Princes of Ireland

  “It is true.” Conall smiled. “A small one. His ancestors were of some note.”

  “It’s a fine-looking daughter he has, anyway. Is she betrothed?”

  “There is an agreement, I believe. Someone in Ulster.”

  “But,” the king’s eyes looked up shrewdly, “it’s for yourself you’d like her?”

  Conall had felt himself blush. He couldn’t help it.

  “Not at all,” he had stammered.

  “Hmm.” His uncle had nodded, then ended the conversation; though after he had returned to his seat, he had noticed the king give Deirdre a thoughtful glance. Was his uncle giving him a message? Hinting that he should marry her? At the very least he was telling him that his love for the girl was obvious. And wasn’t he now, whatever his reasons, in the act of letting her marry another? Without the decency of giving her even a word of explanation? There was no denying it. And why was he doing this? Was it really what he wanted?

  For a while he sat there, speaking to no one. Then at last he looked up and saw that she was approaching. She came so close that if he reached out his hand, he could have touched her golden hair.

  “Deirdre, daughter of Fergus.” He said the words quietly, but she heard them. She turned her head. Did he see, just for a moment, a look of pain in her wonderful eyes? “I must speak with you. Tomorrow morning. At dawn.”

  “As you wish.” She looked hesitant.

  He nodded. Nothing more. And she was just moving away when the shouting began.

  All heads turned; druids frowned; the High King glared; even the piper ceased. On the sacred site of Uisnech, at the feast of Bealtaine, someone was daring to disturb the High King’s peace.

  The shouts continued. Then there was silence. One of the king’s personal attendants came into the banqueting hall and said something to the king, who gave a bleak nod. And a few moments later two figures were ushered in. The first, looking irritable but cautious, was Goibniu the Smith. Behind him, the very picture of an affronted chief, stalked Fergus. Conall glanced across to where Deirdre was now standing and saw her go very pale. When the two of them were in front of him, the king spoke. He did so quietly, to Goibniu first.

  “The quarrel?”

  “I had words with this man.”

  “About?”

  “His daughter not being here. She is promised to a man in Ulster, and I am to take her there. Then,” he glanced contemptuously at Fergus, “the fellow struck me.”

  The High King turned his eyes on Fergus. So this was the chief from Dubh Linn. One glance and he understood Fergus entirely.

  “Yet as you see, his daughter is here.” He indicated Deirdre. Goibniu looked and registered astonishment. “What have you to say, Fergus?”

  “That the man called me a liar,” Fergus said hotly, and then, more humbly, “but that my daughter is worthy of a prince and now I have brought disgrace upon her.”

  Out of the corner of his eye the king saw several of the great nobles give the poor, proud chief a look of approval. He rather agreed.

  “It seems, Goibniu,” the king said gently, “that you were mistaken about the girl. Is it possible, do you think, that you were mistaken also about the blow? Perhaps you only thought he was about to strike you?” And the king’s dark blue eyes looked up at the smith steadily.

  Whatever Goibniu was, he was never stupid.

  “It may have been so,” he conceded.

  “You might have been confused.”

  “Confused. That would be it.”

  “Take your place at our feast, Goibniu. Forget this matter. As for you,” he turned to Fergus, “you will wait Fergus, son of Fergus, for me outside. For it may be that I have something to say to you.” And with that, he gave a nod to the piper, who began to blow his pipes at once, and the banquet resumed.

  But as the festivities continued, and Fergus waited outside, and Deirdre, uncertain what the king had in mind for her poor father, did her best to attend to her duties, no one present, glancing at the bushy eyebrows and red face of the island’s monarch, had any idea what in truth was passing in his mind.

  It was perfect, he thought. His plan was now complete. He had only to see this fellow from Dubh Linn and the trap for them all was set. What an unlikely bearer of good fortune the gods had sent. He would make the announcements at the height of the feast. At sundown.

  Late that afternoon, in front of an amused crowd, a small ceremony took place, witnessed by one of the senior druids.

