‘Turn out the garrison!’ he barked. ‘Guard every bridge and crossroads between here and Millstreet.’ The lieutenant was confused, all this seemed like a lot of trouble to catch a couple of rebels. Cork and Kerry were full of them.
‘We haven’t got enough men, sir. You sent a detachment down to Beara last night, along with two of the jaegers.’ His scheme had backfired on him and now he was up to his neck in hot water.
‘Get two of the Germans to push them and get two out ahead of them to cut them off.’ Maybe if he pushed hard enough they would make a mistake and then … no harm done to him. He was also trying to work out a way of somehow shifting the blame onto the lieutenant. He had never met D’Arcy or his deputy but he hated them both with a vengeance for this. Percival called for his man servant and ordered him to pour him a drink. Jacob was surprised. This was the first time his master had begun the day with a shot of whiskey. It wouldn’t be the last.
*
The tinker’s wagon pulled into Ballyshee about mid-morning and Michael was there to meet it. He was surprised to find that it wasn’t the usual old tinker, but rather some new fellow with what sounded like a Scottish accent. Michael wasn’t comfortable with the fellow’s story about being the old man’s nephew, but he needed his copper pan. The new fellow took an inordinate interest in Michael’s accent too and asked questions which made the blacksmith feel as if he was being examined. He asked the price for the pot and the man looked perplexed. This was the first sale he’d made in several days and he hadn’t got a clue how to price the utensil.
‘Two shillin’s,’ he said.
Michael frowned. He knew well that a pot of this size shouldn’t cost more than a penny or two and he said as much. The spy wanted to get out of there as fast as he could, so he could make his report, so he sold the pan for a penny and immediately turned the donkey around, leaving the valley behind him and heading back toward Ballingeary. His captain would have his report by evening.
*
The Prussian hunters, in hot pursuit, each took an extra mount. They would ride the first horse to exhaustion and then exchange it for a fresh one. They estimated that they could get to Knockboy in two hours. They were only guessing about the destination of the escapees but they had the tracks and their plan was to get in front and wait for their prey to come to them.
Robert and his young companion had begun the climb up the steep slopes of the Sheehy Mountains, which guarded the Lough of St. Finbarr. As they crested a ridge, the younger man turned to check his backtrack.
‘Oy t’ink we got company,’ he told Robert. The sheriff’s eyes weren’t as sharp as Ned’s, so he pulled the small brass telescope from his bag and pointed it in the direction the deputy had indicated.
He snapped it shut. ‘Those are jaegers and if they catch up with us, we’re going to be in the shit.’
‘Who d’ feck aire dese Yay-gers anyway?’
Robert didn’t stop to reply, but he spoke as they spurred the Hobbies on. ‘They’re Prussian professional hunters and we have to find a way of slowing them down, otherwise we’re going to get caught in an hour or so.’
The trail narrowed to a path as they got nearer to Gougane Barra and now it was only one horse wide, so they rode in single file.
‘You go on ahead, Ned. I’ll catch you up in a minute or two.’ Robert dismounted, took the sack containing the caltrops, and spread them over the path for three or four yards. The little pieces of sharpened iron would lame a horse if stepped on. This ought to slow you bastards down, he thought, see if you can keep up on foot. He remounted and caught up to Ned.
‘I’m hoping we just gained some extra time,’ he said. ‘When we get to the lake, we’ll rest the animals for ten minutes and you can look for your treasure. But ten minutes and no more, do you understand?’
The Prussians had spotted their quarry ahead of them and had spurred their horses into a reckless gallop, hoping to overtake the rebels before they crossed the mountains. Twenty minutes later, they blundered headlong into Robert’s trap. Both horses were lamed and would be useless.
Robert was concerned that he’d seen only two of the hunters and he was concerned as to where the other four were. He was unaware that two had been sent to chase a wild goose down on the Beara.
*
CHAPTER 25
Michael hurried back to the forge, where Morna had preparations underway for their flight to Gortalocca.
