‘No, she wants me, don’t you?’ Havron elbowed him out of the way.
‘They’ll not be going with any of yese!’ Three wild-looking youths came dashing out from behind a hedgerow where they had been answering the call of nature.
‘Keep your neb out, Paddy!’ warned the hulking Ingham. ‘They’re ours.’
‘Saxon brutes!’ returned the aggrieved spokesman. ‘We came for a quiet day out with our girls and this is what we get. Take your filthy hands off them! Why, ’tis animals you are! Coming here and pawing decent womenfolk—’
‘Eh, we meant no harm!’ Probyn was quick to see that, if allowed to develop, this could become nasty. The girls were becoming increasingly anxious and the horse looked ready to bolt at all the noise, tossing its head and jingling its harness. ‘We were just admiring the lasses, that’s all—’
‘Well don’t!’ Another of the youths, with jet-black hair and a sallow complexion, lunged forward and began to pull at the arms of those who imprisoned the girls. In a medley of choice words, the soldiers resisted.
‘Eh, eh!’ Probyn took charge of the situation, trying to calm matters. ‘There’s no need for rough stuff.’ Turning to his fellows he displayed a conciliatory air. ‘Come on, lads, ease off and let the girls free. You can see they belong to these fellows.’
Havron was most unwilling. ‘Shove your bloody orders!’ Queen and Bumby too echoed his objections. Only Mick held back.
Probyn remained calm. ‘See sense! The lasses are frightened of you, they don’t want to know.’
But still there was resistance and, with the girls trying frantically to disentangle themselves from the writhing mass of red-serged arms, the Irish youths launched an attack, showering the soldiers with kicks and punches in an attempt to break the circle. Bumped and elbowed, the horse began to lash out.
Envisaging a terrible accident, Probyn was quick to act. Unslinging his rifle he directed it at the Irish fellows, hoping they would not call his bluff for it was unloaded. ‘Right, get into the cart and sling your hook or I’ll blow your heads off!’
Things were brought to an abrupt halt, although the one with the jet-black hair and sallow complexion still squared up to his adversaries, unmindful that the soldier brandishing the weapon was trying to prevent worse injury. ‘Oh ’tis brave lads you are when you’re holding a gun!’
‘Go on, Pa, give it to him!’ exhorted Ingham.
Furious at Ingham’s stupidity, Probyn dared not take his eyes off the Irish youths. ‘I’m warning you, get in the cart now!’
It proved effective, even if the three defeated youths did manage to hurl plenty of abuse as they boarded the vehicle.
An hurrah arose from the soldiers.
‘Don’t blinkin’ cheer me, Ingham!’ Probyn was angry. ‘I’ve told you to let them lasses go and I mean it.’ He was still holding his rifle, his posture threatening.
Amid much grumbling, the girls were released and were immediately helped into the cart by their countrymen whereupon the driver lashed the reins and set the vehicle into motion, though not without a few departing curses. ‘We know where you’re from! Don’t think you’ve heard the last of it!’
‘Aw blimey, d’you fink they’ll report us?’ asked Queen worriedly, stooping to gather mussels that had been distributed all over the road in the skirmish.
Out of sexual frustration and annoyance that the pleasant afternoon had been tainted, Probyn snapped back, ‘I don’t know and I don’t bloody care!’
‘Ooh! Did ye hear that, boys?’ Hating discord, Mick injected a note of jocularity, his attitude changing to one of mock horror. ‘Your man swore. Right that’s it, you’re on a charge, Kilmaster! Outside my office now!’
‘Behave you barmy clot!’ Probyn elbowed him away and began to walk.
But Mick would not desist, and began to walk alongside him, poking and jabbing him tormentatively in the ribs. ‘Never dare to tell us about our language ye filthy crayture.’
‘You’d drive a man to owt you would!’ Probe was laughing now but tried to maintain his dignity under Mick’s teasing assault by marching on ahead.
Undeterred, Mick followed and began to aim shellfish at him.
Offering loud complaint, Probyn stooped to pick up a mussel and returned it with more vigour.
Eager to inflict his own revenge, Havron aimed a missile too. This became the signal for all out war with Probyn as the target, everyone pouncing on the shellfish for ammunition, mussels whizzing to and fro, bouncing off the victim’s unfortunate skull, even fish being used to slap Probyn round the head as he made a run for it with the rest of the squad flying after him down the road, everyone blaming him, albeit laughingly, for ruining their chances with the women.
