Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [56]
There were many techniques, but the aim of all holy men, from the druids in the west to the shamans of Siberia, was always the same: to enter a trance in which the gods could communicate. For some time Larine lay still. It was silent. He emptied his mind. And then—he could not say how long it was—he felt himself beginning to float. Whether he had actually left the ground he had no idea. It was irrelevant. His body was no longer important. He was smoke from a fire, a cloud. He drifted.
When he came out of his trance, he went to the door and tapped three times. The two druids opened it and he stepped out. Then he went to the king.
“I saw the place,” he explained. “They are there.” And he described the little island with its cleft rock. “But whether it is on the north coast or the south, the east or the west, I did not see.”
“Is there anything else you can tell?”
“I saw Fergus led by Nuadu of the Silver Hand walking across the sea in moonlight to speak with Deirdre while she slept.”
“So he knows where she is?”
“That I don’t know. Perhaps.”
“I shall send Finbarr to him,” said the High King.
It was evening when Finbarr came to Dubh Linn. He came with only his hound and his charioteer for company.
He came sadly, but also with determination in his heart. The High King had made his position brutally plain. “You failed before, Finbarr, and there was no punishment. This time there will be.” They both knew why. When he had returned from his long search with the two chiefs, they had been so emphatic about his efforts to find Conall that to punish him would have looked petulant and weak. But the case now was different. He was being sent alone to find his friend. A respected druid had described the place where Conall was. The High King, after three failed harvests, could not afford any more failures.
And truth to tell, after so many months of searching and of trouble, Finbarr was beginning to feel some resentment towards his friend.
Fergus was at his rath and greeted him in a friendly manner. They went inside and even before any refreshment was brought Finbarr said to the old man, quietly but firmly, “Fergus, we know that you know where Deirdre is.”
Yet, carefully though he observed him, Finbarr could have sworn that the chief was sincere when he looked at him sadly and replied, “I wish that I did.”
So Finbarr told him of the druid’s vision and described the island that Larine had seen. And then Fergus knew where his daughter was.
“I do not know that place,” he said.
“I shall stay here until you do,” Finbarr replied.
Fergus hesitated, considering his options.
“There may be an island like that some way along the coast,” he said at last. “We could look for it tomorrow.” He ordered food and wine; and since Finbarr was tired after his journey, when darkness had fallen, he slept. When everyone in the rath was asleep, Fergus silently got up and went out. He took a little curragh of skins and put it on his back; because he was afraid of waking his visitors, he did not take a horse, but went down to the hurdles on foot and crossed the Liffey and started towards the headland that Deirdre had loved. His long legs easily covered the distance, but whenever he could, with the curragh on his back, the old man ran.
It was late in the night when Fergus came to the shore. A three-quarter moon was high in the sky and the sea was calm. Then he put his curragh in the water and crossed to the island