Safe Home (The Tipperary Trilogy)

by William Patterson

  *

  Robert and Ned didn’t get the early start they’d planned. The horses had needed the extra rest and so had the men. The incident from the night before had clearly shaken the young man; the sheriff tried to block it from his mind. Even for someone like him, who had grown accustomed to violence, blowing a man’s brains out from just two feet away had a sobering effect. For the deputy, it was worse. He had killed one man in an instant, and left another mortally wounded, leaking his life’s blood out onto a lonely dirt road.

  ‘Oy can’t help t’inkin’ we shoulda helped dat poor sod in d’ rawd.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have given you the same consideration, Ned, and we couldn’t wait to see if there was a nest of vipers in earshot. We announced our presence and our mission comes first.’

  ‘Agh, I know sure, but it still bothers me.’

  ‘Good, I’m glad it bothers you, and I hope that every time you have to use a weapon on a man, you react in the same way. It isn’t a trivial thing to end a man’s life, but it’s better for you to have your regrets than to be feeding jackdaws and wild pigs with your own arse.’

  Ned shuddered at the thought of the man’s body, or indeed his own, being eaten by wild creatures.

  ‘Oy don’ wanna t’ink aboot dat,’ he said.

  ‘He’s beyond feeling any pain now, Ned, except for the hellfire that he deserves,’ said Robert, thinking about the close call he’d had. If they had arrived at the scene an hour earlier, the gunman’s powder would likely have been dry enough to fire the weapon, and he himself might be lying there on the road, feeding wild boar. Life is full of near misses, he thought, and he’d had more than his fair share of them already. He shook himself from his dark thoughts and began to get the horses ready for the ride into Killarney.

  Ned was silent for much of the journey but finally, in an attempt to assuage the boy’s conscience, Robert spoke.

  ‘I do know how you feel, Ned. I still remember the face of the first man I sent to perdition, years before you were born.’ He had Ned’s attention now. ‘It was my first combat. The battle was lost and most of our own officers had ridden off to save their own skins. A retreat wasn’t drummed so it was disorganised … just small clusters of men fighting for their lives. I had no powder or lead, so I threw the musket away. A young English lad with curly blonde hair and blue eyes confronted me with a bayonetted musket, and he lunged it out to stick me in the middle. His teeth were gritted and he had blood splattered all over him. The ground was slippery and he fell on his face, so I sat on his back and held his head down in the mud until he stopped moving. I grabbed his weapon and ran off. I found out afterwards that he’d still had powder and ball in the gun and that, if he’d pulled the trigger, I would have been lying there instead of him. He was probably as shit-scared as I was.’

  ‘Oy can’t imagine you ever bein’ scared, sar.’

  ‘I’m always afraid, man. I might be old, but I’m not ready to die yet. I’ve learnt, over the years, to wear a brave face … but shit, even last night, after we escaped, my heart was pounding so hard I thought you’d hear it over the hoof beats. My hands were shaking so hard that I had to wait until we were down the road from those bandits before I could reload my pistol.’

  ‘T’anks, sar, Oy’m feelin’ a liddle bedder now.’

  ‘Good man, now shutcher gob and let’s go and see Killarney. They say it’s the most beautiful place in Ireland.’

  It was mid-afternoon when the two men rode into Killarney. Although Robert hadn’t know exactly what to expect, he couldn’t help being a little disappointed. There were only a few streets and even those were narrow and muddy. Vendors, with their carts, lined the road and a few people hurried about. Robert and Ned’s uniforms were conspicuous because everyone else was grubby and dressed in rags. As they advanced though the town, the two men attracted attention, far more than Robert was comfortable with. He spotted a livery directly across the street from an inn and he turned in, Ned followed. They dismounted and a filthy young fellow took the horses and began to lead them back to stalls.

  ‘I want them fed and watered,’ instructed Robert, ‘and I’ll pay extra for some oats.’

  The ragamuffin laughed derisively. ‘Oooh, his majesty wants oots fer d’ animals,’ he snorted. ‘Ain’t we fancy.’

