by C R Dempsey
“Here, let me take these,” said Arthur as he undid the axes pouch from Eunan’s belt. “I’ll fetch you some clothes. I doubt they’ll fit, but they’ll do ‘till we get your rags clean. I’ll see if anyone else has some spare clothes the next time I visit the other islands.”
“Thank you, very kind,” mumbled Eunan.
Arthur came with some spare clothes, and Eunan picked them off his arm one by one and changed.
“Now my duties as a clothes rack are complete. I hope you like fish, for its fish with everything around here! My speciality is fish with fish, but recently I’ve been venturing into fish with grass,” smiled Arthur.
“He’s not joking!” exclaimed Desmond.
“I prefer to feast from the field than dip my stick in the water,” said Eunan.
“A strange sentiment for a man who grew up beside a lake,” said Desmond.
“But you’ll make do with it, for you’ll need your strength for the war all the same,” added Arthur.
Arthur picked up Desmond’s bag and sighed into its emptiness.
“Well, we won’t be relying on Desmond’s stick for our supper, for it has barely had its strength tested by little mouths tugging on the line.”
“I’ve far better skills than my fishing, that’s for sure!” laughed Desmond.
“None of which are any use to us on this island! Since when has arguing politics with a trout turned it into dinner? It looks like I’ll have to do the fishing as usual,” said Arthur as he turned to fetch his rod.
Eunan’s smile overcame the tiredness on his face, and he turned to his mentor.
“Desmond, I have missed you.”
“Don’t ruin a pleasant reunion by getting all sentimental.”
“The Maguires need you!”
Desmond saw Eunan could barely keep awake.
“Sleep before the conversation turns serious. I want to know everything, but you need strength and a clear head to tell me. Arthur, take him and put him to bed. We’ll eat and talk when you’re ready.”
Eunan attempted to protest, but Arthur’s kindness was overpowering and the lure of a comfortable bed overwhelming.
* * *
“Get up, sleepyhead!” and Arthur shook Eunan awake.
“Where am I?” Eunan cried, but he remembered and relaxed again upon sight of Arthur’s face. “Is it time to eat? The feast of the marriage of Hugh Maguire could barely dent my insatiable appetite!”
“It has been time to eat many times since you laid down your head, and Desmond couldn’t wait for you! You’ve slept for two days, but I have spent those two days well. I have fetched your new clothes, food from the field, and an axe worthy of a warrior of your stature. I suggest you bathe so your smell does not put us off eating the modest meal I have prepared. Then I’ll look at your wounds, and then you can eat. Only when your stomach is full and your mind is at rest, can you discuss the woes of the world with Desmond. Now, let me help you up and bring you to the lake.”
Eunan deflated into the comfort of kindness. He followed Arthur’s instructions, and he soon dangled his feet in the lake, dressed in new clothes, with a full belly, and his wounds tended and wrapped. Desmond came to join him. Desmond set his fishing line into the lake and listened to the stories of Eunan’s adventures and what he had found out about himself since they last parted. He listened and did not interrupt. At last, Eunan finished and sought his reaction and words of wisdom. He composed himself.
“I knew of this man you speak of, Seamus MacSheehy, briefly in my time in the Netherlands and the distant past in Fermanagh. He is a man of great cunning and skill, and I hope you have more of his traits rather than those of his brother. You are young and impulsive, and I fear he may lead you down the wrong path. Since you ask, I will give you my advice.
“Forget Seamus. If he survived, he has probably now fled. Forget your childhood, and the priests and the knights of St Colmcille, and how those priests scarred you with their bloodletting, which they claim will cure you. It won’t. Trust me. I’ve done it all. It is all in your mind, and until you resolve it within yourself, it will burden you forever. The worries of the world are significant, without you weighing yourself down with a view of the past that exists only in your head. You can, and need to be, a great warrior for your clan. Hugh Maguire needs you more than ever now.
