by L. E. Waters
We walk back to our prison in silence, but as soon as we’re alone, the captain rages, “What kind of a king kisses a man? The world is coming to pieces!”
Alvaro starts to laugh, and so we all did. Even the captain joins in.
Alvaro says, “I think his boyfriend was jealous,” and we all laugh again.
The slats lift, and the door swings open. Lord MacDonald enters with meats, cheeses, bread, and three jugs of wine.
We clap and take them from him with many thanks as the captain says, “You could have warned me about that.”
The lord laughs. “We have been trying to get the queen’s hand puppet removed to no avail.” He takes off his cape. “He wears all that padding for a reason, you know.” He gives us a wink.
Andres and I dive in immediately on the meats and cheeses while Alvaro and the men begin passing the wine around.
The captain says, “Anyone who signs their own mother’s death warrant for a kingdom has sold his soul and has the devil to pay.”
The lord agrees. “You did quite a job twisting his hand there, Captain. If he chooses against us, then people will think he’s weak and has no power. Very clever.”
“Thank you for your kind words and aid, Lord.”
“The Duke of Parma is very diligent in sending letter after to letter to court, along with the Catholic lords, in hopes of obtaining your deliverance.”
The captain turns to us. “Better late than never, I guess.”
The lord, unsure of what this meant, lets it roll. “We will all be fighting for your cause, and I will have my attendant meet your needs and bring you news.”
He opens the door to leave, and servants file in one after the other with feather mattresses for each of us to sleep on. Andres’s eyes shine.
Chapter 19
MacDonald keeps his word, and we don’t have a want for anything, besides freedom. We keep getting letters speaking of progress as days slip by. Finally, after six months in captivity, the door’s opened and it’s Lord MacDonald.
He proclaims, “The merchant from Flanders is here with your four ships and has paid James in full for everyone’s transport. James has accepted and allowed passage through the queen’s waters to Flanders!”
We all cheer, and the captain asks, “When do we leave?”
“Today.” We cheer again in surprise, and he continues, “We think it best to leave before he changes his mind or decides to alert the queen or the Dutch of your passing through.”
Andres and I bend to gather our blankets, and the lord says, “Don’t bother bringing anything. The ship’s fully outfitted.”
The captain goes up and hugs the lord. He looks embarrassed and says, “Just don’t kiss me, Captain.”
We’re escorted out the building without any message from King James and into three carriages MacDonald arranged. Arriving at the dock, we see four shining brand-new pinnaces that make the captain almost weep at the sight. He shakes the hand of the merchant from Flanders for over a minute in thanks. Andres and I fight to stay with the captain and Alvaro, and we carry Bella, not wanting to lose her so close to home. Each ship has a full crew, and the merchant tells the captain and Alvaro to simply relax. We each get a hammock and even the ship’s lower deck smells fresh.
“I think we’re going to make it, Luis!” Andres says, swinging in his hammock.
“We’re not there yet,” I say, sitting on mine.
“We can’t have made it through all of this to not make it home now,” Andres says, sure.
“I hope you’re right.” I try to feel as confident as Andres.
Later, Alvaro yells down, “Boys! We’re passing the queen’s ports!”
I push off my hammock while Andres gets his foot caught in one of the ropes and trips and falls. “Luis!”
I untangle him and help him up. We go to watch and hold our breath as we gain trespass.
“We did it, Luis! We’ve made it!” Andres spins happily on deck.
“Yeah, that’s a good sign we got through.” But Alvaro watches the Dutch coast warily, and I know we aren’t safe yet.
That night, Alvaro shakes me awake. “Get up, you two! On deck now!”
We run up with Bella at our heels and see a whole fleet of ships attacking the two pinnaces ahead of us.
“Who is that?” Andres gasps with his hand over his mouth.
“The Dutch,” Alvaro says, filling a shot bag and loading a musket. “Here. Andres, tie this to your waist and remember what I taught you at the castle.”
