Kings of the Boyne

by Nicola Pierce

  He was free to continue while Lauzun stood by with the king’s trousers and James fixed his shirt into place. ‘I suppose the question is how many we should send to meet him. Neil O’Neill and his dragoons number about five hundred in total. It is they alone who are guarding Rossnaree so we must send reinforcements as fast as possible, although we really should leave some battalions in Oldbridge just in case an attempt is made here.’

  The king snapped, ‘Really, Richard, of course I am sending reinforcements and I shall lead them myself.’

  Turning to Lauzun, he ordered him to have his horse saddled and brought immediately, adding, ‘You are coming with me.’

  Lauzun inclined his head. ‘Yes, Your Majesty!’

  James gulped down some coffee, while Talbot waited, not daring to venture another word until the king’s mood had improved. Outside he heard Lauzun shouting the king’s orders.

  James thought quickly. ‘Fine,’ he said, complimenting himself on his plan, before he said it aloud to Talbot. ‘I will take sixteen thousand men with me. We have thirteen hundred holding Drogheda so that leaves two thousand cavalry and five thousand infantry to stay here with you and guard Oldbridge.’

  Talbot quickly digested this while James added, ‘We can assume that William is leading most of his – if not his entire – army to Rossnaree. We must appear more impressive than some of us think we do.’

  His commander felt a little queasy as he wondered if Queen Mary Beatrice had informed her husband about his lack of trust in the outcome of the battle. Why oh why did I send that stupid letter? The truth was he had hoped that the queen might convince James to leave Ireland and return to France. Squashing down his guilt, Richard stood up and looked his king in the eye, saying, ‘I agree, sire. Take the majority with you to Rossnaree. Nobody, including – I’ll wager – his own men, has ever been heard to describe William as a gifted general. He has made a most obvious choice, and a poor one.’

  James gazed coolly at his second-in-command as he asked, ‘Are you sure about that, my friend, that you have no doubt?’

  Talbot bristled at the question but only because it hit a nerve. In any case, it was much too late to admit that – yes – he, the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, did doubt his king and friend. Of course Talbot would not prevent His Majesty from leading away two-thirds of the army to meet William in Rossnaree – that blasted ford. God knows he needs as many as possible to compensate for the fact that most of those Irish boys have yet to fire a gun in battle and will have to wait a while yet since they only carry daggers and scythes.

  Richard struggled to hide his feelings. Oh, wouldn’t it be a grand thing altogether if I just said it out, just asked him how he thought that farming implements were going to fare against the latest in weaponry? Sure, he may as well have them plant some seeds at Rossnaree while they’re waiting for the Williamites!

  Well, it was not like he was being asked to place his hand on the Bible and swear to tell the whole truth. He opened his mouth to make a strong, positive reply, but James interrupted him to ask quietly, ‘Tell me honestly, am I leaving you enough men to hold Oldbridge?’

  Richard Talbot was relieved to be able to say quite truthfully, ‘Yes, sire, you are. Thanks to Louis’ generosity we have the finest cavalry in Europe. If there is an attempt to breach the ford in front of the village, we will be more than able to hold our own.’

  James nodded, warning his commander, ‘It is as well to expect an attack at Oldbridge. It makes sense for William to try to distract us from the fact he is taking most of his men to Rossnaree. At least if you have any trouble, it will only involve whatever few men he has left behind.’

  Outside, the men were gathering their weapons and finding out who was staying and who was leaving right now with James.

  James had asked for the best of the cannon, the French cannon, to be loaded onto wagons and brought with them. Horses were led out of their pens to be either yoked up to the few wagons or else saddled up for their riders.

  Every passing minute was like a jab in James’s side. The Williamites were already out of sight of his telescope; he had pointed it in the direction that the sentries had indicated but failed to see them. Goodness, all those thousands of men, they move speedily enough, he thought.

