Mannan: A Tale of Vengeance: A Novel in the Chronicles of Philip Williams

by Jason Henry Evans

“Let’s make camp here,” Sir Duncan said. “We are all tired. Besides, there is fresh fish to grill and eat.”

  Mannan watched as Captain Honor and his sailors boarded their rowboats and went off to sea. He was cold and tired, so Mannan plopped down in front of a fire and tried to think of what to do next. Connell and his men were disorganized. They had that in their favor. But Mannan found it impossible to concentrate. His stomach grumbled. As the fish cooked he could not think of anything else but food.

  Ote brought him sturgeon on a stick, still dripping in its own juices. The fish smelled like heaven itself. “Thank you, brother.” He took the fish and bit into a juicy section of cooked white meat. It seemed to be the best thing he had ever eaten.

  “Here, Mannan, take another,” Ote said.

  Mannan ate more sturgeon. As he chewed its tender flesh he realized he hadn’t eaten since his oats that morning. It was good to eat and be full. Even though Seamus was dead and Connell escaped again, Mannan realized how fortunate they were. “We have the advantage now.”

  “How?” asked his cousin Aaron Rue.

  “Connell and his men will ride at least part of the night in fear that we are in hot pursuit. They will be tired, cold and hungry. All we have to do is find them and pounce.”

  “But they have the advantage with those wheel lock pistols. And they don’t even need to kill us. Just maim or injure us,” Aaron Rue said.

  “We don’t even know if they have any more powder or ball,” Mannan said.

  “Aye, they do,” said Ote as he chewed on roasted fish.

  “And how would you know that?” Asked Sir Duncan.

  Ote looked up confused. “I asked one of the sailors. The fellow I spoke to said Connell’s men took four wheel locks and about ten rounds. They fired three times tonight, so that leaves only seven shots.”

  “If that sailor counted right,” Aaron Rue added.

  One of Sir Duncan’s men spoke up. “Even if none of us get hit, the smoke and noise will scare the horses. How do we overcome that?”

  “I do not know,” Sir Duncan replied as his eyes tired and his lids grew heavy. “Let’s think about this in the morning.”

  Many thought it was a good idea. Guards were posted to keep watch while the others laid around the fire to try and sleep. Mannan dug a shallow grave and placed Seamus in it. He had every intention of giving him a proper burial when this business was all over.

  ◆◆◆

  “Reveillez-vous, Irelandais.”

  “What?” Mannan opened his eyes and saw two sailors from the Pink Maiden. They stood over him. One offered a hand up.

  “I don’t speak French,” Mannan repeated. But they ignored him. Through many hand signs it became apparent that Captain Honor wanted to see Mannan on the ship.

  Why would Captain Honor want me on his ship? Mannan thought. The moment was precarious. Everyone would be up soon and they needed to get going. But Captain Honor was an old friend who would probably never come this way again. He wanted to say goodbye properly. “Alright, lead the way.”

  The two took Mannan to their rowboat. They had rowed only a short distance from the beach when Ote can running to the shore edge waving his arms and screaming over the tide. “What are you doing?”

  “Tell everyone to wait for me. I am going to speak with the captain,” Mannan replied.

  Soon the sounds of the waves were too loud to speak over and Ote simply waved until Mannan could see him no more. They rowed for a short period of time before they got to the ship, which had two masts and rigging for half a dozen sails.

  Mannan climbed aboard where a broad chested bald man spoke rapid French to him and pointed him to the back of the ship. Mannan walked until he came to a door at the aft of the ship guarded by another sailor who peaked his head in, then opened to let Mannan through.

  “Mon Ami, come sit down,” Captain Honor said. He stood from his table which was covered with dishes and bottles. “Have you eaten?”

  “I have not. Thank you, my friend.” Mannan sat at the table.

  Captain Honor sat and served. “Here, have some fish stew, made this morning. We have fresh pears from Normandy and apples from England, s’il vurs plait.” He pulled a silver plate with warm flat bread on it that was an orange-gold with dark spots. “Here, these are breads made from New World Maze. It is good, no?”

  Mannan ate gingerly at first, but could not help himself.