“What’s happening?” I ask, barely finding my voice.
“The Dutch have already broadsided and boarded the other two pinnaces. The captain was quick to turn away, and now we’re on a chase, but we’re out numbered and we’re getting chased into shallow water.”
He hands me a pouch and musket. I look to where the captain is and can hear him frantically calling out orders to dodge the larger ships behind us.
Alvaro grabs his musket last. “Remember, these are heavy and have a powerful kickback. You need to brace it and fire on the musket rests. Here are two sabers if they get onboard.”
Alvaro goes to leave, but Andres squeaks out, “Don’t leave us!”
Alvaro looks back. “I’ll be right back.”
Andres turns to me, and he seems so small next to the long musket.
“Come on, we better find a rest to put these in,” I say.
The captain yells in such a high pitch I can’t even hear what he’s saying, and he’s hitting his hat and grinding his teeth while he yells.
Alvaro runs across to us and screams, “Brace yourself! We’re about to run aground!” And we grab on as tight as we can to the railing as everything under our feet shakes and the force sends all three of us flying.
Alvaro hits the mast and grabs at his side in great pain as Andres and I go rolling across to starboard. I reach for Andres right away. I’m relieved to see he’s fine.
“Bella!” Andres screams. We both look around and see her run up from the hold.
The captain hurries to us. “Boys, jump right away and swim to shore! Before those ships catch up!” He pushes us back to the side closest to shore.
It looks so far away. Andres is petrified again, and he clings to Bella in his arms. Alvaro comes up holding his side, sucking in short quick breaths to avoid pain.
Seeing his wound, the captain asks, “Can you swim?”
“Do I have a choice?” Alvaro answers, annoyed.
The captain helps me up on the railing, and Andres backs away, but Alvaro takes Bella and, with great pain, throws her over the side.
We both gasp. “Bella!”
Alvaro says, “Now that will get you to jump.”
Andres gets up immediately on the railing and we both look down at the black angry water and then glance back at each other.
“One! Two! Three!” we yell again, and I pull him off into the water with me.
This time I come up holding his hand, and he starts to flail in the water.
“Luis! Luis!” He panics.
“Right here, I’ve got you!” I say as I struggle to hold him.
“Bella! Where’s Bella!” he sputters.
I turn and see the white face right behind me, paddling toward me.
“Good girl, Bella!” we both cry as we see the captain and Alvaro jump off. Alvaro swims slowly and grimaces with every movement to us. But the captain can’t be found. Alvaro sights him first, way ahead of us, floating on a piece of wood.
“Lucky bastard!” he screams to him.
The captain screams back, “Find a piece of flotsam and swim like hell to shore!”
We search around for any wood and can’t see any. I start going completely under, trying to keep Andres’s head above water, when Alvaro takes him and puts him on his back, and judging by his sharp breaths, I guess it was no easy feat.
“Let’s go,” Alvaro says, and we try to fight the current.
Shots ring out, and I glance back to see the Dutch are right
behind us.
“They’re shooting at us!” Andres screams.
Alvaro says, “Keep swimming. Don’t look back!”
Bella’s ahead of all of us, completely focused on getting to shore. But the shots are hitting closer and closer to us as I hear the all too familiar groaning of our ship breaking to pieces.
Alvaro, seeing that the shots are getting closer and closer, making strange wet thrwep sounds in the water, takes Andres off his back and struggles to float him in front of him by holding him by his scruff.
He barks out to me, “Just try to get out of range”—and then thrwep! Alvaro reels in pain.
“Alvaro!” Andres screams.
“Alvaro!” I cry, slightly ahead of them. He drops Andres immediately and holds his side.
“Boys, keep going or you’re dead!” he says, his face twisted in agony.
I swim back and see Andres is merely a head, treading water, and try to get my arm around him and pull him, but he screams, “No! We have to help Alvaro!”
But I look at Alvaro and see death in his normally brilliant indigo eyes. His mouth’s full of blood, his breathing’s getting shorter and shorter.
