Lion of Ireland (54 page)

“Then we will ravage all Meath in his absence!” Conor exulted. A tall muscular man, with the lugubrious face of an old horse, the king of Connacht was beginning to regret having bothered to send a formal deputation at all. It would just give the Meathmen more time to prepare a defense. “We came to fight, not to talk, so let’s get on with it. We can punish Meath as effectively with Malachi away, and it will do him good to come home to burned fields and stolen cattle.”

Brian laid a restraining hand on Conor’s arm. “Do you not think it an ignoble act to attack an absent man?”

“No, I certainly don’t; I think it’s the safest way to go about it. I wasn’t advised formally when he sent armies into my kingdom to plunder it. He didn’t offer to wait until I got there before he attacked my people!”

“The purpose of this expedition is to confront the Ard Ri with our combined strength in order to discourage further attacks in our two lands,” Brian reminded him. “If we engage his army in his absence, and defeat them ...” “As we will!”

“... and defeat them, then the Ard Ri will be forced to attack us more strongly than ever in retaliation. He may have to raise an army among his kinsmen to the north to do it, but do it he will. It would be far better to sit down with him peaceably and arrange an agreement to respect one another’s territorial boundaries, or else we merely add another bloody battle to history for no purpose.”

“I came here to fight!” Conor reiterated. He could not understand why the great warrior king of Munster was now so reluctant to take the field. It looked like an easy victory! Without Malachi at their head, the men of Meath would fight a desultory battle at best; they could be soundly whipped with no great loss on the part of Connacht or Munster.

Brian was adamant. “Munster will not fight Meath without first giving the Ard Ri the opportunity of settling this by negotiation. He is still king of kings in Ireland. If you are so anxious to fight, Conor, you may take your army on around the lake and begin the battle yourself, but neither I nor my warriors will join you. We have fulfilled our pledge of support already; we are under no obligation to extend it to an act of treachery.”

They were in the large tent pitched at the lake’s edge to serve as a command post. On one side of the tent the princes of Connacht, kings of its petty kingdoms, ranged about Conor, tense with the building momentum of a battle. Facing them were the king of Munster and his few highest ranking Dalcassian officers. Brian never included his under-kings in meetings where the policy of the entire province was to be decided. “It breaks another tradition, but it saves a lot of unnecessary quarreling,” Carroll had suggested to him. “There is precedent for it.”

Now the two factions eyed one another suspiciously. Through the walls of the tent they could hear the voices of the Meathmen beginning to shout insults. The sound carried a great distance across the still water.

A dark certainty was building in Conor’s mind. “You came here for some purpose other than mine, Brian Bora,” he said slowly, feeling his way among the possibilities.

“I came here to confront the Ard Ri, as you asked me.”

Conor shook his head slowly back and forth, and a sly smile parted his lips within their dark bearding.

“Aaah, no. I don’t think so. You intended to use me in some way. I’ve heard about you, Munster, how clever you are at manipulating people. We are not as easily fooled as you think; not all of us. What was it? Did you mean to use my army as a club to threaten the Ard Ri for your own purposes? How did you intend this confrontation to end, Boru?”

Carroll glanced nervously at Leti, who stood next to him, but the old veteran’s scarred face was as granitic as Brian’s, revealing nothing. Carroll swallowed against the sour taste of bile in his mouth and willed his own features to be expressionless. The Connachtmen outnumbered the Munstermen in the tent by three to one.

“I give you my word of honor, which no man questions,” Brian said, rising to his feet as he said it. “The last thing I want to do is lead an armed revolution against the authority of the Ard Ri of Ireland. We came here with you to stand against Malachi in his office as king of Meath, a province which has invaded both your land and mine. Our battle was to be with Meath. That could only be made clear by a direct conversation with Malachi, and in his absence I will not act.” The nobles of Connacht were muttering among themselves, crowding around Conor, pushing him forward. His angry eyes locked with Brian’s.

“Your way or nothing, eh, Boru?” he asked in a voice full of gravel. “Yes.”

“I will not let Munster dictate to Connacht!” “Then don’t,” Brian replied coolly.

