Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [66]
“You are to come with me now.” She looked down and was surprised to see Larine smiling beside her chariot. “A place has been prepared for you to rest. You will be in good hands.” Seeing her look at him doubtfully he added, “You carry Conall’s child. You will be greatly honoured. Follow me.” And leading the way, he took her towards a small lodging. Just before they reached it she noticed Goibniu the Smith. He was standing alone, watching her. She did not acknowledge him, nor did he make any attempt to greet her. He just watched her. She didn’t know why. As they reached the lodge she asked, “Where is Conall?”
“I shall bring him to you shortly,” Larine promised.
There was a slave girl there who gave her refreshments. Her father and brothers, she supposed, were being given lodgings elsewhere. where. There were plenty of people moving about in the huge encampment, but nobody came over to her when she stood in her doorway. She had the sensation they were politely ignoring her, as if she had been set apart.
Then, at last, Conall came. He came with Larine, who lingered a few paces away.
How at peace Conall seemed. Grave, but at peace. She supposed it was relief at having been reconciled with his uncle. How kindly and lovingly he looked down at her.
“I have been with the druids, Deirdre,” he said gently. “There were things to be done.” He paused. “They are going to do me a great honour.”
“That is good, Conall,” she said, without understanding.
“I am to go on a journey, Deirdre, that only a prince can make. And if it is pleasing to the gods, it will bring better harvests.” He paused, gazing at her thoughtfully. “If it were necessary for me to travel across the sea to the blessed isles in order to speak with the gods, would you try to prevent my departure?”
“I should await your return. But the blessed isles,” she added nervously, “are far away, Conall, in the western sea.”
“That is true. And if I were shipwrecked, you would mourn me, but you would be proud, would you not? You would tell my son to be proud of his father?”
“How could your son not be proud of his father?”
“My father died in battle, with honour. So my mother and I did not grieve for him, because we knew he was with the gods.”
“What is this to me, Conall?” she asked, confused.
Now Conall was beckoning Larine to draw close.
“Deirdre,” he said, “you know that you alone are the love of my life and that you carry my son. If you love me as I love you, do not grieve if I depart upon a journey. And if you love me, remember this. Finbarr, whom I killed, was my dearest friend. But Larine here is an even better friend. I must leave you now because it is the will of the gods. But let Larine be your friend and counsellor always and you will never come to harm.” With that, he lovingly kissed her; then he turned and strode away, leaving her with the druid.
And then Larine told her what was going to happen.
Dawn was approaching. Was he afraid? He did not think so.
When Conall was a child, the eve of Samhain had seemed a magical but a dangerous time. People left food for the visiting spirits, but they put out their fires to make sure the dangerous visitors did not linger there. His mother would always make him sleep close to her that night when he was a little boy. After the long night, would come the culling of the animals—the cattle, pigs, and sheep selected for winter slaughter. There was always something melancholy to Conall in the lowing of the cattle as they were led towards the pen where the cattlemen were waiting with their knives. The other little boys always used to think it a great joke when the pigs were seized and the ropes tied round their trotters while they squealed. After the men had hauled them by their hind legs up a tree would come the throat slitting, with more squealing and red blood flooding out and splattering everywhere.