by C R Dempsey
“What are your intentions, brother? Years of war have left deep scars. Be it the scourge of the English sheriffs and their mercenaries or the wars of the O’Donnell succession. Every family has borne the death of at least one son, and all it has done is increase the decline of the clan. Do you propose to bring us to war once more? Should we not consolidate and heal? Or at least wait for the Spanish king?”
“War will not wait until we are ready. The English will not rest until they have destroyed the O’Donnells, We are at war whether you like it or not!” Red Hugh exclaimed, and he got out of his chair and waved his arms to appeal to his clansmen for support.
“We either live with the axe on our hands or die with the English as our masters! There is no peace, only war.”
Red Hugh’s father lifted his frail bones and addressed his fellow O’Donnells.
“Ruaidhri is right. We are not ready for war. We need a time of peace to recover our strength from years of strife.”
Red Hugh would not stand for such subordination, especially from the nearest and dearest. He rose to his full height and lifted his chin.
“Lords, we once more see past our differences and can stand united. I cannot speak against my father. I owe everything to my mother, but yet, I see the power of the O’Donnells united before me. The kings of Ulster, just like the days of old! Speak out, my clansmen, and tell me what you wish to do?”
Everyone looked around the room. Neither Tadhg Og O’Boyle nor Eoghan McToole O’Gallagher wished to speak out against the former O’Donnell. Since niceties did not impinge upon the consciousness of Niall Garbh, he was ready to show the world what a great warrior he was. Niall Garbh stood beside his brother-in-law.
“We are the O’Donnells, and we fight for the glory of the O’Donnells. There is no peace without freedom!”
Niall Garbh looked around the room. He raised his fist.
“There is no peace without freedom!”
Tadhg Og O’Boyle raised his fist.
“There is no peace without freedom!”
Eoghan McToole O’Gallagher raised his fist.
“There is no peace without freedom!”
Soon the entire room was chanting with their fists, nodding in the air.
“There is no peace without freedom!”
Red Hugh sat back in his seat and smiled.
* * *
Hugh O’Neill called the lords of the north to a secret conference in Tyrone. Hugh Maguire left Devenish Island under cover of night for the first time since January. Red Hugh and his most trusted commanders came, along with all the prominent O’Neill lords. They were all whisked into the heavily guarded castle in Dungannon, where they were treated to a feast and wine before O’Neill brought business before them.
“Comrades! We have seen the fall of Enniskillen and how the traitor Connor Roe has sold out his clansmen to become the English lord of Fermanagh.”
“May we burn his lands to the bare soil!” cried Hugh Maguire.
“We’ll get to that,” said O’Neill. “The Crown has sequestered me to restore order in the north and to controlling the actions of our dear Red Hugh.”
The room cheered, and Red Hugh raised his glass with a beaming smile.
“The Crown has also ordered the removal of Lord Deputy Fitzwilliam…”
“Hurray!” and the men slammed their cups on the table.
“But Fitzwilliam does not want to go. Therein lies our opportunity. Whilst he squirms on his hook, and the new lord deputy lies powerless in the wings, we’ll rid the north of collaborators with the English. Raid their lands! Steal their cattle! Burn their crops! Besiege Enniskillen!”
“Hurray!” the lords cheered, and beat the air with their fists.
“Red Hugh and I will go to the Irish Council to ‘negotiate’. The rest of you breathe nothing of this plan to anyone but make the north ungovernable.”
The lords cheered and made endless toasts.
O’Neill eventually took Hugh Maguire aside.
“I am sending my best man and brother, Cormac, to help relieve Enniskillen. I will also take care of Connor Roe. Fermanagh will be united again! Put a call out to the men of Fermanagh to prepare for war.”
“If you do that, you’ll have the allegiance of every Maguire in Fermanagh.”
“Here’s to the freedom of the north!” and O’Neill slammed his cup into that of Hugh Maguire.
“The freedom of the north!”
Cups were filled and filled again to match the elan for the next toast. The evening gradually slid into a blur.
