The Welshmen of Tyrawley

by Graham Barratt

  In Belleek, Walter’s Fianna called in at the drinking houses and questioned some of the local people. Children would often be very loose-tongued for a treat. After several hours of questions, their efforts failed to obtain any sightings and so they started off along the main track toward Dublin.

  In the wet and the cold, there were few people outside to casually question and so MacSweeney’s method was to call at huts and houses along the way. They questioned the tenants as to whether they had seen a black man at any time over the past few weeks. As the weather worsened and with no reports, they doubled back to Belleek and took up lodgings for the evening.

  In the morning, the weather was no better, but with full stomachs and fresh horses, they continued the search. There had been no further accounts of a black man in Belleek and it made little sense to travel too far along any road without any sighting. They resumed the search along the road to Sligo, just outside Belleek. At Meadow hill, they saw a young scruffy farm boy on his way to work who might be glad of some easy cash. William climbed down from his horse and sat on a fence in order to appear less threatening. The boy stopped walking and stood to the side of the road to give the horses room. His eyes were fixed on the gallowglass. He knew his business must be violence of some sort.

  ‘Good morning to ya, young man. Can I ask if you are familiar with this road?’ asked William, holding a purse of coins.

  ‘Aye, I walk it each and every day four times in total and the fields I tend are next to it.’

  ‘Perfect, then and am I to believe that you have noticed many travellers along the way?’

  ‘Aye, I have seen many travellers, but the longer my mind tries to recall, the dimmer they are in my memory.’

  ‘There is a coin here for you if you succeed in describing a man of different appearance who may have passed this way in recent days.’

  ‘Sir, I am sorry, but they are all different, how can I describe on aside from the other?’

  ‘Oh, this one is very different, and you would not have seen another with his looks.’

  ‘No, hold on will yer, yes, there was one man. I saw several mounted horses and a cart weighed down with heavy cargo and travelling east towards Sligo. I remember noticing that the man walking to the side of the cart was caped, had very dark skin on his arms and kept his head hung low. He was not a leader and he was made to walk. He was denied a seat in the cart.’

  William flipped the coin to the boy and it fell into the mud. It was quickly picked up and polished before being placed in his stocking for safekeeping.

  ‘I am sorry that I do not have any more tattle for you. I have seen many bands of people travelling in a similar manner who were all on the way to fight with the earl.’

  ‘You have been most helpful young-un.’

  Many people had been given board at houses where people were sympathetic to the uprisings. At one such house, a woman interested in their activities had asked travellers where they were going. Many had declined to answer, for fear of the English discovering their intentions. However, some, including Scottish fighters had been bolder and had declared that they were on their way to meet up with O’Rourke in Sligo to meet up with the rebellion. Many would-be rebels were interested in the romance of fighting for their country as well as the seasonal pay and keep, rather than talk of laying down a life for Ireland. A few travellers in the opposite direction would sometimes be returning from the rebels and would tell their tales. It was not long before William had established that the party was indeed planning on joining the rebels. It was the ideal cover for a fugitive.

  This information was all that was needed. He was lucky to have found such a loose-lipped witness. Most people would remain discreet when speaking with strangers. William paid the woman another coin for her silence. It was now almost certain that a rebel party which included someone of Cirilo’s description had passed along the route to Sligo. William wasted no more time and they would travel immediately. Logic said that the slave was now with the rebels.

  The weather had worsened by the time they reached the Parish of Templeboy. The wind and icy rain proved too much for the horses. They began to falter and needed food, water and shelter in a hurry. Usually horses would be able to cope with these conditions in fields, but they were weak from carrying people and supplies as well as being in need of food. At last they came to a halfway house at Grangemore and were welcomed in by Mrs Corcoran, an elderly landlady with a weather beaten and wrinkled face that had seen much better days. MacSweeney entered the inn and left William and the two kern to guide the horses into the stables for food and rest. William was still annoyed at MacSweeney’s attitude, given that he was in his employ. That aside, he avoided confrontation and said nothing before tending the beasts. The four men ate their fill of meat, bread and broth and settled by the fire for some time, contemplating a night of good sleep.

  One of the kern got up and left to empty his bowel and bladder at the dunghill. He was gone for about an hour and nothing was said before Mrs Corcoran suggested someone should venture outside to check on him. After concern grew, the three men scouted the area, but he was nowhere to be found and was not at the dunghill. William noticed that one of the horses was also missing. It was quickly assumed that this kern had deserted them and returned to Mayo with the wind on his back.

  ‘He was a thief and traitor,’ declared MacSweeney.

  ‘A curious expression to be used by a man who kills for the highest bidder’, thought William.

  ‘If I see him again, he will live no longer. Perhaps it was my fault for giving him employ in haste. I expect it’s better we find out now than while we are fighting.’

  ‘When YOU are fighting,’ said William.

  A comment like that might be received either way but luckily for William MacSweeney saw the funny side and laughed.

