by Aubrey Flegg
She stood watching the men climb through the heather, and the whole mountain seemed to weigh on her shoulders.
* * *
It was afternoon and Katie rested, exhausted, on her bed, looking up at the ceiling. The sun was still high, striking steeply down on to the bedroom floor. It was so quiet she could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen below. They had all, particularly Seamus, worked hard that morning completing the haystack. She had not taken her eyes off him. The stack stood neat and square now in the quarry yard, and only one cock remained. For her part she knew that she could never in her life lift another hay-fork, let alone a wisp of hay. She examined her hands where two blisters rose out of reddened skin. She sniffed her hands; they smelled of paraffin. Dafydd had been poking around in the quarry yard during a break and had somehow got grease all over himself, but a paraffinny rag had taken care of the worst of it.
Nothing stirred so she closed her eyes again.
She must have drifted off for a moment because she was suddenly aware of the sound of voices below. Had there been a knock? Someone was talking – one of the neighbours probably. Her eyelids were beginning to droop when they sprang open again. There was something familiar about that voice. ‘I met him a few days ago down in Nenagh, ‘the voice was saying. ‘He said that there might be the chance of a job up here in the slate quarries.’ In one convulsive movement Katie was out of bed and kneeling at the window. She missed Mother’s reply and now held her breath waiting to hear his voice again.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. So there’s no chance of it opening now?’
‘Not till the war is over, I’m afraid,’ Mother said. ‘People are thinking of other things. You’re not from these parts then?’
‘No, Ma’am, I’m from Galway.’ Katie knew it! It was definitely her soldier. The accent, the voice were right. She remembered now that, as they had driven out of the station yard, Father had said something about handing in his rifle and teaching him to split slates. The voice went on, ‘I was in the army till a few days ago, but my six months are up. I heard there was the chance of a job up here and thought I’d give it a try.’
‘Well, I’m sorry about the job now, I hope you haven’t lost out all round.’
‘Leaving the army you mean? No, Ma’am, I’m glad to be out of it. I didn’t know which side to be on. Friends in both.’
‘Won’t you stay and have a cup of tea? It’s a long way from Nenagh.’ Katie gripped the window ledge. Would he even recognise her if she went down? She heard another window open in the house but didn’t give it a thought.
‘I won’t thanks, Ma’am. I got one last perk out of the army – a lift in a barge to Garrykennedy. There’s a contingent landed there, came by lake as the roads are closed. I have most of my walking in front of me.’
‘Mother of God!’ said Mother. ‘What’s the army wanting around here?’
‘They’re not telling, but there was a load of arms and ammunition taken in Nenagh last week. They’ll be after that, I’d say. I think they have a tip-off.’
‘Oh really?’ said Mother. Katie could sense that she was anxious. ‘So you’ll cross the Shannon at Killaloe, and then go up to Galway through Clare?’
‘If you could just point me the way.’
Katie glanced desperately down at herself. She wasn’t even dressed, and she daren’t move away from the window – she just had to hear.
‘Of course I will,’ said Mother, stepping out into the yard to point. ‘Follow the track below the quarry and up through the gap in the hill; look, you can see it. You’ll find some old standing stones there – we call it the Graves of the Leinstermen. Follow your nose downhill and left into Ballina, then cross the bridge into Killaloe. Come back again when the trouble is over.’
‘I will indeed, Ma’am. Good day.’
Even from above, Katie could recognise him as he crossed the yard. She had to do something! She couldn’t call out, she wasn’t dressed properly, and in a moment he’d be gone from her life for ever. It was then that she saw Dafydd sitting by the shed with his copy-book. He looked up and smiled at the young man as he passed. Katie waved frantically, but Dafydd didn’t notice. He looked down at his book again. She tapped at the window and nearly screamed as he looked everywhere but up at her. Then he did look. She pointed at the receding figure and put a finger to her lips urging him to follow. For an agonising moment Dafydd didn’t seem to want to understand. ‘Go after him,’ she mouthed. ‘Stop him!’ Dafydd dropped his eyes and appeared to lose interest in her. Then, just as she was looking for something to throw at him, he closed his book, slipped it into the front of the cart, and set off after the man.
