by C R Dempsey
“When he is not complaining, he has proved himself to be of much use. His reputation is deserved. We have waged a more effective campaign in the mountains, draw more allies to our cause, and if it were not for the various hotheads I attract, we would do well.”
“You will attract every rebel bard in the country wanting to write songs of your glories!”
“Hmm, they would also want to be great poets to edit out all my errors.”
“Come, lead me to Hugh Boye. The O’Donnell raid will last at least another two weeks. I need to leave while there is still cover provided.”
Fiach rose, and they left the tent. He had sent word, and the sons and leaders of his ragged alliance were outside waiting for them.
“Is Hugh Boye still in hiding?” asked Seamus.
“Yes, but it is pointless. Every man and his wife knows him and where he is. The English must’ve paid a pretty penny for his location for their patrols get nearer every day.”
Once outside, Seamus looked out at a sea of faces. They were worn, tired, unhappy. Not an ounce of joy. They had been chased relentlessly from pillar to post without a victory or rest. But at least they were still here. However, he could ride a coach and horses through the divide in the camp. It was visibly much worse now between O’Byrne and O’Toole. For all his talents, the return of Turlough O’Byrne had brought the alliance to breaking point. The English would at least save some money, for it would take fewer bribes now for someone to give up a brother or sister-in-law or a soon-to-be-former friend.
Fiach called a council meeting in the tent of Hugh Boye.
“Walter Reagh may have united the bards together to sing his praises to melt down his foolishness and forge a heroic memorial for him, but all he has done is bring the English to our door,” said Fiach.
“He was a courageous man, a great patriot, a true Irishman,” said Turlough in defence of his friend. “We should use his death as a call to all good Catholics of Leinster to rise up and rid the land of our heathen English oppressors.”
“Are these the words of a wise Catholic lord confident of victory, or those of a man who wants to bring us out into the open and get slaughtered? A man with a dagger beneath his cloak and English coin in his pocket?” replied Redmond O’Byrne.
Turlough went for his dagger but was restrained by his brother Phelim. Turlough shook him off.
“The daughter of the Welsh whore must be good in bed if she can turn you against your own brother! How can you trust these O’Toole women, the descendants of a Welsh pastor? How can they come in and take over a good Irish family and say they believe in the one true faith? Look at us. We are still brothers in blood. We spend our time these days with our knives to the other’s throat!”
Fiach slammed his knife on the table.
“Enough! We are nothing if we are not united! There will be no more of this fighting between my sons. If there is, you may force me into considering a more permanent solution.
“For now, we must consider the penetrations the English have made into the Wicklow mountains. We are no longer safe here. We must move south to a new camp I have been preparing.”
“But father,” said Turlough, “if we continue to retreat, we’ll run out of mountains. We need another Glenmalure to send them packing back to the Pale.”
“We no longer have the strength to launch such an extravagant ambush. If we had, I would have done it long ago. Our friends in the north have kindly provided us with cover so we can lick our wounds. We should accept the opportunity they have given us.”
The room was silent.
“I take it we are agreed. We leave at first light.”
The tent cleared except for Seamus, whose face had become less friendly.
“We had an agreement. I take Hugh Boye up north at the first opportunity.”
“Be at ease, my friend. The mountains are no longer safe. You will be released at the first opportunity.”
Seamus left the tent, furious that he could not leave immediately. Sean O’Toole was following him.
“Master, I have news of the O’Tooles.”
“Let it be good, for that is all the news I could bear.”
“The camp is more divided than ever and rife with spies. We are in great danger here.”
“We cannot leave without Hugh Boye, and Fiach knows this. We shall leave at the first chance we get, but only with Hugh Boye.”
“I will keep my eyes open and my ears to the ground.”
“Now, let us get some sleep, for I fear that it’ll be in short supply soon.”
* * *
The opportunity to escape with Hugh Boye was elusive. Lord Deputy Russell sensed he had Fiach on the run. He sent more men into the Wicklow mountains to flush him out. Fiach and his men spent six weeks being chased around the mountains eating into their stock of safe houses as one by one their houses were given up by traitors, who were tired of the fight and wished to retire and be on good terms with the English or succumbed to greed. Death, debilitating wounds and sickness also depleted Fiach’s numbers. The alliance broke down into the family groups, with Seamus and Hugh Boye sticking with Fiach, Turlough and the O’Byrnes, and Rose went with Phelim, Redmond and the O’Tooles.
The latter went north to their traditional lands to save the rapidly diminishing number of O’Byrne safe houses. Rose went to a cousin of hers, an Irish Catholic with a good-sized plot of land, but an excellent reputation with the English, for he had remained peaceful over the years and had not openly joined the rebellion. She was to hide with him until summoned back by Fiach.
* * *
By now, Hugh Boye mapped the mountains of Wicklow and was planning a series of ambushes to drive the English back from the Pale. Fiach was quietly confident but wished for his wife to be safe and entice some of the lowland chieftains into the rebel confederation.
Fiach reunited with Turlough’s men and executed the first ambush of their new campaign. They were in a self-congratulatory mood.
