CHAPTER V.
WHY ETHNE HATES THE CHRISTIANS.
Elgiva had spoken the truth when she had said that Ethne had no love for the dead Griffith, because he had not made her his wife.
As a child, Ethne had been told she should be one of the wives of the rich and famous chieftain, Griffith Finnfuathairt—King Griffith of Erin he was called, though his kingdom in Hibernia had been long ago cut up and divided; when his father, unable to resist the dangers and excitement of a pirate’s life, had joined in with some Picts and Scots who led a life of adventure on the shores of Britain. After a wildly spent youth, the pirate settled down with his wives and retainers in Damnonia; there he became the owner of a valuable lead-mine in the Mendip Hills and, when he died, his eldest son, Griffith, found he was possessed of enormous wealth and vast lands covering the greater part of Damnonia.
Ethne’s father, Brian O’Fhirgil, had been King Griffith’s bard—as the O’Fhirgil, had been bards in the family of Finnfuathairt for generations. Ethne had been sent, as a babe, to Hibernia; where she had been fostered, and where she had lived until she was twelve years of age. The family, who had fostered her, had been poor. On her arrival in Britain the wealth and splendour of Griffith’s lands and palaces impressed her in a way she had never forgotten. She was enraptured by the magnificence of the Roman villa where her mother dwelt with the baby prince, Cormac. From that day Ethne became a slave to wealth and luxury. When she was shown the villa destined for her, as Griffith’s wife, her delight knew no bounds; and it was arranged that when she was sixteen she should take her place in his household. It wanted but three months to that date, when Griffith, who had always been attracted by the faith, suddenly became a Christian.
In the case of a convert of his age, with several wives and numerous family ties—the wives were often retained. But Griffith, with true zeal, separated from all but the mother of Cormac; and the coming marriage with Ethne was, of course, annulled.
Ethne was furious at the disappointment. In her anger at Griffith’s decision she showed him so plainly her real motives and fell so low in his opinion that, when—after the death of Cormac’s mother—he could have given her the place she coveted, he declined to do so. This last slight she never forgave; although King Griffith made her the mistress of a handsome Roman villa on the Mendip Hills, and gave her much land and gold as well—this last she only looked upon as her due, for it was the duty of every chieftain to dower the daughters of his bard.
She felt all the misfortunes of her life had come to her through Christianity; which had robbed her, not only of her position as a king’s wife, but also of her lands and the luxury of Roman Britain.
In this last onslaught of the Saxons against the Britons, Ethne felt sure King Griffith would have escaped, had he not armed and attacked the enemy.
After conquering the three cities of Gloucester, Cirencester and Bath the West Saxons, under Ceawlin, had driven the Britons to the sea across a long stretch of coast, extending from the mouth of the Severn towards the northern bank of the river Axe. Griffith’s territory lay on the southern bank, was strongly defended, and the Saxons would not have been unwilling (so Ethne believed) to have formed an alliance with him. Alliances were not uncommon between Picts and Saxons—and Griffith’s father had been considered a Pict. It was in vain Ethne reasoned with Griffith; he deliberately crossed the Axe, and attacked the conquering Britons—and it was his zeal for the Christian faith that led him to take this step.
Many years before, in a Saxon raid upon Damnonia, a British woman had been carried off from Griffith’s territory. The woman shared the fate of many of her country-women—she was forced to wed a Saxon.
In this case the woman contrived, from time to time, to communicate with her friends; and with her kinswoman, Griffith’s wife. When her child, Elgiva, was but a few years of age, she found means to send her to Griffith; she braved the wrath of her husband, rather than the child should be bred after the manner of its savage and heathen father.
Griffith formed many plans to rescue the poor woman; and in this last fight with the Saxons he had hoped to succeed.
He knew she was with the Saxon army and close to the army frontier. Her husband was dead, but she was retained by his brother, Redwald, one of Ceawlin’s most powerful thanes; who not only kept his brother’s wife a prisoner, but had shown a desire to gain possession of Elgiva, also. The woman was able to communicate with the Britons, and aid them in their plans. Griffith believed that, in the tumult and excitement of the time he could carry her off, quickly and easily re-cross the Axe, and retire to his strong and impregnable castle of Brean Down. It has been shown how fatally he was mistaken; how he was slain, and his tribe driven from the shores of Britain.
