Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [116]
He left the following morning.
He had chosen to go back by the most direct route, which led straight over the high ground. At noon, he passed the great central gap in the Wicklow Mountains where, not far from the track, lay the spring which was the tiny source of the River Liffey. The view was magnificent. Below, the stream rushed down the mountain to be joined by others, and he could see the growing river winding its way another thousand feet below into the broad Liffey Plain, that stretched for twenty miles into the distance.
The day was fine. As he followed the path across the high plateau, he felt a great sense of peace. Indeed, the only concern he could think of was that he might be too happy. What was it the Abbot of Glendalough had said about the religious life? There must be renunciation. He wasn’t sure he felt a sense of renunciation at the moment. Was it possible that the devil, who laid such subtle snares, might be laying one now? Was he following the desires of his own heart and will? He did not think it was so; but he resolved to be watchful. And it was, on the whole, with a light heart that he made his way northwards.
It was late afternoon when, descending the track on the mountains’ northern edge, he paused by a gap in the trees and saw the great slopes falling away for hundreds of feet to the huge, open panorama of the green Liffey estuary and its broad bay.
He stopped and stared. The afternoon sun was slanting from the west down the Liffey’s waters. Past the river’s mouth he could see the sandbar in the bay and the curving headland beyond. He could see the broad marshes; he could see the far side of the long wooden bridge across the river. He could even make out—or was he deceiving himself?—the walls of the little family monastery. Forgetting everything else for a moment, he felt a rush of joy. And he had been staring affectionately at his childhood home for several minutes before the realisation hit him. Once he went to Glendalough, he would be cut off from all this. Cut off forever. Cut off from the broad bay, cut off from his family, cut off from Caoilinn. And at the thought of Caoilinn, memories of the little girl he had always known came to him with a haunting vividness: the games they had played; how he had married her at the tomb of old Fergus; how he had rescued her from the sea. And now he would not see her anymore, little Caoilinn, who was to have been his wife.
Who could still be his wife.
And now it came to him, with a flash of understanding. This was the test. God had not made it so easy after all. He would have to give up Caoilinn. Caoilinn whom he loved and who, God knew, if it were not for his calling, he would happily marry. Yes, he thought, this is it. This is my renunciation.
And with a new sense of dedication, where desire was tempered with pain and joy with sadness, Osgar continued on his way down towards Dyflin.
His interview with Caoilinn the next day was not all he might have hoped. He arrived at her father’s house in the town quite early.
Her parents and all her family were there and so he asked her if she’d walk out with him. He noticed the look of anxiousness on her father’s face. So he and Caoilinn walked to the Thingmount. And there, at the tomb of old Fergus by the Liffey’s flowing waters, he told her everything.
If she looked a little surprised, she listened carefully as he explained the situation. He explained everything: how much he loved her, the sense of uncertainty that had troubled him, and his calling to the monastic life. He explained, as gently as he could, his need to go to Glendalough, and his inability to marry her. When he had finished, she was silent for a few moments, gazing at the ground.
“You must do what you think is right, Osgar,” she murmured at last. Then she looked up at him with her green eyes, a little strangely. “So, if it weren’t for going to Glendalough, you’d be marrying me?”
“With all my heart.”
“I see.” She paused. “What makes you think I’d have said yes?”
For a moment he stared at her in surprise. But then he thought he understood.