Caladbohlg Chapter II: Day of Fear

Next time, will have a better chapter or story ready

It was the mornings she missed most. The time spent with Fionnán’s arms around her and Saraibh’s cries of joy. What she also missed was her cries for attention, from the other side of the hut when she needed her mother to feed her in the first two months of her life. The young woman remembered the two years before the pregnancy, when they had first been wed, almost even more fondly. To Ríonal, those three years had been all she or anyone could have wished for. Neither she nor her husband had been well-educated yet they had still tried, to tell stories or imitate the songs of the faith after dusk had fallen.
When she had lost her daughter, she remembered how she had been left numb, as her baby breathed her last in her arms. Only for her to have to bury her a few mere hours later, this she did at Eibhlin’s insistence, not that Ríonal had forgiven her for that, not yet at least. Her daughter’s funeral should have been, had when the child’s father was present.
“You are deluding yourself lass, he’s been absent for a year and your child has been gone for half that time; he is not coming back.” Eibhlin had told her some time ago, when she had refused to accept a funeral for her husband.
She knew Eibhlin had suffered more than anyone could guess, more than she dared to attempt to imagine. And that many of the neighbours despised her or thought her over-bearing, but hers’ was a gruff if kind heart. One full of love for Ríonal, for it had been she who had cared for the lass when her parents died of plague fifteen years earlier. It had been Eibhlin who had taken to paying her tithes and seeing to her welfare against all odds.
By the time a year had passed since Ríonal’s losses she had begun to lose interest in waiting for Fionnán. So great was her grief and shame, for her miscarriage after the loss of Saraibh. At least if one of her children had survived, she’d have something to hold onto and live for. Eibhlin had told her there’d be more children in her future, yet Ríonal had seen how bent, how weary the old lady seemed lately as though, she doubted her own words.
The day the young nineteen year old widow had chosen to put an end to her own misery. It was to be final where nobody would find and stop her, only for Bradán to poison her efforts, of course she knew of the lad, how could she not? He was heavily disliked and gossiped about, with many even convinced he was the son of an imp.

After the lad had helped save her life, she had resented him. Eibhlin was convinced that they owed him a considerable debt. Since the day, the lad and she had had their dispute; Ríonal had felt a heavy weight bearing down on her shoulders. She felt as though she had failed Bradán and herself, and more than that; as though she had failed Eibhlin. The mother of her husband did not expect much, from her. But she did expect her to behave as honourably, as she had been raised to be.
It was for these reasons that Ríonal had after tilling the fields for some time, before the temple’s Session honouring the goddess Brigantia left for the monastery. She hoped to meet with Bradán to properly apologize, for the manner in which, she had addressed him the prior day. She was aware of how he had saved her. And was aware that he had done so, out of the simple goodness of a heart, nobody had been aware he even had. Therefore, she still had difficulty accepting what the lad had done, she would apologize to him.
She did not notice at once, yet notice it she did when in the midst of glancing up to the shining suns, in irritation at the heat. Still sweaty, and overheated from four hours of farming, she felt it well within her rights to dislike, the two suns of Midgard. It was then that she saw the fires, the smoke and heard the thunderous clamour that signalled a large group of men.
Her first instinct was to turn around to rush home, to warn Eibhlin of the possible army that sat just west, of them. She squashed that desire and remembered where Eibhlin would likely be at this time, given which day it was.
Hiking up her dress a little with her hands, Ríonal ran as swiftly as she possibly could, towards the temple. Her heart thundering in her chest, she hurried, cursing her skirts for slowing her down as much as they did.
By the time she arrived, her fear and uncertainty had solidified in her gut, giving her the vague feeling of nausea. It also convinced her that even if Eibhlin, was not in the temple at that exact moment, brother Brien would be present. He would surely, know what to do at such a dire time, or so she told herself.
“Is something the matter, lady Ríonal?” Brien asked of her upon her arrival, and after she had thrown the doors to the temple open, interrupting the sacrist in the middle of his reading of the holy Canticle.
For all the desire to tell them, what she had just seen outside. Ríonal could do nothing but gasp for air and try to catch her breath.
“There are men, lots of them and many banners, with various symbols from the south I think? Just west of us, with their horses directed northwards,” She gasped out, with every face around her going white from shock, at her words.
“What do we do?” One monk cried out in a panic, frightened.
“We will all be killed for certain!” One burly man Ríonal knew to be a neighbouring farmer by the name of Readwulf, his father having come from Cymru, some thirty-nine years.
“What are we going to do?” Another monk wondered.
“We should flee,” Someone from the middle of the crowd suggested, though Ríonal was not sure who.
“But we have nowhere to run to!” An older monk argued back, his voice as hysterical, “What are we going to do?”
“All of you remain calm, for I know what is to be done; we are merely going to convey via messenger that we are friendly and peaceful, at the service of the laird that is all.” Brother Brien shouted over all those gathered before him in calm and measured tones to the distraught farmers, and monks.
There was a silence that followed his words, as everyone took them in, it was Ríonal knew an anxiously uncertain silence. As most of them, were waiting for someone to think of a better idea or to bring about a miracle. Sadly, there was neither to be had, as nobody could think up a better idea in the tense panic filled moment that succeeded his pronouncement.
Simple farmers and monks, not one man or woman present could even imagine, doing anything other than grovelling or fleeing for their lives. Even Ríonal could think of no better plan to solve their current dilemma. Much as she craved death though, she could not bring herself to take Eibhlin’s life for granted. Or even that of the young Bradán for that matter.

