by C R Dempsey
Seamus bowed. “I’m all the better for seeing you, Rose. You’re still way too good for this renegade!”
“Someone has to steer him back to the righteous path!” she laughed.
Fiach pointed to a prized place beside the fire, where the smoke rarely blew.
“Sit down and eat and tell me all about why you’re here. We have so much to catch up on.”
Seamus sat with his old friend, and as the fire burned and crackled, they exchanged stories starting from the time they last met, what had happened to them, and people they knew. But something was troubling him. In all his years as a Galloglass, he had learned to read a man or a room, and a fireside was no different. Fiach sat at the most prominent place, with Seamus beside him as his guest. Rose sat to the other side of Fiach, but beside her were her two sisters and their husbands, the younger sons of Fiach.
Rose O’Toole was Fiach’s current wife, a woman he married when he needed to strike an alliance with the O’Tooles in 1573. However, she bore him no children. Fiach’s heir was Turlough O’Byrne, Fiach’s eldest son from his first wife, who he had divorced. Fiach had another two sons from his original marriage, which Rose arranged for them to marry her younger sisters. The O’Byrnes and the O’Tooles were constantly at odds with one another since the former was the rising power in Leinster. Seamus noticed the O’Byrnes sat with the O’Byrnes, and they looked to Turlough O’Byrne, while the O’Tooles sat with the O’Tooles and Rose and the other sons. Rose was determined that the husbands of her sisters would take over from Fiach when he died.
Fiach loved his wife dearly, and she was one of his most politically significant allies. However, he wanted to keep his family and the loose set of allegiances together while also maintaining his marriage. By his reckoning, as long as they all had a common enemy, the O’Byrnes would not implode.
On Seamus’s other side were Turlough, Uaithne and other young men from various Leinster clans. The two sides barely mixed much beyond exchanging pleasantries. But Fiach was the glue that bound this fragile alliance together. Seamus had to find out how weak it was to see how much Red Hugh could rely on it.
He leaned over to whisper to his old friend.
“Why are we eating here in the mountains when we could gaze at the starry night in Glenmalure?”
Seamus hit a sore point as Fiach stared at the sky as if for motivation.
“Christmas had barely formed a memory when the lord deputy and his Dublin lackeys came upon me. It took little cattle and coin to turn the heads of some of my clan to turn and lead my enemies to me while I lay unsuspecting. They snook through the forests with their daggers drawn, but the good Lord wished to spare me to fight for him another day. By chance, a patrol heard a drum, hit a single time and probably an accident, and rushed to the castle to raise the alarm. I bless that drummer boy, but I am sure he now hangs from a tree. I had barely time to grab my weapons and some clothes before I was a destitute renegade stalking these here woods.”
Seamus put his arm around his friend’s shoulders.
“The lords of the north will support you. Red Hugh has sent me to repay you for your kindness in assisting in his escape from Dublin Castle. Here, take this letter. The two great Hughs of the north have signed it. Red Hugh told me they would support their great ally, but alas, I have not read the letter.”
Fiach took the letter and broke the seal. He smiled at its contents.
“Ah, sure, what else could I have done? No point in dying a lonely old rebel up a mountain when there’s so much chaos I can cause!”
Seamus laughed.
“That’s the old Fiach I know! But we’ve got to be wily in our efforts and give the lords of the north time to consolidate their positions and contact the Spanish king. Once they are sufficiently in place, they can take the war to the English.”
Heads turned at the mention of the Spanish. Seamus unknowingly had stepped onto contentious ground.
“You’re not falling for that ‘ol chestnut, are you? These days it’s the Spanish king who will save us. Yesterday it was the Pope and the Spanish king, or was it the French, the Spanish or the Pope? Whatever it was, some powerful king from faraway was always going to come and save us and give us all our land and rights back. We’ve even had some Spanish emissaries here barely a year ago. Boy, they can make some lavish promises. I said I’d start digging them a graveyard by the sea, for that’s as far as they’ll get, and at least their souls will have a pleasant view as they float off to heaven. They didn’t find that funny at all. A Spanish invasion! As if that’s going to happen?” laughed Walter Reagh.
