by L. E. Waters
“We’re hardly beggars, Hugh. We’re better off than most of the peasants around here, God bless them. We’ve everything we need, and better not take that for granted.”
“Mary, I’ve a finer military education than most of the redcoats running around with muskets and I’m not allowed to command them, or fight with them! Hell! I can only get their horses for them and lift their fat Protestant arses up into their saddles.”
Ma turns away when he gets to the word fat, and she pretends not to hear his cursing. Da picks up his pipe and walks out the door, slamming the metal latch hard, shaking the white plaster walls of the cottage.
Art whispers to me in the deafening silence left by the discord, “You’re still lucky to have such greatness behind you.”
The next day, Da comes in all rosy-cheeked from running and says with a huge grin on his face, “Redmond, boy! You’re off to the finest school in England!”
Ma drops the wooden bowl she’s cleaning. “Have you gone mad, Hugh!”
“Simmer down, targe, the boy’s the same age as I was.”
“It’s not his age, old man, it’s the money! Education abroad costs a fortune!”
“I just went into town and sold a few things—gave away that fat sow you hated so much.”
“The sow! She was due in a few weeks!”
“I know, she fetched a nice price for it too, Mary.” He tries to calm down a bit. “I got enough to pay for his travel and admittance; if we’re thrifty, we can get by just fine.”
Ma takes a deep breath and braces herself on the table. “Hugh,” she begins, “why would you send off Redmond when you yourself said last night that your education was worthless?”
He turns with a look of pride I haven’t seen on him for years. “Why, then, I realized last night that Ireland needs an army. An army to rid our land of invaders, and that army will have to be led by someone.” He holds my shoulder. “I’d sell a hundred sows and everything my family passed down to see the day where I could walk back into Tandragee Castle again.”
Ma, seeing that look in Da’s eyes, knows there’s nothing she can do to change his mind, so she goes outside to fetch the leather bag she has in the shed and gives it to me. “Redmond, dear, gather up your things.”
I kiss Ma good-bye. She cries and runs back into the house as soon as my lips touch her rosy cheek. Art gets on the front bench of the carriage with Da and me, and we make our way down the bumpy, dirt path to the ferry. The wheels screech like a neglected banshee.
“Cart wheel’s cursing for grease,” Da huffs.
As we stand by the boat Da looks at me and says, “Learn everything you can know, boy. Take everything in. Not only what you learn in books, but watch the English and learn the way they talk, walk, and take a piss. Ireland will need it when you come back.” I nod, and he bumps his head against mine, holding the back of my thin neck.
“Take care of my folks like they’re your own, Art.”
Art nods. His amber eyes fill with tears and Da slaps him on the back. “He’s our own now, he’s an official O’Hanlon!”
The whistle blows, and the boat starts away. I watch as the land of my ancestors drifts farther and farther away.
Chapter 2
“Art? It can’t be you?” I laugh when I see him standing by our old carriage at the ferry. He’s grown so much in the eight years I’ve been away. He’s filled out to a strong fellow with broad, powerful shoulders.
“Redmond, my little man!” He has some inches over me while we embrace in greeting and slap each other’s backs.
“Let’s go get a bite at the tavern. I’m starving.” I throw my bag in the back of the cart.
“Oh, no, your Ma would have my hide if I didn’t bring you home at once.”
The farm looks exactly like I left it, but my smile falls a little when my Da limps out, his back bent as he walks, his face worn and tired. He smiles at the sight of me, and I try to hurry to him as fast as I can so he doesn’t have to suffer another step.
“Redmond, my boy! Home now and ready to take on the Planters!” We all laugh.
Ma comes running from the barn, throws down her basket of seed, and rushes right into my arms. Her smell reminds me of childhood. She pulls back to look at me. “Oh, you left a boy and came back a man!” She squints to search in my eyes. “There’s my wee boy.”
She hugs me tight again and takes me inside. I wish I’d been able to afford coming back sooner. It felt so long. Ma pushes me to sit in Da’s chair, and she hurries to get me something to eat.
Sitting, I say, “It’s so good to be home.”
Ma smiles wide and puts a plate and fork in my hand.
After taking a bite, Art asks, “So, tell us?”
“Tell you what, then?” I say, smiling, knowing it’ll drive them crazy.
“About England, you fool.” Art sits on the floor in his usual place, but now he looks too big to be sitting cross-legged.
“My studies kept me busy day and night. Most of the boys there were rich Protestants, but they kept their distance. There was one other Irish Catholic who was my only friend.”
Art straightens up and says to Ma, “He even sounds different now.”
Then, in my best English, I say, “What do you mean, I sound different?”
They laugh as they hear me speak, so I keep going.
“Is there something wrong with the way I sound?” I say with a Scottish accent.
“Do another one!” Ma squeals, enjoying the show.
“Or would you prefer French?”
Art’s taken aback a bit. “Sure, but now you lost your Northern accent.”
“Well, I’ll have some time to work on that again,” I say as Da sits down slowly in Ma’s delicate chair.
“I hope my money went to much more than some fancy words,” Da says.
“I learned everything I could learn, just like you said—even graduated with honors. I excelled in fencing, riding, languages, military tactics, and strategy.”
