‘Pass me the whiskey,’ he said.
The pain was white-hot – a molten river and he drowning in it. Even the whiskey barely dulled the edges. They poured it down his throat every time he surfaced and he struggled in a crucible of agony and alcohol. Time blurred. He heard voices praying – why did they plead for his life when all he wanted was to die? He moaned and screamed and writhed like a maggot on a griddle, unable to make prayers for himself.
Even his ghosts had deserted him. The nightmares took their place – John Bermingham in the cabin of the Matthew, Carew and his men at Castlekevin; the Constable in his butcher’s booth below Dublin Castle. Pain and terror encircled him like serpents, crushing him till he could no longer breathe. Till his body exploded, flashed like gunpowder into blackness.
The pain ebbed and returned – but this time like an ember, its white heat dulled now to a glowing red. He lay without moving, feeling life run back into his body. His head burned, his muscles screamed, his feet were like two horseshoes plucked from the forge, but he had survived. He could feel a mattress under him, a pillow beneath his head. He knew where he was again. He opened his eyes and in the corner of his vision he could see Donal sitting beside his bed. Donal leaned forward, anxiously.
‘Hugh, can you hear me? Are you back with us again?’
‘I am,’ he croaked. ‘The little bit that’s left of me.’ And he tried to smile, but a wave of pain washed over him.
Donal reached out a hand. ‘Is it very bad?’
‘Like putting your feet into the fire. My toes – did he really take them, Donal?
‘He did.’
‘Then why do they hurt so much?’
Donal lifted his shoulders helplessly. He held out the whiskey jar. ‘Will you take another drop?’
Hugh shook his head. ‘It doesn’t help – only to give me a pain in my head to match the one in my feet. Chreesta, I’m tired. How long am I after lying here?’
‘Five days. We feared for you, Hugh Roe, and that’s the truth of it. But your fever is gone and MacDunleavy says the wounds are healing cleanly.’ He squeezed Hugh’s hand. ‘It’s over, Hugh. You’re alive, you’ll walk again, the worst is past. It’s over.’
Over? How could it be over, and he half dead with pain and his feet irreparably maimed? He had been robbed and cheated and shamefully ill-used – and he wanted vengeance. He lay in his pain and rehearsed his grievances – every abuse, every injustice, every wanton act of callousness that had brought him to this moment and this place. From the dark corners of his mind, he began to gather in his ghosts: Hugh mac Calvagh, Donnell O’Donnell, gentle Tadhg O’Boyle, Art mac Shane and the three hundred dead of the Trinidad Valencera – they advanced in a company of pikes and guns, and for the first time he saw himself at the head of them, leading them on his mutilated feet. He looked down a long black path into the future. Once he stepped onto that path there would be no turning back. And he would be alone as he had never been before. More solitary than a prisoner in his cell was a chieftain among his own people.
Had he the strength for it? He gritted his teeth and turned his head painfully, to look at Donal. ‘You are wrong, Donal,’ he said softly. ‘It is not over, it is only just beginning. The old red English Morrigu tore apart a wasps’ nest when she came poking her fingers into Tír Chonaill.’
Donal said nothing. He turned Hugh’s words over in his mind and realised how little they surprised him. My soul, he thought, didn’t I always know it must come to this in the end? He closed his eyes, and for a moment he, too, tried to peer into the future, but it eluded him. It was too dark – too shadowed with uncertainty.
He looked back at the bed. Hugh had fallen asleep again. His face was pale, the cheekbones far too sharp, the eyes deep sunk in blue and violet shadows. But the furrows of pain had lifted from his forehead and his body was relaxed – except for one curious thing. His right hand, upflung across the pillow, was curled into a fist, as though it held a sword.
Donal sat for a moment watching him, then rose and, stretching his own cramped limbs, crossed to the window to look out at the new day. The morning was cold and fine. The world beyond the window sparkled with hoarfrost, its whiteness pink-tipped by the first rays of the sun. A small wind ruffled the tops of the pine trees and high above them, little more than a speck against the lightening sky, an eagle soared on barely moving wings.
