Who were the dead? What kind of lives had they led? Was there anyone left who remembered them, or were they well and truly forgotten, along with their families and friends; an entire world long gone.
The overgrown graves and the worn, broken walls of the church were having an effect on James. Was it Talbot who told him about the jumping church in Ardee? An unclean soul had been buried in the church’s graveyard causing the church wall to jump backwards, thereby excluding the interloper from the rest of its sleeping baptised community. The Irish loved their stories; there was no doubt about that. Sometimes James wondered if they were not obsessed with their history and their dead.
How does a nation move forward if it is continually trying to rake up its past? And what about France, what if I had to spend the rest of my days there?
France was all very well. Louis had treated him and his family like royalty but, still, it was not home. All of this thinking had only served to bring James back to the beginning again, full circle.
The only way I’d ever get to live at home again is by winning tomorrow. If a thing is worth doing, then it is worth doing well.
‘I have to at least try, don’t I?’
He shuddered at the sound of his own voice in the darkness.
Was it ghosts that moved just beyond the corner of his eye, or only bats flitting here and there in the twilight? The neighbouring trees seem to quiver with quarrelling crows that were certainly loud enough to waken the dead.
‘What on earth is that?’
Of course the dead did not answer him. He stared at the dark blob in the sky that twisted and turned at great speed, like black coffee swirling around in a cup. It grew in size but then, suddenly, it was a flat line before exploding into the shape of a ball – no, a bell, and immediately after that into a flower, blooming instantly before shutting up once more. Ah, yes, he had seen this before. It was only a flock of starlings performing a frenetic, swinging dance across the sky. As he stood there, he felt blessed to be bearing witness to such a majestic sight that was created by the most ordinary of birds.
Surely it was a sign from the Heavens above. Feeling suddenly inspired James declared, ‘I left London like an obedient servant following orders and now God has seen fit to give me yet another chance. Tomorrow I will avenge both His name and mine.’
Chapter Seventeen
The Williamite Side of the Boyne
Afterwards, Daniel permitted himself a smile. How naive he had been to think that the night before the battle might drag too slowly for him or that he would not be able to think about anything else other than what might happen on the morrow.
They lit their campfires earlier than usual as it was generally agreed that they needed to eat earlier and then try to get a decent night’s sleep. Daniel took out his musket for the umpteenth time to make sure it was in proper working order. He did his best not to think about the battle itself. If he were asked for his honest opinion he might have said that he mostly felt that his side would win. Everyone knew the Williamite army outnumbered the Jacobites by thousands. In fact, Daniel was still getting used to the extraordinary sight of so many soldiers around him. Yet, still.
Oh, he was a little scared all right, but he was glad to be. Only an arrogant man would profess to be completely fearless on the eve of a battle. Henry Campsie, for instance, had declared himself to be very much looking forward to fighting as if it was some sort of chummy sport like a boxing match or a horse race. Meanwhile, Robert tried to mirror his best friend’s confidence, but he could not fool his brother, who suspected that if he asked Robert how he felt, he would be smartly informed that Robert’s only worry was regarding Daniel’s safety. So Daniel said nothing and, instead, found himself missing his big brother though he was not five feet away from him.
His weapon was in perfect condition or, at least, in the exact same condition it had been in thirty minutes earlier when he had last checked it. He sighed, realising that he should – he really, really should – write a letter to his parents, just in case … just in case.
‘Robert,’ he called out. ‘I’m going to write to Mother and Father. Shouldn’t you do the same? They’d want to hear from the both of us.’
Robert shrugged. ‘Leave me enough space to add a few lines beneath yours. I’ll be back later.’
Daniel was surprised. ‘Where are you going?’
His brother sauntered over to him and made a quiet confession, ‘I’m restless, I suppose. I’m going to take a walk.’
Daniel immediately suggested, ‘I’ll come with you!’