9
March on Enniskillen
Eunan and his men rode to the woods south of Belleek to assemble with the rest of the rebel Maguires. He had his new O’Cassidy axe tied to his back, with its wolfhound medallion embedded in the cheek. But he could not get Caoimhe out of his mind. He rubbed the wolfhound medallion for luck. The visit to Desmond had done him good. He should recast himself as an O’Cassidy, follow his mother’s line and take over south Fermanagh. Cormac O’Cassidy would soon be disposed of as a traitor when the lords of the north marshalled their armies, freed Enniskillen and set their sites on the Pale, and the Spanish king’s fleet would envelop the oceans…
“Eunan! Stop thinking about that girl! We’re almost here,” shouted Óisin.
“You’re lucky to have so tolerant a master,” growled Eunan. “Many another would have flung his axe at you for being so cheeky.”
“You’d want to be not so distracted when someone flings an axe at you.”
Eunan waived his jesting away.
“It’s been a long ride. Let’s find the Maguire.”
Eunan and his men rode on.
They were soon stopped by guards who recognised Eunan. They directed him to the main camp and from there to Hugh Maguire’s tent.
“Eunan!” exclaimed Maguire, “you have done the Maguires and myself proud with all the men you have raised.”
“I’m glad to be of service, lord. I see the MacCabes have returned.”
“Never underestimate the Galloglass nose for sniffing out their master’s ability to pay. Once they realised the Maguire herd of cattle was safe in the hands of Hugh O’Neill and not robbed by his lesser lords, they came back.”
“I hope the men I found prove more loyal. I searched the whole of Fermanagh, except for the lands under Connor Roe. Men came forth on the words that the Maguire will return, but my kinsmen, the O’Cassidys, contributed nothing. Even more surprising considering Donnacha was there.”
“I’ll take care of Donnacha. The O’Cassidy helps us in far more ways than is obvious. They will come. But meanwhile, the Maguires will march on Enniskillen and meet with Cormac MacBaron and the O’Neills before we retake our town.”
“That is glorious news, lord. When do we march?”
“At first light tomorrow! We have over five hundred men, and the English will flee before us.”
“I will embrace that day! But first, I will go to the campsites and reacquaint myself with the men.”
Eunan left and roamed through the forest and picked his way past all the groups of tents from all the various septs. It was just like the stories of old, when the Maguire calls; the Maguires come running.
* * *
The following day they set out for Enniskillen. There was no sign of the English, and no opposition blighted their march. The Maguires waited in the woods south of Enniskillen, unwilling to reveal their intentions without their better-armed allies. Word reached Hugh Maguire that Cormac MacBaron had entered Fermanagh and was waiting for the Maguires. Hugh and his men abandoned camp and went to meet him.
Eunan’s heart leapt at the size of Cormac MacBaron’s camp. This was no raid, for the size of the force suggested Cormac MacBaron was here to stay. The Maguires found somewhere suitable, with enough room to hold all the tents, graze the horses and set up camp. Cormac invited Hugh, Eunan, and several of the other Maguire lords to his tent. Once inside, Hugh clasped Cormac with delight and relief.
“Indeed, he has, my friend! Indeed, he has!” replied Hugh.
“I have brought some of the finest shot, pike and horsemen in all of Tyrone. My brother burns the north free of its English landlords and their Irish allies, and we are here to do the same.”
“When do we lay siege to Enniskillen?”
“In time. But first, we must isolate it from England and its allies. I am here to fulfil my brother’s plan,” and Cormac rolled out the O’Neill battle maps. When they left the tent, Hugh Maguire and his lords embraced and grasped hands. The rebellion had restarted.
The next day, the two armies set out from their camps. They made straight for Connor Roe’s territory, and they devastated his lands to such a degree they thought it would knock him out of the war. The MacMahons destroyed Monaghan to add to Connor Roe’s isolation. The O’Neills and their allies then turned their attention northwards. They either took the pledges of any lords that had not come out for Hugh Maguire, or else they ruined their lands. They lay lands bare in a twenty-mile radius of Enniskillen and the armies set about creating defensive earthworks along the River Erne’s narrower parts by planting stakes in the river to cut off Enniskillen of re-supply from the upper lough and Connor Roe. The Maguires and Cormac MacBaron had no cannon for a quick retake of Enniskillen Castle, so they made their camps and settled in for a siege.
