by C R Dempsey
The blacksmith looked at Eunan.
“But it’s not…”
Óisin touched his scabbard. The blacksmith turned to Eunan but saw that the young woman standing beside him absorbed his attention.
“Of course. Please pass the emblem, and I’ll embed it in the axe.”
Óisin slapped him on the back. Eunan handed the emblem over his shoulder, and Óisin passed it to the blacksmith.
The young woman stood right beside Eunan, whose tongue was in deep freeze.
“I heard a great warrior visited us, but my father never told me when you were coming. Are you going to stay with us?”
“I’m afraid I’ve already been…”
Óisin decided such patter was unworthy of a warrior of Eunan’s stature and interjected.
“Unfortunately, war calls the noble warrior Eunan Maguire away. He needs to serve the people and protect their lands.”
“Is that right? Beautiful lands like these and their maidens need protecting,” said the young woman, as she smiled in Eunan’s direction.
“When you have finished fighting whoever you are fighting, come back and visit me and see how well you have protected me.”
“I…I… Have to go fight, and then I can return.”
“Good! Come back and visit me, Caoimhe O’Cassidy Maguire, in the big house you’ve just come from and tell me about all the battles you have won and all the cattle you have gained.”
“I… I will. I’ll come as soon as I can, Caoimhe.”
“Good. I look forward to it!”
She walked towards the house and looked back at Eunan, and smiled and laughed. Eunan could not take his eyes off her. He snapped out of it and saw his men staring at him and smirking.
“What?”
“Shall I plan our next visit to Derrylinn?” asked Óisin.
Eunan scowled. His shattered nerves now possessed him.
“Where’s my axe?” he barked.
He could at least take his frustrations out on someone. Derrylinn had chewed him up and spit him out.
8
Return to Tirconnell
All was not well with Seamus’s motley crew of renegades, cutthroats, and traitors. “When do these godforsaken, bog-ridden, windswept, mountains end?”
“Shut your face. You’ll be drinking on the tit of a whiskey bottle before the morn.”
Such scornful comments did not mould together a band of brothers united under any cause.
It was a cold, rainy day in hell, for Seamus was now reliant on Shea Óg to impose discipline and motivation on the men. He would normally have taken on those duties himself to imbue their loyalty and prepare them for the hardships of war, but he felt himself to be their prisoner; to reprimand them would be to open himself up to their wrath. Seamus had said little since he left, merely providing directions when Shea Óg was lost. His predicament was still to sink in fully. He was used to dealing with men of dubious reputations and intentions since they often made the best Galloglass, but this lot seemed to be a special class of moral degenerates. They appeared to revel in the competition of telling tales of their low deeds to see who was the most depraved, as they craved their new companions’ approval. How Captain Williamson expected this lot to kill Hugh Boye MacDavitt was beyond him. Unless, of course, they were all here just to ensure that he did it or kill him if he did not.
“We’ll be in Donegal town in a few hours,” said Seamus. “There’ll be miscellaneous low life crawling around looking for coin for a kill, but you lot are special. Let me do the talking, and I’ll find us somewhere comfortable to settle in.”
“I always knew you could be agreeable,” said Shea Óg.
“Maybe this once, but don’t bet your life on it!” and Seamus rode ahead so that he was alone.
On the outskirts of Donegal town, they met a MacSweeney Galloglass patrol who recognised Seamus. They escorted him and his men and directed them to a campsite on the outskirts of the town. Coin and livery were in short supply since Red Hugh had recruited more mercenaries than the population of south Tirconnell could comfortably support. He was wise enough not to test the depths of the local population’s tolerance. The men of the O’Donnell allocated them some tents, and when they had settled in, Seamus wanted to see who else was in the camp.
“You’re going nowhere without one of us,” said Shea Óg, pointing to Sean.
“You can’t babysit me forever,” said Seamus. “I’m well capable of looking after myself.”
He walked off.
“It’s you, ‘taking care of us’ is what I’m worried about. I’ll go with you.”
