Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [31]
III
Though Larine was one of the younger druids, he had a reputation for wisdom. The Peacemaker, they called him. So it did not surprise him, when he came one cold, early spring day to the camp by the Ulster coast where the High King was staying, that as soon as they were alone the king should have turned to him and asked, “Tell me your opinion, Larine. What I should do about my nephew, Conall?”
The druid had always liked Conall and in recent months the young prince had confided in him a good deal. He felt a tenderness and loyalty towards him. He had also been concerned by the increasing sadness he sensed in the young man’s mind. He answered cautiously, therefore.
“It is my opinion that he is troubled. His duty is to obey you in all things and to honour his father’s memory. He wants to do so. But the gods have given him the eyes of a druid.”
“You truly believe that he has a druid’s gifts?”
“I do.”
There was a long silence before the High King spoke again.
“I promised his mother that he should follow his father’s footsteps.”
“I know,” Larine considered. “But did you swear an oath to do so?”
“No,” the king said slowly, “I did not. But that is only because, with my own sister, there was no need.”
“All the same, you are not bound.”
Again, a long silence fell. And if only they had remained alone to talk quietly a little longer, it seemed to Larine that, there and then, the High King might have granted Conall’s wish.
So it must have been fate that the queen should have appeared at that moment. And probably there was nothing Larine could have done when, after the usual greetings, she had looked at him thoughtfully through narrowed eyes and demanded to know what they were talking about.
“Conall’s desire to be a druid,” he answered quietly.
Did she care whether Conall was a druid or not? He saw no reason why she should. Nor, until the High King explained it to him, had he any idea what she meant when she furiously cried, “Not until he has brought me that bull.”
“Your uncle has not yet decided,” Larine told Conall later.
“And the queen?”
“The queen was angry,” the druid admitted.
It was an understatement. Of course, he knew about the queen’s temper, but Larine had still been shocked by the way that she had cursed her husband. He had promised to send Conall, she shouted at him, promised her personally. He was a worthless betrayer. Her husband had tried to say something, but she was in full flood and refused to listen. One thing that the druid did gather from her storm of words, however, was the deeper reason for the planned raid: the assertion of royal authority. And here he couldn’t deny the queen’s point. Others could be sent, but the handsome and untested young Prince Conall was a clever choice to show the royal family’s easy supremacy over the impertinent chief. The thing had style. But she had been foolish all the same. If she had spoken calmly and in private, she might have got her way. By shouting and heaping insults on the High King in front of a druid, she made it hard for her husband to give way and keep his dignity. Larine did not tell all this to Conall, however, but reported only: “The High King says he will decide later. He has promised me,” he added, “that he will speak to you privately first.”
“I knew nothing of this plan to steal the black bull,” Conall confessed.
“It is a secret, and you must not let them know I told you.” Larine paused. “You could get the bull, Conall, and then ask the High King to release you from your obligations. The queen would have nothing to say then.”
But Conall shook his head.
“Is that what you really believe?” He sighed. “I know them, Larine, even better than you. If I succeed in getting the bull, then sure enough, before a month is out, they’ll be asking me to do something else. There’ll be task after task. Disgrace if I fail; and if I succeed, honour—for myself, of course, but above all for my uncle the High King. There will never be an end of it, until I die.”
“It may turn out otherwise.”
“No, Larine. That is how it will be.