Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [151]
“It cannot be doubted,” Morann wryly replied.
“Thirteen years of peace, thirteen years of prosperity, put at risk for what? For nothing.”
“And yet,” Morann added sadly, “it was inevitable.”
“Why?” The Leinster men had never forgiven Brian, of course, for daring to be their master. But why, after years of peace, should they have decided to challenge him now? To Harold it made no sense.
“An insult was offered,” said Morann. The rumour was that the King of Leinster and Brian’s son had fallen out over a game of chess, and that Brian’s son had taunted the king with his humiliation at the battle of Glen Mama more than a decade before. “That could start a war,” the Celtic chiefs of Leinster cheerfully agreed. “That would do it.” Worse, the Leinster king had left Brian’s camp without permission and struck the messenger Brian had sent after him. “And then,” Morann added, “there was the woman.” Brian’s ex-wife, the King of Leinster’s sister, longing to see Brian humbled: like a vengeful Celtic goddess, like the Morrigain herself, she was reputed to be stirring up trouble between the parties.
“Why is it,” the Norseman burst out, “that the men of Erin allow their women to make so much trouble?”
“It has always been the practice,” said Morann. “But you know very well,” he added, “that it’s your own Ostmen who are behind this as well.”
Harold sighed. Was he getting old? He knew the call of the high seas; he’d sailed them half his life. Those adventures were past though. All he wanted was to live on his farm at peace. But around the seaborne settlements of the Norsemen, a restlessness had arisen that year, and now it had come to Dyflin, too.
The trouble had begun in England. More than a dozen years ago, at the very time that Brian Boru had crushed the Dyflin men at Glen Mama, the foolish Saxon king of southern England, known to his people as Ethelred the Unready, had unwisely attacked the Vikings of northern England and their mighty port of York. He had soon paid for his foolishness. A fleet of Viking longships had crossed the sea from Denmark and returned the compliment. For the next decade, the southern English had been forced to pay Danegeld—protection money—if they wanted to live in peace. And now, this year, the King of Denmark and his son Canute had been assembling a great Viking fleet to smash poor Ethelred and take his English kingdom from him. The northern seas were echoing with the news. Every week, ships had come into the port of Dyflin with further reports of this adventure; small wonder, then, if some of the Dyflin men were growing restless. Ten days ago, in the middle of a drinking session by the quay in Dyflin, Harold had heard a sea captain from Denmark call out to a crowd of local men, “In Denmark, we make the King of England pay us. And now we’re going to throw him out. But you Dyflin men sit around paying tribute to Brian Boru.” There had been some angry murmurs, but nobody had challenged him. The taunt had hit home.
Because of the excitement caused by the English business, every Viking troublemaker and pirate in the northern seas was on the lookout for an adventure.
And now the men of Dyflin were going to get their chance. If the Celtic King of Leinster wanted to revolt, his Viking kinsman the ruler of Dyflin was ready to join him. That, at least, was the word in the port. Had they learned nothing from their defeat at Glen Mama? Perhaps not; or perhaps they had.
“They won’t try to fight Brian in the open again,” Morann told Harold. “He’ll have to take the town, which won’t be so easy.” He paused thoughtfully. “There may be a further consideration.”
“What is that?”
“The north. Ulster hates Brian. The O’Neill King of Tara was forced to resign the High Kingship and swear an oath to Brian, but the O’Neill are still powerful, and just as proud as they ever were. If they could get back at Brian …”
“But what about the old king’s oath? Would he break it?”
“He would not. He’s an honourable man. But he might allow himself to be used.”
“How?”
“Suppose,” said Morann,