“One reason have I to be thankful in the midst of all my loss,” said Ethne to herself a few days after her late interview with Elgiva, “and that is the death of Griffith!”
She was wandering by herself, beside the stream that watered the valley.
“Griffith checked me—restrained me—opposed me in all things. But Cormac—Cormac! I shall twist him to my purpose, as I twist my hair about my fingers.”
She was determined to link her fortunes with Cormac’s. He was necessary to her; at any rate for the present, because he was the last of a royal house—of an ancient name to which she trusted to rally followers. To connect herself with him would strengthen her own slight connection with his family. She felt that fortune had favoured her in the fact that both she and he had inherited a similar type of face and form—a type dear to Hibernians, combining blue eyes and blue-black hair.
It had given her much thought to decide the nature of the tie that should unite them in the eyes of the world. At first she had an idea of marrying the lad; but finally decided that it would further her interests to rely on the bond of fosterage that existed between them, and which was strengthened by the fact that their families were related to each other. The ancient system of fosterage was almost sacred in the eyes of Hibernians—she and Cormac should be known as brother and sister; children of the great Tuathal.
“Hibernia shall give me warriors to regain my lost possessions,” she cried. “And Cormac shall help me to my triumph! How soon I am rid of him after I care not!” She threw her arms towards the sky. “Why was I born a hanger-on of the house of Finnfuathairt? Why should he, and not I, be first of the royal line? Ye stars! Help me to power quickly for I am sick of clinging to the skirts of others! All my life long Griffith thwarted me—and yet I was forced to live on his bounty. Now must I have this cub ever at my side, fearful lest at any minute he should play me false and refuse to follow me!”
It grew late, but still she remained, wandering up and down the little glade in which she walked. The moon rose; and when it was fully risen she stole away, with a soft, cat-like tread, towards a little clump of oak trees that stood on the fringe of the neighbouring forest.
She had not long to wait. Soon her quick ear caught the sound of a footstep—light and cat-like as her own. A man muffled in a Druid’s cloak came quickly towards her.
They met in thick shadow—one or two patches of moonlight was all that found their way to them through the leaves, but they showed that the man, beneath his cloak, was clothed in shimmering white.
“It is over—you have done it! It was propitious?”
It was Ethne’s voice saying these words. She was breathless—quivering with excitement.
The man was breathless also, for he had been running.
“No—we were disturbed—”
“What! you have not divined?”
“Listen—we were disturbed—”
“You have not divined—you have not divined! What of your promises—did you not swear, last time we met, that you would not come again unless you had done it!” She tore at her flowing hair in her anger. “I tell you I must consult—I must know. There are a hundred things I want advice upon; you are all such dolts and thick-heads—”
“But I tell you—it is difficult—we were disturbed.”
“Disturbed! but you could wait and begin again!”
“We were afraid of discovery—we had to bury the body!”
“You had already killed him, then—it was a man!”
“Yes.”
“I believe now a woman is better. Disturbed! Fools and numb-skulls—then dig it up and begin once more.”
“You forget—the body must still be quivering with life, if we are to read aright!”
She stamped her foot in anger.
“How were you disturbed?”
“By the fool Kevin and his monks.”
Rage kept her silent for a minute—then she burst forth.
“These Christians! These accursed Christians! Everything I set my hand to they come and spoil! Oh, when I hold Hibernia in my hands, let them look to themselves! I will burn their monasteries over their heads as the Saxons burnt our palaces! I will thrust them to the sea—I will throw them to the bears! I will cut out their tongues and give them to my dogs. I will cut their legs from under them, when they stretch their hands in prayer, I will strike at them too! Footless and handless they shall crawl in the dust before me!” In her rage she ground her teeth. Then turned quickly to the man. “When will you try again?”
“I do not know! We must wait until Beltane. I told you that long ago. We shall have more chance then of a victim!”
“A victim—is that your word? I tell you if the ancient faith were as it should be, we should be selecting victims—not seeking them! What news have you in other quarters—are our people arming themselves?”
“Everywhere!”
“And the first attack is to be made at Druimceta?”
“Ay, and a fitting place, too, to strike at them—since it is there, instead of the ancient place at Tara, that King Aedh has chosen to assemble the princes.”