‘Bless you, Frog … I love you …’ muttered Katie grudgingly as she pulled her dress over her head and frantically buttoned up the front. She tore her fingers through her hair and glanced in the mirror. She looked wild, but what matter! She pulled open the door of her room and there, facing her on the landing, was Seamus. They stood staring at each other. He was in the act of pressing a clip of cartridges into the magazine of a rifle.
CHAPTER 17
Dafydd’s Plan
Katie stood transfixed. Seamus pressed the last round down into the magazine, flicked the empty clip from the breach with his thumb so that it bounced away and lodged against the end of Dafydd’s bed, then he slid the bolt forward and moved the safety-catch to ‘on’ with a snap. Was it for the boy outside? Her soldier? ‘Squeeze the trigger,’ the voice in her dream had said, and Seamus and the boy became connected now in her mind in one violent percussion and one violent death.
‘Stop!’ she whispered. ‘Seamus, please stop,’ but Seamus’s eyes were not focussed on her, it was as if he was staring at some horizon she couldn’t see.
‘You don’t understand,’ he said, ‘it’s got to be done.’
What had to be done?
‘Don’t hurt him, please,’ she whispered.
‘Who?’
‘The boy who was here. You were listening from your window.’
‘He’ll be all right if he goes away. If he doesn’t he’s probably a spy.’
Yes, and Katie knew what they did to spies. ‘What will you do?’
‘I’ve got work to do. It seems the Free State army is on the way.’
‘Will there be fighting?
‘You heard. It could be an opportunity. It depends on what the informer knows.’ Seamus’s voice softened for a moment, ‘I’m glad Father’s out of it.’
‘Isn’t there another way?’ she asked.
‘I’ve got to go.’ The moment of softness had passed; he was looking through her again.
* * *
She saw him go down the stairs, slipping his arm through the sling on his rifle as he went. She waited till she heard his footsteps in the yard and followed him down. Mother was standing at the kitchen table staring at the empty door. Katie wanted to stop and reassure her, but there didn’t seem to be anything reassuring to say. She made a small, helpless gesture with her arms and slipped out too.
She climbed the steep slope out of the farmyard and turned right towards the quarry, and to her surprise Seamus was ahead of her. She’d presumed he’d go left and follow the road up to Uncle Mal’s, the way she had taken Dafydd on that first day. Had he decided to hunt the young soldier after all? To her relief then she saw him climb the fence and head off up the hill. Of course – over the hill – that would be the quickest way to Uncle Mal’s. Dafydd and the boy were standing in the road together, both staring after him. She started to walk towards them. She had day-dreamed about this moment ever since her trip into Nenagh, but now that it was actually happening she wanted to run away.
The boy had taken off his jacket and had slung it over a canvas bag which hung from his shoulder. His shirt had no collar, but it was clean and open at the neck. He looked sunburned and fit. Only his cropped hair showed him for a soldier.
Katie looked down shyly as she approached. She could think of nothing to say. Her mind had gone blank, p
anic was rising in her and, to her dismay, she heard her own voice saying, ‘You looked better in your uniform.’ She glanced up, aghast. It wasn’t even true – why had she said the very opposite to what she meant? But for some reason he looked pleased.
‘I thought you looked like a Maeve,’ he said with satisfaction.
‘Maeve?’
‘You reminded me of Queen Maeve in her chariot when I saw you at Nenagh. Your speech of welcome fits. But perhaps you don’t remember mere stable lads.’
‘Oh but I do, and you were nice to Barney.’
‘Poor Barney, he didn’t like that train. But it’s strange what you say about my uniform because, from what I am seeing now,’ and he looked up to where Seamus was just climbing out of the fields on to the heather, ‘a Free State soldier in or out of uniform might not be too popular around here.’
‘Are you still a Free State soldier?’
‘A spy you mean?’
