Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [42]
It was done upon the express order of the High King. For nothing, he told them, was to mar the peace and general happiness of the royal banquet.
They stood, Conall and Finbarr, at the top of Uisnech. The sun was on the horizon and its fiery light put a red glow on Conall’s pale face as he turned to his friend and said they should go down. It was time to return to the feast. And now, having stood in silence for so long, Finbarr ventured, “Did you see the girl?”
“I saw the girl.”
“And what will you do?”
“It was you who arranged for her to be at the banquet?” Conall had just realised.
“It was. Do you forgive me?”
“It was the right thing to do.” Conall smiled gently. “Will you always be my good friend, Finbarr, whatever happens?”
“I will,” Finbarr promised. “So what will you do about Deirdre?”
“Ask me tomorrow.”
Finbarr sighed. He knew it was useless to pursue the matter further. Instead, he reached out his hand and gave his friend’s arm an affectionate squeeze.
They came down the hill as the darkness fell. Torches were being lit around the base. As they made their way towards the banquet they saw an old druid woman, who gave a nod to Conall, which Conall politely returned. By the entrance to the hall they parted and Finbarr watched his friend go in. A moment later he saw Fergus and his daughter also enter. The chief looked cheerful now. Obviously the High King had taken pity on him; but it seemed to Finbarr that Deirdre looked strangely unwell.
The High King stood, and the banqueting hall fell silent.
He began quietly, a slight smile on his heavyset face, and welcomed them to what was always a happy occasion. He thanked the druids. He thanked the chiefs for the loyal tribute they had paid. Indeed, he remarked, he was glad to say that there had not been a defaulter anywhere on the island. He paused.
“Except for a man in Connacht.” They were all watching him now. Watching for signs and signals. Slowly he allowed a look of wry amusement to form on his face. “It seems he was out when we called.”
There was laughter. So, the High King was amused. But what was he going to do? The look of amusement lingered just long enough to become threatening.
“My nephew Conall,” he nodded towards the pale prince, “together with some others, will be paying him a visit.” He glanced around the hall. “They’ll be leaving at dawn.” He gave them all a friendly nod. He turned to his wife and nodded to her. Then he sat down.
There had been a tiny intake of breath around the room. Now there was laughter, nervous for a moment, then more robust. Men began rapping on the tables in applause. “At Bealtaine,” a voice called out. “The Connacht man will not be expecting that.” More laughter. “He’ll be sorry he wasn’t there before.”
He had them. It was the firm smack of authority, mixed with devious cunning. They respected that. They liked the grim humour of the thing. And when, instead of tribute, the prize bull itself was brought back, the whole island would admire his revenge. Some, who knew of Conall’s desire to be a druid and his distaste for such ventures, saw deeper. Even the favourite nephew must bow his head under the royal yoke. “The king is right, though,” these murmured. “It had to be done.”
The High King glanced across to where poor Conall was standing. His nephew looked shocked. No doubt Larine had told the young man of his promise to consult him before taking such a decision. Well, that was too bad. It would be a lesson to Larine and his nephew. Kings use princes: they should both know that. Besides, his uncle considered, the young man seemed so uncertain what he really wanted that by sending him out like this he might be doing the boy a favour. Then he looked at his wife. She was beaming at him, as he had hoped and expected. She had got her way. He smiled back at her.
There was some surprise, a little while later, when he rose again to speak. Perhaps someone was to be honoured. They listened politely.
“I have a further announcement