Robert looked embarrassed. ‘No, no need. Henry said he wanted a walk too. I’ll write to Mother when I get back. All right?’
Daniel nodded and pretended not to be hurt. He watched his brother and Henry fall into step together and gradually lose themselves amongst the crowds of various uniforms.
Dear Mother, Father and Alice,
I hope you are all well.
Well, that was the easy part. Now what? He decided not to tell them that he had almost been eaten by a wolf because it would only scare them. Besides, as he couldn’t mention Mrs Watson, he’d have to concoct a lie about how he escaped the wolf’s clutches. It was best to keep things simple.
Ah, of course, he knew what he would tell them:
We had a dreadful fright earlier as we believed that King William had been fatally wounded. He was out along the River Boyne, in full view of the enemy. A shot was fired and the next thing we heard the Jacobites cheering that William was dead.
Some men began to weep; I think they were His Majesty’s Dutch guards, who seem to love him very much. We hardly knew what to do with ourselves until we saw the king’s party return. William was carried from his horse by the Duke of Schomberg and his son. Their expressions were grave and we all expected the worst.
However, a few hours later he rode amongst us to show us he was fine. If you could have seen how the men gathered around him … thousands and thousands shouting his name aloud. I would not be surprised if you heard us in Derry. I saw some Dutch guards crying again, but this time it was out of happiness.
Daniel stopped, aware that this was a most impersonal letter for his poor parents to read. But what else could he do? He didn’t think it fair to admit his worries about the battle or about being so far from home and about … well … not being sure he wanted to be a soldier anymore.
There, he had finally admitted it to himself. He did not want to be a soldier; he had had a change of heart. He bit his lip and felt his cheeks flare, grateful that no one noticed his shame. He watched as some soldiers compared muscular arms, wanting to be wrestled to prove a point, whilst others played cards or just sat and chatted quietly as if it was any old Monday evening. Daniel took no pleasure from his surroundings and was swamped by a selfish desire to stand up and start walking away as fast as he could.
Mother, Father, I want to go home.
No, he did not write that. It would only break their hearts and Robert would be ashamed of having a coward for a brother.
So, what else could he write? As he continued to debate this exact question he heard shouting. Heads turned in the direction it was coming from, the more curious actually getting to their feet to see what was going on. It was no distraction to Daniel, who assumed that it was just an argument over something trivial. He considered describing exactly what he could see from where he was sitting but in doing so had to accept that all he could see were men staring off into the distance. The shouting was getting louder and louder. And then Daniel heard Henry’s voice shouting across the camp, ‘See what we’ve found, a spy in our midst!’
Daniel looked up slowly from his letter just in time to hear Henry’s gleeful question, ‘Is this not the tallest woman you have ever seen?’
Oh God, no!
Shoving the pen and paper into his pocket, Daniel jumped up and broke into a run. An audience had gathered around Henry and Robert, obliging Daniel to push his way through, already recognising the floppy hat and pale f
ace at the centre of the staggered circle.
Horrified, Daniel looked to his brother. ‘Robert, what are you doing?’
Robert shrugged as if to say this was nobody’s fault. ‘We found her on the outskirts of the camp. It looks like she’s following us, spying on us.’
Someone rather unhelpfully suggested, ‘That’s no woman! Why, she’s taller than any of us.’
‘See,’ called Henry to no one in particular, ‘I told you so. She’s a Jacobite spy!’
‘Hang him!’ It took just one individual to say this before it was instantly taken up as a maddened chorus.
‘Kill him! Kill the spy! Hang ’im from the nearest tree!’
Perhaps the night before a battle is a most treacherous time in any army camp, when nerves are taut and men are building themselves up to commit bloodshed.
‘No! No!’ screamed Daniel. ‘Leave her alone!’
‘Daniel, for God’s sake!’ Robert was torn between the genuine terror on his brother’s face and not wanting Daniel to make a fool of them in front of their fellow soldiers.
