Abbot John tipped back his head to stare up at the ceiling as he tried to encompass the magnitude of the plot. Then he brought his head down to look at David. “You must work quickly to confirm the heirs in their holdings, my lord. This is a disaster for the families. First born sons aside, not everyone has a viable heir, and among the Irish, many of those seats will be challenged by brothers and cousins, since sons don’t necessarily directly inherit.”
David bobbed his head in a nod, having figured that out for himself already. “For now, we will work with whoever is willing to work with us and worry about the consequences later.”
Callum put heavy hands on the table and leaned on them to look at the map the abbot had brought out. “What can you tell me about the lands around here and likely supporters of either side?”
Abbot John was still shaking his head at what they’d told him, but he knew his maps. With sweeps of his pen, he’d carefully written in the name of each landowner, with a general sketch of his holdings. Magnus approached as well and the three of them put their heads together, picking over the political alliances of the various lords.
Leaving the immediate logistics to them, David went to the window to look out. Rain fell against the glass, the installation of which was a sure sign of the abbey’s wealth. All of them were completely renewed in clean, dry clothing from head to foot, including sturdy boots, though David himself still wore his own, since he hadn’t been one of those to jump. Other monasteries went in more for sandals, but these monks had shown themselves to be practical.
“What are you thinking?” Dad stepped beside him.
Now that they were working on a plan, the realization was growing in David that he would have to lead men into battle—today, tomorrow, soon, anyway—and he needed to be prepared for it. But instead of the necessary resolve, he felt resignation and a kind of seeping sadness that it had come to this, despite every strategy he’d come up with to avert war. He’d avoided the problem; he’d been hands off; he’d given as much power to the people as he could. And all it had done was show the barons here that he was weak.
David didn’t want to talk about his despair, so he deflected to analysis. “What went down at Trim this morning was not without precedent, either in history or in fiction.”
“Like in the Mabinogion,” Dad said, referring to a compilation of Welsh legends. “And if Ieuan were here, he would remind us of William de Braose and the Abergavenny Christmas massacre.”
“I know he would, but that’s no comfort since Braose won. What we have to figure out is how we win.”
“I have an idea, but it would require you to accept more power here, at least for a time. I know you’ve been reluctant to take on that role.” David’s father rubbed his chin. “I would, in fact, have you crowned High King.”
David didn’t say anything for a moment. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known this was coming. Years ago, it had been his father who had pushed David to throw his hat into the ring to become King of England. His father hadn’t been wrong about the merits of the idea, even if in the end David had taken up the crown because he’d been asked to do so by the people themselves, as well as the English barons. Because of that history, and the way the idea seemed to have inevitability around it, he didn’t immediately dismiss his father’s suggestion as his gut wanted him to.
“I can see why you would see my reluctance as a mistake,” David said, choosing his words carefully. “Callum said as much yesterday. If I’d stepped up, maybe Ireland could have been farther along towards peace by now.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Dad said. “I didn’t mean to imply that you should have put in a bid for the throne before now. Only that now does seem to be the time.”
“You’re telling me to fish or cut bait?” David waved a hand, not so much dismissively as in acknowledgement of that truth. “You’re right that I’m here now, but I have no army, and without one, any idea of becoming High King is moot.”
“So we need to come up with an army.” His father lifted his chin to point to where Callum was talking to the others. “Delineating our allies is a good start.”
David laughed. “Yeah. If we have any.”
“You know already that you don’t need any barons on your side to win, right? You have the people.”
“The barons have all the power in Ireland.”
His father scoffed. “What have you taught me? Those who govern do so because the governed allow it. If the people rise up, they outnumber those who rule them by a thousand to one. Those people are your people.”
“You want me to lead farmers into battle?” David would never mock his father, but he was incredulous.
“This is Ireland, David. Every man in Ireland knows how to fight.”
“Like the minutemen. Hmm.” David pursed his lips.
“Minutemen?”
David lifted a hand. “Back in Avalon, during the Revolutionary War, the men in Massachusetts, though farmers and merchants, formed themselves into military units. They were called minutemen because they were supposed to be ready in a minute. They trained and drilled, and when the English soldiers came, they all fought. Thousands of them.” He tipped his head. “They won too.”
“Much like every Welsh farmer knows how to use a bow or a spear.”
“Exactly. We learned because we had to. Honestly, I need to do better in England. It’s been so long since we were invaded, not enough people are taking training seriously anymore.” He took in a breath, searching for the elusive resolve, and swung back around to the table. “Right. We need a list of our known allies, their lands, and their forces. We’ll start with them.”
Abbot John gestured to his map. “I was just saying that the list of men who fell is our starting point, even among the Irish, though that isn’t something I would have thought I’d ever suggest.”
Mom canted her head. “Do you have any Irish monks here?”
The abbot suddenly looked far more cheerful. “Though we were founded by an Irish lord, before I became abbot five years ago, Irish novitiates were discouraged. I changed that policy. We’ve grown from having a handful of Irish monks, mostly elderly, to nearly one-third Irish.”
