‘Tom,’ he said, ‘ Tom,’ but the man was dying and nearly dead. Almost in seconds, it seemed, the death-look of green had spread over his broad face. His eyes were clouding.
‘See,’ he said. ‘See. Not accept. Sebastian to pray. Hear that. My goods to the poor. Hurry. Lord have mercy on me.’ Just that and he was dead. Dominick had so little time. It wouldn’t take long for the apostate to get to the nearest band of soldiers. He just folded the great hands across the bloody breast, and grabbed his clothes. He still had the dagger. He decided to keep it. He went into the lane. The light was blinding. The lane was filled with people who had heard the report of the pistol. At doors, at windows, some standing in the street.
He looked at them.
‘They killed Tom,’ he shouted. ‘He left you his possessions. Get them. They are yours.’
He ran right towards the horse-market. As he ran he saw them flooding like a troop of ants into the tavern. When he got to the corner near the horse-market he turned back to look. They were coming out of the place swiftly with barrels and casks and kegs and precious bottles. Good, he thought, good! The place would be as bare as a bald pate by the time the others got back. Why should that please him? He didn’t know, just that it would be right if when they came back that tavern would hold nothing but the four walls and the body of the man who had been the soul of it, the lively, kindly, dramatic, sensitive, soul of it, and by stripping it bare they would be giving him a sort of Viking’s funeral.
He slowed down going through the horse-market. Running men are marked in towns. He hid the dagger under his wet clothes, holding it in his hand. He wouldn’t be taken, he decided. If he was taken he knew what his end would be. He had seen the swinging rotten corpses outside near the Green. He walked up Earl’s Street, past the Fish Shambles into the New Tower Street.
The arch leading into the Poor Clares Lane seemed a mile away to him, but he forced himself to walk slowly, adverting his mind, thinking that he would always associate this place with grey arches. The houses were built in front of courtyards with the groups of buildings in a square. There might be a garden in the courtyard, or a fountain if it was a courtyard of the rich. There might be an orchard, or it might just be paved if it was the place of a merchant who stored his goods. But there were blind arches and open arches, low-sized arches, and they might hold ornamental front doors if they were mansions, or iron gates, or be blank-faced if they led into lanes as this one did. He saw it coming closer and closer, and he stopped and went into the Poor Clares Lane. It was a narrow lane with tall three-storey houses on each side of it. The fourth door down was his. It was the tenement of Margaret Coocke, candlemaker, and he prayed with all his heart that the lodgings would contain Sebastian and his children. He went in the narrow passage but when he came to the stairs he ran up them, not pausing until he came to their room and threw open the door.
Chapter Fifteen
HE LEANED against the door and looked at them. He found that his limbs were shaking.
Sebastian was sitting on the floor with the children one on each side of him. He was writing on a slate with a thin piece of stone. The westering sun was shining through the leaded panes of the window. The space where they sat was bathed in sunshine. Dominick saw the three faces looking at him. He kept his features as blank as he could.
‘Where did you get the funny clothes, Daddy?’ Mary asked.
She rose and came towards him. He left the door and sat on a stool. He was glad of the support it gave him.
She didn’t wait for an answer. She came between his knees. He put his hands around her. He thought: Mary Anne is growing up. Sitting, he had to look up into her eyes.
‘We did fifty-two confessions, four death-beds, three marriages and fourteen baptisms this morning,’ she said proudly.
He heard Sebastian laughing.
‘That’s great,’ said Dominick. ‘Now do something for me, Man.’
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Go down and watch Mrs Coocke making candles,’ he said, ‘and bring Pedro with you.’
‘Secrets?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘All right, Daddy,’ she said. ‘Come on, Pedro.’
‘Pedro is going to be a great Latin scholar,’ said Sebastian.
‘Is that so, Pedro?’ Dominick asked as Pedro came towards him. His eyes were shining, Dominick saw. He was pleased with the praise. He nodded. Why, he is growing too, Dominick thought. My children are growing on me and I have no time to sit and watch them grow. He ruffled his fair hair. ‘Good man,’ he said. ‘We’ll call you.’
