by C R Dempsey
“I’ll gladly take their weapons and whatever veterans they can spare if all I have to do is happily nod along with their plan.”
“That’s the spirit. You can join the nodding donkeys of the minor lords in the courts of the O’Donnells and O’Neills!”
“I prefer to be compared to a bear, or like my name, a raven!”
“As long as it’s not a hedgehog with a spike through your head.”
“You haven’t lost your sense of humour. When do you have to return up north?”
“I only have a couple of weeks here, depending on what happens. Young Red Hugh has big plans to take the fight to the English and restore the O’Donnells to their former glories.”
“There’s a recipe for an early grave!”
“We were young and foolish once. You got wise though and left the foolishness to the young!”
“They are so much better at it than me. It takes up so much energy having to work back from your mistakes.”
“Speaking of mistakes, what happened to that son-in-law of yours?”
“My men have gone to the Pale to find out. That is the easiest place to go when seeking revenge. Let’s see what the foolish boy does. But never mind that. Let us seal our bargain.”
They shook hands and made the deal. Fiach poured the drinks and raised his cup to toast their bargain, only to be rudely interrupted by Fiach’s son, Redmond.
“Father, Turlough has left and joined Walter Reagh.”
“I take back what I said about my sons being sensible,” said Fiach to Seamus.
* * *
Time passed slowly in the camp as they waited for news of Walter and Turlough. It took several days to travel the relatively short distance from the Pale, for the spies had to evade the patrols in the Wicklow mountains and the Pale. Two made it back and were sent straight to their master.
Fiach sat outside his tent, honing tree branches into spikes for the various mantraps they set in the hills. Seamus busied himself with Phelim, mapping out the local hills to select the best places for their traps and potential ambush spots.
“Fiach, the men have returned from the Pale,” said a trusted lieutenant who escorted the spies to the hilltops from the valley below. “They have news!”
Fiach feared they would tell him his firstborn was dead. But as leader of the clan, he had to put on a brave face.
“Well, speak! If you have valuable news, the sooner you tell, the sooner I act!”
“Walter Reagh and his men set fire to Crumlin in revenge for Ballinacor falling into the English’s foul hands. The lord deputy released the calvary after them, but Walter escaped to the Wicklow foothills and has not been seen since.”
Fiach gripped the insides of his eyes and the side of his nose with his thumb and index finger.
“Bloody fool! He’ll bring the might of the English army down upon us, and we have but eighty fighting men.”
“What of my son Turlough?”
“He is with Walter.”
“Shall we search for them?” asked Phelim.
“If we shelter Walter, then we become targets,” said Uaithne, who had come when he heard the spies had returned.
“We are targets anyway, but at least with us hiding in the hills, they may have given up,” replied Fiach. “Now he has humiliated them. The new lord deputy has to put on a show of force for the Queen and the Pale. They will hunt Walter and Turlough down until they find them or kill all of us. We need to hide, and if they come, they come. We don’t look for them. Have you got that?”
“Yes, lord.”
Seamus looked at the spies. He recognised one of them but could not tell from where. The man did not show that he knew him, so Seamus stayed silent. Later that night, as Seamus closed his eyes to sleep, it suddenly came back to him. He had to speak to that man as soon as it was light.
17
The Spy
Seamus could barely sleep, for he needed to find the man he recognised. He dragged himself from his tent at first light and searched the camp and surrounding hillside. He soon found the tent. As Seamus stood over the spy’s empty tent, he was approached from behind. A broken twig gave away the man and his intent.
“I’d be careful what you do with that knife,” said Seamus as the spy tried to hide the weapon behind his thigh. “You’d be surprised at how quickly I could disarm you, and your knife would then stick out of your neck. But I recognise you. You served in the Low Countries. It seemed you had reached a new low once you came back to the mother country.”
“Captain Williamson wants to see you. He warned me that his men have a habit of quickly ending up dead when they meet you. It’s like you don’t give a damn about your wife and your men’s families.”
Seamus held himself back from going for the man.
“What do you know about the whereabouts of my wife?”
“As I said, Captain Williamson wants to see you. He is in the comfort of the Pale where you must go.”
“If he wants me to go to the Pale, why don’t you just get it over with and just kill me now?”
“He wants Hugh Boye far more than he wants you! Now think of an excuse to go to the Pale, for we’ll never evade the patrols of Fiach in his mountains. Once you have an excuse, volunteer me to go as your guide.”
Seamus thought about it for a second but then considered that he had not much of a choice to make if he wanted to see his wife again
“What’s your name, traitor?”
“Art O’Toole.”
* * *
News reached Fiach that the English had cleared forests around Ballinacor to create a fort that would garrison and control the valleys of Wicklow. Furious, he brought Seamus and his two younger sons to spy on the English. They took up their positions in the mountains above Glenmalure.
“How can they defile my home!” Fiach growled. “They are making themselves a fort to control my beautiful valley. The good men who died in the great Battle of Glenmalure will roll over in their graves to see our lands desecrated.”