Mrs Watson never said a word. Just like Daniel giving himself up to the wolf, she felt trapped. The situation was reversed and now young Daniel was her only hope. She gazed at him, silently beckoning him to calm himself so that he would be listened to.
‘Let her go, she’s not a spy!’ Daniel balled up his fists and took a step forward, hardly knowing what he was going to do.
Henry tried to reason with the boy. ‘It’s all right, Daniel, you don’t have to be here. Go on back to your tent.’
‘I said, let her go!’
‘Or what?’ Henry was losing his temper.
‘This!’ yelled Daniel as he walloped Henry square in the jaw.
A roar of appreciation went up from the crowd as Henry doubled over to rub his jaw and digest the fact that the puny Daniel Sherrard had actually hit him.
Robert was speechless.
Henry did not bother to straighten up. Bent double, he lunged at Daniel, grabbed him around the waist and dashed him to the ground.
‘How dare you! You stupid brat!’ Henry rained down thumps upon Daniel’s chest and head while the crowd howled for more.
Daniel grabbed Henry’s fists and managed somehow to throw him off to the side. His nose was bleeding, but he didn’t care. He flung himself on top of the older boy and punched him about the face and throat, unleashing months of rage and, yes, even jealousy over Robert.
The soldiers cheered him on, though Daniel couldn’t hear them.
And then, just like that, there was silence.
Always more in tune with a crowd, Henry was the first to catch the drastic change in atmosphere. He stopped hitting back and concentrated on pushing Daniel onto the ground. The younger boy was out of breath and allowed himself a moment to make sure that Mrs Watson was still there. He avoided making eye contact with Robert but noticed Mrs Watson briefly incline her head to the people standing next to her. Even then he might have ignored this and looked to continue thrashing Henry Campsie had he not heard the widow exclaim loudly, presumably for his benefit, ‘Your Majesty!’
Oh.
Standing beside King William, Reverend George Walker looked very much like he wanted to throttle both the Sherrards, Henry and the rude crowd. He asked in a shrill voice, ‘What, pray tell, is the meaning of this shameful scene?’
Looking thoroughly miserable, Robert tried to make sense of it all. ‘Your Majesty, Reverend Walker, I must apologise for my brother. He’s just nervous about the battle. It’s his first one, see … and so he lost his temper.’
King William exchanged a puzzled glance with the clergyman.
Henry, delighted to be finally addressing the king, jumped to his feet. ‘My apologies, sire. We caught a spy and Private Sherrard, here, well … he sort of disagreed with us.’
That didn’t make much sense either.
Reverend Walker shook his head in disbelief while the king turned to the boy who was still lying on the ground. Not knowing what else to do, Daniel stayed where he was. He had never been this close to the king before and, furthermore, whenever he did see him, William was usually sitting on his horse. Daniel was vaguely struck by how short the king was; he hardly reached Mrs Watson’s shoulder.
Meanwhile, William found himself thinking back to the young boy and his scruffy dog that he had met outside Belfast. It had been his own idea to make a second brief tour of the camp in order to encourage his newer regiments for the following day. He had expected to be greeted with smiles and cheers, just as he had earlier, and was much disappointed to find a common brawl commanding his soldiers’ attention, having believed that this sort of behaviour was more typical of the Jacobites. He allowed Reverend Walker to ask the questions, hoping that it would not be necessary for him to make a comment. He had enough on his mind without this.
‘Your Majesty, might I speak?’
The woman had decided that it was time to take charge of the situation.
King William had hardly noticed her, assuming she was just one of the soldiers. Only now did he see her for what she was, a rather tall, weary woman in men’s attire. Yes, he thought, he would like to hear whatever she had to say. He nodded his head.
As a mother who preferred well behaved children, Mrs Watson began by chiding Daniel. ‘Have some respect. On your feet, now, this is your king!’
Daniel got to his feet immediately, blushing madly. ‘Forgive me, ma’am.’