They left. The door closed behind them. Sebastian was sitting crosslegged on the floor looking at him. Sebastian looked well. His beard was close trimmed. His body under the rough clothes was thin but lithe.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘Tom Tarpy is dead,’ said Dominick. They killed him. And I killed his killer, so we will have to go.’
He threw the dagger on the floor. Sebastian looked at it.
‘Why did they kill Tom?’ Sebastian asked.
Dominick told him about it. He threw the wet clothes from him and walked around like an animal. His nerves felt raw. He wanted to cry over Tom. But he had no time. Other times he had thought that: There’s no time for tears.
‘So he died over brandy,’ said Sebastian.
‘No, no, not that,’ said Dominick.
‘He lost his temper,’ said Sebastian. There was no need for him to die.’
Dominick shouted.
‘There’s a time in every man’s life when he must die,’ he said. ‘You have to choose. In times like these. It was gone past bearing for him.’
‘Not if he had faith,’ said Sebastian, ‘and practised the virtues of his faith.’
‘Can a man submit for ever?’ Dominick asked.
‘Yes, he can,’ said Sebastian. ‘ Where did I learn that? From you. From the beginning. From your will to survive. Isn’t what Tom did against all the principles you have been preaching?’
‘This is different,’ said Dominick. ‘If you had seen what he had seen, felt the things he felt, even you would have had to make a gesture. And I liked him. He was my friend. And I’m sorry he is dead and I want to weep for him and I have no time.’
‘You will meet him again,’ said Sebastian calmly. This is not the end.’
‘Pray for him,’ said Dominick.
‘I will,’ said Sebastian. ‘He was a good man. I’m sorry he died like this. He was a good neighbour. He will be sorely missed.’
‘So now we must go,’ said Dominick.
‘You must go, Dominick,’ said Sebastian. ‘ Not I.’
Dominick stood still.
‘Not you?’ he said.
‘This is my place now,’ said Sebastian. ‘There are so few priests. In the whole town there are only four. All the rest are gone. Dead or imprisoned or transported. I cannot leave here now.’
‘But they’ll get you too,’ said Dominick. ‘ They’ll flush you out. Come with us. There are people back there who will need you too.’
‘The people here need me more,’ said Sebastian. ‘Dear Dominick, I am giving you your freedom. For many years you have been travelling with Sebastian on your back, like the old man of the sea. Now it will end. You will travel on your own and you will travel faster and farther.’
Dominick thought over this, looking into Sebastian’s eyes. Thought of the times he had wished that he was on his own, when Sebastian was wounded and almost helpless. When they would be ready for a new move and there would be no Sebastian to be found. He would be burying the dead or tending the sick, or baptizing the young, always, it would seem, at the wrong time or in the hour of greatest danger. Yes, indeed, Dominick had often thought of him as a burden and had wished that he could be freed from him. Now he was being freed from him. He saw the smile in the eyes of the priest. He sat on the floor beside him.
‘Some burdens become light with the wearing of them,’ Dominick said. �
��Maybe, sometimes, even sweet.’
There was silence between them.
‘Thanks, Dominick,’ said Sebastian. ‘My thanks.’
‘We’ll find it hard to be without you,’ said Dominick. ‘ Won’t you come?’
The priest shook his head. His fingers were rubbing out the Latin words on the slate.
‘No, Dominick,’ he said. ‘I would like to. Maybe that is why I have to stay.’
Dominick thought over it.
‘We will have to move fast,’ he said. ‘All the gates will be guarded. They will start to search every house in the town. The sheriff knows my face.’
‘What will you do?’ Sebastian asked.
‘I will call and see Murdoc,’ said Dominick.
‘Murdoc!’ said Sebastian, surprised. ‘Is Murdoc in the camp of the enemy?’