Only the most hot-headed or naïve could believe they could fight, those of the same maturity or age as the defiant Bradán for example. The lad looked as though he were frightened, yet convinced that they should at least try remaining defiant, should it come to it. Moving quietly so that none of the monks might take notice of her, she placed herself next to the lad who had opened his mouth, to speak up.
“Discretion, Bradán,” She hissed at him.
“I did not say anything as of yet,” He sulked with a wounded look that did not garner so much as a scrap of sympathy from her.
“But you were going to.” Ríonal snapped at him, as from the little time she had spent with him, she had rapidly become familiar with his rather combative personality.
Brien in the meantime had already begun to order the reluctant people about. Determined to usher in order out of the chaos, he currently had to contend with.
“Brothers prepare some food, as to the farmers they should be prepared to hide themselves in the monastery in particular the women and children. Eibhlin, I will leave you to organize the farmers here whilst I send out the monks to call them all hither. In turn, I will go assure the laird of our subservient intentions.” Brien was saying, his voice brimming with confidence, even if his eyes lacked any such emotion.
“Do not go Brother Brien, we need you here,” pleaded one monk by the name of Lyr, one of those who worked in the kitchen of the monastery. A short and stout man with few hairs, left outside his whiskers on his chin, his large moustache and his bushy eyebrows.
“Much as I appreciate the concern, Brother Lyr someone must go to see this noble. There is no great cause for concern, I am sure this merely a demonstration of strength, on the part of our dear laird.” Brien stated calmly and confidently, his hands raised in a placating gesture.
The realization he could die gave her an idea, if anyone who went risked incurring a noble’s wrath, why not send someone with no fear of death? Someone with nothing to lose, such as Ríonal.
“Brother Brien, perhaps someone else should go?” She suggested as she stepped forward. “NO!” Eibhlin shouted at once, seized by panic.
“I think not, the laird will doubtlessly take it badly should we send a woman to go greet him.” Brien argued back, his words made her cheeks flush bright red, with indignation. Even though she hated the monk, at that moment she could not disagree, with him given how nobles tended to look down upon women.

