Percy regarded his subordinate with loathing. ‘I don’t know why you sent them down there in the first place,’ he snarled, through closed teeth. ‘Now you have to rectify your mistake. Send a rider down there and bring them back.’ Percy was already making a mental note to amend his log, making the lieutenant responsible.
‘We’ll cast a net from Macroom to Poulgorm Bridge and have the Prussians drive them into it,’ he announced proudly.
The young lieutenant shook his head. ‘But sir, that would leave gaps wide enough for them to herd a flock of sheep through without our knowledge.’
Percy was loathe to admit that his subordinate was right. ‘Alright,’ he said, with more than a hint of sarcasm ‘if you’re such a military genius, what’s your plan?’
The lieutenant studied the map for a moment. ‘We can deploy the men closer together, in an arc, from Inchee Bridge to cut off the west, to Turnapidogy, cutting off the east. We have enough troops to guard the crossroads at Coolea and Derryfineen, closing the gap north. We can use the jaegers to drive them in and we can set up headquarters at Ballingeary, so we’ll be closer to the action.’
The plan did seem to be an excellent one and, if it was successful, Percy would make sure he got the credit for it. If it failed, he would lay the blame firmly at the feet of the Sandhurst graduate.
‘How many men have we got available?’ asked the commander.
‘We can provision the men and have thirty light horse, along with the two jaegers, in a few hours, sir. At dawn, we can deploy thirty more foot, but they’ll take the best part of a day and a half to reach the rendezvous point.’
Percy was ready to throw another one of his tantrums. ‘Have them leave, now, damn you! Bugger the provisions, they can get what they need from the Irish!’
*
When darkness came, Robert walked back to the forge and seated himself away from the two young couples, who were engaged in animated conversation. He was amused to see how completely captivated his young cohort seemed to be by Mary Galvin and he thought back to how his brother’s heart had been stolen by another golden-haired Irish lass, all those years before. Liam had often told him that, for him, it had been love at first sight but that it had taken a while before he’d managed to get Roisin to fall for him. Robert shook the thoughts from his head, this was no time for sentimentality. He motioned for Ned to come over to him, so they could talk in private. Ned had some information for the sheriff.
‘R’member auld Fergus tol’ us dat he ditn’t know whoy ‘e got ‘imself arrested?’ Robert nodded. ‘Well, dere was a tinker here dis marnin’, an’ ‘e spoke wit’ a foreign accent. D’ya t’ink it was one o’ d’ troopers?’
Robert inhaled deeply. This meant that Percival Grey knew where they were now, and that meant he would cover all the escape routes as soon as he could deploy his troops. The Prussians would drive them into a trap.
‘Do you think Mikey would leave the girl behind?’
‘Not a chance, sar, she’s a’ready talkin’ aboot d’ curtains she’ll hang an’ d’ babies dey’ll have.’
‘What about you, Ned?’
‘If y’ mean Mary,’ Ned said with a grin, ‘sure, she’s waited sixteen years fer me t’ show up, she c’n wait a coople o’ more weeks.’
Robert wasn’t as concerned about the troopers as he was about the Prussians. He and Ned had managed to outdistance the two who’d been following them, but there were still four he couldn’t account for.
‘It would have been harder for us to break out of gaol than to avoid the English pickets, but now that we’ve got the girl with us, and those feckin’ jaegers on our tails …’
Ned interrupted him, he had a plan. ‘Ya c’n take Michael an’ Morna, an’ d’ harses, an’ light outta here t’rough d’ mountains, jus’ like y’ planned.’
It occurred to Robert that it was the first time he’d heard Mikey’s bride’s name. ‘And what about you Ned? I don’t like the idea of us splitting ourselves up, just in case there’s another fight. Michael wouldn’t be worth a shit in a scrap.’
‘Ya ain’ use t’ bein’ d’ hunted, sar,’ Ned told him. ‘Yer t’inkin’ loike one o’ dem Proosians. Ye go before dawn, jus’ loike y’ planned, an’ Oy’ll stay b’hoind. Oy’ll let dem sausage-eaters getta good look at me, an den Oy’ll take’m back intuh me awn country. D’ only arse dey’ll see den is deir own arses when Oy run ‘em aroun’ in sarcles. Oy’ll give ye a few days headstairt, an’ den Oy’ll lead ’em down into d’ Beara an’ lose ‘em.’