  Robert glanced at Ned. ‘Well, Ned, what do we think of this Kerryman?’ That’s all it took. Ned took off one of his leather gloves and began to give the insolent youth a shellacking with it. After seven or eight swipes with the glove, he drew back his fist and Robert intervened.

  ‘That’s enough, boyo. I think he’s learned to curb his tongue, with us at least.’

  Ned glared at the youth. ‘Oy’ll be back later t’ check on me harses… an’ dey bedder be smiling, ya gobshite.’

  The men took their weapons and made their way across the street to the inn to secure two rooms for the night. ‘I hope d’ Kerry bedbugs don’ have a taste fer Carkmen,’ said Ned.

  ‘Just don’t start anything here, Ned, we want to leave early tomorrow morning.’ A rough-looking, one-eyed fellow had been sitting at the bar, and now he turned towards them.

  ‘Whar will ye be headin’?’ he asked.

  ‘Macroom,’ said Robert immediately.

  ‘Agh, dat’s ‘n Cairk,’ and he spat on the floor. Ned took a step forwards but Robert grabbed his arm.

  ‘Easy, boyo.’

  The rough codger at the bar looked Ned over, as if sizing him up, then grinned, showing a row of brown teeth. ‘Dat boy ye lathered in d’ liv’ry’s got t’ree brudders, so Oy’d hold me hand on me arse if Oy wuz you, Carkman.’ Robert kept the restraint on Ned, whose face was flushing crimson. The old fellow was satisfied that he’d had his fun but thought he’d said enough, so he left and hurried down the street.

  Word travels fast in a town as small as Killarney and, shortly afterwards, a smartly-dressed young deputy came into the bar and saluted the two men.

  ‘Sheriff Higgins is expecting you in Kenmare,’ he said. ‘He sent me here to escort you.’

  ‘You from Kerry?’ growled Ned.

  ‘No, sir, I’m from Kilkenny,’ replied the deputy.

  Ned rolled his eyes towards heaven. ‘Agh, dat’s almost ‘s bad,’ he said, and went to get himself a beer.

  *

  CHAPTER 16

  The three uniformed men sat together in the bar having supper and a beer. The sheriff and the young deputy from Kilkenny discussed the route they would take in the morning and Ned listened in silence. When their business was done, Robert turned to him, the beer having loosened his tongue and put him in a jovial mood.

  ‘So Ned, is it true that Cork people hate folk from Kerry?

  The hint of a smile played around Flood’s face as he thought up an answer. ‘Nah. Carkmen an’ Kerrymen are like brudders ...’ There was a long pause as Ned took another swallow of ale, ‘…ef ya can’t stand yer brudder.’ They all shared a laugh.

  ‘What about Kilkenny?’ enquired the deputy.

  ‘Yer d’ farst man fr’m Kilkenny Oy aver met, so Oy’ll resarve me opinion ‘til Oy got one.’

  ‘I thought you had an opinion about everything, Ned,’ said the sheriff.

  ‘Oy do,’ said Ned, ‘an’ sometimes, Oy might ev’n be right.’

  The three lawmen shared a few stories and a few laughs, until the subject came around to the incident with the highwaymen on the road. Robert told his side of the story dispassionately and, when he had finished, the young deputy looked enquiringly at Ned for his version. Ned’s expression was serious now.

  ‘Oy’d like t’ tell ya a good story, boot d’ truth is, all Oy saw wuz dat big gun pintin’ at me noggin an’ Oy almos’ shit me britches. Oy sart’o heard the sheriff’s gun go off an’ Oy only r’member pintin’ me own gun at d’ udder villains, an’ closin’ me oyes, an’ poolin’ d’ trigger. When d’ smoke cleared, dey wuz on d’ ground.’

  The mood had become sober, even if the men had not. Just then, three
hefty young men, dressed in ragged clothing, strode into the bar and one thing was clear. They were spoiling for a fight.

  The largest of the three spoke. ‘We haird dat a feckin’ Cairkm’n plast’red ‘r baby brudder ‘cross d’ street,’ he said. ‘an’ we’re here t’ square t’ings up.’ Ned stood up and assessed the three of them. He calculated that he could easily take care of the two smaller ones, but the big one who did the talking was a different matter.

