The Noble Mercenary

by Patrick John Donahoe

  Jacques left the pub to fetch the Constable.

  Fiona went back upstairs.

  Ian pulled up a second chair and sat facing Shaunessy “What were your intentions, Mr. Shaunessy? Were you going to rape Fiona in her own bed? We don’t take kindly to men who rape women!” Ian half yelled in rapid manner. “You should thank me for not taking my anger out on you right now.” Ian glared at the now frightened man. “You’d better hope the Constable arrives soon.”

  Fiona returned with Shaunessy’s trousers, lit a few more candles and stoked the embers in the fireplace. A half burned log burst into flame.

  Ian laid Shaunessy’s trouser across his lap to cover his nakedness.

  Shaunessy twisted against the bindings, but Ian had trussed him up snug and tight.

  “Sit still, or I’ll sit you still,” Ian threatened with malice dripping from his voice.

  Jacques and the Constable burst through the front door. The Constable had thrown a coat over his nightshirt, and appeared only partially awake.

  “What have we here?” the Constable asked.

  “This man crept into Fiona’s bedroom with the intent to rape,” Ian replied.

  The Constable went to Fiona, held her hand, and asked, “Are you alright my dear? Has this man molested you?” with a sense of urgency in his voice.

  “No, but he came into my bedroom.”

  “He crawled into her bed, without his trousers,” Jacques added.

  “They lie. I must’ve been sleepwalking and mistakenly entered the wrong room after taking a wee hour’s piss,” Shaunessy interjected while staring at the floor.

  “Attempted rape is a serious crime, and not tolerated here,” the Constable said, his face flushed an angry red in the candlelight. He shook his night stick at Shaunessy.

  Ian restrained himself from shouting at Shaunessy. Gritting his teeth, he said, “Make him empty his pockets. Let’s see if he was attempting to rob her also.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Shaunessy protested. “She has nothing worth stealing in her room.”

  Ian looked at the Constable, then at Fiona, and then back at Shaunessy. “How would you know that? Have you searched her room before? During the day, perhaps?”

  Shaunessy glared at Ian, but remained silent.

  The Constable considered the situation for a moment, then said, “Under the circumstances let’s see what Mister Shaunessy has in his pockets.”

  Ian picked Shaunessy’s trousers from his lap and pulled the contents out of the pockets. He handed them one by one to the Constable. From one pocket he removed a few coins, a button and a dirty handkerchief, which he dropped to the floor. From the other pocket he removed a silver crucifix on a fine gold chain, and handed it to the Constable.

  Fiona, who had remained in the background during the questioning, approached the Constable, and said, “That’s my husband’s crucifix. The robber who killed him stole that crucifix along with our money.”

  “Are you quite sure, Fiona? Many crucifixes look similar.”

  “Read the inscription on the back.”

  The Constable turned the crucifix over. “It’s engraved with ‘Morris’ along the length and ‘Fiona’ on the crossbar, with the letter ‘o’ used in each name.”

  “I bought the crucifix and had it engraved for our first anniversary.”

  Jacques, Ian and the Constable all stared at Shaunessy who had been foolish enough to keep a token of his crime.

  “You’re under arrest for the robbery and murder of Morris O’Brien. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Shaunessy glared at Ian, then Jacques, “I’ll kill the both of you for this.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be killing anyone else. Stand up, Mr. Shaunessy.” The Constable untied Shaunessy’s hands.

  Ian handed Shaunessy his trousers. “Put them on.”

  Fiona looked away, while Shaunessy pulled up his trousers.

  The Constable turned to Ian and Jacques, and asked, “Would you help me escort this brute to the jail?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ian replied.

  “Can you remain in town until the trial?”

  “We have to be leaving soon. How long would we have to wait?” Jacques asked.

  “The Brehon will be here next week. We’re very fortunate to have our most senior Brehon available to conduct a trial. He is well versed in traditional law, poetry and canonical law. I don’t think the trial will take much time.”

  “We’ll remain until after the trial. . . and the hanging,” added Ian.

  “Good. Let’s get him to the jail.”