  His nerves were jangling and he decided to take refuge in his tent until the men were ready. Sensing a familiar dampness, he prodded his nostrils to make sure that he was not having one of his nosebleeds. They almost always happened at the most inopportune moments. It would do his Irish and French generals no good to see blood spurting from him before he even got on his horse.

  He paced the small interior of his tent, dabbing at his nose until Lauzun stuck his head in to tell him that his horse and the men were ready.

  ‘I’ll be out shortly,’ said James, dismissing the Frenchman with a curt nod.

  So, this was it.

  He gazed about him as if his tent was suddenly the most precious home he had ever known. This had been his substitute palace. There were his good blankets and pillows and there were his Bible and rosary beads, sitting on the stool beside his bed, along with the miniatures of his wife and father.

  Fixing his sword and picking up his pistol, James steadied himself and prayed: ‘I do this in the name of my father, brother and my baby son. Dear God, I ask You to guide me to victory today, but if I should be defeated, I beg you to look after my family in France … and in England too.’

  A drummer boy began to lightly tap out the heartbeat of the army that awaited their king.

  James pulled back the canvas door of his tent and stepped out into the July morning.

  Chapter Twenty

  All is Revealed

  For the fifth time that morning, Gerald checked that Cait’s drawing of their grandfather’s castle was tucked into his breast pocket.

  The morning had begun rather unexpectedly as the camp emptied out with thousands leaving for Rossnaree. He and Jacques had stood watching most of the army march away.

  Jacques asked him, ‘So, you understand what is happening, yes? James is off to meet William while we stay here minding the smallest village in the world.’

  Gerald scrunched up his face. ‘Did you mean to say “minding”? It’s an odd way to describe it. We are guarding the ford in front of us.’

  His friend shrugged. ‘We are the finest cavalry in Europe. What is “odd” is that we are not accompanying your king to help defeat his rival. Did I leave France to sit here on my backside?’

  Moments earlier, Michael and Joseph had passed by on their way to take up position in and around Oldbridge with the infantry battalions. Michael had lifted his scythe in a cheery salute, ‘See you boys later!’

  Joseph had given his customary laugh, though he looked as nervous as Gerald felt.

  ‘It is a bit strange,’ agreed Gerald, ‘watching them all leave but we have a job to do here that is just as important.’

  A dog was nosing its way around the various tents. They both watched it as it scrabbled at the ground, wondering how to get inside one. Finally it looked over at them and whimpered.

  Jacques declared, ‘No, I will not help you to steal another man’s food!’

  The dog whimpered again and looked at Gerald who was packing up the bullets and cartridges of gunpowder that he had made the previous evening. His gun was polished and ready, as was his sword.

  Jacques was doing the same but at a much slower rate. He carried on talking to the dog. ‘But you see, I would not wish our awful bread on you. Please believe me when I say that I am saving you from a dreadful fate.’

  The dog sniffed the air, while Gerald rolled his eyes. The inferior quality and bland taste of the Jacobite bread was a favourite topic for the picky Frenchman. As he said himself, ‘Ah, oui, how I miss the pastries at home … the lightest dough that is crisp to touch yet melts on your tongue. Gerald, you poor Irish boy! You have no idea of the bounty that awaits you. I will introduce you to pink icing, chocolate croissants and fruity tarts. Tru
st me, your mouth will water so much that you will have to hold a cup beneath your chin.’

  ‘I can’t wait!’ muttered Gerald.

  Actually he couldn’t. Ever since Jacques regaled him about the beauty of France with its months of sunshine, sandy beaches, Roman ruins and hundreds of grand churches, he was curious to see it, telling his friend, ‘I cannot even begin to imagine what it must be like to live openly as a Catholic in a Catholic country and be able to speak your own language without any fear of punishment.’

  It was Jacques’ idea that Gerald follow in his father’s footsteps and take a boat to France; it took the young Irish soldier a while to commit to it aloud. Even the idea of being in the middle of the ocean, onboard one of those magnificent sailing ships, was enough to excite him. This was not to say that he had forgotten about Offaly. He had already warned Jacques that he wanted to go home first before he left it again.

