by Aubrey Flegg
‘You can’t go down like that in your shift, you’re stark naked!’
‘I’m not naked,’ she protested, but her struggle was a mere token as Kathleen began to brush the night tangles out of her hair.
After her first rush of greeting the boys was over, and she had watched as they brushed down and stabled their ponies, word came that James was to attend on his father at once. He went off with a long face, expecting the full force of Father’s wrath for having joined the raid without permission.
‘We’ll be in the falconry,’ the others called, as they took themselves off to Fion’s private place in the loft. Sinéad watched Fion greet his falcon, whispering to her in a sort of mouth-music all his own, and she noticed how, as he moved about, he kept touching things as if to reassure himself that they were there and that he was back. He climbed ahead of her into the loft and held the ladder as she climbed. As she emerged he touched her lightly on the cheek.
‘Just checking,’ he grinned. ‘You see, when I rode out of here with Uncle Hugh and Con that day I really thought I would never, ever come back.’
‘Tell me, Fion, what happened between you and James?’
Fion thought for a moment before saying, ‘Let’s wait till James comes back,’ and so they sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the village about them. Several times he seemed about to speak, but stopped. Eventually, looking at the floor, he said, ‘I hear you had a spot of bother … with a suitor?’
‘Have, not had. He’s not gone away!’ She began with the ‘beastly bonham’ joke, but that didn’t work; this wasn’t a joking matter. So in the end she just told him the story, not forgetting James’s public stand that she should be allowed to choose for herself whom she married. ‘It isn’t any good, though. It looks as though my accepting him may be the only way to save our castle and our land.’ She didn’t want to cry in front of Fion, but it was he who brushed the first tear from her cheek. It was almost a relief when there were sounds below, and they heard James’s voice talking to the falcons. Then they remembered he didn’t know about Fion’s hide-away up here.
‘We’re up here, James,’ she called. ‘Try the ladder in the corner.’
‘How was it?’ they asked in unison, as his head poked up through the trap door, and he looked around in surprise. Fion patted the bench beside him.
‘So this is where you used to hide from me,’ said James, punching amiably at Fion to make him move over. Sinéad watched them. This is like old times. She crossed her fingers.
James took a deep breath. ‘Well, I got it hot and strong for going off on my own, and there were awkward questions about how I found out about the raid.’ Sinéad winced, but he laughed. ‘I told Father I got the information from the merchant, the one who brought me your note, so you can breathe again. That note you wrote me was great – told me everything I needed to know. I think Father’s glad, really, that I showed some initiative. He’s looking to thank you, Fion, and Uncle Hugh, of course.’
‘When do we drive the cattle out?’ Fion asked.
‘Father wants to hold on to them for a bit. Chichester’s allowing Bonmann to recruit a force of his own to watch this side of the county, and Father’s damned if he’ll hand over our cattle just to feed Bonmann’s private army.’
‘If we want fair play from them, you know, we should pay our dues,’ commented James.
No change in James’s politics then, thought Sinéad, and steered the conversation away. ‘So, the bonham is still around!’ she said as casually as she could. ‘What does he want an army for?’
‘Father says he’s just an adventurer like Sir Walter Raleigh, grabbing land for himself in the king’s name. We need law and order, not him.’
‘Well, at least he isn’t after me!’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ chuckled James. ‘He’s just waiting to shake the tree so’s you’ll drop into his hands like a ripe apple!’
She winced and noticed that Fion didn’t join in his chuckle. ‘For that, James, you can tell me what happened between you and Fion. You went away swearing death and destruction, and now come back like two turtle doves. And what happened to your shoulder, James? I’m not blind, you know.’
Turn by turn they told her, correcting and reminding each other as they went, clearly excited at re-living what had happened. I’d need to be a boy to understand this, she thought.
‘You two poor eejits,’ she said when they’d finished. ‘Come here, James, and let me look at that shoulder of yours.’ She examined it in a shaft of light that came through a broken slate in the falconry roof. ‘It looks clean and healthy. I’ll ask Old Eileen for an ointment you can put on it.’
‘That witch?’ objected James.
‘Call her that, and she’ll turn you into a frog!’ snapped Sinéad.
The ointment, made from marsh woundwort, soon cleared the angry edges of the wound, and it healed well.
August was stepping aside for September. The trees, looking tired, would soon take on their autumn colours. The cattle had eaten the grass to a dust bowl, and there was change in the air. Sinéad kept her eyes on the boys; their differences had not gone away. There would be flare-ups, like tongues of flame in gorse, but as quickly as they showed, one of them would throw water on the flames and their squabble would die down. They went everywhere together, and though they never turned her away, Sinéad found herself thinking a little bitterly: They don’t really need me, now, do they? My future’s all mapped out. First clean me up, then dress me up, and then marry me off to some rich suitor. I could elope, but who would want to elope with me?
One late summer’s day, deep in gloomy thought, she left the boys and wandered out across the meadow, and so was there at the very moment when a line of three horsemen burst from the forest edge, at the very place where Con had emerged over a month ago. As she watched, one of them, a boy, spurred ahead and came pounding directly towards her.