‘And what makes you think you can get them to follow you?’
Ned smiled a devilish grin. ‘Oy’ll be wearin’ Moichael’s priest clothes. Dey’ll t’ink dat wharever d’ priest is, dat’s whar dey c’n foind us all. If y’ c’n gimme d’ little gun, Oy’ll make a racket dey can’t ignore.’
‘Where will you go on the Beara to lay low? It surely won’t be safe unless the jaegers or Grey give up, and that’s not going to happen.’
‘Oy gotta place ‘n moind. Joe’s prob’ly already dere now, drinkin’ yer purse droy. Dere’s a liddle fishing village called Bunaw, where d’ fishermen is only fishermen in d’ daytoime, cuz at noight dey smoogle goods in t’ avoid d’ taxman. Dere’s no place bedder fer a pirate den in a nest o’ pirates.’
Ned’s plan seemed so half-baked that Robert couldn’t help feeling doubtful about it, but their situation had changed quickly and he couldn’t think of an alternative.
‘I think your plan stinks. Why don’t I take the robes and lead the hunters away?’
‘Beggin yer pairdon, sar,’ Ned scoffed, ‘but yer so feckin auld dat dey’d run ya down in a day an’ den Oy’d be stuck tryin’ t’ get yer nephew back t’ Tipp. You asked me t’ trust ya when we stairted dis adventure, an’ now you have t’ trust me.’
Robert conceded that there was truth in that but he made a vow that, as soon as he got the young couple safely on a stagecoach to Nenagh, he would go back for Ned. Money, he thought, I have no money left. Joe had appropriated the purse he’d brought on the trip, as payment for his part in the gaol-break.
‘Ned, I need to borrow some of your money from you so I can pay for the stage fare.’
‘Ah shite, sar, y’ c’n take d’ whole t’ing. Oy’ll keep a few shillin’s fer meself an’ y’ c’n keep hold o’ d’ rest fer me … fer when me and me woife go t’ Mary Land.’
‘You’re going to marry the girl?’
Ned laughed out loud. ‘Ya bet yer arse Oy am, sar. Oy’m in love sure.’ Robert had to laugh too. It was the first time he’d had anything to laugh about since they were trapped in Percival Grey’s murder hole.
‘You work fast, Ned, I’ll grant you that.’
‘A man on a mission can’t be wastin’ no toime, sar!’
What Ned didn’t know was that his poor cousin, Joe, hadn’t taken any provisions with him for his escape into the Caha mountains, except for a jug of poteen. When he’d thought he was safe from the troops, he’d had a little drink in celebration, which had led to another. He was caught on the second day by the Prussian hunters. He’d made the mistake of drawing the tiny pistol on a man who was ten yards away and had missed. The jaeger hadn’t and Joe was shot through the throat, just above the collar of his leine. Joe’s last thought had been that he hadn’t even finished the jug.
*
Percival’s carriage was ready and waiting for him before the sun rose. It would be more comfortable for the journey to Ballingeary. He had his horse tied to the back so that he could stop the coach just outside of town and make a heroic entrance. Jacob sat up front with the driver and Grey had decided that his executive officer could ride on horseback with the troops. Before he got underway, the two Prussians who’d been sent to chase the rebel on the Beara rode up on winded horses. Without a word, one of them handed a small sack to the captain. He looked inside and a satisfied smile spread across his face.
‘Ah, you’ve brought me a trophy. Good. Was he alive when you castrated him?�
� The German shook his head. ‘Pity,’ said Percival, and climbed inside.
*
CHAPTER 27
Robert slept fitfully. Ned’s plan had so many holes in it that he feared for his young companion’s survival. It was still the early hours of the morning when he knocked on the door to the room where Michael and Morna slept.
‘C’mon, boyo, put your britches on and get your wife out of there.’ Morna and Mikey appeared moments later, Mikey blushing as he buttoned up his trews. ‘Get your gear together, the sun will be up in two hours and I want us to be over that ridge, north of here, when it does. Michael, give your Franciscan clothes to Ned.’ The blacksmith looked perplexed. ‘Just do it, don’t ask questions.’ Michael handed the grey cloak to Ned, who was wide awake by now.