Katie blushed, annoyed with Seamus for having put the thought into her mind, but the boy smiled. ‘No – I’ve left the army,’ adding, as if that needed some explanation, ‘it may seem silly, but I never thought, when I signed on for six months, that I might actually be expected to kill people.’
‘Yes … I mean no,’ said Katie – it didn’t seem silly at all. She looked up to where Seamus was just climbing out of sight. ‘I don’t think he’s thought about it either. You men are just dreamers.’
‘Is that the Fiery Cross running up the hill?’
‘The Fiery Cross?’
‘Yes, that’s how the Scots raised the clans. A burning cross was carried from clan to clan. It raised more than mere dreams in the past.’
‘I think it is.’
‘You didn’t send him then?’
‘No, he’s burning on his own.’
‘So, what is your command, Maeve? You’re not really a Maeve, are you?’
‘No, I’m Katie – Katie O’Brien. But please, we’ve got to stop them.’
‘Stop them? Or stop him? You’re not being clear, Miss O’Brien. I haven’t got wings, or a gun for that matter. Who do we have to stop?’
‘We’ve got to stop them all, on both sides,’ said Katie, running her hands through her hair, knowing it sounded silly.
‘All I did was to come up looking for a humble job in a slate quarry, and now I’m being asked to stop a war. Perhaps you weren’t listening, Miss O’Brien, but I’m running away from war. I’m not the stuff that warriors are made of. You must learn to recognise a coward when you see one. Cowards don’t stop wars.’
‘Oh but they do – and I bet I know more about so-called cowards than you. Stop playing games – call me Katie – tell me your name, and help me think.’
‘My name is Kieran and I’m an expert in helping Katies to think.’
‘You say the army has a tip-off that the arms taken at Nenagh last week are here.’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Where are they now?’
‘The arms?’
‘No, the soldiers,’ said Katie.
‘They’re making their way up here, I imagine. I saw them start – spreading out and searching barns and out-houses on the way. Anywhere arms might be hidden, looking busy just to satisfy the sergeant, and hoping they won’t find anything. The officer’s all right, but the sergeant’s nasty, really nasty.’
‘But will they look up here?’ she queried.
‘Certainly. The quarries were mentioned – they have information.’
‘Well, they’re too late. The guns were here but they’ve gone.’
Dafydd, silent till now, began to say something, but Katie cut him off. He’d been standing a little to one side, looking dark and morose. He’d never looked morose before, and it made her uneasy.
‘Leave it, Frog,’ she said. ‘Kieran and I have got to get this straight now because things are going to start happening soon.’ Dafydd turned on his heel as if he was about to go off, but she added hastily, ‘Don’t go, Dafydd, please, it’s just I … I must just explain it all to Kieran here.’
Dafydd sat down on the bank, rested his chin on his hands, and glared at the road while Katie told Kieran how the arms had been brought to the farm by Seamus, why Father must never know, and how she had wanted to set the haycocks on fire.
‘I wanted to get rid of them, you see, and destroy them utterly so they couldn’t hurt anybody ever again!’ she declared. But I’m all confused now,’ she explained. ‘The guns have gone and Seamus is spoiling for a fight and I don’t know what to do.’
‘I–’ began Dafydd.
But Katie’s mind had darted off. ‘We could send them on a wild goose chase,’ she interrupted.
‘Explain,’ said Kieran.
‘I could go to your officer and say the guns had been moved to Killaloe, or … or somewhere.’
But Kieran shook his head. ‘They’d suspect a trick. They’d never trust anyone from here.’
‘But they’d believe you!’ she said with sudden inspiration.
‘Thank you! And who’d be shot when they found out, you heartless girl? And if they don’t get the guns who will? Your brave Seamus? Is that the idea?’
‘Oh dear, it’s impossible, isn’t it?’
‘May I –’ snapped Dafydd.
They both jumped.
‘I think your brother wants to say something,’ said Kieran unnecessarily.
Dafydd took a deep breath. ‘Thank you,’ he said, clambering to his feet, a formidable shamble of arms and legs, as he turned to Kieran. ‘Brother, my foot! Dafydd Parry, from Wales, and nobody’s humble servant. If you and that gabbling girl are capable of listening to sense and reason I will tell you where the guns are.’