For a wild moment she thought this was, indeed, young Con. He had Con’s crouch, even though he had his feet in long, Norman stirrups. When he saw her, he pulled his pony’s head up, leaning far back in his saddle, feet thrust forward.
‘Welcome, stranger,’ she called.
‘Mistress, I have an urgent message for Sir Malachy de Cashel.’
‘You have come to the right place.’
‘Oh good. Excuse me, miss, but are you from the castle?’
‘Sinéad de Cashel at your service,’ she smiled, bobbing a curtsy. Now that his pony had settled, she realised why she had thought of Con; he was a replica of the boy, but older, about a year younger than she was. He slipped from his pony and held out his hand, English fashion.
‘I’m John O’Neill, son of Hugh O’Neill, the Earl of Tyrone,’ he said. ‘I have a secret message for your father, but you’ll do.’ Sinéad wasn’t sure if this was a compliment, but the lad was hastening on, clearly remembering instructions that he had learned by heart. ‘There are only three people I am allowed to tell: Sir Malachy de Cashel, my cousin Fion, and Sir Malachy’s daughter, Sinéad.’
‘Well, you’ve found me,’ she said, turning to walk beside him. ‘But shouldn’t you tell it to Father first?’
‘Oh no, I am to tell the first one of you I see, then if something happens to me the message will be safe.’
Sinéad, amused, scanned the field for the bull, the only possible hazard she could think of, but then decided not to tease the boy. For all his self-importance, she could see that his message was like a hot coal in his hands. ‘Very wise,’ she said. ‘You can tell Father later.’
The boy, relieved, took a deep breath: ‘I am to tell you that Father’s at Mellifont Abbey at this moment. He’s a guest of Sir Garret Moore, who’s been my foster father for five years now.’
Sinéad nodded. Hence the courtly behaviour, she thought, but said, ‘I have heard Uncle Hugh talk of Sir Garret as a dear friend.’
‘Oh, the best. But even Sir Garrett does not know what I am about to tell you.’ He dropped his voice and
glanced around suspiciously at the cows; they weren’t listening. ‘Two days ago Father got word that a ship had arrived in Rathmullan in County Donegal to take us all to Spain. When he gets there, he will raise a Spanish army to hunt the English out of Ireland.’
Merciful Heaven! No wonder the boy was nervous! This was news beyond anything she could have imagined. It stopped her in her tracks.
‘Uncle Hugh leaving!’ she gasped, her own fears flooding in. For all the trouble Uncle Hugh had caused them, it was he who had not only kept the English land-grabbers away from them, but the feuding Irish as well.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be back,’ he said gallantly.
‘And young Con? Are you all going?’
‘Yes, but that’s why I’m here. You see, we don’t know where Con is. He should be with his foster family, the O’Brolchains, but they’re following their cattle somewhere in the hills, and nobody knows where. I told Father I’d go and find Con, but he says that I must stay with him because Mother would never forgive him if he lost both of us.’
‘Perhaps we could help find him?’ she said without thinking.
‘That’s just what Father was hoping – not you, of course, but someone your father can trust. It’s so, so secret, you see – if Chichester gets a whiff of it we will be headed off before we can get to the boat.’
And be caught and hanged, Sinéad thought grimly. It wasn’t much to ask; they’d surely find someone reliable to search for Con.
‘I’m sure we can help, but you must tell Father yourself. How is it that you know the short cut through the plashing?’ she asked.
‘One of us knows the way. It was tricky because the road was blocked by a whole mass of soldiers.’
‘What soldiers?’ she asked, suddenly alert.
‘Someone called Bonmann exercising his troops. I don’t know where they’re going.’
‘I can tell you that. They’re coming here!’ she said. ‘This is the end of the road.’ Bonmann again! Her legs felt weak. With Uncle Hugh gone, who’ll look after us? ‘Come quickly, John, you must tell Father and then get on your way.’
Father took the news of Uncle Hugh’s departure almost as if he’d expected it. ‘So they sent a boat in the end,’ he said to John. ‘Your father will do more for our cause in Spain than he can here. We must do our utmost to find Con for you.’
‘It was my brother, Henry, who sent the boat–’ began John, but Sinéad interrupted, ‘Sorry, John, but tell Father about the army you dodged on the way here.’
Father listened with a growing frown. ‘Bonmann, by God!’ and at that moment, from somewhere high above, came a sound that sent a thrill down Sinéad’s spine: the Great Horn of the de Cashels blowing the alarm.
Father sat up. ‘Quickly, boy, tell me roughly where Con’s to be found, and then you must go.’
CHAPTER 13
The Great Horn of the de Cashels
ames sat up from his work when the braying sound of the Great Horn rang out from the battlements above. The breastplate he’d been polishing for Father slipped and crashed to the floor. In a single bound, he leapt over the fallen breastplate and made for the tower steps.
