The Hart and the Harp

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  Tiernan greased his hands with some butter and inspected Shive again.

  “It is coming, I can feel it,” Tiernan confirmed. “Oran, can you stand her up?”

  “She can’t stand on her left leg,” Oran pointed out.

  “Well, support her under the arms,” Tiernan suggested.

  “Jesus, man, are you hoping it will just drop out?” Oran asked angrily as he tried to lift Shive while she writhed in agony.

  “No, but it might just get things moving. I remember they did it for my mother when Cian was born, and he arrived safely, little torment that he’s been ever since,” Tiernan joked feebly.

  He was rewarded with a tiny smile from his wife that made his heart surge with joy.

  Oran grumbled but did as he was told, and propped up Shive under her arms. Her leg burned, but it was as nothing compared to the searing pain in her stomach.

  Tiernan continued to rub her belly soothingly with more of the butter, and instructed, “Right, lay her back down, so we can try again. Push, come one, push,” Tiernan urged.

  Shive screamed.

  After a few more tries, suddenly Shive felt a huge rippling motion, and Tiernan tugging between her thighs. The baby slid out feet first. Tiernan caught it in his arms and gave a whoop of joy.

  “It was turned around the wrong way, but I managed to get the feet,” he said, beaming with pride. “It’s boy, and he’s fine. Perfect in every way.”

  He leaned close to kiss her and show her the babe, then with a tender kiss on its brow as well, he offered it to his wife to hold. He cut the umbilical cord and wiped it down with some water and a cloth. He mopped Shive’s sweaty brow, and cuffed away his own tears from his cheeks, before kissing her passionately.

  “Oh, Tiernan, he's so beautiful,” Shive cried in joy and relief.

  “Just like his mother.” Tiernan grinned, and then kissed her once more and held her close.

  “He looks just like you, you mean! Look at that black hair, and that chin,” Shive marvelled.

  “I think he will have your eyes, though.” Tiernan smiled, and for the first time ever, Shive saw him laughing and looking truly happy despite the chaos all around them.

  They embraced and chatted about the baby alternately for several minutes, until Shive sobered and asked, “Tiernan? Can we name him after my brother?”

  Tiernan nodded, and kissed her tenderly on the brow. “Of course we can, my love. Fiachra it shall be.”

  Oran came closer to admire the new addition to the family, but Tiernan and Shive’s interlude was cut short by a commotion outside in the pass.

  Tiernan’s attention was immediately diverted by the message Padraig brought. “Riders coming for another assault! It’s Muireadach and his main force this time, Tiernan. There are thousands of them.”

  Tiernan looked around him quickly. “We’ll have to ride for the south end of the pass and do our best to block them off. Padraig, can you ride through now? Tell Irial to bring the troops back north through the forest to bottle them up in here?”

  “I’m on my way,” Padraig agreed.

  Tiernan hastened back into the cave, where Shive and the baby were already drowsing.

  “Listen, Oran, there’s a convent about five miles from here to the east. My sister Claire is the Mother Superior there. Take Shive and the baby to her as soon as they can travel safely. I’ve got to go lead the troops, though it will nearly kill me to have to leave her like this.”

  “Don’t worry, she'll be safe with me,” Oran vowed.

  Tiernan knelt down and hugged Shive tenderly. “Shive, my love, I don’t want to go. But without the two of us on the field it might be a shambles. I’ll come to you as soon as it's all over, do you hear?”

  “I’ll go home with our son as soon as I can travel,” Shive promised, returning his passionate kiss ardently. "Be careful, my love."

  “I will. I love you, Shive. If I can come back to see you tonight, I shall. But I think this is Muireadach’s big push.”

  Tiernan rose to leave. He clapped the older man on the shoulder, and begged, “Take care of her, Oran. You’ll be well rewarded when next we meet.”

  Oran bristled. “I need no reward for looking after her, my lord. She’s my friend, and I will love the baby like my own grandson.”

  Tiernan shook Oran’s hand then, and with one last kiss for Shive and his son, Tiernan disappeared out of the cave to rejoin the fight against his mortal enemy Muireadach O’Rourke.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Shive and Oran lay in the dark listening to the galloping of hooves, the clash of weapons. She prayed that the baby wouldn’t cry and give away their presence in the cave.

  True to Padraig’s word, the O’Rourkes were making a desperate push south. Muireadach was growing all the more bold and reckless as he saw his chance of becoming high king slipping away from him with every soldier he lost to Shive’s and Tiernan’s combined forces.

  The O’Rourkes did break through the pass in the end, with heavy casualties on both sides. Though Tiernan desperately longed to be with Shive and the baby, he knew that they would have no peace, that none of them would be safe, until Muireadach’s threat was neutralised once and for all.

  Once they were sure the O’Rourkes had passed through, Shive and Oran and Padraig, who returned to see to the O’Hara wounded concealed in the other caves, gathered the remaining survivors who could travel together, and under cover of darkness the following night, headed for the convent at Killour.