He left the monastery with more dignity than a king, in the eyes of his adherents who worshipped him then.
“Ríonal walk with me, as I require assistance with rallying the farmers and fishermen, my legs and throat are no longer what they once were.” Eibhlin told her coldly, evidently upset with her for her suggestion that she should represent the village, rather than Brien.
“I had thought to-” Ríonal began to say, unable to think of anything she’d like less, than to be in her good-mother’s presence at the moment.
“Now!” Eibhlin roared furiously, startling not just her good-daughter but all the men around them as they had always believed her, to be a rather quiet old lady and not one prone to flashes of anger. Ríonal could be stubborn in her own way, yet she had never been all that fierce when faced with the regal Eibhlin who was the fiercest person, she had ever known in the whole of her life.
“Also, brother Lyr could I mayhap borrow your young charge, brother Bradán?” Eibhlin asked politely of the cook. “Given all the energy the lad has, it could be put to better use than in silly brawls.”
Her words won her several nods of approval, from the men, women and some lads present.
None looked more curious, than the one Ratvian, who stood next to Bradán. The non-human lad glanced between his friend and the women. He obviously, had a whole legion of questions burning on his tongue.
“If you need any help, I could also be of some assistance, should you wish it.” He offered timidly, he was bound for obvious disappointment though, a heartbeat later.
“Then you can scurry off to the farm, manned by the rat family, over yonder.” Eibhlin ordered, she did not seem to notice or care when he sagged in defeat, a second after he heard her crisp words.
He cut such a pitiful figure that, Bradán seemed to hesitate and Ríonal felt compelled to say something to Eibhlin about the Ratvian.
“Um, Eibhlin I believe that, the lad hoped to accompany us.” She spoke up a few minutes later, after he had long since departed. As she needed that time to gather, her courage unaccustomed as she was, to defying her good-mother.
“Do not get any funny notions about attempting to distract me from you by having, me concentrate on some child’s feelings. I am old, not stupid Ríonal.” Eibhlin grunted back with a glower that knocked her back, down into place.
“Follow me, you two. Bradán run along to the family of those idiot sons of old Sieghard. Least they could do is supply three or four of their own, after the youngest of the lot, used to always chase Ríonal everywhere.” Eibhlin commanded him, her tone though was soft though when she spoke to him, Ríonal noticed.
Why does she speak more gently with him, than I? She asked herself bitterly; as she resented the favour the lad had received from the old woman then. It was too much of a stark contrast, to the harshness Ríonal had received from Eibhlin, in the past week or so.
“He requires a kinder hand than that, which the monks can currently provide for him.” Eibhlin commented with the first burst of optimism in some time.
“Really?” Ríonal replied indifferently, merely glad then that her elder’s ill-mood had evaporated not unlike a fog in the morning-wind.
“Now let us discuss, this matter of you still wishing to bring your life to an abrupt end.” Fionnán’s mother said with all the subtlety of a brick dropped, onto one’s foot.
“Must we discuss this now?” Ríonal pleaded quietly.
What she received was far worse than anything she had ever expected. A pair of grief-stricken, heartbroken eyes stared up at her with such pain that she, Ríonal daughter of Flann and Aislinn, could hardly fathom the depths of the sorrow of her good-mother.
“Please Ríonal, I have tried to understand. To aid you, and yet you continue to refuse my assistance, do you in your heart of hearts truly despise me so much? Enough to strip me of my daughter? And leave me alone in this world which has already been so cruel as to strip me of my only son, and grandchildren?” Eibhlin cried out to her, soul bereft of all joy, her cheeks soon stained with tears.
All words failed Ríonal as did all of her previous resentment for old Eibhlin. She was kind and had already done so much for her. Yet how could Ríonal tell her of nature’s cruel joke on her, when it had snatched just as much, if not more from the old lady? No, there were too few words, to describe her grief, at having not just lost her children so soon after losing her husband. But in her grief, she had failed Eibhlin. Failed as her good-daughter, not once but four times, when she had failed her son and grandchildren, only for Ríonal to fail her, herself.
