She sighed and asked them, ‘Are you lost?’
Robert was instantly huffy. ‘Lost? No, we are not lost. We are soldiers from King William’s army, as I have already said.’
To counter the sting in his brother’s tone, Daniel offered her a small smile and decided to make a formal introduction, saying, ‘My name is Daniel and this is my brother Corporal Robert Sherrard.’
The woman did not look impressed and only asked a second question, ‘Where are you from?’
Robert answered first, ‘Derry. It’s fifty miles from here.’
The woman shrugged. ‘I’ve never been to Derry but I would imagine that it’s a lot more than fifty miles away.’
‘Well, we live there and have walked from there. So … I think we ought to know!’
Robert could not bear to be criticised and the slightest whiff of being faulted in any way made him choppy in manner.
It seemed to Daniel that the woman suppressed a fleeting smile.
‘Mama! Mama!’
And just like that, they were surrounded. Six children in all, including the girl they had seen washing clothes. She was younger than Daniel had supposed, no more than thirteen or fourteen years old. She carried a chubby baby who reminded Daniel of his sister Alice. The baby sat upright against his sister’s hip and fearlessly met Daniel’s gaze while sucking on its thumb.
‘What’s wrong, Mother? Who are they?’
Robert would not deign to introduce himself to children, and Daniel followed suit, leaving the woman to say, ‘Hush, Marian. Nothing is wrong. They are just soldiers, that’s all.’
This was all getting a bit much for Robert’s patience. If he owned a pocket watch, he would surely have checked it by now to see how much time had already been wasted. Clearing his throat, he asked, ‘Can I speak with your husband?’
Daniel wished his brother did not sound quite so imperious. However, neither Sherrard was prepared for the woman’s solid reply: ‘No.’
In particular, Robert was taken aback and repeated her answer, ‘No? But I … I … we need to speak to him at once. Can’t one of the children fetch him?’
The woman caught a strand of her hair and pushed it beneath her hat before answering again, ‘No, they cannot.’
Of course Robert took the reply personally and believed that he specifically was being thwarted in every way possible. He gulped in air and then spoke slowly as if he were addressing someone with little intelligence: ‘I must order you to summon your husband to us and I do so in the name of King William … and Queen Mary. Therefore any refusal to fetch him is treason.’
He added the queen’s name, instinctively feeling that this misguided woman might be more considerate of Her Majesty over the king himself.
Daniel flinched inwardly at the mention of treason. Traitors were hanged or shot. Surely Robert was not threatening to hurt this woman because she didn’t call her husband. What was his brother thinking?
But there was something wrong. Daniel detected a flicker of something in the woman’s expression and noticed the mortification on her daughter’s face which propelled him to ask the obvious. ‘Excuse me but why can’t we talk to him?’
It was the boy who answered. He had dark hair, a slimy nose and big brown eyes that looked older than his years, which were maybe eight or so. With a solemn look, he explained, ‘Because he’s dead.’
Ah.
As embarrassed as he felt, Daniel was somewhat relieved for his brother’s sake. The woman was not disobeying him nor was she trying him for a fool. Indeed, he was not the least bit surprised at hearing the relief in Robert’s exclamation, ‘Well now. I see.’
It all made sense. The husband was dead and so his widow was wearing his clothes and ploughing the field.
‘What did you want him for?’ The daughter Marian asked her question at the exact same time that Robert asked, ‘When did he die?’
There was a pause and the two questions hung between them. Robert and Marian looked at the woman for guidance, and she naturally chose to repeat her daughter’s question, asking, ‘Well, what did you want with my husband?’
Up to now both Sherrards had steadily avoided looking at the two large items they had come for. Daniel, for one, would have preferred to have found the horses idly grazing and of no use to anyone.
The baby reached for the nearest horse and his sister obliged it by stepping forward so that the child could knock at the animal’s neck with its pudgy fist.
The eight-year-old boy lodged an immediate complaint. ‘Georgie! That’s not a door! Mama, tell him!’
But his mother only said, ‘Hush, Samuel!’
Next, Georgie launched himself forward and planted a moist, sloppy kiss that left an oval-shaped blot on the horse’s coat. Daniel smiled along with the family, leaving Robert all alone to make his declaration.
‘Madam …’ he began.
‘Jean Watson,’ she replied.
‘Uh … I beg your pardon?’ said Robert.
The woman took a breath, possibly to hide her impatience, before saying once more, ‘Jean Watson. My name is Mrs Jean Watson.’
‘Oh, right. Thank you!’ said Robert, obviously feeling that he was starting to get somewhere at last. ‘Well, Mrs Watson, as you might have heard, King William plans to confront James Stuart and his Jacobite army. In fact, that is where my brother and I are headed. However, the king has recently discovered that he needs more horses.’
Daniel watched Mrs Watson’s lips almost disappear as her gaze became a glare.
Robert kept talking because he simply had to. Gesturing at the horses, he continued, ‘And he hopes to depend on the generosity of the Protestant population … that is …’
Marian was incredulous. ‘He wants our horses?’