  Captain honor poured a glass of beer. “I wanted to talk to you this morning because I realized I am in your debt again, mon ami.” The captain sat down and stared squarely at Mannan as he stuffed his face. “You saved my life.” The captain looked to heaven. “Our Father above reminds me to be generous with my blessings.” He crossed himself and said a short prayer under his breath. “You will bring this man to justice, Oui?”

  “We will do our best,” Mannan said between bites of sweet maize bread.

  “Come with me,” said the captain as he walked over to his bed.

  Mannan wiped his mouth and followed.

  Captain Honor took a key from around his neck and knelt in front of a chest. He fiddled with the lock and cursed in French for a moment before the lock clicked open and the chest swung open.

  Mannan coughed, spitting out the food in his mouth.

  The captain frowned and wiped his shoulder and arm off. “I need these back. When you are done, return my property.”

  Mannan wiped his mouth on his sleeve as he bent over and picked up a brand new, polished and oiled wheel lock pistol. “How many of these do you have?”

  “Ten. I have plenty of balls and powder, too. But you must retrieve my pistols, mon ami. Understand? And I must have these back. I loan you ten, I must have fourteen returned, understand?”

  “Aren’t you going with us?” Mannan asked.

  “No. I have a business to run. Creditors to pay and a crew to protect. But this does not mean I want you to rush headlong into foolishness.” The captain put his hand on Mannan’s shoulder.

  Mannan replied and put his hand over the captains. “Merci, mon ami. Now we have a fighting chance.”

  The chest of wheel locks, a small barrel of gunpowder and a bag of led shot were loaded into the row boat. As the sailors rowed Mannan went over the quick instructions he got when the weapons were loaded. Soon his mind drifted. Diarmuid’s face came flooding into his mind. The twisted look of surprise as he choked to death. Then the other men he had killed came back to him. Then the dead faces of his friends rushed to his memory. Finally he saw his mother.

  “You’ve returned,” Sir Duncan shouted from the shore, still some thirty feet away.

  As the boat hit sand Mannan stood and opened the chest. The men at the shore gasped and guffawed. “Let’s end this.”

  Chapter 14

  It won’t be long now, Mannan thought to himself. Connell’s men must be tired. They’ve ridden all over McKenzie lands. And did they even feed their horses? No, Mannan thought. If we can just catch up to them.

  “How did you get these again?” Ote asked as his pony trotted up to Mannan.

  “The captain was grateful we saved his life,” Mannan said. “Besides, I think he needs those wheel locks they stole back and we’re his only chance of getting them.”

  “I see,” Ote said.

  “Remember, brother. When you fire, brace the thing against your hip and hold it with two hands. Once fired it will jerk out of your hands and may break your wrist if you don’t.”

  “Jesus, why would anybody use that thing in a fight?”

  Mannan chuckled. “Did you see the hole in Seamus’ chest? And he was wearing armor,” Mannan said.

  Ote crossed himself.

  “There,” someone in front called out. Ahead the dirt road above the shoreline clearly showed fresh tracks. Horses sped to a gallop and the men yelped in excitement. They were going to catch Connell and his men after all.

  They ran their horses for a short time before the road split in two. The highroad veered inland while
the low road went back down to the beach. “We will have them soon,” Sir Duncan shouted as he pulled his sword from his sheath.

  The road went into a cove covered in brush and grasses. Connell’s horses wandered around while one man tried to start a fire.

  Sir Duncan stood in his stirrups with sword overhead as he screamed a war cry.

  Boom. Boom.

  Sir Duncan fell from his horse.

  Boom. Boom.

  Smoke tasting like brimstone and sulfur invaded Mannan’s nostrils as he rode down the path. Suddenly spear points came out from the smoke and pierced his thigh. More gunfire led to more horses rearing and losing their riders. Damnit, Mannan thought. We’ve been ambushed.

  Mannan pulled his sword and slashed at the spear heads, taking one off its shaft. He circled wide into the cove to get his bearing. Suddenly the breeze shifted and a sheet of foul smelling gun smoke rushed Fiona and Mannan. The horse, already frightened by the gunfire, began to rear and buck as more gunfire brought more smoke. Men cried in agony. The clang of steal clashing and horses screaming became a counterpoint to the boom of the wheel locks.