“Ríonal you must as one of the kindly monks once told me; absorb the blow as it were. You are still young, and will bear yet more children; therefore take heart my child.” Eibhlin encouraged in a not unkindly voice.
Her words outraged Ríonal though, who felt as though her love for Fionnán was being put on trial, for to her mind it was better to die than to betray him in such a way. “Would you really question my devotion to thy son?”
“Question? Heavens no! I merely suggest you attempt to rekindle, the joy, the passion that once lit your heart. It made you the envy of all the lasses in the whole of Ériu, and your face as the morning sun to all men, this side of the Channel.” Eibhlin hurriedly explained to the younger woman.
“Yet you would have me take the next man, to cross my path or, who takes a fancy to me? To what? Lie with me in my marriage bed?” Ríonal demanded as angry and frenzied as she was, the day before when they were by the sea.
“It’s hardly a bed, if you ask me.”
“Eibhlin!”
“Ríonal grant me that much, it is all I shall ever ask of you. Not to sit upon a bed, but to sit upon the ground and tell not sad tales, of the deaths of kings and good folks, but in their place the joyous, raucous tales of the life of kings and of those children whom you will certainly bear one day.” Eibhlin persisted stubbornly, aware that she knew best, though in Ríonal’s eyes the lecture had a bitter taste to it. “Please?”
“Oh, very well, I shall think about it.” Ríonal conceded bitterly, on the point of living for a bit longer that is. Not because she wanted to, but for Eibhlin’s sake.
“Good, now let us see about convincing that fool Darragh, to make something of a contribution to the rest of us, for the first time in his miserable life.” Eibhlin commented, her disdain for the neighbour, just south of her own lands out in the open. “If you must marry once more, then I must insist that it not be to him, or any of his kin.”
Ríonal could see that there was no point in arguing with her elder. She also did not much care, for Darragh’s family either as the man had always despised her husband and good-mother. To her mind, they were selfish, insensitive, with Darragh barely a week after her daughter’s death, suggesting Ríonal wed into his family. Such a match would have denied Eibhlin her only helper, on the farm and as a bonus have stuck in her craw.
“Hello, are any of you home? Wake up, if you are still asleep you slothful oafs!” the old woman shouted into the house instead of knocking.
“What are you doing here, you old hag?” Darragh demanded furiously from, the other side of the wooden door, he sounded as though, he had just been woken up.
“To tell you that though you might deserve to suffer, to the army that is but a short hop away. Your children certainly do not deserve to be worked to dead, or killed when they could survive.” Replied the insulted woman as she glowered back at the equally infuriated, taller figure who stood just behind the wooden door before her. The door swung open to reveal the angered swarthy face, of the extremely unpopular Darragh.
“What do you mean?” He bellowed impatiently, a vein in his neck throbbing visibly only to frown when he caught sight of the younger woman, who stood next to his hated rival. “Ah Ríonal? What are you doing here? Here to finally accept my kindly proposal?”
“Oh do shut it; can you not see how revolted the poor girl is?” Eibhlin asked almost as disgusted as her good-daughter was.
“What did you say, you daft hag?” Darragh asked in an irritated voice. “I was merely-”
“We all know what it was you were implying, now hurry up and get those ne’er do well sons of yours to better use than as thy work-mules.” Eibhlin retorted with greater impatience than before, as she slammed her right-food imperiously upon the ground. “Now come along Ríonal, we have to see if maybe now that Darragh’s sons will take care of ensuring that Niall, Brien and Ulliam get the message. As those lads are likely to be swifter on their feet than, either of us.”
Ríonal hurried after Eibhlin after shooting a glance over her shoulder to see that Darragh was still glaring after them.

