Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [163]
“It is for you to decide, Caoilinn.” He looked at her quite sternly. “My offer is still open. I make the offer gladly. But whatever your decision, I will ask you to make it by Easter.”
“Am I understanding you right,” she asked, with a trace of irritation, “that the offer will no longer be open after Easter?”
“It will not,” he said, and wheeled his horse away before she could say another word.
“Dear God,” she murmured, as he went out of sight, “the cheek of the man.”
Morann was not surprised when, ten days into April, no word had come from Caoilinn.
“If she does come,” Harold told him, “she’ll wait until the last moment.” He smiled. “And even then, you may be sure there will be conditions.”
“She won’t come at all,” said Morann, not because he knew but because he did not want his friend to be disappointed.
A few days later, however, events arose which made even Harold’s marriage a secondary consideration. A longship arrived at the port with news that the northern fleets were setting out and would soon appear. And two days later came a horseman from the south who announced: “Brian Boru is on his way.”
When Morann and his family arrived at Harold’s farmstead the next day, the craftsman was very firm. The Norseman wanted to stay and protect his farmstead as he had done before.
“But this time it will be different,” Morann warned him. There would be all kinds of men—marauders, pirates, men who killed for pleasure—in the Viking longships. “Nothing can protect your farm if they should come that way.” He was going back to join the O’Neill king, as he had done before. “And you and your sons must come with me,” he told him.
Still Harold made excuses and prevaricated. Finally he objected: “What if Caoilinn should come?” But Morann had anticipated the question.
“She moved into Dyflin yesterday,” he told his friend bluntly. “No doubt she’ll stay there, as she did before. But you can leave word for her to follow if she comes.” Eventually he persuaded the Norseman of the wisdom of leaving. The farmstead’s large cattle herd was split into four parts; and three of them, each under a cowman, were driven away to different places where they might not be found. There was nothing for Harold to do then but hide his valuables and prepare to set out, accompanied by his sons, on the journey north-west. Four days later, they reached the O’Neill King of Tara.
The King of Tara’s camp was impressive. For his renewed campaign, he had collected a formidable army from some of the finest fighting tribes in the north. When Morann brought Harold and his sons to him, he welcomed them and told them: “When the fighting begins, you shall stand by me”—an arrangement, Morann noted, which honoured his friends as well as practically guaranteeing their safety.
Morann soon made himself familiar with the military situation. He estimated that there were nearly a thousand fighting men in the camp. It was rare in the Celtic island to see a fighting force much larger; Brian Boru had not brought more than that to the siege of Dyflin. Many were drawn from the most loyal base of the king’s power, the central kingdom of Meath; but others were still arriving from farther away. The quality of the men was good. Morann watched, impressed, as they underwent their practice in hand-to-hand combat. The old king was planning to remain at his camp until he heard that Brian was in the Liffey Plain; then he would move south to join him, coming down by way of Tara.
But what would he do when he got there? Everything Morann could see—the daily arms practice, the king’s councils of war—all confirmed that he meant to keep his word to Brian, and to fight. Might there be a more devious plan? As Morann looked at the King of Tara’s cragged, shrewd old face, he found it impossible to decipher his intentions; perhaps, the craftsman concluded, the truth lay in a conversation he had when the king summoned him the next day. The old monarch seemed in a reflective mood, though Morann had little doubt he had calculated everything he wished to say. They