  The Constable tipped his hat to Fiona. “I’m glad no harm came to you, my dear. I would never have forgiven myself if that reprobate had been successful in his nefarious crimes against you.”

  “Thank you, Michael . . . I mean Constable.” Fiona replied in a honeyed voice.

  Ian helped Fiona around the pub on Friday and Saturday while Jacques enjoyed the sights of Dublin. Fiona normally served only warm soup and cold cuts with day old bread in the pub on Sunday evenings so she would have time for Sean, for rest, and for prayers in that order on Sunday afternoons. But at Ian’s insistence, after morning Mass, Ian, Fiona and Sean went to the local park on the North Side of the River Liffey. It was a warm day even for mid-June, with the temperature in the high 70’s and the sun shone down from a clear blue sky. A perfect day for a picnic.

  Ian laid a linen tablecloth out on the ground and set Fiona’s seldom used picnic basket in the middle of the cloth. Fiona sat opposite Ian and held Sean in her arms. “I’m glad you invited us to go on a picnic, and have been such a help these last two days in the pub.”

  “I’ve been only too happy to help.”

  “I forgot how nice it is to have a man around the place to repair the broken chairs and tables, give the windows and floors a good cleaning . . .” She hesitated. “. . . I’m sorry. I know you have no intentions to stay.”

  Ian blushed, his red hair had turned browner over the past few years and his freckled face became ruddier under the Holy Land sun, but he could still blush a noticeable pink. “I would love to stay, Fiona. I should be more a part of Sean’s life, but I have to leave right after the trial.” Ian reached out to Sean and beckoned for him to leave his mother’s arms and come to him.

  Sean looked up at his mother with a questioning glance and she nodded approval. Sean walked over to Ian and sat down next to him. Ian mussed his always tousled hair, and said, “How about a game of ‘tag, you’re it,’ while your mother sets out the meal for us?”

  Sean nodded in enthusiastic agreement and they were off. Ian let Sean catch him without being too obvious and caught him only after much exaggerated effort. After a half hour of back and forth ‘being it,’ they finally ran back to the picnic spread and collapsed next to Fiona.

  Fiona smiled as if to say, if only this day were the first of many. But Fiona had been independent for long enough to know she should enjoy the moment without any long term expectations.

  They ate in silence except for the occasional complement from Ian about Fiona’s cooking. The fresh air and sun overcame Sean. He dropped off to sleep lying on the cloth between Ian and Fiona.

  Feeling less constricted by Sean’s ever listening ears, Ian said, “We could have had a very good life together.”

  “We still could,” Fiona replied, an inquisitive look in her eyes.

  “But . . . I have my responsibilities in Jerusalem.”

  “Yes.” Fiona’s hopeful expression started to fade.

  “I need to visit my Uncle Dylan in Killarney. I hope he’s still alive. Then Jacques and I must return to Jerusalem.”

  “Would you consider taking us with you to Killarney . . . to Jerusalem?”

  “I have someone in Jerusalem . . . someone I hope to marry.” Ian looked at the river Liffey in an attempt to avoid Fiona’s eye contact. “If my proposal is accepted it would be very awkward for you. A stranger in a strange land. You have your pub and your life here. I’m sur
e there must be someone here who’s taken a fancy to you.” Ian halted and looked into Fiona’s eyes. “There is somebody!”

  “Actually, there could be.”

  “Who?”

  “The Constable. I think he was spurred on by your visit.”

  “Ahah! I thought I recognized some romantic tendencies toward you in his demeanor.”

  “He dropped by the pub yesterday morning while you and Jacques were caring for your horses. He asked me to supper at his mother’s home this evening . . . with Sean.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him to call for me at 5 P.M., and if I’m available, I will accompany him to his mother’s.”

  “Why wouldn’t you be available?”

  “I wanted to see your reaction. . . Are you jealous?” Fiona asked, a mischievous grin on her face.

  “Of course I’m jealous. You’re a wonderful catch.”

  “Your presence here probably brought out a competitiveness in him. He’s ten years my senior. He cares for Sean, but he’s very shy. He keeps to his duty and has never been forward with me. He was to be married three years ago, but his fiancé came down with a high fever and died.”