He gives a proud look, and a sparkle glints in his eye. “Art, you should have him show you what he knows, ’twill serve you well too.”
Art nods as his body stiffens.
“Speaking of work, Redmond, you’ll be happy to know I’ve secured you a great position working for Sir George Acheson of Markethill,” Da says.
“What position would that be?” I stuff some bread in my mouth.
“Footboy.”
“Footboy?” I say with my mouth full.
“I had to pull some favors to get it there, sonny, so don’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth.”
“I’d give anything to be Acheson’s footboy. It pays better than any of the farm jobs around here,” says Art.
“No, footboy sounds like a fine job, Da, thank you for all you’ve done for me.” I take the last piece of bread to sop up the gravy.
That night, I climb up the ladder to the loft that seemed so much higher when I was eight. Art’s already under the covers on our small mattress. I laugh at the sight of him. “This is going to be much different now that you’re taking up more than half the bed.”
“Quit your chittering.” He turns over with an exaggerated pucker. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
I laugh, crawl under, and turn just as he breaks wind. He waves the blanket and snickers. “Good to have you back, Redmond, or should I say it in French?”
We laugh, and I drift off to sleep quickly.
I’m high above the dark water, the white slaps of waves breaking the darkness. I plunge into the frigid waters, and everything around me feels tight and suffocating. No matter how I move my arms, no matter how I move my legs, I can’t get back up to the surface. I open my eyes in the stinging, briny water and can see the surface. My lungs start burning as I run out of air. I look to see a young boy sinking down to the depths. I see his small face with his large brown eyes, yet no movement would propel me farther. I suck in the black water and choke.
“Andres!” I sit up, clutching my chest and g
asping for air.
Art startles. “What’s wrong, Redmond?”
Ma cries up from downstairs, “Redmond?”
I can breathe again by the time she reaches the side of my bed, and she takes her thin hand and wipes away my sweat. “Another one of those drowning dreams?”
I nod.
Art asks, “You still have those?”
“Haven’t had one since I left here.” I breathe normally now.
Ma holds my head to her shoulder and says, “Remember what I’ve always told you. You will live long enough for greatness. The soothsayers are never wrong or to be taken lightly. At your birth, the wise lady pulled you from my womb and saw that birthmark on your left hand. She held it up to me and said, ‘’Tis the mark for great things, both triumphant and tragic, but this boy will be remembered.’”
Ma takes my hand out, and even in the light of the moon, we can both see the brown dot under the bottom of the fifth finger. She touches it. “You can’t do great things if you drown, now, can you?”
“I’m fine now; everyone go back to sleep.”
“Here, here,” Art says as he rolls over, and Ma heads back down the ladder.
I can’t get back to sleep, though. I’m deciding which troubles me more, the tragedy that will befall me or that I’m expected to be great.
Chapter 3
The sting of his crop whips across my face. “I have told you, boy, not to look me in the eye when you address me!”
I fight the urge to hold my hand to my cheek to stop the bite. I clench my jaw and wring my fists behind my back.
“You ignorant Irish yeomen will never learn unless there’s pain in it.” He straightens himself on his saddle and kicks his stirrup. “When I get back, make sure to have all my messages. I want you waiting here at the stable for me to return.”
As soon as he disappears down his hunting trail, I kick over the step he used to mount his horse.
“I’m no yeoman!” I scream.
After walking out of the stables, I spy Sir Acheson’s prize horse, the beautiful white mare prancing around in the field. She dances for me, and I think about how fast I could go if I had a horse like that.
A voice rises from the corner of the stables. “Why don’t you ride her, then? He’ll be gone for a bit.”
I turn quickly to see a young man not much older than me sitting on a hay bale beside the stall.
“Do you work for Sir Acheson?” I ask, seeing he’s not in the stiff uniform he forces all his help to wear.
“Thank the good Lord, no.” He points to my cheek. “Seeing how he treats them and all.” A tall dark-haired youth with blazing eyes of indigo steps forward. His skin is dark as if he works outside, but he’s not the stocky farm-help type, more lean and sinewy like a rider.
“You should take your leave, then, before there’s trouble.”
He shakes off my warning and leans on the window that frames the beautiful white creature speeding around its corral. “If you don’t ride her, I will.”
“If Acheson returns, he’ll have both our necks.”
He snickers and in one fluid movement hops over the corral fence and starts walking slowly toward the mare.
“She’s green, won’t let anyone ride her yet,” I say, jealous he’s brave enough to try.
He says nothing but keeps walking toward her, not looking at her but in her direction. The horse stops, noticing she has a visitor, and gives a few nervous whinnies and spins around in the back of her corral. He puts his arm up, very slowly, and comes within a few feet of her, chanting some strange song. She snorts and walks backwards a few steps, and he slows down his movements as she watches him closely. He makes shushing noises as he reaches out to her nose, and she lets him touch her. I let out a breath I was holding the whole time. He starts to run his hands through her mane, and without taking his hands off her skin, runs them all the way down her strong back.
