by C R Dempsey
“Nobody insults a knight of the realm like that,” and Sergeant Eccarsall plunged his sword into the prisoner’s chest.
“Send him back to the Maguire,” and the sergeant waived the body away.
The guards dragged the dead man’s body into the dark.
“You two, come. Fetch the next prisoner,” and Sergeant Eccarsall selected two new soldiers and directed them to stand behind the prisoners.
The sergeant chose his next victim and forced him to kneel in front of Sir Cassidy, bow his head and kiss his hand.
“What’s this?” James Eccarsall exclaimed.
The man turned away in shame. A wet ring rapidly expanded around the prisoner’s groin.
“What!? We can’t have this,” roared the sergeant. “Cowards, go straight back to the Maguire!”
The guards dragged him into the dark, ignoring his cries for mercy. Everyone heard one final short sharp cry, and then a substantial plop of something heavy being dropped into water.
Shea Óg had returned to protect his prize. He leaned in behind Seamus.
“They are literally sending them back to the Maguire. But you won’t get to die so easily.”
Seamus jerked his head away from Shea’s foul breath. By the end of the evening, Sir Cassidy had enough residents for his first tiny village.
* * *
Excessive drinking created voluminous amounts of urine, which the sergeant diligently made his fellow soldiers collect in buckets. The soldiers returned the recycled vaults of the Maguire with interest to his wretched soldiers. Seamus found his temporary and accidental solace on the shoulder of a comrade, violently wrenched away when the liquid hit. The prisoners began to wretch the moment the smells penetrated their nostrils.
Captain Dowdall stood before them, and the sun glistened on his fresh uniform as it bypassed his cruel smirk. His men around him appeared as monsters to the bleary-eyed rebel prisoners, dirty faces and clothes, the scrawny beards of men in the middle of a campaign, the sideward stagger of those not yet sober enough to hold their weapons straight. Yet, they were hulking, leering monsters all the same, and they could whip the prisoners lives away in one flash of hungover temper. Captain Dowdall was neither impressed by the state of his men, the tools with which to fulfil his orders, nor the tatters hulks of men he held prisoner, for they encumbered his progress. However, he had more pressing matters. He called his men to attention. The guttural barks of his sergeants echoed his articulate shout. The men made the best line they could, given the night before.
“We need to leave a small garrison here and move onto the lower lough,” he said as he addressed his men. “Sergeant Rogers, take fifty men and string up the prisoners in the town. Kill any that resist or cannot walk. Make sure the peasants can see the hangings. Sergeant McGregor will continue the castle repairs with the rest of the men. We leave in three days.”
“What about the prisoners we promised to Connor O’Cassidy, sir?” said Sergeant Rogers.
“What!? Are you drunk on duty, sergeant? You didn’t take that seriously, did you? String them up in the town as a warning to the rest of the Macs and O’s. We have neither the time nor capacity to herd a bunch of prisoners behind us!”
“Yes, sir, at once, sir!” and the sergeant ran away with such an enthusiasm to fulfil his orders, hoping with his endeavours being so impressive, the captain would not remember the previous conversation.
The English soldiers broke their rickety lines and descended on the Irish prisoners. Most prisoners offered little resistance and could walk. The remaining few met a sword’s blade for the last time.
The soldiers came for Seamus, for Shea Óg was no longer there to protect him. They bound Seamus hand and foot and raised a sword above his head. Seamus clenched his eyes shut as if for the last time. He felt his legs turn to jelly. Prayers came to his lips but remained incomplete. The sword descended, and he heard it cut into something, but he felt no pain. His arms fell to the ground, and his upper body felt such relief. He was free. If only for a moment.
“Get up, or the sword fills your chest.”
Seamus obeyed and joined the column of twenty survivors in their march out of the castle and into the town. Their heads were bowed, their bodies mostly stripped, their minds substantially broken. The soldiers went to fetch Connor O’Cassidy, but Captain Dowdall intervened.
“No! Not him. He stays in the castle for now. I’ve got other plans for him.”
Seamus turned his head to see Connor O’Cassidy being taken away.
The column reached the town, and the soldiers searched the streets for prominent wood beams sound enough to hold a hanging man. Their hangovers impaired their judgment because for every man that was dangled successfully from a rope and succumbed to gravity despite their struggles, the next man would splutter and cough and turn scarlet and would not die. Instead, they would ‘send him to Jesus’ with a sword penetrating his side until it reached his heart, or the sergeant would order them to cut him down and have another go. The young man to be hanged before Seamus refused to slide easily to death at the hands of his hungover tormentors and was cut down three times before being shot by an impatient sergeant.
“You next!”
The sergeant pushed Seamus down the street and along the way tested the solidity of the house beams with his sword. He was finally satisfied by a wood beam that intersected two lanes, where a body would hang in prominent display. The sergeant smiled, for he was running out of traitors faster than he was running out of streets to display them in.
“Up there!” he said, addressing his men as he pointed to the beam. “Cast your rope up there!”
The soldiers secured the rope, tied the knot, and placed the noose around Seamus’s neck.
