by K. T. Tomb
There were trees all around, but once she reached the top of the hill she had a clear view of Enniscorthy. When she turned around, she could see the Wexford countryside stretching out for miles. And suddenly an overwhelming desire to fly came over her.
A strange sensation came over her then and she closed her eyes.
The falcon soared down toward the trees and banked just before the branches of the pines hit its wings. It rose high after that. There was a joy in being high above the land, looking down and seeing all about. It hovered for a moment, then began its long swooping circle back down to the tree. It would dive if it saw something worth grabbing, but it was content to hang in the air, observing and watching everything.
Then suddenly it was no longer in the air. It was sitting on a branch, looking down. It yawned and watched the boar and other animals. It scratched at its itchy nose with a paw and then lay down on the branch. It licked the paw and ran the wet fur over its head. It felt the sunshine and knew the whole rest of the day would be like this. A day lounging in the afternoon sunshine. A day without hunger and without worries.
Cash ran back down the moment the strange sensation stopped. She had an idea something important had just happened, but why that was; she had no way of telling.
She went back to the hotel and took a long bath before asking Taidgh where she could find something to eat. Taidgh recommended a restaurant to her, but before she could walk out, he stopped her. “Or you could join my wife and me for tea?”
“Join you and your wife?'
Taidgh nodded. “My wife's a pretty decent cook. But being from the Shetlands, she's an even better storyteller.”
Cash smiled. “I would like that.”
“Great,” said Taidgh. “We usually eat at six.”
Cash took a bath and then headed down to the restaurant. She went through the kitchen and found herself walking through the door that led to the living quarter of Taidgh and his wife. She almost tripped over a plastic car.
“Heya,” she called, announcing herself before entering the large kitchen. A ginger woman was at the stove, stirring a pot. She turned and smiled, then extended her hand as she came up to Cash.
“You must be Cash. I'm Inga,” she said heartily. “Come and take a seat, will you?”
She spoke with a heavy Scots accent, though her voice and her way of speaking was softer and more pleasant than anything Cash was used to hearing in that dialect.
“Don't mind the mess. Had Taidgh's wee cousin staying here this afternoon.”
“I see. I was already wondering.” Cash sat down and looked around the homely kitchen. “You're from the Shetlands, I heard?”
“Aye, from Haroldswick, on Unst.”
“So, how did you end up with a man from Wexford?”
Inga smiled and then continued to stir the pot. “Sorry, it will burn if I don't keep it moving. We met in Perth. We were both traveling there. And then later we decided to meet up. A year later we married. Bought this place two years back, after spending some more time traveling. Europe, this time.”
Her short story made Cash smile, and she wanted to say something, but Taidgh came in before she could say something and went straight to the stove. He hugged his wife from behind, kissed her neck and then grabbed a spoon, reaching for the pot. He got a sharp slap on his fingers for it. “You wait five minutes, until it's bloody done.”
Taidgh grinned and kissed Inga again, then sat down at the table with Cash.
It was five minutes to the second the stew was done. Inga had also produced a fresh soda bread, and they ate in silence until they were full. Taidgh scooped out another helping and ate on, while Cash and Inga began talking. They spoke about many things, but the obvious subject to fall into was Cash's baby. Normally Cash didn’t like talking too much about pregnancy stuff, but she actually enjoyed talking to Inga about it.
When Taidgh was done, he sat back and sighed. “You know, I did tell Cash you were quite the storyteller.”
“You did, did you?” Inga looked a bit grumpy. It seemed she didn’t like being interrupted.
“I did. And I only bring it up, because you can take hours.”
Inga grinned and leaned back. She looked at Cash, looked her up and down and decided on what she would tell.
“Seeing as you're with child, and in need of women, I will tell you a story of the goddess of women of my ancestors.”
And in a low, dreamy voice, she began to sing a song.
Chapter Six
Freya fled from Asgard's halls, flew to Vanaheim's land
Snares and traps by Loki set, slandering her name
Sighing she quit Sesrumnir, seeing naught but distress
For Vanaheim she fled, Frey's mother for to seek
Njord's former flame she found, friend and mother to herself
Hymir's draught to drink, brewed that day before she came
A soft place as a seat and, smouldering warmth of the hearth
A cloth to dry her cold knees, her calm mother gave her
Her heart for to heal, Hörn poured out her soul
The young woman youthful, yearned for her home
Hunting grounds of home, the home of the Vanir
Elf home and Elf house, she hoped of returning
Her demand her mother denied, demanding her return
To the ancient halls of Asgard, Aesir she was now
The war neither lost nor won, willing they agreed
And Frey, Freya and their Father, found themselves
But Loki soured all with lies, lamented the Golden
With tales of terrible lust, lasciviousness unseemly
Of deeds done with dwarves, despairing to the Gods
Who knew not how or why, the woman was so wild
Nor did Freya know, now or ever knew her soul
Whether it were tame or wild, Wife knew how to find
The true name of her nature, need for medicine
To seek her own soul, her spirit to find
The Falcon Cloak she found, feathers of white
Hung from the High One's Gallows, hers to find
And hers to keep to herself, the horse of Elves
And Freya herself found, flying on magic wings
Whereever she wished, through worlds all nine
Never through the known, needled world of men
Or Fields of Gods or Foes, free from flesh she soared
Of bonds and boundaries freed, Birka stood her course
'Till she eventually turned back, to her trembling body
Dropping her feathered dreams, down from the heavens
Donning her cloak of down, the dame learned at will
From the Vanir's fields she went, flying to the walled land
She shared then her secret, with the shaman of the Gods
Who kept her confidence, yet couldn’t keep the secret
No secret should one know, not if others should not
And Loki changed to learn, the lesson of the Falcon Guise
So it happened that Hörn, happened upon her Guise
Of flying Falcon feathers, found in the world beside
And Terrible One could travel, with time stood still
He learned from the life goddess, who learned from life itself.