“I’m vaguely familiar with your father, Cathal, but more familiar with the O’Cassidys in your region. However, I have news for you. The spies that watch Donnacha O’Cassidy Maguire for me, tell me that a certain Captain Willis organised the raid that led to your father’s death. I don’t know how Donnacha came across the information, and he is not averse to spreading poison and lies. Don’t follow the path of pursuing revenge. It will cloud your judgment and distract you from your actual mission.
“I am also familiar with your mother, and it’s your mother’s family that you should pursue. She was an O’Cassidy Maguire, whose father married her off to your father for some mysterious reason, especially considering the O’Cassidys were on the ascent. She was a cousin to Donnacha O’Cassidy Maguire, with whom you’re very familiar. If you are as serious as you say you are about helping your clan, the best way you can do that is to become the O’Cassidy Maguire. Ride south to Derrylinn and stake your claim to the title. The incumbent is your mother’s brother, Cormac O’Cassidy. He is a turncoat and a cheat. Barely a bullet had left Captain Dowdall’s guns and embedded themselves in rebel flesh or the walls of Enniskillen when he turned and declared for Connor Roe.
“However, Cormac O’Cassidy is a powerful and connected man, and the O’Cassidys have a potent influence on the Maguires. Therefore, you must use stealth and guile to achieve your aims. But with war comes opportunity, and, if you are clever, your time will come.
“But we can talk more about that later. You are going nowhere until you are fit and healthy. Why don’t you relax and we might do a little fishing to pass the time? If the English try to attack this lake, it’ll be a long time before they make it up here.”
“I’d like that.”
“Now, why don’t you relax or make yourself useful somewhere else. Your shadow is distracting the fish!”
Eunan laughed.
“Try to catch enough for all of us this dinnertime. I’m famished!”
“Don’t you go taking anything Arthur says about me seriously. Now go get some rest.”
Eunan got up and set about exploring the tiny island. It had not much of anything except a peaceful silence. Eunan went to the opposite side of the island, to where Desmond and Arthur were. He looked out onto the lake and tried to pick out Devenish Island. Dark clouds gathered both over his head and in his mind.
He felt his blood boil in his arms. He berated himself for being weak, for letting his father die, for letting Hugh Maguire fall under the spell of Donnacha O’Cassidy Maguire, for letting Seamus live, for the fall of Enniskillen Castle.
“May a curse be on all those who have done me and my family ill. May this bad blood that runs through my veins be good for something, and that thing be vengeance!”
He heard Desmond and Arthur’s voices from behind the trees on the other side of the island. He calmed down, and as the adrenalin of his bad blood receded, he deflated and was once more overcome by tiredness.
He lay down on a grassy knoll that overlooked the stony shore. He looked up at the sky and examined the white fluffy clouds that had taken over the sky since he last looked, and wondered when the next rain shower was coming. His mind drifted back to his youth, but he banished the flashes of anger and think back to the idyllic times he spent in Enniskillen the last time he paid attention to clouds. He was soon in blissful sleep, waiting for the next rain shower.
4
The promise
Shea Óg sat his prize beside the fire so he could keep his eye on him. Shea Óg’s sons had badly beaten Seamus, but on Shea Óg’s orders, they spared his face. Seamus hung his head, bound hand and foot, and starving. Shea Óg and his sons feasted
on the beasts from the Maguire’s fields and ale stolen from the Maguire cellars while Seamus looked on.
“Do I get a last supper? Surely you’ll get more money for me if I’m fit and recognisable?”
“You! Shut yer face! Or I’ll come over and smash it in for you!”
“Easy, Sean,” said his father. “Our reward will be with us tomorrow morning. The man who offered us good money for Seamus is on his way. So there’ll be no killing going on tonight.”
Sean cursed and sat back down again. Seamus thought it best to be quiet for a while. Shea Óg and his sons sat and drank and became increasingly rowdy. Seamus became increasingly more hungry.
“Can you throw a bit of that meat my way? If I look scrawny and ill, he may take pity on me and dull his desire to kill me and offer you less.”
“It would give me just as much pleasure to kill you myself as it would to take that man’s money,” roared Sean over his shoulder.
