Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [155]
“Of course,” said the abbot smoothly, “it would indeed be a fitting gift to so devout a king. Do you not agree, Brother Osgar?” he went on, giving Osgar a look.
“Indeed,” said Osgar sadly.
“So there we are then,” said the abbot with a smile like a benediction. “This way.” And he led his royal visitor out.
It was after the prince and his men had departed and the monks had started to come down from the tower that a thought had occurred to Osgar. “I was supposed to have been going down to Dyflin to marry my cousin,” he remarked to the abbot, “though with all this going on, I suppose it may be delayed.”
“Out of the question anyway,” the abbot cheerfully replied. “Not until you have finished the book.”
“I’ll have to send a message to Caoilinn, then,” said Osgar.
She received it just as the gates of Dyflin were closing. And if, in the weeks that followed, she was unable to send any message in return, it was because she was trapped inside.
It was September 7, the feast of Saint Ciaran, when King Brian, at the head of an army drawn from Munster and from Connacht, arrived before the walls of Dyflin. No attempt was made by the Dyflin defenders to give battle; instead, with a large contingent of Leinster men to help them, they fortified the ramparts of the town and dared the Munster High King to fight his way in. Brian, ever cautious as he was bold, inspected the defences thoroughly and camped his army in the pleasant orchards all around. “We’ll starve them out,” he declared. “Meanwhile,” the ageing king remarked, “we’ll take in their harvest and eat their apples while they watch.” And that, as the warm weeks of autumn passed into a pleasant October, is what the besieging army proceeded to do.
In Dyflin, meanwhile, Caoilinn had to confess that life was rather boring. In the first days, she had expected an attack. Then she had at least supposed that the King of Dyflin or the Leinster chiefs would make some attempt to harass the enemy. But nothing happened. Nothing at all. The king and the great men kept mostly to the royal hall and the enclosures round it. The lookouts maintained their lonely vigil on the ramparts. Each day in the open space of the marketplace in the western corner the men practised with their swords and spears, in a desultory fashion; the rest of the time they played dice or drank. So it went, day after day, week after week.
The food supplies held up well. The king had shown foresight and brought a large quantity of cattle and swine within the ramparts before the siege began. The granaries were full. The wells within the town supplied ample water. The place could probably hold out for months. Only one important part of Dyflin’s usual diet was missing: there was no fish. Brian’s men were watchful. If anyone set foot outside the defences to place nets in the river, by day or night, they were unlikely to return. Nor, of course, could any boats enter or leave the port.
Each day, Caoilinn would stand upon the ramparts. It was strange to see the wood quay and the river empty. On the long wooden bridge a short way upstream, there was a guard post. Looking out towards the estuary, she could see a dozen masts on the north side of the water, where a stream called the Tolka came down to the Liffey. Brian had placed his longships there, with a command post at a fishing hamlet called Clontarf close by. The longships effectively blockaded the port and had already turned away dozens of merchant vessels trying to enter. She had never realised before how entirely the life of the place depended upon the arrival of ships. The unending silence was eerie. She would also go round to the rampart on the southern side and gaze towards her home at Rathmines.
It had been her eldest son, Art, who had insisted that she and the younger children stay with her brother in the greater safety of Dyflin while he remained at Rathmines. A mistake probably. She felt sure she could have saved the livestock from that cursed Brian just as well, probably better than he. She had looked towards Rathmines every day and never