Cash sighed when the song was done. Inga took a deep breath and then sat back. Cash had had to struggle to penetrate the words spoken through the Scots dialect, but she had understood every one. She reckoned Inga had actually translated the words from Scots to English, but could never get around speaking with that heavy accent of hers when she sang a story. It was just the way she had been taught. It would be much the same as trying to teach Cash not to speak with an impenetrable Australian accent when she was excited. She could tone it down a lot when needed, even make the Aussie disappear altogether when the company required it. But with a drink, or if she were emotional about something, she would not be able to hold it back.
But it was the song itself that struck a chord. For some reason
she could remember all the words afterward, and she felt oddly connected to the story, even if she didn’t fully understand what it was about.
She asked Inga about it, but Inga refused to explain. She said the story was self-evident, but it was old poetry, based on the style of the skalds who had come from Norway. The only thing she would say about it was that their poetry was a complicated, layered style, much like the poetry of the Irish, Scottish, Welsh and Cornish bards. She said that if Cash was meant to figure out the full extent of the poem, she would figure it out.
They spent another two hours talking about Cash's quest to find her family history and about her family’s future. After a cup of cocoa, Cash thanked Taidgh and Inga for the evening and went up to her room.
She dressed in her night clothes and sat on the bed as she rubbed some lotion into her skin, particularly her belly. She was not vain, but she did want to keep her skin hydrated in the hopes of stopping permanent striations there. It was one act of vanity she couldn’t stop herself on. Somehow it was important to her.
After that, Cash lay back on her bed, pulling the sheets over her body. She checked the messages on her phone and found only an angry voice mail from Tim saying he would be going back to Newport in the morning. There was no point wasting his time in Barry if she were not there. But Cash shrugged it off, laying her phone down on the night stand and closing her eyes. Her head swam the moment she did and she heard the words of the song again. She lay her hands on her belly and just then, the baby kicked. He was obviously giving her a sign, she reckoned.
The cat sat down on a branch and found itself licking its paws and cleaning its face. It jumped down to a lower branch and then another. It hopped down onto the ground and began running. It ran and ran and kept running. The trees swept past and the world was a blur.
But it still felt the leaves under its paws and the wind through its fur. The wind rushed in its ears and it felt a rush.
The rushing continued and the cat ran on. Eventually, it reached a cave. It stopped. The cave gave it a forbidding feeling. But it continued on. It slowly went to the entrance and there it halted again. There was a noise in the cave that made it feel afraid. The cat hesitated. Its neck hairs stood on end and it hissed.
In the morning Cash went down to the 1798 Visitors Center in the old monastery close to the banks of river Slaney. She didn’t know whether she would be able to find the information she wanted there, but she reckoned it would be a good place to start.
When she asked at the reception desk, the woman smiled and told her to hang on a tick. She grabbed the phone and called someone. She spoke Irish, which surprised Cash, as this was a long way from any Gaeltacht she knew about.
“Professor Harvey is coming down in a moment. He'll be able to tell you a lot more about the people involved in the battle.” She looked at Cash for a moment, her eyes settling on her belly. “You can take a seat over there, if you want. He might be a while, he's not the fastest anymore.”
Cash muttered a word of thanks, but remained on her feet by the desk.
It did take a long time for Professor Harvey to come down. He was an old man, who relied on a cane to walk. When he finally reached the desk, he offered Cash his hand.
“Professor Beauchamp Harvey,” he announced, introducing himself, “I hear you're looking for information on the Battle of Vinegar Hill?”
Cash nodded as she shook his hand. “Cash Cassidy,” she introduced herself in turn, “and yes. I'm looking for information on one man specifically.”
“Cash Cassidy, eh?” There was a twinkle in the old man's eye. “Very pleased to meet you. I really enjoyed your book about the Owain Glyndwr rebellion. Got your book about the Eureka rebellion for my birthday last week.”
It made Cash smile brightly. “Pleased to meet a fan.”
“Oh, yes,” the little old man exclaimed, waving his hands. “I love the accuracy in your work. It might be fictional, but you do seem to research every detail of the story and make sure it is accurate.”
“I aim to please.” Cash laughed. “Actually I just began to write these things because I was interested in that history. And now I'm here looking for the history of my own ancestors.”
