"Ah. A good question. A man called Bishop Patrick. A great man. It was he who made the poem, actually."

Deirdre received this information but made no further comment. The fact was that her mind was working rapidly.

The visit of Larine, with his startling new identity and his still more surprising message, might take a little time to sink in, but certain things seemed clear. There could hardly be any doubt of his sincerity; and whatever her feelings about the past, she was touched by his obvious goodwill. As for his religious message, she was less certain. Perhaps she was tempted by it; certainly she had little love for the sacrifices of the druids and their cruel gods. But it was another thought now that was forming in her mind.

"You said you had come to see me and my son. You wish to convert us?"

"Certainly." He smiled. "I have found the light, Deirdre, and it has brought me joy and peace of mind. Naturally I wish to share that joy with others." He paused. "But there is more than that. After all that has passed, I owe it to Conall to bring the Gospel to you and to his son."

She nodded slowly. Yes, she thought, yes, this might be the way.

The persuasive bishop, his father's old friend, might be the one who could offer her a way out of her dilemma about Morna.

At least, she considered, it was worth a try. So now, gazing at him steadily, she informed him: "You should understand something, Larine. Morna has never been told about how his father died. I couldn't bear to. We all thought it was for the best. So he knows nothing."

"I see." Larine certainly looked surprised.

"Do you mean," he asked, "that you don't want me to say anything either?"

"No." She shook her head. "No, Larine, I think it is time that he should know. And I want you to tell him. Will you do that?"

"If that is what you wish."

"Tell him what really happened, Larine. Tell him how the High King and his druids murdered his father. Tell him of the evil of it," she continued passionately. "Tell him of your new and better God, if you like. Tell him, above all, to avoid the king and his druids. Will you do that for me?"

Did Larine look awkward for just a moment? She did not see why he should. Wasn't this what he wanted? And wouldn't it solve her greatest difficulty if Morna was sufficiently impressed with Larine's Christian message to want to avoid the druids' rites?

If she told him about the High King's invitation after that, he probably wouldn't even want to go to the pagan feis at Tara. With luck, if they could keep him out of sight for a while, he should be able to avoid the attention of the High King in the future.

"I will do what I can," said Larine, cautiously.

That is good." She smiled. And she was just wondering whether I to tell Larine the whole story of the royal invitation and to ask for I his advice, when their conversation was brought to an abrupt halt by the sudden appearance in the doorway of Morna himself. Who are these visitors?" he asked cheerfully.

And Larine gasped.

How strange, Larine thought, as he walked beside the young man down the slope towards the water.

He had come to Dubh Linn expecting, in a sense, to put a painful memory to rest; yet instead, the past was coming alive before his very eyes with a vividness that was almost frightening.

For it was Conall himself who was walking beside him.

True, young Morna had his mother's strange green eyes. But his dark hair and his aquiline good looks were Conall to the life. It was as if his friend had arisen from the dead. Dear God, he even had his father's gentle voice. And when the young man smiled at him, Larine felt as though someone had struck a druid's knife into his heart.

It was easy enough to introduce the subject he had come to speak about; for as soon as Morna learned that Larine had been a friend of his father's, he was eager to know all that the former druid could tell him. He was fascinated to hear about the prince's poetic and religious nature. "I thought of him only as a warrior," he said.

"He was a warrior, and a fine one," Larine assured him, "but he was far more than that." And he explained how Conall had wanted to be a druid.

From there, it was only a little while before he told Morna about the sacrifice. The young man was astounded.

"And you yourself took part?"

"I was a druid. I was his friend. It was his own wish, Morna. He gave himself up as a sacrifice for the people of the island. The noblest thing a man can do. Your father died a hero's death," he told him. "You can be very proud. But now," he continued, seeing that Morna was much impressed, "let me tell you about another person who gave himself up as a sacrifice."

It was with great feeling that Larine explained to his friend's son the powerful message of the Christian faith. "The old gods," he concluded, "have yielded their place to the Supreme Deity. Just think of it, Morna: instead of a sacrifice to save a harvest, Our Saviour sacrificed Himself to save the whole world, not for a season but for all eternity."

If Larine's presentation of the faith to this young man, so obviously hungry to emulate the heroic father he had never known, was subtly different from the case he had made to Deirdre, he was pleased to see that it seemed to be effective.

"Do you think my father would have been a Christian," he asked, "if he'd had the chance?"

"There is not a doubt of it," Larine replied. "We'd have been Christians together. How I wish," he sighed, "that he were here to join with me now. We'd have walked this path together." He said it with real emotion.

"I could take his place," Morna said eagerly.