‘We have to leave at first light tomorrow,’ he told her, with a tone of urgency.
The girl looked perplexed. ‘So soon?’
‘Yes, now go and say your goodbyes to your parents. I’ll finish up here and meet you at their house. I don’t think that tinker was all he appeared and, the more I think about it, the more I think we should be worried about him. Morna sensed her husband’s concern and she left without questioning him any further. Michael gathered up the gammon which had been drying over the forge and checked the baskets for their contents. He slipped a carving knife, along with extra flints and kindling, into a piece of leather, wrapped it tightly and packed it. No matter how many times went gone over the preparations in his mind, there was always something else he would think of.
*
Robert and Ned arrived at the island of St. Finbarr just before noon. Robert held the horses and allowed them to drink.
‘Go and find your treasure, boyo, you have ten minutes.’ The deputy waded the few yards to the island through the shallow, icy water and disappeared into the cloisters. After only a few minutes, Robert heard him whoop with joy and he came bounding back across the water, holding up a small cloth sack.
‘Oy’m a rich man!’ he shouted delightedly. ‘Oy’m goin’ t’ Mary Land!’
Robert suppressed a smile. ‘We have to complete our mission first, boyo. We should have at least five hours on the Prussians now. How long do you think before we get to Ballyshee?’
Ned looked at the sun and scratched his head. ‘Oy’d say we’re aboot foive moiles away. We c’n do it on d’ Hobbies ‘n less den two hours.’
The sheriff had to control his own excitement now. ‘The horses need more rest,’ he told Ned. ‘We’ll let them graze awhile and we’ll leave in half an hour. That should get us there about mid-afternoon.’ Ned sat on the ground and counted his money as Robert hobbled the horses.
*
The trooper from Derry, still in his tinker’s disguise, cursed the donkey for being so slow. At this rate it would be almost dark by the time he reached Ballingeary, and at least another hour and a half before he could give his report to the captain. If he’d wanted to, he could easily have pulled the big pistol he carried for protection and arrested, or even shot, the blacksmith. But those hadn’t been his orders. He’d been instructed to gather intelligence and report to his superior if he discovered anything out of the ordinary which might lead to the priest’s capture. He knew that, if he deviated from his orders, he would be punished. Pussy Grey didn’t suffer creativity amongst his subordinates.
*
In a Glengarriff office, a uniformed man paced back and forth. Occasionally, he stopped to look out of the window but he was lost in thought and his eyes saw nothing. He was surrounded by incompetents ... or perhaps they weren’t incompetent, but just conspiring against him. He wished he had kept the note from Wentworth. Maybe there was something in it that could have given him a clue as to D’Arcy’s intentions. Maybe he’d been sent by the crown to spy on him. Maybe some bastard in London had evil intentions against him … maybe even his own brother. Percival Grey needed something to keep his mind occupied. He shouted for his adjutant.
‘Get me the sergeant of the guard and bring me the guard on duty. We’ll convene a court-martial as soon as the guilty parties are here.’
The hapless guard could muster no defense against Percy’s onslaught. The charges were desertion of his post and dereliction of duty, both of which were capital offenses. Since the passage of the ‘Bloody Laws’ by Parliament, any offense, whether civili
an or military, could be punishable by death. The only options were available to the magistrate, and those were how the punishment could be carried out … by noose, firing squad or the axe. In a matter of moments, the trial was over, and the unfortunate man was sentenced. Percival Grey believed that shooting was too honorable a death so he ordered that the man be hanged before sundown, a traitor’s death. The three men left the office, the condemned man sobbing as he was led away. Percival Grey sat at his desk and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. He felt better now that the blame had been placed on someone who would never get the chance to protest. He poured himself a glass of claret and thought about what he would do to that contemptible sheriff once he’d caught him.