They both stared at him open-mouthed.
‘Where?’ they asked in unison.
‘Why didn’t you say?’ added Katie unwisely.
Dafydd swung on her. ‘Because no – one – would – listen to me!’ he said between clenched teeth. ‘Come on, come with me.’ Without waiting for an answer he set off at a run in the direction of the quarry.
* * *
‘Don’t touch that cable, it’s got grease on it,’ warned Dafydd as they hovered cautiously at the quarry’s edge among the wisps of hay remaining from the haycocks, peering down into the dark chasm below.
‘So, that’s where you got all that grease from last night,’ said Katie, scanning the quarry floor. ‘Well, where are they? I can’t see anything, can you, Kieran?’
‘Just a hole,’ he said, shading his eyes.
‘But they are there,’ said Dafydd.
‘They can’t be, Dafydd. There’s only one way of getting into the quarry and Father’s walled it up. Come on, Kieran, I’ll show you.’ She ran at a safe distance from the quarry edge, past the new hay-stack and the old sheds, to where the quarry yard was cut off by a vertical gorge which ran from the quarry out to the hillside below. ‘There, that’s the cut, there’s a path and a stream down there.’
Kieran leaned forward. ‘It’s a horrible place, all right,’ he said, ‘but why couldn’t they bring the arms through there?’
‘I said, because Father has walled it up.’
‘But walls can be taken down and rebuilt.’
‘Yes, but not this one. Father has painted ‘Danger – Keep Out,’ all over it. You’d never rebuild it without it showing.’
‘And it hasn’t been disturbed?’
‘No, that’s why Dafydd’s story doesn’t make sense …’ Katie looked at Dafydd. ‘Why are you grinning?’ she asked.
‘The cut may be the only way in, but it’s not the only way down,’ said Dafydd.
‘Go on,’ said Kieran.
‘Some of the older quarries in Wales still use cables, like this one here – lots of them spanning the quarry. You have a special double pulley: one wheel runs on the cable, the other wheel takes a rope or cable which goes right down to the quarry floor. The men load the slate into a bucket so it can be hauled up and then pulled into the quarry yard h
ere.’
‘So it would be quite easy, if you had a pulley and plenty of rope, to reverse the process and lower ammunition boxes or guns down on to the quarry floor?’ said Kieran. ‘What then?’
Katie’s mind, which had become tangled with the talk of pulleys, now jumped ahead, ‘Oh Frog, clever Frog! The cave.’ She grabbed Kieran by the arm and pointed. ‘Look, down there is a place where a hole has been walled up. That’s an old mine in there, it’s like a cave.’ She hesitated. ‘But how will we know? I’m not swinging down there in any bucket.’
‘I doubt if they’ll have taken the rope with them – and there’s the pulley as well, that would give a clue,’ said Kieran. ‘Anyway, they’ll want the stuff out again, won’t they? What’s in those sheds?’
They searched urgently among the dust and the debris left by the old slate workers, stepping over the sprouting remains of seed potatoes which had been stored there last year. As a last resort Kieran pulled some boards forward, and there was the rope, bright and new, still smelling of fresh hemp. The pulley, just as Dafydd had described it, was old but well greased. Katie fingered the rope.
‘I still wouldn’t like to be lowered down on that,’ she said. ‘The men must have climbed in some other way, and that has to be down by the cut. ‘If they can, we can. How much time do we have before the army gets here, Kieran?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t think why they’re not here now!’
‘Come on.’ Katie led the race out of the quarry, circling the skirt of waste slate below to where she had seen Trench Coat’s dog the day before. There was the end of the cut and the wall which Father had built still blocking it. His scrawled warning was clear and undisturbed.
Dafydd scanned the rock beside the wall. ‘Look,’ he said in triumph. ‘Nail marks, like you see where they’ve been climbing in Wales. Men have climbed the rock here.’ With the agility of a spider he scaled the rock. ‘Put your feet where the scratches are,’ he instructed as Katie climbed.
