Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [219]
When they reached the meeting place, they found that a handsome reception had been prepared for them. A big thatched hall had been set up with a wicker wall on the north side and the other sides left open. Inside this were benches covered with woollen cushions and cloths, and tables piled with a splendid feast. The High King, accompanied by some of his greatest chiefs, gave them a warm and respectful greeting and invited them to eat, which Gilpatrick, at least, was glad to do. Nor, for all its genuine kindness, was the significance of the feast lost upon him. The High King was letting them know that he had ample supplies, while the sight of Gilpatrick’s face had told the king what he had suspected, that food was getting short in the city.
The O’Connor king was a tall, powerful man, with a broad face and a mass of curly black hair that fell with an almost oily thickness to his shoulders. His dark eyes had a soft glow that, Gilpatrick had heard, was fascinating to women.
“I’ve been here for six weeks,” he told them. “But as you can see, we are out of sight in the city, so please don’t tell them where we are.
I can go down and bathe in the Liffey every morning.” He smiled. “If Strongbow likes I’d be happy to stay here a year or two.”
Gilpatrick ate heartily. Even the ascetic archbishop consented to take a glass or two of wine. And to Gilpatrick’s delight they were entertained by a skilful harpist; and better yet, a bard recited for them one of the old Irish tales, of Cuchulainn the warrior and how he got his name. It was in a mellow mood that the little group of men got round to discussing the problem of the English.
“I have a new offer,” the archbishop began, “and it will surprise you. Strongbow still wants Leinster. But,” he paused, “he is prepared to hold it from you in the proper Irish manner. He’ll swear an oath to you, give hostages. In English terms, you would be his overlord.” He looked at the High King carefully. “I know you believed he was intending to conquer the whole island, but it isn’t so. He’s ready to accept Leinster from your hands, and give you the respect that is your due. I think this has to be taken seriously.”
“He would hold it as Diarmait did?”
“He would.”
The High King sighed, then he stretched his long arms. “But isn’t that just the problem, Lorcan?” They were speaking in Irish and he used the archbishop’s Irish name. “You wouldn’t have trusted Diarmait. The man was ready to sacrifice his own son to break his oath. Are you saying that Strongbow’s any better?”
“I don’t like the man,” O’Toole answered frankly, “but he is a man of honour.”
“If that is so, Lorcan, then will you tell me this: how is it that this man of honour can be ready to swear an oath to me as his overlord when he has already sworn one to King Henry of England? Is there not a contradiction in that?”
The archbishop looked flummoxed. He glanced at Gilpatrick.
“I think,” Gilpatrick said, “that I can explain that. You see, technically, I don’t believe Strongbow has actually given homage to King Henry for his Irish lands. So you would be his overlord for Leinster, and Henry for his lands in England.” And seeing the other two men look blank, he explained: “Over there, every yard of land has a lord, and so you may do homage to a different lord for each piece of land you hold.” He smiled. “Many of the great lords, like Strongbow, for instance, do homage to Henry for their lands in England, and to the King of France for their lands in France.”
“So where does their loyalty lie?” demanded the High King.
“It depends on where