“We do not,” John said, though his eyes were on Theobald, who pushed to his feet and began to pace before the fire. It had been a long time since James himself had had that kind of restless energy, but he remembered it—that feeling that if he didn’t move, he would jump right out of his skin.
John watched him for a moment, and then he turned back to James and Robbie. He had more color in his face now, but his eyes had aged ten years since he’d learned of his father’s death. His gaze was steady, however. “My father instructed me on what to do if we were attacked in his absence. Theobald is better with a sword than I am, but we are both ready. I would be grateful if you could stay to assist us in preparing to march.”
It was no less than James had expected, once he’d learned of Margery’s confinement, but he was nonetheless pleased that John had the wherewithal to ask for help. He wasn’t a warrior, but he had a presence about him, even within the short while he’d had to absorb his new station, that was encouraging.
“We will stay. I would ask, however, that you choose two among your men to send to my wife at Carrickfergus. She needs to know of her brother’s death and be prepared for a fight—if that castle isn’t already under siege.” James’s stomach twisted sickeningly at the thought of what could be happening at Carrickfergus. But he couldn’t in good conscience leave these two boys to their own devices either.
“If our enemies had planned better, they would have sent armies to the home castles of every man they intended to kill,” John said. “I would have let them in, not knowing their intent.”
“On our way here, we saw a combined O’Reilly/Cusack cavalry riding through Navan and then Slane,” Robbie said.
“Gilla has allied with the Cusacks?” John said.
“Not Gilla,” Robbie said. “It can’t be Gilla. Thomas de Clare and Auliffe O’Rourke attacked his fort at Drumconrath last night, burning it to the ground and taking Gilla prisoner.”
James nodded. “Most of the leaders of this rebellion were at Trim for the meeting of Parliament, which meant that they had to rely on others—captains or brothers—to marshal their men. They may have wanted to wait to ensure that Trim had fallen and their opponents were dead before acting.”
John stood. “Well, we won’t wait. We can act.”
Theobald had been staring at the fire, but he swung around. “I will send word to all the households in the region that we muster at dawn at the castle, though we must leave some defense for my mother.”
“We will, though I understand that Castle Roche is nearly impregnable and has never been taken or even assaulted,” James said.
“It has not.” Theobald looked again at his brother. “I suggest that you stay here.”
John’s chin stuck out defiantly. “No. I am the new Lord Verdun. Our father is dead, but you know our family’s motto as well as I, Theobald.”
“Never falter,” Theobald said.
“And we shall not,” John said.
Chapter Twenty-four
Navan
Huw
Huw would have screamed to get their attention if it hadn’t meant putting Robbie and James at risk. Letting them go—together, praise the Lord—was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done.
But seeing as how he and William were surrounded by enemies, he thought it best not to call attention to either himself or them. His own life, Huw assumed, was forfeit, but the fact that James and Robbie had found each other gave him hope that all was not entirely lost.
Like Huw, William’s hands were tied in front of him, and he stumbled along behind the horses at the rear of the company. “Did you see them?”
“I did.” They were speaking Welsh, which was not one of the languages commonly spoken in Ireland, and thus there was little chance they would be understood. “They’re headed north.”
William ground his teeth. “As we should be!”
“James knows what he’s doing,” Huw said soothingly, “and if Robbie is with him, that means they have a plan.”
“We need one. I’ve been a fool.”
Privately, Huw couldn’t disagree, but William had admitted to being wrong—again—and Huw took heart from it. He liked William, when he wasn’t grinding his teeth at his stubborn, misguided, misbegotten Marcher pride. “We took a chance, and it went against us.”
They continued on foot for another hour, more exhausted than Huw had ever been in his life, and finally the captain called a halt. He arrived at Huw’s side and slashed the rope that attached him to the saddle of the horse in front of him. “You don’t deserve to ride, but you’re too slow.”
William was boosted onto a horse, and one of the O’Reillys helped Huw to mount behind him. William’s chin was already on his chest, and Huw had to prod him awake when his captor offered him a flask. “Drink!”
William did, and then so did Huw, though without hands, more wine ended up on his shirt than in his mouth. He’d been stripped of his armor, arrows, and bow, of course, but at least none of them had been discarded beside the road. He could see his bow strapped to the saddle bags of Matha O’Reilly’s horse.
They rode through the afternoon and evening. Eventually, it was William who roused Huw. “At least he told the truth about where we were going.”
Huw lifted his chin to look. Against all odds, they’d arrived back at Drogheda. “Perhaps Aine’s father really is alive.”
As when Huw had been here with Christopher and the others, they were approaching the town from the west. At Navan, while the army had crossed a river that fed the Boyne, they hadn’t bothered crossing the Boyne itself. Huw had thought that was because the captain had lied and later they would be turning north, but now he understood they could simply use the bridge at Drogheda, seeing as how the company was in the favor of the castellan.
Entering by the west gate, they were immediately thrown into the hubbub of a busy commercial center, not unlike portions of London or Shrewsbury. The streets were laid out in a grid pattern, so they rode straight east until taking a right onto the street that led to the bridge.
