The Hart and the Harp

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  “What if he doesn’t put our force in the middle?”

  “Then you'll have to go on either flank. In that case, you can double around and attack them from the side and from behind.”

  “It seems worth the risk if it will end this soon, and in your favour,” Oran agreed. He gave the message to the man waiting outside that they would do their best to get there quickly.

  Shive said, “I’ll go on to Tiernan’s camp with the food and supplies, and warn them who you are so there are no unnecessary casualties. Make sure you’re all wearing something plaid, so they'll be able to identify you easily.”

  Maolmordha assented to her plan, but Oran worried, “If you think it will work, we’ll do it. I just wonder if Muireadach will be so easily convinced of my innocence as the men here.”

  “I think he'll be so glad to see the Scots that it won’t make any difference. But if you have any doubts, don’t go. It would be too risky to our plan to have him suspect you. Just send Maolmordha along. He can say he and his men were eager to earn their promised money, and came on ahead of the main O’Rourke force to get the lion’s share of the spoils. I doubt anyone will be any the wiser.”

  “Aye, that would seem to be the best way. I don’t want to be separated from you, and I wouldn’t want to cast any doubt on Maolmordha’s presence, or else it will go badly for the O’Donnells. They’ve already risked much here in helping us.”

  Maolmordha said, “I think we’re all ready to leave. We’ll just give that messenger a few more minutes. Then the first batch of marchers can head out. Shive, you come with me and check we have everything, and we’ll ride on after them.”

  Shive and Maolmordha waved to Oran and Padraig as they headed out through the gates, and turned to check the carts one last time. She couldn't wait to see Tiernan again, but even more important than a romantic reunion would be bringing much-needed supplies to continue and hopefully finish this disastrous war.

  Maolmordha issued orders to the captains in charge of holding the castle, and made sure that they too were prepared for a long siege if Muireadach should come back to try to retake his castle.

  But with a large supply of weapon and projectiles, and several days before they could even expect Muireadach to discover that Bothandun had been overrun, Kenneth reassured him, “We’ll be fine. Plenty of time to make arrows, gather rocks, and lay in more food. Just do us a favour, eh, Maolmordha?”

  “What’s that, Kenneth?”

  “Beat hell out of the O’Rourkes, and hurry back. I have a yearning to see my new home at Shive’s, and meet some of the lovely young girls she’s been telling us all about.” Kenneth grinned cheekily.

  “Pity they can’t all be like her,” Maolmordha joked, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  Shive squeezed his hand for a brief second before mounting her steed, and waiting for him to climb up behind.

  With a last cheery wave at all the men she was leaving behind, Shive and Maolmordha headed south. They were soon riding at the head of the band of mercenaries bound for Lissatava, where she, Tiernan and Ruairi would all have to make their last stand against the evil Muireadach O’Rourke.

  She prayed her husband was still alive and would stay that way until she reached him. And that her cousin would be able to achieve his ambitions at last, and become high king.

  She longed for little Fiachra with a desperate ache in her heart. But if she didn't help defeat Muireadach once and for all, none of them would ever be safe, least of all her innocent child.

  She thought of the last time she had seen Tiernan, the confession he had made as to how much he loved her. She was exhausted and heart-sick, but his love, now that she knew she had it, was surely worth fighting for.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Shive’s journey south to reinforce Ruairi’s troops at Lissatava was an arduous one, for at about midday the skies opened up, sending chill drenching autumnal rain down on the troops and provisions. All the men covered up as best they could, but the deluge made the ground soggy underfoot. More than once the carts had to be freed from the cloying mud with the help of several men, and on occasion with assistance from the horses.

  It was heavy going, but even Shive and Maolmordha took turns walking too. While they were trudging along he asked her to tell him the story of her family again.

  “You’ve suffered much, Shive,” he commented quietly when she had finished her impressive tale.

  “Aye, but at the same time, I can see now it was all for a cause. I needed to be leader, to help everyone, don’t you see? It sounds a terrible thing to say, as though I’m glad my brother was killed by my father, but in a sense my father was right about Fiachra. He would never have been able to keep the family together, or stand up to Muireadach O’Rourke. God only knows what would have happened to us all then.

  “Look at the way Muireadach has behaved to us all recently. He would have tried to swat us like flies if Father hadn’t promised him the chance of eventually becoming high king, once he had won the title for himself. But both my father and Muireadach are ambitious and cruel, while Ruairi is not. And believe me, Maolmordha, I’m not just saying that because Ruairi is my cousin. I say it because he's a good man. I also think the times are changing rapidly, and we need to have a strong high king if we're to survive.”

  “What makes you say that?” Maolmordha asked, puzzled.

  “Call it instinct if you like, but in the past few years we’ve seen quite a few Viking raids, and now you Scots are starting to come down, looking for land for various reasons.

  “And no, I’m not criticizing you. I know you’ve been dispossessed, but others less scrupulous than yourselves will also eventually come here looking for land. You can’t tell me that the Normans who have conquered all of England in the past eighty years will be content to leave us as we are forever.