‘What? … Where? … Who?’ he gasped as he reached the lookout, but then had to cover his ears as a second blast rang out. The man on watch, too puffed to speak, pointed to the forest road, where James saw a solid phalanx of horsemen appear. The sunlight glinted on their helmets. No plumed hats, thought James, is this war? He soon had his answer, for in no time at all the horsemen had spread out to cast a moving net across the meadows. They’re after someone! he thought, and looked down onto the village below. Everywhere people were responding to the alarm, running towards the safety of the castle from the fields, or out to man the palisade. Father must be told. As he hurtled down the stairs, James felt betrayed. We’re loyal now. Why are they hounding us? If it’s the cows they want, why send a whole army? He forced his way through the bustle at the door and burst into the great hall, where, to his surprise, he found Father talking to Sinéad and a young red-headed lad, who looked vaguely familiar; but he must interrupt.
‘Father, excuse me, I’ve come from the battlements. There are twenty horse or more spreading out from the forest road.’
Father frowned. Signalling for James to wait, he turned to the boy and said: ‘Go now, while you can. I have your message and will send a man as soon as the present trouble is over. God’s speed!’
The boy ran past James for the door. That’s who he reminds me of, thought James, Con O’Neill!
‘Another O’Neill?’ he asked, as the boy disappeared. Sinéad opened her mouth to reply, but Father got in first: ‘Just a messenger. Thank you, James, for coming so quickly. I have feared this; we must put our defence plan into action. I will move into the guard room now and take command. You, James, will clear the great hall here as a refuge for the women and children. All able-bodied men will take their stations at the palisade with the instructions to fall back on the castle if there is any attack. I want no heroics; we have a castle, let the walls be our defence, understand?’
‘But, Father, these are the king’s men, why should we have to defend ourselves?’
‘Because the king’s men don’t always fight for the king; they fight for themselves.’
James had no more time for speculation but as he ran to complete Father’s orders he couldn’t help wondering about that boy. If he was a mere messenger, why would Father wish him ‘God’s speed’ as if he were a nobleman? It was strange.
Sinéad, however, ran after the boy towards the stables, and would have helped him saddle his pony if one of his companions hadn’t appeared to help him. Where have I seen that man before? she wondered as he calmed and reassured the boy, holding his foot as he swung into the saddle. As the boy rode out he looked down at Sinéad and said, ‘I hope you’ll be all right.’
‘We’ll be fine,’ she replied. ‘Haven’t we got four stone walls to hide behind? God’s speed,’ she added, liking the phrase Father had used. As he cantered off she noticed that the boy had only one companion now. The other was beside her still, watching the boy fondly as the two disappeared into the forest. She turned to look at him. Of course! It was the poet who had played that night when Chichester had dined with them. He was looking at her quizzically, one bushy eyebrow raised.
‘Am I forgiven?’ he said humbly.
‘For what, sir?’
‘For playing a Sassenach tune that caught you a fish you could have done without.’
Sinéad grimaced. ‘Yes, but I don’t want to be the jilted lover in one of your songs. Father says: “Never cross a poet.” May I ask your name?’
‘Young Con called me Haystacks. The name tickles me.’
‘I’d say it does. You’d better come into the safety of the castle. My suitor is about to attack.’
‘I will come, but first I would like a word with one, Fion O’Neill. Do you know him?’
Fion recognised their visitor from Sinéad’s description. ‘I’ve heard he’s a poet, and a harper too,’ he said, ‘but I’ve never worked out if he’s Uncle Hugh’s poet, or if he’s just a poet who’s adopted Uncle Hugh. If he’s here, we can be sure it’s about Uncle Hugh’s business, whether Uncle Hugh knows it or no.’
Sinéad introduced him to Fion as Mr Haystacks, and then excused herself, sensing that their talk would be private.
As she walked back to the castle from the stables, Sinéad felt as if the weight of the world had landed on her shoulders. This was like a stage play, to be repeated whenever the English fancied it: fleeing friends, approaching horsemen, marching men. If only there was something I could do that would send them all away … At that moment she knew, and knew clearly! She stopped in her tracks. Oh dear God give me courage!
When Fion and the stranger were alone he said: ‘Your uncle thinks well of you, Fion, so I won’t beat about the bush. I could have spirited you away with John just now, leaving your young fosterlings to fend for themselves, but my guess is t
hat you would prefer to stay?’
‘Yes, sir!’
‘In that case, let’s prepare for all eventualities. We’ll steal some horses together for a start.’
James, watching the advance of the horsemen from the castle tower, never noticed four ponies and a horse being quietly led away into the woods behind him. He did, however, wonder who the boy was who had been talking to Father, and whether he had got away. Meanwhile the approaching horsemen were wasting no time, and soon the castle was effectively surrounded by a vigilant ring of horsemen circling the palisade, just beyond bow-shot. For the time being they made no attempt to close in. All they did was to arrest and question a couple of herdsmen caught hurrying home in answer to the Great Horn.
‘There, sir, there!’ growled the watchman beside James, pointing to the forest road. ‘Foot soldiers, a hundred by the look.’ James squinted, trying to make his own estimate, but it was impossible to see how many there were, or what they had with them because of the dust they raised. As he hurried down to see Father, the Great Horn rang out again.
