Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [83]
Now, however, it was Larine who was confused.
“But you can hardly fail to obey your kinsman the High King when he has summoned you,” he said.
“The High King has summoned me?” Morna looked blank.
Deirdre went cold. Larine appeared strangely put out. But nobody was looking at her yet. They hadn’t guessed. How, she wondered, had Larine known of the king’s summons to the young chief at Dubh Linn? Hadn’t he told her he never went near the High King now? She supposed that, as in times past, Larine probably had sources of information in many places. But what should she do? Was this the moment to confess the truth? She couldn’t see a way out. But she decided, just for a few more moments, to play for time. Besides, there was something that was puzzling her.
“At the feis,” she pointed out quietly, “it will be the druids who conduct the ceremonies.”
“Of course,” agreed Larine.
“There will be sacrifices.”
“Of animals. Yes.”
“And the king will mate with a mare?”
“I imagine he may.”
“Would you take part in such a pagan rite yourself?” she asked Larine.
“It would not be appropriate.”
“So if Morna becomes a Christian, he should avoid such a pagan rite, surely?”
Larine hesitated only a moment.
“If the High King summoned Morna to come, it would be difficult, I should say, for him to refuse. I should not insist upon it. In fact …” He stopped. Then he looked at her shrewdly. “So tell me, Deirdre, how is it that Morna does not know that he has been summoned by the High King?”
They were turning to her now. She was silent. Morna was frowning.
“Mother?”
Her brothers were staring, too. It was no good. She was going to have to confess what she had done. She was going to be humiliated in front of them. She could see it. Her brothers were going to blame her. And Morna … much as he loved her, he would curse her, too. She knew it. Her hopeless, desperate plans, her plans that suddenly looked so foolish, were all unravelling. She gazed miserably at Larine, and saw a little glint of expectation in his eye.
And then, suddenly, she understood.
“This is why you’re here,” she cried. “This is what you came for. You came for Morna because you thought he was going to Tara.”
Yes, a faint shadow of guilt had passed across Larine’s face. Morna was about to intervene, but she cut him off.
“You don’t understand,” she snapped at her son. “He’s using you.”
She saw it all. Larine might be a bishop, she thought, but he was still Larine; and he had come again, in a different guise, as he had come before. All her old memories came flooding back: the black mist of birds, the raucous trumpets, the body of Conall daubed in red. “You’re just another sacrifice,” she said bitterly.
Larine was clever. You couldn’t deny it. What was it he’d said? Convert the princes first. That was his game. If you couldn’t get to the prince, then get to his family circle. He’d heard that the new king was taking an interest in young Morna. So of course he wanted to convert him. Then he could insinuate a convert into the circle of the High King himself.
“What’s the plan?” she demanded. “For Morna to reveal that he’s a Christian at the feis?” Morna, the image of his father, Conall, the kinsman of the High King who had given his life for the druids and their pagan gods—Morna was to arrive and say he was a Christian? At Tara itself, the sacred royal site? At the inauguration? It would create a sensation. “Or do you prefer he should conceal his faith until he has made the High King his friend?” That might be even better for Larine. If the High King and his family took a liking to the handsome boy. Of course they would. How could they not? Then in due course he would reveal he was a Christian.
Either way it was a brilliant move, an insidious undermining of the ancient pagan order.
And what would become of Morna? If he revealed his religion at Tara, the High King could hardly tolerate it, and the druids would probably