He held it up in front of himself. ‘How do Oy look,’ he asked, grinning. ‘Do Oy look loike a holy priest?
‘The divil’s own priest, ya sod,’ replied Robert.
A few minutes later, Robert had helped the girl up onto a horse and Mikey had pulled himself up behind her with one of the baskets on his back.
‘And don’t, for the love of God, let her fall off,’ snapped the older man. ‘We don’t have time for accidents.’ He put the straps of the remaining basket over his own shoulders and they walked the horses up the slopes, which became steeper as they neared the crest. The deputy had taken up the rear position and he checked their backtrack every few minutes. A light misty rain began to fall. That would delay sunrise for a few extra crucial minutes.
‘Dat’s grand,’ said Ned. ‘Dey’ll have a haird toime peckin’ up yer trail. When youse get t’ d top o’ d’ ridge, keep goin’ til ye get t’ d’ Derrynasaggart Mountains, an’ stay in ‘em ‘til ye get to d’ Buggeroffs.’ Robert already knew the plan but he sensed that Ned was getting a case of the nerves, like a man before battle, so he let the young man speak. ‘Ye should be able t’ get a stagecoach in Millstreet an’ get t’ Limerick. Oy’ll meet ye in Nenagh in a few weeks time, God willin’. The last statement made Robert nervous, it wasn’t like Ned to put his hope in the Almighty. He too hoped that God was willing because, even if he managed to get Michael home safely, it would be a tragedy to lose Ned in the process.
As they crested the rise, Robert handed Ned the pistol with the pouch containing the lead balls, powder and patches, along with the little brass spyglass, and the long knife which Jamie had made from the end of the sabre.
‘I wish you’d reconsider and come along with us, boyo.’
‘Ah, Oy’d be a disgrace t’ me fam’ly name sure, if Oy w’s found consortin’ wit’ a lawman,’ Ned joked. As the horses carried on, Robert turned and looked back. Ned had turned the spyglass towards the path they’d taken from Gougane and was waiting for the trackers to appear.
*
Percival Grey slept some of the way to Ballingeary but his sleep wasn’t a peaceful one. In a tormented dream, he found himself back in the boarding school which he’d attended as a child, sent there by his parents at an early age. It was night, the time of day he’d always dreaded, and some older boys had clamped a hand over his mouth and dragged him into the same coat closet they always used. In his dream, he tried to scream, but couldn’t. They pinioned him to the ground, face first, and did their worst. Percival Grey could even have endured the excruciating physical pain, but not the other boys laughing at him, calling him ‘Pussy’. There had been no one to tell, no one to help him. He remembered the faces and the taunts, the finger pointing, and he had vowed back then that there would be retribution. He woke in a sweat, took a drink from the silver flask in his pocket and forced himself to stay awake, afraid to go back to sleep.
The troops were gathered in Ballingeary at eight in the morning and at half eight, Percival Grey rode into town on a magnificent, dappled charger. He walked the horse up to his lieutenant.
‘What are you waiting for, an invitation? Take the men into Ballyshee and maybe, with luck, we’ll surprise the bastards.’
With that, Percy drew his sword and took the lead, followed by a dozen mounted troops. The lieutenant was still assigning men to the trap but, after a few minutes, he followed his commander as the cavalry galloped away to their various assignments with the minimum of instructions. It was a three mile gallop to Ballyshee and Captain Grey held his sword aloft for the whole journey, as if assaulting the entire French army.
Ballyshee’s only street was deserted. The sound of galloping horses had alerted the populace and they had all taken cover in their cabins or the fields. Percy was waiting in the forge when the lieutenant arrived. The young man put his hand on the barely warm furnace. It was obvious that it hadn’t been lit for a couple of days. Pervical stood with his sabre still in his hand but now, it hung limply at his side. The adjutant waited for orders as the troopers milled about on their mounts. All eyes were on Grey.
He was furious not to have surprised the fugitives.
‘Turn everyone out of their shacks,’ he ordered the young officer. ‘Bring them all here and burn their hovels, every bloody one of them.’ A light rain began to fall.