So Dominick told him about Murdoc. ‘I am sure he will be of help,’ said Dominick. ‘I helped him once, I remember. There’s something odd about it. All that time he was talking about his mountains, at the back of my mind, where he had planted it, was the sight of a house with a hill at the back of it. It must give a man confidence to have a mountain at his back. As if he could draw strength from it, fight for it. I don’t know. I will have to see him. I have much to do. Would you get our things together, Sebastian, such as they are? The children will help you. I must go. The time is running out. I feel cold winds at the back of my neck. I don’t want to decorate their gallows for them.’
‘God forbid, Dominick,’ said Sebastian. ‘I will gather your pieces. Do what you have to do.’
Dominick went down the stairs into the long room where the fat bubbled in vats and the many candle-moulds, with the strings of them tied to beams over the vats, were being filled by the children from the long-handled spoons.
Mrs Coocke was standing over the vats, a vast woman, her face red, sweat pouring from under her kerchief. She was a laughing woman with white teeth. She always said that if she was boiled down herself she would make about forty-eight dozen good stout candles.
She greeted him. As he said, ‘God bless the work,’ the sweat started to pour off himself. The smell of the boiling fat was overpowering.
‘Go up again now, Man,’ he said to the child. ‘Sebastian is putting our things away. Go and help him. Bring Pedro.’
‘Are we leaving again, Daddy?’ she asked, her eyes wide, and he thought, disappointed.
‘Yes, Man,’ he said. This will be the last, I promise. This time we will land and we will remain unmoving for ever and ever.’
‘I hope so,’ she said.
‘Put on your worst clothes,’ he said. ‘Do the same for Pedro. Don’t be too clean.’
‘Are we in trouble again, Daddy?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and hard trouble to get out of. All right?’
‘All right,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Come on, Pedro. I must say, it’s not easy to lead a quiet life with you, Daddy.’
Mrs Coocke was looking at him inquiringly, one hand on her hip, the other stirring at the hot fat.
‘Tom Tarpy is killed,’ he told her.
She blessed herself. ‘Oh, the monsters,’ she said.
‘I have to leave,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how yet. But I want to thank you for your kindness to us. For taking us in. I won’t forget.’
‘Ach,’ she said.
‘Sebastian will be staying,’ he said.
‘Thank God for that,’ she said.
‘There will be searches,’ he said. ‘ They’ll find out everything in the end. When they come here tell them the truth, that we were here and that we are gone. But watch out for Sebastian. Look after him. They will catch him. He’s not too careful. He puts all his trust in the Lord and he’s right, but one needs a little cunning as well.’
‘I’ll keep him on the mark,’ she said. ‘I’ll watch him.’
‘God bless you,’ he said.
And then he left her. He threw away the woollen hat. They had seen him in that. He walked out into the lane with his head bare. He took off the coat too and just walked in his shirt and breeches. He stood outside in the lane for a moment and thought. He had seen the horses in Skinner’s Street. He knew there was an inn in that street too. He wondered if he would find him there. He thought it might be likely. He walked up New Tower Street into the junction of Pludd Street and Skinner’s Street where the cow-market was. It was fairly filled with animals now. There was a bellowing in it, and it smelled, but there were a lot of people and he liked that. The market extended almost half way up Skinner’s Street and he was just one of many hundreds as he pushed his way through them. He was very pleased when he broke free of them to see the twelve little horses held by one man outside the inn.
There were steps down to the interior. It was thick with the smell of tobacco smoke, and the smell of spilt wine and ale, and sweating men, and it was loud with the rough voices. He stood inside until his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. Then he saw Murdoc at the long table. He was hacking meat from a joint in front of him with his knife, loading it into his mouth and washing it down with great gulps from a pewter tankard. His men seemed very big in the low-ceilinged room. One or two of them were sitting on casks with girls sitting on their legs, laughing. There were a few of the local people there, but they were crowded into the corners. Everyone seemed to be talking at once.
Dominick walked through them. He got around behind Murdoc. Then he put his hand on his shoulder and bent to say into his ear: ‘God bless the work, Murdoc.’
