Kings of the Boyne

by Nicola Pierce

  And there were those glorious walls that had kept them all safe last year. Daniel lazily counted the bricks and reached out to touch them, thrilled to find they were still warm from the sun. The bell in Saint Columb’s Cathedral rang out while Horace barked in delight and Daniel sighed in contentment. He was home at last.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Kings of the Boyne

  When he felt ready, James decided that he might as well get on the road for Dublin. At least I can tell Louis that I tried but it just wasn’t meant to be.

  He summoned Lauzun to him and displayed not one wit of emotion as he said, ‘We will head for Dublin. Gather the men together.’

  Lauzun was aghast, but just for a moment. Briefly he wondered how the rest of the army was coping without them at Oldbridge. Of course he was anxious about the cavalry but, like James, he promptly decided to concentrate on what he could control, thinking to himself, surely I cannot be expected to get everyone back safely to France. Won’t it be enough to get James back in one piece, along with the cannon and most of our infantry?

  He swung his horse around and began to issue orders as loudly as he could, pretending not to see the relief on the faces of his fellow countrymen.

  Thank God, we are going home!

  Back in Oldbridge, Michael found Joseph crying in the trench. His trousers were sodden with urine and he was on his knees praying, his head continually nodding, like the pendulum of a large clock, with his knife lying uselessly on the ground beside him.

  ‘Joseph! What are you doing? Come on!’

  Joseph was ashamed but stubborn. ‘No, I can’t. I’m not like you. I didn’t know it was going to be like this.’

  ‘Nobody did! Do you think I’ve done anything like this before? Get out of the trench before anyone sees you.’

  ‘I saw the old woman, Michael. I know who she was. She smiled at me.’

  Michael was mystified. ‘What old woman? Who are you talking about? There are no women here, only soldiers.’

  Joseph scowled. ‘I recognised her. She was standing in the river washing the shirts of those about to die. They were white shirts but covered in blood. She smiled at me, Michael. Do you know what that means?’

  Shaking his head, Michael protested, ‘You imagined her, Joseph. The banshee is just a legend, a myth, she’s not real. She’s for telling stories around the campfire late at night, that’s all. Please come on out of there like a good fellow.’

  ‘Are we winning?’ Joseph silently begged his friend to lie to him and Michael willingly complied.

  ‘Yes. Of course we are! The cavalry are tearing them to shreds. I even saw Gerald and Jacques; they waved at me and asked for you.’

  Joseph looked at him wide-eyed. ‘Did they really?’

  ‘Yes. They wanted to know if we’d go to the tavern afterwards. I told them that I’d have to check with you first.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Michael. I think I’d like to do that. Can we go now?’

  Michael never flinched. ‘I can’t go right now, Joseph. We … I have a few things to do. But perhaps you could help me and then we’ll go.’

  ‘Do you promise?’

  ‘Yes, Joseph. I promise. Now come on, give me your hand and I’ll pull you out.’

  ‘All right, Michael. Thank you.’

  Gerald and Jacques had made several runs at the Dutch guards now. Each time they had killed and each time they had managed to exit the fray and drive their horses back up the hill to reload their pistols. From their vantage point it was impossible to deceive themselves. The Jacobite position was growing more precarious. They saw the fresh enemy battalions being led down to begin crossing the Boyne and, still, there was William with his cavalry who had yet to make a move.

  ‘We can’t give up!’ Gerald’s statement sounded like a challenge.

  Jacques’ teeth shone like bright stars out of the mish-mash of grime, sweat and blood on his face as he reassured Gerald, ‘I’m not giving up!’

  Gerald admitted, ‘I’m not sure how much longer we can hold them off.’

  His friend shrugged. ‘If they would just stay in the river, we could shoot them down, one after the other.’

  Their guns reloaded, they spurred Troy and Paris back down the hill. The battle was still raging away. Their commander, Richard Talbot, had also noticed the new arrivals and was splitting up the cavalry, sending riders down to prevent the Prussians, the Finns – or whoever they were this time – from getting out of the river.

  Jacques and Gerald found themselves amongst those who were being directed down to confront the new group. The horses became preoccupied with not stepping on the bodies of the dead and wounded. Gerald trusted Troy to find his own path through the confusion. If he had had the time, he might have marvelled at his own transformation. This battle had brought out the soldier in him and it seemed that he had spent his entire life on horseback fighting an enemy army. The boy he once was had gone and, in his place, a warrior had been born. After all, he was his mother’s son and an O’Connor. This was, he supposed, what people meant when they said that something was in their blood.

  They reached the spot and began to fire at the soldiers in the river who were bitterly struggling with the water itself. The tide had risen and the waters were flowing rapidly once more. Really, they had been mighty brave in just stepping into the Boyne, whose temperament had continued to worsen since that first crossing.

  Gerald took no pleasure from aiming his gun at fellows who barely kept their heads out of the water. In fact, those Williamites were lucky, though they were too scared to realise it. The water that threatened to drown them made it just about impossible to get a clean shot at them. One man was screaming the same line over and over again.

  Gerald asked Jacques, ‘What is he saying?’

  Jacques took a guess. ‘I can’t swim?’