“You are?” Professor Harvey blinked. “Is that what you want to ask about?”
“Yeah, actually it is.”
Professor Harvey waved his hand toward the stairs. “Let's talk about it in my office. I have a pot of tea on the stove.”
“Stove?” Cash asked.
Professor Harvey nodded. “Aye, need to have some way to keep warm in this damned cold building.”
“It's not that cold, you know.”
Professor Harvey grinned. “It is when you're my age.”
He began walking back to the stairs and Cash walked after him. When she saw him struggle to get up the first step, she stepped forward to offer her arm. Professor Harvey waved her away.
“For weeks, people have been offering me help where I don't need it,” Cash said softly. “I'm glad I can finally help someone who does need it. Even if he doesn't need it all the time.”
Professor Harvey grumbled and let her help him up the stairs.
His office was on the top floor. He had a wood burning stove in the old cell, the flue going up through the ceiling. “It runs through the old system. Most of the old heating was removed when this place was converted, but I'm glad they didn’t take this out.”
“Did the monks install this? I thought they would not have, preferring to be cold and suffer for God.”
Professor Harvey laughed. “I'm sure they were supposed to, but monks never really did what they were supposed to, did they?”
Cash smiled. There had been heaps of scandal in Ireland about what monks and nuns had gotten up to. Them having heating in a cold building, while they might not have been supposed to didn’t rank very highly amongst all their transgressions.
Professor Harvey grabbed his own mug and pulled another from the cupboard. He looked at it, scrutinizing and then gave it a wipe with his sleeve before deciding it was clean enough for his guest. He went to the stove and grabbed the tea pot. He poured both mugs full and placed them on the desk before walking around to his side and sitting down in his comfortable swivel chair.
“So what is it I can help you with?”
Cash pulled her tablet out of her bag and pulled up her research. “I think my ancestor Pat Cassidy might have been at the Battle of Vinegar Hill. He was at Vinegar Hill in New South Wales and he was on the Anne.” She showed him the documents.
“And it makes you think he fought here in Wexford? Cassidy is not really a Wexford name. It'd be uncommon nowadays, but at that time it would have been very strange.”
Cash pulled the tablet back toward her and swiped through the files to the diary entry her uncle had sent her. Harvey read through it and mumbled something under his breath. “You're thinking he was a physician?”
Cash nodded. “Seems there's a family history as physicians, so it would not surprise me. He certainly seems to be.”
Harvey nodded. “Still wouldn't explain why he ended up here though.”
“I think he came with one of the Maguires.”
Professor Harvey blinked at that. “Maguire, you said?'
“Yes?” Cash noticed the change in his demeanor. She knew he knew something. “Does that ring a bell?”
Professor Harvey looked around and turned in his chair. He reached for a file on the far corner of the desk, supporting himself with his other hand placed firmly on the edge. “Funny you should ask about that.” He opened the file and laid the summary of his research before Cash.
“One of the names mentioned as one of the leaders of the United Irishmen in this battle is that of John Maguire. It always puzzled me. I would have expected to see that name in Ulster, but not here. And it only comes up at this battle, not in any of the other battles. It suggests he came to Wexford between the Battle of New Ross and the Battle of Vinegar Hill. So he got to Enniscorthy between the 5
th of June and the 21st of June 1798.”
“And what did you find about him?”
“He was the eldest son of the Maguire, but didn’t succeed to the leadership of the clan. Clans used tanaist law for succession. The most capable closest to the last leader is put forward and the free men of the clan elect their chief. I think they reckoned the political situation was not served by their chief being a known United Irishman.”
“Makes sense,” Cash agreed. Then she frowned. “The British never came after him?”
Professor Harvey shrugged. “Either they didn't know, or he made a deal with them.”
“Or they got so caught up in massacring the people of this county they forgot to go after him?” Cash suggested.
Professor Harvey chuckled. “Or that.” He nodded to the file. “Everything I have on John Maguire and his involvement with the United Irishmen. There is only one mention of your man though. Pádraig Óg Ó Caiside, which means he's the son of Pádraig Ó Caiside. He seems to be Maguire's friend. After the battle, he disappears completely and it seems John Maguire is then accompanied by a woman named Niamh Ní Caiside. I didn’t check, but she might be Pádraig's sister, or even his wife.”
Cash just nodded.
“But I think this has to be your man. Can't think of any other Cassidy who could be on the Anne and at this battle.”
“Nor me,” Cash muttered, looking through the file. “Can I copy this?”
Professor Harvey nodded. “There's a copy machine down by the reception desk. But you'll excuse me for not accompanying you down?”
Cash smiled. “Of course. But I'll make the copy on my way down. Can I leave the file at the reception?”
“Of course.” Professor Harvey got to his feet. “Well, my dear, I think your quest for your ancestor has to lead you away from Wexford and up to Fermanagh.”
Cash got up too. She offered her hand to the professor. “I sort of hope it will end there too.”
Harvey pursed his lips and thought for a moment. “If he's the one you're looking for, it probably will be. If you're looking further, you might have to look further than Fermanagh or even Ulster.”