He knew Murdoc was going to shout out his name, so he got on one knee beside him and pressed his arm with his hand. Murdoc strangled the shout in his throat and turned to look at him. He laughed, then he threw back his head and let a shout out of him, ‘Ya-huh-hoo’ Murdoc roared. It brought all their eyes to him. So he cut another piece of meat and put it into his mouth, and drank from the tankard, and one of his men let out another shout and then they went back to their work; all except the men near Murdoc who fixed their eyes on the face of the man who was kneeling beside their leader.
‘Speak easy, friend,’ said Murdoc, then, in Irish, ‘because the walls have ears.’
‘I’m in trouble, Murdoc,’ said Dominick. ‘Bad trouble.’
‘That’s very good, I’m glad to hear it,’ said Murdoc.
He felt Dominick’s surprise. He chuckled.
‘I might be able to help you,’ he explained. ‘There is a lot of help from me coming to you. That’s why I’m glad.’
‘You remember all the talk about the fair land?’ Dominick asked.
‘How could I forget?’ said Murdoc. ‘ I meant it. And now I’m in it again myself and it looks better than ever.’
‘I am oppressed by the walls of the towns,’ said Dominick.
‘I knew it would happen,’ said Murdoc. ‘ No true man can carry the things on his back.’
‘But now I must get away,’ said Dominick. ‘ Very fast. They are looking for me.’
‘You can’t come with us,’ said Murdoc. ‘My friend Coote trusts me but not far. His eyes will stretch after me. You would be noticed. Can you get out of town on your own, outside the walls?’
Dominick thought, his head resting on his arm.
‘Yes,’ he said definitely, ‘I can.’
‘Hear that, Morogh Dubh?’ Murdoc asked the big black fellow.
‘I hear,’ said the black man. ‘ It will answer.’
‘Two in one,’ said Murdoc, ‘ and I know this small man. He always does what he sets out to do. There could be none better. Listen, my friend, when you get outside the walls, go to the Wood Quay and ask for a man named Davie O’Fowda.’
‘Yes,’ said Dominick.
‘He will fix you with a boat,’ said Murdoc. ‘After that you are on your own. Take to the lake. About thirty miles northwest, to the very end and tip of it into a great valley among the mountains. You can’t go wrong. All the time you will see the mountains becking their heads at you. All right?’
&nbs
p; Dominick thought.
‘All right,’ he said.
‘See that fellow, Morogh Dubh. He never says yes straight away. He thinks first, and you can be sure it will be done. You could go by sea but that is too dangerous. They have patrol boats, and it’s an unfriendly shore. By land you would have to pass through too many enemies. We had to fight our own way through at times. So take the long lake. It might take you four days, maybe more, depending on the winds. Someone will be waiting in the valley for you. There is a river out of it. Keep going until you can go no longer. Wait there. Go now. We have talked too long. They will have the eye on you. My heart is glad that I will be seeing you soon. We will talk a book full when we meet.’
Then he reached with his hand and pushed at Dominick’s shoulder. Dominick sprawled on the soiled floor.
‘Go to hell you bloody beggar,’ said Murdoc in English, shouting. ‘Go and look for scraps at an English table. Be off with you!’ He aimed a blow at him with his fist. Dominick crawled out of reach and got to his feet.
‘You saffron Irish bastard!’ he said viciously.
Morogh Dubh rose with a roar and made for him. Dominick scurried away like a rat, across the floor and out of the door. The customers in the inn laughed heartily.
‘He’s away then,’ said Morogh, coming back.
Murdoc was laughing. ‘Man, but he is in for a surprise,’ said he. ‘ I’d love to be there to see it. Go and see O’Fowda, Morogh. Tell him about this man. Let him put him away until night. Truly God sent him at the right time, so we will be doing two good turns at once.’
Dominick’s mind was working away at his problems. He had the pattern of freedom there. He hadn’t a lot of time. He could get over the walls by nightfall, but with two children that might be dangerous, and it might also be too late. So he would have to leave boldly and openly by the light of day. There was only one way to do that.
Seek the Fair Land Page 16