  Mannan hit the soft sand and was thankful Fiona didn’t step on him. He stood up and tried to calm the horse long enough to get the pistol from his saddle bag. He heard a grunt behind him and instinctively moved to his right as a dirk came down on the saddle to Mannan’s left.

  Without thinking, he turned and back handed the man, sending him staggering. Mannan found the wheel lock in his right hand. He turned to see the man he struck gather himself. Mannan braced the pistol on his right hip and fired. The recoil staggered Mannan a bit. He waded through the smoke to see the lifeless body of a man with blood pouring out of his chest.

  “Mannan, help,” Ote called.

  Mannan sprinted to where the voice came from. Ote struggled with a Micken who wrestled for his pistol. Mannan sprinted towards Ote but a flash and a boom came from between them. Suddenly the Micken boy fell backwards while Ote stood in shock with a smoking wheel lock. “Are you all right?’

  Ote nodded.

  “Find some place safe and reload, understood?” Mannan asked.

  A fog lifted from Ote’s eyes and he nodded again before finding a place to reload.

  Boom.

  Mannan turned to his right and saw Connell push a dead man off of his pistol. He sprinted forward and tackled Connell. They rolled around on the sandy beach as smoke and carnage enveloped them. Mannan found himself under Connell. Connell lunged for Mannan’s throat, choking him.

  “I knew it would end this way. Me killing you. It doesn’t much matter to me what happens next, as long as I get to watch the light die in your eyes.”

  Mannan’s head and lungs ached sharply. Stars formed in his vision. He tried to break Connell’s hold, but the Irishman was too strong.

  “You know, I always thought Diarmuid was a whiny child. I should thank you for the knife in his throat,” Connell said.

  Mannan reached around for anything. His heart pounded in rhythm with his head. He could feel his limbs go numb as he fumbled around for something.

  “It will be over soon, Mannan. I’ll—” Mannan smashed Connell in the side of his head with a large rock. He tumbled off and staggered on all fours while Mannan caught his breath.

  Dizzy, something told Mannan to rise on his wobbly legs.

  “Oh, that was clever,” Connell said. Blood poured down from his left temple where a large gash now marked his head. Connell wiped the blood from his eyes and pulled a dirk. He beckoned Mannan to come forward with his off hand.

  Mannan reached for the dirk on his belt. Its bone handle a familiar grip in his hand.

  Connell lunged first, followed by Mannan.

  Connell slashed, but Mannan faded backwards to avoid the cut.

  Back and forth they went probing and ducking from each other.

  “You had a chance to end this, Mannan. But you didn’t. You are a fool,” Connell said.

  “What are you saying? I tried to end this several times.”

  “No you fool, not like some old man. But I knew you couldn’t protect your people when you kept begging for peace like a cat in heat begs to be fucked.” Connell lunged forward. “I still don’t understand you. You could have it all. You have a warrior’s heart and mind. You think like a hunting wolf on the prowl. You could have had it all, Riona, the valley. Everything.”

  Mannan circled Connell. “All you know is violence? You couldn’t grasp charity when it was offered to you.”

  “Charity? Charity is for old men. I take what I want.” Connell bent low and threw sand in Mannan’s eyes.

  Mannan staggered back blinded. He tripped on something—a rock, a dropped weapon, something—and tumbled to the ground.

  Boom.

  Mannan rubbed the sand from his eyes. Connell lay on the ground bleeding from his side. Two feet away Ote stood with a smoking pistol. “That is for disrespecting Deborah,” he said.

  Mannan sat up. A strong ocean breeze blew the gun smoke away from the cove. Ten men were dead. Three who followed Connell dropped their weapons and kneeled, begging for mercy. Eight of the Lord-Sheriff’s posse stood bloodied and weary. And then there was Connell.

  He moaned in agony.

  Sir Duncan sat on a rock on the far end of the cove where the first gunshot had apparently grazed his shoulder. “In the name of good King James and the Lord McKenzie, I arrest you, Connell Mickens, for breaking the king’s peace, reaving and murder.”

  In between cries of agony, Connell laughed. “You jape, you wool and velvet peacock.”