“We’ve got to entice them out and ambush them in another valley, father,” said Redmond. “Then we can drive them out of Wicklow for good!”
“We can but try, but I fear they have too many men.”
Fiach returned to his camp, and that night sent a supposed traitor back to Glenmalure, claiming to know where Fiach and his sons were camped and how they could be taken by surprise.
* * *
News came that Lord Deputy Russell had moved out from his camp in the foothills of the Wicklow mountains, and was making his way south, spreading his men over a broad front to flush Fiach out. Fiach had spent most of his life as a rebel of the mountains, so this approach was nothing new. He went to get Seamus, who was sitting beside a fire talking to Phelim.
“Come on, Seamus, let’s go. The English are coming. We need to find a suitable spot to ambush them. Anyway, we’ve got two spies to leave out for them as well,” and Fiach winked at Seamus.
Seamus was keen to make plans to return north, for he was tired of living life on the run.
“Can you introduce me to any veterans you have here that I’ve not previously met?”
“What? And have you steal all my best men? You northerners have a cheek coming down here and asking for that.”
“I’m no northerner, as you well know! The alliance is made because we share men and resources and allocate them to where they will do the most damage to our common enemy.”
“Ah, friend, I’m only pulling your leg. You can save your speeches for your recruitment drive. We need to go. You can meet them all at the next camp. We certainly have had a few arrivals, mainly heading for the Pale. A few stories from us telling them they’d more than likely be hung then embraced, and they soon took to life in the mountains!”
Seamus packed his things and joined the march to the next camp. Fiach invited him to join himself and his sons at the head of the column. They reached the top of the mountain, and Fiach pointed down the valley from where they had jus
t marched.
“What do you see?”
Seamus tried to pick something out from the beauty of the forests amongst the rolling valleys or the pronounced tops of the mountains with granite sprinkles on top.
“Is that Dublin in the distance?”
“Your eyesight can’t be that good! No, look at the clouds of dust. That’s the English army marching to their doom. See over there? Those little specks by the mountains? That is their spies showing them the way,” Fiach laughed and slapped Seamus on the shoulder. “Just like the good ol’ days!”
* * *
They walked for the rest of the day across valleys and mountains, penetrating deeper and deeper into Wicklow. The more they advanced, the further away the English were. The O’Byrnes seemed oddly jovial about their newfound predicament. It was as if the English army chasing after them had renewed their self-importance and pride again. Fiach seemed especially delighted.
“Come on! Hurry up, Seamus! I roam these valleys planning the perfect ambush, and they keep falling into them! Such glee! I have to teach my sons every inch of the mountains before the Lord takes me away from them.”
“With all that you’ve seen, I surprised that more butchery would captivate you so.”
“Was I born a butcher or butchery imposed on me?” Fiach laughed and extended his arms, showing his colossal bulk. “What is an old rebel like me supposed to do? They’ll get me in the end, but not before I’ve taken way more than my fair share of them! Come on, Seamus, surely you feel the same?”
“I’m old and would have left this life behind long ago if it would let me. Let us set this trap and hope to be left alone. Then I can get down to my proper business.”
“Mark my words Seamus. The real action will start in a couple of days!”
“I was to remind you that the northern lords would support you and raid from the north.”
Fiach laughed.
“Even better! We can stab them in the back as they run back to Dublin! Such glee!”
“I’m glad you still find the slaughter of battle so exhilarating.”
“It breathes life into these old bones. Come on, let’s go set this trap.”
They made double quick time to the next valley, pitched their tents, and waited for the dawn to come.
* * *
The next day, Lord Deputy Russell made his way along the narrow paths of the Wicklow valleys. The spies he captured told him where Fiach would hide, and he was eager to engage. Marching into the valley, Fiach watched on from the hilltops and laughed.
“You don’t know how many times I’ve looked along this valley and wished for the day that I could pull off an ambush.”
Seamus laughed back.
“They’d run out of men long before you could pull off all your planned ambushes!”
“Well, they should be in place for our attack in about an hour. My sons have already taken the liberty to cross over to the other side of the valley to assume their positions. Since you’ve come all this way to take my veterans, you may as well make yourself familiar with them now. Come this way.”
Fiach led Seamus through the forest trails and over to the next hill. He took the opportunity of every break in the tree cover to glance over to the valley floor to ensure the English were advancing to where he wanted them. Seamus examined the English soldiers as they poured into the valley.
“Fiach! Fiach!” he hissed towards a nearby group of trees.
Fiach scowled as he stuck his head around the trees. He waved Seamus over.
“What’s so important that you’d risk giving us away?” Fiach said when Seamus crouched down beside him.
“They’re not your normal layabouts from the Pale,” and Seamus pointed to the flags and uniforms of the troops. “They’re the Brittany veterans that Hugh O’Neill’s spies picked up that were supposed to be coming over. We’re no match for them!”
“Speak for yourself. I never took you as a coward!”
