‘If I’m not back in five weeks,’ he said, ‘open the letter.’ A wave of anxiety washed over her. She had known that the task she’d asked of him bore its risks but, if Robert Flynn D’Arcy was in doubt, then it must be far more dangerous than she had ever imagined. Here was a man with iced water in his veins, fearless, without reservations. His doubts meant that he was more like Liam than she had imagined.
Flatly, and without betraying himself he asked, ‘Do you have any of Liam’s old clothes? I’d like two sets, but if you can’t manage that, can you get some from Robbie?’
She went inside the house and returned immediately with a couple of leines and two pairs of trews.
‘Why do you want two sets?’ she asked. She knew he wouldn’t have asked unless there was a good reason, that was another characteristic of the Flynn siblings.
‘I’ll have a travelling companion with me,’ he said tersely.
Roisin handed him the clothing and he balanced it on the saddle in front of him. He turned the horses wordlessly and headed up the road, out of the village.
‘Godspeed, Robert Flynn!’ Roisin shouted after him.
He turned and said, in a voice she could barely hear, ‘Goodbye, Roisin.’
There was something about the way he said it that brought a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes and, as Robert rode away, her vision of him became blurred. She wondered if she would ever see Robert Flynn again.
*
CHAPTER 14
It was almost dark and the sky over Clare still had an orange tinge to it, when Robert arrived back at the fortress in Nenagh with the three horses. He dismounted the big brown and handed the reins to a waiting groom, telling him to have the big one saddled and ready for him at dawn the next day. He ordered that an extra measure of oats be fed to each horse, then went straight to the mess hall. The deputies were all seated on benches at both sides of a long table. The food had just been served, some kind of stew with a little meat and a great deal of potatoes in it. At his appearance, the men began to stand, but he motioned for them to sit down. Ned Flood sat attentively, watching the sheriff, and Robert gave a slight motion of his head towards the door. The young man stuffed as much food into his mouth as he could in one go, then leapt out from between two burly lawmen, accidentally kicking one of them in the process.
‘Watch it, arsehole,’ the man growled. Ned ignored him and and headed straight for the door, accompanied by Robert. When they were out of anyone’s earshot, Robert said,
‘You ready for an odyssey, boyo.’
‘Oy dunno what dat is, boot Oy can’t swim, so if it’s got anyt’ing t’ do wit’ d’ sea, Oy’ll havta larn, sar.’
Robert stifled a grin. ‘It’s a story by a Greek man called Homer, it’s about the greatest adventure that ever was.’
‘No boats, right sar?’
‘The story’s full of boats, but we’re going to use horses.’
The young deputy looked relieved. ‘Well, if a harse goes lame, I c’n alw’ys walk. If a boat springs a leak, Oy’ll havta say ‘n Act o’ Contrition.’
Robert knew that if he didn’t get back to the subject at hand, Ned would go off on another unrelated tangent so he asked him, ‘Did you draw a horse pistol from the armoury?’
‘Oy did, sar, an’ I tried it out too, boot the ol’ man down dere said I cootn’t hit a bull in d’ arse wit’ a han’full o’ oats, so ‘e loaded it wit’ goose shot.’
‘Good man yerself, Ned,’ said Robert. He found himself imitating the man’s west Cork accent and shook his head. ‘Get your gear together and we’ll leave at first light.’
‘T’ankya, sar. Oy won’ let ya down.’ Ned forgot about his food and went straight to his quarters. Robert returned to his own room and, even though he’d packed and repacked a dozen times, he felt compelled to do it once more.
The old man slept fitfully and finally he gave up trying, long before the first rays of sun had shown themselves in the east. He dressed himself in his best uniform and sword, and carried his belongings out to the stables. He wanted to be gone before most of the men in the castle roused themselves so he didn’t call for an aide. When he got to the livery, Ned was already there, waiting for him.
‘Oy cootn’t sleep a wink las’ night ‘cuz o’ d’ noise me shtoomach wuz makin’. It sounded loike Oy swallied a dog.’
