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Authors: Cora Harrison
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explanation to Sorcha while endeavouring to look hospitable. Teige was chief of the O’Brien clan in the Burren, a cousin and friend of her husband, King Turlough.
‘Let me hold little Cormac while you talk to her. Manus is fast asleep.’ Sorcha laid her sleeping son on a folded sheepskin on the ground beside her, and took the baby from her mother’s arms. Mara gave him up reluctantly. He was so tiny and so fragile that she hated letting him go.
‘Don’t worry, he’ll soon be as strong and healthy as these three,’ said Sorcha, sensitive to her mother’s moods.
‘Brigid says that Cormac is our uncle.’ Aislinn cast a dubious look at Cormac. ‘He’s too tiny to be an uncle.’
‘Let’s play a joke on the visitor.’ Domhnall was going through the painful stage where he insisted on telling jokes to everyone. He ran off instantly and waited by the field gate.
‘Would you like to meet my uncle, bhean usail (noble lady)?’ his voice floated back as he greeted Ciara and escorted her over the clints towards where his mother and grandmother sat. ‘He’s got a big black beard and he is as tall as the gable of a house . . . and there he is sleeping on my mother’s lap!’
‘God please him; isn’t he beautiful,’ said Ciara fervently, but Mara was not deceived. Ciara had been shocked by the baby.
‘He arrived a month early, gave us all a surprise,’ she said trying to sound like her usual competent, cheerful self.
‘He’s looking wonderful, all the same, God bless him,’ murmured Ciara. She appeared to be struggling to think of something else to say, but then gave up and started to admire Sorcha’s three children and to exclaim over their size and beauty, and resemblance to their father Oisín.
‘Any news from Teige?’ asked Mara.
‘Only that they were camped near to each other at O’Briensbridge, just outside Limerick – so near that they could hear each other drinking,’ said Ciara promptly. ‘Each side are waiting for the other to move first. I came to see if you knew anything else.’
‘No, we haven’t heard,’ said Mara catching a worried look from Sorcha. So this was the news that they had been keeping from her. Turlough and his forces were drawn up in battle formation. Perhaps the battle had already taken place. That wretched bridge! Turlough and his brothers had built it some years ago and it had been his pride and joy ever since. The Earl of Kildare would have known that any threat to O’Briensbridge would bring the warlike king of Thomond, Corcomroe and Burren marching into battle.
‘Very likely nothing will come of it,’ said Ciara hastily, and fell to admiring Cormac again. Aislinn and Domhnall wandered off on one of their daily optimistic excursions to find the chuckling cuckoo that woke them every morning with its echoing call, and was still shouting after their bedtime. Looking bored and unhappy, Nuala moved a little aside, squatting down and examining some plants in the small raggedly rounded holes where rainwater had dissolved the limestone. The three women left behind turned their attention to the the tiny premature baby.
As if Cormac felt their eyes on him, he woke and cried.
‘He’s hungry again,’ laughed Sorcha, bending over her little half-brother. Instinctively his mouth turned towards the source of milk, and Mara winced as Ciara glanced at her and then at the baby in her daughter’s arms.
‘Sorcha is feeding him for me. I have no milk,’ she said in tones that she strove to make matter-of-fact and commonsensical.
Ciara nodded in a perfunctory way.
‘Are you looking for a wet nurse?’ she asked, and Mara responded gratefully to the lack of fuss or false optimism.
‘Yes, do you know of anyone?’
‘I do indeed. The wife of Teige’s chief shepherd, a very good fellow, Teige says he never had a man as good with the sheep and all their ailments, a very nice family; well, his wife lost a baby last week. He died from a fever, poor little fellow.
‘Let me hold little Cormac while you talk to her. Manus is fast asleep.’ Sorcha laid her sleeping son on a folded sheepskin on the ground beside her, and took the baby from her mother’s arms. Mara gave him up reluctantly. He was so tiny and so fragile that she hated letting him go.
‘Don’t worry, he’ll soon be as strong and healthy as these three,’ said Sorcha, sensitive to her mother’s moods.
‘Brigid says that Cormac is our uncle.’ Aislinn cast a dubious look at Cormac. ‘He’s too tiny to be an uncle.’
‘Let’s play a joke on the visitor.’ Domhnall was going through the painful stage where he insisted on telling jokes to everyone. He ran off instantly and waited by the field gate.
‘Would you like to meet my uncle, bhean usail (noble lady)?’ his voice floated back as he greeted Ciara and escorted her over the clints towards where his mother and grandmother sat. ‘He’s got a big black beard and he is as tall as the gable of a house . . . and there he is sleeping on my mother’s lap!’
‘God please him; isn’t he beautiful,’ said Ciara fervently, but Mara was not deceived. Ciara had been shocked by the baby.
‘He arrived a month early, gave us all a surprise,’ she said trying to sound like her usual competent, cheerful self.
‘He’s looking wonderful, all the same, God bless him,’ murmured Ciara. She appeared to be struggling to think of something else to say, but then gave up and started to admire Sorcha’s three children and to exclaim over their size and beauty, and resemblance to their father Oisín.
‘Any news from Teige?’ asked Mara.
‘Only that they were camped near to each other at O’Briensbridge, just outside Limerick – so near that they could hear each other drinking,’ said Ciara promptly. ‘Each side are waiting for the other to move first. I came to see if you knew anything else.’
‘No, we haven’t heard,’ said Mara catching a worried look from Sorcha. So this was the news that they had been keeping from her. Turlough and his forces were drawn up in battle formation. Perhaps the battle had already taken place. That wretched bridge! Turlough and his brothers had built it some years ago and it had been his pride and joy ever since. The Earl of Kildare would have known that any threat to O’Briensbridge would bring the warlike king of Thomond, Corcomroe and Burren marching into battle.
‘Very likely nothing will come of it,’ said Ciara hastily, and fell to admiring Cormac again. Aislinn and Domhnall wandered off on one of their daily optimistic excursions to find the chuckling cuckoo that woke them every morning with its echoing call, and was still shouting after their bedtime. Looking bored and unhappy, Nuala moved a little aside, squatting down and examining some plants in the small raggedly rounded holes where rainwater had dissolved the limestone. The three women left behind turned their attention to the the tiny premature baby.
As if Cormac felt their eyes on him, he woke and cried.
‘He’s hungry again,’ laughed Sorcha, bending over her little half-brother. Instinctively his mouth turned towards the source of milk, and Mara winced as Ciara glanced at her and then at the baby in her daughter’s arms.
‘Sorcha is feeding him for me. I have no milk,’ she said in tones that she strove to make matter-of-fact and commonsensical.
Ciara nodded in a perfunctory way.
‘Are you looking for a wet nurse?’ she asked, and Mara responded gratefully to the lack of fuss or false optimism.
‘Yes, do you know of anyone?’
‘I do indeed. The wife of Teige’s chief shepherd, a very good fellow, Teige says he never had a man as good with the sheep and all their ailments, a very nice family; well, his wife lost a baby last week. He died from a fever, poor little fellow.
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