Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [137]
And it was as well that she had.
He had arrived half an hour ago, alone. If she had not recognised his horse, she would not have guessed, until he fell at her feet, that the ragged, bloodstained figure who was approaching was the man she loved. His wounds were terrible. It seemed to her that he probably would not survive. God knows what effort of will had kept him on his horse at all as the animal walked slowly back. She had managed to prop him up just inside the gateway, and bathe and bandage some of his wounds. He had groaned softly and let her know that he knew who she was and that he was home. But he could scarcely speak. And having done what little she could, she had been wondering how to get him to her brother’s in Dyflin, or whether she should leave him here alone while she went for help, when she saw the two men approaching the farmstead up the little lane.
They were soldiers. From Brian’s army. They seemed friendly and came into the farmstead with her. One of them took a look at Cormac and then shook his head.
“I don’t think he’s going to make it.”
“No,” the other agreed. “He hasn’t a chance.”
“Please,” she cautioned them, “he may hear you.”
The two men looked at each other. They seemed to be considering the situation. One of them, who appeared to be the senior, had a large, round face, and had been the most smiling and polite of the two. It was he, finally, who spoke.
“Shall we finish him off, then?” he genially enquired.
“If you like,” said the other.
She felt her heart sink.
“We could kill him after we’ve had her. He might like to watch.” The round-faced man turned to her. “What do you think?”
A terrible fear overcame her. She could scream, but would anyone hear her? Not a chance. If she’d had a weapon, she’d have tried to use it. They had swords and they’d kill her, but she’d rather go down fighting. She looked about.
Of course. Her husband, Cormac, had a sword. He was staring at her from his position by the gate, as if he were trying to tell her something. That he had a weapon? That he’d sooner they both went down fighting? That he wasn’t prepared to watch her raped? Yes, she thought. That was the only way. She lunged towards him.
But they had her. They had her by the waist. She couldn’t move. She heard a cry from the lane. She screamed.
And a moment later, to her great astonishment, a monk appeared. He had a sword in his hand.
It was Morann’s idea to take Caoilinn and her husband to the little family monastery. “That’s a place where he will be well looked after, and you would be safer under the protection of the monks than anywhere else I can think of.” He wished he could hunt Caoilinn’s second assailant down. The man with the round face he had wounded mortally, but he was sorry the other fellow had managed to run away. However, first things came first.
Osgar’s uncle had been delighted to take them in, and was full of praise for his nephew when Morann tactfully told them all that it had only been thanks to the monk that he had come there. The abbot had also been full of information. Though he was getting very old and frail now, the excitement of the events of recent days seemed to have made him quite lively. Yes indeed, he confirmed, Brian was staying within the ramparts of Dyflin. “He means to spend the whole Christmas season there.” The battle of Glen Mama had been a catastrophe for Leinster. The death toll had been heavy; wounded men were still coming in all the time. The King of Dyflin had fled north into Ulster; but search parties had been sent out after him. Brian hadn’t taken a bloody vengeance on the people of Dyflin, but he had taken a huge tribute.
“He stripped them,” the old man said, with the grim satisfaction of a bystander at a good fight. “Dear God, he has stripped them. Not less than a cartload of silver from every house.” And though this was clearly an exaggeration, Morann was doubly glad that he’d removed his own valuables. The Munster king had also lost no time in impressing his political authority on the province. “He