‘Sir, if we burn their cottages, most of them will die during the winter.
Percy smiled a sinister smile. ‘No, you fool, you’re wrong again. They’ll all die! Burn the crops and kill the sheep too! These bastards harboured a traitor and, for that, they will pay. Their complicity makes them as guilty as he is and I’ll show them no mercy.’
The lieutenant had no choice but to relay the order to a sergeant, who gave the men instructions. The thatch was wet on the outside from the rain, so each cottage must be set ablaze from within.
It took longer than Percival had anticipated but, in time, the worst was done and thirty broken, dejected people stood before him, the women clutching their shawls under their chins. Some of the men were out in the fields, hiding and watching.
Captain Percival Grey thrust his chinless jaw forward. ‘I will ask this question of you once, and only once,’ he announced to the throng of ragged Irish. ‘Where is the priest headed for?’ There was a murmur from the villagers as they looked at one another and shuffled their feet, but there was no response.
‘Kill the men,’ said Grey, to no one in particular, as casually as if he was ordering a glass of claret. The troops looked at each other, shocked for a moment, and Percy began to fume. Were they mocking him?
‘Are you all deaf?’ he yelled. ‘I gave you an order.’
A burly sergeant wrestled a musket from one of the troopers and he shot a man through the chest. The Irishman dropped as if he’d been struck by lightning. There followed a ragged fusillade as the other troopers obeyed the order. Twelve men lay dead, their women folk keening over their bodies, others trying to give comfort to the bereaved.
Ned was watching from high on the ridge, overlooking the Ballyshee Valley. He kept glancing over to the west, where he expected the unhorsed Prussians who’d followed him and Robert to enter the gorge from the direction of Gougane. He was right. Although the rain had washed away most of the tracks left on the stony ground, the smoke rising from the burning thatched had alerted them that something was out of the ordinary. The jaegers trudged wearily down the slope to the village. They had been walking all night, trying to pick up the trail. Ned watched them. When the Germans arrived at the scene, he could see the captain in animated conversation with them. He took out the spyglass and saw Percy flailing his arms around as he screamed at the exhausted men. Ned decided it was time to spring his own surprise. He stood up, presenting a silhouette against the skyline. He stood for almost fifteen minutes, the grey Franciscan robe blowing in the wind, but none of the redcoats noticed him. He considered firing the pistol to alert the English, but decided against it. He might need the powder later.
Finally, one of the troopers who was scanning the hills around the village spotted Ned and excitedly alerted the captain, who promptly pulled a brass spyglass from his saddlebag. Ned and Percival locked gazes, each studying the other through their little
telescopes. Percy was the first to snap shut his instrument. One of the Prussians ventured a shot with his rifle and Ned saw the puff of smoke almost a third of a mile away. A couple of seconds later, he heard the report of the weapon. Ned lifted the Franciscan robe and, even though he had his britches on underneath, he knew that the significance of the gesture wasn’t lost on those watching him. What he didn’t know was quite how infuriated Percival Grey was by the action. The incensed captain ordered the weary Prussians to take up immediate pursuit and Ned watched through the scope for a few seconds more.
‘Ah, you boys t’ink yer toired now, wait’ll Oy get t’rough wit’ ye.’ He snapped his telescope closed and took off, west by south.
*
By mid-morning, Robert had led the couple to a road which, in turn, led to Inchee Bridge. There was the off-chance that, if the bridge wasn’t guarded, he might be able to get the young couple back to Kenmare by early the next day, then he could go back and retrieve Ned and then his mission would be almost complete. He told Michael to hold the two horses while he reconnoitered the crossing. He took the basket off his back and stayed well away from the road surface. It took fifteen minutes to cover the quarter mile and, when he got to the point where the bridge came into sight, he saw that it was guarded by two mounted redcoats and another two foot soldiers. There were too many of them for him to risk a fight and, in any case, he was virtually unarmed except for the shortened saber. He disappeared back into the undergrowth and returned to the horses.
When he got back, he saw Morna caressing the back of Mikey’s neck as the young couple embraced, lost in their own world. They seemed oblivious to the danger they were in and Robert became angry. These young people had to realise what a perilous situation they were all in.
Safe Home (The Tipperary Trilogy) Page 17