“We would ask you if you wanted to say any last prayers, but we don’t want to encourage any papist blasphemy now, do we?” and he smirked at Seamus. “Stand him on the bucket, boys, and then haul him up!”
“No!”
Everyone turned to see Sean O’Rourke at the end of the street, raising his hand in the air as he bent over and gasped for breath. He had arisen from his drunken slumber to find his father’s prize had gone. As much as he wanted to see Seamus dead, he did not want to be responsible for his clan’s continued poverty.
“That man is the possession of my father! He captured him, and he has a price on his head. Captain Dowdall promised us his ransom money as part of our payment for our support!”
“Well, you’re too late. The captain told us to execute all the prisoners, all except the prime traitor O’Cassidy. If the captain had any deal with you, he didn’t tell us about it. So string him up, boys!”
“No, do not touch that man! The Crown wants him!”
Sergeant Rogers turned towards the voice that came from the other end of the street. The silhouette of a one-armed man on horseback stood before him.
“Are we going to get on with this hanging or what?” Seamus pleaded with the sergeant, for he felt the man on horseback was a past that he did not want to catch up with, and he would rather die quickly. The man on horseback came out of the shadows to reveal his captain’s uniform. Shea Óg buzzed around his feet as if an irritating insect.
“That man is mine!” said the captain. “Release him to me.”
The sergeant hesitated but realised he had little choice, or it would be his neck in the noose.
Shea Óg patted his pocket and smiled towards Seamus. The deed was done.
5
Back at the castle
The pain of the floorboards on Seamus’s knees was almost unbearable. However, it was more bearable than to give any of his enemies the pleasure of seeing him in pain. He was back again in Enniskillen Castle as he waited for his unknown fate.
Shea Óg was elated. He sat in the shadows waiting for instruction from his masters. He got half his money up front, and the rest was due on Seamus’s demise. Was he getting paid to watch Seamus die? He could not believe his luck.
Captain Dowdall’s moo
d was entirely on the other side of the spectrum, for he had just received news of his defeated soldiers from their raid on Devenish Island, and he raged around his room. He poured over maps, barked at his sergeants, and dictated pleading letters to Dublin and the governor of Connacht, stating that Fermanagh was almost conquered, but he could not fully subdue the Maguires without more men.
The other mysterious English captain who paid for Seamus sat and ate. His clothes were dirty from a long ride, and he was tired and hungry. His only words to Seamus had been “I have got you now” before Shea Óg came buzzing around asking for his money. He pushed his empty plate into the middle of the table and took a long drink. Before he had even finished…
“Are we going to hang Seamus now?”
The scorn in the captain’s eyes was visible even in the dimly lit room.
“Seamus MacSheehy will meet his fate all in good time. Meanwhile, I’m sure Captain Dowdall has some tasks to keep you gainfully employed?”
“Only if he knows how to flush those snakes out of the lower lakes,” replied Dowdall.
“I’m sure I could think of something for a suitable amount of coin!” said Shea Óg.
“You need to show your loyalty to the Crown and do things for the good of the realm, not dance at the gleam of a shiny coin!” said Captain Dowdall.
“I take the example of Lord Deputy Fitzwilliam seriously.”
“You Irish knaves need a far better role model!”
The other captain turned to Seamus.
“Men, bring him to the roof. I wish to speak to him alone.”
Shea Óg turned in horror.
“But if he dies…”
“Let go of your prize! You’ll be paid in good time. Don’t wear out your welcome by being tiresome.”
Shea Óg nodded and cowered back towards Captain Dowdall and let Seamus leave the room.
The soldiers escorted Seamus to the roof.
“Leave us,” ordered the Captain.
“But sir! He is only bound by hand!”
“I shall put him down with a swift slash of my sword should he be so foolish as to try anything. Do as I say.”
The men left and positioned themselves out of sight on the stairwell, for they did not share their superior’s confidence.
Seamus edged over to the wall, so at least he had death as an escape route. The captain smirked.
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
“I have met many an English captain, mainly with an axe in my hand. But I don’t remember you.”
“I can’t have changed that much. We both served together in the Netherlands. Don’t you remember?”
“You must’ve been a spy, for I only served the Spanish Crown!”
“There is no need to lie to me. None of your compatriots are here to dub you a traitor. We both know you served under William Stanley.”
Seamus paused. He knew being caught in Ireland and being recognised as a compatriot of William Stanley was a death sentence. Unfortunately, Seamus lived under the shadow of several death sentences and had yet to work out which sword loomed over him.
“I was a mercenary for the Spanish, but what makes you think I served under him?”
“Because I was one of the few officers that remained loyal to the Queen and country when the cowardly traitor gave Deventer to the Spanish. Do you not remember me? I am Captain Williamson, and I have sworn to track down every Irish traitor from Deventer who sets foot on Irish soil and hang them from the nearest tree!”
“You must have mistaken me for someone else. Many Irish served in the Netherlands, and I’m surprised you can tell them apart. But why make such a fuss about me? Why save me from the rope?”
