‘That’s enough,’ he snapped. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for all that shite when we get out of this mess. Michael, I expected better of you, what would your father have thought?’ Michael was mortified and he looked down at his feet, the same way that Robert had seen his brother do on many occasion.
The girl leapt to her husband’s defense. ‘Agh! Ya miserable auld sourpuss, what’s d’ harm sure?’ Robert had to surpress a smile now. It was as if his sister-in-law, Roisin, was talking to him. You didn’t mess with the husband of a strong Irishwoman.
The stream had become impassible due to the previous night’s rain, so the only hope for the trio was to find a ford. Crossing rivers could be the most dangerous undertaking of a voyage. Robert called a halt. He would explore up-steam while Mikey held the animals. They had been backtracking, going back towards Ballyshee again, and the old man knew they would have to make a break to the north soon, if they were to successfully avoid any potential trap. He moved stealthily through the heavily-brushed banks of the stream. Rain was falling and it helped to mask any sound he made. He heard muffled conversation, it was coming from the other shore of the river. He also heard the sound of running water which meant there was a shallow spot ahead. It was the crossing he had hoped for, but there was still the question of who waited on the other side. He crept closer.
He was suddenly startled by the noise of someone creeping up behind him and he grasped the handle of the short saber tightly. He wouldn’t go down without a fight. He was about to strike out when he realised that it was Michael, he had followed him. Robert glared at him, silenced him with a finger to his mouth and motioned for the young man to stay put. He crept closer to the sound of the voices and listened for a moment, then moved back to Mikey, who looked at him questioningly. Robert indicated silence again and crept past Michael, gesturing with his hand for him to follow. They returned to where Morna stood, holding the horses, shifting her weight impatiently from one foot to other. Robert spoke to them in a hushed tone.
‘There are two sentries on the opposite bank. We can’t cross there and we can’t keep going backwards.’
‘But there’s only two of them,’ protested Michael.
‘They’re speaking French,’ Robert told him. ‘We’re talking about two Huguenots.’
‘So what?’ replied the young man, with a hint of indignation.
Robert was becoming irked. ‘Those men, boyo, have been fighting viciously with the Papists for generations. They know what they’re doing. Tell me, how many times have you had to fight for your life, you stupid eejit?’ Robert immediately regretted his outburst, but the young fellow seemed completely ignorant of what a life and death situation was.
‘Why can’t we just gallop the horses past them, and be gone before they can react?’ said Michael.
Robert had to admit he had given that very thing a passing thought, the sentries’ flintlocks would be useless in the pouring rain.
‘And what happens when they bayonet one of the horses? No, we have to think of a way to get them on this side of the river, one at a time, so I can deal with them.’
Michael was beginning to realise that the older man completely disregarded his value in a battle and, although it stung, he said, ‘I’ll do whatever you say, Uncle Robert.’
Robert looked at the girl. ‘And what about her?’ he asked.
*
CHAPTER 28
‘Sir, the two trackers you sent after the priest, they’re completely exhausted. They haven’t slept in two nights and they’ve been on foot most of that time.’ The lieutenant was addressing his captain.
‘Aww, what a shame,’ replied Percival Grey, sarcastically.
‘We have the other four awaiting orders in Ballingeary, sir.’
‘Well bring them here. They should be able to ride a Tipperary priest down in a few hours. I don’t want him killed, do you hear? I want him arrested and brought back alive.’
‘Sir, they’re marksman, that’s what they do.’
‘I will NOT have my orders questioned, lieutenant.’ Percy drew the last word out, so as to leave no doubt as to who was in charge.’ The subordinate knuckled his forehead in salute and passed the orders on to a sergeant, who selected the lightest and fastest rider for the job.
‘What about these women, sir?’ asked the junior officer.
Percy looked down at the throng of weeping and wailing women. ‘Spoils of war, lietenant. Let the troops have some recreation.’
The young officer felt the bile rise up into his throat and he walked away as if he had some other business to attend to. Percy Grey would have to give that order himself.
