Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [21]
Finbarr had collected several men and women, only too glad to meet the nephew of the High King. When he had come up to her, Deirdre had hesitated for a moment, and might not have gone if Finbarr hadn’t quietly told her that to refuse would be seen as discourtesy to the prince. And since she was in the company of others, she did not feel embarrassed.
Conall was dressed now, in a tunic and a light cloak. He did not speak to her at first, so she had the chance to observe him. Though still a young man, he moved round the group with a quiet dignity that impressed her. While everyone smiled at him, and his responses were courteous and friendly, there was a seriousness in his manner that seemed to set him apart. As he came towards her, however, she suddenly realised that she had no idea what to say.
Had he sent for her? She didn’t know. When Finbarr had asked her if she would like to meet the prince, and indicated that it would be rude to refuse, he hadn’t actually said that Conall had sent for her. She would just be one more of the hundreds of faces to be paraded in front of him on an occasion like this—half of them, no doubt, young women eager to impress him. Her pride rebelled against that. She started to feel embarrassed. My family isn’t nearly important enough for him to take an interest in me, she told herself; and besides, my father and Goibniu have already found me a suitor. By the time he came to her, therefore, she had resolved to be polite but somewhat cold.
He was looking into her eyes.
“I saw you, after the chariot display.” The same eyes, yet instead of that lonely look, they were alive now with a different light. They were searching hers curiously, as though intrigued, interested. Despite all her determination to be cool towards him, she could feel herself starting to blush.
He asked her who her father was and where she came from. He evidently knew about Ath Cliath, but though he said, “Ah, indeed,” when she mentioned Fergus as the chief of the place, she suspected that Conall had never heard of him. He asked her a few more questions and exchanged a few words about the races; and indeed, she realised that he had actually spent more time talking to her than to any of the others. Then Finbarr appeared and murmured to him that the King of Leinster was asking for him. He looked into her eyes thoughtfully and smiled.
“Perhaps we shall meet again.” Did he really mean it, or was it just an expression of politeness? Probably the latter. She didn’t think it was very likely, anyway. Her father did not move in the circles of the High King. The fact that he couldn’t really be sincere annoyed her slightly, and she almost blurted out, “Well, you know where to find me.” But mercifully she checked herself, and almost blushed again at the thought of how crude and forward it would have made her look.
So they parted, and she began to wander back alone towards the place where her father was likely to be found. Another chariot race had just begun. She wondered whether to tell her father and her brothers about her encounter with the young prince, but decided she had better not. They would only tease her, or gossip, or otherwise embarrass her.
II
It was autumn and the falling of the leaves was like the slow plucking of fingers upon a harp. Late afternoon, and the sun was beginning to decline; the ferns were gleaming gold and it seemed as if the purple heather was melting upon the hills.
The summer quarters of the High King were set upon a low, flat hill with commanding views of the countryside all around. Enclosures, cattle pens, and the palisaded camps of the royal retinue were scattered across the hilltop. It was impressive, for the High King’s royal retinue was large. Druids, keepers of the island’s ancient brehon laws, harpists, bards, cupbearers—not to mention the royal warrior guards—these positions were highly prized and often inherited within a family. At the southern end was the biggest enclosure, and at its centre stood a large, circular hall,