A Garden of Girls: Famous Schoolgirls of Former Days
9781465648877
301 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
Across the plain, in the twilight, rode Flann with his noble guest-friends by his side, and his hunting train behind him. They had hunted all day in the woods to the south of the plain—on foot, as the old Irish custom was, while their horses grazed free in the forest glades, and the gillies guarded their masters’ trappings. Now, weary of limb themselves, they were astride their fresh steeds, and the miles that lay between them and the banqueting hall within the white Dún above the Liffey were miles of soft, springy turf. Even the trappers felt their heavy burdens light, as their feet touched it. They raced in time to the joyous concert of the beagles, and the tinkling of the horse-bells—every man of them with his great wolf-dog at his side. The red sunset filled the West, and, in the glow of it, splendid mantles—purple and yellow, and green, and red—were yet more splendid. Gleams of fire were struck from great jewelled brooches, from the gold on bits and bridles, from richly-wrought horse-cloths. Flann himself, a glowing splendid figure, rode at the head of that splendid company, the pride of life in his heart, and crowning his haughtily carried head. They came to a point from which a great oak tree was visible. It seemed to Flann, all at once, as if another hand than his were laid on the bridle, and his horse were being urged out of its straight course for the home stable. He lifted his echlasc, and with it tried to turn the horse’s head back again. But in vain. One way only the horse would go, and that was towards the great oak tree, which spread a wide dark net against the red background of the sunset. “Let it thus be,” said Flann, yielding. “Let us lay the wolf’s head at the holy maiden’s feet, that she may know how her cattle may henceforth graze in peace.” He called out the word to his followers, and presently they were all—horsemen, and runners, and dogs—thundering across the turf due westward. They came to the door of the Lios, which surrounded the cells of the holy maiden, Brigid, and her companions. “Knock loudly,” cried Flann; and a gillie stooped and found the knocker in a niche by the door, and struck the wood heavily with it. The sound of the sliding bolt followed speedily. The door opened, and a white figure stood framed in the door-porch. “Prince Flann,” said a woman’s clear voice, with a note of wonder in it, “a blessing on thee and on thy company. Is it aught of ill befallen Etain, thy wife, which brings thee so late to the door of Brigid’s cell?” Flann shouted a word back to the Cuchairi, and one of them came forward, a tall man in a rough, frieze mantle, and laid a dead wolf at the nun’s feet. “This is what brings us to Brigid’s cell, so far out of our way,” said Flann, pointing with jewelled “echlasc” to the gaunt, stark figure, stretched on the grass before the immdorus. “Now, oh! Blathnata, may the flocks of Brigid, and you her sisters, graze in peace.”