The four mounted jaegers were ready to leave in two hours. That had given Ned a three hour lead and he was almost back to Gougane before they started off on their hunt. The Germans were elated that they were finally getting to do what they’d been trained for. They had become bored with the same old routine, but now they were going to track a criminal. They chatted in their low, guttural German, as if they were preparing for a deer hunt, back in Bavaria.
Ned had made a track that would be easy for them to follow. The tops of the stones were wet from the rain but the bottoms were dry so, every now and then, he would stop and overturn some of the pebbles, thereby marking his trail. He left footprints wherever he could in the soil in the forests between ridges, and he broke off twigs of gorse as he hiked. The Prussians soon rode past their weary companions with no time for anything but a wave. They were enjoying the chase.
Just before he crossed the last of the high ground, before descending into the Valley of St. Finbarr, Ned looked back and saw four horseman, in full flight, cresting the previous summit. He felt the hair prickle on the back of his neck. He had to slow them down by making his trail less obvious or they would be on him before nightfall. He changed direction and, instead of going down into the valley, he climbed the ridges to the north. The Prussians might be used to chasing deer, but they’d never come up against a Corkman. They had made the assumption that he would run downhill and that would give him precious hours as they wasted their time down in the valley, searching for signs. Ned travelled on the side of the ridge, opposite the trackers. They wouldn’t catch a glimpse of him until he wanted them to.
*
Robert had been trying to come up with a workable plan to ford the river. The rain had begun to ease and that meant the muskets would become usable for the ‘Frenchies.’
‘I have an idea,’ he said finally. Neither of you will like it, but we need to get over that river before nightfall, and before the rain stops. You both said you’d accept my orders and this is an order. I swear I will leave you both in the feckin’ woods here if you don’t go along with it.’
Morna crept along the bank of the stream behind Robert, who was using the short sword to push aside branches, and Michael followed at the rear. Robert hadn’t wanted Mikey to come along but that was the only way he’d been able to get him to consent to the plan. The thorns from the blackberry thicket pulled at their clothes as they crept slowly along an almost indistinguishable path which led towards the river crossing. On the sheriff’s command, Morna stood up and strolled towards the river as Robert concealed himself in the bushes, shoving Michael unceremoniously behind him. As the girl approached the bank, the Huguenot soldiers on the other side of the river both stood, one of them levelling a musket at her. Morna feigned surprise, threw up her hands and ran back towards the thicket on the riverbank. The man dropped his weapon and, without taking his boots off, went in pursuit, delighted that the afternoon promised to bring some respite from the boredom. He was across the water in no time, and was almost within an arm’s reach of catching her, when Robert stepped out of concealment, crashing the handguard of his sword into the man’s jaw. He lay on his back, motionless, his mandible skewed into a hideous position. The girl looked at the prostrate figure and her jaw slackened.
‘Scream,’ said Robert, almost inaudibly. The girl only managed a feeble squeak and Robert
raised the saber over his head as if he was going to deal her a death blow. Morna let out a bloodcurdling scream and Mikey immediately darted forward in her defense. Robert turned on the young man and the look on his face made Michael’s knees feel like jelly. He froze as if made of stone.
‘Now. Shake the bushes, boyo, as if he’s having some fun with the girl. Go on!’ Mikey complied and, in a matter of seconds, the second trooper came crashing down the path, wanting to get his share too. He met the same fate as his companion.
‘Get the horses and take yourself and the girl across the river. I’ll meet you on the other side.’ As soon as the young couple were out of sight, Robert slit the troopers’ throats as casually as he would dispatch a pig. He wiped the blade off on the second man’s coat.
‘Pardonnez-moi, mes amis,’ he said ‘C'est la guerre.’
