He knew she was with the Saxon army and close to the army frontier. Her husband was dead, but she was retained by his brother, Redwald, one of Ceawlin’s most powerful thanes; who not only kept his brother’s wife a prisoner, but had shown a desire to gain possession of Elgiva, also. The woman was able to communicate with the Britons, and aid them in their plans. Griffith believed that, in the tumult and excitement of the time he could carry her off, quickly and easily re-cross the Axe, and retire to his strong and impregnable castle of Brean Down. It has been shown how fatally he was mistaken; how he was slain, and his tribe driven from the shores of Britain.
“One reason have I to be thankful in the midst of all my loss,” said Ethne to herself a few days after her late interview with Elgiva, “and that is the death of Griffith!”
She was wandering by herself, beside the stream that watered the valley.
“Griffith checked me—restrained me—opposed me in all things. But Cormac—Cormac! I shall twist him to my purpose, as I twist my hair about my fingers.”
She was determined to link her fortunes with Cormac’s. He was necessary to her; at any rate for the present, because he was the last of a royal house—of an ancient name to which she trusted to rally followers. To connect herself with him would strengthen her own slight connection with his family. She felt that fortune had favoured her in the fact that both she and he had inherited a similar type of face and form—a type dear to Hibernians, combining blue eyes and blue-black hair.
It had given her much thought to decide the nature of the tie that should unite them in the eyes of the world. At first she had an idea of marrying the lad; but finally decided that it would further her interests to rely on the bond of fosterage that existed between them, and which was strengthened by the fact that their families were related to each other. The ancient system of fosterage was almost sacred in the eyes of Hibernians—she and Cormac should be known as brother and sister; children of the great Tuathal.
“Hibernia shall give me warriors to regain my lost possessions,” she cried. “And Cormac shall help me to my triumph! How soon I am rid of him after I care not!” She threw her arms towards the sky. “Why was I born a hanger-on of the house of Finnfuathairt? Why should he, and not I, be first of the royal line? Ye stars! Help me to power quickly for I am sick of clinging to the skirts of others! All my life long Griffith thwarted me—and yet I was forced to live on his bounty. Now must I have this cub ever at my side, fearful lest at any minute he should play me false and refuse to follow me!”
It grew late, but still she remained, wandering up and down the little glade in which she walked. The moon rose; and when it was fully risen she stole away, with a soft, cat-like tread, towards a little clump of oak trees that stood on the fringe of the neighbouring forest.
She had not long to wait. Soon her quick ear caught the sound of a footstep—light and cat-like as her own. A man muffled in a Druid’s cloak came quickly towards her.
They met in thick shadow—one or two patches of moonlight was all that found their way to them through the leaves, but they showed that the man, beneath his cloak, was clothed in shimmering white.