“Leave!” he screams out with all his energy.
I turn and start dragging Andres forward, but he keeps crying, “Alvaro! Alvaro!”
I try not to think about him and struggle to get out of range like Alvaro said. The bullets stop sounding so close, and when I have a moment to look back, I see Alvaro is not where we had left him. Andres begins sobbing, and I turn to see if I can see the captain. I can’t see him anywhere. I spin around in a circle and can’t see one survivor anywhere. Bella, not wanting to lose me, swims back and she makes me move forward again.
“Andres, can you kick at all and help me?” I say, feeling like I’m not going to keep us both afloat much longer.
“Yeah, I’ll try,” he says as he tries to kick his legs vigorously.
We swim and struggle through the choppy water, but the shore keeps staying far away. I can’t understand why, since we’d been able to get away from the boat, but something was keeping us from the beach.
“Luis… I’m… freezing!” Andres chatters.
“Me too,” I say as my teeth begin to chatter.
“I don’t… think… we’re getting… any closer, Luis.”
“We have to keep going,” I say as a wave comes over my head, making me cough.
“Luis… we’re… not going… to make it.”
“Come on,” I say, trying to pull him with all the strength I have.
The waves start to get choppier the closer we get to the shelf of the shore, and my muscles begin atrophying from stress and cold. Every movement’s stiff and painful.
“Andres?” I ask, not hearing his voice for a while.
Nothing.
“Andres!” I shake him, and he says, slow and weak, “Pepe?”
“Andres, wake up! We’re almost there!”
His head flops forward in the water, making him suck in some and start choking, bringing him to.
“Luis!” he screams, startled.
“Andres I’m still here! We’re going to make it! We’re almost there!” But a terrible muscle cramp seizes up my whole right leg. I have to stop and scream.
Andres says, wide-eyed, “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t move my leg!” I have to let go of Andres, who flounders immediately, and I only have my arms to keep me up.
“Luis, I can’t swim!” he sputters.
But the pain’s so great in my leg and I can barely keep my mouth above water. Andres’s head is bouncing under the surface and coming back up in coughs, so I try to hold on to him, but it brings us both under. I kick my good leg a bit and bring us back up for a breath.
Andres says, “I love you, Luis,” with his honey eyes welled up and tired.
I cry, “I love you, Andres.”
And we see Bella come and circle us worriedly, and we both say, “We love you, Bella,” as we both drift under the swell.
I open my eyes underwater and see his open eyes staring back at me, smiling, as I panic and suck in a mouthful of briny water that burns my lungs and makes me cough, only to suck in more water. Andres takes his last sea breath too, and everything goes black.
Seventh Life
Irish Robin Hood
Chapter 1
“Redmond! Don’t run so fast!” Art pants out way behind me.
The top of my body’s shaking with the speed as I run up and down the knolls and hollows of the valley I know so well. The wind’s coming down from the mountain ahead of me, making it hard to breathe. My eyes tear from the wet Irish air streaming past my face and through my shaggy hair, fanning the dark brown flames.
“We’re almost there!” I reach the top of the peak to see the forested valley and the Cusher River below.
I wipe the tears from my eyes and look across to the most beautiful sight I’ve ever known—Tandragee Castle. A fortress carved of rock, as long as the biggest ship, and as jagged as Christ’s wreath of thorns. A stone king looking out over the whole valley high on a mountain, as if only God could have placed it there.
Art comes up beside me and says as he’s bent over to catch air, “The sun’s just about disappeared. We’ll both be given all sorts for missing supper.”
“We’ve a bit of time to spare,” I say, squinting toward the sliver of orange sun still visible on the horizon.
“We’d better be heading home.” Art turns around and inches back down the slope.
Imagining the day when I can return where I belong, I say, “That is my home.”
“Arthur! Redmond!” Ma calls.