*
It was long after dark, and just before midnight, when Ned reached the pass which lead into Finbarr’s valley from the west. When they’d lost the trail, the Prussians had held a conference and one of them returned to the point where they’d last seen sign of their quarry. He’d picked up Ned’s trail now and was following him, while the others still scouted the valley below. Just as the sun had begun to cast a glow on the tops of the mountains, Ned decided he would reveal himself. He collected some dry grass and a few twigs and then, with a spare flint from the pistol and a little black powder, he started a campfire. He pulled down his trews and emptied his bowels beside the fire.
‘Here ye go, ye shitehawks, go sniffin’ aroun’ dis,’ he said aloud. Then he began to jog along the same route he and the sheriff had taken a couple of days earlier. If you make the bait enticing enough, he thought to himself, you can use the same trap to catch more than one rat.
The jaegers had indeed noticed the smoke from the campfire and they re-mounted their steeds, to climb the slope up the side of the valley. The three of them thought they would already have ended their sport the previous day but their prey had proved more challenging than they had imagined. The fourth Prussian was now busy navigating the steep terrain on the ridge and, finally, he had to dismount and lead his animal on foot. He was falling behind.
The jaegers had reached the campfire site and were trying to guage how long it had been abandoned. They walked around it, looking for signs.
‘Was ist das!?’ one of them cried out.
He stripped his boot off and stared at the considerable amount of deposit he’d picked up on the sole of it. When his two companions realised what it was, they roared with laughter, mocking him. The unfortunate German gritted his teeth and vowed to get this schwein of an Irish priest if it was the last thing he’d ever do. He would never catch the priest but it would be the last thing he’d ever do.
Ned left a discernable trail down to the place where the path narrowed. Although rain water now covered the caltrops Robert had dropped there previously, they were still in place. Ned was careful not to step on any of the vicious devices himself. If he was to cripple himself now, the chase would be over before he’d barely even got started. He broke off a branch and stirred the standing water, making it look as if someone had run through it. Then he placed the branch conspicuously at the far end of the trap and hurried to build another fire to attract the jaegers’ attention. It did the job and, from the vantage point of another hill, he sat with the spyglass and waited for the show to start.
The Prussians were moving methodically, albeit not swiftly. However, when the tendrils of smoke became visible, they spurred their horses into a headlong gallop, in the hope of catching the resting clergyman. Ned lost sight of them as they disappeared into the narrow gap, but he heard the mayhem which his trap created. The horses screamed and so did the men and, within minutes, three limping animals were lead out by two men. The poor fellow who’d stepped in the excrement which Ned had deposited on the ridge had been pinned under his fallen horse and his thigh was fractured. Ned wondered where the fourth horseman was but he had no time to tarry. The Prussians would be even more determined now.
The fourth horseman, who had followed Ned up and around Gougane, was, in fact, an hour behind the other hunters and, when he came to where the havoc had taken place, the injured man told him what had happened. He took the long way round and caught up with the other two jaegers in less than half an hour. Ned showed himself on the top of a hill, almost half a mile away. When he was certain that he’d been seen, he set about laying another trap.
The fourth Prussian had learned a lesson from what had happened to his comrades and he was in no hurry to take any risks in an effort to end the chase quickly. He would give chase but at a moderate pace and, when the priest stopped to rest, then he would move in for the kill. He would disregard Percival’s orders to take the priest alive. This man wasn’t like any convict he’d ever hunted before and he wasn’t about to take any chances.
Ned was watching his back, and he knew that the mounted Prussian was closing on him at a steady rate.
‘Dat’s roight, boyo, come closer. Aul’ Ned has a liddle surprise fer ya,’ he said aloud.
The sun was beginning to set now and, as the light faded, the tracker had a hard time staying on the trail. As darkness closed in, Ned stopped and slipped the Franciscan robe off over his head. He found a clearing in the middle of a thicket of gorse and he filled the robe with grass. He made another fire and propped up the stuffed robe beside it.
‘Youse feckers like fire, don’cha. Well, Oy’m gonna give youse a liddle taste o’ hell.’
