The Sword of the Banshee

by Amanda Hughes

  Suddenly there was a crack. O’Neil looked surprised then staggered and fell back against Colm. There was blood streaming from his temple.

  As if out of nowhere, British soldiers charged up on horseback surrounding the assembly. The rally dissolved into mayhem. People screamed in terror, pushing and shoving. Colm and the other leaders jumped from the cart into the crowd. Everyone tried to run, but there was nowhere to go. Donkey carts were blocking the streets and British soldiers on horseback encircled the assembly. They pushed their horses inward, trampling pedestrians, and began to shoot into the crowd. In return the insurgents shot back or used clubs and flails, smashing the legs of the soldiers or bashing the heads of the horses. Villagers scrambled over the donkey carts trying to get away, and mothers dropped to the ground covering their children with their bodies.

  Instinctively, India dropped when she heard shots. Several people kicked her as they stampeded past, crushing her hands and kicking her head. She crawled along the ground on her hands and knees stopping several times to roll into a ball, covering her head to protect herself from the stampeding horses. She saw a donkey cart and crawled under it, catching her breath. Bruised and shaken, she rolled to the other side and pulled herself to her feet out on the road. Before she could take a step, she was knocked to the ground by a man fleeing a soldier on horseback. She rolled back under the cart once more to avoid being trampled.

  The next time India stood up, she burst into a full run. Dashing past warehouses and cottages, she ran through town. Suddenly a man jumped out of a doorway and grabbed her. “Lady Fitzpatrick!”

  She recognized the pock-marked young man. She had seen him earlier in town. He was disguised as a sailor. “You’re one of Colm’s men,” she gasped, her heart in her throat.

  “Aye! We must hurry,” he said taking her arm.

  “I have a horse up the road,” she cried as they began to run.

  They raced up the dark country road toward her horse. She tried to keep up with him, but his long strides were too much. Several times she stumbled. At last India recognized the bend in the road where her horse was tethered. “Here,” she cried yanking his arm. They slid down the ravine and followed the stream.

  Suddenly, India stopped running. The young man stumbled into her.

  “Hush,” she said. India straightened up erect and silent, trying to listen over the hammering of her heart.

  “What is it?”

  “Someone is coming up the road,” she said. India started running back to the road.

  “No! Lady Fitzpatrick!”

  She scrambled up the ravine, pulling her cap off and shaking her hair free. She dashed to the middle of the road just as a soldier rode around the bend. The man reined in his horse in so abruptly that the animal reared up, spattering India with mud.

  “God damn it! You stupid cunt!” the soldier roared.

  India reached into her belt and pulled out her pistol.

  “What the hell--” he exclaimed.

  With deliberate calm, India rested the pistol on her forearm and pulled the trigger, putting a bullet into the soldier's forehead. His horse reared again, and he toppled backwards onto the ground.

  India took the reins and called to her young compatriot. He stumbled out of the woods, stunned by her action.

  “Here,” India said, holding out the reins. “Ride back to the manor. Do not wait for me.”

  He stared at her.

  “Get a hold of yourself man,” she barked, tossing him the reins. “Now ride!”

  Chapter 7

  If Colm knew about India’s involvement in the Watermore attack, he did not acknowledge it. There was no time for personal matters; the rebellion was in complete chaos. They fled to Donegal, the home of clan leader Cian O’Donnell, and camped in the Blue Stack Mountains. The privacy of a wild and remote mountain terrain was what they needed to recover. They had suffered many losses. Twelve of Colm’s elite were killed along with Taggert O’Neil and Roibeard McGuire the two clan leaders recently out of exile. Here in the hills of Ulster, the insurgents could organize, restructure and resume the rebellion.

  For the first time in many years, Colm Fitzpatrick slept under the stars with his repparees. They camped near a mountain spring on a hillside. It was a wild wood filled with bracken and yellow primroses.

