," Uathach shrugs, slightly embarassed.

"Defend yourself if you can, whelp!" Cochar snarls and presses the point of his blade to my throat. "No one harms a hair of this girl's head without answering to me!"

Cochar's stare is hostile and unbreakable. I stare back at him, testing him while I think of how I can outwit this giant. Wits, not bodily skills, must win this for me. He is twice my size and as Scathach's champion I am coldly sure that he can and will overpower me and kill me however he likes, in spite of my strongest efforts. While we are locked in our staring contest, I feel a tiny tickle across the hand that rests on the table. Cochar's eyes widen very slightly and flash sideways to the table, then back to me. He swallows hard and a single drop of sweat pops out on his brow but he doesn't blink.

Then he roars, "Enough! Outside! I will not dirty this room with the scattering of your brains, you overgrown pup! Outside and choose your weapon. Not that it matters. I will take your head for spilling the blood of this sacred maiden!"

Sacred maiden indeed, I smirk. Hasn't Uathach warmed Cochar's bed? Or did he think it was her mother?

Another belch of bad breath from Cochar and I forget about that. "Outside then," I nod. As I turn from the table I pretend to brush some crumbs aside. I knock the spider off the table's edge and into my hand.

Outside I tell Cochar what weapon I choose. "No weapon but our own bodies. Wrestling!"

His laughter is mocking and obnoxius. He squats a few times and pumps his massive arms, warming up. "This will be child's play," he chuckles.

I go through the motions of preparing to wrestle him, being careful not to squash the spider held secretly in my hand. Cochar and I circle each other slowly. The wrestling match begins.

He strikes first, of course. He pitches forward with a low growl and I find myself suddenly struggling to breathe, snared in the steely traps of his rope-muscled arms. He intends to simply squeeze the life out of me. I go very still, saving what little air is left in my chest until I need it most. My arms are pressed tightly to my sides but I can open one hand.

I open that hand and set the spider free to crawl onto the metallic sinews of Cochar's tautly flexed bare thigh.

Encased in his grip, I feel his whole giant body start to quiver. He twitches and moans like a boy whose having a nightmare. The serpentine grip that threatened to crush me suddenly falls away. Cochar begins to dance! He flails his hands in the air, he wiggles his hips, he writhes and screams and breaks out in a sheen of sweat. "Get it off me! Get it off me!" he squeals, clawing at his crotch. He falls down and rolls on the ground, wailing in agony.

I watch for awhile. People have come out of the hall to see me have my head cut off by Scathach's champion. They stand aghast when they see the hero reduced to a gibbering puddle. I wait until Uathach and Scathach come out and have gotten a good look at their champion. Then I kneel beside him and perform the most unpleasant feat of all, searching Cochar's trembling bulk for the tiny spider. I find it nestled inside of the hollow of his right upper thigh. I pluck it off and cradle it safely in my hand, then I carry it to present to Scathach.

"Here is the one who defeated your champion," I bow humbly before her and set the spider in her outstretched palm. The warrior queen grins as the spider throws out a silken strand and catches the wind, sailing harmlessly away. Uathach looks at me, giggles, then looks to Cochar but he is no longer rolling on the grass. He is nowhere to be seen.

"Let us return to the hall. The feis is almost at it's end!" declares Scathach.