“We all know how your family has been burned out these last couple of years,” replied Fiach. “But King Philip is a devout and righteous man. If he says he will do something, I believe he will do all in his powers to do it. Instead of drowning in our cynicism about what has not worked previously, we should offer a prayer so that God can help King Philip to help us in our time of need.”
“We would if we could, but we’re not all good devout Catholics, are we?” spat Turlough as he stared at the O’Toole sisters.
“Don’t speak to my wife and your stepmother like that!” barked Fiach. “That’s enough squabbling and cynicism for this evening. If you can’t enjoy yourselves in peace, go back to your tents and sulk. We have a formidable foe to fight tomorrow, so don’t waste this evening fighting with each other. Come on, Seamus, let’s go.”
Fiach picked up his drink and signalled to Seamus to come with him for a walk in the woods.
“They just don’t want to listen to the shepherd,” moaned Fiach as he strode quickly, trying to shake off his anger.
Seamus put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“I know how difficult it is to deal with family, especially when they won’t do what is good for them, even though it is standing in front of them. You’ve got to be strong.”
“I’m getting too old to be strong all the time.”
“You’re not that old, well, not yet!”
“I am surrounded by headstrong, impetuous youth.”
“Where do you think they got that from?”
They both laughed.
“Come on, it is time to go back now,” said Fiach. “If I’m not there to break up the fight, Lord knows what will happen. They’re all armed, you know!”
The two men laughed again and turned around and went back to the campfire. They returned to their seats by the fire, but most of the family members had left. Fiach held his head in his hand and his drink in the other.
“I can’t trust anyone, not even my family. Traitors perpetually surround me.”
Seamus slapped him on the back.
“I thought you’d be used to that now, being an Irish lord. Fight the English to the front and go home and get stabbed in the back by your brother.”
“I like the way you can joke about such things!”
“How did you get to be so naïve as to pour your heart out to a Galloglass, the ultimate heartless prostitute lusting after gold, cattle, and war? We stand back and look to see who is offering the most money before we pick our side. But you’ve lasted this long and still have the charms of Rose to help you renew any frayed alliances. Your sons may argue between themselves but will fall into line once the English come.”
“I’m sorry to burden your weary mind with my perpetual problems. I should try to be more cheerful considering I haven’t seen you in such a long time.”
“Well, try, try your best. Now have another drink. It’s supposed to be a reunion!”
Fiach held out his empty cup, and a young boy charged with keeping cups full ran over and obliged him.
Seamus remembered he had brought ten men with him, including two of Shea Óg’s lot, and wondered where they were. They must have disappeared when Seamus started talking to Fiach. After the mood grew brighter and he exchanged more stories and ale with Fiach, Seamus leaned in.
“I think I may have picked up a couple of spies on my way here. I need them dealt w
ith quietly.”
“Say no more. You point them out, and they’ll disappear without even a hint of suspicion on you.”
“You’re a good friend, Fiach.”
“They’ll regret the day they ever set foot in Wicklow. We’re well used to dealing with spies in these parts!” and Fiach winked. “Have another drink,” and Fiach and Seamus slammed their mugs together.
* * *
Seamus awoke the next day, the night of re-acquaintance and celebration weighing heavily on his weary body, especially his head. He got out of his tent and walked out into the campsite. Fiach was in a fine mood and just as Seamus had remembered him. He may have been getting old, but he could still party as hard as any of his sons. He also kept his ability to fight off a hangover and still maintain a decent level of conversation. Fiach wrapped his hand around Seamus’s shoulder.
“Look how we decorate our trees around here.”
Seamus followed Fiach’s finger to the trees that hung over the valley. Fiach did not lie: from the trees hung two of Seamus’s former companions and two other men he did not know.