Conor checked his forward momentum, feeling his supporters pile up behind him. He gave a shove backward and a sullen kick with his foot that connected painfully with some Connachtman’s shin. “Don’t push me!” he snarled under his breath. He braced himself and stood firm, trying to measure Brian’s intent “What do you mean by that?” Conor demanded to know. Brian replied, “Just what I said—don’t let Munster dictate to Connacht. If you want to fight Meath on your own, go right ahead. I certainly won’t stand in your way.” He turned sideways and made a regal bow, sweeping his arm forward to usher Conor from the tent.

The king of Connacht took a full step backward, treading heavily upon toes, and his nobles scrambled out of his way.

“Of course, if that is your desire.”

I am beginning to understand, Conor thought. What a cunning devil this is! He is anxious for me to take my army and fight the Meathmen, no doubt suffering heavy losses since we will no longer have the superior force, and then he will step in and take the spoils. Well, no man uses Conor of Connacht!

“If Munster does not fight, neither do I” Conor said firmly. He heard and ignored the cries of outrage behind him. Brushing past Brian, he strode from the tent, his entourage hurrying in his wake and demanding explanations.

Standing so close beside him, Carroll knew how rigid with tension Brian had been throughout the confrontation, in spite of his apparent ease, and he was aware when the king’s erect body relaxed after Conor’s departure. Then he realized that Brian’s shoulders were shaking.

An instant later, Ulan Finn was overcome with laughter and bent in half, holding his hands clamped over his mouth to keep the sounds of hilarity from carrying beyond the tent. “You convinced him!” Padraic gasped, rocking back and forth with undisguised glee. “I never would have believed it possible! Conor went out of here thinking he has outsmarted you, and is off somewhere this very moment explaining to his men that he is a greater fox than Brian Boru. You prevented a battle by encouraging one, my lord; it’s the shiniest trick I’ve ever seen done!”

Brian was laughing too; the secret, smothered laughter that somehow is the more explosive for being restricted. Carroll looked from one man to the next and then at last allowed himself to join in, a little hesitantly; his palms were still sweating.

“Conor will congratulate himself all the way home,” Brian chuckled, sinking onto a stool. “Find my steward and get us some ale, Padraic. All of a sudden I have a great thirst.”

The army of Meath waited. The officers worked to improve their position, stationing companies of men in the best defensive situations around the perimeter of the lake and along the road to Dun na Sciadi, but by sunset there was still no indication of imminent battle. The two armies settled down at a distance from one another, their campfires winking across the water like the red eyes of predators.

During the night, Munster and Connacht withdrew. The pale gray of dawnlight revealed an empty shore; it was as if they had never been there. The disappearance had a supernatural quality about it that left the warriors of Meath staring openmouthed, and their officers filling the cool wet air with rich profanity.

In Armagh, on his knees on the stone floor to receive the blessing of the bishop, Malachi Mor had been interrupted by messengers bearing news of the invasion of Meath. A hasty prayer for victory was concluded in low tones, the Cross signed, the holy oil smeared on his forehead; and then he was in his chariot and driving hard along the southward slight road.

He reached Lough Ennell in time to confront a vacant shoreline, its green rim splotched with the black smear of burned-out campfires.

“The invaders were afraid to meet us on the battlefield,” his captains were quick to assure him.

The chariot horses were sweated and nervous. They lunged back and forth, tugging at the reins as the driver braced against them, and the wheels of the Ard Ri’s chariot creaked gratingly. Malachi stepped out of the vehicle just as the horses succeeded in catching the driver off balance and the chariot lurched forward, forcing him to make a hasty jump onto the packed earth. “Damn it!” he cried, his habitual pleasant smile wiped from his face. “Can’t you hold those horses?” he shouted at the abashed driver. He turned his back and strode across the grass to the very verge of the lake, to stare gloomily at the water.

“How many were there?” he asked at last. “It was an enormous army!” “And yet they departed without fighting?” “Yes, my lord. They sent a delegation to arrange a meeting with you, and when they learned you were not here they went back again with the message. We prepared ourselves for battle, but the cowards sneaked away in the night and no blows were ever exchanged. It is a great victory, my lord!”