  With a decent show of politeness, Fergus and Goibniu stood facing each other. At the druid’s order, Goibniu went first. Pulling open his shirt, he bared his chest for Fergus who solemnly stepped forward, placed one of the smith’s nipples in his mouth, and sucked it for a moment or two. Then, stepping back, he offered his own chest, and Goibniu stepped up and returned the compliment. After this, both men nodded to the other and the druid pronounced the ceremony complete. For this, upon the island, was the way that two men who had quarrelled sealed their reconciliation. Fergus and the smith, whatever their differences, were now linked by a bond of friendship. Other lands sealed such bargains with a handshake, or the smoking of a pipe, or the mingling of blood. On the island it was done by kissing the nipple.

  It was done upon the express order of the High King. For nothing, he told them, was to mar the peace and general happiness of the royal banquet.

  They stood, Conall and Finbarr, at the top of Uisnech. The sun was on the horizon and its fiery light put a red glow on Conall’s pale face as he turned to his friend and said they should go down. It was time to return to the feast. And now, having stood in silence for so long, Finbarr ventured, “Did you see the girl?”

  “I saw the girl.”

  “And what will you do?”

  “It was you who arranged for her to be at the banquet?” Conall had just realised.

  “It was. Do you forgive me?”

  “It was the right thing to do.” Conall smiled gently. “Will you always be my good friend, Finbarr, whatever happens?”

  “I will,” Finbarr promised. “So what will you do about Deirdre?”

  “Ask me tomorrow.”

  Finbarr sighed. He knew it was useless to pursue the matter further. Instead, he reached out his hand and gave his friend’s arm an affectionate squeeze.

  They came down the hill as the darkness fell. Torches were being lit around the base. As they made their way towards the banquet they saw an old druid woman, who gave a nod to Conall, which Conall politely returned. By the entrance to the hall they parted and Finbarr watched his friend go in. A moment later he saw Fergus and his daughter also enter. The chief looked cheerful now. Obviously the High King had taken pity on him; but it seemed to Finbarr that Deirdre looked strangely unwell.

  The High King stood, and the banqueting hall fell silent.

  He began quietly, a slight smile on his heavyset face, and welcomed them to what was always a happy occasion. He thanked the druids. He thanked the chiefs for the loyal tribute they had paid. Indeed, he remarked, he was glad to say that there had not been a defaulter anywhere on the island. He paused.

  “Except for a man in Connacht.” They were all watching him now. Watching for signs and signals. Slowly he allowed a look of wry amusement to form on his face. “It seems he was out when we called.”

  There was laughter. So, the High King was amused. But what was he going to do? The look of amusement lingered just long enough to become threatening.

  “My nephew Conall,” he nodded towards the pale prince, “together with some others, will be paying him a visit.” He glanced around the hall. “They’ll be leaving at dawn.” He gave them all a friendly nod. He turned to his wife and nodded to her. Then he sat down.

  There had been a tiny intake of breath around the room. Now there was laughter, nervous for a moment, then more robust. Men began rapping on the tables in applause. “At Bealtaine,” a voice called out. “The Connacht man will not be expecting that.” More laughter. “He’ll be sorry he wasn’t t
here before.”

  He had them. It was the firm smack of authority, mixed with devious cunning. They respected that. They liked the grim humour of the thing. And when, instead of tribute, the prize bull itself was brought back, the whole island would admire his revenge. Some, who knew of Conall’s desire to be a druid and his distaste for such ventures, saw deeper. Even the favourite nephew must bow his head under the royal yoke. “The king is right, though,” these murmured. “It had to be done.”

  The High King glanced across to where poor Conall was standing. His nephew looked shocked. No doubt Larine had told the young man of his promise to consult him before taking such a decision. Well, that was too bad. It would be a lesson to Larine and his nephew. Kings use princes: they should both know that. Besides, his uncle considered, the young man seemed so uncertain what he really wanted that by sending him out like this he might be doing the boy a favour. Then he looked at his wife. She was beaming at him, as he had hoped and expected. She had got her way. He smiled back at her.