  Robert was trying to avoid any trouble so, before Ned could open his fat mouth and start a donnybrook, he said, ‘I apologise for the incident and, to show my sincerity, I’d like to buy you gentleman a bucket of beer for you to take over to your wounded brother and share between you.’

  The three brutes formed a small circle and held a conference. They quickly decided that, even though a fight would be great craic, a bucket of ale would be even better. When they broke the scrum, the biggest one spoke again.

  ‘We accep’ yer offerin’, and we t’ank ya, … an’ if ya t’row in a few spuds, we’ll go back an’ finish d’ job ye stairted across d’ street.’

  Robert held up his hand. ‘There’s no need for any further mischief,’ he said, ‘just take your brew over the road and enjoy it.’ He ordered up the beer and the three brothers took their spoils back across the street to their brother. In no time at all, they could be heard brawling amongst themselves.

  ‘Oy coulda tak’n dem,’ said Ned sullenly.

  ‘I have no doubt that you could, Ned,’ replied Robert. He was anxious for them to get an early start in the morning and, no matter how early they set off, he doubted they would reach Kenmare in a single day. The highest mountains in Ireland stood in their path, Macgillycuddy’s Reeks.

  ‘One t’ing Oy wanna ask, sar,’ said Ned. ‘Whoy did ya tell dat oogly bastard we was headin’ t’ Macroom?’ Robert put down his empty tankard, stood up and smiled.

  ‘Good night, Ned,’ he said. ‘When you’ve slept on it, you’ll work it out.’

  *

  Mikey had slept fitfully and was up long before dawn. He had to admit to himself that he was more than a little nervous. Up until now he’d had two options. He could relinquish his status as a novice priest and take his final vows, that’s if he could find a bishop to perform them, or he could continue his career as a blacksmith. In just a few hours he would choose the path that he would take for the rest of his life. He closed his eyes and imagined how it would feel to lie next to the girl he loved, and he knew he was taking the only course that was right for him.

  He packed a morsel or two of food, along with a small iron pot, inside a thin blanket and he stuffed it into the sack he always carried to Macroom. The iron pot was heavy and he decided he would buy a small copper one from the tinker, who was due to visit Ballyshee in a week or so. That way, when he and Morna travelled up to Tipperary, with less weight, they’d be able to carry more supplies. Now that he knew it was imminent, he was looking forward to seeing his mam and da, and showing off his new bride to everyone in Gortalocca. He had left there as a boy, to become a priest, and now he’d be returning as a family man. He liked the sound of that and he was certain it would please his parents.

  When the time came, Jimmy and Caroline O’Malley accompanied their daughter to the forge. Morna was their only surviving child and, since this was to be her wedding day, they would travel along with her to Gougane Barra. They, too, carried bedrolls. Even though the round-trip was little more than ten miles, there were three steep mountain ridges to cross, with precipitous valleys between each, so they had prepared themselves to spend the night there. Michael had no doubt about his own ability, nor that of Morna and her father, but he harboured reservations as to whether Morna’s mother, Caroline, was capable of the journey. He did know of a flatter but longer route, a little path which had been made by pilgrims over the centuries and connected the Bantry to Macroom road to the holy site of St. Finbarr, but that would mean them travelling on the busy thoroughfare. If they took that route, the round-trip would be over thirty miles, most of it on well-patrolled road, and that would be far too dangerous for a pretty young thing like Morna. Michael thought that the trip they were about to take would be good practice for the longer odyssey which he and his new bride were soon to make through the high country.

  He had made this hike numerous times, to say Mass at the site of St. Finbarr. Morna and her family had travelled it too, when the old curate who lived like a hermit there, had said Mass. He had been captured by priest-hunters long ago, and turned over to the authorities for a bounty. He had never been seen or heard from again. As far as Mikey knew, he himself had been the only priest to practice the ritual in the area for several years. Now, he would be making the journey as a simple blacksmith.

  The wedding party of four set out, crossing the little stream at the back of the forge, then beginning the climb out of the valley of Ballyshee. From afar, the hills didn’t look much. They didn’t seem overly high or too steep but, once the hike was underway and the mountains grew closer, the reality of their menacing elevations loomed only too clearly. Morna’s mother had already begun to limp and, although she did her best to keep up with the small party, the rugged terrain was proving too much for her.

