Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [187]
“Peter,” the priest said proudly, “this is my father.”
His father? Peter FitzDavid stared. The senior churchman? Peter had known men who had taken vows of poverty, but he did not think that Gilpatrick’s father was one of them, nor was he wearing any sort of clerical dress. Wasn’t he supposed to be a large landowner? He didn’t look like any lord that Peter had ever seen. Had his friend lied to him about his father? Surely not. And if he had, he’d hardly bring him back to meet like this. Perhaps Gilpatrick’s father was an eccentric of some kind.
He greeted the older man respectfully and the Irishman addressed a few words to him in his native tongue, some of which Peter understood; but their conversation did not go further than this, and it was clear that Gilpatrick’s father wished to depart. As they were leaving, however, Gilpatrick took Peter by the arm.
“You were surprised by my father’s appearance.” He was smiling with amusement.
“I? No. Not at all.”
“You were. I saw your face.” He laughed. “Don’t forget, Peter, I’ve been living in England. You’ll find a lot of men like my father, here in Ireland. But his heart’s in the right place.”
“Of course.”
“Ah,” Gilpatrick smiled. “Wait till you see my sister.” Then he was gone.
“Well?” Father Gilpatrick waited until they were some distance from the port of Wexford before he asked his father’s opinion.
“A nice young man, no doubt,” his father, Conn, allowed.
“He is,” the priest agreed. He glanced at his father to see if the older man was going to say anything more on the subject, but it seemed he was not. “I still have not asked you,” he continued, “how you came to be here yourself.”
“A Bristol vessel arrived in Dublin last week. They said that Diarmait had set off to pick up men in Wales on his way to Wexford. So I came down to take a look.”
Gilpatrick eyed his father shrewdly.
“You thought you’d see if King Diarmait would be getting his kingdom back.”
“You saw Diarmait,” his father asked, “on your ship?”
“I did.”
“Did you speak with him?”
“A little.”
The older man was silent for a moment.
“That’s a terrible man,” he remarked sadly. “There were many in Leinster who were not sorry to see him go.”
“Are you impressed with what you have seen?”
“These ships?” His father pursed his lips. “He’ll be needing more men than that when he meets the High King. O’Connor is strong.”
“Perhaps there will be more. The King of England is behind this business.”
“Henry? He has given permission. That is all. Henry has other things to think about.” He shrugged. “Irish kings have been hiring fighting men from over the sea for hundreds of years. Ostmen, Welshmen, men from Scotland. Some stay, others go. Look at Dublin. Half my friends are Ostmen. As for these,” he glanced back towards Wexford, “there aren’t enough of them. By next year most of them will be dead.”
“I was thinking,” Gilpatrick ventured, “that Peter might like to meet Fionnuala.”
This was greeted with such a long pause that Gilpatrick was not even sure if his father had heard, but he knew better than to press the matter; so for some time they continued on their way in silence. Finally his father spoke.
“There are things you do not know about your sister.”
II
1170
“You aren’t going to do anything stupid today, are you?” Fifteen-year-old Una glanced at her friend nervously. It was a warm May morning and it ought to be a perfect day.
“Why would I do something stupid,