“So what changed him?” asked Finbar bleakly.

“When his father died, Lord Colum became master of Sevenwaters. There was, as yet, no call on him to be anything more, for there was one far older and wiser that kept the ancient ways alive in these parts. Your father met your mother; and, as it often is with your kin, he loved her instantly and passionately, so that to be without her was like death to him. They were blissfully happy; they rejoiced in one another, and watched their small sons grow. They were wise custodians of tuath and forest. Niamh loved her boys, but she longed for a daughter. At last you were born, Sorcha; and she died.”

His face had changed; I watched the light play over his calm features, and thought I detected a deep sorrow there, buried somewhere well within.

“Did you know her?” I asked.

Father Brien turned to me, his eyes showing no more than a faint sadness. Perhaps I had imagined what I saw.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “I had been presented with a choice. They valued my skill with the pen, in the house of Kells, but my ideas caused—unrest. Conform, I was told, or live alone. I had known your father before I took holy orders, a long time ago when I was a fighting man. When I left the chapter house he offered me a place here, an act of some generosity, considering the differences between us. I met your mother. I saw their joy in each other, and how her death took all the light from him.”

“He had us,” said Finbar bitterly. “Another man might have thought that reason enough to live, and live well.”

“I think you are too harsh,” said Father Brien, but he spoke kindly. “You know not, yet, the sort of love that strikes like a lightning bolt; that clutches hold of you by the heart, as irrevocably as death; that becomes the lodestar by which you steer the rest of your life. I would not wish such a love on anyone, man or woman, for it can make your life a paradise, or it can destroy you utterly. But it is in the nature of your kin to love this way. When your mother died, it took great strength of will for Colum to endure her loss. He survived; but he paid a high price. He has little left for you, or for anyone.”

“He had a choice, didn’t he?” said Finbar slowly. “He could have turned another way, after she died—taken another path, become the sort of leader you say Conor will be.”

“He could, for the Ancient was near the end of his days, and the wise ones came to Colum, seeking a man of his line to join their number. They must have wanted him very particularly, to make such an approach. Far better to begin the long years of learning as a child, or a very young man. Yet they asked him. But Colum was deep in despair. Had it not been for his duty to his tuath, and to his children, he might well have ended his own life. So he refused them.”