News of the devastation of Connor Roe and the siege of Enniskillen quickly spread. The wavering Maguires of south Fermanagh then declared for the Maguire, which caused the numbers in the Maguire camp to swell. Then one day, as Hugh, Eunan, and the leaders of the Maguire hunched over a roughly drawn map of Enniskillen and its surroundings, Donnacha O’Cassidy Maguire entered the tent. Behind him strode a man a couple of years younger than Eunan, but old enough to hold an axe. Hugh greeted Donnacha as if he were a long-lost friend.
“I knew you’d come when the time was right. South Fermanagh has declared for me?”
“When you removed the darkness of Connor Roe, they saw the light, lord.”
“That is excellent! The Maguires have risen again,” and Hugh punched the air. “And who have you brought as the assistant that cowers behind you?”
“I cower behind no one, good lord,” and the young man made himself known.
“Before I put an axe through his impetuous head, please tell me who he is?”
Donnacha scowled at the boy.
“The badly mannered boy who embarrasses me is my nephew, Cillian O’Cassidy. Despite his rudeness, I don’t think the fragile alliance of south Fermanagh would survive an axe through his head. When you meet him again, his manners will be impeccable as I remind him that nobody usurps the Maguire. He asks for your forgiveness, doesn’t he?”
The boy stepped up on cue.
“Please forgive me, sir. My nerves got the better of me from being in such exalted company.”
“It is best you be quiet in the future, should you ever be in my tent again. How many men do you bring, and who is their commander?”
Donnacha stepped in.
“The boy has one hundred warriors from south Fermanagh, all ready to do their duty.”
“Hmm, we don’t need badly armed men who run at the first volley of shot. Who leads these men?”
“Er, the boy does, lord!”
“No, we cannot have that. We need experienced commanders.”
“I will lead them!” cried Eunan. “I am from south Fermanagh. The men will respect me.”
“No!” cried the boy.
Donnacha pushed him towards the door.
“Lord, please reconsider. The O’Cassidys are headstrong and independent. They would rebel at being put under an inexperienced commander they don’t know.”
“The O’Cassidys sway in the wind like a head of barley every time Connor Roe comes calling. They need to be led by a loyal commander from their region, like me,” replied Eunan.
“Say no more, Eunan. Donnacha, step aside. I will place the O’Cassidys under Eunan, and if they run like the wind back to south Fermanagh at the first sign of trouble, then Eunan will be to blame, and you won’t have to bring a dead boy back to your cousin.”
“But lord..”
“Don’t say too much, Donnacha, or I may remember your absence when I was alone on Devenish Island!”
“I will take my leave to go persuade my clansmen of the wise nature of your idea,” and Donnacha bowed as he backed out of the room.
“Take Eunan with you. They may as well meet him sooner rather than later.”
* * *
Donnacha walked in front of Eunan, not bothering to look behind. He would merely cast a “this way” over his shoulder, not caring if Eunan was in earshot every time the route twisted in the town of tents. Cillian parted ways with Donnacha, but Eunan was too far behind to figure out why.
The camp collapsed into indiscipline the further they got from the centre. The journey started in the neat rows of tents of the MacCabe, which exuded professionalism as they surrounded the central hub of the tent of the Maguire. There, pathways out to the individual septs and bands of mercenaries twisted and meandered out to both desirable and undesirable destinations. The end of this seldom trodden spoke they set out upon led to the shantytown of the O’Cassidys, possibly the least professional segment of the camp.
There was no semblance of organisation or structure in this landscape of wilful neglect and ineptitude. Some men had tents, some covered their carts with blankets, but there seemed to be a distinct lack of suitable accommodation for the youths drifting around. Some men had brought decent armour and weapons with them, but Eunan mainly saw bows and pitchforks. Anguish took hold of Eunan, for he barely saw a soldier amongst them.
