Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [149]
“Why is it you ask?”
“It would be hard for me to marry a man who was not a Christian.” She smiled. “It is easy to be baptised.”
“I will think about what you say,” he replied.
She waited for him to say more. He watched her instead. She flushed a little.
“I hope you will do it,” she said.
He waited to see if she would concede any more, but she did not.
Soon afterwards, he returned home. A week passed before they met again.
Harold considered the matter carefully during those days. The business of baptism, as such, was nothing. He didn’t mind that. But it was the way Caoilinn had brought it up that concerned him. Why, if it was so important to her, had she waited this long? It could only be because she thought that, once he had committed himself so far, he could be manipulated. True, the fact she’d waited also showed that she had been anxious not to put him off. She wanted to secure him. But look at it however you liked, she was raising her price. If he loved her, of course, he could pay the price and laugh it off. But if she was going to play a trick like that once, mightn’t she do it again? He was old enough to know that, however subtle the game, marriage was a balance of power; and he wasn’t sure he liked the way she played. By waiting a week, he was indicating his displeasure and giving her a chance to back down.
But what if she didn’t. What was he going to do? Did he really intend to give her up on account of her god? If he did, and she married someone else, wouldn’t he regret it? Each time he went over the matter in his mind, he found that it came down to the same thing. It’s not what she asks for, he thought, that I care about, but how she asks for it. What matters is her attitude.
It was late in June when he rode back again to Rathmines. He had no definite plan, even then. He did not know whether he was going to offer to be baptised, and whether he’d be married or not. As he approached the big earth wall and palisade of her rath, he had no other plan than to watch, and listen, and follow his instincts, and see what happened. After all, he told himself as he rode up to the entrance, I can always leave and come back again another day. Only one thing worried him a little: how was he going to open the conversation on such a delicate subject? He still didn’t know when he saw her coming to the gateway. I’ll just trust, he supposed, to luck.
She met him with a smile. She led him inside. A slave brought him mead. She told him how glad she was that he had come. Was there something new, something almost respectful in her manner? It seemed to him there was.
“Oh, Harold, son of Olaf,” she said, “I am so relieved that you have come. I have been feeling so embarrassed by my impudence—truly impudence—to you when we last met.”
“It was not impudence,” he said.
“Oh, but it was,” she cut in earnestly. “When you had done me the honour—the honour—to make the offer you did. And I never expect it to be repeated now. But that I should have dared to impose conditions on a man I respect so much …”
“Your god is important to you.”
“It is true. Of course. And because I believe He is the true God, I was anxious to share … I certainly won’t deny,” she allowed her hand lightly to touch his arm, “that if you were ever to come to the true faith, I should rejoice. But that is no excuse for what I did. I am not a priest.” She paused. “I was so anxious to say this to you and to ask for your forgiveness.”
It was admirably done. He might not be entirely deceived, but it was agreeable, very agreeable, to be so flattered.
“You are kind and generous,” he replied with a smile.
“It is the respect you are owed, nothing more,” she said, placing her hand on his arm again. She waited a few moments. “There is something else,” she said. She led him towards a trestle table on which there was an object of some kind, covered with a cloth. Supposing this might be a platter of food, he watched as she carefully pulled