Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [312]
The friar had spent the afternoon with Father Donal, while Eva, helped by her children, had made preparations for the evening.
She was proud of her home. In most respects, the tower house of O’Byrne was not unlike that of Walsh. The modest stone stronghold had a hall in which most of the activities of the household took place. Though there were separate larders and storerooms, Eva cooked over the fire in the centre of the floor, in the traditional manner, rather than in a kitchen; but she and Sean O’Byrne had their own bedchamber—a concession to the modern fashion which Sean’s father would not have troubled with. The O’Byrnes spoke Irish. The Walshes spoke English, and because Walsh was a lawyer, educated in London at the Inns of Court, that English was of a high standard. But the Walshes would have been perfectly comfortable speaking Irish in the O’Byrne’s house. Walsh wore an English tunic and hose; O’Byrne wore his shirt and cloak and usually preferred his legs bare. Walsh played the lute badly; O’Byrne played the harp well. Walsh had a small collection of printed books; O’Byrne possessed a hand-sized illuminated Psalter and could recite poetry with the visiting bards for hours. Walsh’s eyes, through reading by candlelight, were a little weak; O’Byrne’s were keen. But the meal that Eva now prepared for her visitor, the fresh rushes she spread on the floor, and the big platters and beakers her daughters placed upon the table were no different to those that Margaret Walsh would have used. As she looked round this domestic scene, with her children and the two servants all so fruitfully engaged, she hoped very much that the evening would be successful. She would be sorry, indeed, to leave all this.
When Sean O’Byrne came home, he was rather surprised to find the friar and Father Donal at his house. But naturally, they must be given hospitality; and the household gathered for the evening meal in a good humour. The harvest might have been ruined, but Eva had provided delicious oatcakes, a watercress salad, blood pudding, and a meat stew in the visitors’ honour. The friar blessed the food, and though he ate sparingly, he tasted everything out of courtesy to his hosts and accepted a little of the wine that Sean offered. He took a particular interest in the children, especially Seamus, the eldest boy. “You are becoming a man,” he told him seriously, “and you must take on the responsibilities of manhood.” Only when the meal was over did the friar indicate that he would like to have a private conversation with the two O’Byrne parents.
Eva watched her husband. If he looked slightly surprised, she could tell that he had no idea what was coming. Perhaps he’d forgotten how he swore his innocence before the two men that spring. Knowing him, even that was possible, she thought wryly. When the children had left them and the four of them were alone, the friar began to speak.
He spoke very softly. They must both understand, he told them, that the sacrament of marriage was not just a matter of convenience for the better ordering of society. “Here in Ireland,” he remarked, “the inviolate nature of marriage and the importance of chastity have not traditionally been regarded as absolute requirements. Yet that is a pity. For if we follow the teachings of Our Lord, they should be. Above all, even if we fail to achieve these high standards, there must between two married people be an understanding and a respect for each other’s feelings. We may have to ask forgiveness of each other, but husbands must not scorn their wives, nor wives their husbands.” He looked at Sean severely. “To humiliate the one we should love is a greater crime than to be unfaithful.” He spoke with such quiet authority that even Sean could hardly complain.
Yet the friar himself had originally counselled