*
Ned and Robert pushed their mounts hard as they rode out of Gougane, taking a path which led near to the turnoff towards Lackabaun and Ballyshee. The horses would be able to rest and graze overnight once they had reached their destination. The ground flew by beneath them and, within an hour, they had reached the road to Ballyshee Valley. Only now did they slow their animals to a trot. Ballyshee was a township, rather than a village, in that it had no central area. One-roomed cottages were dotted, seemingly haphazardly, here and there on the valley floor and up the slopes of the mountains which surrounded it. The nearest shop and bar were in Lackabaun.
The two riders followed the stream which ran along the bottom of the valley, and soon they came to the forge which stood alongside it. They dismounted and went in. The furnace was cold and there was nobody about. A moment of panic washed over Robert and he wondered if they were already too late. Two baskets sat, packed, as if waiting for their owners to go on a voyage.
While Robert pondered, Ned went into action. He walked to the nearest cottage, where a portly, middle-aged woman was hanging her washing out to dry.
‘Beggin’ yer pairdon, missus,’ he said, drawing out his Cork accent, ‘me harse t’rew a shoe wh’n we w’s roonin’ away fr’m d’ law, an’ Oy need a blacksmit’ fast.’
The woman was happy to oblige, anyone on the run from the lawmen was a friend to the common folk, and she directed him to the O’Malley cottage. Ned sprinted back to the blacksmith shop.
‘Ya bedder go yerself, sar, Oy don’ know who yer man is, an’ I dawn’t wanna scare’ im off.’ Robert mounted his horse and rode the short distance to the O’Malley cottage. The upper half of the door was open and the inside was dim.
‘Michael,’ he called out. ‘Michael Flynn. Are you in there?’
Jimmy O’Malley came to the door. ‘Ain’ no Michael Flynn in dis house, stranger.’ Robert saw daylight flash into the cottage’s interior as a back door was opened, and he heard the scuffle of feet running. Feck, he thought, now I have to run the eejit down. He wheeled his Hobby expertly around to the back of the house, where two figures were running away from the cottage, a man and a slightly built woman. The man held her by the hand and was half dragging and half leading her, as she stumbled alongside him. Within seconds, the rider had pulled in front of them and dismounted but, before he could say a word, the young fellow shouted.
‘She doesn’t know anything, leave her be!’ Michael blurted out breathlessly, standing in front of Morna, and throwing his hands up in submission. Robert held his own hands out, palms up, in a gesture of non-violence.
‘What have I always told you, Mikey Flynn? You never, ever, under any circumstances surrender.’ The words were familiar to Michael, but the unshaven, grizzled old man who said them was not.
Robert wasn’t one to mince words. ‘Your mother sent me,’ he said, tersely. ‘Your father’s dead.’ The blood drained from Michael’s face as he recognised the man who stood before him and took in what he had said. His mind fogged and his stomach turned inside out.
‘Mam said you were a bastard and now I know what she meant.’ It hadn’t made the young man feel any better to lash out and he immediately felt guilty. Robert regarded Mikey pityingly. There had been times when he, too, had reacted the same way to a grievous hurt.
‘I don’t have time to explain everything now, Michael. The hunters are closing in. They’ll be here in a day or so. We have to be long gone by then but my horses need rest and pasture. We’ll leave before it gets light tomorrow morning.’ With that, the sheriff turned and walked his horse back towards the forge. He looked over his shoulder and saw the girl trying to console the youth.
When Robert arrived back, Ned was happily conversing with a tall blond-haired girl. He thought about Roisin, as she had looked many years before, when she was just a young woman.
‘Dis is Mary Galvin,’ Ned called to him, grinning. ‘She t’inks we’re highwaymen, an’ she wants t’ go t’ Mary Land wit’ me.’ Robert shook his head, Ned hadn’t wasted much time. Now, all they needed to do was get themselves out of the valley before the Prussians could make a report.
‘I’ll take care of the horses, Ned, you go and enjoy your youth.’
Robert led the horses behind the forge to the stream, where he let the animals drink their fill before hobbling the creatures and turning them out to graze. He watched them and didn’t allow a thought to come into his head, enjoying the valley for this brief moment of peace and tranquility.
