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  She shrugged. "They have always sacrificed.

  Animals."

  "And men, too, in the past." He sighed. "I confess to you, Deirdre, that after the death of Conall, I began to lose my desire for sacrifices. I wanted no more of them."

  "You do not believe in the sacrifices?"

  He shook his head. "It was a terrible thing, Deirdre, that was done to Conall. Terrible. I am stricken with grief, I cringe for shame whenever I think of it. Yet when it was done, we all supposed we were acting for the best. I thought so, Deirdre, and so, I can assure you, did Conall." He shook his head sadly. "That is the way with the old gods, Deirdre. It has always been the same: always those terrible sacrifices, whether of men or animals; always the shedding of blood to placate gods who, if truth be told, are no better than the men who make the sacrifices."

  The thought seemed to depress him. He shook his head sorrowfully before taking up his theme again. "It is only here, Deirdre, that such things are still done, you know. In Britain, Gaul, and Rome, they have long since turned to the true God.

  Our gods are held in contempt. And rightly so."

  He gazed at her earnestly. "Think of it, Deirdre, can we really suppose that the sun, the sky, the earth, and the stars were made by such beings as the Dagda with his cauldron, or the other multiplicity of gods behaving, often as not, like foolish, cruel children? Could this world be made by anything other than a supreme being so great, so all-embracing, that He passes our understanding?"

  Did he expect her to reply? She wasn't sure. She was so astonished to hear him speaking in this way that she would hardly have known what to say in any case.

  "When I was a druid," he continued quietly,

  "I often felt such things. I felt the presence of an eternal God, Deirdre, I felt it when I performed the morning and evening prayers, I felt it in the great silences when I was alone, yet without truly understanding what it was that I felt." He smiled. "But now, Deirdre, I do understand. All these feelings come from the one, true God which the whole of Christendom knows.

  "And the wonder of it is," he went on, "that there is no need for any further sacrifice. You know, I suppose, why we are called Christians." He briefly outlined the life of Jesus Christ. "God gave His only Son to be sacrificed on a cross.

  That sacrifice was made for all men and for all time."

  He smiled. "Think of it, Deirdre: there is no need for any blood sacrifice, neither of man nor of beast. The ultimate sacrifice has already been made. We are free. All sacrifices are over." He watched her as he gave her this news.

  She was silent for a moment.

  "And this is the message you preach now, in contrast to the druids?"

  "I do. And it is a comforting message. For the true God is not a greedy or a vengeful god, Deirdre. He is a loving God. He wants only that we should love one another and live in peace. That is the finest faith I can think of, and I want no other. I have no doubt," he added, "that it's the truth."

  "Are you the only druid to become a Christian?"

  "By no means. Many of the priests of the old religion are violently opposed. That is what you would expect. But some of the most learned of us have taken an interest for a long time. The Christian Church, you know, holds all the learning of the Roman world."

  Deirdre frowned. She still wasn't sure what to make of this.

  "But you had to abandon everything you had believed before."

  "Not entirely. For some of us, as I said, the new faith was really what we had been looking for all the time. As a Christian priest, I experience the same sense of things. The world is just as full of poetry. Do you remember the words of Amairgen's great poem? am the Wind on the Sea "One of our bishops has made a hymn, to the Creator of Creation-the one God, that is-and one of its verses is rather similar. Listen to this: arise today Through the strength of heaven:

  Light of sun,

  Radiance of moon,

  Splendour of fire,

  Speed of lightning,

  Swiftness of wind,

  Depth of sea,

  Stability of earth,

  Firmness of rock.

  "The inspiration is the same, but we recognise the true source of it." He smiled and pointed to his shaven head. "You see, as a Christian priest, I didn't even have to change my druid's tonsure."

  "I suppose so." She frowned. "And who," she asked, "converted you?

  "Ah. A good question. A man called Bishop Patrick. A great man. It was he who made the poem, actually."

  Deirdre received this information but made no further comment. The fact was that her mind was working rapidly.

  The visit of Larine, with his startling new identity and his still more surprising message, might take a little time to sink in, but certain things seemed clear. There could hardly be any doubt of his sincerity; and whatever her feelings about the past, she was touched by his obvious goodwill. As for his religious message, she was less certain. Perhaps she was tempted by it; certainly she had little love for the sacrifices of the druids and their cruel gods. But it was another thought now that was forming in her mind.

  "You said you had come to see me and my son. You wish to convert us?"

  "Certainly." He smiled. "I have found the light, Deirdre, and it has brought me joy and peace of mind. Naturally I wish to share that joy with others." He paused. "But there is more than that. After all that has passed, I owe it to Conall to bring the Gospel to you and to his son."

  She nodded slowly. Yes, she thought, yes, this might be the way.

  The persuasive bishop, his father's old friend, might be the one who could offer her a way out of her dilemma about Morna.

  At least, she considered, it was worth a try. So now, gazing at him steadily, she informed him: "You should understand something, Larine. Morna has never been told about how his father died. I couldn't bear to. We all thought it was for the best. So he knows nothing."

  "I see." Larine certainly looked surprised.

  "Do you mean," he asked,

  "that you don't want me to say anything either?"

  "No." She shook her head. "No, Larine, I think it is time that he should know. And I want you to tell him. Will you do that?"

  "If that is what you wish."

  "Tell him what really happened, Larine. Tell him how the High King and his druids murdered his father. Tell him of the evil of it," she continued passionately. "Tell him of your new and better God, if you like. Tell him, above all, to avoid the king and his druids. Will you do that for me?"