  There was some surprise, a little while later, when he rose again to speak. Perhaps someone was to be honoured. They listened politely.

  “I have a further announcement to make. A happy one.” He looked round them slowly so that they knew clearly that happiness was a requirement.

  “As you know, I have been fortunate indeed to have the company of my lovely wife for many years.” He inclined his head towards her, and there was a murmur of not entirely heartfelt assent. “However,” he continued, “it is the custom amongst us, from time to time, to take an extra wife.” A deathly hush fell now. “And so I have decided, in addition to my dear wife, to marry again.”

  There was a gasp. All eyes turned on the queen, who looked stunned, as if she’d been hit by a rock. Husbands, who knew about her domineering ways, glanced at each other. Wives, some of them, were shocked. Yet not a few had suffered at the queen’s hands at one time or another. And in just a moment or two, all round the hall, like mist condensing in droplets on the leaves of the trees, the communal thought was forming itself: she had it coming to her.

  But who was the bride? At a sign from the king, they now saw a tall figure step forward, with long moustaches, accompanied by a handsome girl who, until shortly before, had been serving the ale and mead. People looked at each other. What did this mean?

  “Deirdre, daughter of Fergus, son of Fergus, of Dubh Linn,” announced the king. And smiling at Deirdre, he drew Fergus close and put his arm round the older man’s shoulder so that the chief, who now looked as pleased as if he’d defeated an army single-handed, found himself held, by his kingly son-in-law, in a grip like a vice.

  It was Goibniu, while the company was still collecting its thoughts, who quickly rose to his feet and raising his beaker called out, “Long life, good health, to our king and to Deirdre.” To which the company, having seen which way the wind was blowing, assented with a friendly roar.

  From under his bushy eyebrows the High King watched them all. He could have divorced the queen. Divorce was common and easy on the western island. But that would have offended her family, who were important, whereas by choosing an extra bride, he merely cut her down to size. The masterstroke lay in his choice. While any man on the island might take extra wives, a king had to be careful. Choose the daughter of one great chief and you offended all the others. You could have concubines, of course, but that was not his purpose. Marriage was a balance of power, whether you liked that fact or not. He had needed to undercut the queen and he had done it. The cleverness of the choice was that the girl was noble and looked a princess, but that her father was of no account at all. Lord of a marsh, a no-man’s-land, a deserted ford.

  The prospective husband in Ulster would give no trouble. He would send one of his men to give the fellow a generous present. The Ulster man would understand: a High King took priority. As for Goibniu, the High King had already secretly compensated the cunning smith for his loss of a marriage fee late that afternoon. So everyone who needed to be was happy; except perhaps Conall and the girl.

  “The marriage feast will be tomorrow evening,” he said.

  It was dark that night; the stars had hidden their faces behind the clouds. Not even a pinpoint of light was offered from above to help Deirdre as she groped her way through the blackness that, creeping close, seemed to pore over her, smothering in its attentions.

  Sometimes she felt the ox-hide flaps of the wagons and other temporary shelters that dotted the grounds; several times she disturbed sleeping bodies wrapped in their cloaks. She heard snores or other more intimate murmurs all around. Her father was back in the hall, lying contentedly in sleep along with fifty others. But she could not bear to remain there, and so she had left him, gone out past the dying torches, and begun to wander towards the place where their cart should contain her two younger brothers. It was strange that, in this moment of crisis, she should have sought out the comfort of their two, probably drunken bodies; but at least they were her family. For better or worse, that was something. One last night with her family.

  And then? Marriage to the king. She didn’t blame her father. There was nothing he could have done about it. She didn’t even blame him for being so pleased. It was natural. And how could she tell him that, as she stood with him facing the king, she had felt nothing but a physical horror? It wasn’t just that the High King could have been her father. Older men could be attractive. But his swarthy face with its bloodshot eyes, his thickening body, the hands which, to her, seemed like hideous hairy paws, all filled her with revulsion. Would she really have to offer her body to him the following night? Was this the only loving she was ever to know, year after year, until he died? Or she did? It had taken all the self-control she possessed, in front of that company, not to shudder openly. Even the man from Ulster, she had thought bitterly, would not have been so bad. He hadn’t repelled her. She could probably have learned to love him.