She hoisted Georgie onto her other hip as she faced her mother. ‘He wants our Bess and Star?’
How Robert wished the widow would send the children back to the house. They were complicating matters needlessly.
Daniel reckoned that he had better help his brother and added, ‘Just for a while.’ He hoped he was telling the truth as he rushed on to explain: ‘You see we have a lot of equipment and thousands of men and, well, it’s faster on horseback.’
The only listener who looked convinced was Robert who nodded and said, ‘I’m sure you understand. When you think about it, you would be a part of King William’s campaign, without having to fight.’
Even as he spoke, Mrs Watson was already shaking her head. ‘Absolutely not. I need these horses. I wish the king well on his campaign, but these animals are my only farm hands.’
Robert opened his mouth to argue, but she interrupted him, asking him sharply, ‘How many children do you see?’
He stopped short and counted them. ‘Er … six?’
‘Yes, six!’ she snapped. ‘Six hungry mouths to feed. And how many parents do they have?’
Samuel wanted to help the conversation along and did so by answering, ‘Just you, mama.’
‘But …’ protested Robert.
‘No!’ said Mrs Watson. ‘I don’t care about your “buts”; I don’t have time for them. If I cannot work this farm, my children will starve.’
As if to emphasise her point, she prepared to return to her ploughing and called the horses to attention. She also told Marian to bring her siblings back to the house. ‘Everyone now back to your chores.’
Robert kept quiet while the children reluctantly walked away in line behind their leader Marian. Samuel stuck his tongue out at Daniel, filling the young soldier with shame. When they were finally alone, Robert tried to sound as civil as he could. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Watson. I understand your predicament but orders are orders. His Majesty needs more horses. Right now your neighbours are being told the same thing by our colleagues. You don’t have a choice.’
Daniel longed to distract himself by scuffing at the upturned earth with his foot, but he knew he had to show complete support for Robert and for King William.
The widow spoke
through gritted teeth. ‘If you take my animals I have no way of feeding my children or paying the rent. We’ll lose our home.’
Robert shrugged helplessly. ‘I understand …’
‘But you don’t care, is that it?’ She looked as if she might spit at him, at the both of them. She tried another approach: ‘Does His Majesty wish more children to die in his name? Surely enough children starved to death in Derry.’
Daniel felt winded by her words because they were absolutely true. She was right; hundreds of children had died during the siege. A whole generation of youngsters had been wiped out and now slept underground within the cathedral grounds. An idea came to him then and he said to his brother, ‘Robert … I mean, Corporal, couldn’t we just take one of the horses? Wouldn’t that do?’
Daniel was desperate to appease the woman and save her children; he pleaded with her, ‘You could plough with one horse. Couldn’t you?’
It was a most practical solution, really the only one available to suit everyone as far as Daniel could see.
Alas he had made a mistake which worsened when the widow tilted her head to consider his suggestion and seemed to agree with it, asking Daniel, ‘And when will you return my horse to me?’
It was an impossible question to answer, right then and there, in the middle of the half-ploughed field as the rain began to spill once more.
Daniel saw fury on his brother’s face and realised his dreadful error. He bowed his head in shame, noting how the raindrops sprinkled the earth; it reminded him of his mother sprinkling flour on the old kitchen table where she made the bread.
Why hadn’t he just kept his mouth shut?
He heard Robert say to the widow, ‘We are taking both horses.’
Robert didn’t shout, he didn’t even sound angry, but there was something about his voice that made the woman drop her arms to her side. Daniel could not bring himself to look at her.
‘Unhook the horses, Private.’ With that, Robert turned and strode away, making it abundantly clear that there would be no further discussion.
Mrs Watson didn’t help, of course she didn’t. She just stood there and watched Daniel fumble with the reins. How many moments dragged by until he managed to free the horses from the plough? Raindrops sank into the horses’ coats and disappeared without a trace. Daniel wished he could do the same.
It required all of his strength not to apologise, either for his brother or himself. Yet, he had to say something and what better than those two words his mother had drilled into him as soon as he could talk: ‘Thank you.’
The farmer’s widow didn’t soften her gaze, though she must have guessed at the young soldier’s inner turmoil. He took a step and pulled at the animals, who surely wondered who he was and where he was taking them.
‘Just a moment, Private.’
His heart sank but he turned to face her.
‘They are used to being fed twice a day. Watch that Bess doesn’t gorge herself on sweet apples, and the shoe on Star’s right foreleg will need replacing soon.’
Daniel nodded. He had already thanked her and it seemed a little pathetic to say it again.
‘Where is King William now?’
The question surprised him.
‘He’s … he’s a few days ahead of us, going south. Two or three days, I think.’
‘Good!’ was all she said to that.
Now that he had removed the horses from her side she seemed taller than ever.
He asked, ‘Why do you want to know?’
She gave him a bitter smile. ‘Because he has left me no option. I’m going to ask him to return my horses to me.’
Now it was her turn to march away, calling over her shoulders to him as he stared after her, ‘You see, Daniel Sherrard, sometimes men need to be reminded that there are more important things than war.’