“There’s a Wicklow welcome for traitors. I hope you’re not offended, but they would have you decorating the streets of Dublin, and the Queen’s coin would nestle warmly in their pockets.”
The eight remaining men of Seamus’s company looked on, furious and frightened, for they had not suspected their comrades were traitors and supposed they could have been randomly singled out and hung. Seamus nodded reassuringly at them and beckoned them to stand down.
“I trust your nose for sniffing out traitors, and had suspected these men myself,” said Seamus to Fiach in front of his men. “My men and I are in your hands, and, as emissaries for Hugh O’Donnell, we have faith that you will treat us well.”
“As long as you serve the Confederacy and not the Crown, you are welcome guests here in Wicklow.”
The tension was then diverted elsewhere.
“Lord, lord, Russell burns the O’Toole land to the north!” cried a boy as he ran towards Fiach.
“Catch your breath, boy, and give me the news,” demanded Fiach.
“The English beast, Lord Russell, gave the O’Tooles an ultimatum. Swear loyalty to the Crown or burn. Half their lands burn, and the people are taking to the hills!”
“Damn him!” said Fiach.
The news attracted other members of the family and leaders of the group.
“We must save the other O’Tooles,” exclaimed Phelim O’Byrne.
“We must hit the bastards back hard, where it hurts,” exclaimed Walter Reagh as he punched the air to vent his frustration.
“Nobody hits anyone without my express permission,” shouted Fiach. “Phelim, organise a band of men and go to the foothills and see that all the O’Tooles you can find are led to safety until the English go. Turlough, take some men and find out the plans of the English. I have some things to discuss with my old friend, and I do not want to be disturbed.”
Fiach signalled to Seamus, and they sat by the embers of one of the previous night’s fires. The conversation soon turned to the strategic situation. Fiach took a stick and drew a crude map of Wicklow in the dirt. He explained he was isolated in the Wicklow mountains with a loose alliance with the O’Tooles, Kavanaghs and O’Mores. These families were themselves splintered in their allegiances to the O’Byrnes and the Crown. Munster and other harbours of rebellion had long since been pacified in the Desmond Rebellions. Fiach’s head sank.
“I fear I’m trapped up here, waiting to be hunted and killed like some hated fox that raided the chicken coup.”
“Don’t worry, my friend,” and Seamus slapped him on the back. “I am here with the authority of the northern lords to strike a bargain.”
“I am grateful that they consider that a man in my position still has something to offer.”
“Red Hugh is forever in your debt for assisting his escape. However, nothing in this life is for free.”
“Tell me, what do I have that is of value to exchange?”
Seamus leant in to whisper to Fiach, but Redmond O’Byrne wrenched them from their scheming.
“Walter is gone! Walter is gone! He’s taken twenty men and horses with him.”
An inflamed Fiach flew to his feet.
“What do you mean, he’s gone? Where? To do what?”
“He said he was going to get revenge on the English for raiding the O’Byrnes!”
Fiach spat and cursed. Seamus tried to calm him down.
“You would have done the same in your youth.”
“I am no sorry youth anymore! Do these fools not learn?” howled Fiach.
“Where has he gone?” Seamus asked Redmond. “Was he drunk? Will he just saunter back here in a couple of days when he’s found some more ale?”
“Do you remember when I was telling you about hotheads that take after me?” interjected Fiach.
“Yes?”
“It’s not always hereditary!
16
The Bargain
Paranoia possessed many a renegade who had taken to the hills in hiding, and Fiach MacHugh O’Byrne was no exception. He feared that Walter Reagh’s foolishness would see him captured, and as Walter bargained for his life, he would exchange it for those of his former comrades even Fiach’s head. It was a typical end for most of Leinster’s would-be rebels, a tantrum rebellion, and they would pass the hangman’s rope along to his former friends for a small grant of land as a tenanted farmer under an English lord. Fiach realised that his own head in a noose or at the end of a pike would buy much forgiveness and a rich settlement for anyone who wished to cash in their friendship. Therefore, he sought the safety of the hills.