Robert knew it wasn’t hunger that had kept the boy awake. He remembered when, a hundred times before he’d gone into battle, his nerves had pulled as tight as a harp string.
‘Let’s saddle up our mounts, Ned. No reason to wait for the lazy louts to get here.’ The two men saddled their horses and stowed their gear. Both hung their horse pistols where they could be drawn at a moment’s notice and Ned carried a Brown Bess musket, slug across his back. It was still an hour or so before dawn when they walked their steeds across the courtyard and out the gate, past the sleeping guards. Both had one of the Hobbies in tow. When they got about twenty yards from the gate, they mounted up and started the ride towards Limerick, the first stage of their journey.
‘How’r we gettin’ down t’ Cark, sar?’
Robert thought he’d have a little fun with Ned, it was good to build a degree of camaraderie for an expedition like this.
‘I thought we’d go by horse, Ned.’ He could see Ned was confused but he kept it going. ‘I had planned for us to go by boat, but you told me you can’t swim, so I decided we’ve use horses instead.’
Ned ruminated on the sheriff’s words for fully two minutes before a look of realisation crossed his face and he got the joke. ‘Ah, sure ya can’t take a boat t’ Cark fr’m here.’ Robert rolled his eyes. If Tipp fellows can be as thick as shit, what did that make a Cork man?
‘So, what rawd aire we takin’, sar?’ asked Ned.
‘We going by way of Kenmare.’
‘We could get dere a day quicker if we head t’ward Mallow, sar.’
‘We’re going in by way of Kenmare because that’s the back door.’
Ned rode in silence for a while and wondered if he was riding alongside a madman. He’d been all over that part of Cork and had never seen either a front door, or a back one. They travelled on and, by mid-day, they had crossed the Clare River into County Limerick. There was an inn there where they could get something to eat, but first they watered the horses.
‘When we get past Limerick city, we’ll find another an inn,’ said Robert, ‘and, maybe tonight, we’ll get some sleep.’ Ned told him he’d been sleeping in the saddle for the last two hours and Robert realised that was the reason his companion had been so quiet.
‘Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t fall out of the saddle, so.’
Ned grinned sheepishly. ‘I’m starvin’ hungry now, sar.’
Robert snorted. ‘Yes, well that’s what a nap does to you old fellas,’ he mocked.
By late afternoon, they had passed the city of Limerick. Ten hours in the saddle was enough, they had covered just over thirty miles and the horses needed a break, so did Robert. His bones ached and he wanted a flagon of ale and a hot meal but, mostly, some shut-eye.
‘Mind that the horses are fed and rubbed down, will you Ned, I’ll arrange the accommodations.’ The inn was almost full and he was only able to get the one room for them both. Revitalised by his snooze, Ned had his talking head on and, finally, Robert had to order the Cork man to shut his gob and let him sleep.
The next morning, they were up long before dawn. Robert’s bones ached. He hadn’t spent that long in a saddle in many years and it was going to take a while to get his arse back. Today’s destination would be Newcastle and, after that, he expected the going to be slower, as the hills began to become higher.
The day was uneventful and it was growing late in the afternoon when they approached the town. The density of the woodland had increased now and, occasionally, they heard rustling in the undergrowth, where people had recognised their uniforms and had ducked for cover.
When they arrived at an inn in the t
own, they found it to be a hive of activity. There were parties of gentry there to hunt the wild boars which were prolific in the forest, where they rooted for acorns and hazel nuts. Most of the gentlemen were in their cups and one of them, on seeing the uniformed men, came over and sat himself at the table with Robert and Ned.
‘Would you two gentlemen be interested in accompanying us on a hunt tomorrow?’ The young deputy shot Robert a glance and gave a slight nod of his head, his eyes wide. The sheriff was annoyed that his meal had been interrupted and, without a word shook his head, no. Ned looked plaintive but Robert asserted himself.
‘I said no, Ned. We have no time for frivolity.’
The gentleman was offended, ‘Frivolity, is it? I’ll have you know that it can be very dangerous. Why, I saw a man get his middle finger bitten off by one of the beasts, I saw it with my own eyes.’