  ‘Lean on me, woman, take me hand an’ Oy’ll help ya along,’ said Jimmy, but it was no use. The path they had to negotiate was too strenuous for her.

  ‘You go, Jimmy,’ she said, ‘Oy can’t make it. I have a fierce pain in me hip an’ it’s gettin’ warse.’

  The young couple had walked on ahead and now they stood and turned, waiting for the girl’s parents to catch up. They could see that Jimmy’s face was sombre.

  ‘Caroline can’t make ‘t,’ he shouted ruefully, ‘an’ Oy won’ leave ‘er, so you two g’wan an’ Oy’ll take the woman back t’ d’ house.’ Michael and Morna climbed down to where her parents stood with pained looks on their faces. Jimmy kissed his daughter on the cheek.

  ‘We loove ya garl,’ he said. Then, to Mikey’s surprise, Jimmy moved over to him and kissed his forehead. ‘An’ you too, son.’

  Tears of sorrow and nostalgia rolled down Caroline O’Malley’s cheeks as she watched her daughter leave. Her little girl would return a woman tomorrow but, from now on, she belonged to someone else.

  Mikey and Morna came to the first ridge in no time and, as they walked downhill into a wooded valley, the coarse grass, heather and gorse soon gave way to a forest, so dense, that they could barely see the sky. When they forded a small stream at the bottom and began to walk back uphill, the sky opened up to them again. They could feel the muscles in their thighs start to bite now but they kept going. They would stop as soon as they crested the next peak for a bite to eat, then, without lingering, they would forge onwards.

  The last ridge wasn’t as high as the others and, from it, they could see the same beautiful lake St. Finbarr had seen centuries before, when he’d made this the site of his hermitage. The sun sparkled on the pristine water and, the closer they got, the more they sensed the sanctity of this isolated place. Mikey wished there was a priest here. Then he could confess his sin of deceiving the girl and they could have the wedding she deserved. The burden of guilt lay heavily upon him, but he was first to break the silence.

  ‘I’ve seen a cathedral, Morna, but this place is even more beautiful and seems even more sacred.’ He took Morna’s hand and squeezed it.

  ‘Do ya t’ink heav’n ‘s like dis, Michael?’ she whispered.

  Mikey whispered back, as if they were in a sanctuary, ‘I think heaven is even better.’

  She smiled up at him and it was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. ‘Even if it ain’t,’ she said, ‘Oy’d still be happy.’

  They walked down to the shores of the lake, to the place where the Mass Rock stood. Without hesitation, Mikey reached into the little pouch he wore on his woven belt and produced the tin ring he had made. He took Morna’s left hand in his and slipped the ring on her fourth finger, it fit perfectly.
/>   ‘I will be your husband forever and ever,’ he said quietly.

  ‘And Oy’ll be yer woife ferever an’ ever.’

  Mikey closed his eyes and kissed her soft mouth, his lips lingering on hers for a long time. When he pulled gently away, they gazed into each other’s eyes. Her look made him feel like the most handsome man who had ever lived and she felt like the most adored woman in the world. And so the wedding ceremony was over … no priest and no witnesses, other than God Himself and the souls of all who had visited this holy place.

  The two newlyweds sat hand-in-hand in comfortable silence on the shores of the Lough, and they watched as the shadows fell over the mountains which loomed over them. There was no need for words, they just basked in each other’s company and dreamed of how their lives would be. Each was lost in their own thoughts, never imagining for a moment that they shared the same dream.

  Morna was the first to speak. She turned and looked directly at Mikey, her limpid green eyes full of love, and lust, for her husband.

  ‘Michael … have ya any … ya know, experience?’

  Mikey did know, his thoughts had been along the same vein. He cleared his throat. ‘I … I was almost a feckin’ priest sure. What experience could I have?’

  ‘Well, ditn’cha see yer parents do anyt’ing?’

  ‘My da had built a bedroom on the house before I was born, so I never got to see … anything.’

  Morna beamed, ‘Well Oy did,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Oy grew up in a one-roomed cottage, an’ Oy peeked when me mam an’ da … ya know.’