“Those English won’t be leaving Wexford soon,” laughed Turlough.
Fiach grabbed him by the shoulders.
“It is good to taste success again. It has been a long time. We should send out bands of raiders across Leinster and rally the chieftains of old!”
Hugh Boye was allowed out in the open now. Fiach felt more secure with the reduced numbers of men, most of whom he was familiar with for a considerable time. However, Hugh Boye would always remind Fiach of the other reason he remained in seclusion.
“They were a small patrol, Pale irregulars. They would have run if a wild boar had run from the trees at them,” he said.
“Give the men their victory. They have precious little else to hold on to as they endlessly roam the woods,” and Turlough dismissed the critique with the wave of an arm.
Tension had grown between Seamus and Fiach since the former had arrived back, and Fiach was reluctant to let Hugh Boye go, fearing the loss of his greatest asset and leverage with the northern lords.
“Hugh Boye is wasted here, Fiach,” said Seamus. “Your problems would be solved quicker if he could go north and train the northern armies. They would draw the English away from here and allow you to retake Ballinacor and reestablish your alliances.”
“Hugh Boye is no good to anybody dead. What will the Hughs say to me if he dies under my care? He can go at the first good opportunity, but it had to be an obvious opportunity. I have responsibilities to more than just you.”
Seamus was about to reply, but his words got stuck in his throat as they saw Phelim and Redmond emerge from the trees.
“Father! We must speak with you alone.”
Fiach directed them to a secluded part of the wood. Seamus grew immediately suspicious. After several minutes later, Fiach returned alone. His eyes burned with a fury worthy of hell. He called his eldest son.
“Turlough, may I speak with you, please?”
Heated words were exchanged between father and son. Phelim and Redmond sat in silence by the fire and helped t
hemselves to some food.
Turlough stormed back.
“Men! We are leaving.”
The O’Byrne supporters of Turlough left in confusion but obeyed the summons all the same. Fiach walked back slowly, lost in his thoughts.
“What just happened?” asked Seamus.
“We shall speak of this later. For now, I need to keep my thoughts to myself.”
They sat for what seemed like an age, all staring into the fire and not speaking. At last, Fiach got up.
“Come, we’ll speak now,” and Fiach signalled to Seamus and Hugh Boye to follow him. They walked to the same secluded patch.
“The English have taken Rose,” he muttered.
“What!? Who gave her up?” asked Hugh Boye.
“Let him tell the story before we jump to any conclusions,” said Seamus, trying to calm things down. “What happened?”
“She went to her cousin as arranged, the one who gave her residence of an abandoned house on his small estate. She awoke after her first night to be surrounded by English soldiers and is now a prisoner of Russell himself.”
“Will she talk?” asked Hugh Boye.
“She’d never give me up.”
“You never know what a torturer can do to a person until they experience it,” said Seamus as he rubbed some old wounds.
“She won’t talk,” said Fiach firmly.
“So who gave her up?” asked Seamus.
Fiach paused.
“The O’Tooles say it was Turlough,” and Fiach looked away, ashamed that his son could be associated with such treachery.
“They would say that,” said Seamus. “You’ve got to look at it sensibly. The most likely person to have given her up is that cousin of hers. Have you sent men to speak to him?”
“It is a delicate situation. Phelim and Redmond have taken the O’Tooles’ side. They say that Turlough became a traitor the day the English imprisoned him.”
“And you believe that?”
Fiach paused again.
“I believe that the brittle alliance that I have so long held together is now falling apart. I need Rose as a man needs his wife but also as a king needs his first minister to hold everything together.”
“However, you must follow the truth. You must discover who the traitor is, and if it is not Turlough, you must see that he is acquitted. Only then can the healing between the two families begin.”
“As you can see, I require counsel. If you leave now, I fear the Leinster alliance will collapse.”
“Then I insist you listen to counsel and establish if your son is guilty.”
“My investigation results will be open for all to see,” replied Fiach.
* * *
Turlough returned with O’Byrne supporters three days later. He also acquired on his travels another rebel of minor repute, Maurice Fitzgerald. Upon arriving back at the camp, Turlough was immediately summoned to meet with Fiach, who asked that Seamus and Hugh Boye join them as observers. Turlough stood defiantly before his father.
“You burned the house of your mother-in-law’s cousin to the ground?”
“I avenged the O’Byrnes against the traitor who sold your wife to the English, just as you should have done.”
Fiach did not fall for the provocation.
“The O’Tooles say that the traitor is you. That you were so consumed by hatred for your mother-in-law that you had her followed, and when you knew where she was residing, you went to your English masters and gave her up for gold. You then returned to the scene of your crime and burned all the evidence.”
The anger seared down to Turlough’s clenched fists.
“Do you believe that of your firstborn son and heir? I did what the strong must do to maintain the alliances. I dealt with the traitor the way traitors should be dealt with. Those O’Toole harlots entrance my brothers, those daughters of the Protestant minister were sent to infiltrate and destroy us! Can you not see that they are tearing us apart with their lies? They just want to take over these lands and sell them back to the English.”