By now, Robert had lost patience with the man, ‘Well that’s too bad for his feckin’ wife. Tell me, have you ever cut off a man’s head with a sword?’ The man got up so fast that he upset the chair.
‘Well, I never…’
Robert stood up and addressed the crowd. ‘No, you never. And that’s because people like you get people like me to do your dirty work, so you can spend your time hunting little piggies in the woods.’
The room had fallen silent and Robert looked around, suddenly ashamed of his outburst. He usually had better self-control and didn’t allow himself to lose his temper like that but his bones ached, and his arse was sore, and he just wanted to finish his meal and be left alone. He and Ned slept in separate rooms that night and Robert got the decent night’s sleep he needed, and not a moment too soon.
The next morning his mood had lightened and he even joked about the previous evening’s scene at the inn. He told Ned he doubted if they would make it to the town of Castleisland that night because they’d have to cross a pass in the Glanaruddery Mountains. The mountains weren’t much, as mountains went, at least not like those that would come later, but they would make for slower going with the horses. He didn’t want to use the beasts up before the more arduous trip ahead. They left an hour before dawn and were well on their way before the gentry had roused themselves for their hunt.
The sides of the road were much more densely forested now and they passed only the odd remote cottage here and there. Eventually, as the road climbed, even they disappeared and the woods became primeval. It was getting late and the sun was beginning to set when they came to the crest of a pass in the hills. If they were to push on, it would be several more hours before they reached Castleisland, but Robert didn’t like the look of things here. It would make a grand place to be ambushed. The thought was still fresh in his mind when, out of the shadows, stepped a man with a gun in his hand, and pointed it directly at the lead rider. Ned reined his horse to a halt as two more men, with pikes, stepped out five yards further on and pointed them at the animals. Robert noticed that the gun pointed at Ned was an old match lock and that the slow match was glowing. Many men had lost their lives to a primitive hand canon such as this, loaded with stones and nails and whatever else could be rammed down the bore.
Before the man could pull the trigger Robert said, ‘Wait, I have a purse here in my pocket.’ He reached his right hand into his pocket and cocked the little pistol. The man fired before Robert could get his gun cleared from his greatcoat, but the powder just fizzled. The condensation from the night air had dampened the priming powder in the flash pan of the old matchlock. Robert whipped the gun out of his pocket and, at the range of only around two feet, he put a hole through the outlaw’s head. The other two highwaymen were caught by surprise at first, but then they charged at the horses with their pikes. Ned had drawn his horse pistol and now he let fly. The black powder shot a cloud of smoke into the air, which obscured their vision, and both lawmen reached for their sabres. There was no need because, at a range of around ten feet, Ned’s goose shot had downed both the pikemen. One of them moved, the other having taken the brunt of the blast. Ned was transfixed by the bodies in the road and Robert snapped him out of it.
‘Come on, let’s get out of here, there might be more of them.’
They galloped the horses downhill until about a mile had passed and only then did Robert slow down and stop.
‘We have to reload, in case we meet more of the Kerry bastards.’ Ned was visibly shaken. He had never killed a man before and now he’d just slain two. Robert looked for something to say to calm him.
‘Now you have something to tell your grandchildren,’ he said, ‘how you killed two desperadoes with a single shot.’ It didn’t help to quieten Ned’s nerves.
They arrived in Castleisland before midnight.
*
CHAPTER 15
‘How can we be married, Michael?’ Morna had been tormented by the question for the last few days and had finally worked up the courage to put it into words. ‘Dere are no priests.’ She gazed plaintively at this young man of hers who, if he could read the words printed in a book, must surely have the answer written somewhere.
It was a question Mikey had been asking himself, and he thought he had finally come up with the answer. His own parents had been married twice … once, secretively, by an old Franciscan, in a place hidden deep in the forest … and again in the Church of Ireland, for appearances’ sake.
‘Don’t worry,’ he consoled her. ‘We’ll be married in the eyes of God.’ Morna wasn’t satisfied. She and the other girls had often talked of how wonderful their weddings would be and how grand the occasion, but the reality of how impossible it all was had taken its toll on her and, although tears hadn’t yet fallen yet, Mikey knew they weren’t far away. He knew he’d have to resolve the problem and, as he was his father’s son, he set out to make the impossible happen.
