Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [170]
“How will you do that?”
“Anger them. By now they’ll be getting reports of the damage my raiding parties are doing behind them. Then they’ll see the flames here. If the King of Leinster thinks I’m going to destroy his kingdom, he won’t sit in Dyflin for long. So, Morann,” he said smiling, “it’s time to tease him.”
Harold saw the smoke on Wednesday morning. There was no sign of Caoilinn. The fires seemed to be coming from the southern edge of the Plain of Bird Flocks. Then he saw the plumes of smoke appearing farther east; then flames, breaking out on the slopes of the Ben of Howth. By the afternoon, the fires extended right across the southern horizon. It was probably as well that Morann had persuaded him to go back to the farmstead. He made what preparations he could. There were a few slaves left there, so he armed them and together they put up a barricade in front of the main house—though whether they could do anything if a raiding party of any size came along, he seriously doubted.
The next morning, the fires were closer. The breeze from the south-west was blowing the smoke in his direction. Around noon, he saw smoke away to his right, then behind him. The firings were encircling him. Early in the afternoon, a horseman came in sight, cantering towards the farmstead. He seemed to be alone. He stopped by the entrance and, cautiously, Harold went towards him.
“Who owns this place?” the man called out.
“I do,” said Harold.
“Who are you?” the man demanded.
“Harold, son of Olaf.”
“Ah.” The man smiled. “You’re all right, then.” And wheeling his horse round, he rode away. Once again, as he gave a sigh of relief, Harold gave thanks to his friend Morann for protecting him.
But if the farmstead appeared to be safe, there were other urgent matters to worry about. He had to assume that Caoilinn was still in Dyflin. The army of Brian Boru and the fires lay between them.
There was little chance of her reaching him now. If there was a battle and Brian won, he would quite likely burn down the town as well. What would become of Caoilinn then? Even if, as it certainly appeared, she had decided to reject his offer, was he really going to leave her in the burning town and make no attempt to save her?
Then in late afternoon a small cart came towards the gate, and huddled in it he saw the family of a farmer from south of him. Their farm had been torched and they were looking for shelter, so of course he took them in. Had they any news of what was happening at Dyflin, he asked.
“Brian Boru and the King of Tara are both drawn up to fight,” the farmer told him. “It could start any time.”
Harold considered. Morann had been so insistent he should stay at the farmstead; and Morann always had good reasons for everything he did. But for the moment anyway, the farmstead was safe; whereas his sons were with the O’Neill king who was about to go into battle. Could he really stay here instead of riding to fight beside his sons? Shouldn’t he at least arm himself and ride towards the battle. He smiled to himself: there had been a time when he had trained himself to become a formidable warrior.
Should he keep his promise to Morann, or break it? He wasn’t sure. That evening, he cleaned and sharpened his axe and his other weapons. Then, for a long time, he remained staring into the darkness at the glow of the fires on the horizon.
Good Friday, 23 April 1014. One of the most holy days of the year. They marched out of Dyflin at dawn.
Caoilinn watched them from the ramparts. She was one of a large crowd. The day before she had watched fearfully as a big raiding party had even had the cheek to cross the Liffey by Ath Cliath, under their very noses, and set light to farmsteads out at Kilmainham and Clondalkin. She had been worried they might go round to Rathmines as well, but they had dashed back across the river before the Dyflin defenders had managed to get a war party together to stop them. The fires over Fingal and out at Howth had been bad enough, but this last humiliation had been too much. It was said that the King of Leinster