  “I’m afraid he does not,” Mannan said as he walked over to Connell.

  Connell struggled for breath now. Each inhale a labor. “He . . . doesn’t understand.”

  Mannan straddled Connell at the waist. “No, he doesn’t.” To his right was a medium sized rock. Mannan picked it up.

  “Mannan, what are you doing?” Sir Duncan asked. “That man is under my protection. He must stand trial. This is not proper. This is not the way.”

  “I know. But it is the Irish way.” Mannan brought the stone crashing into Connell’s head. Once, twice, then a third time. Blood splattered into Mannan’s chest and face. Some tried to stop him but they came too late.

  “What have you done?” Sir Duncan asked.

  Chapter 15

  Mannan rode Fiona back to his own farm, where the new roof had been laid some days before. He ate a quiet meal with Ote and Deborah and slept one last night in his own bed. It has been three weeks since Mannan had ended Connell. While all agreed the fighting was over, Sir Duncan was outraged at the violence of it all. He was so angry at the way Mannan ended Connell’s life that he meant to hang Mannan. “The McKenzie and I both would have been happy with a fine for your actions, but your reckless violence leaves me no other option.”

  But Captain Honor posted a bond for Mannan and negotiated his exile. He had some business to attend to at another cove, but tomorrow he would return and take Mannan with him.

  The three of them went down to the familiar beach where fish was traded for iron tools and Spanish wine. A rowboat was already waiting him. Others were waiting there, too. His kin had come, along with Father Duncan.

  Mannan got out of the wagon and hugged his kin. He turned to Deborah, who squeezed him tight. “You were right brother. I am not the woman mother was. But I will try.” She hugged him again.

  “Goodbye Deborah. And be nice to Ote.”

  Deborah nodded as her face flushed.

  Ote climbed down and hugged Mannan, too. He grabbed Mannan’s sword. “Here.”

  “No. You keep it. You’ll need it at some point,” Mannan said.

  Ote hugged him tight. “Thank you, for everything.” As they untangled themselves Mannan looked around. “I thought she would come, too,” Ote said.

  “I hoped so, too. But Riona has her own obligations.”

  “Did you here she will marry one of the McKenzie’s nephews? To tie her and her family to them
?”

  “I had heard that. Connell left a mess we must all clean up,” Mannan said.

  “It doesn’t seem fair. Their leader gets an advantageous marriage and our leader gets exiled,” Ote added.

  “Remember, Ote. We put three of their leaders in the grave. This is fair.” Mannan turned to walk away when Ote grabbed his arm and point to a berm. There stood Riona on horseback.

  Ote smiled at Mannan and cocked his head towards her. Go on, Ote said without saying anything.

  Mannan walked across a short dune and up the berm. As he drew closer, Riona sat awkwardly on her mare with both her legs dangling from one side of the horse. “What is that?”

  Riona narrowed her eyes on Mannan. “This is a side saddle, a lady does not ride with her legs open like a man.” She tried to be gentle with her speech, but Riona practically spat the words out as she clenched her reins.

  “Presbyterians,” Mannan muttered. He looked up at Riona. She was somehow different now. Her clothes were refined, for the first time he saw her in riding boots. Even her hair was braided under a fine pillbox hat. “You look resplendent, Riona. I think being a lady will suit you well.”

  Riona looked away, into the ocean. “This world is full of wonders, Mannan. We will see.”

  Mannan took a deep breath. These next words would be hard, but they needed saying. “I wasn’t sure you would come. I thank you for that. I wanted to settle accounts with you,” he said.

  “The McKenzie has said all debts have been settled. Between my men swearing an oath that you shed no more blood than was necessary and the other men who would not take up arms against you because of your mother. The thing is settled,” Riona said, still looking at the sea.

  “And this marriage? Do you wish it?”

  “What I wish is of no concern. I do it for my people,” Riona said, looking west.

  Mannan came closer and held the reins of Riona’s mare. “Do you remember that tree? You kissed me under that tree. Do you remember that?”

  Riona closed her eyes as her face reddened. “I do remember that.” She paused to collect herself as one tear came down. “I also remember my brother’s death and my cousins, too.”