“We’ll get to that. But I know who you are, and we have met. You may have never served under the English, but yet you caused us so much damage. I was there that night in Deventer. I was one of the few non-Catholic English officers serving under Stanley. He argued so bitterly against his commander Sir John Norris, all it needed was a little worm from the Spanish to have him turning coat. You were that little worm.”
“You have a vivid imagination! Even if you believe your own story, that makes me even more likely to be swinging off the rafters in Enniskillen town.”
“You had infiltrated the ranks of the Irish units in the English army, leveraging the sympathies of your fellow Munster men.”
“Even more foolish for you to go recruiting in lands you’ve just destroyed. That’s the harvest you get when you sow bitter seeds.”
“You whispered in Stanley’s ear to revolt and turned to the Spanish. In the bitter fighting that ensued between him and what few loyal men we could gather, we had to take to the river and flee.”
“That still doesn’t tell me why I am still alive?”
“Stanley’s men are drip-fed back to Ireland to both encourage and lead an insurrection!”
“I left the Netherlands years ago.”
“Yet here we are!”
Captain Williamson walked over to the other side of the roof while monitoring Seamus.
“Come over here and look into the courtyard.”
Seamus gave the captain a mistrustful glace but knew he did not have a choice.
“Look down in the courtyard below. Tell me what you see.”
Seamus looked at Captain Williamson.
“Go on, look. If I wanted to kill you, I would have let you swung from the rope last night. Look down below and tell me what you see.”
Seamus peered over the edge of the wall and pulled back after the shortest of views.
“People.”
“I know that! What sort of people? Who are they? Look down and find the answer to what I’m looking for as if your life, or maybe someone else’s, depends on it. Only give me an answer when you know what it is.”
Seamus looked over the edge again. He studied all the people in the courtyard, who they were and what they were doing.
“It looks like you are rounding up all the refugees from the castle and the surrounding areas. Why are you showing this to me? I’m a mercenary. What do I care for the locals when I know I will not get paid?”
“A mercenary you may be, but you have a heart and decide certain things for yourself. Look again and tell me when you have the answer.”
Seamus looked in the courtyard again. It was the same mass of faces, the same expressions of apprehension and despair. This time he noticed that the Irish lackeys were searching through the crowds and separating some people, be it for they were rebels or for the settlement of some feud or grudge whose cause had been long forgotten. The soldiers reopened the castle gate, and a flood of refugees rolled into the courtyard. Seamus then saw Shea Óg and Sean. They waded through the crowds of people searching for someone. They came upon a group near the gate. Shea Óg looked up towards Captain Williamson and smiled. He pointed towards the cluster, who were attempting to obscure themselves with hoods and scarves. Captain Williamson smiled.
“You may have your answer soon.”
Shea Óg and his sons swam through the crowd at several angles, so there was no escape for their victims. They had them surrounded, and fear created a circle around them as those that were not part of this group separated themselves. Shea Óg walked up to his prey and tore off their hoods and scarves. Seamus grimaced.
“Now it is time to begin our negotiations,” said Captain Williamson.
“I want to see her first.”
“You already have. I don’t want you to go all soft on me before you start your mission.”
“Let me say goodbye. If I know my wife and my men’s families are safe, they will help me in whatever connivance you would have me do. You can spare me a couple of minutes before we talk!”
Captain Williamson lent over the wall and signalled to Shea Óg. Seamus saw the disappointment in Shea’s nodding head. There would be no killing today.
“Men! Bring him to the basement!”
* * *
Seamus stood with only his hands bound in a ce
ll at the bottom of the castle tower. The guards shoved his wife through the opened door and slammed it behind her.
“I’m so glad to see that you are alive,” and Seamus held up his bound hands, for he sought her tender touch.
His wife knew his meaning, and she embraced him.
“I am surprised to see you here,” she said. “Given the bodies around the castle and the bodies of once good men hanging from the trees, I’m surprised they did not kill you on sight!”
“I fear they have a worse fate for me, one where I wished they’d killed me instead. But that is for the future. I must bargain my life for yours. Once I make the bargain, what will you do with your life, my love?”
“I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself for me. Let us die here together! Surely you must have a blade? Cut my throat first and then finish yourself, and we shall leave this wretched world to its feuds and endless spirals of revenge.”
“Rags on a man don’t have many uses and makes concealing a weapon increasingly more difficult. Go south to Munster. See what has happened to your family. They may have made some recovery there. Forget me. Whatever they have in store for me ends in my death. You have two Galloglass to protect you. Go far away from here, as far as you can get! If I live, I will find you.”
The butt of an axe slammed against the door.
“Start finishing up in there, lover boy! If you try anything when we come in, we’re going to slice your sweetheart in two.”
Sean and his brother slowly opened the door and grabbed Seamus’s wife. They smiled as if their eyes were windows to all the evil deeds they would like to do to his wife in revenge for their father.
“Don’t touch her, or you’ll answer to Captain Williamson!”
“Ha! You changed your tune pretty quick.”
The door slammed, and she was gone.
They left Seamus for several hours to contemplate what could happen to his wife if he did not cooperate.
* * *
Thud! Thud! Thud!
“Stand back from the door!”
“I sit here waiting for my food. Whatever your dastardly task is, it requires energy, so I must be fed!”