It was quite the spectacle a few hours later when almost everyone, in the immediate area was gathered within the monastery’s walls. The women and children, in front of the shrine and altar, deep in prayer with their hands on their knees, palms up, in the traditional gesture of prayer. A few of the monks were also deep in prayer, just a short distance from the panicked families.
The men who were not monks were divided into two groups; one which would stay outside, to keep watch there, on the farms. This while the monk in the highest tower of their monastery, would keep watch in the opposite direction. The brother chosen for the task was a stout, eagle-eyed old brother by the name of Angus, who had been there for as long as anyone (save for Eibhlin) could remember. Once a merchant of some wealth, he had lost everything in a terrible raid, only to turn to faith for solace from his material, and emotional losses.
Bradán for his part was amongst those who volunteered for Angus’ task yet was not trusted by almost everyone there. Instead, he was left with the second group which was composed of those staying with those, who had taken refuge in the temple itself.
“The situation is untenable, I despise waiting like this.” Ríonal grumbled to Eibhlin, “We are trapped, as though we were birds in a cage.”
“Patience. No need to be so eager for something to happen. Besides, I thought you wished to die.” Eibhlin retorted evenly, staring her in the eye from the corner of her own.
The snide tone stung, though Ríonal should have known that she would react in such a manner. Given that she had recently, mistreated her surrogate mother, she let the matter slide. Especially since it appeared as though they were about to die, anyways. The last thing Ríonal wanted, was to leave this mortal coil with bitterness between her and Eibhlin.
“Eibhlin, about what happened, I am-” She had just begun to make her apologies, to Eibhlin when she was cut off.
“Save me your excuses, Ríonal you are merely seeking to salvage your own feelings, rather than genuinely atone for your actions.” Eibhlin interrupted scathingly, Ríonal in response summoned up a biting retort. One which soon slipped away, when she saw the way the older woman’s head was bowed, with unshed tears in her eyes. Ríonal forgot then all about her own hurt feelings and anger, at that moment Eibhlin was not her enemy, so much as a fellow sufferer. “I just wanted-wanted you to have more than what I or even your parents-bless their souls-ever had. I am sorry that you suffered, it was never my intention, and as we die here today I can only pray that you are reunited with those you have lost. I also pray that they somehow bring themselves, to forgive me for failing you. This is all I wanted to say to you.”
“Oh, Eibhlin I and I am sure my parents, never blamed you.” Ríonal said sincerely, wrapping her arms around her friend, as gently as she could. “I blamed myself for both the losses of our family, and never being able to live up to your example.”
“What example?” Eibhlin grunted in reply, yet with a touched look in her eyes.
The moment came to an end, when Brother Lyr sought to console some of the children some distance away, his voice carrying over to their ears. “Now, now there is nothing to worry about. After-all, what sort of laird or man would burn down a monastery?”
He was to meet with failure though, as Bradán chose that moment to argue with him. “Aye, but in all of your stories about bad men, do not they always do that?”
“Aye, well uh-” the baffled monk stuttered, defeated by a mere lad’s logic, but he was saved from having to answer when there was a cry from just outside the doors.
“Brother Brien has returned, along with four other riders!”
The two groups reunited, with many a families doing so tearfully. The monks fidgeted impatiently, awaiting the courageous Brien’s return who did not keep them waiting long. He made his appearance within the hour, yet when he did, he was visibly tired, and was openly nervous.
He made his way towards the temple doors, he was encircled on either side by two burly warriors, who had their hands on the swords girded on their belts. As they studied those in the monastery, with hostile eyes they stepped past the Prior, who remained quiet, about their rudeness. Once satisfied, they nodded to someone behind Brien, with the fourth rider, dismounting his horse, only to step past the monk also.
“So this is your little monastery, Brother Brien, am I supposed to be awed?” this man was better dressed, in clothes that looked far more expensive than any Ríonal had ever laid eyes on. What particularly impressed her was the cape of fine green Norencian wool, which Ríonal would with her passion for weaving, loved to work with. The man’s baleful eyes settled themselves on the statue of Brigantia, only to snort openly at it.
“It will have to do,” the noble snorted dismissively, only to turn his head to look at Brien. “Bring out your accounts and some food, anything you can summon up in this pitiful, backwater. Then, I want, what we agreed upon.”
“As you wish, my laird,” Brien hastily agreed, nodding to his fellow monks who had caught themselves, before they could completely swarm him.
All were taken aback, by their guests, as no one had been quite expecting them to come to the monastery peacefully. Brien shot an apologetic look to his brothers, before he departed with the haughty man.
“Who is that man?” Ríonal asked in a whisper to Eibhlin, who shrugged in reply.
“No idea, though if I had to guess, our liege-laird.” She replied reasonably, as she studied the men at the doors, with a quizzical look in her eyes. “Still, I would not tread too close to them. I dislike, how they look at us, though it is natural for men such as they.”
“How so?” Ríonal inquired not sure of what it was she meant, though she could see more than one or two things wrong with them, herself even from afar.
“They seem fairly hostile to us all, if you ask me.” Eibhlin murmured back, her sharp eyes narrowed.
“True,” Ríonal breathed back, just as Brien hurried back down the stairs he had just guided the laird up.
He was immediately beset by, his fellow monks and even some of the local sheep-farmers rushed up to him. Each with more questions, than any of them would have otherwise believed, possible for any one human to have.
“Who is that man?”
“Why is he here?”
“Why did you bring him here? What does he want from us?”
“I will answer your questions, at a later time. He is a very powerful, very important man; therefore he will not be with us for very long.” Brien explained slowly, with apparent reluctance, turning to the guards he called out to them. “The one by the name of Pàdraig, is commanded by order of his lairdship, Conn who orders he do as he has previously bidden. He claims that, he has decided upon a place to put her, and will leave you here to see to her needs and to go fetch her.”
The guard whom Ríonal supposed was named Pàdraig departed, visibly reluctant to do so, though nobody else breathed any easier. This was because there was still an army outside sitting about, waiting for further orders along with, another guard still present, and still as baleful as ever.
“I must return to see to laird Conn’s needs, Lyr have everyone return home at once. There will be no massacres to-day, only a few exchanges of goods and people. No need to worry, oh but have Eibhlin stay here, as I wish to speak to her, once Conn has left.” Brien ordered wearily.
“What sort of exchange?” Eibhlin demanded acidly.
“Fear not, all exchanges are the sort that would doubtlessly, please the goddess, I think. You may even let Ríonal stay, if you so wish, as it would be to her benefit also.” Brien answered mysteriously.