“What made you change the policy?” David said.
Now Abbot John appeared almost abashed. “I dreamt that I should.” He spread his hands wide. “We are all God’s children, are we not?”
Dad’s eyes gleamed, and David bent his head in a sign of respect. “I have always thought so.” He clapped his hands together. “As it is, I’m glad you did, because we are going to need every one of your monks who can travel.”
“But—” Abbot John stared at him. “Many have never left the monastery!”
“I know, and I leave it up to you whom you choose, but Ireland needs every man you can send.”
“Send where?”
“You intend to raise the countryside?” Callum stepped closer. “You have to be sure this is what you want, and that you have the stomach to follow through. There’s no going back after this.”
The two men stood only a foot apart. Callum hadn’t spoken angrily, just intensely and, as always, David respected him for it.
“I have been thinking about what you said to me back at Trim.” He lifted one shoulder. “Whether or not I’m completely comfortable with the power, I do know that I must stop what is happening here. If taking hold of the reins of Ireland is the only way to do that, then that is what I will do. Afterwards maybe we can find a solution like the one you found for Scotland. Power can be given up, but first it must be taken up.”
“Yes, my lord.” Callum bowed. When he straightened, his look encompassed everyone. “So, we send out the monks—and ourselves, I presume. Where should we tell everyone to meet you?”
David hesitated, and then his mother touched his arm. “Do you remember what you’ve read about Alfred the Great?” Then she went on without waiting for him to tell her that he apparently didn’t remember enough. “The Danes had sacked Winchester, and he’d
lost everything, his crown included. Rather than fleeing to France, he regrouped and called for his people to meet him at Egbert’s Stone, named for St. Egbert, an Anglo-Saxon monk from Northumbria. It means little to us, but it meant everything to them.”
“So what would you suggest?” David said.
“You are claiming the High Kingship, right? Then everyone should come to Tara. That’s hardly three miles from here.”
David looked at the others. “Is five days from now enough time?”
Dad snorted. “We need men now. Even a one-day delay will give these rebels time to consolidate some of their holdings.”
“Our allies must be discreet too,” Mom said. “We can’t let our enemies know we are regrouping before we’re ready.”
“Tara is within the Pale, sire,” Abbot John said, using David’s title for the first time. “Some of the Irish armies will be reluctant to cross the Boyne River.”
“The fact that I’m inviting them to do so, fully armed, will send exactly the right message. I’m telling them that I see no difference between Gaelic Ireland and English Ireland. All are welcome, and as High King, that is how I will rule.” The words rang out throughout the room before David realized he’d raised his voice.
Dad nodded. “That is the message we will carry to every corner of Ireland.” He looked at Abbot John. “Gather your brothers. We must all leave within the hour.”
Chapter Nineteen
Kells
Christopher
“Give me a good road and a car, and I could be there by noon,” Christopher said under his breath.
Sadly, neither car nor road were to be found and, as horseflesh went (in the techno-speak of the Middle Ages), the horses they’d bought at the tavern were nothing to write home about. They’d needed four and could buy only two, and though the horses were large, docile, and used to being ridden, they weren’t going to win any races. Perhaps that was just as well, since they were both going to have to carry two.
At first they didn’t ride them at all because riding horses was a good way to draw attention to themselves, especially for strangers in a village, even a community that sat at a major crossroads like Kells did. They’d come into the town on foot and hardly encountered anyone initially, so Christopher hoped that their anonymity could continue long enough for them to get out of the village unseen and unscathed.
Though the innkeeper had been pleased to take their silver for horses, food, and dry clothes, he’d only reluctantly loaned them one of his stable boys to show them a back route out of the village. The stable boy, though English, wasn’t the man who’d told them about Trim, and he spoke a version of the language that was so accented that half the time Christopher had no clue as to what he was saying. The boy did seem to know where he was going, however, in that he was leading them through a small wood that grew close to the edge of the village and seemed to be taking them to a path that led to the main road west out of Kells. Christopher could see the road through the gap in the trees up ahead.
Typically Aine, who was walking just in front of Christopher, had overheard his wistful comment. She slowed to let him come abreast. “What do you mean by that?”
He shook his head. “It isn’t important.”
“It was important enough for you to say it,” she said.
He let out a breath, knowing he shouldn’t have said anything at all. “I was thinking of home.”
“You’re speaking of Avalon,” she said with assurance in her voice, “not England.”
“Yes. I don’t know if you’ve heard about the vehicles we have there, but they’re like carriages, and they run on burning naphtha, without the need for a horse to pull them.”
Aine pursed her lips for a second. “That sounds like a singularly unpleasant experience.”
He laughed. “That would have more to do with the fact that I explained it badly than because it is. The difference is that inside the vehicle, you’re protected from the weather, and most roads are so smooth, you’re hardly jarred at all. Someday, if I get the chance, I will show you my car, which is back in England. There’s no real place to drive it, because the roads aren’t smooth enough, but maybe you would change your mind about how unpleasant it is.” Man, he’d loved that car.