Postscript
RED HUGH RECOVERED from his ordeal, though it was nearly a year before his feet were properly healed. In April 1592 his father abdicated and he was inaugurated as ‘The O’Donnell’. In August of the same year he made a formal submission to the Lord Deputy. This was a meaningless gesture, however – four years of imprisonment had left him with a bitter distrust of the English – and within twelve months he had allied himself with Hugh O’Neill and Hugh Maguire in a struggle against the Crown that became known as the ‘Nine Years’ War’.
At first the Irish allies enjoyed great success, but a lack of resources and power struggles between and within the various clans made a sustained campaign difficult. They were promised help from Spain, but when, in 1601, the Spanish eventually landed an army, it was at Kinsale – on the south coast – while Red Hugh was in the north fighting a rearguard action against his treacherous cousin, Niall Garbh O’Donnell.
After an epic march across frozen terrain, Red Hugh joined The O’Neill outside Kinsale and a battle was fought on Christmas Eve against an English force under Mountjoy. It was a disaster. The Irish plans were betrayed to the English; O’Neill, who had not wanted to fight, lost his way in a fog and failed to make the rendezvous, and the Spanish, for reasons known only to themselves, refused to come out of Kinsale and fight. The day ended in a resounding defeat for the Irish.
Red Hugh was devastated. He crossed to Spain to try to raise more help, but after six months of frustration and heartbreak, he eventually fell ill and died at Simancas on 10 September 1602 – a month short of his thirtieth birthday. There were rumours afterwards that he had been poisoned by an agent of the English Government.
And did he ever marry Róis O’Neill, the girl to whom he was supposed to be betrothed? Historians are still arguing over this question. A couple of English reports suggest he did, but they are unreliable and no Irish source mentions any marriage ever, to anyone. Father Donagh Mooney, who was with him when he died, stated quite categorically that ‘he was not married’, and certainly there is no evidence of any offspring – legitimate or otherwise. By the time Red Hugh died, Róis was married to Donal Balach O’Cahan.
Main Characters
THE IRISH
Hugh Roe (Red Hugh) O’Donnell, son of ‘The O’Donnell’ of Tyrconnell.
Donal Gorm MacSweeney, son of ‘The MacSweeney’ of Fanad, friend of Hugh Roe.
Eoghan O’Gallagher, friend of Hugh Roe.
Hugh Dubh O’Donnell, Hugh Roe’s father, chieftain of clan O’Donnell and paramount chieftain in Tyrconnell.
Finnoula MacDonnell (the Iníon Dubh), Hugh Roe’s mother.
Hugh mac Ferdoragh O’Neill (2nd Earl of Tyrone), claimant to the O’Neill chieftaincy and effectively the most powerful man in Ulster. Married to Hugh Roe’s half-sister Siobhán.
Róis O’Neill, daughter of Hugh mac Ferdoragh, by his first wife.
Henry mac Shane O’Neill, cousin (and enemy) of Hugh mac Ferdoragh. Imprisoned in Dublin Castle with Hugh Roe.
Art mac Shane O’Neill, Henry’s half-brother and fellow hostage.
Fiach mac Hugh O’Byrne, Lord of Ballinacor in the Wicklow Mountains. Ally of Hugh mac Ferdoragh and bitter enemy of the Dublin government.
Róis O’Toole: Fiach’s wife, sister of Felim O’Toole of Castlekevin.
Hugh O’Toole: brother of Phelim and Róis, fellow hostage of Hugh Roe.
Turlough Buí O’Hagan, trusted emissary of Hugh mac Ferdoragh, Hugh’s guide on his journey back to Tyrconnell.
Hugh Maguire, ‘The Maguire’, Lord of Fermanagh, cousin and friend of Hugh Roe.
