Deirdre

Therefore, when she next spoke to the king her mind was stirred by uneasiness, and she had all that feeling of haste and work to be done which comes to us when we seem void of direction and are yet spurred on to an intuitive urgency.

“Lavarcham, my soul,” said Conachúr, “you always get your way, for you insist and insist, and at last whatever you wish must be done or there is no peace in the household or the kingdom.”

“In good truth,” said Lavarcham, “I do not recognize my fault this time.”

“We forget by repetition,” cried the king, “and you have so dinned our ears these ages past about your babe that I must consent to see her or perish from your importunities.”

“That I am glad of,” replied Lavarcham, “for she is growing and needs other guidance than I can give. You should find her a husband,” said the crafty woman.

“That must be done,” the king murmured.

He was silent for a few minutes, for the thought of marriage reminded him of his own adventures in that condition, and when he spoke it was with an elaborate carelessness.

“Have you heard any news of the High King?”

“I have heard, but it is only a rumour, that his daughter, the queen Maeve, has been married again, and that the High King has bestowed on her the kingdom of Connacht.”

“A number of our young men,” said he, with a hard smile, “have for long enough disliked that kingdom and its people: it may become difficult to keep them from crossing the border.”

“One of their men,” said Lavarcham, “crosses the Black Pig’s Dyke often enough.”

“And, woe on it,” said Conachúr, with a cheerful laugh, “he gets back again. We must strengthen the Connacht marches, or that man will make our fortifications the laughter of all Ireland. It is Cet mac Magach you speak of.”

“Conall Cearnach’s uncle indeed,” Lavarcham replied.

“But Conall crosses their borders too,” said the king. “My memory is weakening,” he continued; “what is it that Conall boasts of?”

“He boasts that he never goes to sleep without the head of another Connachtman lying in the crook of his knees.”

“Some day he may forget to remember that Cet mac Magach is his uncle, and if he brings that head home we shall give it an honourable welcome. But about your babe, I shall go and look at her to-morrow. All your over-statements will crowd on your mind to-morrow, my poor friend, and you will be very unhappy.”

“Indeed,” Lavarcham admitted, “we look with a loving eye on the person we love, and so may see less or more than is visible to other people.”

“In love,” Conachúr replied, “we see only what we love to see, and as that is unreal we should not look lovingly on anything, and so we may get sight of what is really visible.”

“It is true, master,” said Lavarcham humbly.

“It is with such an eye that I shall look on your babe to-morrow.”

“Alas! my poor Deirdre,” said Lavarcham.

“The Troubler has not given much trouble yet,” laughed Conachúr.