‘I’m sorry, Uncle Robert.’ Michael had walked up behind him. ‘I don’t know why I said that.’
‘Agh, no bother, boyo, I understand. You and your da were close, I know. I shouldn’t have just blurted it out like that, but you know the way I am. I grieve for your da too but my way is the same as his was, I lose myself in work and try to put the feelings away.’
‘You’re right,’ said Mikey. ‘I remember when my sister died, my da worked from morning to night, for weeks on end. Mam was afraid he’d die too, she thought he’d work himself to death.’
Robert nodded. ‘When your mother asked me to find you and bring you home, that’s all I thought about. It’s kept me from thinking about Liam. But when I get you home, then I’ll have time and then, no doubt, I’ll be as angry and as sorrowful as you are now but, until then, I made a promise to your mam and I shall keep it.’
‘How is she?’
‘She’s destroyed, Mikey. That’s why I have to get you back to her. Seeing you is the only thing she has to look forward to.’
Michael managed a smile. He motioned over to where Morna was talking with Ned and Mary. ‘I wonder what she’ll think of my bride,’ he said.
‘Your bride?’ said Robert, aghast, ‘I thought you were a …’
Mikey shook his head, ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m a backsmith. I put the priest’s life behind me. I just want to hammer metal like my grandfather did.’
‘My father,’ said Robert. ‘That was all I wanted until I went off to war, but that’s all behind me too.’
Michael voiced a thought. ‘Perhaps when we get back to Gortalocca …’
‘Too late for me, boyo.’ Robert was dismissive. ‘Now go and talk to the other young uns and leave me to watch the horses.’
*
Long after nightfall, a rider galloped into Glengarriff on a lathered and gasping horse. He dropped the reins and bounded into the office of the commanding officer. Percival Grey was still at his desk, drinking whiskey. He stood up, outraged at the intrusion but, before he could speak, the young trooper announced,
‘I found him! I think I found him!’
Percy hoped he meant that he’d found D’Arcy. ‘Where?’
‘I found the priest in Ballyshee!’
Percy threw his glass of whiskey at the trooper. ‘I don’t give a shit about the feckin’ priest.’
‘He’s the blacksmith … and he has the Tipperary accent,’ said the man, ignoring the captain’s outburst.
‘What did you say?’
‘He’s the blacksmith!’
‘No, the other part, you idiot.’
‘He has the Tipperary accent!’
Percival Grey sat back down and rubbed his hands together. So that was it. The notorious man-hunting sheriff from Nenagh had seemingl
y got some reliable information from somewhere about a priest, and the bastard had come all the way down to Cork to arrest him, on Grey’s territory. He should be treated like any other bloody poacher.
‘Call in my adjutant,’ he ordered. ‘I’m going to put together a plan that’ll catch all the fish in one net.’
*
CHAPTER 26
Percy was sitting at his desk with maps strewn all around him when the adjutant entered his office. An aide had roused the young lieutenant from a sound sleep with news that he had to report immediately to the captain’s office, so he was still buttoning up his uniform as he entered. He stood to attention with his hand to his forehead as Percy went on shuffling from map to map.
‘You’re out of uniform, you slovenly pig,’ growled the captain, who was wearing a dressing gown. ‘Ah! I have the bastards,’ he said, stabbing a letter opener into a map on his desk.
‘Am I correct in assuming you mean the two escaped prisoners, sir?’
‘No, you idiot, you are not correct! We are hunting for three rebels, including that bloody priest.’ This was the first the young officer had heard about any third quarry and he had no idea who Percival was talking about. Experience, however, told him it was best to keep that to himself.
‘Muster the troops,’ ordered the captain. ‘The bastards will either head north to Tipperary or west to Kenmare and I want every river crossing, bridge and crossroads covered.’
The adjutant looked over the captain’s shoulder at the map. ‘We haven’t got the manpower, sir. You sent a third of the company down to the Beara, along with two of your trackers.’
Safe Home (The Tipperary Trilogy) Page 16