Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [351]
“The trouble is,” she confessed, “I think he doesn’t love me.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“It’s what I believe.”
“Perhaps,” Dame Doyle said more kindly, “you should give your husband the benefit of the doubt. Marriage is like religion, in a way,” she gently suggested. “It requires an act of faith.”
“But that’s not the same at all,” Cecily protested. “For about the true faith I haven’t any doubt.”
“Well at least you could hope,” Dame Doyle remarked with a smile. And seeing Cecily still looking uncertain, “My child, you’ll have to rely upon charity then. Be kind to him. Things may get better. Besides,” she added shrewdly, “you’ve said yourself things can’t continue as they are. The plain fact is, you’ve nothing to lose.”
So that night, after putting the children to sleep in the main room, Cecily went down to the workshop and suggested that Tidy should join her in her refuge above.
The old man arrived at Rathconan on a fine day at the end of August. He was a brehon, he informed Eva, a man skilled in the old Irish laws and an adviser to the Fitzgeralds down in Munster. He had come from Maurice’s parents with a message that must be delivered only to the boy himself and to Sean. As they were away with the cattle up on the mountain pastures, she sent one of the men to fetch them while, with the proper show of respect to the old man, she set out a flagon of ale and some refreshments for him in the hall where he said he would like to rest. Until Sean and Maurice arrived, she could only guess as to what the nature of the brehon’s business might be.
One possibility, clearly, concerned the Fitzgerald family. When his garrison had betrayed him at Maynooth, Silken Thomas had escaped and gone to rally the Irish chiefs who were loyal to his family. The Gunner might hold some strongholds and possess most of the artillery, but he only had a few hundred troops and he wasn’t well himself. The English force could be worn down and destroyed.
But the Gunner had the power of England behind him. The Irish chiefs were cautious. Silken Thomas was still saying that the Spanish would come; but weeks passed and there was no sign of them. Silken Thomas was learning the bitter lesson of power: friends are the people who think you will win. “At least people up here are loyal to the Fitzgeralds,” Eva had remarked to Sean one day; but he had only given her a wry look. “Some of the O’Tooles and our own O’Byrne kinsmen are talking to the Gunner now,” he told her. “He’s offering good money.” By midsummer, Silken Thomas was hiding out in the forests and bogs like a warrior chief from times gone by.
But he wasn’t an ancient Irish chief; he was rich young Silken Thomas. If the Gunner was sluggish, the Fitzgerald heir was starting to lose heart. And a week ago, when one of his aristocratic English kinsmen, a royal commander, had found him miserably encamped down in the Bog of Allen and promised him his life and a pardon if he gave himself up, he had agreed to do so. The news had reached Rathconan three days ago.
So now, though it was hard for Eva to believe, it seemed that the power of the mighty house of Kildare was fading away like the sound of pipers disappearing over the hill. And if Kildare’s power had collapsed, what would that mean for the Desmond Fitzgeralds in the south? Uncertainty at best. Perhaps the southern Fitzgeralds would want their son Maurice safely back with them?
She hoped not. Since the death of Fintan, young Maurice had been such a tower of strength, helping Sean and giving her his quiet affection. You couldn’t keep a foster son forever, of course, but she couldn’t bear to part with him just now. Not yet.
Sean and Maurice arrived at the house early in the evening. Sean greeted the brehon respectfully and having sipped a little ale, sat in the big oak chair in the hall, looking rather impressive. Maurice sat quietly on a stool, gazing at the old man curiously. Eva sat on a bench. Then Sean politely requested the brehon to state his business.
“I am Kieran, son of Art, hereditary brehon, and I come on behalf of the lady