  Shive was eager to be out of the damp cave she had crawled into two days before, and needed food, rest, and items for the baby desperately. Padraig scouted on ahead while Oran rode with the infant, and Shive rode with Brendan, one of the other wounded men, short, broad, with red hair. She was very weak after her labor and loss of blood from her leg wound, and Brendan had to hold her on the horse firmly by her waist.

  At last they reached Killour, exhausted, cold, and drenched by a violent summer storm. Tiernan’s sister Claire, as Mother Superior of the convent, welcomed Shive and her comrades with open arms.

  Every comfort the nuns could provide was given unstintingly to the sick and wounded men who took refuge there. For the first time in as long as she could remember, Shive was pampered and petted.

  Tiernan’s sister Claire praised her beauty, and once Shive had confided in her sister-in-law her various adventures, the nun was full of admiration for the resilient young woman whom her brother had been fortunate enough to marry.

  “I'd heard so much about you, my dear, but little thought to be lucky enough to meet you, though the circumstances which have brought you here are obviously less than fortuitous.” Claire smiled gently.

  Shive smiled back at the woman who so strongly resembled her husband, the black widow's peak peeping out from her wimple showing that she too had the O'Hara's ebony hair. “And you. I want to thank you for all the help you gave Tiernan with the wedding preparations.”

  “It was nothing, my dear, apart from a bit of sewing,” Claire said modestly.

  The doting aunt admired Baby Fiachra enormously. Shive sometimes wondered if she would ever get to do anything other than breastfeed him, so intent were the nuns on lavishing every care upon the child.

  Shive for once did as Oran instructed, and rested in bed day and night, eating the hearty and nourishing food the nuns insisted she eat, until she felt as though she would burst.

  The baby grew round and rosy with its mother’s milk and the supplement of cow’s milk the nuns gave him, since, though small at having been born after only eight months, he always seemed to be so hungry.

  Shive was satisfied on the fifth day of her stay at the nunnery that her leg was healing well, and despite Oran’s scolding, took a few tentative steps that day.

  “I’d like to consider us going home soon," Shive said to Oran as she tottered over to the small wooden chair in the corner of her room and sat down with a sigh.

  “Not yet, girl. I know you well enough by now, Shive, t
o know that as soon as you got back to either castle you’d be working away like someone possessed on one of your little schemes. Or worse still, trying to get back into the fight with the O’Rourkes.

  "So please, take the advice of a weary old man who can barely keep up with you, and stay here being looked after for a while. The nuns love the company, and the men still aren’t all fit to travel. Nor are you, I may add. The baby is well tended to, and in any case, it’s safe here. Only a complete barbarian would dare attack the convent. Muireadach would never risk that unless he was absolutely desperate, or completely out of his mind. If he harmed the nuns here at Killour, every one in Ireland would take up arms against him. He would effectively give up any chance of being high king. Besides, you must admit you need your rest.

  “And I certainly don’t want to you to try to ride home with all the O’Rourkes swarming the countryside. They could be anywhere. If Muireadach got hold of you, he would kill you without a second thought this time. You’ve ruined all of his plans. He’ll never forgive you for that. And just think what he would do to your son. Tiernan's son. So please, Shive, stay here and rest.”

  Shive staggered back to the bed and sighed. “I hate not knowing, and sitting around doing nothing. But you’re right. After all that’s happened, I'm tired, and have been fighting long enough now. All right, we shall stay until Tiernan comes for me, or until I’m well enough to take up my duties or a sword again, and we’re sure it's safe to go back to Rathnamagh or Castlegarren.”

  “Good. Stay in that bed, read, look after the baby, eat, but do not, I repeat, not pick up your sword,” Oran scolded playfully, ruffling her auburn hair.

  However, as soon as Oran had gone, Shive did just that. She practised parrying and thrusting. Even if her leg was still sore, she was not going to let herself get out of practice.

  Shive’s stay at the convent stretched until the end of September. She had never known such peace and contentment before, and since by all the reports from Tiernan the battles were going well down in the south, she felt she could be spared. Shive was content enough to let her leg heal and play with her infant son. For many years she had carried all the main burdens of her household. It was a pleasant change to be able to read, sew, embroider and do other small manual tasks with her feet up.

  But Shive had to admit to herself that she missed the excitement of battle and longed to be by Tiernan’s side. He sent messages to her as frequently as possible with news of his progress. She had also got some letters from Ruairi, who had returned from the south with his new bride only to find his kingdom under attack. Ruairi had been able to get reinforcements from his new in-laws the MacRannells, but still the fighting continued week after week.

  Shive hoped that with winter on its way, as evinced by the cold days and even colder and darker nights coming on, Muireadach’s campaign would have to come to an end soon. All the men on both sides would be eager to return to their own home fires. Surely once Muireadach realised how many men he had lost, he could finally admit that his gamble had failed. And with any luck, Muireadach would not try to become high king again in the spring, at least not if he had any sense.

