The Emerald Isle (11 page)

Few accurate details about Aedh’s death ever reached Rathcroghan, and Cahira’s father accepted the kingship reluctantly. Felim, who had never ventured far beyond the hilly fields of Rathcroghan, found himself responsible for defending a
tuath
, or kingdom, whose borders stretched to the sea. Though Cahira had been only eleven at the time, she was wise enough to realize that a family who claimed the kingship of Connacht involved itself in a mysterious and dangerous business.

Her father’s voice, hearty and robust, echoed through the great chamber and thundered above Cahira’s thoughts. “What do you mean he refuses to send tribute to the English king? Has he no honor? Has he no
sense?
”

Surely the man who had brought this unfortunate news quailed before the king’s wrath. A small smile crept to Cahira’s lips as she imagined the scene in the room beyond—someone, probably one of her uncles or some other kinsman—now stared at her father, his face bright with embarrassment. He had undoubtedly suggested that they withhold their tribute of cattle in light of Richard de Burgo’s unwelcome presence, but her father would not hear of disloyalty. Despite the present English king’s deficiency, the O’Connors of Connacht had
been allies of the English crown ever since that fool Dermont MacMurrough brought the Anglo-Norman invaders to Ireland’s southern shores. The O’Connors had kept their land because they kept the peace, but if one upstart freeman thought he could ignore his duty to send tribute to the English King—

“Have you forgotten that even now, at this very moment, Richard de Burgo covets our kingdom?” Her father’s voice echoed through the stone chamber in a low rumble that was at once powerful and gentle. “Now that de Burgo is no longer the king’s representative in Dublin, he may find himself able to possess Connacht. We must remain on good terms with the English king.”

“Surely Richard would not move against us.” Another man spoke up, and Cahira did not recognize the voice. She inched closer to the edge of the wall hanging, determined to peep out and see who spoke.

“Like you,” the man continued, “Richard de Burgo is descended from an Irish king. He would not dispossess any of us from the lands we have held for generations.”

Cahira slid one eye into the open, then squinted until she placed the man who had spoken. It was Rian’s father, a wealthy, pleasant fellow who enjoyed a comfortable life on his family’s rath.

Her father looked blandly at his kinsman, with only a slight twitch of the eye to indicate that the man was treading on shaky ground. “His father married the daughter of an Irish king, in truth, but the blood that flows through de Burgo’s veins is more Norman than Gaelic,” the king answered, a hair of irritation in his voice. “And Norman blood is ambitious. It seeks what it cannot own. It demands what it cannot use. It requires what it cannot afford. And yet, through the power of Norman steel, it obtains all it desires.”

Cahira ducked behind the tapestry as an aged and quavering voice called for the king’s attention. The chamber beyond the tapestry swelled with respectful silence as the venerable brehon began to speak.

“Felim o’ the Connors,” Lorcan said, “we have not forgotten that your brother, Connacht’s past king, was treacherously murdered and his claim to kingship denied. But look to the land and see what
God teaches us through nature. A turtledove, which only appears in summer, can threaten the wood pigeon with every breath, but nothing can change the fact that the wood pigeon has the forest to himself nine months of the year. De Burgo and his kind cannot possibly occupy this vast kingdom, nor will they. So let your heart be at peace, and think only of your people.”

A flicker of apprehension coursed through Cahira. Though spoken in fondness and affection, the brehon’s words were the closest thing to a rebuke her father had heard since becoming king.

“Thank you, learned Lorcan.” Her father’s tone was velvet, yet edged with steel. “I value your advice and wisdom. But I will be on guard against the Normans nonetheless. I also look to nature, and I see that it is not wise to let the cat play with the canary. Though the cat may seem friendly and gentle, its avaricious nature will eventually reveal itself.”

His chair creaked as he lowered himself into it. “You, Donal, will go to your reluctant brother and tell him to double his tribute. What was his due—two calves? See that he brings four by the next full moon, or I will send my men to see that he recalls his duty. We have had no trouble with the Normans in these parts, and I will do nothing to rouse their ire. See to it.”