“When they did not attack, why didn’t you take the battle to them?”

“It would have been suicide, my lord; we were hugely outnumbered.”

“And yet you say they ran away because they were afraid to fight you?” Malachi pursed his lips together and took a deep breath.

There was always the possibility that God had intervened in their behalf in answer to his prayers. It would be nice to believe that. It would be nice not to suspect that this was just some complicated trick being played by the devious and incomprehensible king of Munster.

It would be nice to settle down with a hogshead of mead and a hall full of friends and sing songs and tell stories, shout and yell and laugh. And one might as well; there seemed to be nothing else to do.

He gave one more long look across the water to the western shore. His body servant stepped up beside him, a warm bratt folded over his arm against the chill of evening, but Malachi waved him away. He felt cold, but it was not the lack of sun heat. The thought came to him that in the morning he could ride for Tara and convene the council of the wisest heads in Ireland. There must be someone to whom he could, cry, “What does it all mean?”

,, “What does it mean?” Murrough stood before his father with knotted fists hanging at his sides and a scowl contracting his forehead. “I can’t understand why you didn’t do battle! If I had been there ...”

“But you weren’t, Murrough, and I’m thankful for it. I had no room in my tent for hotheads; the Connachtmen were close enough to bursting into flames without you to strike the spark.”

“Somebody should have! I don’t understand you!” “I know you don’t. Perhaps it’s my fault; I seem to be able to explain myself well enough to everyone else, but when I try to talk to you it’s as if we speak two different languages. Surely you understand my reluctance to shed Irish blood?”

“But those were Meathmen!”

“They are Irish.”!”

“You call everyone Irish unless they are Northmen. I tell you, you simply cannot ignore the differences between Munster and Leinster, Connacht, and Meath—and Ulster, too. We are different provinces, containing many different tribes and kingdoms; and you cannot throw us all together in one pot and call it Irish soup!”

“You put ox and mutton and leeks together in one pot and it makes a very good soup indeed,” Brian pointed out.

“Only as long as each food retains its individual flavor.”

The wall between them was almost palpable. Brian felt how much Murrough wanted it there; words could not dispel it, hands could not reach through. “I don’t want to take their individuality away from the tribes, Murrough. I want to unite them into one strong body capable of withstanding attack, that’s all, so that we can protect our heritage and our land.”

Murrough shook his head like a dog with a bone he will not let go. “You had a chance to overpower Meath and you let it slip through your hands.”

“I cannot force my will on them, Murrough. I cannot win the hearts of the people by killing them on a battlefield. The only way I can create the world I have envisioned is with their willing support, and for that I must start with the Ard Ri himself.”

“You’re not the man I once thought you were,” Murrough said with icy disdain.

Brian felt the sword go through him but he did not wince. “If you thought I was a murderous savage who wanted to make killing his life’s work, then I’m glad you were wrong about me. Where did you get that idea, from your uncle Mar-can?”

“I need no one else to tell me about you; I can see with my own eyes, and so can the other men who aren’t bedazzled with your tricks and airs!”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just that I’m not alone in the way I fed. “With your you could conquer all Ireland ...”

“Bodies,” Brian interrupted. “You’re talking of conquering bodies, and I’m trying to make you see the value of conquering men’s minds and hearts. I thought Carroll would be able to teach you how the greatest and most lasting empires have been built, since you wouldn’t listen to me ...”

“The past, the past, I’m tired of hearing about the past! Carroll told me about Alexander ...”

“He used only the sword, Murrough, and his empire did not survive him. The fact that you use him as an example shows that all the lessons have been wasted on you.”

“Oh, not all the lessons, my lord!” Murrough said sarcastically. “I’ve learned that the memory of my mother is not sacred to you, and you would choose foster-sons over the children of her body!”

I am fighting a swarm of gnats, Brian that He has a dozen resentments boiling in him, and I cannot begin to get past them. “I do not willingly place any man above you, or my other blood sons,” he tried to explain. “But I have responsibilities to everybody; I must choose the best man ...”