  And Conall? What had he been planning to say to her in the morning? Had he decided, after waiting so long, to ask for her in marriage after all? The thought was so painful she could hardly bear it. Useless. Too late.

  It seemed to her now that, in the blackness ahead, she could just make out the shape of their cart. She moved forward cautiously. She reached it. Yes. She was sure this was the one. She listened for the sound of her brothers’ snores. She started to raise the leather flap at the back.

  And froze, as a hand clamped onto her arm.

  “Out walking?” The voice was a low hiss. She gave a little gasp and tried to break free, but the grip on her arm was too strong. “I’ve been waiting for you.” This time the voice was more like a growl. She still wasn’t sure who it was who held her so fast. Only with the next words did she realise. “You think you can challenge me?”

  It was the queen.

  “No.” She stammered it out. In her misery and fear she had forgotten about the queen. “This was no choice of mine,” she said hoarsely.

  “Little fool.” She could feel the queen’s breath on her cheek. It smelt of ale, stale. “Do you think I shall let you live? Speak softly now. Do you?”

  “I …” Deirdre wanted to say something, but no words came.

  “Poison, drowning, an accident …” the terrible hiss went on. “Easy to arrange. If you marry the king, young lady, I can promise you, it’s not a month you’ll live. Do you understand?” The grip on her arm was now so tight it was all Deirdre could do not to cry out.

  “What can I do?” her whisper was almost a wail.

  “I will tell you.” The queen’s lips pressed against her ear. “Flee, young Deirdre. Flee for your life. Flee from Uisnech. Flee from Dubh Linn. Run to a place where no one can find you. Run tonight and never stop running. For if the king finds you he will bring you back; and if he does, I will have your life. Run.”

  The grip was suddenly relaxed. There was a rustling sound; and then the queen was gone.

  Deirdre gasped for breath. She was shaking violently. She wanted to run, somewher
e, anywhere, to a place of safety. It was no good going to her brothers or her sleeping father. She started to move, hurrying, tripping, almost running, she hardly knew where until in the darkness she found a path that seemed to lead somewhere. The path was rising. There was a sweet smell of long grasses. And then, above, a handful of stars burst through the clouds and she realised that she was climbing the Hill of Uisnech.

  Conall sat with his back against the big five-sided stone and stared blankly ahead from the top of Uisnech into the darkness. His mood was as black as the night.

  First that announcement about the cattle raid. It was the intent behind the thing which so enraged him. Instead of speaking with him beforehand as he had promised Larine, his uncle had made a public announcement that left Conall in an impossible position. Any argument would now be a defiance of the High King. His uncle had meant to outmanoeuvre him, use him, treat him with a cynical contempt. He hated him for it.

  But even this was nothing compared to the shock of the second announcement. Deirdre was gone. At this last moment, after the months of difficulty, of agonising, his love was suddenly impossible. She belonged to the High King. She was unobtainable. Clearly she didn’t want his uncle. A glance at her face had told him that.

  As he had contemplated the terrible fact that she could never be his, Conall had experienced a new and intense emotion. It was as if his doubts had never been. Deirdre. He could hardly take his eyes from her. All the rest of that evening, whenever she was in the hall, he had found himself watching her every gesture. She, for her part, had never looked at him. How could she? Although once, when he had been turning away, he thought he had caught sight of her glancing in his direction. Would she still try to meet him at dawn? Probably not. What could they say? He was not sure. But even after he had left the banquet, the sense of her presence had stayed with him, like a shadow.

  And then, behind the stone, he heard a faint sound, and a shadow came and sank to rest against the other side so that, had he wished, he could have reached his hand across to touch it; and next the shadow started softly weeping, before, in a voice he recognised, it murmured: “she will kill me.” And then, realising who it was, and trying not to startle her, he whispered, “Deirdre.”