imagine Father, with his tight, closed expression and his obsession with war, as the conduit for any kind of spiritual message. Surely that was wrong.
‘You need to understand,’ said Father Brien gently, ‘that your father was not always as he is now. As a young man, he was a different creature entirely, handsome and merry, a man who would sing and dance and tell tales with the best of them, as well as beating them all hollow at riding and archery and combats with sword or bare fists. He was, you’d have said, one favoured by heaven with the full range of blessings.’
‘So what changed him?’ asked Finbar bleakly.
‘When his father died, Lord Colum became master of Sevenwaters. There was, as yet, no call on him to be anything more, for there was one far older and wiser that kept the ancient ways alive in these parts. Your father met your mother; and, as it often is with your kin, he loved her instantly and passionately, so that to be without her was like death to him. They were blissfully happy for eight years; and then she died.’
His face had changed; I watched the light play over his calm features, and thought I detected a deep sorrow there, buried somewhere well within.
‘Did you know her?’ I asked.
Father Brien turned to me, his eyes showing no more than a faint sadness. Perhaps I had imagined what I saw.
‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘I had been presented with a choice. They valued my skill with the pen, in the house of Kells, but my ideas caused – unrest. Conform, I was told, or live alone. I had known your father before I took holy orders, a long time ago when I was a fighting man. When I left the chapter house he offered me a place here, an act of some generosity, considering the differences between us. I met your mother. I saw their joy in each other, and how her death took all the light from him.’
‘He had us,’ said Finbar bitterly. ‘Another man might have thought that reason enough to live, and live well.’
‘I think you are too harsh,’ said Father Brien, but he spoke kindly. ‘You know not, yet, the sort of love that strikes like a lightning bolt; that clutches hold of you by the heart, as irrevocably as death; that becomes the lodestar by which you steer the rest of your life. I would not wish such a love on anyone, man or woman, for it can make your life a paradise, or it can destroy you utterly. But it is in the nature of your kin to love this way. When your mother died, it took great strength of will for Colum to endure her loss. He survived; but he paid a high price. He has little left for you, or for anyone.’
‘He had a choice, didn’t he?’ said Finbar slowly. ‘He could have turned another way, after she died – taken another path, become the sort of leader you say Conor will be.’
‘He could, for the Ancient was near the end of his days, and the wise ones came to Colum, seeking a man of his line to join their number. They must have wanted him very particularly, to make such an approach. Far better to begin the long years of learning as a child, or a very young man. Yet they asked him. But Colum was deep in despair. Had it not been for his duty to his túath, and to his children, he might well have ended his own life. So he refused them.’
‘And that’s how they came to choose Conor?’
‘Not then. Conor was only a child; they waited, first, and watched you growing up, the seven of you. And the old one delayed his passing. They watched Conor as he learned to read and write, as he practised his verses and his tales, as he taught the rest of you the wisdom of trees, and how to look after one another. In time, it became clear that he was the one, and they told him.’
We sat there in silence for a while, taking this in, as the sun’s rays slanted lower through the window and the air grew cool with early evening. No sound came from the cave. I hoped Simon’s sleep was dreamless.
‘You can see,’ said Father Brien eventually, ‘what drives your father so hard. Holding onto his lands, and winning back the Islands that were lost so long ago, has taken her place as the sole purpose of his existence. By keeping that foremost in his mind, he holds the wolves of memory at bay. When they close in around him, he goes to war again and silences their howling with blood. This path takes a heavy toll on him. He has, however, rendered his lands and those of his neighbours very secure, and earned great respect throughout the north of this country with his campaigning. He has not won the Islands back, not yet; this he plans to do, perhaps, when all his sons are grown.’
‘He’ll do it without me,’ said Finbar. ‘I know the Islands to be mysterious beyond understanding, a place of the spirit, and I long to visit the caves of truth. But I would not kill for the privilege. That is faith gone mad.’
‘As I said, a cause can blind you to reality,’ said Father Brien. ‘Men have fought over these Islands since the days of Colum’s great-great-grandfather, since the first Briton trod on that soil, not knowing it was the mystic heart of your people’s ancient beliefs. So the feud was born, and a great loss of lives and fortunes followed. Why else would the lord Colum, his father’s seventh son, be the one to inherit? His brothers were slain, all of them, fighting for the cause. And their father let them go, one by one.’
‘But now he sets his own sons on the same path,’ added Finbar grimly.
‘Perhaps,’ Brien replied. ‘But your brothers do not share the obsession of Lord Colum, and besides, there is Conor, and yourselves. It may at last be time for this pattern to be broken.’
I was thinking hard. After a while I ventured, ‘You’re saying Conor will let me stay here, and try to help Simon – that he understands what the Lady told me, about this all being part of some great design set out for us?’
Father Brien smiled. ‘If anyone can break away from a set path it is you, child. But you are right about Conor. He knew quite well why you came to stay here. It is a measure of his strength, and his stature, that he can reconcile this knowledge with his administration of your father’s business.’
I frowned. ‘You almost make it sound as if Conor should one day be head of the family,’ I said. ‘But what about Liam? He’s always been our leader, ever since Mother told him he had to be; and he’s the eldest.’
‘There are leaders, and leaders. Don’t underestimate any of your brothers, Sorcha,’ said Father Brien. ‘Now eat, the two of you, for today’s work is by no means over.’
But we had no appetite, and the bread and cheese were still barely touched when Finbar said his farewells and with some reluctance turned his pony’s head in the direction of home. His parting shot to me was not spoken aloud.
I still don’t trust your Briton. You’d better give him a message from me. Tell him, if he lays a finger on you again, he’ll have not just me but the six of us to answer to. Make sure you tell him that.
I refused to take this seriously. Finbar, threatening violence? Hardly.
I’ll tell him no such thing. You’re starting to sound just like your big brothers. Now get going, and leave me to deal with this. And don’t worry about me, Finbar. I’ll be fine.
‘Hm,’ he said aloud in a very brotherly way. ‘Where have I heard that before? Maybe it was just before you climbed the fence to pat the prize bull; or perhaps it was the time you were so sure you could jump across that creek just as well as Padriac could, even with your short legs? Remember what happened then?’
‘Be off with you!’ I retorted, giving the pony a sharp smack on the rump, and he was away. In the cave, the dog began to bark. It was time to get back to work.
Some broken things you can’t mend. Some you have to put together very slowly, piece by fragile piece, waiting until the last bit of work is strong enough before you try the next. It takes a lot of patience.
It was thus with Simon. Finbar’s visit had set us back a good deal, and I had first to repair that damage