&nbs
p; THE ENGLISH
Sir John Perrot, Lord Deputy of Ireland, reputedly the illegitimate son of Henry VIII and therefore half-brother to Queen Elizabeth I.
Sir William Fitzwilliam, Perrot’s successor as Lord Deputy.
John Bermingham, a merchant of Dublin.
Nicholas Barnes, skipper of the merchant vessel Matthew.
Stephen Seagar, Constable of Dublin Castle.
John Maplesdene, Seagar’s successor.
Richard (Dick) Weston, friend of Hugh mac Ferdoragh.
Sir Lucas Dillon, Member of the Dublin Council, a friend of Sir John Perrot.
Henry Hovenden, Anglo-Irish landholder.
Richard Hovenden, Henry’s brother.
THE SPANISH
Alonzo de Luzon, colonel in the Spanish army, leader of the survivors of the Armada ship La Trinidad Valencer.
The O’Neill Family Tree
The O’Donnell Family Tree
Pronunciation Guide to Irish Words
* * *
NOTE:
‘ch’ represents the final sound in the Scottish word ‘loch’.
* * *
Amadán omadawn
Ballinacor ballinaker
Bearnas Mór barnas moor
Brandubh branduv
Brehon breh-hun
Breifne brefney
Calvagh calva
Carraig na Dúin corrig nuh dooin
Cashel cashel
Cenél Chonaill kennail kunnel
Chreesta kreesta
Columcille kolumkill
Connaught konnucht
Conor mac Nessa konner mack nes-sa
Cúchulainn kookullin
Curragh kurra
Dagda dogda
Deirdre daredra
Dhia yee-a
Diarmuid dearmid
Doire Leathan durra lah-unn
Donal Gorm dohnull gurm
Donchadh dunn-a-ka
Drogheda droh-hed-ah
Dubhdarach Roe duvdarruch roe
Eoghan oh-en
Eoghan mac Toole O’Gallagher oh-en mack tool oh galaher
Fanad fonodd
Felim faylim
Ferdoragh ferdorrah
Fiach fee-yuk
Ficheall fih-hull
Finn mac Cumhaill finn mack cooill
Finnoula finnoola
Geas gas
Gráinne grawn-yah
Hugh Dubh hew duv
Hugh Gavelach hew gavelugh
Iníon Dubh Iníon duv
Lir leer
Lough loch
MacSweeney Doe mack sweeney doe
Maeve mave
Manus manus
Melaghlen melochlen
Miler Magrath miler magrah
Mo chroí muh cree
Mongavlin mungavlin
Morrigu morrigoo
Neill Garbh nee-ul gorruv
O’Donnell Abú oh donnell aboo
Róis roe-ish
Slieve Roe sleeve roe
Tadhg tyg (long ‘i’)
Tadhg na Buille tyge nuh bwilla
Tír Chonaill teer conn-ill
Tír na nÓg teer nuh nogue
Tuatha dé Danann toohah day donnunn
Turlough Luineach turloch line-uch
Usnach usnoch
Copyright
This eBook edition first published 2012 by The O’Brien Press Ltd,
12 Terenure Road East, Rathgar, Dublin 6, Ireland
Tel: +353 1 4923333; Fax: +353 1 4922777
E-mail: [email protected]
Website: www.obrien.ie
First published 1999
eBook ISBN: 978–1–84717–466–6
Originally published in 1998 by Thomas C. Lothian Pty Ltd.
11 Munro Street, Port Melbourne, Victoria 3207, Australia
Copyright for text © Deborah Lisson
Copyright for typesetting, layout, illustrations, design ©
The O’Brien Press Ltd.
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British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
Lisson, Deborah
Red Hugh
1.O’Donnell, Hugh Roe - Juvenile fiction 2.Bibliographical fiction
3.Children’s stories
823.9’14[J]
The O’Brien Press receives assistance from
Layout and design: The O’Brien Press Ltd.
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