  Later that evening, there was a knock at the door. MacSweeney, who was unusually still sober and becoming increasingly irritable decided immediately that it was the kern returning.

  ‘Let me beat the runt and teach him a lesson.’

  Mrs Corcoran opened the door slowly to reveal a young man. William immediately recognised him as Thomas Welsh. He was roving the same road, in the same direction and said he was also travelling to join the rebels at Sligo. He reported passing the missing kern a few miles back and alleged that on speaking to the man, he had been ignored. The kern had seemed pre-occupied and in an obvious hurry.

  The next morning, the horses were rested and the weather had improved enough to continue. Although it was still cold and misty, the driving winds had abated and the four men resumed the journey along the road to Sligo. While on the last leg of their journey, and within sight of the town, MacSweeney offered the position of second kern to Thomas. He agreed to the offer and the Flanna continued along the road to Sligo.

  MacSweeney believed that his offer was accepted by Thomas because he would receive pay and protection from the gallowglass and the job gave much better prospects than that of a rebel, however, Thomas’ plan was going well despite having not yet succeeded in his bid to infiltrate the rebellion. At least he had found a way to locate Cirilo. After that, he would exploit any further opportunities that conditions might proffer.

  Thomas was instructed in his duties during the remainder of the journey, which was mainly to tend the armoury of the gallowglass in “quiet times” and provide weapons and ground protection in any battle or skirmish.

  A New Home with an Old Clan

  The sisters had a plan for the new nun, Emily, and she would be forced to become a lifelong nun by taking solemn vows. It was always a welcome event when a new nun joined them as it immediately increased the seniority of the others. Furthermore, it diverted attention from the other juniors and shifted the focus onto new victims. She was expected to become devout. Service to God and the order for the rest of her life was now her only prospect. Eventually she would become a sister by taking vows of poverty, obedience and chastity.

  Emily’s new vocatio
n though had no room for offspring. After the birth, the baby was to be taken away from her by the nuns. According to the church, it was God’s will that she should not be allowed to keep the child. If the child was indeed black, it would probably be sold on and eventually adopted as a slave. Emily was wise to this. She had heard many tales of the fate befalling babies born out of wedlock, and to the wrong fathers, let alone black ones. She knew stories of births to single women in the convents. There was every reason to suspect that her fate would be no different and the sisters would have other plans for her baby.

  Over many weeks, she had heard whispers that reinforced a mind-set that she could not trust the nuns. She feared that at the utmost moment of weakness, the baby would be taken away from her. The threat made her even more determined to care and protect her baby. She was not wrong. The sisters were under the strict orders of Walter Bourke to take the baby and have it sold into slavery. While this suited both Walter and the sisters, they had differing intentions concerning Emily. Walter’s plan was that Emily would eventually accept the loss of her baby (and Cirilo) and return to Dael. She would then be back in the protection and inheritance of her family and Walter would have his daughter back. It was harsh, but Ceara reluctantly agreed to this as the best plan for Emily.

  One warm autumn evening, Emily gave birth to a baby boy. He was strong, healthy with piercing jade green eyes, jet hair, defined lashes and long legs. The young boy had inherited his father’s dark skin.

  The word quickly spread through the townland that Emily, the MacWilliam’s daughter, had produced a black baby. The nuns treated Emily with revulsion, which only served to strengthen her resolve. She was certain that the baby would one day be tall and strong and there was little uncertainty over the identity of his father as the son of a black man. Emily knew that life with her new lovely boy was going to be difficult for them both, but for now she was overjoyed and happy.

  Late the next day, the sisters gave Emily a meal of hot food, which was quickly consumed. Next, she gave her baby a feed. While the baby fed, she pondered her fate. Inside she felt like it was the last meal of a condemned woman. She believed that her lodging was no longer a safe house but a den of wicked people, who were determined to take her baby from her. If they succeeded, then she would never see her boy again.

  Emily’s assumptions were accurate. This undercover group of Belleek nuns were about to take her baby. If she was to make a move to save her boy, then she realised it would need to be very soon.

  After feeding her baby, she got out of her bed, wrapped him up, lifted the latch of the large bedroom door and peeped around the heavy beams. Looking and listening, she heard voices in the direction of the back entrance at the farthest almshouse. This was to be the route she would have taken given the choice. As the other way was much quieter, she decided to escape through the more risky front entrance. In severe pain and discomfort, she shuffled out of the house with her few belongings and the baby. She exited the safe house and walked swiftly down the lane, looking behind and to the side for signs of pursuit. If someone was indeed following her, she would have very little hope of outrunning them. Her only chance then would be to hide. She was still bleeding as she bit hard into the leather strap of the carrying bag she had hung around her neck. Sister Breage, who was elderly with weak joints and bones saw her moving past the open shuttered window and called out.

  ‘Emily, come back, you cannot leave the house; it is forbidden. What would the good mother think? It is not allowed, and you will harm yourself. Bring the baby back now and you will be forgiven, Emily! EMILY!’

