Pride of Lions by Morgan Llywelyn Page B

father's happiness--or lack of it.
    Such a possibility had never crossed his mind.
    He was so young that the emotions of others were still abstractions to him, Brian's most of all.
    "Isn't being a king enough to make any man happy?" he asked.
    Mac Liag gave him a long look.
    "Walk with me, lad. Walk with me and we shall talk of kingship. And other things." Over his shoulder he called, "We'll be back by sundown."
    The poet's son appeared in the
    doorway. Cumara had the face of the perpetually anxious, with deep frown lines scoring his brow, and pale blue eyes that anticipated bad news. "Don't you need me to come with you?"
    "Not necessary. If I require an arm to lean on I'm sure I can rely on my young friend here," Mac Liag replied.
    They strolled away from the house by the lake, following a winding path among the murmurous pines. Donough waited for Mac Liag to begin the conversation, but the poet, for once, was silent.
    Even their footfalls were hushed by the centuries-deep carpet of pine needles.
    When Donough cleared his throat to speak, Mac Liag put a restraining hand on his arm.
    "Smell."
    "Smell?"
    "The fragrance of the pines. My feet press out perfumed oils as I walk, and the blackbird on the high branch sings to me. And I am happy, do you understand?"
    Donough was plainly puzzled. "Not really. I thought we were going to talk about kingship."
    "We are," said the poet. "I know what happened in the hall yesterday, even though I was not present. There are no secrets at Kincora.
    You were foolhardy to challenge Teigue for your father's palace."
    "I have as much right to it as he has."
    "But you are ..."
    "Don't tell me I'm too young!" Donough flared. "I'm a man by every law, including that of nature."
    "I was going to say you are inexperienced," Mac Liag replied smoothly. "What do you know of managing a vast strongholding?"
    "I've spent my life at Kincora, watching Brian Boru. Surely that's enough experience."
    "You've spent your life at Kincora, but not watching Brian Boru. Until he threw her out, your mother kept you as far away from him as possible. You weren't trained at his elbow, you were hidden behind her skirts. And I never noticed you rebelling," Mac Liag added.
    "I did rebel! Every chance I got. But she was always ..."
    "I know. Gormlaith did everything she could to keep you a child. You were an ornament to be taken out and paraded when she wanted to boast of her motherhood at an age when other women are boasting of their grandchildren."
    Donough turned and faced the poet squarely.
    "Do you hate Gormlaith the way everyone else does?"
    "Hate?" Mac Liag considered the word. "I never hated her. Do you hate the storm that blows down your trees?"
    "Then will you be my friend although I am Gormlaith's son?"
    Pity moved the old man to say, "Of course I will be your friend, lad. For your father's sake.
    He used to come here, you know. To my little house."
    The trained voice, which age had not destroyed, grew reminiscent. "We would sit for hours at my hearthside, talking. Sometimes he played his harp for me here. Or he would summon me to a banquet at Kincora and give me the first drink of red wine from his own cup." The faded eyes misted.
    Donough was too impatient for the future to be enthralled with the past. "As my friend, you must support my claim to Kincora."
    Mac Liag's eyes opened wide. "I did not say ..."
    "When Kincora is mine, you shall come to every feast and always have the first drink from my cup," the young man promised.
    "Listen to me, Donough, while I give you a friend's advice. The possession of a palace will not make you happy. Your father had Kincora but there was always a hunger in him, a longing for something else; something more. Don't I know? I, who was with him?
    "He was a lonely man; to the very end he was a lonely man. Murrough's mother died in his arms, other women were never enough for him, and then finally Gormlaith ...
    "Even with all his power, the Ard Ri was not happy. I don't think there was