The thought of ‘taking care’ of Shea Óg and Sean brought a faint smile to Seamus, which he could barely hide. But they had barely walked a couple of paces when Seamus noticed how the camp’s other residents looked at them.
“You’ll put people off talking to us with that bag over your head,” he said.
“May it remind you that doing this to me will always be on your soul,” replied Shea Óg.
“You may find yourself foolish to assume I have a soul!” replied Seamus.
Seamus and Shea Óg set off to explore the campsite. They walked and, as they did so, were surprised by the number of different clans assembled, mainly from Connacht and Breifne. Some MacSweeney Galloglass stopped them, for they recognised Seamus. They directed them to a tent at the gate of the camp occupied by administration scribes of the O’Donnell and guarded by MacSweeney Galloglass. There, the two men registered themselves and their men, and the scribes assigned them to an O’Donnell leader. Seamus saw warm faces and Shea Óg weird looks.
“Seamus! I knew you’d come back!” exclaimed the Galloglass constable who sat in the centre of the muddy tent, the host of many a Galloglass boot.
“I knew you’d need me!” and they hugged like long-lost comrades.
“Have you brought some men with you?”
“Oh, just some assorted low life.”
“Like him? What happened to his face?”
“We argued about how ugly he was, and now he’s a sore loser!”
The constable laughed. Shea Óg made a fist hidden behind his thigh.
“So who have you brought with you, Maguires?”
“Not this time. I served in the Netherlands with the Spanish army. They are all ex-veterans. I have an extensive number of contacts and would like to rally returning veterans to the O’Donnell cause.”
“We need all the experienced soldiers we can get. I’ll make sure the O’Donnell hears of your arrival.”
“Thank you, my friend. I look forward to being of service to the O’Donnell again.”
They shook each other by the forearm, and Seamus and Shea Óg left.
“I may get him to put an axe through the back of your head one day,” said Seamus.
“Not if I tell him first what a traitor you are. It’s a pity I’ve come so far just to ruin your cosy relationship with the O’Donnell.”
“That’s if you live long enough!”
“You’re in no position to make threats,” and Shea Óg grinned as if he had to remind him who had his wife. Seamus ignored him.
“Let’s go back and see what these vagabonds you’ve lumbered me with have got up to. I’ve got to uphold my reputation and the O’Donnell’s trust to fulfil my mission.”
“Don’t worry, Sean will take care of them,” and Shea Óg slapped Seamus on the back.
“Refrain from touching me, or I will send your hand back to your captain, and he can sew it on to his missing arm.”
Shea Óg scowled and walked behind Seamus.
They arrived back to see Sean O’Rourke sitting beside a fire, stuffing his face with two of the other men.
“The rest of them have fucked off. Don’t know where, don’t care!” and Sean continued eating.
Seamus fumed.
“Well, we’ll just have to go find them, won’t we?”
“You can; I’m not their Mammy,” replied Sean.
“I’ll go wit
h you,” said Sean Og, determined not to let Seamus out of his sight.
“Go look over there,” and Seamus pointed to the other side of the camp. “You don’t have to follow me everywhere. You’re not my shadow!”
Shea Óg grunted but obeyed. He disappeared towards some large fires in the distance, which loud, drunken men surrounded. Seamus walked in the other direction. He wandered past the many campfires he encountered, giving a cursory look for his men, as he thought he did not want to find them. Seamus thought of his wife and his men’s families and how he was going soft in his old age. His mind wandered to the stars above his head, to a time when his heart was not a shrivelled prune, and he was young and naïve. A bit like Eunan.
“I hope the boy is still alive. He is a gullible fool, but so was I, once! Now I’m just an old…”
A goblet to the face and a shirt decorated with ale brought him back to reality.
“If I find the fucker who threw that!” he raged at a campfire full of revellers.
A man staggered towards him.
“Seamus, ya ‘oul fuck! Sit down and have a drink with us!”
It was one of Shea Óg’s men he picked up in Enniskillen.
