Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [120]
But the highlight of the wedding, it was generally agreed, was when Osgar the monk gave the couple an unexpected wedding gift. It came in a wooden box.
“My father always kept this,” he explained. “But it surely belongs better to you and your husband,” he said with a wry smile, “than it does to me.”
And from the box he drew a strange, ivory-yellow object with a gold rim. It was the drinking skull of old Fergus.
Caoilinn was very pleased.
And if she noticed, she did not mention the fact that, whether through tact or because he had forgotten, Osgar had not kept his promise to produce the little antler wedding ring.
FIVE
BRIAN BORU
999
I
AT FIRST, when he had warned them, his neighbours had laughed at him. Everyone in Dyflin knew that Morann Mac Goibnenn didn’t like taking chances, but surely his fears were unjustified. “We’re in no danger at all,” the King of Dyflin had announced. How could the craftsman still doubt? Some people even called him a traitor.
“He’s not an Ostman,” an elderly Dane remarked. “What can you expect?” And though, given the situation, this reasoning was completely illogical, there were plenty of people to nod their heads wisely in agreement. Not that Morann cared much, whatever they thought. But it was not long before all Dyflin was in a state of panic. The question was: what to do? One thing could be agreed upon, and soon the entire Liffey Plain was empty of livestock, which had all been driven to places of safety on the high ground. But what about the human population? Some went with the cattle and took refuge in the Wicklow Mountains; some remained on their farmsteads; others came into Dyflin to seek the protection of its walls. Osgar’s uncle and his sons retired into the little monastery and closed the gates. Meanwhile, a huge force was gathering. Eager sons of chiefs from all over Leinster were arriving to camp in the orchards near the city walls. Longships were arriving from other Viking ports, the men drinking heavily and roaring cheerful battle cries down on the quay. King Sitric of Dyflin, in a splendid cloak, his long beard and red face making him look very jolly, rode around the town with a retinue that grew larger every day. Finally, when the first frost of winter was on the ground, the King of Leinster arrived and, with King Sitric beside him, they all set off towards the south with the happy assurance that the enemy would never even get close to the Liffey Plain.
The next day, as Morann was walking through the streets, which seemed very quiet now after the previous busy weeks, he saw one of the town’s senior craftsmen walking along with a handsome, dark-haired woman who looked vaguely familiar. Pausing to greet him the craftsman remarked, “You remember my daughter, Caoilinn, who lives out at Rathmines.”
Of course. He did not know the family well, but he remembered the dark, green-eyed girl who married a man from Rathmines, of the royal house no less. She smiled at him.
“My father tells me you had doubts about this business of the king’s.”
“That may be so,” he answered.
“Well, my husband’s gone away with them. He’s very confident.”
“He would know, then, I should say.”
“But my father wanted myself and the children to come into Dyflin.” There was now a hint of uncertainty in her eyes, he noticed. “We’re safe enough in Dyflin, I suppose,” she remarked. “I see that you’re still here.”
“You do,” he said. “You do.”
He loaded the wagon that night. Early the next morning, the wagon, containing his family and all their valuables, lumbered across the long wooden bridge over the Liffey