Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [152]
“You think the whole business is a trap?”
“It may be. I do not know.”
“These devious tricks don’t always work,” the Norseman remarked.
“In any case,” Morann pointed out, “there will be fighting and looting all around Dyflin, and your farm is one of the richest.”
Harold looked grim. The thought of losing his livestock at his time of life was deeply depressing. “So what should I do?”
“Here is my suggestion,” the jeweller replied. “You know that I have sworn a personal oath to Brian. I cannot fight against him, and the King of Dyflin knows that. I can hardly fight against my own people in Dyflin either. But if I were to go to the O’Neill king, who’s also bound by oath to Brian, then my obligations are fulfilled.
I avoid,” he smiled wryly, “embarrassment.”
Yes, thought Harold, and if a trap had been set for Brian as his friend suspected, he would still finish up with the winning side.
“You are a cautious and a devious man,” he said admiringly.
“I think therefore that you should stay on your farmstead,” Morann advised. “Do not let your sons join any raiding parties that go to attack Brian or the O’Neill King of Tara; since I have vouched for your loyalty to Brian, you can’t do that. Keep your sons with you. The danger to you will be when Brian or his allies come to punish Leinster and Dyflin. And I will tell them that you feel bound by the oath I made on your behalf and that you stand with me. I can’t guarantee that this will work, but I think it’s your best chance.”
It seemed to Harold that his friend was probably right, and he agreed to do as he suggested. There was only one other thing to consider.
“What about Caoilinn?” he asked.
“That is a problem.” Morann sighed. “Her estate at Rathmines will undoubtedly be at risk; and I don’t know what we can do for her.”
“But I could help her,” Harold said. “I could marry her at once.”
And he set off for Rathmines that afternoon.
It was a pity that Morann’s knowledge of Caoilinn had been imperfect. But then it was scarcely his fault that, when he had told his friend Harold about her, he could not see into all the secret places of her heart. As for Harold, during their courtship he had avoided any discussion about her former husband; he had no idea of the handsome widow’s passionate fixation with the person of Brian Boru. It was a pity, also, that instead of talking outside in the daylight, where he might have gauged the expression on her face, they had gone into the privacy of the thatched hall in whose penumbra he could hardly tell what she was thinking.
He began by remarking in a cheerful way that there was a good reason why they should marry at once. She had seemed to be interested. Remembering how careful and practical she was, he set out his case in a businesslike way.
“So you see,” he concluded, “if we marry now and you came across to Fingal, you could bring at least some of the livestock and keep them with me until the trouble is over. I believe there’s a good chance that we could save them. With luck, thanks to Morann, we might even be able to protect the estate at Rathmines, too.”
“I see,” she said quietly. “And by marrying you, I’d be giving my loyalty to Brian Boru.” If there was a new coldness in her tone, he missed it.
“Thanks to Morann,” he answered, “I think I can guarantee it.” Knowing the misfortunes she had suffered when her husband had opposed Brian before, he imagined she’d be glad for a way of staying out of trouble now. In the shadow, he saw her nod slowly. Then she turned her head and glanced into a dark space near the wall where, on a table, the yellowed old drinking skull of her ancestor Fergus glimmered like a savage Celtic ghost from a former age.
“The men of Leinster are rising.” Her voice was faint, almost distant. “My husband was of royal blood. And