  Jacques had understood but told the boy, ‘When you are standing under your mother’s roof, with her eyes upon you, you may need to remind yourself how big the world is.’

  Jacques had never met Mrs O’Connor but suspected that she was a woman of unaccountable will and might. He even offered to go with Gerald to Offaly, for the sake of ensuring that the boy would be free to leave again, although he did not admit this to Gerald. Instead, he said, ‘I would like to visit this famous Offaly and compare her to my town to see then which one is the best.’

  Gerald had thought this a splendid idea. He was anxious for Jacques to see his grandfather’s castle, or what was left of it.

  This was the first time that he had made a decision about his own life. I hope Mother and Cait will understand. He thought they might accept his decision, but he did not hold the same confidence about his teacher. The priest had never said anything, but Gerald had sometimes felt that Father Nicholas nursed a hope that Gerald might follow in his footsteps and join a monastery. Even though Gerald wanted to see France, he could not imagine staying away from Ireland forever.

  In the camp, the dog jerked its head up and swerved sharply away from the soldiers’ tent before breaking into a full sprint. Gerald watched it in amusement and turned to make a comment to Jacques who put his hand up to silence him, whispering, ‘Wait!’

  And there it was, a thunderous blast that erupted in the near distance, followed by another and then another and another after that. It was the end of silence; each mighty crash was immediately followed by an echoing one so that there was no pause in the explosions.

  Gerald froze and waited to be told what to do. Soldiers spilled out of their tents, including Richard Talbot who looked positively enraged.

  One of the infantrymen came running towards them, shouting, ‘They’re firing on Oldbridge – a line of cannons set up on their side of the Boyne!’

  ‘How many?’ roared Jacques.

  ‘Don’t know, five or six!’

  Richard Talbot took command, placing both hands around his mouth to shout at the messenger, ‘Tell the men to fall back from Oldbridge but not to clear the area! I repeat, they are not to clear the area!’

  The man bobbed his head forward and his ‘Yes, sir’ could not be heard by anyone, including himself.

  Talbot grabbed the soldier nearest to him and bellowed in his ear: ‘Tell them to move the rest of our cannon into position. We’ll give them as good as we’re getting!’

  The man sped off to carry out his order. Talbot swallowed hard as he remembered the king had taken the biggest and best cannon with him. Well, they were just going to have to make do with what they had.

  Meanwhile, down by the riverfront, Michael and Joseph were cowering behind one of the buildings, wondering what on earth they were expected to do. The noise was deafening and they took no comfort from the brick wall that trembled with every cannonball. Joseph’s face was bleeding, though he could not fathom why; he could only taste his blood as it slid into his mouth. He stared in bewilderment at Michael, trusting him to make the necessary decision, whatever it was.

  All around them they could see their comrades doing exactly the same thing, keeping their heads down in the shadows of the few houses. Michael, who had absolutely no experience of being trapped by several cannons, did, however, guess that they needed to move out of their range. He’d hardly had the time to appreciate the size of the Williamite artillery but, my God, they looked enormous.

  ‘We need to move farther back!’

  Joseph, who was practically leaning on top of him, looked blankly at his friend, not having heard a single word.

  The ground was being pummelled around them with stones and grit flying up into their eyes and mouths.

  Michael slapped Joseph’s shoulder and pointed backwards, hoping to attract the attention of the others. He shouted, ‘Move back out of the way. It’s our only chance!’

  Joseph thought that was an extremely sensible idea. About twenty feet from where they stood was a narrow trench that he and Michael had helped to dig. Surely it had been built for this very situation. Some of the cannonballs were whizzing past them so they would have to run fast and as far as they could before they would be out of range.

  Michael waved his arms around until he had the attention of the fellows at the next building who all began to make the same gesture. Just to be sure, Michael yelled, ‘Move back!’