  “He seems a decent sort. Perhaps you might help him with a little encouragement.”

  “Maybe I will,” she huffed, disappointed that Ian wasn’t acting like a jealous suitor.

  “I plan to return to Dublin every few years to check on Sean’s and your welfare, if that will be satisfactory to you.”

  “I’ll be angry with you if you don’t.”

  Ian noted a few raindrops falling on his head and looked up at the sky. The once clear blue sky had clouded over and a warm summer rain was beginning. Ian felt relieved to end the picnic before he said, or did, anything foolish. He picked Sean up in his arms and hugged him tight while Fiona placed the last of the food and utensils in the basket, and folded up the cloth to the right size for them to hold over their heads as they ran back to the pub.

  On Monday morning, Jacques, Ian and Fiona met with the Constable on the front steps of the courthouse. Fiona left Sean in the care of Mrs. Dinsmore, a woman she hired to help cook on special occasions.

  It was obvious to Ian that Fiona’s meeting the previous evening with the Constable’s mother must have gone well. Fiona reached out and held the Constable’s left hand. He gave a small look of surprise at her forwardness, but placed his right hand over hers and smiled. “A murder trial is not as entertaining as a hanging to the local gentry, but the courtroom will be full today. I hope you’re not uncomfortable with all the gawkers. They are from all levels of society, but mostly from the lowest levels. I will sit next to you, watching over you the whole time.”

  Fiona smiled back at the Constable, “Thank you. Having you by my side will be a great comfort.”

  The Constable turned to Ian and Jacques as though he had just realized they were present, and said, “The judge will ask each of you in turn to tell what happened the night I arrested Shaunessy.”

  He turned his attention back to Fiona, and asked, “Are you ready for this?”

  “I am now,” she said with an adoring look in her eyes.

  Onlookers packed the courtroom as the Constable had warned. The judge entered from a side room, and the judge’s assistant, Brehon in training McBride, announced, “All arise, for his eminence, Brehon Nugent, presiding.”

  Everyone in the courtroom stood up while the judge took his place at the bench. “Sit, sit,” he insisted.

  Shaunessy’s defense counsel looked over at Ian, Jacques, Fiona, and the Constable as they took seats behind the prosecutor.

  “Court is now in session,” Brehon Nugent declared, and banged his gavel on his table for quiet. “Mister McBride, read the charges against the prisoner.”

  The Bailiff stood and read, “James Shaunessy is hereby charged with the robbery and murder of one Morris O’Brien on July the 10th, 1098, and with the attempted rape of his widow, one Fiona O’Brien on Thursday last, June 21st, 1100.”

  “How does the accused plead?” the judge asked.

  The defense counsel nudged Shaunessy who stood, and replied, “Not guilty, your Honor.”

  The judge asked if there were any witnesses for the defense. Shaunessy’s defense counsel had to reply there weren’t any. Then he asked for the witnesses for the prosecution to be named. The prosecutor replied there were four, Fiona, Jacques, Ian and the Constable, and that he would call them in turn as he had named them.

  Fiona, who had only witnessed the events from the time that Shaunessy was tied to a chair, related her story, and the recognition she had of the crucifix she had gifted her late husband being removed from Shaunessy’s pocket.

  Several of the audience muttered, “murderer.”

  Jacques and Ian related their stories. Ian’s version was the same as Jacques’ from the plan to trap Shaunessy, who prowled the upstairs in the middle of the night, to his attempt to crawl into bed with the widow, Fiona O’Brien, to his capture and binding to a chair, to the calling for the Constable, and finally to the searching of his pockets and finding the crucifix.

  Several in the audience mumbled “hang him.” Either the judge did not hear the comments, or ignored them.

  The Constable gave his testimony last. He started from the time he was called to the pub and continued to the discovery of the crucifix in Shaunessy’s pocket. The Constable looked at Fiona with obvious fondness and at Shaunessy with obvious contempt.