They were interrupted by the sound of hooves on the road ahead. Christopher could see more questions on the tip of Aine’s tongue, but she didn’t ask them, and he put out a hand to the others, in case they hadn’t heard the sound over the noise of the rain on the leaves and the wind in the trees. The stable boy, who was several paces ahead of the group, looked back questioningly.
Christopher led his horse behind a large bush and motioned that William should do the same, so the animals were screened from the road.
“Do you think we’ve got trouble?” Huw spoke low in Christopher’s ear.
“I don’t know.” He handed the reins to Aine and hustled forward towards the road. As David said fairly often, knowing was better than not knowing pretty much a hundred percent of the time.
He reached a stone wall, overgrown with vines, and crouched behind it with the stable boy, who’d gotten there just ahead of him. They were under a large oak tree, exactly like those at home, which sheltered them from the rain.
He pushed back his hood so he could hear better. “It sounds like a lot of horses.”
“Yes,” the stable boy said, the one word Christopher could understand, as it seemed to be the same in any version of English.
The drumming on the road grew louder, and Christopher rose from his crouch to look over the wall in time to see what was coming. He was standing on a natural rise, so he found himself looking down on a formidable company, with both cavalry and footmen. They were heading into Kells from the west, the road Christopher had hoped to travel on going the other way, towards Roscommon. Banners bobbed above the men’s heads, but Christopher didn’t recognize the crest on any of them.
Having abandoned the horse to William, Aine appeared beside Christopher and looked over his shoulder at the riders. At the sight of them, she gasped and recoiled. “It’s my brother, Matha.”
Christopher’s heart sank. “He shouldn’t be here, should he?”
“No!” The pain in her voice was clear. “How is it that my brother rides openly into Cusack’s stronghold?”
Christopher hated to ask, given what was at stake, but he had to know. “What’s his story? Has he been at odds with your father lately?”
“I wouldn’t have said so.” She gave a quick shake of her head. “But then, if Matha intended to betray our father, he would have made sure we didn’t question his loyalty.”
There was already a rock in Christopher’s stomach at the scale of what they were facing, but now it grew bigger and colder for her sake. They would all be lucky to get out of Ireland in one piece.
Huw arrived at the wall. “All the more reason to leave this area, don’t you think?”
Christopher glanced back to see William’s white face and shock of blond hair poking around the bush. He’d been left with both horses—undoubtedly against his will. Christopher reminded himself that William had just discovered his uncle had been murdered, and that Christopher should give him a break. He jerked his head, indicating that everyone should return to deeper cover.
Once at William’s side, he related to William and Huw who it was that had come. “We’ll wait until the last of the column passes, and then we’ll head west to Roscommon Castle as we planned.”
“We cannot! Christopher, you must see that we cannot,” William said. “If Matha O’Reilly is with the rebels, too much has gone wrong, and we can’t trust any of these Irish lords.”
“But—” That was Aine, naturally rising to her countrymen’s defense.
William shook his head at her, almost pleadingly. “Riding west is the wrong choice. I’m ready to admit that Trim was the right place to go earlier, but I’m more convinced than ever that now we should go to my aunt at Castle Roche. She has men loyal to her. She will be an
ally for David, and right now she doesn’t know that she needs to be.”
“We will never get there,” Aine said. “The lands between here and there are held against us.”
“The same could be said of where you want to go,” William said. “Nobody knows which side I’m on, do they? I’m a nobleman. I can travel through the Pale most of the way there, and you all would be safe with me. Please.”
Aine looked like she was about to cry. “I can’t.”
Christopher hated the idea of splitting up again, but William was looking more determined than usual, which was saying something, and Christopher didn’t have the authority to tell either him or Aine what to do. “I can agree that finding two allies instead of one might be worth the risk.” He took in a breath. “Do you know the way to Castle Roche, William?”
“I’ve been there before.” William swallowed hard and blinked away the wetness that had come into his eyes.
Christopher’s tone softened, though perhaps gentle understanding was not what William needed right now if he was going to hold it together. “Where exactly is it?”
“It’s a few miles to the northwest of Dundalk, so some thirty miles from here.”
Aine looked at Christopher. “Less than I have to ride to Roscommon.”
“But possibly more dangerous,” Christopher said. “We know there’s a war going on between here and there.”
“As I said, nobody will bother me. And I won’t be riding.” William handed the reins of his horse to Aine. “Where I’m going, there will be opportunity to purchase a horse, and I’ll be just one man.”
Christopher pressed his lips together and looked at Huw, who sighed. “Two.”
Now that he had the destination he wanted, William no longer looked mutinous, and he nodded. “Okay. Two.” His attention went again to Aine. “Please come with me.”
“I can’t,” Aine said again.
William looked at Christopher, who lifted one shoulder. “I’ll keep her safe.”
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