by C R Dempsey
“So, where is my wife? Is she here? Can I see her? How do I know she’s still alive?”
“She is safe. Once you deliver Hugh Boye MacDavitt to me, dead or alive, she will be released along with the family members of your men.”
“But how do I know she is still alive?”
The captain reached into his pocket.
“Here, she wrote you this. I made her write the date and the latest news about the northern uprising at the end to prove when she wrote it.”
Seamus looked at the piece of paper in his hand as if the words were from the devil himself.
“Take it! It is the only proof that you will get as to whether she is still alive.”
He took the piece of paper and read it slowly.
“This means she was alive a month ago. If she was nearby, then you could have got something written yesterday.”
“It is chaos out there if you hadn’t noticed. Now that we have proved she is alive, where is Hugh Boye MacDavitt? Our spies in the Netherlands last saw him a month ago.”
“Maybe he eloped with my wife since they were both seen around the same time!”
“You don’t want to stop co-operating, otherwise we may have to chop her up slowly and deliver you the parts to prove she’s still alive!”
Seamus went cold.
“I do not know where Hugh Boye MacDavitt is or if he has stepped foot on Irish shores. I have certainly not seen him in Wicklow.”
“Then what are you doing there? It is no good to me if you are there.”
“I have to follow Red Hugh’s orders. I am no good to anyone if he does not trust me or hold me in his confidence.”
“I have plenty of spies. I don’t need another one. What are you going to do for me while we wait for Hugh Boye MacDavitt?”
“Our agreement is purely for Hugh Boye MacDavitt. That is it!” spat Seamus.
“We shall see,” and Captain Williamson gave a cynical laugh. “Art will look after you while you are in Wicklow and try to remain inconspicuous. Try not to kill him!”
Seamus glared at Art, and Art gulped. He took a step towards Captain Williamson, and the men went for their weapons.
“I will tell you when Hugh Boye arrives. However, to find him, I must meet my wife first, where ever she may be.”
“If you provide us with accurate information, you shall meet your wife as a prelude to her being released. Now it is time for you to go.”
Art finished his food and went towards the door.
“I need my axe back,” said Seamus. “You never know who’ll you’ll meet on the back streets of Dublin.!”
“My men will escort you to the quay and give it back to you there. I shall make contact again soon. Anything you need to tell me, you can relay through Art.”
Seamus spat on the floor and left.
20
The veterans of Dublin
Moonlight drenched the dreary streets of Dublin, but Seamus was glad that at least he got his axe back. Art cowered away from him, because Seamus was armed again. However, Seamus had no intention of plunging the axe in Art’s head just yet, for he still needed him.
“Where are these veterans hiding, the ones you keep telling me about?”
“I can take you there,” mumbled Art.
“We need to take them back to Wicklow with us tonight. I don’t want them to meet you this evening, and for the captain’s men to send them off to their maker tomorrow.”
“That’s impossible. We’d never evade the increased patrols because of the attack on Crumlin. We’d all be hanged!”
Seamus leaned towards him.
“Giving up Hugh Boye MacDavitt, the ablest Irish military man alive, is impossible, but I can do it. What motivations do you need to do what I ask?” and Seamus flashed his axe blade from beneath his cloak.
Art lifted his quivering hands to protect himself.
“I will bring you there. I will try, but it depends on how many of them there are.”
“I’m sure you can manage it if you put your mind to it. Now lead the way!”
Art pointed towards some alleys leading away from the quays.
“Remember, I have my axe. If you lead me into an ambush, you’ll die first!”
“My orders are to keep you alive,” said Art, trying not to choke on his words.
They ventured through the darkness, and Seamus reached for his axe since the clamours of the slums at night was enough to intimidate anyone. However, the noises were more afraid of Seamus than he of them. Art led him to a dilapidated house, where the dim light was rapidly extinguished at the sound of approaching footsteps. He rapped on the door with the faintest of knocks that the dwellers would still hear inside. The door creaked open.
“Deventer!” Art whispered.
The door opened, and the candles were re-lit. The fresh candlelight illuminated the faces of three pale, emaciated and frightened men, their faces having never met a razor in months nor their faces any cleansing water. Their clothes had disintegrated into rags. Not much charity penetrated the house since the hangings began. Seamus stepped inside and surveyed the room.
“What beggars den have you brought me to Art? How many of you men of skin and bone will I have to kill before they overwhelm me?”
“This is no ambush,” said Art. “These are your veterans.”
“Veterans? They are beggars!” exclaimed Seamus.
“No sir!” said one man, who summoned the courage to speak. “We all served in the Netherlands for the Spanish king and all stowed away in various ships and came back through England. We want to go north, but the English are hunting veterans, so we had to hide out here. Very few people know we are here because of the enormous price on our heads. Better to starve in here than hang down by the quays!”
Seamus turned and took Art by the arm.
“These are not fighting men! Why did you not just toss them to the captain and take the reward?”
Then it dawned on Seamus.