With one quick movement, he hops up on her bareback, and she lunges forward, startled by the feeling, and starts kicking and rearing. He seems stuck on her somehow. No matter how the horse moves, he keeps a perfect seat. He stays calm and never yells out as she thrashes. I’m glad he’s having some trouble, though it doesn’t last long. Within a few minutes, she’s prancing around the corral, obeying all his leanings and leg squeezes, and he brings her up to me at the window. He dismounts like he has wings and wears a broad smile. “So you see, easy as that.”
“You charmed her.” I’m glad someone was having fun.
“Naw, I had my eye on her and would have already spirited her off without casting a shadow, but I saw how he struck you and thought maybe you deserved this fine beast.”
“Ah, so, it’s a horse thief you are?”
“Only the best in the county.” He bows proudly.
“But you’re only my age?”
“Oh, don’t start comparing me to you, now, or you might start to cry.”
“They hang horse thieves in these parts.”
“Only if you’re stupid enough to get caught.” He looks me up and down. “Oh, I see why you’re worried, though. You look pretty stupid.”
He starts throwing a tin of saddle wax up in the air and catching it.
“Well, bless me with your knowledge, then,” I say half-sarcastically, half-curious.
“Don’t you have to be checking on those messages?”
“How’d you know what he said? He was speaking English.”
“Really, I didn’t notice.” He throws it up and spins once before catching it.
“Do you keep all the horses that you steal?”
“Hold on, I never said I steal anything”—he shakes the tin at me—“but if you’re talking about if these horses follow me home, I make sure to trade them in real quick for either coin or a legitimate horse.”
“Where do you take them, then?”
“To a fair in another county.”
I look at the magnificent animal and say, “They don’t let us Irish even ride a horse like that.”
“That’s even more of a reason to take her!” He winks and throws me the tin and starts walking away. “Be sure to dye her with brazilet with alum when you go to sell. A white horse like this will stand out like a whore in church,” he says over his shoulder before he disappears.
The mare throws her head in the air, shaking her mane in the wind. He had tied her up for me. I look back over at the kicked mounting step and hear Acheson’s voice again: “Ignorant Irish Yeoman!” Something comes over me, and I open the door to her corral. I slip a simple saddle on her carefully and slide a bridle on as I untie her ropes. “Easy, girl. Easy, girl.” She snorts as I climb on her and takes off running through the open gate as I cling onto the reins and saddle for dear life. I swear someone laughs as we bolt from the stables.
She runs all the way around Sir Acheson’s large fields as I’m trying everything I can to direct her toward town. When I finally reach the village of Markethill, there’s a commotion stirring. I turn to go back through the woods again to another town, but three horsemen come up behind me and block my escape.
How could they have found me so fast?
I turn to try to gallop through the crowded town, but two more horsemen appear, blocking my way.
I try in English, “Gentlemen, is there something wrong?”
They seem surprised by my perfect English but continue as one officer takes the white horses bridle in hand. “You are under arrest for suspicion of horse thievery. Until we can sort matters out properly, we will detain you for trial.”
I watch as they take the horse to the stable next to the courthouse. Sitting in a small room with two other unfortunate men, I call for some water. A guard comes with a pint of water and says, “Don’t drink too much, there’s nowhere to piss.”
“Wait.” I try to get as close as I can to the guard through the bars. “I come from a wealthy English family. There has been some mistake, but you look like a man who could use some extra coin in your pocket, and my father wou
ld reward well.”
He cocks his head to the side. “What would you ask of me?”
“To make sure this matter goes away fast. It would be good if that white mare in the stables next to us becomes a sorrel overnight.”
“Well, how in the hell can I do that?” He seems like he’s about to walk away.
“Mix brazilet with alum and coat every white hair on that horse.” I slip him all of the money I have on me and say, “This is to get you started.”
He takes the money and studies me up and down. “You don’t look like any horse thief to me, and you certainly don’t sound like these Irish lowlifes. I’ll do your bidding but expect that reward.”
The next morning, I’m called to stand trial. The white-wigged magistrate in heavy robes is sitting behind his desk in the small courtroom. I’m brought to stand to the left of the courtroom, and Sir Acheson walks in with his nose in the air. He stands to the right with his lawyer, also wearing a white wig. The judge begins the details of the case and says, “Redmond O’Hanlon, what say you in your defense?”
“Your Honor and Sirs of the court, I am not guilty of this crime.” Acheson clears his throat at this loudly. “I did not steal a white mare, Your Honor.”
The aged judge holds his paper afar so he can read the paper. “It does indeed say a white mare was seized in your possession.”
“’Tis a mistake, Your Honor, I was riding a sorrel, sir.”
“May I speak, Your Honor?” Acheson says in his high, annoying voice.
“You may, Sir.”
“A white horse was in my stable, a white horse was seen riding off under this thief, and a white horse now kicks in your court’s stable.”
The judge pauses a moment and asks, “Are the officers that detained Mr. O’Hanlon here in court?”
An officer from the back of the room says, “None are present, sir. They have all gone back to the garrison.”
He scratches his head tiredly. “Well, then, bring the beast in.”
The officer marches out the door and returns within minutes with a fine sorrel prancing through the large courtroom doors.
