Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [35]
As the sun was going down, the whole crowd started to move up the hill. There were people climbing hills like this all over the island.
On Bealtaine eve, the whole community kept watch together to guard against the evil spirits who were abroad that magical night. The spirits were up to every kind of mischief: they’d steal the milk, give you strange dreams, bewitch you, and lead you astray. Just for their private amusement. But they liked to take you unawares. They were sly. If you were looking out for them, they usually went away. That was why, in the Celtic world, whole communities kept watch all night on the eve of May.
Deirdre sighed. It was going to be a long vigil until the dawn. Despite herself, not meaning to do it, she glanced around once again.
How strange Conall’s face seemed in the starlight. One moment, Finbarr thought, it looked as hard as the five-edged stone that stood only forty paces away at the centre of the hilltop. Yet concentrate upon it for a while, and you might think it was dissolving into the darkness. Could Conall’s face be melting? No. It was just the faint flickering glimmer of the starlight upon the dew which was forming on all their faces.
Soon they would see the first hint of dawn. Then the sunrise ritual, and after that, in the full light of day, the great ceremony of the fires of Bealtaine. But as yet it was still night. Finbarr had never seen the sky so clear. The stars blazed out of the blackness; the plain around the hill was covered in a thin shroud of ground mist to which the starlight gave a soft sheen so that the Hill of Uisnech with its standing stone seemed to be set on a cloud at the centre of the cosmos.
“I have seen her,” he said quietly, so that only Conall could hear.
“Who is that?” Conall asked.
“You know very well it’s Deirdre I mean.” Finbarr paused, but getting no reaction from Conall he went on: “She is over there.” And he pointed away to the right. Conall had turned his head so that his face was a shadow. “Will you not see her?” In the long silence that followed, the stars moved, but Conall did not answer. “You know these are the last days,” Finbarr whispered. “Her bridegroom is waiting. Are you not going to do anything?”
“No.”
“Shouldn’t you tell her?”
“No.”
“So you’re not interested.”
“It is not what I said.”
“You are too complicated for me, Conall.” Finbarr said no more, but he wondered: Was it some strange self-denial that his friend was practising, as warriors or druids sometimes did? Was it mere hesitation, the fear that most young men have when faced with commitment? Or was it something else? Why was Conall deliberately pushing this girl into the arms of another man? To Finbarr it seemed perverse. But perhaps, even now, there might be something he could do to help his friend. At least he would try.
Now half the sky was pale. The stars were fading. There was a golden glow along the horizon.
The High King watched intently. At dawnings like this, he could still feel a tingling inside him, as if he were a young man again. But despite the anticipation of the sunrise, his thoughts remained on the serious matter which had occupied them through the night. He had made up his mind some time ago. His plan was complete. Only one piece, minor but important, was missing before he could put it into action.
Two things had to be accomplished. The first, of course, was to obtain a good harvest. He had handled the druids carefully. Gifts, flattery, respect—he had given these liberally. The priests were on his side. Not that you could trust them very far. It was the nature of priests, in his experience, to be vain. But whatever was required for ceremony or sacrifice, he had promised they should have it. They must all pray to the gods for good weather.
The second was to reassert himself. Some measures were easy. The raid to seize the black bull would be a good beginning. His wife, whatever her faults, had been right to insist upon it, and the timing was perfect. But the