Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [75]
“That is what I had hoped to hear,” said Fergus. “You have shown wisdom, Ronan, as I knew you would.”
And now, placing a hand on Morna’s arm, the old chief slowly rose. Since he hadn’t walked unaided for nearly a month, Deirdre could only guess what the effort must be costing him, and she almost moved to help him; but she understood that this was not what he wished. With the cloak still wrapped round him, Fergus stood there like a statue, his gauntness only adding to his dignity.
“Bring the drinking skull,” he quietly ordered her; and when she had done so, and held it in front of him, he placed his hand upon it and indicated that Morna and his uncles should do the same.
“Swear,” he commanded them. “Swear that it is Morna who shall be chief.”
So they swore. And when the thing was done, they embraced each other, and agreed what a fine thing it was that they had done; and then Fergus rested. And Deirdre, uncertain whether she was glad or not at what had just come to pass, could only wonder one thing: Ronan had given way to Morna gracefully, but would he keep his word?
The single chariot arrived the following afternoon. It was a swift and splendid vehicle. Morna and his uncles, as it happened, were away with the cattle; Fergus, feeling weak after the events of the previous day, was resting inside; but Deirdre, who had been sitting in the sun outside the rath mending a shirt, had watched its approach with interest. It was not often such a noble equipage came that way. Standing in it, beside the charioteer, was a young nobleman of about Morna’s age, with long dark moustaches and a fine green cloak, who glancing down at her called out to know if this was the house of Fergus.
“It is, but he is sick. What is your business with him?”
“None of yours, I should think,” the young warrior, who obviously thought she was a servant, replied casually. “But it’s Morna, son of Conall, I have come to find.”
“Morna?” She was suspicious at once, and was wondering what to reply when her father’s voice came faintly from within.
“Who is it, Deirdre?”
“Just a traveller, Father,” she called, “passing upon his way.”
“Let him come in, then,” he cried weakly, but this was followed by a cough and the sound of the chief struggling to catch his breath again, so that it was easy for her to give a firm reply.
“I am Deirdre, daughter of Fergus. As you can hear, my father is very sick. Indeed,” she lowered her voice, “it cannot be many more days now that he will live. You may give your message to me.”
The messenger looked put out, but he could hardly argue.
“It’s a message from the High King I’m to deliver. He is to hold the feis at Tara. And he asks that your son, Morna, attend.”
“Tara?” Deirdre looked at the young noble with alarm. “Why should Morna rather than Fergus go to the feis?”
And now it was the visitor’s turn to look surprised.
“It would be strange if he didn’t,” he replied. “His being the High King’s own cousin.”
The feis—the inauguration at which the king would mate with a mare—was not until Samhain. That was still some way off. She told herself she had a little time. But why should the new king have taken this sudden interest in Morna? Was it just an act of kindness to a relation whom the old king had ignored? Or was there some other purpose behind it? She had no way of knowing. What should she do?
And then she was almost astonished to hear her own voice calmly replying.
“This is wonderful news indeed.” She gave the young noble a smile. “My son will be honoured. We are all honoured. There is only one problem.”
“What is that?”
“He is not here. He is away.” She gestured towards the estuary. “On a sea voyage. He has promised to return before winter, but …” She sighed. “If I knew where he was I could send after him. He would be heartbroken indeed to miss such a great event.”
“You think he will return in time though?”
“He knows his grandfather is not long for this world. We hope he will return before his grandfather departs. But it is in the hands of the gods.”
She offered him refreshment, but indicated that it would