The jaeger spotted the fire immediately and was there in moments. He walked his horse around the thicket, not wanting to get the animal any closer. He tied the horse and walked stealthily, on foot, through the dense mat of thorny vegetation. When he could see the flames from the fire, he squatted in the undergrowth, drew his pistol and waited. Ned began to sing. The soldier caught glimpses of the man by the fire but he didn’t want to waste the only shot he had. The priest seemed to be sitting with his back against the large trunk of a fallen tree. From behind the tree trunk, Ned poked the dummy he’d made and it fell over, as if laying down to sleep. After a few minutes, the Irishman made snoring sounds to complete the illusion. The hunter was stealthier than Ned had anticipated and so he was surprised when, without a sound, the man suddenly appeared in front of the fire. The soldier’s attention was still riveted by the reclining effigy in front of him and he moved in, holding his pistol out in front of him. When the muzzle was just inches from where the priest’s head should be, he was punched a mighty blow on his back. It knocked the wind out of him and, try as he might, he couldn’t catch his breath. He dropped the horse pistol to the ground and fought for air. Putting his hand to his chest, he felt the three inches of steel protruding from it. Ned put his mouth next to the man’s ear.
‘T’anks fer d’ harse.’
*
CHAPTER 29
The sheriff and the young couple went through the two Frenchmen’s belongings and Robert took the one pistol and the ammunition. He thought about taking one of the muskets but decided it would be an unnecessary weight for the tired horse to carry. They rifled through the sack of food and found a couple of loaves of heavy meal bread and some salted meat. They packed it all into their baskets, it could be sorted later, and, after crossing the river, they struck out northwards. Michael had been shocked at the ruthless efficiency and brutality with which Robert had handled the two French soldiers and, in a way, he was both in awe of, and appalled, by his uncle’s actions. Morna didn’t speak. When Robert had held the sabre over her head, she had thought he was going to kill her.
‘Do you think those French soldiers will be alright?’ asked Michael.
Robert’s face lost all expression. ‘Say one of your prayers for their souls,’ he replied, flatly.
The last Michael had seen of the Huguenots, they had lain unconscious and helpless on the ground and, now, he began to realise why his uncle has sent them on ahead.
‘You killed them,’ he said.
Robert shrugged. ‘All men die. It’s just a matter of when and how. If they had done their duty, instead of chasing young Fanny over there, they’d still be alive and we’d be dead.’
‘You really can be a bastard, can’t you.’
Robert gave a snort of derision and they rode in silence for the rest of the day.
The trio made camp just northwest of Coomagearahy Mountain. They found a place hidden in a ravine, where they could build a small fire to cook some food. Robert unsaddled the mounts and hobbled them, so they could graze the sparse grass without running off. Michael kept Morna company as she prepared a simple meal, using some of the Frenchmen’s salt meat for seasoning and adding some of the dried gammon to the copper pot, along with three potatoes. Robert unloaded the pistol and put in fresh powder and priming. He tucked it into his woven belt, under the felted brat that he wore to keep off the night chill. He took a walk to explore the area and to reassess his escape plan. He couldn’t shake off an uneasiness about Ned.
By the time he returned, Morna and Michael had finished eating and they sat huddled close together by the fire. Robert took the pot off the fire and began to tuck in.
Mikey was the first to speak. ‘How did me da die?’
Robert looked up from the kettle. ‘He didn’t suffer, if that’s what you’re worried about. It was quick.’
‘But how?’
Robert picked a strand of meat from between his teeth and looked at it. ‘Him and Robbie were doing a job and your da felt sick.’ He put the piece of meat back into his mouth and chewed it. ‘He died on the spot … probably a heart seizure.’
Michael felt a wave of anger rise inside him at Robert’s matter-of-fact response. ‘You really don’t give a shit about anyone, do you,’ he said.
The old man threw the food on the ground and stood up. His blood boiled and he wanted to grab Mikey by the throat. ‘Don’t presume to know me, boy,’ he roared, ‘You know nothing about me and even less about what I feel and what I don’t feel!’ He stormed off into the darkness.
Safe Home (The Tipperary Trilogy) Page 18