  India loved the surroundings. She would walk everyday barefoot along the spring’s mossy banks watching the water tumble down to the lake below. With fresh air filling her lungs, her heart quickened as she gazed across the green and gray peaks. She relished the freedom life in the open brought to her. Her husband could not shut her away here like a caged bird in a fortified manor house now. Here she was a part of the world.

  Her whole life had changed. She would wake with the birds each morning and help prepare meals, take afternoon walks then sit at the campfire at night and listen. She knew women were not welcome in the conversation, so she would sit in the shadows and critique what she heard about partisan activities and strike plans.

  The women were courteous to India but insular. It was of no consequence to her, she preferred her privacy. She would visit with them at meal times when she prepared and tested Colm’s food for poisons, but the rest of the day she held herself apart. She felt more at home in the male world of maneuvers and battle, not child care and housekeeping

  Night after night she sat in the flickering firelight, listening to the men discussing strategy. Since Colm’s top men had been killed at Watermore, Cian O’Donnell recruited his most respected clan members to attend the talks. They brought fresh ideas to the table and were eager to play a part in the rebellion. India found their ideas creative and filled with potential, but Colm did not like them. Originally, he had been eager to include the Ulster clansmen in the fight for freedom, but now he had changed his mind. He seemed jealous and did not want their input, resenting their involvement.

  One summer afternoon after washing her hair in the spring near the camp, India encountered Cian O’Donnell. He was returning from a short hunt carrying several red grouse.

  He smiled sheepishly and held them up. “Well, it’s not a stag, but it will add to supper.”

  India noticed the ruddy glow to his skin and his healthy smile.

  She nodded her head. “They are fine indeed.”

  “The sun is settin’. Are you headin’ back?” he asked.

  “I am,” she said, picking up her comb and towel.

  He fell in step beside her on the path back to camp. Even though his brown hair was tousled and his face had a day’s stubble, he smelled fresh as if he had just bathed in a spring.

  “I noticed ya sittin’ in the shadows by the fire every night,” he said. “Are ya not bored by all our talk of war?”

  “On the contrary, when we quarter in the estates, I spend much of my time in the library reading books on the subject.”

  He looked surprised. “Ya do?” he exclaimed. Then he asked teasingly, “Well then Lady Fitzpatrick, what do you think of our plans?”

  His sarcasm was lost on India; she was so excited to talk about strategy. “Well I certainly agree with your cousin. The raid in Banrally is premature.”

  O’Donnell stopped and looked at her. “Oh it is? Is it?”

  India nodded, a lock of blonde hair falling into her eyes. She pushed it back and continued walking, telling him why it was imprudent to conduct a raid in Banrally and telling him what she suggested instead.

  When she finished, Cian stopped walking and looked at her. He believed her ideas were sound, quite possibly outstanding. If this Lady Fitzpatrick had been a man, he would have been intimidated. “I’ll be damned,” he said studying her eyes for a moment. He did not know what to make of this grave beauty telling him how to manage a rebellion.

  They stepped into the clearing just as Colm was dismounting, coming home from a day recruiting in a neighboring glen. He was weary, hungry, and not happy seeing his wife step out of the woods with Cian O’Donnell. Even though the man was married, Colm did
not trust him.

  “You have a most unusual wife, Lord Fitzpatrick,” O’Donnell called to him.

  Colm gave the reins to a boy and said to Cian coolly, “She has been my rock all these years.”

  Linking arms with India, he patted her hand and said, “You run along now.”

  India took the birds from Cian and joined the other women to prepare supper. She smiled as she walked away. It had been invigorating talking to the clan leader. He didn’t patronize or dismiss her observations. The man actually seemed impressed with her suggestions. She felt encouraged; perhaps some of her views had merit.

  * * *

  Colm’s intimate demands of India had been few lately, but that night, he took her to his bed. He did not like the way O’Donnell looked at her across the campfire, and he wanted to remind India to whom she belonged. It was imperative that he distance himself from the world of the O’Donnell clan as quickly as possible. He announced the next morning that when the reconnaissance was complete, they would move their headquarters to an estate in County Louth.