“My king.” Another voice joined the conversation, and Cahira bit her lip as she recognized it. Her kinsman Rian spoke now, and she would have known without looking that he sat at her father’s right hand. No one had officially confirmed her suspicion, but she strongly believed Rian saw himself as the most likely candidate to inherit her father’s position.

“Rian.” Her father’s voice brimmed with affection. “What have you to say?”

Cahira heard the sound of wooden soles scraping the floor, and knew Rian had stood.

“My king, increasing numbers of these Norman knights have been encroaching upon our lands. We have heard reports of knights riding near Clonmacnois and Athlone, even near Tulsk.”

“Have they harmed any of our people? Stolen our cattle?”

“No, Felim. But they grow as thick as flies around a dead man. As I journeyed here, I myself saw a pair of them riding north along the river.”

A soft gasp escaped Cahira at this news.
Normans
here, near her father’s own fortress?

“If they harbor no ill intent toward us, why should they not ride through our lands?” her father asked. “We will do nothing to displease them.”

“But, my king!”

“They are the enemy!”

“Let us keep the peace!”

A dozen different voices lifted in entreaty, and Cahira inched toward the edge of the tapestry, ready to take flight. Her father would dismiss this gathering before pandemonium broke loose, and she did not want to be found anywhere near this chamber when the men scattered in all directions.

“Steaphan, you have not spoken.”

Cahira paused as a mantle of silence fell upon the room. She would have to leave in the next hubbub; her father would be less likely to look up in a sea of confusion.

“My people have complaints, sir.” Steaphan’s voice, though quiet, rang with an ominous quality that lifted the hair at Cahira’s neck. “Last week a father came to me in great distress for his daughter’s sake. The girl was alone in the fields when a pair of Normans came upon her—apparently they were two of Richard’s knights.”

The silence thickened, and Cahira shuddered faintly, knowing all too well what had happened to the farmer’s daughter. Any woman who ventured outside the walls of her home without an escort risked being affronted by a passing stranger, just as a horse allowed to roam the countryside would almost certainly be claimed by another. And if these Norman knights were as depraved as the naysayers said…

“Did the girl belong to your house?” Her father’s voice deepened in concern. “And was she harmed?”

“She is naught but a
betagh
, a food provider. And she is none the worse for the encounter, though her father will have a hard time finding the girl a proper husband.”

“Well,” Cahira heard her father hesitate, then push through the thickness in his voice, “ofttimes these things cannot be helped. Have the girl work close to her father from now on, and bid your women keep to their homes. This is unfortunate, but these are perilous times. Nothing further need come of this.”

Confusion reigned for a moment as others lifted their voices in protest and argument. Cahira leaned forward, ready to dart for the doorway, but a tiny premonition lifted the hairs at the nape of her neck. Her father’s men were all brave fighters, yet they spoke of the Normans as if they were some breed apart, some race of warriors that would prove invincible should they choose to engage in battle.

Why were they so different?

She leaned forward, tuning her ears to follow the younger men’s voices. “Sure, and I’ve never seen such heavy horses! One beast alone wore a king’s ransom in silver!”

“How they fight in such rubbish, I could never guess. If you upended one in a bog, he’d surely sink to the bottom until spring.”

Cahira jumped as her father brought his hands together in a sharp clap. The roar of absolute silence followed.

“Thank you for your service, my good lads.” His voice echoed with regal dignity. “I thank you for your wisdom and your opinions, but I am resolute in this. As long as we are faithful in sending tribute to the English king, Richard cannot say we are disloyal. So I will not respond to Richard’s requests for a meeting, nor will any of you provoke his knights. ’Twill be impossible for Richard to find fault with us if we deny him an opportunity to meet with us. This is my decision. Now I send you forth with the blessing of God.”

As the family priest began the benediction, Cahira caught her breath and slipped from her hiding place, not daring to glance over her shoulder as she fled the room. Her father would doubtless be standing with his head bowed and eyes closed, but Murchadh, that
wily old buzzard, missed nothing. He’d scold her like the devil himself if he knew she’d been in the hall, but she had never feared her uncle’s scoldings.

