Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [323]
Certainly the two boys became good friends. After a year, they seemed as close as brothers, and Eva came to think of Maurice as an extra son. Sean was a good foster father. Not only did he ensure that the boy came to know all that there was to know about the farming and the local affairs of the Wicklow Mountains and the Liffey Plain, but he would send him out with MacGowan sometimes, to visit the farms and houses of people like the Walshes, or to go down to Dalkey or even to Dublin itself with the grey merchant.
Eva had supposed that perhaps the boy would wish to meet his Kildare kinsmen also on these occasions. But Sean had explained to her that with the suspicions attaching to the Earl of Desmond recently, this might not be wise. “His parents will make those arrangements when they see fit,” he said. “It’s hot for us to introduce him to his relations.” And Maurice seemed perfectly content with his quiet life in the O’Byrnes’ household.
Yet, in some strange way, he was also a being apart. It was not only his love of music—for sometimes, when he played his harp, he seemed to drift away into a sort of dream. It was not only his aptitude for the things of the intellect—for Father Donal, who taught the two boys, would sometimes wistfully remark, “It’s a pity he is not destined to become a priest.” It was his melancholy moods. They were rare, but when they fell upon him, he would wander up into the hills alone and be gone for perhaps a day, not striding vigorously over the mountains like Sean, but walking alone as if in a trance. Even Fintan knew better than to offer to accompany him at such times, but left him alone until the mood had passed. And when it had he would emerge, it seemed, refreshed. “You’re a strange fellow,” Fintan would say affectionately. And it surprised no one that, when the friar had passed once or twice on his way to visit the hermit at Glendalough, he had sat for hours with the boy and upon departing given him his blessing.
Yet none of this seemed to affect the Fitzgerald boy’s friendship with Fintan. They worked together, went hunting, and played practical jokes exactly as other healthy boys of their age would do; and once, when she had asked Fintan who his greatest friend was, he had looked at her in astonishment and said, “Why Maurice, of course.”
As for Maurice’s relationship with her, it was like that of a son to a mother except that, with the faint reserve of a priest, he always held himself just a little distant from her—a fact which after a year or two had almost grieved her until she had realised that he was doing so to ensure that he did not encroach upon her relationship with Fintan; and she admired his fineness.
Though no one could say quite when or why, the atmosphere in the house of O’Byrne of Rathconan subtly changed with the coming of Maurice Fitzgerald. Even Sean seemed gradually to become more thoughtful towards her. And what better proof could there be than the fact that, as the day of her birthday approached in the summer of 1533, he invited all the neighbours to a feast at the house. There was a fiddler, and dancing, and a travelling bard recited tales of Cuchulainn, and Finn mac Cumaill, and other heroes of legend in the old way, while Sean and Fintan sat beside her; and Maurice also played his harp for all the company. And then Sean made her a present of a pair of Henry Tidy’s finest embroidered gloves together with a length of silk brocade, which pleased her no less because she guessed that they had been