"You are so like him," Larine answered. "That would bring me great joy." He nodded reflectively. "You might say, the circle would be complete."

They were standing beside the river. Now they turned to go back to the rath. Morna was clearly excited. As the former druid glanced at him, did he feel, just for a moment, a pang of guilt at what he was doing? He thought of his plan. Was he making use of the son of andbrvbarbbandbrvbarbbGonall for his own ends? No, he told himself. He was bringing the family of Conall into the light. If, in so doing, he was serving the larger cause of the mission, then so much the better. For that was an even greater cause. And his sense of mission was strong.

By the time they entered the rath again, Deirdre and the slaves were preparing the meal, and Ronan and Rian had returned. The two brothers were already engaged in a conversation with the young priest who had accompanied Larine. He was a decent man from Ulster whom Larine had converted a few years ago, and the brothers seemed to like him; but when they saw Larine, they were careful to be respectful. As a former druid, the bishop was clearly not a man (to be crossed. They chatted for a while. He made the usual small IC-ONVERSATION, spoke about Ulster and the harvest up there; and this led easily enough to a brief account of his mission. They listened politely as he outlined some of the essentials of the Christian faith. It was hard to tell what they thought, but he had the impression that they would probably follow Morna and Deirdre in most things. Before long they were called inside to eat.

It was when the household had all gathered in the big thatched hut, and Larine had blessed the food, that he made the announcement.

"Tonight, my friends, we eat together, and enjoy the excellent hospitality of this house. But now I must tell you that tomorrow you will receive a far greater guest than I. For I have come only to prepare the way for him; whereas he will come to preach and to baptise." He paused impressively. "It is Bishop Patrick himself I am speaking of."

This was a technique that Larine had used before with success. He, the former druid, would go into an area where Bishop Patrick was not known to prepare the path for the great man and make sure the audience understood the importance of their visitor. Briefly, he said a few words about the missionary. He outlined the bishop's ancestry-for it was always important, in the ancient society of the western island, that his hearers should know that Patrick was a man of noble birth in his own right. That, for a start, would gain their respect.

He gave them some account of how he was captured, of his years on the island as a slave, and of his subsequent return. He also named some of the princes in the north who had given Patrick their protection and had even been converted. This information, too, would impress his hearers. He also gave some indications of the great man's character.

"He is a prince of the Church; to his followers, his word is law," he explained. "And yet, like other men who have reached the high places of the spirit, he has a great simplicity. He is austere. He honours all women, but he is entirely celibate. He is humble. He is also quite without fear. People have sometimes threatened him for preaching the Gospel, but it never has any effect."

"He has a terrible temper," the young priest added with some I relish.

"It is not often seen," Larine gently corrected, "but it is true that his rebuke is terrible. But now," he said with a smile at Deirdre, "let I us attend to this feast."

Deirdre was proud of the meal she had prepared. There was a watercress salad; several meat dishes, including the traditional pork for an honoured guest; stewed apples; cheese; and ale-the best of the island's fare. When Larine complimented her warmly on the food and was joined by a chorus of approval, she knew that she had deserved it.

If it was strange that the Christian bishop should be sitting amongst them while in the background the drinking skull of Ere the Warrior gave a pale and ghostly glimmer in the firelight, it did not seem to strike anyone. Larine talked easily to the men, speaking of everyday things. He told them about events up in Ulster, and encouraged them to tell him stories about old Fergus. The conversation was light and cheerful. The only time he mentioned the subject of religion came after they had already finished the main courses, when he turned to her and remarked: "It may take a generation or two, Deirdre, but once it has established a sound foundation, it's inevitable that the true religion will triumph here on the island, just as it has in every other land where it has come. The communities down in Munster and here in Leinster are still small and scattered, but they have protectors and they are starting to grow. And now Bishop Patrick is making great strides in Ulster, especially with the princes." He smiled. "Once the princes are convinced, you see, their people will follow."

"You do not think the druids could bring people back to the old faith, once they have known the new?" she asked.

I don't. At the end of the day, our pagan gods are only superstition. Idols. Before the higher understanding, they must fall away."

Deirdre was not so sure about this last assertion. It seemed to her that the druids and their gods would not so easily retreat, but she said nothing. She would have liked at this point to have told Larine about the invitation of Morna to Tara and to have asked his advice, but the others would have heard, and so she said nothing. But shortly afterwards, watching the bishop and her son conversing happily and seeing the admiration in the young man's face, it seemed to her that it shouldn't be a difficult matter for Larine to persuade him to avoid the pagan ceremonies. And so she sat back with a sense of comfort and well-being and let the talk go on around her. Her mind even wandered a little.