“Oh, very well we shall wait, but not for very long, we do have fields to till and cattle to feed,” Eibhlin snapped impatiently irritated by this delay.

It was understandable given their lot in life, as peasants and cattle-farmers they needed to feed their cattle, stock up on some of their produce and work endlessly. That is if they wished to survive the first months of winter, let alone the last ones. Whereas the monks had nothing to worry about, given that while they had farming to do themselves, they had tithes and such to fall back upon.

The hours that it took to wait for Brien to speak, with the Rí Conn, were precious ones during which they could have been working the fields. The only comfort was the fact that Bradán was close by, to speak to. Only for Ríonal, and Eibhlin to be informed that he was being punished and to speak to him, was forbidden by the monks.

“They treat that lad too harshly,” Eibhlin complained loudly, this was the first time she had ever voiced such a view. It startled Ríonal, who noticed that her friend was genuinely upset and bewildered.

It was shortly after this comment was made, and several monks who were passing by, pretended to be deaf, as Ríonal shushed her obnoxious good-mother. That the doors opened, and Brien waved them in, only to close the door behind him.

“So this is the two, you want to leave my daughter alone with?” the finely dressed, red-cloaked and sword-wearing heavily bearded and blonde haired Conn stated. Eyes going from Eibhlin to Ríonal, with naturally hooded eyes, he blinked almost sleepily at them.

There was a note of disdain in his voice, one that Ríonal hardly cared for, over-all it was shocking to discover that this man could possibly have been the Ard Rí’s son. For Bradán the King was a noble figure, already popular throughout Ériu as a folk-hero, and yet his son inspired little more than distaste and fear.

Behind the finely dressed Conn, stood a short, dark haired and brown-eyed girl, one with the same hooded eyes as her father, and the pretty look of a girl, who would someday be quite comely. The trouble for her was her short hair was very obviously cut hastily, most likely by the lass herself, with her skin having the tanned appearance, of someone who enjoyed spending much of her time outside.

There was a naturally suspicious element, to the girl and Ríonal felt immediately nervous about the Rí’s words. So too did Eibhlin, as she soon spoke up, with an unusually polite and mild tone to her voice, “Leave with, my laird? What does this mean?”

Her meek tone earned her a shrug from the laird, as Brien spoke up for him, “The lady Éodain will be staying with you, for the duration of the year and winter. In order to hide and educate her, as our noble and valiant Rí fears for her safety. Given the uncouthness of his enemies, it is only a natural fear.”

“I see, we would be honoured, but are we worthy of such a distinct honour?” Eibhlin asked in her most honeyed voice, one which ill-fitted her in Ríonal’s opinion.

“It does not matter, for you will never be worthy, but I must hide the girl and Brother Brien, informed me that, you lot are the wealthiest and best farmers of the area, as well as the most discreet.” Conn growled back, before he moved to step past them, “I will be leaving two of my men with you, and that will be the end of the matter. Now, I have real matters to attend to.”

Ríonal well-knew what these ‘real’ matters likely were; for the past several years Conn, had been warring with his older brother, Treasach, the eldest surviving son of the prior Ard Rí. It had not taken long for either of the sons of the great ruler, to start infighting, with even those sons who were part of the clergy joining the fray. All wished a part, of the inheritance, yet in their blood-lust and greed, not a one had been able to pull Caladbohlg from the Clover throne. Nor had they succeeded in carrying the momentum forward against the Warlock-King, instead they had done his work for him. With the Bóruma’s legacy all but torn asunder, by his incompetent, selfish sons, who failed to capitalise upon his victories against the demonic laird in the north.

Ríonal was pulled from her thoughts, as she hurriedly stepped out of the way of the Rí, and self-proclaimed heir of Bradán’s name-sake. Éodain, fearful of separation from her father, whom she very obviously worshipped, leapt forward with a loud shriek, startling both women and the prior.

It was apparent to all, that if anyone was unwilling to do as they were bidden; it was not one of the peasants or clerics, but Conn’s own child. If only Ríonal and Eibhlin, knew what they were in for, they would have likely drowned the child or tried to buck their ‘duties’ with more determination.