“I know why we are here! These are not fighting men. They are a burden. We take them in, and they are unfit to fight; they slow us down and make us easier to catch. Nice try. I should tell them of your plan and let them tear you apart with their bare hands! At least they could take out one of the enemy before they die.”
Art grabbed Seamus’s arm.
“No, you can’t do that, I beg you. I will help you bring them down to Wicklow and make sure they have somewhere safe to hide. Please don’t let them kill me.”
“Ah, a cowardly spy, the worst kind! How do I know you are not leading me into a trap?”
“Why would the captain want you killed? If he did, he could have easily had you killed in the house!”
“Then we must leave this evening, preferably now.”
Art panicked.
“I have been in Wicklow for months. I know nothing about the frequency of patrols. What is the easiest way out…?”
Seamus stuck his face in Art’s.
“Why don’t you ask your good captain? I’m no good to him if I am hanged trying to escape from Dublin.”
Art looked around for a way to escape, but the veterans rallied to Seamus’s cause, since he was their only means of escape. Art relented when he realised he had a narrow path to survival.
“Ok then. Let me go now, and I’ll see what I can arrange.”
“Don’t be long. The sooner we go, the better.”
Seamus stood out of the way of the door and let Art leave. One veteran approached him.
“Are you going to place our lives in the hands of a known traitor?”
“The streets of Dublin are full of danger. I search myself for a means of escape, but fear we are at the mercy of traitors. I bid you farewell and only open the door to Art or I.”
With that, the dark and cold swallowed Seamus, and the veterans locked the premises, hoping and praying for their salvation.
* * *
A knock came upon the door several hours later. The men cowered and hid.
“It is I, Seamus. Let m
e in.”
The men hurried to oblige.
“Any luck with a plan to escape?” asked one soldier.
“No. I have found out that ever since Crumlin burned, the city has been crawling with patrols. I am not familiar with the city and fear we would be hanged by morning without Art.”
“But he is a traitor!”
“He is a traitor that wants to keep me alive.”
“Why?”
“The less you know, the longer you’ll live.”
“Well, from what you’ve told me, I will not live long, so you may as well tell me.”
Seamus put his hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed.
“We need fighting men with your experience, and I would have put myself in a lot of danger only to have to kill you if we escaped. It is better that you did not know. But remember this. I am a sworn enemy of the English, so do not doubt my loyalty.”
A knock came on the door. Seamus felt for his axe shaft, and the men shifted to the shadows of the room.
“Deventer.”
Seamus nodded towards the door, and one man opened it. Art stuck his head through the door and waved at them to come out.
“There is a small boat for us at the docks, but we must leave now before the light.”
Seamus nodded his approval, and the men gathered their things. They hid in the shadows of the alley while Art and Seamus checked that the path to the docks was free of patrols. The latter took this chance to find out why they had been the recipients of such good fortune.
“Captain Williamson supplied a boat and told the local patrols to look the other way. I said I’d see you all right, didn’t I?”
“We’re not on the boat yet!”
The street was empty, and Seamus waived the men forward. The moon sat tall in the sky, unencumbered by clouds. It omitted a cold light, a dull illumination for men with steel in their blood. Seamus and the veterans cast long shadows as they ran across the street before hiding in the darkness of the side of a merchant ship as Art searched the dock for their boat.
“This way,” he whispered.
A mysterious man sat in a boat at the bottom of some steps and waited for them to board. Seamus’s axe glinted in the moonlight.
“You, off the boat if you want to live,” and the man quickly departed on Seamus’s threat.
“Do you know Dublin bay?” said Art as he witnessed Seamus destroy his plan. “Because I certainly don’t.”
“No mystery passengers. I have a hard enough time sharing a boat with you!”
The five men got in the boat as quickly and as quietly as they could. Seamus gave instructions. Art and the strongest of the veterans took an oar each. The boat was pushed off the side of the pier and hugged the shadows of the merchant ships, only allowing enough room for their oars to operate with barely a full range of motion. The oars slid into the water, and then Art and the soldier gave a big heave before returning to the calmness of delicately plucking the oar from the water again. It was slow going but necessary, for not even the seagulls bothered with their small craft. They reached the end of the docks and saw Howth out in the middle of Dublin Bay.
“To the right!” exclaimed one soldier who had not taken part in the rowing.
“How do you know?” asked Seamus.
“I used to live in Dublin.”
“How come you had nobody to feed or look after you? Surely your family felt guilty with you so emaciated?”
“I didn’t want to put them in danger knowing I was there. Once we saw how returning soldiers were treated, we went into hiding.”
“Right it is,” exclaimed Seamus.
Dublin bay was virtually empty at that hour of the night.
“We need to be out of the bay before dawn,” said Art. “That is when the fishing boats will enter.”
“Hug the coast until we reach Dalkey Island. We then cross the next bay. After that, we can look for somewhere to land near the mountains to ease our escape,” said the soldier from Dublin.
“How long will that take?” enquired Seamus.
“We could be there by the evening.”
“Too long. We need somewhere to hide for the day. Any ideas, Art?”
“We could moor up near Dalkey Island. After that it is more or less open seas where we would easily get spotted in the day.”