“Look at the state of you! Go back to the camp. We’ll deal with this in the morning.”
“Fuck you. I don’t take orders from you. You take orders from me! I served with Captain Williamson for years. Don’t you come here ordering me about, or I’ll tell everyone here that you’re in the pocket of the English.”
No sooner than the final ‘sh’ breathed its way into life on a stale alcohol breath through yellow, broken, crooked teeth than Seamus’s axe swung. The axe cut through the air and lodged itself in the man’s nose and skull in one swift arc. The man spat as blood gurgled from his face. It took more than a jolt for Seamus to remove the axe. The men at the campfire froze. Seamus pointed his dripping axe at them.
“No one calls Seamus MacSheehy a traitor! No one! If I hear anything that this dead drunken fool uttered being repeated, I’ll do the same to whoever spread those rumours. Have you all got that?”
The men nodded.
“Good! Now enjoy your drink while you can and let no more be said of this.”
As Seamus turned, he saw the man’s body twitch, and a groan came forth from the gurgling pit of spewing blood.
“This is more mercy than what you’ve ever shown,” and Seamus brought the man’s unhappy stay on earth to an end as his axe severed the head clean from his body.
Seamus walked back towards his bed and contemplated his actions. What would Shea Óg do in response? Would he report this back to Captain Williamson? Would they kill him and sacrifice their chances of killing Hugh Boye MacDavitt because some drunken mercenary got killed in a brawl? No, of course they would not. He thought of Dervella and the last moments they spent together in that Enniskillen jail. Seamus vowed he would do whatever was necessary to free her, but he was no longer afraid of the consequences of his actions. He no longer cared what happened to Captain Williamson’s men.
* * *
The following day a horrid smell climbed up Seamus’s nostrils. His dreams turned to hell, and the devil appeared before him, welcoming him in for all his blasphemies and the countless number of sins. He awoke to a leather mask in his face.
“Only four came back!”
“What are you on about? Fuck off, and don’t get in my face first thing in the morning.”
Seamus sat up. “Do you ever take that thing and wash it? Surely the whores, who make you do them from behind so they don’t see your mask, complain about the smell?”
“I’ve got used to their premium rates, much in demand these days due to all the lowlife men. Speaking of lowlifes, only four came back.” repeated Shea Óg.
“What do you care? They’re probably unconscious under a bush somewhere. Oh, it’s hard to get reliable traitors these days!”
“Or they’re lying in a bush after getting an axe in the back of the head! How come I found some of them, and you didn’t?”
“Because you’re so much better at sniffing out shit unless your sense of smell has been destroyed, having your nose trapped under a mask all day. Fuck them and fuck you! Don’t push me, Shea Óg. We’re at least quits by now. You may have my wife, but I still have a limit!”
Shea Óg sat down. He glared at Seamus.
“When are you going to see the O’Donnell?”
“When I’m good and ready, that’s when. Why don’t you settle down here with Sean? Maybe wander are the camp and see if you can meet some nice O’Rourkes that don’t think you are traitors? You just leave the rest to me.”
“Can I go with you?”
“So, you’re asking me, can the traitor with the leather bag on his head walk into the court of the O’Donnell and remain inconspicuous? I’d rather postpone my execution for a little while longer thank you very much. You stay here and make sure our other guests don’t cause trouble or give the game away. I’ll sit and wait until I’m summoned.”
Seamus lay down, put his feet up on a log and waited, ignoring the growing intensity of Shea Óg’s glares.
* * *
Several days later, Seamus found himself once more in the court of the O’Donnell. Spirits were buoyant, especially from those who had built up years of resentment from the actions of the sheriffs of the Crown and were eager for war. Alongside the lords of Tirconnell were leaders of clans from other northern parts of Ireland’s. Seamus embraced the few that he knew and introduced himself to some others. They reserved the warmest embraces for those returning veterans of the Netherlands who had assembled in Tirconnell no matter what part of their Ireland was their destination when they first returned. Many knew him as a friend or by sight, but definitely by reputation. Some lords of northern and eastern Tirconnell looked less than happy to be there, but the fixers of the O’Donnell gave them extra attention.