  “No, we have to be strong so that we can fight external enemies if need be. The more we fight each other, the weaker we'll grow ourselves. That will leave the door wide open for the Normans to come through. I’m also practical enough to realize that while we may not like so-called invaders coming into our country, the Vikings can always be made useful. They travel widely, trade extensively, and they're powerful warriors.

  “You too, Maolmordha can make us strong, with your youth, energy, and willingness to work hard and fight harder. Your coming here brings us new alliances. That too will make us strong. Scottish allies would be no bad thing. The Normans haven’t done much to invade your country yet, but I think it’s only a matter of time. The Normans are terribly greedy by all accounts, and our fishing, cattle, linen, and other natural resources are worth controlling,” Shive said as she trudged on in the ankle-deep mud.

  “I’d never thought about it that way before, but now that you mention it, I think you might be right. I’m glad we decided not to fight each other. We should make friends where we can, before a greater enemy subdues us all,” Maolmordha agreed.

  Shive hesitated, “Maolmordha, I’m sorry about all your men, but when we saw troops about to attack the convent...”

  “No, don’t apologise, Shive. You did what you had to do. I’m only sorry we didn’t know who you were and what you were like sooner. It's not our habit to make war on women and children and old men,” Maolmordha said with a shudder as he recalled all he had seen when his homeland at Eriskay had been lost to him forever.

  Shive tried to lighten his mood by joking, “Don’t talk that way in front of Oran, or he’ll show you just how old he is!”

  But Maolmordha looked at her glumly. “I have to be honest with you, Shive. It’s just that with all you’ve told me about Muireadach, and what’s been happening here in the last five years, things are going to be very bad when we get to Lissatava, aren’t they?”

  “Aye, they will be. Everything will be lost or won there, of that I'm sure. But I can look after myself, Maolmordha, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “All the same, it pays to be on your guard. I cou
ldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. So I have to say this now. Our boats are still at Camport in the north, if you need to escape quickly.”

  Shive shook her head. “I couldn’t leave, Maolmordha. This is my home. Where would I go?”

  “At least if you survived you could always try to come back one day. Dying at Lissatava, the dream you’ve fought so long for, the dream of peace and prosperity, well, it would die too under Muireadach.”

  “Then we’ll just have to make sure that Muireadach doesn’t win, then, won’t we, Maolmordha? Because I have no intention of sailing away from Camport.” She grinned suddenly. “I get terribly seasick,”

  Maolmordha at last smiled too, and nodded. “I understand, Shive. I suppose I knew that was what you were going to say. It’s one of the things I admire about you. Your strong loves and loyalties, and your clear sense of purpose.”

  “You and Oran have been the best friends I could ever have wished for, Maolmordha. Though I've known you both for only a short time, I hope you understand that. I never would have come even this far if it hadn’t been for your protection, and faith in me,” Shive said quietly.

  “You have been a good friend to me, Shive, truly,” Maolmordha said as he hugged her to him briefly.

  “Well, we shall carry on being friends long after this,” Shive said with a confidence she didn’t really feel. She trudged on ahead of Maolmordha, longing to be alone with her anxious thoughts. She couldn’t help but wonder if Ruairi and Tiernan were still alive, and if Lissatava would be as bad as she and Maolmordha seemed to think.

  At the end of two days, Shive and Maolmordha had to go their separate ways. Shive wanted to be sure their ruse would work, and she also needed to gather her reinforcements from her castles at Trian and Skeard. Even so, it was hard to see the little band which had spent so much time with each other over the past few weeks splitting up.

  Maolmordha was obviously reluctant to be parted from Shive.

  “Good luck, Maolmordha O’Donnell, and be careful,” Shive said quite formally, extending her hand, which her comrade in arms shook in full view of all his men.

  “Good luck to you, Shive MacDermot. Just make sure you tell everyone the plan, or else my head will be up on a pole at Lissatava tomorrow night, “ Maolmordha said with a grimace.

  With one last pat on Shive’s shoulder, he and his men rode off into the night.

  Shive and Oran organised troops and supplies at Trian first. Though he suggested that she should take more men with her, she knew it might be risky removing all her extra men from her two castles. What if Muireadach tried to trick her and doubled back up to the north to take over her lands, or Tiernan’s?

  Oran shook his head doubtfully when Shive voiced her concerns to him. “From the message that arrived at Bothandun, Muireadach sounded as though he knew he was in serious trouble. Up until this point he’s been risking the O’Dowds as well as his own men, and they certainly took a bad beating at Maumkeogh. For him to take away men from his own stronghold, he must be desperate. No, I think if this goes according to plan, Muireadach will be defeated once and for all, and will run back up to Bothandun with his tail between his legs.”

  “But what if we have to kill him, Oran? What then?” asked Shive candidly, as she gazed at him with her unusual violet eyes.

  Oran stared at her her for a second, and then shrugged. “Well, so long as we don’t have to have Orla as tanaist, I don’t really care.”