Coming over the last glowing green knoll, I see her, waving her thick arms toward us in front of the little thatched house. The light’s turning from the faintest bit of orange to purple, and I can tell Da has already shooed all the animals in the barn to bed.
“You two little scoundrels, you know your Da gets a sour stomach if his supper is late!” She hits me on the backside with her rag as I run through the door. “You going daft, child, you forgetting to wash?”
I sigh and walk back out to the washing trough by the side of the house. I plunge my brown hands into the cold water and rub them dry on the apron hanging on a nail.
Art’s already sitting beside the fire with his plate, Da’s resting in his rocking chair, and my plate’s on the small table Ma uses to prepare our meals. I take mine and sit beside Art. Ma brings Da his plate as he takes his pipe out and places it on the warm hearthstone for later.
“Thank you, Mary, but no thanks to you boys for the awful ache I’ll have tonight.”
Ma finally sits in her chair, and after Da gives a hurried grace, Art and I shovel in our stew and bread. When I begin to lick my plate, Ma chides, “Redmond! You’ve worse manners than that fat sow outside.”
Art and Da both laugh.
I put my plate down and lie back on the floor thinking of Tandragee. “Tell me the story of Lord O’Hanlon again.”
Ma puts her fork down, brings both of her hands up to her always rosy cheeks, and says with a sigh, “Oh, you ask me this every fortnight, Redmond. I think Arthur could probably recite every word, and he’s only been here for a month now.”
“Please, I won’t ask you to tell it for a while if you tell me tonight.” I try to give her all the charms of my eight-year-old face.
“Oh, well, there’s nothing else to speak of.” She unties her linen headdress, lets her auburn hair flow over her shoulder, and she seems ten years younger. Da now looks ancient next to her; he’s all bent in his chair from a lifetime of hard farm work. No one would guess he’s only two years her senior. “The O’Hanlon name’s as old as Ireland. Your great ancestors were the chieftains of a good bit of County Armagh. They ruled the largest and most fertile parts of these hills and valleys we see around us on our little farm now. Yes, sir, the very blood that runs in your veins is that of the mightiest of warriors and leaders—the Lords of Orior.” She ho
lds her chin high and gives me a proud smile. “Your people built the castle you see upon that far mountain and named it Tandragee.” I love how she lengthens that word out dramatically, like some magic enchantment. “Then the English came with their guns and cannons and swept us from our castle, stole our lands, and polluted our culture.”
“Vermin on their own land!” my Da huffs.
Art looks up squinting, scratching his leg right above the faint birthmark above his knee. “But didn’t an O’Hanlon fight for the queen?”
“Oh, you do remember every word now, don’t you, Artie?” She gives a sneer at the thought, though. “Unfortunately, that he did, poor misguided Oghie O’Hanlon, fought and even was knighted by her cursed and wicked Majesty for fighting the Earl of Tyrone. Queen Elizabeth promised him that his lands would pass to his sons. Promises, empty promises; what are they good for?”
“The O’Hanlon’s got Tandragee back briefly under O’Neill though,” Da says looking up. “We almost held it, we did.”
Ma turns to me. “You were but a wee little baby.”
“Twas a bless’d day, with the sun shining through the clouds, that I stepped foot within those castle walls, where I belonged,” Da says, nodding as his face falls.
“I can’t believe only forty years ago an O’Hanlon lived in that castle.” I look at Da who sits staring at the fire now. I thought he didn’t hear me, so I repeat it, but he stays quiet, sitting with his head in his hand. Whenever he’s deep in thought he would put his index finger right beside the large mole by his eye and the other three fingers across his mouth. I try to imagine what he’s seeing—climbing castle stairs, looking out upon the valley from the turrets, and running through fields upon fields of soft wheat and barley.
“Well, your Da’s sure had his share of ups and downs. Let us give him his peace now.”
But he comes to, and he looks in my eyes. “I left right about your age to go abroad for an education. Came back to nothing, absolutely nothing.” He hits his fist on his other calloused and dry hand. “Left a lord and come back a beggar.”