“How could such a rich man as my uncle send such a rabble to the Maguire?” exclaimed Eunan.
“They’re your rabble now,” replied Donnacha.
Some men stood to attention when Donnacha was going to address them. Most continued what they were doing before, such as drinking, engaging in horseplay or organising where to forage for food.
“Well then, you may as well start by calling them to attention.”
Donnacha stood aside to show Eunan was in charge now.
“MEN!” Eunan exclaimed. “COME LINE UP FOR YOUR CLAN! THE MAGUIRE NEEDS YOU!”
A couple of boys looked at him and laughed, but carried on their horseplay. Several other men and boys paid him casual attention, as if he could be a source of entertainment.
“You’ll get nowhere by appealing to their sense of loyalty or patriotism. Do you give up yet?” said Donnacha as he looked at his nails.
“PRESENT YOURSELVES, MEN, FOR INSPECTION BY THE MAGUIRE!”
The force of Eunan’s tone drew more attention to himself but as more of a curiosity than a figure of authority.
“Shall I get Cillian now?” asked Donnacha.
“And what would he do?” barked Eunan.
“I will do you this one favour, not for you, but because I am hungry and wish to return to civilisation. Besides, the Maguire always does the best food.”
He turned to the O’Cassidy rabble.
“Boys,” Donnacha said calmly, “the Maguire sent this man to train and lead you as a replacement for your clansman, Cillian. Not a word of this must make it back to the O’Cassidy, for I do not know how he would bear the insult, and I know you all still want to get paid. This man has ample amounts of food, drink and tents for you. After he has provided, the training will begin. I leave you in the capable hands of Eunan Maguire.”
Eunan’s face dropped, for he had none of these things for the wall of toothless grins, boyish naivety, bad breath, and assorted odours of the countryside that now surrounded him. It was as if the O’Cassidy had gathered up all the never-do-wells on his lands and sent them off to be a burden on the Maguire. But they were his burden now.
Donnacha laughed.
“Good luck!” he said
as he waved over his shoulder and walked towards the Maguire’s tent.
* * *
Eunan tried to close his eyes on a disappointing day. Failing to evoke any feeling of patriotism or loyalty to the Maguire in that mob of human waste collapsed his soul. It was as if he were a boy back in his village again, holding out his hand, trying to prise out some feeling of friendship from his contemporaries who would shun or laugh at him or both. It was as if he was at the bottom of the same pit of despair, never to claw his way out. But he needed to get it together. He was no longer a child but a warrior of the Maguire. He needed to think of them as a bunch of raw young boys that needed to be turned into warriors like him.
But the Maguire was right. These men owed more allegiance to a bottle of mead than any boy like Cillian, never mind the Maguire. Not even with his men, and Óisin to provide a spine would they stand and fight. Being their commander seemed a quick way to lose a hard-won reputation. Worry kept him awake until tiredness eventually overwhelmed him, and he drifted off.
* * *
Eunan found himself in the forest, a familiar place by sight and touch. He moved forward towards where he thought his village used to be. The light formed a bubble that surrounded him, for the more he moved forward, the more it seemed to hem him in and follow him. Eunan reached for his belt. His trusty Maguire axes were no longer at his side. The air in his bubble, loneliness and vulnerability all weighed on his shoulders. He came to the edge of the forest, and before him was the well that was his mother’s grave. A light drew him towards it but he resisted every step. Something pulled his foot off the ground, floated it forward, and then drove it down into the ground, where he found himself over the well. He looked down below into the blackness and the faint echo of falling debris. From behind he was surrounded by a wall of bad breath and missing teeth belonging to the men of the O’Cassidy. They laughed and poked him with little sticks shaped like weapons. Closing in, they forced him further and further back until they pressed him against the exterior wall of the well. He leant back to get away from them, but they trapped his legs. The men seized his legs and flipped him backwards. He was failing.