“I realise you are angry, son, but I have got to be seen to be fair. The O’Tooles believe these things are true, and I need someone who can hold the alliance together if I die. You have been uncontrollable these past months, yourself and Walter Reagh. All your follies heaped upon us are miseries, and now we are but outlaws in the forest, no better than the wild pigs.”
Turlough could see that his father’s mind was made up.
“Do with me what you wish. However, be prepared for the consequences when the truth emerges.”
Fiach paused again. He did not look at Seamus and Hugh Boye.
“I have little choice, son. If I side with you, though you may be right, the O’Tooles will leave. If I side with the O’Tooles, Phelim and Redmond may bring some O’Byrnes with them, and the alliance remains intact. You are to remain under house arrest until I can discover the truth. I am sorry, but that is what needs to be done. Take him away.”
Two O’Toole men took an arm each and led a protesting Turlough to an outhouse where he was placed under guard.
“Be careful what you do, Fiach,” warned Seamus. “That boy may be headstrong, but he is the best of your offspring by a distance. I would have torched the cousin’s lands myself if Turlough hadn’t done it. By looking weak, you attract every traitor who was previously too cowardly because there would have been no fear of reprisals.”
“It is hard to condemn me if you don’t walk in my shoes. You can go north and leave the hard decisions and consequences to the O’Donnell. I have no such luxury.”
Seamus took his friend by the arm.
“I will defend you, but don’t make it so difficult that you drive me and everyone else that wants to help you away.”
Fiach took his arm back.
“I must alert my spies and get news of what has happened to my dearest Rose. Please leave me while I make my plans.”
Seamus and Hugh Boye swiftly left such foolishness behind.
* * *
Maurice Fitzgerald turned out to be the latest potential rebel that Fiach could not control. Upon hearing that Turlough was placed under house arrest, he gathered together the dwindling band of Turlough’s supporters and rode towards the Pale. To all observers, it appeared as if the O’Byrnes were about to implode.
26
The gift
Hugh Maguire called his best warriors to meet with him in his tent in search of volunteers for the fresh assault on Enniskillen Castle. Everyone gladly volunteered, and he chose forty warriors for the mission. Eunan was one of the first to be selected, such was his standing in the clan.
Hugh and the selected men assembled at dawn the next day in the woods near the castle. They still had quite a distance to travel in open country to the walls of the castle, since most of the trees had fallen victim to the forays of the garrison. Hugh, in his speech to his warriors, singled Eunan out for praise.
“Since you have been such a brave warrior and fought valiantly for me, especially when I was down on my luck, let me give you a gift.”
Hugh snapped his fingers, and one of his servants strained at the shoulders as they brought forward and held out a new set of chain mail.
“It may not be a musket or a pike, but you fight in the traditional way. Eunan, take this chain mail and lead the attack. But never give up our traditions for the falsehood of English modernity. Make sure you are not the last of the Galloglass.”
Eunan combed his hair back with his hand, for he was embarrassed and did not know what to do with himself.
“I am truly grateful, lord, and may this chain mail protect me and protect the Maguires.”
“Serve well and honour your clan. I leave you in the capable hands of my captain, Caolan Maguire. Follow his instructions to the word, for it is a dangerous mission on which I send you. Take back Enniskillen for the Maguires or, failing that, provide me with the means to take it. Let this night and each of your names be remembered in song.”
The m
en saluted Hugh, who then retreated to the safety of the camp. The specially selected warriors stole off into the misty morning.
They crossed no-man’s-land and got to Enniskillen Castle’s moat without being detected and saw the occupants had not repaired the castle walls properly since it initially fell. The men split into small groups and swam across the moat at various points where the gaps were easily accessible. They crept through the damaged walls until a clumsily placed foot gave away their positions and intentions. The garrison rushed out to light up as much of the castle yard as their limited amount of torches would allow. The first couple of guards succumbed to the anger to the Maguire axe blades, and the slaughter continued until the defenders could accurately fire their muskets. They took out a few of the attackers, but were forced back into the castle tower.
Eunan and the remaining axemen huddled beneath the tower’s walls, seeking shelter from the bullets and boulders hurled from the roof. Caolan tapped the bottom of his axe against the north door four times.
“What are you doing?” asked Eunan, crouched beneath the walls on the other side of the door frame.
“The Maguire made me keep it secret, but there is a traitor in the tower who upon our signal will open the doors,” said Caolan.
They waited a couple of minutes to no response.
“Maybe he can’t hear you?” said Eunan over the noise of the battle.
The rocks showered from the roof. The brutal thud on the impact on the ground sent shivers through the attackers. Sunlight came over the ramparts of the castle, and with that, the element of surprise evaporated. A scream came from overhead. A man fell to his death and lay mangled in the courtyard.
“I think we know what happened to the spy,” said Eunan.
Caolan gave the signal to retreat. Eunan followed him as they made their way through the courtyard, climbing over rubble and debris, dodging bullets and arrows. A few of the Maguires fell, but most made it to safety. Eunan crouched in the gateway to the piers in the river. Bullets peppered the surrounding walls.
“If we can’t take the tower, at least we can steal their boats!” said Caolan, and they smashed down the door to the pier with their axes.