“And I never took you as being a fool! They have at least two hundred men, proper English soldiers. We have only eighty. Let us call off the attack and disappear into the mountains. There’ll be no victory for us here today.”
“This is a beautifully prepared ambush. They have fallen almost exactly into our trap!” howled Fiach.
“Then I suggest that if we hit them, we do it fast, give them a fright and then melt away.”
Fiach slammed the tree he hid behind in frustration, for he knew Seamus was right.
“Ok. We attack and then disappear.”
Fiach signalled to his men, who made bird calls that rung around the valley. He raised his arm, and they slammed a volley of arrows into the English ranks in the valley below. They quickly reloaded and let loose another volley. However, the English ranks did not break, nor did they retreat. Their shot formed skirmish lines and returned fire. Most of the bullets lodged in trees but were effective enough to drive the rebels out of range with their bows. Seamus ducked behind a tree.
“This is pointless. We should retreat. The only way we are going to land a blow is to charge them. But if we do that, we’d probably lose most of the men.”
Fiach grimaced at the thought of defeat. But he knew Seamus was right.
“Retreat!” he called, and his call was echoed by the similar calls of others through the valley.
The rebels fled back into the forest.
* * *
Despair scratched away at the soul of Fiach as he was hunted throughout the Wicklow mountains by a determined enemy. He could not risk an engagement, for he did not feel that the critical mass of men needed to sustain him would survive. Seamus realised they were in danger as long as Art O’Toole stayed with them, and he needed to meet Captain Williamson in the Pale. He went to speak to Fiach.
Fiach was busy dictating letters to fallen lords of Munster, trying to temp them back into the fray and into an alliance with him. His previous letters had failed to find a receptive audience. He turned when he saw his old friend approaching.
“Have you heard anything from the lords of the north? Have they struck at the Pale yet? Are reinforcements coming?”
“I have had some news from the north. Hugh O’Neill attempts to negotiate for time, and he made submissions on your behalf. His allies carry out raids, but they are more of a threat of force than any attempt to engage the Crown’s soldiers. It is best that you cling on, for the pressure will build on the lord deputy to stop chasing you around the mountains and subdue the north instead.”
“If only I had the strength to hold on. I am old. Too old to be shivering in the hills when I could be in my warm home of Ballinacor.”
“They are not the words of my friend. You grow tired. We should talk when your spirits have returned.”
“You came to me, and you usually only try when you have something to say. What is your plan?”
“I hear veterans are hiding in the Pale, for they do not know how to make the journey north and evade the English soldiers. They also claim to know English spies that have entangled themselves amongst the rebels. I want to go to the Pale and assist them.”
“If that is your mission given by Red Hugh, then you must fulfil it. Take some men who can get you into the Pale and return with good news.”
“I will, my friend, I will.”
18
Back on the island
Eunan rode back to where Óisin and the raw recruits were camped. He leapt off his horse before it had even come to a halt. Óisin saw his urgency and went to see what was wrong.
“What did your uncle say? I have news…”
But Eunan brushed straight past him, threw his axe on the ground, and dived into the tent he shared with Óisin and some of the men. There he slept until morning, except for occasionally getting up to relieve himself. No one dared climb into the tent to disturb him. Óisin resigned himself to sleeping under the stars.
The next day, Eunan emerged and started hunting around the makeshift camp for food. He thought he remembered a hunk of st
ale bread in some bag he put somewhere. Óisin noted he was now awake and appeared in a slightly better mood than the night before. It looked like he could approach.
“Hey, you look as bad as I slept. Did things not go well?”
Eunan looked around the camp and noticed the distinct absence of most of their recent recruits.
“How well did it go for you?” he said with a contemptuous glance.
“Well, a few of them returned home to their mothers. At least it will save us from burying them after their first taste of action,” replied Óisin, trying to inject some humour into the conversation.
“Take them north to meet up with the Maguire. I have private business to attend to,” said Eunan, his face a slab of granite as he continued to search for the elusive bag.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No. I have to do this alone. Is there any food left?”
“No, that’s what I meant to tell you. Whatever food remained was stolen by deserters.”
“Damn them, damn the O’Cassidys and damn this blessed ground.”
Eunan went to his tent and retrieved his axe. He turned to Óisin.
“I’ll be back. I don’t know when, but I’ll be back. Have some men waiting for me in the camp of the Maguire when I return. All I have left is the goodwill of the Maguire, and I don’t want to let him down.”
“I will do my best, but when will you return?”
Eunan had already turned his back to him and mounted his horse. He was soon dust in the distance.
* * *
After a long ride, Eunan arrived at Lower Lough Erne and went about hiring a boat. It did not take long for him to find a ferryman among the houses dotted along the shoreline.
“Leave the horse tied up there,” said the ferryman, pointing to some fencing by his house with a healthy selection of grass alongside. “I’ll look after him while you are on the lake. Where would you like to go?”
Eunan sat at the back of the boat and could not answer. He looked at the axe head and the wolfhound emblem that was a sign of the O’Cassidys.