Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [89]
“Two,” said Deirdre’s brother quickly. He might be stupid, she thought, but he was still her father’s son when it came to bargaining for livestock.
Larine glanced at Bishop Patrick, who nodded. A moment later, the British slaves were on their knees before the bishop kissing his hands.
“Give thanks to God, my children,” he told them kindly, “not to me.” Deirdre wondered how much he spent like this each year.
But none of these events, as far as Deirdre was concerned, did anything to lessen her agony.
Morna was a Christian. He was going to Tara. The missionary bishop might possess the tongue of an angel, he might be sent by God, but he was still going to place her only son in mortal danger. And there was nothing she could do about it. A heavy gloom descended upon her.
Bishop Patrick had indicated that he would depart the following day. Until then, he and all his party must be treated as honoured guests. The bishop retired for a while to rest by the fire. Larine wandered down to the estuary and paced about there for a time, before returning to sit alone by the entrance to the rath. Deirdre and the slaves set to work to prepare a feast. Morna, meanwhile, had joined the company of the young princes who formed the bishop’s retinue. She heard them laughing together outside, and it was obvious that Morna was impressed with them. Once he appeared and told her, “They are splendid fellows. Every one is a prince. They travel about with Bishop Patrick and treat him like a king.”
It was only after he had rested that Bishop Patrick, looking much refreshed, sent one of his priests to summon Larine and Morna, and called upon Deirdre to join them. When the four of them were gathered by the fire, he turned to Morna.
“You will recall that you promised to obey me,” he began
Morna bowed his head.
“Very well, then,” the bishop continued. “Let me tell you what I wish you to do. You are to accompany me tomorrow. I wish you to join these young men who are travelling with me. I want you to remain with us for a time. Would you like that?”
“I should indeed.” Morna’s face lit up with delight.
“Do not be too pleased,” Bishop Patrick cautioned him. “I also told you that there would be sacrifices, and there is to be one now.”
He paused. “You are not to go to Tara.”
Deirdre stared. Not go to Tara? Had she heard him correctly? Evidently she had. Morna’s face had fallen, and Larine was looking horrified.
“I may not go to the feis?”
“You may not. I forbid it.”
Larine opened his mouth to say something, but Bishop Patrick gave him one look and he was silent.
“But the High King …” Morna began.
“He will probably notice your absence. But as you will have gone tomorrow, any travellers to Tara who come across the ford will say you were not here. And if in time the High King hears that you have gone away with me,” he smiled, “he is used to me making a nuisance of myself. It was I, after all, who took away Larine. It is I who would be blamed, not you. You may be sure of that.” He turned to Deirdre. “You will miss him, I dare say.”
Yes, she would miss him. She would miss him desperately. But he would not be at Tara. That was all that mattered. She could scarcely believe it was happening.
“Where would he be?” she asked.
“In the north and west with me. I have protectors, Deirdre. He’ll be safe enough.”
“And would he … would I …”
“See him again? You would indeed. Didn’t I tell him to honour his mother? I would send him to you after a year. You and your brothers could manage at Dubh Linn until then, I should think, could you not?”
“Yes,” she said gratefully. “We could.”
Morna was looking utterly downcast, but the bishop was firm.
“You swore to obey,” he reminded him sternly. “Now you must honour your oath.” Then he smiled kindly. “Do not grieve for Tara, my young friend. Before the year is out, I promise you, I will show you even better things.”
It was a pleasant little feast that they all enjoyed in the rath that night. The company was in a cheerful mood. Deirdre was