Seamus joined Fiach and his men as they retreated to the heights of the Wicklow hills, for he had yet to complete the mission assigned to him by his master. They made their way to one of the many abandoned camps the O’Byrnes had dotted around the hills. There was food aplenty, and once they set up their campsite, the men dug up old weaponry they buried for such occasions. They presented the treasure to Fiach, who unwrapped the bundles with the glee of a child at Christmas.
“You’ll find many a relic from the glorious battle of Glenmalure around these mountains, for we killed so many English as to keep us in arms for life,” bragged Fiach.
“Unfortunately, old weapons,” said Seamus as he tried to let his friend down gently. “More use for sentimental remembrance than an instrument of death. Those guns look like they’d kill the shooter far quicker than any Englishman.”
“Well, that’s why you’re here, my good friend,” and Fiach smiled at Seamus. “I’ve got to fight to be a reasonable ally.”
Fiach distributed the weapons to the refugees that fled the onslaught of the English in the foothills. His general whereabouts were well known, so many an unarmed man seeking revenge for his losses would climb the hills and declare his allegiance to any band of armed men that accosted him in the hope they would spare his life and take them in. Fiach also organised the camp, established patrols in the mountains, and sent out messengers and spies to gather information.
A day of planning began, and Seamus shared an evening meal with Fiach and his sons. He sat back and observed the conversations, and asked pertinent questions. He established Fiach had about one hundred trustworthy men that were proficient with axe, bow and sword, and, depending on which part of the Wicklow mountains he was in, a variable number of outlaws, potential turncoats and farm labourers that could pelt the English with a hail of missiles. Fiach could organise successful ambushes in terrain he was familiar with, raid English land, but did not possess the strength to face the English out in the open. The fighting capacity of the O’Byrnes had considerably diminished since Seamus was last with them. He could see that his friend was potentially in trouble, and the lords of the north would have to prop up their ally considerably until he could renew the Leinster alliances of old and become a force again in the rebel Confederacy. Fiach’s real value was how many English sol
diers he could occupy as they tried to hunt him down. However, Seamus’s masters had demands of their own, and nothing was for free.
It was time to talk business, yet he did not want to embarrass his old friend and make him feel like he was being used. He would have to guard his thoughts and release his words with consideration, not always a strength he could rely upon. Seamus raised the subject of their potential bargain, and Fiach was eager, so the Wicklow native sent his sons away so he could talk with Seamus in private.
“Fiach, I’ll have to make my way back north soon, and yet we must make a bargain for the northern lords. They wish to create a haven in the Wicklow mountains for veterans from the continent landing in the south and then establish a safe route to the north. However, these veterans will be in demand among their own clans, and I am conscious of your need for seasoned men to assist you. The northern lords plan to sweep south when the Spanish king arrives. How many men do you need for your resistance to remain viable?”
“Two hundred could tie down double or triple that number of English soldiers that would otherwise head north, but, I’ll know as soon as I get Ballinacor back. My castle will need a garrison, but that pig-headed son-in-law of mine who took twenty of my men is a blow. I’ll wait to see if he brings them back, or I find they’re all decorating trees. My boys Turlough and Phelim have a bit more sense.”
“I’m glad to hear it. However, you may need to survive here relatively unaided for a couple of years because the northern lords are waiting for the Spanish king’s army. Our archbishops plead with him for aid whenever the opportunity presents itself, but the war with England and the Dutch Revolt otherwise distracted him. When they come, I don’t think the king will land anywhere near Wicklow, so you’ll have to survive until the rebels from the north can come down and relieve the pressure from you. In exchange, the northern lords promise weapons, men and strategic coordination.”
New hope swelled in Fiach at the sound of these promises made by a trusted friend. Few modern weapons had made their way to the mountain rebels, except those captured from dead English foes. With help, he could rejuvenate his alliances.