Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [33]
Finbarr listened carefully when Conall told him about the cattle raid, and his feelings about it. Then he shook his head in wonderment.
“There is the difference between us, Conall,” he said. “Here am I, a poor man. What wouldn’t I give for such a chance? And you, a prince, are dragged to glory against your own will.”
“It is you who should lead this raid, Finbarr, not I,” Conall replied. “I shall tell my uncle.”
“Do not do that,” said Finbarr. “It would only bring down trouble on my head.” And then, after a pause, he looked at Conall curiously. “Is there anything else,” he enquired gently, “that you wish to tell me?”
It had been at the start of winter that he had noticed the change in his friend’s behaviour. Of course, Conall had been moody anyway, but when he had begun to frown, and purse his lips, and stare vacantly at the horizon, Finbarr had decided that something new must be disturbing his friend’s thoughts. So now, as Conall told him about the bull, he assumed that this was the secret problem on his friend’s mind. But when he asked, “How long have you known?” and Conall replied, “Two days,” it was clear that the moods he had noticed must still have been caused by something else. “Are you sure there is nothing on your mind?” he tried again.
“Nothing at all,” said Conall.
And it was just then that a tall and unfamiliar figure strode into view.
It had taken Fergus some days to find the camp of the High King, but once he arrived, a man had directed him to Conall at once. He looked with secret admiration at the handsome prince and his good-looking companion.
“Greetings, Conall, son of Morna,” he said gravely. “I am Fergus, son of Fergus, and I have something to say to you in private.”
“There is nothing that my friend Finbarr may not hear,” said Conall calmly.
“It concerns my daughter, Deirdre,” Fergus began, “who you came to see at Dubh Linn.”
“I will hear this alone,” said Conall quickly, and so Finbarr left them. But he had noticed, with surprise, that his friend was blushing.
It did not take Fergus long to tell Conall about Deirdre. When he spoke of her love for him, he saw Conall look guilty. When he explained about the offer that Goibniu had arranged, he saw the prince go pale. He did not press the troubled young man to declare himself one way or the other, but simply stated, “She will not be given until the feast of Bealtaine. Then she must be given.” And with that he strode away.
Finbarr smiled to himself. So Conall had gone all the way down to the Liffey to see that girl he had brought to him at Lughnasa. That was what his friend had been brooding about. Not a doubt of it. For once the mysterious druid prince was behaving like a normal man. There was hope for him yet.
He hadn’t hesitated to confront his friend as soon as Fergus had left. And this time Conall gave in and told him everything.
“I think,” said Finbarr with some pleasure, “that you’ll be needing my advice.” He looked at him hard. “Do you truly want this girl?”
“Perhaps. I think so. I hardly know.”
Bealtaine. The start of May.
“You have only two months,” Finbarr pointed out, “to make up your mind.”
IV
Goibniu grinned. All over the landscape he could see little parties of people—some mounted or in carts, but mostly leading cattle—making their way towards the single hill that stood in the middle of the plain.
Uisnech: the centre of the island.
Actually, the island had two centres. The royal Hill of Tara, which lay only a short day’s journey to the east, was the greatest political centre. But the geographical centre of the land was here at Uisnech. From Uisnech, said the legend, the island’s twelve rivers had been formed in a mighty hailstorm. The island’s navel, some people called it: the circular hill in the middle of the land.
But Uisnech was far more than that. If Tara was the hill of kings, Uisnech was the hill of druids, the island’s religious and cosmic centre. Here lived the goddess