  “No matter what happens, Oran, you know you'll always have a home with me. I only wish my own father would have done as much for me as you’ve done.”

  Oran confessed, “I had a wife once, but she died early on in our marriage, in a riding accident. I blamed myself, never married again. Of late I've started to wonder what sort of lonely old age I condemned myself to. Then I met a burgundy-haired young wench with eyes the color of rare jewels, who bore a son with hair the color of midnight. Now I don’t have to wonder any more.”

  “I’m glad, Oran, truly.”

  Shive hauled herself up into her saddle amid the pouring rain in the courtyard of the old stone keep at Trian, and led the men on the next leg of their journey to Skeard.

  Once there, they quickly got food and reinforcements, and set out on the last leg of their journey to Ruairi O’Connor’s main stronghold at Lissatava. And to her beloved husband Tiernan at last. Her whole body trembled with anticipation and longing. If only she could be sure he loved her as much as she did him. She couldn't wait to be a real wife to him at last, and would do anything to make her dreams of happiness with him come true. Even if it meant walking through fire to do so.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Shive and her men arrived at Lissatava early the next morning, but no sooner had they dismounted for a rest after riding all night than the O’Rourke and O’Dowd forces loomed up out of the mist like haunting specters.

  The battle erupted around Shive with volcanic force. Darkly clad warriors came at her from all sides. She dragged her sword out of its sheath, and began to swing it hard. She took quite a pounding, but was able to hold her own as one by one she dispatched her enemies with several well placed hacks and thrusts of the razor-sharp weapon.

  She sent several messengers to try to tell Ruairi, Tiernan, and Mahon that she had arrived, and of her master plan, but of her husband Shive could see no sign.

  Gradually, Shive became certain that one of their army leaders must have received her message, for when the mist cleared a trifle as the sun began to burn off the damp haze, she could see Maolmordha and his plaid-clad warriors in the centre, where Shive had predicted Muireadach would put them. Her own men were doing a convincing job of hacking and slicing, then laying down as though dead.

  After ten minutes of this seeming slaughter, Maolmordha, sword raised, gave the expected signal. The dead jumped up as if the trumpet had signalled Judgment Day. True to their word, the O’Donnells turned on their erstwhile comrades, and hacked them to pieces. Shive’s own men charged into the gap and effectively split Muireadach O’Rourke’s forces in two, driving each backwards and further and further away from each other so they couldn't reinforce themselves easily.

  The O’Haras under Irial the old sergeant at arms were quick to take advantage of the division by flanking the group on the right, and blocking off their chance of retreat by standing firmly in front of the tree line of Lissatava forest. The forces on the left were driven up to the very walls of Lissatava itself, where Ruairi unleashed a huge troop of men, who exploded out of the gates and began to mow down the spent O’Rourke forces like so many blades of grass.

  But even as Muireadach watched from a small rocky outcrop the demise of his troops and his chance to become high king, he did not falter in his ambitions. The betrayal, and disaster which ensued, merely goaded him on to further acts of barbarity, as he sent man after man to his inevitable death.

  Shive, taking pity on the O’Dowds as well as the remaining O’Rourkes, saw that the only way she could stop the carnage were if Muireadach were to be killed. Pushing several of her foes out of the way without even troubling to lock blades with them, she charged the outcrop and met Muireadach sword to sword.

  "You little bitch. I should have killed you when I had the chance."

  "Yes, you should," she said matter-of-factly. "You must have known I'd get my revenge. And do anything to stop you from harming the people I love."

  "Love. Bah! It's nothing but greed and self-interest. And might making right." He brought his sword down at her in a chopping motion she was barely able to parry.

  As Oran had informed her, Muireadach was immensely strong. Every muscle in his body look mountainous as she faced him.

  Shive knew her only chance was to outwit him. He hacked and sliced impatiently, as eager to be rid of her as of a pesky fly. His rage at all she had done to thwart his plans also got the better of him, causing him to lash out at her with little of the skill and finesse Oran had warned her about.

  Every time Muireadach th
ought he had the advantage, Shive managed to dodge out of his way in time. Finally, as he started to back her up against a tree trunk, Shive switched her sword to her left hand, and sent Muireadach’s weapon flying.

  Muireadach, outraged, tried to attack her with his dagger, but lost his footing and fell heavily, impaling himself on her sword, which she gripped now in both hands and thrust upwards, running him straight through.

  “Damn you, Shive MacDermot. You’ve ruined me!” he gasped, a pitiful look of stunned surprise crossing his cruel features.

  “You ruined yourself, Muireadach. Now, tell your men to put down their arms so that some may be spared!” Shive shouted desperately.

  “It’s not over yet! You'll see…” Muireadach gurgled, and then lay still.

  As Shive pulled her sword from Muireadach’s body, Shive wished she could feel some regret for his death, but there was little motive or time. The carnage continued unabated. Shive suddenly sensed danger from a new but not altogether unexpected quarter.