  Did Larine look awkward for just a moment? She did not see why he should. Wasn't this what he wanted? And wouldn't it solve her greatest difficulty if Morna was sufficiently impressed with Larine's Christian message to want to avoid the druids' rites?

  If she told him about the High King's invitation after that, he probably wouldn't even want to go to the pagan feis at Tara. With luck, if they could keep him out of sight for a while, he should be able to avoid the attention of the High King in the future.

  "I will do what I can," said Larine, cautiously.

  That is good." She smiled. And she was just wondering whether I to tell Larine the whole story of the royal invitation and to ask for I his advice, when their conversation was brought to an abrupt halt by the sudden appearance in the doorway of Morna himself. Who are these visitors?" he asked cheerfully.

  And Larine gasped.

  How strange, Larine thought, as he walked beside the young man down the slope towards the water.

  He had come to Dubh Linn expecting, in a sense, to put a painful memory to rest; yet instead, the past was coming alive before his very eyes with a vividness that was almost frightening.

  For it was Conall himself who was walking beside him.

  True, young Morna had his mother's strange green eyes. But his dark hair and his aquiline good looks were Conall to the life. It was as if his friend had arisen from the dead. Dear God, he even had his father's gentle voice. And when the young man smiled at him, Larine felt as though someone had struck a druid's knife into his heart.

  It was easy enough to introduce the subject he had come to speak about; for as soon as Morna learned that Larine had been a friend of his father's, he was eager to know all that the former druid could tell him. He was fascinated to hear about the prince's poetic and religious nature. "I thought of him only as a warrior," he said.

  "He was a warrior, and a fine one," Larine assured him, "but he was far more than that." And he explained how Conall had wanted to be a druid.

  From there, it was only a little while before he told Morna about the sacrifice. The young man was astounded.

  "And you yourself took part?"

  "I was a druid. I was his friend. It was his own wish, Morna. He gave himself up as a sacrifice for the people of the island. The noblest thing a man can do. Your father died a hero's death," he told him. "You can be very proud. But now," he continued, seeing that Morna was much impressed, "let me tell you about another person who gave himself up as a sacrifice."

  It was with great feeling that Larine explained to his friend's son the powerful message of the Christian faith. "The old gods," he concluded, "have yielded their place to the Supreme Deity. Just think of it, Morna: instead of a sacrifice to save a harvest, Our Saviour sacrificed Himself to save the whole world, not for a season but for all eternity."

  If Larine's presentation of the faith to this young man, so obviously hungry to emulate the heroic father he had never known, was subtly different from the case he had made to Deirdre, he was pleased to see that it seemed to be effective.

  "Do you think my father would have been a Christian," he asked, "if he'd had the chance?"

  "There is not a doubt of it," Larine replied. "We'd have been Christians together. How I wish," he sighed, "that he were here to join with me now. We'd have walked this path together." He said it with real emotion.

  "I could take his place," Morna said eagerly.

  "You are so like him," Larine answered. "That would bring me great joy." He nodded reflectively. "You might say, the circle would be complete."

  They were standing beside the river. Now they turned to go back to the rath. Morna was clearly excited. As the former druid glanced at him, did he feel, just for a moment, a pang of guilt at what he was doing? He thought of his plan. Was he making use of the son of andbrvbarbbandbrvbarbbGonall for his own ends? No, he told himself. He was bringing the family of Conall into the light. If, in so doing, he was serving the larger cause of the mission, then so much the better. For that was an even greater cause. And his sense of mission was strong.

  By the time they entered the rath again, Deirdre and the slaves were preparing the meal, and Ronan and Rian had returned. The two brothers were already engaged in a conversation with the young priest who had accompanied Larine. He was a decent man from Ulster whom Larine had converted a few years ago, and the brothers seemed to like him; but when they saw Larine, they were careful to be respectful. As a former druid, the bishop was clearly not a man (to be crossed. They chatted for a while. He made the usual small IC-ONVERSATION, spoke about Ulster and the harvest up there; and this led easily enough to a brief account of his mission. They listened politely as he outlined some of the essentials of the Christian faith. It was hard to tell what they thought, but he had the impression that they would probably follow Morna and Deirdre in most things. Before long they were called inside to eat.

  It was when the household had all gathered in the big thatched hut, and Larine had blessed the food, that he made the announcement.

  "Tonight, my friends, we eat together, and enjoy the excellent hospitality of this house. But now I must tell you that tomorrow you will receive a far greater guest than I. For I have come only to prepare the way for him; whereas he will come to preach and to baptise." He paused impressively. "It is Bishop Patrick himself I am speaking of."

  This was a technique that Larine had used before with success. He, the former druid, would go into an area where Bishop Patrick was not known to prepare the path for the great man and make sure the audience understood the importance of their visitor. Briefly, he said a few words about the missionary. He outlined the bishop's ancestry-for it was always important, in the ancient society of the western island, that his hearers should know that Patrick was a man of noble birth in his own right. That, for a start, would gain their respect.

  He gave them some account of how he was captured, of his years on the island as a slave, and of his subsequent return. He also named some of the princes in the north who had given Patrick their protection and had even been converted. This information, too, would impress his hearers. He also gave some indications of the great man's character.

  "He is a prince of the Church; to his followers, his word is law," he explained. "And yet, like other men who have reached the high places of the spirit, he has a great simplicity. He is austere. He honours all women, but he is entirely celibate. He is humble. He is also quite without fear. People have sometimes threatened him for preaching the Gospel, but it never has any effect."