by C R Dempsey
“The wolfhound for Desmond and the blank side for the priests. Here goes nothing!” and he spun the shaft of the axe in his hands and let it fall.
The toe of the bit of the axe lodged itself in the boat’s floor.
“Mind my damn boat!” the boatman cried.
“It’ll all be included in your coin!” and Eunan dismissed him with a wave of his hand and returned his attention to the fallen axe.
“Well, I never would have counted for that result!”
The sun caught the eye of the wolfhound on the axe shoulder, and the resulting glint momentarily blinded Eunan.
“I suppose the wolfhound calls it! Boatman! Go to the right of Devenish Island and head for the islands on the north side of the lough. I’ll give you more directions when we get there.”
“Right it is!”
Eunan sat back and relaxed somewhat for the first time on his journey.
* * *
He felt weak as he was rowed back towards Desmond. The physical resulted from him crossing Fermanagh so many times for the Maguire. But duty had its burdens. Eunan dipped his hand in the water and let it wash over his wrist. His mind drifted with the water and he thought that life was simple when he was a boy and lived by the lake and yearned for those times once again. However, selective memory was not one of Eunan’s mental strengths. The demons of his fathers soon subsumed the dotted islands of mental sanctuary in the supposed simplicity of his youth.
Several voices in his head pecked away at him with relentless negativity. A warrior like him should not have to go back to his teacher every time he ran into trouble. He should be able to deal with the O’Cassidys himself and take back his mother’s legacy. Why does Seamus have to bail him out of everything? He was no better than either of his fathers and a lost cause like both. But the closer he got to the island, the more he spiralled down. Feeling for his axe, he stroked the haft and was reassured.
“It’s the island over there on the right, towards the centre of the lough,” Eunan told the boatman.
They got near the island and veered to the right by the cove where Desmond lived. Arthur stood on the rocks and watched the boat pull in. He looked delighted to see Eunan and called to the house for Desmond. Desmond hobbled out, stopped to make sure it was Eunan, and hurried down to the shoreline.
“Not dead yet?” asked Desmond, as he held out his hand to haul Eunan ashore.
“All their arrows and bullets bounced off my thick head!”
“That’d be right! Are you hungry?”
“Famished!”
“Lucky we got Arthur then, isn’t it!”
Eunan gave the boatman his coin and said he would return to collect his horse in a couple of days. Desmond invited Arthur to take Eunan’s bag.
“How long are you staying?” asked Desmond.
“Until I am rested in body and in mind,” came the reply.
“That’s nice,” said Desmond. “At least we have the pleasure of your company for a few days.”
“And I, the wisdom of yours!”
“Oh, it’s like that, is it? I’d better get Arthur to fetch a good supply of ale.”
Desmond led Eunan to the house, little changed from his last visit, and they sat outside on their wood stump chairs and rested their drinks on the large wooden table. It was just like old times. Eunan let out a sigh, as if lava escaping the confines of a volcano, and some of his tension was finally released.
“That bad is it?”
“Worse!”
Arthur brought out the food, the best meal he could prepare with the resources he had. Eunan beamed in gratitude.
“I have not seen such a meal since I saw Cormac O’Cassidy feasting before me on one of my previous visits.”
“So he didn’t invite you to eat?” asked Desmond. “Going well, is it?”
“I fear I have stumbled into the unknown. There is some story between my uncle and my mother that he dangles over me, but I have only heard his side and cannot untangle fact from fiction. He said he would recognise me as an O’Cassidy as long as I never darkened his door again. He has no loyalty to the Maguire, only sending him cowardly boys that run away whenever a musket is pointed at them. Donnacha is the same slimy beast as before. My cousin is a spoiled, useless coward.”
“Well, you didn’t think they were going to invite you in for a feast and give you the keys to their house when you showed up, did you?”
Eunan’s face sagged like a pathetic dog.
“Oh, you did.”
Desmond pushed his empty plate away and sat back on his stool.
“There are so many things in there that it is hard for me to talk about in the one conversation. Ireland has always been an unruly state under the English. The two kingdoms cannot not and will never live in harmony. There’s always an unhappy warlord somewhere going into rebellion, and the English have to weigh up which is the best solution: to kill or to bribe. Alternatively, some English gent on the make with no morals and no thought for the native Irish is always on hand.
“I have observed the politics in the north for most of my life. I was lucky enough to exert some influence, even if most of the time it was merely an illusion to flatter my ego into thinking I was important. Most other lords see it in the same way. This is some petty rebellion that when the English work out the Maguire’s price, the Maguire will fold. It explains why the O’Cassidys do not want to commit themselves. If they commit themselves to either, they risk being on the losing side, losing their lands, or even their lives. They see you as a young upstart, a foolish trouble maker who will throw away everything they have built for the sake of some story you can tell your ego. That is why they reject you. They hide the story of your mother for fear of the damage it could do them.
“Forget the O’Cassidys. Build your own following, recruit your own men, hire your own Galloglass. In Ireland, might is power. Heed my words, but first, we drink, and we’ll return to these subjects over the coming days. Arthur! Bring some more ale! We are dying of thirst out here!”
