Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [74]
At last Fergus spoke.
“My end is drawing close. A few more days. Then it will be time for a new chief of the Ui Fergusa.”
The Ui Fergusa: the descendants of Fergus. It was the custom on the island for a clan to elect its chief from the inner family—normally the male descendants, down to second cousin, of a single great-grandfather. In the case of the little clan who held Dubh Linn, there were no surviving male descendants, apart from Deirdre’s brothers, of Fergus’s father, Fergus, nor even of his grandfather who had supplied them with the old drinking skull. After Deirdre’s brothers, therefore, unless they provided male heirs, the clan would have a problem. The rules, however, were not absolute. Survival was the key.
“Old though I am,” Fergus pointed out, “there has never been a designated Tanaiste.” This was the recognised heir to a chief. It was quite common for a clan to name an heir during a chief’s rule, even from the moment the chief was chosen. “Assuming one of you two, Ronan or Rian, should succeed me, there is no one to inherit after you except Deirdre’s son.”
“It would have to be Morna,” they both agreed. “Morna should be chief after us.”
“Would he make a good chief?” he asked.
“The best. No question,” they both replied.
“Then here is what I propose.” He gazed at them calmly. “Let Morna be chief instead of you.” He paused. “Consider. If you choose him yourselves, no one can argue as to his right. You both love him like a son and he thinks of you as a pair of fathers. Unite behind Morna, and the clan of Fergus will be strong.” He stopped and looked carefully from one to the other. “This is my dying wish.”
Deirdre watched them. She had no idea that her father was going to propose such a thing. She had assumed that Morna might inherit from his uncles in due course, even though not in the male line. But she saw the deep logic in the old man’s words. The truth was that neither of them was really fit to be a chief, and in their heart of hearts they both probably knew it. But to have their hands forced like this, to give up their claims to their sister’s son, who was still a youth? That was a hard thing. In the long silence which now followed, she wasn’t even sure how she felt about it herself. Did she want such a thing so soon? Would this cause bad feelings, and even expose Morna to danger? She was just wondering whether to intervene and ask her father to reconsider, when her brother Ronan spoke.
“He is too young,” he said firmly. “But if I am chief, then he can be named as my Tanaiste. What can be the objection to that?”
Deirdre stared. Ronan had gone pale; Rian was looking uncomfortable. Morna glanced at her, uncertain and concerned.
“I should prefer to wait,” he said to his grandfather respectfully. “Ronan’s suggestion would make me happy.”
But the old man, though he smiled at his grandson, shook his head.
“It is better this way,” he answered. “I have considered this matter carefully, and I have made up my mind.”
“You have made up your mind?” Ronan burst out bitterly. “And what does that signify? Isn’t it for us to decide after you’ve gone?”
Deirdre had never heard her brother address her father with such disrespect, but Fergus took it very calmly.
“You are angry,” he said quietly.
“Let Morna have it, Ronan.” It was Rian who interposed now, his voice gently pleading. “What would either of us do with the chiefdom anyway?” It suddenly occurred to Deirdre that Rian might prefer having Morna as chief, to being ruled by his brother. As she looked at the two of them, she saw how deftly her old father had handled the business. For not only would Ronan have made a poor chief, but once they heard that Fergus had designated Morna, none of their people at Dubh Linn would accept her brother as chief anyway.
And in the silence that followed, Ronan must have realised this, too. For after a while he sighed.
“Let the boy have it then, if that is your wish.” He gave his nephew a wry smile. “You’ll make a good chief, Morna. I won’t deny it. With a little guidance,” he added, to save his