Safe outside the chamber, Cahira brushed the wrinkles from her gown, then bowed her head and followed the echoing words of the priest’s prayer, adding a silent and heartfelt amen to the request for blessings upon the king and kingdom of Connacht. The brehon’s belief that the Normans were no threat reassured her somewhat, but the knowledge that her father was not completely at ease sent chilly tendrils of apprehension spiraling through her body.

She glanced up at the soft sound of a woman’s footsteps. Her maid, Sorcha, came through the outer room, doubtless on a quest for her missing mistress. Despite the fact that the girls were the same age, she would soon be scolding Cahira like a cranky old biddy unless—

“There you are!” Cahira threw her hands in the air and sighed heavily in pretended frustration. “Did you remember my cloak?”

Sorcha’s round face crinkled in confusion. “Your cloak, lass?”

“I’ll need it if we’re going out.” Cahira placed one hand on her hip, then lifted a brow. “Don’t tell me you want to stay in the house and work with my mother. I thought we might go for a walk, but unless my fingers and toes deceive me, the wind has grown cold enough for a mantle.”

Sorcha’s round, timid eyes grew larger. “Go for a walk? Can you be forgetting what has happened to old Brian?”

Cahira blew out her cheeks in exasperation. Brian, husband to Mags, the chief cook, had been missing since yestermorning. He had gone missing before, usually because he was altogether too fond of drink for his own good, but last month he had been overtaken on the road, beaten by thieves, and robbed of a pair of rabbits. The beating had left him hunched and timid, and it did not seem likely he could survive a second mishap.

“Brian is likely lying in a field somewhere, sleeping off his ale. So hurry, then, and fetch a cloak for each of us. Run, Sorcha, before my father dismisses his men!”

Cahira smothered a smile as Sorcha whirled and ran toward the stairs. Taking advantage of the solitude, she moved to the window and considered the opinions her father’s men had expressed in the hall. If the Normans were untrustworthy, and if they were truly spying out the land, shouldn’t someone go out and spy upon
them?
Sending one man or two would arouse Richard’s suspicion no more than the two Normans riding along the river this morning had aroused her father’s.

She lowered her gaze from the cloudless sky to the courtyard. She could not see the surrounding pastures and fields, for tall earthen embankments topped by imposing timber walls surrounded the compound of Rathcroghan. Her grandfather had built this fortress to keep invaders
out
, but her father seemed intent upon using the fortification to keep himself and his family
in.
He had not yet learned the meaning of
audacity
.

“Here you are, lass.” Panting with every step, Sorcha plodded toward Cahira, two mantles draped over her arms. Cahira took the uppermost and threw it over her shoulders as she moved toward the door. Her father’s voice still echoed from the chamber, but soon he would finish his concluding remarks. If his men discovered Cahira anywhere in the vicinity, she’d be greeted and embraced and praised within an inch of her life.

“We have to hurry,” she called to Sorcha, tugging on the heavy oak door.

“But lass, your mother bids me tell you that you must remain nearby.” A whining note filled the maid’s voice. “She expects you to say your farewells to your father’s men as they depart.”

Cahira paused at the threshold, her lively anticipation shriveling to a heavy, sodden dullness. “You spoke to my mother?” she asked, not turning.

“She saw me taking the cloaks. She wanted to know where you were going.”

Cahira closed her eyes as a familiar crown of gloom settled upon her head and shoulders.
You are the daughter of the king
, she could hear
her mother saying.
As such, you have responsibilities. How can you be forgetting yourself?

She would never forget herself as long as her mother lived to remind her of her duties.

But if she stood at the outermost gate to make her formal farewells, she might be able to slip away in the confusion without drawing attention. Sorcha would remain with her, of course, and they wouldn’t have to walk far. Rian had reported seeing Normans riding north upon the river, and what went north had to come south…eventually.

“Come then, Sorcha.” She waved aside the maid’s hesitation and blinked as she stepped out into the bright autumn sunshine. “We will bid our farewells at the outer gate.” Cahira deliberately lightened her voice. “And when all the riders are away, we will take a walk into the country.”

“A walk?” Sorcha’s countenance rippled with alarm. “Are we going far?”

“Just to the river.” Cahira lengthened her stride as she moved through the courtyard and scattered the chickens. “I want to see if anything interesting has washed up on the shore.”