pride of lions by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-08-08T22:30:54+00:00

Chapter Ten

The walls of Dublin were not enough to contain

Gormlaith’s passion. While

remnants of Brian Boru’s army were in the area she dare not leave the city, but time and again she climbed up the ladder to the catwalk just inside the palisade and stared out across the Liffey, toward the nine hills and slightly sloping plain of Fingal. The area where Fingal met the sea was called the Meadow of the Bull because there the sea roared like a bull, as charging waves beat themselves to a froth against the sand dunes.

Clontarf. Gormlaith’s lips shaped the word silently.

Overnight her legendary beauty had faded.

Her mirror, which only days before had reflected a vital, desirable creature still glowing with the fires that had captivated three kings in turn, now revealed a woman suddenly catapulted into old age.

No worthy man, she reflected bitterly, would fight for her favors now. The northern warlords who had been lured to Ireland to kill Brian Boru and claim her as their reward were all dead. Every noble chieftain who ever wanted Gormlaith was dead—except for Malachi Mor. And having possessed her once, no power on heaven or earth would induce him to take her again.

She walked alone on the walls of Dublin and shook her fists at the sky.

Eventually Sitric lost patience with her.

He knew as well as she did that his mother’s value was gone.

He sent an attendant to bring her to his hall, a smoky, timbered chamber resembling an overturned longship. It was as close as Sitric Silkbeard cared to get to ships. The Viking King of Dublin was, to his chagrin, subject to uncontrollable seasickness, a weakness he was at great pains to conceal.

As he waited for his mother to join him, Sitric considered the situation. He still held Dublin, but only because his opponents lacked the strength to claim the final prize. They would probably go home, lick their wounds, and return in the spring.

Brian Boru had taught the Irish tribes to unite, and against such a union Sitric had no chance.

But who would lead them now?

While he awaited Gormlaith’s appearance —she was habitually late—he was to his

surprise joined by his wife: a

daughter of Brian Boru.

Emer had made her loyalty plain during the recent battle, cheering for her father’s forces and disparaging the Northmen. On the night of Good Friday she refused to join her husband in the marriage bed and had avoided him since. She joined him now merely because she was hungry and expected a meal to be served in the hall.

When she entered, Sitric smiled as affably as if they were on the best of terms. It was not hard to smile at Emer; she was a pretty woman, with a round sweet face and wide-spaced eyes.

But now the sweetness was gone from her face, and her eyes were the color of winter.

“Emer, wife! I have missed you. were you ill?” Sitric enquired solicitously.

“I am mourning my father.”

“Of course, of course. A brave man he was; it was a shock to hear of his death.

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