by C R Dempsey
Seamus felt a drop of rain in his head.
“We are all to sleep in our tents tonight. No one is allowed to die of the fever when they could die on the Galloglass axe tomorrow.”
Eunan grimaced at Seamus and then retired to bed.
* * *
Memory played a cruel trick on Eunan. For what lived in his memory as the evenhandedness and benevolence of his father were remembered by those who survived the original destruction of the village as tyranny and toil. Those who remembered the reign of Eunan remembered folly and destruction. The child of the Galloglass was deemed to be a curse that needed to be eradicated before he destroyed them all. The men of the village sent their hunter blessed with the greatest skills of stealth to find out where Eunan and Seamus lay. He now returned to the village to fetch the rest of the men. The heads of Seamus and Eunan would bring a bounty not seen in these parts in many a year.
* * *
Seamus’s guards wrapped up well. It was a well lit night, and they were tired from the long march from Tirconnell. They died in mute resistance, causing the villagers no more bother than their largest pigs as their throats were slit and their lives gushed out onto their blankets and tunics. The village men gathered around the modest tents and ensured they observed no movements inside or out before they tried to guess which tents belonged to Seamus and Eunan.
* * *
Óisin had little of the discipline needed to become a proper soldier. His recklessness and disregard for orders signalled him out to the Maguire officers that he might make a good kern, scout or maybe a bandit. But he was too much of a free spirit to stand in line and wait for the enemy or be expected to cover for his comrade when he could lead a reckless charge instead. Óisin was a street urchin from Enniskillen. His father served and died for the Maguire, and his mother killed shortly after in one of the many raids that blighted Ireland. When his parent passed, he was far too young to remember what clan he was from, so once orphaned, he took to the streets. He found in Eunan a kindred fellow lost spirit, so Eunan absorbed any bonds of loyalty and comradeship Óisin could give.
Óisin fulfilled his mission and positioned one hundred men hidden but within striking distance of Derrylinn. He then got bored and took a handful of his companions to seek his friend.
They made their way up the hill and saw the tents just where Seamus said they would be. He noticed the villagers around the tents. Óisin smiled. That many recruits bode well for the mission tomorrow. He waved his men forward. One of them grabbed his arm to caution him and pointed to the suspicious behaviour of the men as they congregated around the tents. Óisin signalled to make silent haste.
* * *
Seamus was a paranoid creature of habit, as cautious and as cunning as any beast that lived to a ripe old age in the woods. When he heard the twig snap, that same twig he positioned outside his door every night, his hand crept from its warm abode and took into its warm cave a dagger, an aerodynamic and sharp blade equally adapted for stabbing and throwing. Seamus rolled over to appear asleep but could spring into action. In the distance, he heard “THE CRY OF THE MAGUIRE!” but it did not stir the patriotic duty or the adrenalin in him. The feelings that such calls to arms inspired were better expressed as:
“What foolishness has the boy embroiled himself in now!”
Seamus cursed. He knew stealth was no longer required, and picked up his axe. Only by swinging his old faithful would this problem be resolved. He cut through the tent door, for the time spent picking through the door string knots could be the difference between life and death. Seamus burst out onto the crest of the hill. The villagers still had the upper hand, trying to cut through the roof of Eunan’s tent to release themselves and be free of his curse. Óisin’s men charged up the hill, a couple having been cut down by the arrows of their foes. Seamus got to work.
His axe cut through the air as efficiently as any scythe that had ever graced the fields of the village. Not armour, blades, bones or pleads for mercy could stop its trajectory once it had fixated on a target. Seamus honed the smooth, sharp edge to such perfection that it sliced through anything in its way without getting stuck. Óisin’s men reached the top of the hill, and the reckless charge had drained the lungs and legs of some, and their fall became a short-lived victory for their foes. It was short-lived because to achieve their victory, the men became static, the swinging of their arms like the swaying of the barley in the wind. They merely lined themselves up for the sweeps of the axe.