Though Comyn’s ships remained moored at the dock, the riverboats were gone. Huw wished again that he could have spoken to James or Robbie, because he was desperate for more information about what was happening. Had Robbie made it to Trim? How was it that Matha O’Reilly was marching with men who served Cusack, unless he had betrayed his father and sister? Betraying a father Huw could understand, though he got on well with his own. But risking a sister’s life or wellbeing? That was unforgivable.
They crossed the bridge, traversed the smaller half of the town of Drogheda, and then entered Drogheda Castle by the main gate. Huw didn’t have much of a chance to look around, just a quick glance amidst the flurry of dismounting soldiers. His right leg was crushed between an adjacent horse and his own, but since his hands were tied, he could do little but kick out with his foot. A man with an air of authority walked down the steps that led from the keep to greet the leader of the Cusack party, who apparently wasn’t Cusack himself.
Meanwhile, Matha O’Reilly shooed away the other horses around Huw and William and said in a commanding voice, “Off!”
William had been riding in front of Huw, so he obeyed first, swinging his leg over the horse’s head and dropping elegantly to the ground. The angle was wrong for Huw to attempt that move, even if he had been skilled enough to do it (which he wasn’t), so he leaned forward awkwardly, his foot still in the stirrup, and swung his leg over the back of the horse.
Once they were on the ground, Matha O’Reilly grasped the back of Huw’s neck with one hand and William’s with the other and pushed them forward, past the men-at-arms and knights who filled the bailey, and fetched up in front of the keep.
The man on the bottom step frowned at Matha’s approach. “The last thing we need is more prisoners, Matha.”
“Lord Butler.” Matha bowed and then straightened. “We picked them up on the road. They are known companions to David. We thought they might be useful.”
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Huw’s heart sank as Matha named the man they faced. Here was the youngest Butler son, Thomas, turning against his brothers as surely as Cain had murdered Abel.
Thomas sneered. “Put him with your father. He’s in the corner tower.” He pointed with his chin to indicate a tower near the gatehouse. “Give him my regards.”
“I will do that.” With his hands still gripping their necks, Matha turned Huw and William in the direction Thomas had indicated, and the three of them slogged through the muddy bailey. At one point Huw stumbled on an unseen stone, finding his legs were so tired they were barely functioning, and Matha hauled him upright.
The tower where they were to be imprisoned was located where the town wall met the castle wall, and thus it overlooked the town, the castle, and the exterior ditch that was the town’s first layer of defense.
Castle prison cells came in all sizes and locations. The two usual choices were to put prisoners in a tower basement, accessed by a trap door, or in a tower room too high above the ground to get out.
To Huw’s great relief, this tower did not have a basement, perhaps because, with the river nearby, the groundwater level was too high. They entered straight into the guardroom, where two men lounged, leaning back in their chairs with their feet on a table.
Matha looked at them disdainfully, but he didn’t berate them for their lack of discipline. These men were not Irish, so they wouldn’t have listened to Matha anyway. Two of Matha’s own men had entered the guardroom after Matha, Huw, and William, and with a gesture, Matha directed them to stand guard on either side of the door. In French, he asked one of the tower guards for the key to Gilla’s room, which he was given.
Then he urged William and Huw up the stairs in front of him. Many circuits around the tower later, having bypassed the second and third floors, they arrived at the top of the tower, which was well above the level of the curtain wall and a good seventy feet above the ground outside. Huw had been keeping track of their progress through the arrow slits.
No guard sat outside Gilla O’Reilly’s room. Matha grunted, seemingly disapproving, and went to the only door. A window with three iron bars allowed Huw to see through the door to a man standing at a window, looking outward.
Matha put a key into the lock. “Athair.” Pronounced ah-her, it was Gaelic for father, one of the words Huw knew. David said Gaelic and Welsh had the same roots, but they were so unalike, Huw didn’t know if he believed him.
At their entrance, the man, who had to be Gilla O’Reilly, swung around. Seeing who it was, he strode towards Matha, speaking rapidly in Gaelic. Matha answered, and then to Huw’s utter astonishment, the two men embraced.
Frustrated that he didn’t understand what they’d said, but thinking that things were looking up, Huw made an attention-getting gesture with his conjoined hands.
Matha waved at Huw and William and said in French. “They are friends.”
Gilla looked them up and down, though he soon returned his attention to Matha, and Huw wasn’t sure he had really taken in much about Huw or William. “What is happening? Nobody will tell me anything.”
“Are you aware of the massacre at Trim?” At Gilla’s curt nod, Matha continued, “While many are dead, David’s men overcame Feypo’s, and King Llywelyn and David escaped. The castle, however, remains besieged by a combined force of Cusack’s and Red Comyn’s men.”
“So that’s what Comyn was here for.” Gilla clenched his right hand into a fist and slapped it into his left. “You could have warned me that Clare and O’Rourke were coming to Drumconrath.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Matha looked intently at his father. “Besides which, we agreed that I would do nothing to betray my true allegiance.”
Gilla grunted his assent. “I just didn’t expect them to burn Drumconrath to the ground.”
Matha’s face fell, turning first white and then gray. “Where’s Aine?”