  Shive did acknowledge, however, that their own losses had been heavy. The men in the villages had defended themselves well, but the crops were ruined, having lain so long unharvested. The cattle had been run off, and the sheep let to stray. All of the trade she had worked so hard to build up was also in tatters, though some of the other chieftains, like Ronan O’Keefe and Tomas MacSuibhne, were lending practical support in the form of food, wine, and supplies, even at the risk of incurring Muireadach’s wrath if he found out.

  What troubled her even more was that from the short time she had been acquainted with Muireadach, he hadn’t struck her as a man with any common sense, Shive reflected with a grimace as she walked along the corridor to the kitchen of the convent one morning in early October. Her bad leg was now nearly fully healed, and her slight limp was barely noticeable except to herself.

  Shive tried to make small talk with some of the nuns in the kitchen, but the bright sunshine lured her out into the open, and she began to walk lazily up the stairs which led to a parapet along the convent wall. As she gazed out over the landscape to the northwest, the small movement of something dark caught her eye.

  Straining to see more clearly, Shive espied saw a whole troop of men moving in their general direction. At first she hoped they might be Tiernan’s forces. Then she realised they were coming from the north. From the way they entered the small wood and took so long getting out of it again, they appeared to be lost.

  People who did not know the terrain could only mean one thing: strangers. Invaders.

  At first Shive was terrified that they might be another band of Vikings. But it was too late in the season for them to come down from the frosty north. They would never make it back up to Norway before their freezing winter set in. And a band from Dublin or Galway would have local guides.

  As they drew closer, Shive began to recognise the men for who they really were. From the long plaid mantles they wore, she knew at once they had to be mercenaries from the Hebrides in Northwestern Scotland.

  Shive shouted to Oran to join her at the top of the parapet. With a sinking heart he agreed with her assessment of the situation.

  “They're gallowglasses. Worse still, they’re coming this way.”

  “We have to warn the nuns,” Shive said. “Many of the Scots aren't even Christian. They seem to be lost. If they’re cold, hungry and desperate, they’ll come here looking to take our plenty by force.”

  Shive ran down the stairs two at a time.

  Claire, the Mother Superior, was not at first inclined to view the situation in quite the same way. But at last the older woman was persuaded to at least take some precautions. The nuns started gathering food and provisions in case they had to flee, while others, more youthful and impetuous, gathered stones and branches, anything that could be used as a weapon to defend themselves.

  From the parapet Oran gave the news that the men had seen their settlement and were definitely heading their way. The women moved their livestock inside, and were grateful they had just completed the last of the harvesting two days before.

  Shive also insisted they boil water out in the courtyard, and vats of oil, and assembled as many buckets as she could find.

  “We can’t do this! We’re nuns, not warriors,” Claire protested angrily when she saw Shive make extensive preparations for a siege.

  “We really have no choice. They're mercenaries, hired to kill. Rape and pillage are an added bonus in their line of work. Please, Claire, if not for yourself, think of the young nuns here. Tiernan would never forgive me if I let anything happen to his only sister, or his son. We need to defend ourselves.”

  At length Claire nodded. “I am thinking of the nuns, Shive. That’s why I’m going to reveal something to you that I’ve never told anyone. There’s a secret tunnel over to the monastery in Tullycarn. It was built many years ago, at first no doubt for mutual protection, but later on it was used for lewd practices. That’s why it was sealed up, but I think we can get it open, and flee.”

  “Tullycarn is in Ronan O’Keefe’s territory. You’ll be safe there,” Shive thought aloud. “Good, we'll try it. How long has the passage been sealed up?”

  “Twenty years at least.”

  Shive frowned. “It might have collapsed, or become flooded or something. We can’t be sure it's really an escape route, but it’s worth a try. At least you’ll be safe in the tunnel. But some of us will have to stay behind to delay them while you try to get away.”

  “My child, you can’t possibly intend to remain and fight. You have a son to consider!”

  “I’m a warrior as well as a mother, Claire. Promise me you'll look after him, and keep him with you until myself or Tiernan sends for him. I hate to be parted from Fiachra, but I have little choice in the matter. Apart from my twenty men, some of whom are still badly wounded, and Tomas the shepherd
and the three young boys serving in the herb garden, we have no one else to defend us.”

  “I don’t approve, Shive, but if any of the nuns want to stay and fight, I shall allow it,” Claire offered reluctantly.

  After Shive had outlined the situation for them all, five of the younger nuns soon volunteered their services.

  “I may not be able to use a sword, but I can throw things down on top of them,” one of the nuns, Eithne, said optimistically.

  “God forgive you,” Claire sighed piously as she crossed herself.

  Shive was about to try to placate Tiernan’s sister when another of the nuns spoke up. “We must all work to save the rest of you who are leaving, and the child,” she said with a shrug. “Surely God will forgive us for taking a life if we do it to spare the innocent.”