Eunan hanged his head but held forth his mug.
“Nobody said it was going to be easy nor if you would even win,” said Desmond. “But you should do what you feel is right. If you roll over to the English, you’ll end up working on some farm, and you’ll be fortunate if it is your own.”
“To the point, no matter my feelings as always.”
“Now is no time for feelings. It is a time for common sense and pragmatism. You must look at your actions and say to yourself: how will this propel me forward? How will this help me in the long run? Where do I need to position myself? Who are my enemies? What are their weaknesses? What is the path to victory?”
Eunan yawned.
“You make it sound all so easy.”
“It will make more sense when you are rested and have a more positive frame of mind. Get some rest, and we shall talk in the morning.”
Eunan put his mug down and held his head in his hands.
“You are right, as usual. Things will look better in the morning. I must remind myself of the low point the Maguire found himself in on Devenish Island and where he is now: in command of an army and besieging Enniskillen. I will leave you now and not dwell on my follies.”
He placed his mug on the table, got up, and left while Desmond remained and poured himself another ale.
* * *
Eunan got up the next day to find that Desmond was already waiting outside for him.
“Come on then. Show me what you’ve got,” and Desmond threw Eunan an axe.
“Hey! I’ve just woken up, and you’re an old man!”
“I used to lead the Maguire MacCabe Galloglass if I haven’t told you a thousand times already.”
“I’ve just got up.”
“Nobody is going to wait for you to get ready. Look!” and Desmond brought his axe to hover just above Eunan’s head.
“Look, you’re dead, and I didn’t even have to try!”
“I’m in no mood for this. I came here
to talk, not play rebels and the English with you.”
Desmond threw his axe aside.
“Ok then, let’s sit beside the lough and talk. We’ve got to get you ready, or else your war might decide to run away from you.”
Eunan glared at him but went and sat on the stumps beside the lough. Desmond joined him.
“So, how do we get you out of this pit of despair?”
Eunan sighed and looked to the heavens.
“I feel like a pawn in some giant cosmic game. I just get moved around by God or whoever sets me up for more pain as some kind of joke. The tale of my mother has ripped away my soul, and my yearn to fight. I fear the Maguire will be both defeated and humiliated, and we will end up under the yoke of the English. All of this is just for nothing. Why should I even try?” and Eunan took out one of his throwing axes from his belt and threw it at the nearest tree.
His frustration did not follow the flight of the axe but festered within him.
“You are in a pit, aren’t you?” and Desmond tried to reassure him by placing his hand on his back. Eunan felt the warmth and was comforted by the affection.
“If I take action, I fear my bad blood will overcome me.”
Desmond was incensed.
“Now that is enough with that nonsense. What kind of self-respecting priest would fill your head with such tripe? I know you’ve had a lot to overcome, but look what you’ve achieved? You have the ear of the Maguire. You’re on the cusp of potentially the most significant rebellion in God knows how long. You just had a glorious victory over the English, and the uprising gains recruits every day. The Maguire may even get himself into a position where he could dictate some terms!
“You dwell too much on the past, and it keeps you a prisoner in your mind. All the people you obsess about are dead, except Seamus. Your village is burnt to the ground, and you have distant relatives that want nothing to do with you.
“But war brings destruction and change. You need to set yourself up as being the beneficiary of this change. By being at the Maguire’s side, you do just that; getting your own band of warriors and Galloglass, you do just that. But coming here sulking and crying, you destroy everything you work for. You’ve got to be patient and pragmatic. The time will come when you can smash the O’Cassidys, but you have to take your opportunities. Instead of obsessing about Seamus, use his cunning to advance your own agenda. If you find yourself in a situation, ask yourself, ‘what would Seamus do?’”
Eunan looked down at the waves lapping in upon the shore.
“Oh, I know Desmond. You are so right. That’s why I came. I am weak. Why do I need to come back and seek such reassurances from you?”
Desmond squeezed his hand into a fist.
“You may be weak, but you can change. Learn from the past. Become the warrior I know you can be! Become the warrior the Maguires need! Become the lord of south Fermanagh! You can do it. I have faith in you!”
Eunan lifted his head and saw the resolution in Desmond’s eyes.
“Are you feeling brave enough to attack me with the axe again?”
* * *
Two months later, Eunan packed his things again. He placed his bags out in front of the house and joined Desmond for one last home-cooked meal. Arthur brought out the food that he had spent several hours preparing. He went to the mainland to hunt rabbits, especially for this meal. Both Desmond and Eunan vocally appreciated his efforts, but the meal was over, and it was time to go.
“Are you going permanently this time?” asked Desmond, with a hint of mischief.
“You stayed long enough this time. You may be lucky to have my presence on your little island once more!”
Eunan smiled as he squeezed the victuals given to him by Arthur into his bag.
“Don’t forget all your little axes. You should have plenty of people to throw them at when you get back to playing soldiers.”
Eunan just glared at him.
“It’s all muskets and pikes these days if you hadn’t heard.”