He retrieved his little copy of the church rituals which he still had from his days in the seminary, and he thumbed through the book until he came to the part concerning the nuptial ceremony. He had looked for a passage which might possibly alleviate the girl’s distress and had found it. Now, he held the book open at the page in front of her.
‘It says here,’ he read aloud. ‘What God has put together, let no man put asunder.’
She looked bewildered. ‘Oy unnerstand d’ God pairt, Michael, boot what does d’ udder pairt mean?’
‘It means that if we go to a holy place, and I put a ring on your finger there, then we are married in the Eyes of God.’
‘Widdout a priest? Wouldn’ dat be a Martal sin sure?’
‘It doesn’t say anything here about a priest.’ Michael stretched the truth; the book plainly assumed that a priest would be reading it.
‘It still sounds like a sin t’ me,’ she said doubtfully.
‘What is a sin, Morna?’
‘Accardin’ t’ d’ aul’ priest who use t’ live here, he said dat anyt’ing dat causes happiness ‘r pleasure is prob’y a sin an’ ev’n t’inkin about dose t’ings is a sin.’
‘Well he was wrong, Morna. Which commandment says, Thou shall not be happy?’
‘Den what is a sin, Farder?’ Morna caught herself, ‘I mean, Michael.’
Mikey pretended not to notice her accidental lapse and went on, ‘If you do harm, or even if you intend to do harm to another person on purpose, that’s a sin. All the other stuff’s just pishogue.’
Morna smiled. She still wasn’t wholly convinced that the Church would approve of what Michael was suggesting but she so badly wanted to marry him.
‘When will you make the ring?’ she asked. ‘I want to be your wife.’
‘I promised to have this chain repaired this morning so I’ll make the ring this afternoon, then tomorrow we can go to Gougane Barra. It’s a rough walk across the mountains, but it’s only five miles.’
‘After tomorro’ den, we’ll be husban’ an’ wife,’ she said, looking up at him. When she tilted her head back and kissed Michael’s lips tenderly, impure thoughts raced through his mind and coursed through his body.
>
When he’d finished the chain which he’d been constructing links for, he put it aside and set to work making the ring which he would place on his bride’s finger tomorrow. He would cast it from the same tin he used to mend pots. He had a few silver coins, but he didn’t dare use those because they would need them when they made their escape from the valley of Ballyshee. While he worked, he reflected upon Morna’s concept of sin, which was the same one most Irish people had. The concept of happiness had been distorted by dried-up old priests who had never truly experienced it, and whose vision of it pertained only to spiritual matters. What good was spiritual happiness when each day was a drudge to the common people? Where was the good in dangling a faint hope of eternal bliss in front of an oppressed people, at the same time destroying any chance of joy for them? In Michael’s mind, the most grievous sin was to use guilt to manipulate an ignorant populace, and he was sure that Jesus must be as appalled as he was. He felt himself becoming angry and tried to shake off the train of thought. There was work to be done, and this work was something he would put his whole heart into, the ring which would bind he and Moira together for eternity.
He gouged a circular ring into a piece of old wood, about a quarter of an inch deep, and a quarter of an inch wide. He left the inside diameter at what he estimated would be a little smaller than her finger. He dampened the board, then set about melting an ounce of tin in a small iron crucible on the forge. As soon as it was molten, he poured the metal into his mould and the wood sizzled and scorched. Within a few minutes, it had cooled enough to remove the rough blank, and he started to shape it. He placed the ring onto a ream, a tapered piece of iron which he used to enlarge holes. He tapped it with a hammer until the ring was perfectly round, then thinned it out until it was, at most, an eighth of an inch thick and three eighths of an inch wide. Mikey ground it to as fine a polish as he could on a sharpening stone and, in less than an hour, he had made the ring which Morna was never to remove from her finger.
Safe Home (The Tipperary Trilogy) Page 9