Seamus raised his axe above the pleading body below, only to stop upon hearing a familiar voice. He looked down.
“Taighe Maguire!” Seamus exclaimed and lowered his axe. “I took you in and trained you. Now you come back to kill me as your repayment? Tell me why you are here and why I should not dash your head off with my axe right now?”
“Please have mercy,” said Taighe as he feebly raised his arm to defend himself, knowing full well that the only defence it would do is blunt the descent of the axe and maybe prolong his death. “Soon after you left, the O’Cassidys asserted their authority over the village and promised a cow per head of Eunan and his men should he ever return.”
Seamus looked around the hill, at the bodies strewn across the hillside and at the remains of the villagers fleeing.
“If I remember correctly, you are a man who can spread much honey with his tongue. I have an ear I wish you to pour honey down. Does the O’Cassidy know your face?”
“He surely does, for I would meet him often at the market at Derrylinn.”
“Then deliver the heads of Eunan and his companions you shall do!”
39
New Year’s Day
Eunan, Seamus and their mixed party of volunteers and the conscripted travelled to a secluded wood well known to Eunan, just north of Derrylinn. Taighe Maguire sat on the back of the cart with a sack beside him which rested in an ever-expanding pool of blood. But it was not the sack that concerned him. Rather, it was whose side should he be on to ensure that he and his family would be alive. He bitterly regretted bringing his boy on the doomed mission the night before. The boy may have been thirteen and of fighting age, but Seamus’s men snared him as if he were a rabbit. Now his son’s life was in his hands.
They pulled up before reaching the wood to send Taighe on his way with two of Eunan’s men as an escort. Taighe got down off the cart and took hold of the bag. Seamus came up behind him and grabbed his ear.
“Remember what to do. Do nothing stupid like you did last night. Never bring your boy to do a man’s work. What actions you take today will be reflected in what clemency I give to the boy and your village, if I give any.”
Taighe nodded, and for his compliance, received back his ear. He set off with his escort to find Cormac O’Cassidy.
Eunan was getting agitated.
“Why did we have to leave the boy back in the wood with a knife to his throat? You know how I feel about such things having been used as a bartering tool for most of my youth.”
“Such is the way of the world to persuade a man to do something he doesn’t want to. These things are required of Galloglass and men of power, so get used to it.”
Sean reached into the cart and handed Seamus and Eunan each a monk’s habit.
“I hope it is not beneath you to disguise yourself as a monk?” sneered Seamus.
“Such is the way of the world and the requirement of men of power and Galloglass!” replied Eunan.
“That’s it,” laughed Seamus. “You’ll need good spirits for today. Now, where’s that reprobate commander of yours?”
“Óisin!” Eunan called.
Óisin came scampering from the woods like a hound dog called back from seeking a fox.
“He wants you,” and Eunan pointed to Seamus.
Óisin presented himself before Seamus and saluted him. “Ready for orders!”
“That is the state I want you in, but fear you take the whole thing in jest. Are you ready to obey orders today and follow the plan?”
> “I know exactly what you want me to do.”
“Does that mean you are going to do it, though?”
“I will be there to rescue you, should you need it or not.”
“There’s no talking to you,” Seamus turned to Sean. “Where are the rest of your men?”
“They will be in position by the time you arrive.”
“Even I am nervous, with so many things held captive by chance. But it is time to go. I salute you men, and if we are successful, by nightfall, Eunan will stand in Derrylinn as the O’Cassidy Maguire.”
Óisin’s men saluted Eunan, who saluted them back. They pulled the hoods of the habits over their heads, and Eunan, Seamus and Sean set down the road to Derrylinn, hoping that fate had not set a trap.