  Brehon Nugent addressed Shaunessy, “Sir, four reputable witnesses have testified to this court, two Frankish knights who have nothing to gain, the widow O’Brien who you have wronged in multiple ways, and our own Constable, all testifying in this court, to me, and to those assembled that you robbed and killed one Morris O’Brien, and attempted to rape his widow. What do you have to say in your defense?”

  Shaunessy stood and said, “Your Honor, I didn’t murder anyone. Sometimes I sleepwalk. I must have mistakenly entered the wrong bedroom after taking a piss.”

  The audience, yelped and whooped at this declaration, “Liar . . . murderer.”

  The judge banged his gavel several times, “Quiet, or I will clear the court. And the crucifix they found in your pocket? Mister McBride, can I see the item in question?”

  McBride handed the crucifix to the judge, who examined it carefully. “And what do you have to say about this crucifix?”

  “I bought the crucifix for a lady friend and haven’t given it to her yet.”

  “Is her name Fiona, because I know your name is not Morris?”

  “I was going to file the names off the back before I gave it to her.”

  “And what was her name?”

  “M . . . Mary . . . I mean Margaret.”

  “There is no girlfriend is there, Mr. Shaunessy? You’re not even a good liar.”

  Shaunessy stared down at the floor, and kept silent.

  A man in the gallery stood and said, “Your Honor, may I come forward.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “I have some important testimony to add to the proceedings.”

  “Defense counsel, do you object?”

  “No sir.”

  “Prosecution, do you object?”

  “No sir.”

  “Come forward then.”

  The man took the stand and was sworn in.

  The prosecutor asked, “Do you know this man?”

  “I met him once. He approached me some time ago with a crucifix. I’m a local jeweler. May I see the crucifix?”

  The judge handed the crucifix to his assistant who handed it to the witness. The jeweler examined the crucifix in detail. “Yes, this is the one. The accused wanted to sell this item to me, but I couldn’t use it. The inscriptions are engraved too deep.”

  “When did he try to sell it to you?”

  “In December of last year. I suspected he might be the one who had robbed Morris O’Brien, but when I asked him where he got the crucifix, he said he bought it in a flea
market, and it was none of my business. He said if I got too nosey he would kill me. I was afraid to say anything before, but now that he’s on trial for the crime, I wanted to speak.”

  The courtroom buzzed with reactions. The judge rapped his gavel, and said, “Mr. Prosecutor, Mr. Defender approach my bench.” The judge spoke to the court appointed legal representatives for a few moments, and announced, “I have reached a verdict of guilty as charged and sentence Mr. Shaunessy to hang by the neck until dead.”

  Shaunessy jumped up from his seat and tried to run, but Ian leaped off the end of the witnesses’ bench and tackled Shaunessy to the floor.

  The crowd roared their approval.

  Ian stood and placed his boot in the middle of Shaunessy’s back. “Stay down.”

  The Constable turned to Fiona and said, “Your friend is quite the heroic one.”

  “I dare say, he is.”

  “I have to take Shaunessy back to the jail. I’ll come by the Prancing Dragon later to see how you’re doing,” the Constable told Fiona. He and Ian lifted Shaunessy to his feet and the Constable hustled him out of the courtroom. The crowd parted the way, but continued to call out, “murderer. . . hang him.”

  Ian, Fiona and Jacques left the courtroom and walked to the pub in silence. Fiona unlocked the usually unlocked pub door and they entered. She left the ‘closed’ sign hanging on the door, since she had no other guests, and wanted to relax with Ian and Jacques for the rest of the day.

  Ian spoke first, “Well, the verdict must have taken a great load off of your mind.”

  “It has. Shaunessy always made me feel uneasy in my own home.”

  “Shall we fetch Sean?”

  “Yes, we should, I don’t want to take advantage of Mrs. Dinsmore.”

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  “Thank you, Ian. Jacques, make yourself at home. There’s some passable whiskey in the cabinet.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” Jacques replied, and walked to the keg behind the bar to pour himself a pint of ale.

  Ian and Fiona walked side by side to Mrs. Dinsmore’s. Just before they arrived at her door, Fiona said, “Since there’s nothing more to keep you here. I assume you will leave soon.”