Dublin (16 page)

  It was during the morning that he saw other, more complex possibilities. What if his uncle sent the girl away for her safety, but demanded his own return? Or he might divorce the queen and send for Deirdre. Both unlikely, but possible.

  Of course, he reminded himself, he could never go along with either. After all, he loved Deirdre, and he knew she couldn't abide the king.

  But all the same, as he had stood with Deirdre looking at the mountains, the implication had suddenly hit him. For the negotiations to have any hope of succeeding, he must not touch her. Until then, she was still the king's woman, and his flight with her had been for her protection. Unless he could swear to Larine, with a druidic oath of the most solemn kind, that the girl was untouched, then all his explanations of his conduct would fall to the ground.

  So it was that, for the time being at least, he avoided contact with the woman he loved. It was not something he thought he could explain to her.

  Larine read the message on the stick. It was terse: a name, a place, a date, and the word "alone." Then he turned back to the messenger. It would not be difficult to find the fellow some employment. There were three or four chiefs still at Uisnech who, at a word from Larine, would give this bard a try and pay him something. If he was good, word would travel quickly enough.

  "I can help you," he told him.

  But the message from Conall was more difficult. The festivities had been continued, as they had to be, but the air was tense. The High King was outwardly calm, but to those like Larine who knew him, he had never seemed so angry. And therefore dangerous.

  Even though he had the protection of being a druid, did he dare go on such an errand to the fugitive?

  If Conall wanted to meet him, it might be to ask his advice, but it might also be to deliver a message. Did he really want to return and tell the king he had gone to see Conall behind his back? Was his friendship with Conall worth that much?

  He pondered long and hard that day before deciding he would go. He was a brave soul.

  They had rested three days now by the pool. It was a quiet spot, a little lake in a mountain declivity, fed by a stream, and from which, under an ash tree at the far end, a slip of clear water poured over a stone lip before descending through a gorsy gully into a winding ravine below. The slopes all round were thickly wooded. Nobody came there. Conall had built a shelter. They had fished in the pool, finding trout-small but good to eat. The first day they had rested there Conall had gone out, returning late the next morning with plentiful supplies and with wood he had cut for a fire. Deirdre, meanwhile, had washed their clothes in the stream.

  The weather had been getting warmer for several days.

  Overhead, the sky was clear blue. The light breeze of the morning was growing faint. Conall was whittling a stick to spear fish when she asked him casually if he was going down into the valley that evening.

  "No," he answered quietly. "We have plenty of food. But tomorrow," he added, "I shall be going away for several days." Shortly afterwards, he waded into the pool and stood with his spear poised, waiting for fish.

  Then she knew what she had to do. She did not know why, but she knew it must be that day.

  It was early afternoon when they ate. She had cooked the two fish he had caught over the fire, which sent tiny wisps of blue-grey smoke into the still air.

  As well as the fish, she had cooked beans and lentils. He had brought a flagon of ale with him the day before, so they drank from that. To follow, she had made honeyed oatcakes. And it was as he lay back contentedly after this meal that she gently remarked, "It is lucky for me that we escaped, Conall. You saved my life."

  "That is probably true," he agreed, staring up at the sky. "The queen is a fearsome woman."

  "Even without her, I'd not have gone back to the king.

  It was only you I wanted."

  "And yet," he tilted his head forward to look at her, "if ever the king's men catch us, they may kill me. Then you'd have to go back, you know." He smiled.

  "Maybe the king would divorce the queen and send her away. It's possible. You'd be safe enough then."

  But she only shook her head.

  "The king will never have me, Conall. I'd kill myself." She said it so simply he supposed it must be true.

  "Oh," he said, and leant his head back again and stared at the sky.

  They remained silent after that, lying in the sun. There was not a breath of motion in the air now. The wisp of smoke from the fire was not dispersed, but rose straight up until it invisibly dissolved in the blueness above. It was silent all round the pond. Some way off, Deirdre saw a bird on an overhanging bough, its plumage gleaming like gold in the sun; but if it uttered any song, that sound, too, was stopped, as though the passing of time itself had ceased in the general silence of the afternoon.

  Then, knowing what she must do, she quietly rose and, while he lay where he was, still staring up, went to the pond's edge and, slipping off her shift and underclothes, stepped quickly into the tingling cold water and swam out towards the middle where she could tread water.

  Hearing the sound, but unaware that she was naked, Conall glanced at the pond and, after a little time, sat up to look at her. She Istayed where she was, making no suggestion he should join her, but quietly smiling at him, while he continued to look and the golden light was playing on the little ripples in the water that she made around her. They stayed like that, the two of them, for some time.

  She swam a few strokes to the shallows and slowly rising up, with the water dripping from her hair and breasts, walked towards him.

  And then Conall, with a little gasp, rose to his feet and took her in his arms.

  For three days Larine waited at the meeting place. But he had only the birds, sweeping watchfully overhead, for company. Conall never came. And after waiting two more days, just to be certain, the druid returned, sorrowfully.

  Despite his sadness over the disappearance of his friend, Finbarr could not help feeling elated as, with Cuchulainn bounding along beside him, he approached the Hill of Uisnech.

  He had the black bull. It was certainly a most magnificent beast. While few of the island's shaggy cattle came much above the midriff of a man, the black bull's shoulder was level with his own. Its red and angry eyes glowered down at him. With both arms spread, he could only just touch the tips of the huge creature's horns. Its coat was jet- black, the mighty tangle of its forelock as heavy as a man's head.

  The raid had been expertly carried out. Concealing themselves, he and his men had watched for two days until they were fairly certain that one of the cowmen who regularly disappeared into the woods must be the bull's keeper. Following him the third day they found the huge beast, cleverly hidden in a small enclosure where the fellow was filling a trough to feed him.