  And just like that, the warrior was gone, and the boy in Gerald returned. ‘Shouldn’t we do something?’

  Jacques was puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It doesn’t seem right to let him drown. I can’t kill a drowning man.’

  ‘Mon Dieu! You want to save him and then kill him, yes?’

  Gerald refused to answer such a question.

  His friend shook his head. ‘This is no time to develop a conscience. You know the saying: “All is fair in love and war”? Well, this is what it means.’

  The man continued to scream, and two of his comrades tried to reach for him, but they found themselves being pulled under as he frantically latched onto their arms in order to keep himself steady. They were obliged to shrug him off, leaving him splashing and swallowing pints of river water.

  ‘But he’s not even English. He probably would have hated Oliver Cromwell!’

  The Frenchman was incredulous. ‘What in God’s name are you talking about? He’s not English? What has that got to do with anything? We’re the ones fighting for the Englishman!’

  Gerald was confused again. ‘None of this makes sense!’

  ‘This is war, Gerald, and it doesn’t have to make any sense at all.’

  Michael was in a bit of a quandary. Joseph would not leave his side and Joseph was in no state to fight. The cavalry was stretched to breaking point and any available infantrymen were obliged to get stuck in and help them. He considered trying to lose his young friend in the smoke and the commotion. However, much to his surprise, he discovered that he could not wilfully abandon this boy who continued to tremble and cry. It was uncanny. Trust me to wait until I’m in the middle of a battle to discover that I do have a heart.

  ‘I want to go the tavern now, Michael. You promised we could go.’

  The sounds of Jacobite soldiers being shot and stabbed about twenty feet away from where they stood was making Michael desperate. Then he had an idea: ‘Joseph, I need you to do something for me and then we can go to the tavern.’

  Joseph seemed not to hear anything but Michael’s voice. He nodded his head like an obedient child. ‘What is it?’
<
br />   Michael thought quickly. ‘Em … I need you to go back to our tent and get me some bread. I meant to bring it with me but I forgot and I’m starving now.’

  This seemed perfectly reasonable to Joseph, who smiled his usual smile. ‘I’ll get it for you. I’m hungry too so I’ll fetch enough for both of us.’

  He turned to go, adding, ‘Hey, I’ll get some for Gerald and Jacques. We should all eat before we go to the tavern.’

  Michael nodded frantically. ‘That’s a good idea. Do you have your knife with you? Keep it in your hand, won’t you … you know … just in case you need to cut the bread … or something.’

  Joseph looked at him and said, ‘I’ll be all right, Michael. Don’t worry.’

  Not wanting to watch the boy leave, Michael turned away and tried to find relief in finally being alone again.

  Back to work! He flung himself into the nearest group of soldiers and began slicing at them with his scythe, careful to stay out of the way of the horses that were biting and kicking any man that stood too near them, not caring what uniform he was wearing.

  This is not going well, he thought. We cannot hold out for much longer!

  Up on the ridge the Jacobite commander, Richard Talbot, kept expecting to see King James returned with the rest of the army. Where is he? God knows we could do with the French infantry, not to mention their cannon. Even so he had been thoroughly surprised by the men. He would never have imagined that the Irish infantry would have shown such courage, or that the cavalry would ignore the far superior numbers of the enemy and continue to give it their all, as if they actually believed that they might win. Such a pity that the king is not here to see them. Talbot sighed and then it occurred to him, perhaps it is time to stop calling him king. But maybe he was being premature, maybe they could still win through some miracle of God.

  And if we did win, thought Talbot, as he gazed upon his ragamuffin army, it is all of them who should be called king. Not James cowardly Stuart.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A King’s Letter

  Mrs Watson had not gone very far at all. She had decided against making an immediate start to her journey home. Actually it was Daniel who had advised her to wait until the morning. On reaching the horses’ pen, she had peered at the sky, trying to determine how much light there was left to the evening.

  Daniel could not believe that she was thinking of leaving that very moment. He asked if it would be better to wait until morning, but the widow shook her head and replied, ‘I need to get back to the children. Marian must be desperate for me.’

  He knew she would say that but he persisted, ‘Ma’am, your face is so pale and you are trembling.’

  She was exhausted, that much was true. Also, she was only fully realising how near she had come to being arrested, or worse. Her throat felt like she had swallowed a jagged rock, while her limbs felt heavy and swollen. She smiled at the boy and confessed, ‘I don’t think I’ve slept more than a few hours since leaving home. I’m too worried about them.’

  ‘But they’re fine.’

  She looked at him in confusion while he blushed, finally admitting, ‘Em, I saw them after you left. I went looking for you and Marian let me in.’

  ‘Why were you looking for me?’

  Daniel sighed. ‘When Robert and I returned to camp with your horses, his friend – Henry, you just met him – convinced us, I mean, Robert, that you were actually a Jacobite soldier in disguise.’

  She stared at him.

  He rushed on. ‘They wanted to go and search your house right there and then, but I didn’t want them upsetting the children so I said that I’d go and spy on you.’

  He shrugged his innocence and hers.

  ‘I told them that I had seen you and that you were definitely a woman.’