Gilla put out a hand to his son. “She was alive last I saw, though in the company of Christopher of Westminster. I can only pray that she still lives, but I can tell you no more than that.”
“Christoph—” Matha’s mouth dropped open, and he seemed unable to speak.
Huw would have interrupted right then and there to tell them of Aine, but Gilla spoke again before he could. “The story is too long to tell. How are you planning on freeing me?”
“My men are ready to turn on Butler’s and Cusack’s men. At midnight, someone will let the three of you out.”
Finally, Gilla looked at Huw and William, though again his words were for Matha. “Why do you trust them?”
“This is William de Bohun and Huw ap Aeddan. David’s men.”
Huw had no idea how Matha had learned his name, but William scoffed. “More than that, we are friends of Christopher. Last we saw, he and your daughter were riding west to Roscommon Castle.”
Gilla stared at William with the look of a man who was inches away from total collapse, so Huw stepped in to pick up the tale. No man wanted to hear that his unwed daughter was traveling through the countryside alone with a stranger who may or may not be a friend, but Huw resolved to do his best. “As Christopher’s companions, we noted his absence and tracked your company back to Drumconrath. We were nearby when it fell and met Christopher and your daughter as they escaped the fort. We traveled with them to Kells, where we learned of the events at Trim and that the conspirators included both English and Irish lords. William and I determined that we should set out for Castle Roche, to seek aid from William’s family, and Christopher and Aine rode to enlist the support of the King of Connaught.”
As Huw was talking, Gilla’s expression went through a diverse series of expressions, from suspicion at first, to joy, relief, and then a growing horror.
But Matha dropped a hand on Huw’s shoulder. “How could you let them go?”
Huw jerked his head. “We spent only a day in her company, sir, but you should know by now that Aine could not be stopped, not when she’d made up her mind.”
“You’re saying that riding to Connaught was her idea?” Gilla said.
“It was,” William put in. “Christopher went with her because otherwise she would have gone alone.”
Gilla looked ruefully at his son. “That does sound like Aine.”
Matha let out an audible sigh. “Why Roscommon?”
“Because O’Connor is the last unallied lord in Ireland. If King David is to quell this rebellion, he needs O’Connor and his men,” Huw said.
Matha still wasn’t convinced. “What of this Christopher? Is he an honorable man?”
William snorted. “To a fault, just like his cousin. Don’t worry, your sister is safe with him.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Beyond the Pale
Christopher
Two Christmases ago when Christopher and his family had flown to Wales, he had experienced for the first time the kind of time zone difference that made him want to puke. Their flight had arrived at ten in the morning, and they’d been determined to stay up all day, so they could go to sleep at a normal time. But by mid-afternoon that first day, Christopher had longed with every part of himself to be horizontal.
Now that darkness had fallen, he was feeling that way again. His head ached, probably still from the concussion, which had been only a little over twenty-four hours earlier. Coupled with the lack of sleep the night before, he was feeling more than a little off-kilter and was having trouble focusing. Blinking back some of the blurry vision, he looked up to find the usual spectacular starscape of the Middle Ages spread across the sky. The stars were so close and so bright, he felt as if all he had to do was reach up and touch them. With light pollution everywhere but a few places in the modern world, people had no idea what they were missing. And conveniently for Aine and Christopher, between the stars and the moon, which had risen too and was two-thirds full, the sky was so bright they didn’t need a torch.
An hour ago they’d ridden past a hilltop monastery when its bells were
tolling. Christopher didn’t think it would be too far off to say that every hill in Ireland had an abbey or a church on top of it. Aine said the bells had to be for compline, the prayers before the monks retired for bed—roughly at nine o’clock in the evening.
Soon after, they crossed the Shannon River, which flowed into a big lake on their left that Aine called Lough Ree, lough, apparently, being the Gaelic word for lake. Truthfully, now that it was dark, Christopher could see very little beyond what immediately surrounded the road. It went up and down hills and through valleys—which pretty much described Ireland from top to bottom as far as he could tell.
Since they’d left Kells around noon, they’d been traveling for at least ten hours. Christopher was just about to wonder out loud how many more miles they had to go when they rounded a bend in the road to find the brightly lit battlement of a castle clearly visible in the distance.
“We’re here,” Aine said, relief in her voice.
Christopher pulled up in surprise at the size of it. “I thought this was an Irish castle.”
“It is,” Aine said, “but the O’Connors took it from the Saxons, who built it.”
That explained why it looked as it did. It was rectangular in shape, with towers on each corner, a double-towered gatehouse, and a massive curtain wall—and was surrounded on all four sides by water. The moat protected the southern, eastern, and northern sides of the castle and was fed by a large lake that lay behind the castle to the west. The setup wasn’t exactly like Trim, but the overall vibe was similar, and the castle itself appeared to be similar in size to Trim.
Then Christopher’s attention was drawn to lights that had appeared in the distance, behind a ridge to the north of the road where they’d halted. He pointed them out to Aine, and she frowned, her eyes going from the dozens of lights where a few minutes before there’d been none, to the castle in the distance. “What are they here for?”
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