  Colm did not discuss this with India. She wished he would inform her of his plans before he announced them to the general encampment. Once again, he reminded her of her inferior status in the community. She heard about it from the other women as they were collecting water for breakfast.

  “Why does he want to leave?” they asked India.

  “I am sure I don’t know,” India murmured, stepping away from them as quickly as possible. She was tired of explaining that her husband told her nothing. She walked to their tent and set his bowl of oatmeal down, looking back at the women. They dropped their eyes guiltily as if they had been caught discussing her. India frowned. She had forgotten bread and returned to the breakfast fires. Luckily the women were taking their leave and asked nothing more.

  India walked back to their tent, tearing off a piece of bread savagely and chewing. She was upset about leaving the mountain camp. She loved living outdoors and hated the thought of returning to the loneliness of life at a manor. She took a spoonful of Colm’s oatmeal to test it and sat down on a log, looking around the campsite. The energy and excitement of the encampment thrilled her. Out here, plans were being made and horses and supplies were coming and going. Life was in motion. She loved taking in the delicate fragrance of wildflowers in the sunshine and the husky aroma of bonfires at sunset. At night, she fell asleep to the murmur of voices or the melancholy strains of someone playing the fiddle.

  India sighed. It appeared Colm was going to miss breakfast again. She pitched the rest of his oatmeal in the woods. She looked around the glade for the last time. Shaking off her disappointment, she ducked into the tent to start packing. It was going to be a long day.

  * * *

  India dragged herself through the morning feeling light-headed and nauseated. Initially, she thought it was merely her monthly complaint, but then her stomach cramps grew more severe. She ate little dinner and did not attend the campfire that night, staying on her bedroll with her knees drawn up. The next morning, India could not rise, and when one of the wives came to check on her, they found her in a swoon, vomit caked in her hair.

  Colm had been gone all night and when he returned, he became frantic then suspicious. He believed that India had been poisoned. He guessed it had been intended for him and that India had ingested it when she tested his food earlier that day.

  After the excruciating pain subsided, India grew as pale as death; her lips white as she lay unconscious. The wives of the O’Donnell clan tended to her diligently, keeping her clean and comfortable nursing her around the clock while Colm made frantic preparations to depart.

  “Their solicitous ministrations are merely a ploy to deceive me,” Colm roared at Aengus Kildare, his new head of intelligence, an oily insincere dandy.

  “I agree, Lord Fitzpatrick,” the young man said. “This clan has a reputation for ambition and treachery.”

  He stole a look at Colm to see if this was the correct response.

  “Yes,” Colm said, nodding. “I should never have included them in the rebellion. They lust for my command, especially that Cian O’Donnell.”

  “I agree, milord.”

  After that, all communication shut down between Fitzpatrick and the O’Donnells. The strides made in forging a united front in Ulster were lost. Colm did not care. He could not leave fast enough. He had the rest of Ireland behind him, and he believed that he did not need this clan's support.

  Ignoring the risks involved in moving his wife, he loaded the delirious India onto a pony cart and left for County Louth. He gladly left the pushy O’Donnell clan behind.

  India drifted in and out of consciousness on the open cart. Sometimes she was lucid enough to see white clouds and tree branches overhead, then she would fall back into delirium and wild dreams. After several days, she began to notice the stars at night and watch the birds during the day. The cool night air filling her lungs and the warm afternoon sun baking her skin gave her strength and nourishment. By the end of the journey, she was sitting up for short periods of time drinking broth. Headaches continued to plague her, and she had grown alarmingly thin, but by the time they reached County Louth, she was able to say a few words and smile at Colm once more.