“But surely now that we’re out of sight of the walls and towers of Dublin, we’re just another small boat of fishermen? I say we keep moving,” said the soldier with the oar.
“So we’ve no food, and we’re vulnerable out in the open. I say we rest up. Moor the boat when we reach Dalkey Island,” instructed Seamus.
* * *
Dawn broke, and they pulled their boat up in a small harbour opposite Dalkey Island. The fishermen preparing their boats turned a blind eye to their arrival when they paid handsomely for some bread and water. Seamus asked for somewhere to rest, and they were directed to an abandoned house down by the shore where the five men lay down to rest.
When he woke up, Seamus found Art had disappeared. The three veterans were still asleep. Sean O’Toole, the soldier from Dublin, was the first to wake.
“The traitor is gone now,” Seamus told him. “Now we can talk.”
“Why do you trust him?”
“I don’t, but I could see no other way out. Now tell me, why are you three starving in a shack in the slums of Dublin when you could escape or at least go on the rob to feed yourselves?”
“Hugh Boye MacDavitt and the other Irish leaders in the Spanish army sent us here to work out the best route to get back into Ireland. Previously, ex-soldiers used to return one at a time and land near their place of birth or where their clans were. That was easy at first if you were from the south or the east. Then the English put such large bounties on our heads that even our neighbours would turn us in, for they were offered the equivalent of a year’s worth of earnings, a year of a good harvest. Who could turn that down? Some tried to sail around the island, but it is difficult in a small boat in treacherous waters. Many men drowned.
“Some came through England as Ruaidhri did, but most either got caught or lured away by the multitude of distractions in England. Others tried to go through Scotland, but the best warriors got distracted and got employment as mercenaries.
“But the leaders in the Netherlands want to send back larger parties and eventually come themselves. They sent us to work out the best route for landing a group of men from where they could make their way up north. As you can see from the state of us, we were not too successful.”
“Our paths cross, and our stars align,” said Seamus as his heart warmed to Sean’s story. “I served in the Netherlands, probably before your time, for William Stanley and the Spanish. I served with Hugh Boye MacDavitt and await his return to Ireland. Because of my connections, Red Hugh O’Donnell has given me a special task to assemble all the continental soldiers I can find and either get them to serve the O’Donnell or train his men. That is why I forced Art to bring me to see you where we will go first to Wicklow and then to Tirconnell. I need to get you fit and assess your skills to see how you can serve. Are you willing to come with me?”
“That is why I came back!” Sean said proudly.
“So when is MacDavitt going to return?” asked Seamus.
“As soon as he can arrange safe passage. Hugh O’Neill has invited him back to act as one of his military advisors.”
“I am trying to organise a route through Wicklow where veterans can get the protection of Fiach MacHugh O’Byrne before making their way up north. It’s much more secure than going through Dublin or the Pale. I plan to organise a series of safe houses so men can stop off along the way as they travel north.”
“That is what we need.”
“We can also smuggle men into Ireland through sympathetic merchants. So they should be able to land in most parts of Ireland.”
“There are so many Irishmen that I know want to come back and fight. They just need to be assured that it is safe to
land on these shores.”
There was a knock on the door. Seamus looked at Sean O’Byrne and nodded to him to open the door.
“Deventer!”
Sean opened the door to Art.
“We need to think of a new password,” said Seamus.
“Look, I have brought back food,” and Art opened his jacket to reveal two loaves of bread.
Sean snatched a loaf out of Art’s hand and devoured it. Art woke the other two and handed a bottle to Sean after seeing him struggle.
“Take this before you choke,” he said before turning to Seamus.
“We can leave at the first sign of darkness. There should be cloud cover tonight, which will make us less conspicuous on the water.”
“Are there any soldiers about?” asked Seamus.
“No. Mainly fishermen. There is a little town nearby, but there is no need to go there and seek trouble.”
Seamus gave the bread to the veterans and, after a while, left himself to seek sustenance and some air. He saw a hill nearby. It had a commanding view of Dublin and its approaches from the north side, the bay and the sea to the east, and the hills of Wicklow to the south. They were not far away. After a couple of hours in the boat, they could slip back into the mountains. He went back to the house via the little harbour, where he bought more bread and ale. This time he ate along with everyone else. The colour was coming back into the cheeks of the veterans. The food and fresh air did them a world of good.
Darkness set in, and they set out for the harbour. The clouds thickened the sky, but the moon would periodically peer out and illuminate the earth, catching out all those who were not asleep. The veterans had full bellies and sufficiently rested. They pushed the boat out into the sea and rowed under the shadow of Dalkey Island. To their collective horror, a large ship was anchored in the middle of the bay so rowed closer to the shore to avoid being detected. The lights twinkled upon the ship.
“Up oars! Let us drift upon the tide, so they do not see us in the moonlight,” whisper Seamus urging his fellow travellers to be silent.
The tide dragged them slowly south, while all eyes remained on the ship. A smaller boat was cast off the side of the ship, and distant figures boarded.