She stared at him until he got the hint and added, ‘Oh, of course, forgive me, Your Majesty!’
The king nodded his acceptance.
‘Sire,’ Mrs Watson began, ‘I mean no disrespect in coming here, but I am a widow and a mother to six young children.’
William listened as she explained about her two horses being taken from her, leaving her frantic about how she would meet the rent and feed her family in the coming months.
‘Your Majesty, I know this is presumptuous of me, but I believe you are a fair man and I thought that if I presented my case in person you would understand my plight.’
Reverend Walker hardly moved as she spoke, but his expression was one of incredulity. How could this happen just as the king allowed him to accompany him on his final tour of the camp? First, an ignoble fist fight and now this strange woman blethering on about her horses. Goodness, he must think we are a backward lot.
Fortunately the widow held the truer opinion of the king.
When she finished making her plea, she bowed her head and waited. The crowd waited alongside her, some of them believing that she was about to be hauled off in chains for her impertinence.
‘Reverend Walker,’ said the king, ‘have someone accompany this woman to the herd so that she can identify her horses.’
There was a gasp from the crowd. Mrs Watson kept her eyes trained on the ground until William addressed her, ‘Madam, I am releasing your animals back to you and, if you want, take your neighbours’ horses too and please make my apologies to them.’
Daniel saw the reverend’s mouth fall open.
William thought for a moment before saying, ‘I wish to write a letter.’
There was a pause, obliging William to be more specific. ‘I need paper and a pen.’
The reverend began to pat himself up and down in search of anything that might suffice, but he needn’t have bothered.
‘I have paper and pen, Your Majesty,’ Daniel shyly held up his unfinished letter, ‘though the quill has probably dried out. Let me fetch some ink.’
Without waiting, he turned and sprinted towards his tent and bag, snatched up his chipped ink pot and returned to see the king reading the letter.
‘Are you sure I can use this? What about your parents?’ William asked.
Daniel bowed. ‘Oh, yes, Your Majesty, it … well … it would be an honour.’
William smiled in agreement, dipping the pen into the pot that Daniel held out in his hand and scribbling quickly on the back of the letter. He folded it in two and had
a soldier rush to his secretary to have it sealed in wax.
‘Make sure you take the letter with you,’ he told Mrs Watson. ‘I wish you well.’
With that, he walked off, leaving everyone staring after him in wonder – that is, everyone except the widow who did not seem the least bit surprised.
She made yet another request. ‘Reverend Walker, could I ask for Private Sherrard to take me to where the horses are kept?’
Chapter Eighteen
The Battle Begins
Tuesday morning was a beauty. The chilled air was pure and full of promise of the heat that was to follow. Summer was here even at this hour. The glistening dew that dotted the individual strands of grass would soon disappear, and the silvery mist that lingered across the River Boyne was enjoying its last hour or so, before it too would disintegrate beneath the golden blaze of the sun that threatened to break through at any moment.
Insects marched out in search of food as the birds competed with one another in song. Field mice were growing drowsy after their night’s work and returning home to sleep the day through.
Somewhere a dog howled while not too far away was the sound of thousands of footsteps on the move.
It was time.
The two kings had to manoeuvre their men into place, in a bid to outsmart the other, as if they were playing a game of chess using the most spectacular chess board and real, breathing figures.
Two kings with their bishops, or generals; their proud knights, or cavalry; the kings had earlier set out from their two respective castles in France and in London which housed their two queens, or Marys; and last but not least, their plucky little pawns, or infantry. Every piece was vital, with its own steps to take in order to win this particular game of life and death.
The pieces were moved around the board in response to each other, with the bishops, the knights, the pawns and, of course, the absent queens (who were praying hard) all doing their best to keep their kings safe while gaining as much ground as possible. Keeping a king safe in battle was no mean feat, but it could be said that the Jacobites had an easier time of it.
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