* * *
As they came towards Derrylinn, the dirt track that impersonated a road became more crowded. They joined a caravan of well-wishers heading down from eastern Fermanagh, laden with a wedding gift of cows to welcome Caoimhe into the senior line of Maguires. Sean posed as the head monk, for he had slightly greater knowledge, but definitely more respect for religion than Seamus, with a story that they had been sent from a monastery on an island in lower Lough Erne and the other two had taken a vow of silent prayer only to be broken when the happy couple were married. They were invited to join the rear of the caravan.
They got to within sight of the O’Cassidy house in Derrylinn before being stopped by an O’Cassidy patrol. The patrol spent several minutes interrogating the leader of the caravan before testing the truth of his explanations by searching the carts, one by one. Eunan’s leg twitched as the soldiers made their way up the caravan. He fiddled with his ‘Maguire’ throwing axes, pondering whether to use them and seeking the one with the notch on the lower shaft, a mark created so that he would not forget which axe he blamed for his father’s death.
The soldiers found nothing contraband or concealed in the rest of the caravan.
“Sorry, fathers, but we’re going to have to search you for weapons,” said the lead soldier.
Sean stepped forward, as Seamus had planned. He held out his arms as a sign of no resistance.
“You can search me all you like, but my two brothers have taken a vow of silent prayer until the happy couple are betrothed. I would not like any blame to fall on you if the happy couple is cursed, suffer bad luck or cannot conceive because you were so mistrustful of some priests that you would disturb their prayers.”
The lead soldier hesitated and then turned towards the front of the caravan and shouted: “Let them pass!”
“Bless you, son,” said Sean.
“Say a prayer for them from me,” replied the soldier.
Sean saluted him, and they followed the caravan along.
In the fields to their left, they saw a herd of cattle being driven along by Galloglass.
“I recognise them,” said Seamus. “Men of Connor Roe. That must be the dowry. We must make that dowry our own if we are alive by the end of the day.”
Eunan gulped.
“Would you not have thought to paint such a bleak picture before we set out so we could plan accordingly?”
“If I had, you would have stayed in the village and had your throat cut as you tried to convince yourself how wonderful your parents were. You are far better off here with me with at least a fighting chance of becoming the next O’Cassidy Maguire. It is not a time for weakness and dreaming.”
Eunan tensed his arms and tried in vain to conjure up his bad blood. Nothing. He dreamed of Odin, Loki and Badu. But the characters did not come to life and haunt him as they used to. Eunan then considered a drastic measure.
“Odin, give me strength.”
But the only thing he gained was a sense of guilt for uttering blasphemies. It was no good. He was that scared little boy again, fearing his father pushing open the front door again and returning home or the shrill call of his mother, calling him to attend to her again. He was no O’Cassidy Maguire.
* * *
It was a cold and cloudless day by the time they arrived in Derrylinn. The air had a certain chill that could penetrate cloth and armour alike. The wedding was to take place outside on the grounds of the O’Cassidy house, for it was a long tradition that O’Cassidys got married outside, and Cormac wished to carry on with the tradition.
“Everything must be ready by midday,” he shouted at his lackeys.
But everything was far from ready, and they expected Connor Roe within the hour.
Cormac spent long hours debating with Donnacha what form the wedding should take. On the one hand, he had only two children: Cillian was the heir under English law, but under Brehon law and tanistry, Eunan was his greatest rival. Cormac was unsure of Eunan’s whereabouts, still in the Galway jail or Fermanagh with his accomplice, the cunning Galloglass Seamus MacSheehy? Cillian was in peril taking part in the rebellion, but appearances demanded that he be seen to support Hugh Maguire. Otherwise, Cormac feared he would be ousted. Therefore, for appearance’s sake, Brehon law seemed the right choice.
However, Connor Roe was both a knight and an ex-sheriff. Under English law, Cillian would inherit, but if the worst were to happen, and he died, Connor Roe’s son would inherit through marriage. Once Caoimhe conceived, the bloodlines would be mixed. Even if the O’Cassidy line was broken and then erased, his relatives would be in the senior Maguire line and a hereditary English lord. Thus, once the couple were married by Brehon law, they would be whisked off to the Pale to have a wedding that the Crown would definitively recognise. This is what Donnacha advised and what Cormac had set out to do that day.