“But if you did that, you’d be straight back to starving in the middle of a bog when the English discard you, which they will.”
There was silence. Sean slammed his spoon into his bowl as if a crooked penny had dropped.
“You know what? I think you’re right! So why don’t you come over and have some of our stew!”
Sean ran over and grabbed the bound Seamus and dragged him towards the fire. A pot bubbled suspended over the fire.
“No! No!” cried Seamus, for he recognised the look in Sean’s eye.
“Who’s the big man now?” and Sean pulled Seamus up, grabbed him by the hair and pushed him towards the pot.
The stew bubbled beneath him. The bubbles popped and singed his face, and the heat repulsed him. He hadn’t eaten in days, and the waft drew him back. He felt faint as his resistance weakened and the violence of Sean’s pressure intensified.
“No! No!” cried Shea Óg. “As much as it would please me to avenge myself by doing to him what he did to me, we have mouths to feed. We need to replace the cattle he stole from us, and we can’t do that without selling him. We’ll get nothing for him if you mangle his face, and he can’t be recognised.”
“I recognise him! I’ll say it’s him!” and anger surged from red face to red fists.
“No, Sean, let him go.”
“Damn him to hell!” and Sean threw Seamus backwards and kicked him in the ribs.
“You’re not getting any food for that,” he shouted as Seamus squirmed on the ground.
Sean sat down, and Shea Óg put his arm around his shoulders.
“We’ll get paid, and get suitable revenge for my face, mark my words!”
Sean shook him off and flopped back into his former seat. They ate in silence.
* * *
A feast laced with ale topped off the exhaustion of a day of battle and cast a slumber across the English camp. All was calm until a fleet of foot messengers ran amongst them.
“The captain has summoned the prisoners! The captain has summoned the prisoners!”
“Ha!” shouted Shea Óg as he jolted upright, shook off the ale, and pointed at his prisoner.
He smelt a modicum of revenge in the humiliation of his captive.
“Bring him! Let Seamus see what happens to the enemies of the English.”
“Don’t do it on my account,” replied Seamus. “I’ve seen it all before.”
“Ah, sure, then do it for us,” said Sean. “We’ve only seen our father’s face being shoved in a pot of boiling water. We want to increase our torture proficiency.”
Shea Óg’s sons picked up Seamus and dragged him across the Irish allies’ periphery camp to the English campsite; the hollering and gunfire echoed in the air as guidance.
When they arrived, the first order of business was to cast Seamus to the ground, leaving him with Sean and his freshly sharpened axe for company. The second was for Shea Óg and the other sons to explore the camp. All the roads in the camp led to a large circle within which burned the celebratory fire. To one side lay the dejected Irish prisoners and those English soldiers who were unlucky in drawing lots as to who should perform guard duty. Captain Dowdall stood to the side to avoid being the centre of attention, enjoyed a drink with the other officers, and left the soldiers to their own devices. The looted vaults of the castle would provide the merriment tonight.
The drink had stripped away the English soldiers’ stress and inhibitions, and they turned on the prisoners with a cruel thirst for vengeance. A drunken sergeant who stumbled from the crowd announced himself as “James Eccarsall esquire, loyal servant of the Queen and scourge of these Irish scoundrels.”
The soldiers met his stumbling, exaggerated bows with cheers and laughter. Sergeant Eccarsall’s reputation in the camp was such that several soldiers lined up behind him, for they knew that the prime entertainment was about to begin.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Traitors and loyal subjects of the Crown! To what do we owe our victory today? Well, of course, there was the cunning of our excellent Captain Dowdall!”
The Captain nodded, raised his mug and smiled in approval to the cheers of his men.
“But we had a little secret, didn’t we?”
“Yes!” and the soldiers laughed and scorned the unsuspecting prisoners.
“Now we still have many of these Irish traitors still alive, don’t we?”
“Not for long,” bayed back the soldiers.
“Oh, don’t be so cruel. We have to introduce them to the man who served them up to us on a platter, don’t we?”