  Emily stopped and called back to Sister Breage. ‘There is no forgiveness in this place. I am sure you know why I am leaving. I am saving my son and will not give him up. I will not allow you to take him away.’

  Sister Breage had been one of the gentle, more gracious of the sisters and knew that Emily was right, but even this was more than she could allow. She walked limply out of the house towards Emily, but calling back for help as she moved down the path. She then stood in front of Emily and motioned her to give her the baby. Emily was still very weak and despite her age, Sister Breage would be difficult to move. The sister then raised both hands as if expecting Emily to give the baby to her, but Emily took two steps forward and pushed her to the ground with her shoulder. As quickly as her legs could take her, she hurried away from the houses. No other nuns had heard the argument and her escape seemed complete.

  In great pain and walking slowly, she was soon approached by a jaunting cart driven by a passing peddler. The old peddler could see the distress of the attractive woman. He was not of the Barrett ilk, was not aware of her story. He granted her a lift up the road. Apart from a deep sigh, she remained silent and thought about her cover story if he were to ask her business. As she sat down on the cart and held her baby close and the oxen paced slowly up the track, its tail flicking off the crusty dung on its rump, she felt her baby was safe for the first time ever and became safer with each turn of the cartwheel.

  Emily had no plan. She did not know where she would go or what would become of them both. Any church sanctuary would no longer be possible as she had left the nuns and they would surely appear at any church where she was to try to claim sanctuary. She was in no doubt that if she had stayed with the nuns, her baby would have been taken and she would never see her son again.

  It was too late to travel to another townland, so she would need to remain close to Belleek for now. She climbed off the cart in the main street of Ballysakeery and wandered aimlessly through the townland, thinking over the situation in her head. She was homeless, penniless and had a new baby to support, but she was young, attractive and was the daughter of an Irish leader.

  At last she walked up the lane out of the town towards the Barrett stronghold. She had been there before and knew that the Barrett Chief MacPadine lived there with his son Richard. She remembered that it was Richard, the younger who had molested her at Glencastle and considered walking past the tower house. She remembered that Richard had seemed desperately sorry for the attack and wondered if he had changed. She was desperate though and would now give in to his urges if it was required, anything to save her baby. She may also be able to convince the Barretts to take her in and allow her sanctuary from the church and the Bourkes. She would work hard for her keep but was only interested in protecting her baby from the threats of ignorant and selfish people.

  As she approached the gates, she called out and begged to speak with the MacPadine. Her calling diminished as she broke down in distress, becoming weaker and weaker from the blood loss. It was some time before Richard the younger appeared at the gate, where he recognised Emily as the girl he had outraged at Glencastle. He had made a terrible mistake, had a great debt to pay and was determined to do the right thing this time. Perhaps she might one day come to love him. By the time he reached her, she was unconscious and lying on her side with the baby wrapped up and held tightly into her chest. Emily’s situation was by now common knowledge although there were several accounts of the truth. News had reached them of the ejection of Emily from Crossmolina, and once he saw the baby, it was apparent to him why she was there. One thing young Richard was certain of was that she was of good purpose and wholly respectable. At least she had been that day at Glencastle and surely could not have changed that much. If she had come to the Barretts for help, particularly to Richard, then there was no doubt that she was desperate. He wasted no time in calling for help and ushering them both into a spare chamber for food and bed rest.

  Richard hurriedly lit a fire as he considered the situation. He was still attracted to her and regretted the day he made the bungled advances at Glencastle. This time he would need to prove his good nature.

  His father, the MacPadine was not a man to ignore an opportunity. After a great deal of persuasion by his son, he was eventually convinced by that in the medium term at least, it would be to his advantage to give shelter to the daughter of the MacWilliam Bourke. Although at this ti
me, she was not in favour with the Bourkes, one day perhaps, she would be accepted by them and Walter might be thankful for the efforts of Richard, MacPadine and the Barrett community.

  For her own protection, Emily and her baby were informally fostered by Richard and she settled into a new role as mother, teacher and housekeeper to the estate. She became increasingly happier with her new life, despite the taunts from those who saw the baby and judged her. Not too much was said openly though. In Tyrawley, you do not make an enemy of your landlord.

  Richard accepted the baby and secretly loved Emily, but she was stubborn and resolute. Although she never spoke of the man she loved, she was confident that the baby’s father would only ever be the man she would love. Richard on the other hand believed that her reluctance to love again remained from the alleged rape. He came to accept her avoidance and was never anything more than a gentleman to her from that day on.

  After a few weeks, under pressure from Richard, the baby was christened in Moyne Abbey. Emily wanted him linked somehow to his father as well as honouring her clan. He was named Theobald shortened to Tibbot after Tibbot Na Long, of the seas, the Bourke son of the great pirate queen Grace O’Malley. The act of naming her baby after a man of the sea was a furtive hint at her devotion to Cirilo and his marine origin. From that day, she never spoke of her true love for fear of it becoming knowledge amongst the clans. The “Rape” cover story remained.