Chapter Eight
Drogheda, June 1690
Gerald and Jacques had spent the entire afternoon on horseback, Jacques pushing Gerald hard on performing manoeuvres that might well save his life in battle. They both agreed that Troy knew exactly what was required of him; it was just his rider who needed to practise.
Years of training had gone into Troy, Paris and the rest of the horses in the French cavalry. Gerald could not help but be impressed. He only needed to lightly pull the reins this way and that to signal to Troy to walk forward or backwards or to the side.
Jacques repeated what he said in every training session: ‘You must trust yourself as much as your horse trusts you. That is what it is all about, trust.’
‘I know. I know. You’ve said that before!’ Gerald flexed his fingers to prevent them from cramping after holding them in the same position for so long. It struck him that his life was one long list of instructions, from his parents to Father Nicholas, and now his friend who enjoyed torturing him with endless repetition of directions and exercises.
Ignoring his pupil’s cheekiness, Jacques continued on with the lesson: ‘A horse is a brave and noble creature. Just think how he allows a man to mount him. As far as the horse is concerned, every rider imitates an attack by a predator. The big lion jumps onto the horse’s back to bite down on his spine while hugging the horse’s neck in order to tear it open with its claws.’
Gerald rolled his eyes. He had long ceased reminding Jacques that there were no lions in Ireland.
‘Remember to keep your musket straight. Your arms must get used to holding it straight in battle while guiding Troy this way and that.’
‘I guide him just as well by pressing my knees against him. Really, Jacques, we have done this so many times. I’m not a beginner anymore!’
Jacques grinned at him. ‘It is true you have made excellent progress, but I think this is thanks to your most excellent horse and most excellent teacher.’
Troy snorted his agreement.
As they trotted past the town, they could see their fellow soldiers sweating in the sun, digging trenches and fortifying Drogheda’s walls. Gerald remarked, ‘Isn’t it peculiar that this is exactly what went on in Derry only we were on the outside of the walls, we were the threat?’
‘No, my friend, I do not find it strange at all. In life, everything is repeated, with the same things, and they happen again and again only to different people.’
Jacques was in a philosophical mood.
‘You mean like, the next time we’re here in Drogheda, I’ll be the one to fall in love?’
Jacques grunted. ‘Maybe so. If you’re lucky and only if we ever return to Drogheda again.’
Gerald smirked. ‘So, you still plan to leave then, after this is all over?’
Jacques answered with a shrug, ‘But of course. I am a soldier. I go where King Louis wants for me to go.’
‘Really?’ asked Gerald. ‘But what if you don’t want to go anywhere else? What if you want to make a home for yourself and have a family?’
The Frenchman reminded his friend, ‘Your father has a home and a family and he fights for Louis. He has everything, yes?’
Gerald thought about this. ‘I suppose so. I mean, for all I know he misses Ireland and Mother terribly, but they both believe in doing their duty. They told us that Father would be better placed to help Ireland if he joined up with your king.’
Jacques waved his hand. ‘Well, there you go. We are all doing our duty. Isn’t that why you are here?’
Gerald said nothing to this. They brought the horses back to their pen, dismounted and removed the heavy saddles. Then they spent the next hour rubbing the animals down and making sure they had plenty of water.
When they were finished, Jacques slapped both horses on the flank. ‘See you later, my friends. Enjoy your evening!’
He had already decided how he and Gerald would spend the following hour. ‘Come, I need some of your horrible Irish beer to cool me down. Let’s go to the tavern and continue this interesting talk.’
Gerald knew that his mother would hardly approve of his entering such an unworthy establishment. The alehouse
was nothing more than a dark basement, found at the bottom of a few rickety wooden steps that did their best to trip up the customer who had indulged himself with too much alcohol. It was far from clean, the atmosphere thick with the smell of sweat and urine. The battered furniture had certainly seen better years, better decades, but the customers did not make their way down those treacherous steps to take in the interior decoration. The dank basement was for drinking and conversation.
Besides, his father was no stranger to the tavern in Offaly and, according to Jacques, a variety of taverns in Paris. Jacques had known Gerald’s father in Paris. Indeed, it was Mr O’Connor who had asked that Jacques look out for Gerald, ensuring that the two met up as soon as possible by asking the Frenchman to deliver Troy to him. It had taken Mr O’Connor some time to be able to afford the horse because of the animal’s specialised training. Horses represented extra soldiers on the field but required months of tough conditioning to prepare them for the noise and chaos of battle. Finally, the day had arrived and Mr O’Connor was delighted to be able to send his son this tremendous gift that meant that Gerald was immediately promoted from the lowest echelon of any army, the infantry, to the highest, the cavalry. Although he and Jacques were rather low down in terms of the cavalry, where the wealthier members owned two or even three horses and had their own groomsmen. However, this did not bother Gerald in the slightest. He was perfectly satisfied with having just Troy and looking after him himself. This was the first time he had ever owned a horse, a fact that would have shocked his wealthy ancestors.
Kings of the Boyne Page 5