  He held up one fist and stuck up one finger and then two fingers and then three, shouting, ‘Go! Go! Go!’

  There was no doubt they needed to move and it made no sense to wait for a break as the guns followed one another up and down the line.

  So, the Jacobites, clutching their weapons with clammy hands, had to run while the ground was pelted all around them. They heard musket fire but most of them understood that they were out of range from individual shooters. On reaching the trench, they flung themselves into it, to wait it out or until they received orders to do something else.

  About eight of them huddled close together, giddy from their narrow escape. Michael felt rather proud and wondered had he actually saved their lives. Joseph certainly seemed to think so; he beamed at his friend in gratitude.

  One of their companions, who bore a scar down the side of his cheek, was enraged. He shook his head and demanded, ‘Where is James? Did he go back to Dublin – that’s what we heard?’

  Joseph shook his head and shouted, ‘He’s gone to Rossnaree.’

  Only Michael nodded in agreement but then stopped when he saw the scornful expressions on everyone else’s faces.

  ‘Yeah,’ said the man with the scar, ‘and you believe that, do you? I’d say he’s run back to Dublin along with those haughty French infantry and their fancy cannon. And we’re the fools for staying put.’

  Joseph was shocked to the core and stuttered, ‘No! He couldn’t have.’

  And so this conversation might have continued in spite of the explosions, for what else could they do while they waited, except for the fact that Michael suddenly had an urge to check the opposite bank. He couldn’t have explained why but something came over him, prompting him to peek out to see what he could see.

  ‘Keep your head down!’ warned one of the others.

  Michael turned back to his fellow Jacobites in bewilderment. His face had lost its usual colour and his eyes bulged with horror as if he was still looking at whatever he had seen.

  Joseph reached out to him and then stopped, deciding instead to get to his knees and look across the Boyne. They didn’t need to hear him say ‘Oh, my God’ because they could plainly see his lips make those sounds.

  Oh, my God.

  The cannon kept firing as one by one the soldiers popped their heads up and saw a sight that utterly confused them, each man needing a moment before he could understand what he was looking at, which was this: thousands and thousands and thousands of Williamites were appearing out of the leafy glen and taking up positions all along the banks of the Boyne.

  Oh, my God.

  Nobody moved. How was this happening? Their sentries had reported hear
ing the Williamites march away at dawn. Who were these men? How many were they looking at and how many more were there? There seemed to be no end to the rows of colourful jackets pouring out of the glen. And there, there was William himself on his black horse looking hale and hearty in his fine regalia. But he should not be there at all because he had gone to Rossnaree which was four miles away.

  Or had he?

  The sun continued to blaze away while each and every one of those Jacobites only felt a prickly chill that made them tremble.

  Michael was the first to react. His mouth was drained of every drop of moisture, therefore his voice sounded scratchy and dull when he said, ‘Someone needs to run back and tell Richard Talbot.’

  Joseph looked dazed, only saying, ‘I don’t understand. I don’t understand!’

  The man with the scar turned and started running even before he had properly got his two feet beneath him.

  A few minutes later he was in the middle of a puzzled crowd who tried to understand what he was saying in between taking big gulps of air. ‘The Williamites … they’re not gone, they’re there! Over there!’

  Richard Talbot snarled impatiently, ‘What?’

  The man took a deep breath. ‘Sir, we’ve just seen thousands of Williamites – too many to count, and William too. They’re all over there.’

  His listeners gaped at him and then turned to jog together towards the pathway that led down to Oldbridge, with Talbot calling for his telescope, to which the man with the scar felt desperate enough to say, ‘You won’t need no telescope to see ’em. I promise you that!’

  He was right.

  Talbot stopped still in shock. Gerald found himself standing next to him and distinctly heard the Lord Lieutenant gasp, ‘Mother of God!’

  The scene had continued to unfold since Michael had first registered it because that first battalion of Williamite soldiers, wearing gold and blue, were now walking into the Boyne.