Cillian was called into his father’s presence, for he had returned from Enniskillen the day before. He dutifully bowed before his father.
“It is a blessed day and a great one for the O’Cassidy clan. Soon you will soldier with Connor Roe and hopefully bring forward the day he becomes the Maguire.”
“My men have spotted him in the distance. He brings with him a healthy entourage and a generous dowry.”
“How many men did you bring back from Enniskillen?”
“Unfortunately, most of your men were released back to the fields once the peace negotiations started. But I have fifty men of fighting experience. They cover the roads into Derrylinn seeking those who may create mischief.”
“Any word on Eunan Maguire?”
“None of yet. He may be dead or still languishing in a Galway jail for all I know.”
One of Cormac’s staff entered.
“Your brother Donnacha has arrived, lord.”
“Good, good, send him in.”
Cormac reserved a warm embrace for his brother.
“How goes the negotiations in Enniskillen, my brother?”
“The biggest barrier is the Maguire’s pride, swiftly followed by the refusal of the English to show pragmatism. Maguire refuses to accept a sheriff and an English title, and the negotiator insists the Maguire show loyalty and turn and fight his former allies.”
“When will we return to a simple world of commerce? The O’Cassidys can be great but only when the Irish give up the savagery of cattle rustling and feuds and settle on the genuine power of money and commerce. There is a perfectly good trade to be had with the towns of the Pale, but all my compatriots want to do is ape some myth about a great ancestor who had the most cows in the biggest field and cudgelled to death all those with whom he festers a grudge.”
Into the cynical discussion on politics danced the young Caoimhe, dressed in the finest green from the port of Dublin and a faraway land beyond that. Her flowing black hair was decorated with white flowers the womenfolk had spent the best part of the day before collecting. She spun around before her father, radiating youth and beauty to all who set eyes upon her, and the cynicism was cast away with each ripple of her dress.
“Oh, my beautiful daughter! I wish your mother were here to see you today. ‘Tis a truly bittersweet day for me.”
“Oh father, why bitter?” she said and took both his han
ds and his heart melted in the sadness on her face, as if she had disappointed him.
“I am the proudest I have ever been to see you all grown up, and the most beautiful woman in all of Fermanagh is my very own daughter. But bitter for I know that such a moment will pass and you will be gone away to greater things with your husband. I will feel so proud but also deep with loneliness. My little girl will be gone.”
“Father, I may be grown up, but you will always have me as your daughter. You will also become a much richer man than you are already with the future Maguire as my father-in-law.”
“You are worth more to me than all the gold in the world,” and he took his daughter by the hand to lead her from the house. On his way out, he turned once more to Cillian. “You are responsible to ensure that this wedding goes ahead without interruption.”
Donnacha nodded to Cillian and departed with his brother and niece, leaving him to contemplate the size of his task to defend his beloved sister.
* * *
Connor Roe arrived and, not having been greeted by an O’Cassidy of any stature, immediately took charge. He instructed his MacCabe Galloglass to form a guard of honour for the bride and groom and protect the wedding party before, during and after the ceremony. He gave a curt nod to both Cormac and Donnacha when they finally came out to greet them, for he still had reservations about marrying off his second son to what he saw as a lowly family. It had taken much persuasion by Donnacha, not that he trusted Donnacha much, but he knew he had to build up alliances if he wanted to become the Maguire.
“So where is the groom?” asked Cormac.
“One of your men directed him to some local house to get ready. Lucky that, since the bride walks around free as a bird,” replied Connor Roe.
“I hope she remains free as a bird when your son Art takes her into his house!”
“I’m sure you hold the same yearning for grandsons as I, for I hope she provides plenty, and soon,” replied Connor Roe. “Now my men and I need food before we start. We have travelled far and will set out soon again. What provisions have you laid on for us?”