  She didn’t thank him, only asking quickly, ‘How were they?’

  ‘They were fine. Really. Well, Samuel was a bit put out that you wouldn’t take him with you.’

  Here, she smiled sadly.

  Wanting to reassure her, Daniel said, ‘But Marian had them all in hand, sitting at the dinner table, waiting to be fed.’

  Of course Daniel could not resist mentioning his contribution. ‘I fed the baby, you know, mashed up his potato in milk, just as he likes.’

  In spite of herself Mrs Watson burst out laughing. ‘And did he leave his mark on you?’

  Daniel smirked. ‘I can still smell it on my trousers!’

  They suddenly felt self-conscious about their surroundings, their voices sounded too loud, too free.

  ‘So, tomorrow you fight?’

  Daniel nodded; his smile withering as he was reminded where he was and why.

  Her heart lurched and she wondered how old he was … and what he was doing here at all. She felt a sudden urge to insist he come with her. Why, she could tell him she needed help with the horses. After all, the ten she had recognised, which belonged to her neighbours, were burden enough on top of her own two.

  Bess and Star had whinnied their relief on seeing her again, nuzzling her, toppling her hat to the ground. How grateful she was to King William. If he had refused her request, it would have been too awful to contemplate.

  Daniel tried to make her see sense. ‘Do you really want to be travelling in the dark with horses? Surely you will be vulnerable to wolves, or whatever else is out there at nighttime?’

  She struggled to be practical, but it was difficult when she wanted so much to be walking through her front door as soon as possible. Then she thought of something daft, but it was enough to convince her to stay put. She announced, ‘All right, I will wait until tomorrow. And then if the battle proves to be a short one, you might help me bring these horses home.’

  They had shook hands on it, Daniel grinning as he realised he’d probably have to sneak off on Robert to help her, but it would be worth it.

  ‘See you afterwards, then!’

  To her surprise, Mrs Watson had managed to sleep. Knowing that she was going home and bringing Bess and Star with her, that her children would not starve and that she would not lose their home gave her the best night’s sleep that she had had in some time.

  Who knows how long she would have slept on if it hadn’t been for those boisterous cannons firing on Oldbridge, announcing that the battle had begun?

  It was so much louder than she had expected it to be, and the horses were nervous and jumpy. She held on, just in case. She found a safe spot for the horses, fearing that some wanton soldier would take them. There, she had tied them together and breakfasted on bread and apple, too excited to eat but needing to pass the time in the hope that the battle would finish up quickly.

  She wished she had learned to read. She had forgotten all about King William’s letter until she saw it in her bag. Smoothing out the crumpled, folded sheet, she could only stare at the waxed seal in wonder. What would the children say? Thinking about them made her fiercely impatient to leave.

  How much time had passed and how much longer should she wait? Her conscience wrestled with her heart: I shook Daniel’s hand which is as good as promising him that I’d be here when he finished. But he knows I have to get back.

  She waited some more, distracting herself by brushing down the horses with an old hairbrush that she used for Bess and Star. She hoped it might help to calm them against the sounds that carried up from the Boyne. She had not expected to hear men scream out in pain but there it was, humans being torn apart by bullets and swords. She could hear it all.

  Then it occurred to her that she was in a dangerous place if William lost. What if she was listening to the Williamites being overrun and then pursued by raging Jacobites?

  I can’t endanger myself, risking orphaning my own children. I can’t do that!

  ‘Right!’ she said out loud.

  She’d ride Star to the edge of the camp, or as near to the edge as she dared, to see if she could gauge the situation below. She’d do this for the boy that had helped her so much but no more. When all was sai
d and done, her own children had to come first.

  There were soldiers everywhere, but they didn’t pay her any heed. They marched in formation over the top of the hill and down towards the river. Mrs Watson had never seen so many soldiers in her life. The drums beat out a reassuring rhythm while she looked on, finding herself mightily impressed.

  He saw her first, recognising the tall figure beneath that same floppy hat, atop the horse that was familiar to him. Inwardly, he thanked God for answering his hasty prayer and finding her; outwardly, he swallowed up tears, cleared his congested throat and shouted rather shakily, ‘MRS WATSON! Over here!’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness!’ she muttered in relief. ‘It’s Daniel already.’

  She pulled her hat forward to tilt the brim against the blazing sun.

  And then she saw them, Robert carrying his brother in his arms, the large blood-dark patch on his tunic where Daniel’s head rested against his shoulder.

  Jumping down from Star, Mrs Watson ran as fast as she could. Robert stood and waited, having run out of strength to carry Daniel any further. His face told her all she need to know. Daniel stared, without seeing, at the blue sky above them. Robert allowed her to gently close his brother’s eyes, and then she hesitated, unsure what was expected of her.

  ‘I have to get back!’ He spoke roughly as if expecting her to challenge him in some way. When she didn’t, he relaxed a little even as he tightened his hold on Daniel, pressing the body ever closer to him. Robert was appalled to witness this silent, lifeless thing that used to be his brother. He still expected him to wake up and complain royally about being carried, being hugged and being here. It was too soon to accept his death, too soon to mourn him.