Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [18]
During this exchange, Deirdre had continued to watch her father closely. Was he hiding his anger? Was this the calm before the storm? Goibniu was a man with many important friends. Perhaps that was keeping her father in check. She hoped it would continue to do so.
Goibniu nodded slowly. Then his single eye rested on Deirdre.
“You have a beautiful daughter, Fergus,” he remarked. “She has wonderful eyes. Will you be offering her in marriage at the festival?”
“It is in my mind,” said Fergus.
“It will be a fortunate man, indeed, who wins her,” the smith continued. “Don’t dishonour her beauty, or your noble name, by accepting anything but the highest bride price.” He paused. “I wish I were a bard,” he said, with a polite nod towards Deirdre, “so that I could compose a poem about her beauty.”
“You’d do that for me?” she said with a laugh, hoping to maintain the amicable mood of the conversation.
“Certainly.” Goibniu’s eye looked straight at Fergus.
And then Deirdre saw her father look at the cunning craftsman thoughtfully. Was Goibniu offering to find her a rich bridegroom? She knew that the one-eyed smith had far more influence than her father. Whatever bridegroom Fergus might consider, Goibniu could probably find something better.
“Let us walk together,” her father said, with a new softness; and Deirdre watched the two men move away.
So that was it then. Whatever momentary relief she had felt that her father had avoided a quarrel had now been ruined by this new turn of events. With her father, at least, she knew she could still keep some control of the situation. He might shout and rage, but he would not actually force her to marry against her will. But if her fate lay in Goibniu’s hands—Goibniu the confidant of kings, the friend of druids—who knew what his deep brain would devise? Against the one-eyed man, she hadn’t a hope. She looked at her brothers.
They were admiring a chariot.
“Did you see what happened?” she cried. They looked at each other blankly, then shook their heads.
“Anything interesting?” they asked.
“No,” she said irritably. “Just that your sister is to be sold.”
Lughnasa. High summer. At the ceremonies, the druids would make the harvest offerings to Lugh; the women would dance. And she, quite possibly, would be given to a stranger then and there and, perhaps, never return to Dubh Linn again.
She had started to walk alone across the open ground. Here and there, people at the bright stalls or standing in groups had turned to look at her as she passed, but she had scarcely been aware of them. She passed some tents and pens, and realised that she must be getting near the big track where they raced the horses. There was no big race due yet, but some of the young men would be exercising their horses, perhaps organising an informal, friendly race or two. It looked as if some horses were being led out for that purpose. The late-morning sun was filling the sky with a hard stare as she came to a railed enclosure where a number of riders were preparing to mount.
She stood by the rail and surveyed the scene.
The barebacked horses were skittish. She could hear good-natured taunts and laughter. Over on her right, she noticed a group of men, finely dressed, clustered round a dark-haired young man. He was a shade taller than they were, and as she caught sight of his face she noticed that it was unusually fine. An intelligent, perhaps a thoughtful face—whose quiet expression, despite his smile, suggested that his mind might be a little distant from the activity in which he was engaged. He might, she thought, be a highborn druid rather than a young champion. She wondered who he was. The little group parted and she realised that he must be about to ride in a race since, except for a protective loincloth, he had stripped his body naked.
Deirdre stared. It seemed to her that she had never seen anything so beautiful in her life. So slim, so pale, yet perfectly formed: an athlete’s body. He had not a single blemish, as far as she could see. She watched him mount and ride, easily, out onto the track.