Red Hugh finally arrived after making everyone wait. He entered from the back of the room, escorted by Eoghan McToole O’Gallagher and Tadhg Óg O’Boyle and ensured to shake the hands of everyone he thought was important as he made his way to his seat. The room went silent.
“Lords, friends and allies of the O’Donnell clan, let me welcome you. Many of you are here from Connacht and other traditional areas of tribute to the O’Donnell clan, and let me tell you, the O’Donnell will support you in your bid for freedom from English oppression. We will soon march south and free all your lands, and all those loyal to the O’Donnell will be amply rewarded!”
“Hurray!”
“But first, we must turn to assist our allies, the Maguires, and help free their lands from the English. To do that, I will send my trusted Galloglass to aid in the relief of Enniskillen.”
There was a widespread cheer from the room, as many of the Maguire clan had fled to Tirconnell.
“But to my dear brother-in-law, I give command of the O’Donnell forces poised above Sligo. Niall Garbh is a great warrior of the clan, as were his forefathers before him.”
Red Hugh went down onto the floor and embraced his brother-in-law. The show of unity raised the atmosphere in the hall.
“Now go all and prepare for the oncoming war!”
The floor cheered and broke down into groups. Red Hugh tapped his Niall Garbh on the arm.
“It is time we spoke in private and put the past behind us.”
“Everything is led by the past. You cannot change it,” insisted Niall Garbh.
“Yes, but it does not have to lead us. The O’Donnells may acknowledge the past, but they must set their future, their agenda. Come, let us talk in private.”
Niall Garbh scowled.
“Come! Did I not give you my sister?”
His brother-in-law followed him into the back room. Red Hugh smiled, hoping to appease his fellow clansman.
“Niall, you are a great warrior, one of the best the O’Donnells have. We both must work together to make us the greatest clan in Ulster and Connacht before the Spanish king sends h
is armies. To do that, we need you and your men out there fighting with the rest of the O’Donnells.”
“The title of O’Donnell should have gone to me, son of Conn, grandson of Calvagh.”
Red Hugh threw his hands in the air.
“We have done all this, raised support, fought battles, split O’Donnell blood. You married my sister to solidify your place in the O’Donnell hierarchy. Whatever claim you have is in the past. What I am asking is that you stake your claim for the future! The stronger the O’Donnells are when the Spanish king comes, the more spoils there will be to split between us. Why settle for some land on the River Foyle when there is the whole of Connacht to conquer?”
“If they come. Promises are like little butterflies, they may look pretty, but when you try to catch them, they fly away!”
“I would not have permitted my sister to marry you if I didn’t want to build a bond of trust. Am I not going to have a feud with my sister, am I? To be a proper Irish lord, you need to be flexible. You leave the politics to me, and I will leave the fighting to you. Agreed?”
Niall Garbh hesitated.
“If you’re not with me, you’re against me. I have hundreds of mercenaries outside the town spoiling for a fight. Don’t make me send them north. Let us once and for all unite the O’Donnells and crush our enemies!”
Niall Garbh hesitated, realised he had little choice and embraced his brother-in-law.
“That’s right. Let bygones be bygones!” said Red Hugh. “My mother has returned to Scotland to recruit redshanks. Many thousands of them are waiting to join us. We need to raid to raise the money and cattle to pay for them. That is your first mission. Raid into Connacht and bring back as much riches as you can carry. Now go prepare your men, for war is nearly upon us.”
Niall Garbh’s demeanour raised at the prospect of looting and fighting. He would leave his claim to rest for another day.
* * *
Several days later, the O’Donnells reconvened in the court. Disquiet had spread amongst certain leading O’Donnells about the prospect of war. They were nervous about the route they thought the Red Hugh was following, for they thought it would lead to their doom. When he entered the room, his brother Ruaidhri stood up before his older brother.