She saw Larine say something to Morna and saw her son look surprised. Then, suddenly, she was all attention. What was he saying? She stared.

At first, when he said it, she thought she had misheard.

"The High King's feis," Larine repeated. "I wondered when you were leaving for Tara. As you're taking part."

"Myself? Taking part?" Morna was looking slightly bemused. "The keeper of the ford provides hospitality to the important men on their way up to Tara," he explained, "but I wouldn't be going there myself."

Now, however, it was Larine who was confused.

"But you can hardly fail to obey your kinsman the High King when he has summoned you," he said.

"The High King has summoned me?"

Morna looked blank.

Deirdre went cold. Larine appeared strangely put out. But nobody was looking at her yet. They hadn't guessed. How, she wondered, had Larine known of the king's summons to the young chief at Dubh Linn? Hadn't he told her he never went near the High King now? She supposed that, as in times past, Larine probably had sources of information in many places. But what should she do? Was this the moment to confess the truth? She couldn't see a way out. But she decided, just for a few more moments, to play for time.

Besides, there was something that was puzzling her.

"At the feis," she pointed out quietly, "it will be the druids who conduct the ceremonies."

"Of course," agreed Larine.

"There will be sacrifices."

"Of animals. Yes."

"And the king will mate with a mare?"

"I imagine he may."

"Would you take part in such a pagan rite yourself?" she asked Larine.

"It would not be appropriate."

"So if Morna becomes a Christian, he should avoid such a pagan rite, surely?"

Larine hesitated only a moment.

"If the High King summoned Morna to come, it would be difficult, I should say, for him to refuse. I should not insist upon it. In feet a" He stopped. Then he looked at her shrewdly. "So tell me, Deirdre, how is it that Morna does not know that he has been summoned by the High King?"

They were turning to her now. She was silent. Morna was frowning.

"Mother?"

Her brothers were staring, too. It was no good. She was going to have to confess what she had done. She was going to be humiliated in front of them. She could see it.

Her brothers were going to blame her.

And Mornaa much as he loved her, he would curse her, too.

She knew it. Her hopeless, desperate plans, her plans that suddenly looked so foolish, were all unravelling. She gazed miserably at Larine, and saw a little glint of expectation in his eye.

And then, suddenly, she understood.

"This is why you're here," she cried. "This is what you came for., y out came for Morna because you thought he was going to Tara."

Yes, a faint shadow of guilt had passed across Larine's face.

Morna was about to intervene, but she cut him off.

"You don't understand," she snapped at her son.

"He's using you.

She saw it all. Larine might be a bishop, she thought, but he was still Larine; and he had come again, in a different guise, as he had come before. All her old memories came flooding back: the black mist of birds, the raucous trumpets, the body of Conall daubed in red. "You're just another sacrifice," she said bitterly.

Larine was clever. You couldn't deny it. What was it he'd said? Convert the princes first. That was his game.

If you couldn't get to the prince, then get to his family circle. He'd heard that the new king was taking an interest in young Morna. So of course he wanted to convert him. Then he could insinuate a convert into the circle of the High King himself.

"What's the plan?" she demanded. "For Morna to reveal that he's a Christian at the feis?"

Morna, the image of his father, Conall, the kinsman of the High King who had given his life for the druids and their pagan gods-Morna was to arrive and say he was a Christian? At Tara itself, the sacred royal site? At the inauguration? It would create a sensation. "Or do you prefer he should conceal his faith until he has made the High King his friend?" That might be even better for Larine. If the High King and his family took a liking to the handsome boy. Of course they would. How could they not? Then in due course he would reveal he was a Christian.

Either way it was a brilliant move, an insidious undermining of the ancient pagan order.

And what would become of Morna? If he revealed his religion at Tara, the High King could hardly tolerate it, and the druids would probably kill him on the spot. If he gained the king's friendship and confessed his new faith later, he would still, at the least, incur the druids" undying enmity.

"They'll destroy you," she cried to her son.

"They'll kill you just as they killed your father."

Larine was shaking his head.

"Mother," the young man protested, "Larine is our friend."

"You don't know him," she answered furiously.

"He is our guest."

"No more!" She struck the table and rose to her feet. "Traitor!"

She pointed her finger at him. "You can change your shape but never your nature. You are always the same, and I know you. The same cunning fox. Leave!"

Now Larine had risen to his feet also. He was white and shaking with fury. The priest who accompanied him had risen, too.

"This is no way to treat a guest in your house, Deirdre," Larine protested. "Especially a Christian man of peace."

"A man of blood!" she shouted.

"I am a bishop of the Holy Church."

"Deceiver."