  "We shall need you to lead the bull," Finbarr told him.

  "What if I refuse?" the man enquired.

  "I shall cut off your head," Finbarr answered, pleasantly. So the man had come.

  Following a circuitous route, they had brought the bull safely out of Connacht, and as they drew towards Uisnech, Finbarr sent one of his men back to the owner with the following message.

  "The High King was sorry you were not there when he came to collect tribute, but he thanks you for the fine bull you have sent him instead."

  Their arrival could hardly have been more encouraging. There were still a number of chiefs remaining with the High King and his retinue at Uisnech. Quite a crowd, including many druids, lined the path as they made their way towards the High King's quarters. But it was the queen who came towards them first, her face wreathed in smiles.

  "That's my bull," she cried. And coming closer, in a quieter tone she repeated, "That's my bull," with rich satisfaction.

  From the king, however, his reception was less warm. He did receive a nod and a grunt, which seemed to indicate that the success of his mission was accepted. But evidently there were other, more important matters on the king's mind.

  "Conall and Deirdre have been sighted." It was Larine who told him. Of his own abortive journey the druid said nothing, and nobody had guessed about it. He had been puzzled and secretly rather hurt when, upon his return, he learned that Conall, at the very time he was waiting for him at their meeting place, had apparently been seen heading south into Munster with the girl. The search parties were still out, he now informed Finbarr. "But there's been no word of him yet."

  It was a little before sunset when the king sent for Finbarr. He round the king sitting on a covered bench by a tree. From under his heavy brows the king eyed him thoughtfully.

  You performed your task well." He waited as Finbarr politely bowed his head. "Now I shall give you another. First, however, tell I me: do you know where Conall is?"

  "I do not know."

  "Find him. And bring him back." He paused and then with sudden anger burst out: "He was my sister's son, Finbarr. I showed him nothing but kindness. Do you think he has the right to behave like this to me?" Finbarr could only bow his head again, for the king had said no more than the truth. "He is to return, Finbarr, and then he may tell me why he did this thing. But if he will not come, you will return with his head or not at all. I am sending two chiefs with you. They have their orders."

  To watch me, Finbarr thought. Aloud he asked:

  "And Deirdre?"

  "She is not to be harmed." The king sighed. "It would be a mockery for me to take her now. She will be returned to Dubh Linn. You may tell her that."

  "Perhaps we shall not find him."

  "Your parents and your brothers and sisters are poor, Finbarr. Succeed in this and I promise they will be poor no longer. Fail, and they will be poorer by far."

  "Then I have no choice," Finbarr said bitterly, and left.

  The High King watched him, but without anger. He would, he reflected, have felt the same in his place. But kings cannot always afford to be kind. Nor can they afford to be entirely honest.

  If Conall came with Finbarr, the two chiefs were to kill Conall on the journey. As for the girl, she would be returned to Dubh Linn. But before she reached there, she would be handed over to her new master.

  For the king had already sold her, as a concubine, to Goibniu the Smith.

  It could not be otherwise, when you thought about it.

  Slowly and carefully they travelled now, never venturing out onto open ground in the plain light of day.

  It had been a close thing, the day they had been seen. They had just crossed a patch of heathland when two of the king's riders, emerging onto it behind them, had caught sight of them and started to give chase.

  There had been nothing to do but run. Racing into the forest, they had left the track and managed to elude the king's men; but the experience had shaken them both. The king would know they were hiding in Munster now. With its innumerable hills, creeks, and islands, it might be hard to find them, but he would be relentless.

  It was Deirdre who had the idea.

  From the hills of Munster, travelling eastwards, there were forest and hillside tracks for most of the way until one came to the ranges of hills that swept up the islands eastern coastline and culminated in the magnificent heights of the Wicklow Mountains.

  "While they go looking into every hill and valley in the southwest, we could be on our way up there," she pointed out. It was a clever bluff-to return to the coastal edge of the very regions from which they had fled-and it was unlikely anyone would think of it. She also made another suggestion which surprised him: "We should leave the horses and go on foot." But he soon saw the wisdom of this, too. No one would be looking out for Conall the prince on foot. And then she made two further suggestions which surprised him even more.

  So it was the middle of June when a single druid, walking slowly with a staff and accompanied, a few steps behind, by a servant boy, made his way at dusk down from the Wicklow Mountains and took the track towards the crossing of Ath Cliath at Dubh Linn. Fergus and his sons, as Deirdre had told him they would be, were out on the grasslands far away, with their cattle. But it was deep night in any case when, skirting some way from the rath, in case there should be any dogs about, they made their way across the wooden causeway over the shallows of the Liffey. As they did so, Deirdre noticed that the rotted planks had still not been replaced. Then they passed onto the broad Plain of Bird Flocks.

  Up to now, her plan had worked. When, at her suggestion, Conall had shaved his head in the druid tonsure, she had smiled to herself because he looked, it seemed to her, even more himself than he had before. When she in turn shaved her head like a slave, he burst out laughing. She had wondered whether the loss of her splendid hair would make her less attractive to him and interfere with their lovemaking which, since the afternoon at the pool, had been frequent. She discovered within moments of completing the operation that it would not.

  But why had she suggested they should seek their hiding place so near to her home? Was it, at this time of crisis, that she was craving the security of her childhood and family? Perhaps. As they passed by her father's rath in the dark, she felt a sudden stab of emotion; she longed to creep in, sniff the familiar scent of the hearth, see the pale shape of her father's drinking skull on its shelf. If only the proud, talkative old man were there, so that they could take each other in their arms. But he was not there and she could not enter; and so she could only peer towards the rath's faint outline as she went by in the dark. Yet her choice of hiding place was also clever. For nobody ever went there.