  By autumn, she was fully recovered. She would sit in the garden at the manor in Louth with a blanket on her lap and read. Mrs. Daley, the housekeeper, would turn the fountain on so India could listen to the water splashing out of the cherub’s urn all day. India knew she was recovering when she grew restless, and so she began taking her walks again. Even though she could put the ordeal behind her, the thought of testing Colm’s food again terrified her.

  After Watermore, Colm had fewer public meetings. It was no longer necessary to rally the people of Ireland. They were poised and ready for action. India had gathered enough money now for the cause, and Colm decided to do more than just raids, it was now time for formal battle.

  India’s knowledge of the rebellion had diminished during the time that she was sick. One evening after supper, she followed Colm to the bed chamber. He was getting ready to go out, and he stood in front of the mirror adjusting his lace jabot. She picked up his topcoat and handed it to him. “You have chosen your finest coat. Where are you going tonight?”

  “I have been invited to the home of Ryan Oliver.”

  “I know of him,” she said, frowning. “Why would you be invited to the home of a prominent Protestant landlord?”

  “I know it seems unusual my dear, they are indeed Protestants, but Oliver and his family are not members of the Anglican Church. As I have told you, we Catholics are not the only ones the British have abused for not being Anglicans.” He reached for a crystal atomizer and sprayed sandalwood cologne all over his neck and shoulders. “This family has suffered greatly at the hands of Great Britain. Most notably, Oliver’s military ambitions have been squelched because of his religious affiliations. Tonight we will discuss several new military possibilities for him with us.”

  He swung around on his high heels, took her hands and said in his velvety voice, “But enough, I shall not bore you with the details.” He kissed her on the forehead and said, “I am sure it is far too confusing for you. Good night darling.”

  India watched him climb into a carriage from the bedroom window. This Oliver must be successful at making money, thought India. After all, Colm went to his house in a coach.

  India read for a while then decided to retire. She undressed down to her shift then braided her long smooth hair. Slipping under the azure covers of the big four poster bed, she sighed and stretched. She loved listening to the rain splashing on the windows when she was in bed safe and warm. Colm would be gone until late, having the bed to herself felt luxurious. When he was there, he held her tightly all night as if he was afraid she would leave, and it was suffocating.

  She stared dreamily at her faded everyday gown draped over the chair. Sometimes she missed dressing her hair and wearing lace and ribbons. She wondered what Cian
O’Donnell would say if he saw her in all her finery. Even though Colm hated him, she liked the way his eyes had followed her around the bonfires. India wondered if that was why Colm detested him so adamantly.

  Drifting off to sleep, she thought of her parents and her days in the verdant Ballydunne Valley. Then her mind moved to Ryan Oliver, his fine home and his hopes that Colm would give him a new military career.

  Suddenly, her eyes flew open. Oliver was not interested in a military career with the rebellion. He wanted to serve the King of England, and the best way to do that was to assassinate Colm Fitzpatrick!

  Throwing off the covers she ran to the window. Pulling up the sash, she leaned out in the rain and called, “Guard!”

  A bald man of middle years ran around the side of the house, holding his musket.

  “Mr. Hogan,” she ordered. “You must go to the Oliver estate and warn Lord Fitzpatrick immediately. Warn him he is walking into a trap. I will take full responsibility. Go now and I will be riding behind you!”

  India ran to the chair pulling on her gown and shoes. Throwing the oak wardrobe open, she rummaged in the back pulling out her pistol and shoved it in her belt. She flew down the stairs and out to the stables mounting the fastest horse at the manor. She rode astride even though she was in a gown, her blond hair flying out behind her. She kicked the mare, urging her to go faster and faster. She had no time to not worry if her steed would slip in the mud and rain.

  They were racing down the main road toward the Oliver estate when the mare started so abruptly she almost threw India. It was Hogan who surprised her. He was riding on his mount and leading a horse with a man slumped forward in the saddle. It was Colm.

  “Lady Fitzpatrick! I was too late!” he cried.

  India jumped down and ran to Colm. Her heart was pounding as she ran her hands frantically over his face and head, looking for injuries.