“Yes!”
“Bring him here.”
Two soldiers escorted a young man with the darting eyes and quivering body of a frightened rabbit. They stood him beside Sergeant Eccarsall.
“Here he is, ladies and gentlemen: Connor O’Cassidy!”
“Hurray!”
The Irish survivors, bound and sat to the side, said nothing. Some of them recognised Connor O’Cassidy and deposited the remains of their saliva in the mud at the mention of his name. The English soldiers cheered.
“We caught this man with the messages of the traitor Hugh Maguire, carrying the plots and conspiracies against the Queen to other gullible Macs and O’s. He readily gave up his messages and begged us for a way he could make up his previous connivances to his beloved Queen.”
The soldiers jeered.
“So what did our goodly traitor do? He showed us the secret way into the castle. That’s what he did. And when we got there, what did we do? Massacred all the treacherous Macs and O’s!”
“Hurray!”
“So here is your reward, oh loyal servant of the Queen. Here in this bag are your thirty pieces of silver which I’ll tie around your neck!” and the sergeant held up a bag of coins for all to see.
“Hurray!”
The sergeant tied the bag around Connor O’Cassidy’s neck.
“I …didn’t…you forced me to…”
“Now, don’t be so modest. I know you wanted to give all to Queen and country. But subjects who have given such service should accept their just rewards. So kneel before the representative of the Queen!”
The sergeant unsheathed his sword, and two soldiers came behind Connor O’Cassidy and pressed down on his shoulders until he knelt. James Eccarsall gently placed the blade of his sword on both of Connor’s shoulders.
“By the powers vested in me, I dub thee, Sir Connor Cassidy.”
The English soldiers roared with laughter.
“Arise, Sir Cassidy, let us dispense with those savage marks of the O’.”
The soldiers behind Connor O’Cassidy hooked his arms and lifted him to his feet.
“Now, for your service to the Queen, you can have any of the lands of your former brethren. Tell us, what lands would you like?”
“I don’t want to take anything that does not belong…”
“Don’t worry about that! You don’t have to pick now. Once you decide we will section off your land nice and neat so that when the English settlers arrive, they’ll take all the tr
aitors’ land, but not yours. But what you do need is some peasants to work the land for you.”
Sergeant Eccarsall walked over to the Irish prisoners, stood behind them and expanded his arms out wide, as if offering them to Connor.
“So, what do we have here? Take your pick, Sir Cassidy. There are plenty of peasants to choose from. Lazy ones, fat ones, liars all. But we’ll soon starve them into submission so they’ll work for you. All they have to do is pledge their loyalty to the Queen. Then they’ll receive a plot of land, a sum of rent to pay both yourself and the Queen, and they can live. So who’s first to pledge?”
The English jeers submerged the rebel silence. Sergeant Eccarsall walked back to Connor O’Cassidy.
“They must be a little shy. They don’t want to break rank in front of their former comrades.”
Sergeant Eccarsall turned to chide the prisoners.
“The rebellion is over. Enniskillen burns around you! The Maguire is now a fugitive, a wild dog hiding by himself in a wood. Save yourselves. Accept her Majesty’s pardon, pledge to the Crown and accept your place. Now, who’s first?”
The Irish prisoners bowed their heads again to escape the sergeant’s attention. Finally, Sergeant Eccarsall ran out of patience.
“If you will not volunteer, then we are going to have to volunteer you. Men, bring me the first prisoner.”
Two guards grabbed the nearest prisoner to them and threw them in front of Sir Cassidy.
“Now then, kiss the hand of your new lord, pledge allegiance to the Queen, and you can go free,” said Sergeant Eccarsall.
The soldiers grabbed the wrist of Connor O’Cassidy and thrust it into the face of the prisoner.
“Kiss his hand!”
Another soldier came behind the prisoner and forced the prisoner’s head forward.
“I’ll never pledge for that traitor!” the prisoner croaked, and what little saliva he had struck Sir Cassidy’s shirt.