“Oh, but a person of your position doesn’t want to get involved in all of that. You sit on your horse, do a bit of yelling and point your axe in whatever direction you want them to go. You’ve got a much better chance of surviving and profiteering from all the dead bodies.”
Eunan smiled at Desmond.
“It may be presumptuous of me, but I assume this was not in the lessons for your Galloglass when you were in charge of the MacCabes for the Maguires?”
“I save all my most honest lessons purely for the benefit of you, Eunan! Now I trust you are feeling better? Jump in your little boat. Your war won’t wait for you for too long.”
“Goodbye, Desmond! Thank you for helping me,” and Eunan hugged his friend.
“Remember what I said. If all else fails, ask yourself ‘what would Seamus do?’”
“Hmm, why has my life sunk so low?”
“Just get on the boat and wave goodbye.”
The boatman sent by the Maguire waited patiently by the shore. Eunan turned and waved.
“It will not be long before I return!”
“Don’t return until you are lord of south Fermanagh!” shouted Desmond in reply.
19
The Pale
Seamus and Art O’Toole picked their way through the Wicklow mountains, passing the many English patrols sent to look for rebels, and found themselves in the lowlands of the Pale. Art was a brilliant guide to add to his skills as a spy, and Seamus thought it a pity that he would have to kill him later. They waited until nightfall before approaching the walls of Dublin. As ever, Art had the ingenuity to get them past the gates, and soon they were walking through the streets of Dublin.
“Where are we going first?” asked Seamus.
He had seldom been to Dublin, and it was easy to get lost in the windy streets.
“To see Captain Williamson.”
“But if I see him and he has us followed, we’ll give away the location of the veterans?”
Art shrugged.
“What do you care? They’re dead anyway. You work for us now.”
Seamus imagined cutting Art’s throat and pulling out his tongue but knew he had to play along for now.
“This way,” said Art, and he pointed towards the quays.
Seamus could see the vast hulks of the merchant ships in the pale moonlight that brought prosperity to the Pale. Beside them in the next quay were the military ships that brought over the English soldiers from Brittany who were chasing Fiach and his men around the Wicklow mountains.
Then there were some gallows in a square in front of the quays. A sign hung for all to see.
“Here hang traitors to Queen and country who fought for the Spanish and dared return. Cursed are their souls!”
“Is this the way, or did you just want to show me the hangings?” said Seamus.
“It is the way. It is much easier to hide in the quays, for it is full of transient strangers.”
“I hope to be one of them.”
Art smiled and led Seamus through the shadowy back streets, and a flash of Seamus’s axe blade from under his cloak put off any shady character who paid too much attention to them. Seamus was not nervous, but if he was going to have to use his axe, he wanted to plan out an escape route first.
They came to a tavern of ill repute and no discernible name. The shadows barely hid the drunks and beggars that sought the darkness for refuge or subterfuge.
“Surely the captain could have got better accommodation than this?” muttered Seamus.
“He hasn’t invited you to a party,” replied Art.
“It is certainly one I wouldn’t like to attend.”
“Come this way,” and Art led him down an alley beside the tavern.
Two men stepped out of the shadows, lifted their coats, and drew their swords. They ordered Seamus to drop his weapons. He looked at Art.
“They are the captain’s men.”
Seamus handed Art his axe.
“I want that back when
I leave.”
“This way.”
The two men opened the door to an adjacent house and ushered Seamus in. He glanced at them as he walked past. He was already thinking of his escape route. Another man came out as they tried to enter. He tried to hide his face, but Seamus thought he recognised him.
“You’ll be meeting my axe later,” Seamus muttered to himself.
He found himself in the living room of an ordinary house, absent of any apparent dwellers. Captain Williamson warmed himself and his remaining hand by the fire, and two of his bodyguards sat and ate at a table on the opposite wall. Both were armed with swords. The two men who invited him in shut the door behind Seamus as they guarded the entrance. He was now alone.
“Sit, Seamus. Have some food. I’m sure you’re hungry after your journey,” and Captain Williamson pushed a stool with his foot towards Seamus.
“No thanks. I didn’t come here to socialise but to enquire after my wife. Where is she if you are here?”
The captain smiled and let the blanket wrapped around his shoulders fall to the floor.
“Art, the food invite also applies to you.” Art smiled, for he did not need a second invitation and went to the table and helped himself.
Captain Williamson got up and walked around Seamus.
“You are a man with a formidable reputation. When you contact my men, they end up dead!”
“You should consider who you hire and don’t go for the ones of worst repute and weakness of mind. If the first thing your men do is get blind drunk, then it is no wonder they end up dead. Shea Óg and his son, Sean, still live, or did when I left Tirconnell. God knows they don’t deserve to!”
“Deserve does not exist while you still walk the earth.”
“You see fit to employ me, if only by blackmail, so you must see something good in me or else I would be dead.”
“You know Hugh Boye MacDavitt and are trusted by him. You have the moral flexibility to betray him. That is as far as my admiration goes.”
Seamus saw the steel in his eyes. The captain’s lost arm had been more than amply replaced by bitterness. But Seamus realised he still had some leverage.