* * *
For a few days the squad remained wary, awaiting repercussions for their conflict with the locals that might have brought the regiment into disrepute. Thankfully, there was nothing at all, except a constant barrage of marching and musketry and drill and at the end of the week when they returned to Crinkle they relaxed and forgot all about the incident.
The mood was especially happy on Sunday, for they were allowed to go beyond the village for their entertainment, though no further than Birr. Probyn’s instinctive reaction was that here was another opportunity to look for females. ‘But whatever you do,’ he whispered to Melody, ‘don’t mention it to any of the others. I don’t want them ruining my chances again.’
‘Women is it?’ Mick seemed less than enthusiastic.
Probyn took this attitude as fabrication, and grinned. ‘Don’t play the innocent with me! I know you too well.’ It was not out of any sense of fellowship that he included Melody in his plan, but that Mick with his curly hair would serve to attract the females where he himself could not hope to.
It was some irritation then, after lunch, to find certain members of his platoon tagging on behind as he and Melody wandered into town and congregated in the square. He would have to think of some way to shake them off, for he had just spotted two likely candidates for romance. Wondering how to orchestrate this, he slowed down, waiting for the others to overtake him.
For once, Ingham was to be of assistance. ‘I wonder if they give free samples at the brewery,’ he said as he and the rest drew alongside.
‘Shouldn’t think it’ll be open on a Sunday,’ Bumby pointed out. Every shop was closed, the streets very quiet and few people about.
‘Worth a look though,’ said Ingham, Queen agreeing. ‘Are you two coming with us?’
Probyn grabbed hold of Mick’s sleeve to prevent him following. ‘No we’re off to see that giant telescope at the castle. It’s fifty-six feet long I’ve heard.’
‘Nearly as long as my rod then,’ said Ingham. ‘Get your priorities right, Pa. We can all go and have a look at it together after we’ve sniffed out this brewery – away!’
‘Nay, we’ve had enough of drinking,’ said Probyn. There were half a dozen pubs just outside the barrack wall. ‘We fancy doing something else.’
‘I told you, they’re bloody pooves,’ said Havron to Rook.
‘Grow up,’ Probyn told him, trying to remain casual whilst holding onto Mick’s arm, and saying to the others, ‘All right, we’ll come, but we just want to find out who this statue’s of. We’ll follow on.’ Ignoring the catcalls from those departing he stood by the iron palings that encircled the statue of the Duke of Cumberland, affecting to be studying it with interest.
His arm still imprisoned, a thoroughly perplexed Mick beheld his friend.
‘Aw, blast! They’ve gone.’ Voice full of disappointment, Probyn swivelled and cast frantic glances around the quiet square.
‘Who’s gone?’ Mick frowned.
‘There were two bonny-looking lasses over there a minute ago!’ A quick look over his shoulder showed that their army companions were out of range. ‘They must’ve gone down that way – away, let’s see!’ Dragging Mick after him, Probyn made for one of the streets off the square. With so few people abo
ut it should not be so difficult to find them. Alas, all his agitated searching was in vain; there was no sign of his quarry anywhere.
Wrenching his sleeve from the other’s grasp, Mick seemed overly annoyed at being dragged about so. ‘I don’t know why you’re working yourself into such a lather over these colleens, ye won’t get what ye think ye’ll be getting, not from the good Catholic girls round these parts.’ He tugged his distorted tunic to order, unusually ill-tempered.
Taking little heed, Probyn wore a thwarted scowl. ‘There must be more than two of ’em round here. Come on!’ He set off with a reluctant Melody in tow.
Standing once more in Cumberland Square, he allowed his eyes to rove, ostensibly studying architecture but alert for other attractions. After a while, though, he was forced to accept that the afternoon was going to be a failure. Casting his frustrated gaze to the leaden sky he cursed the country. ‘Haven’t they ever heard of the colour blue in Ireland? What a miserable bloomin’ place.’
And then as if by some miracle, that which he sought was delivered into his hands.
‘Good afternoon to you, sirs!’ The driver of a jaunting car pulled up alongside them, doffing his bowler as he spoke. ‘Could I be interesting you in a bit of a drive away to the Slieve Bloom Mountains? I’m already taking these young ladies but I need two more to make it worth my while.’
A delighted Probyn beheld the girls he had seen earlier, one fair and pink-cheeked, the other dark and exotic like the signoritas he had admired in Spain. Without forethought he made eagerly to board.
‘Em, hold on there!’ Mick held back. ‘How much is it?’
‘Does it matter?’ growled Probyn and urged him to comply.
‘Sixpence each,’ said the jarvey cheerfully.
‘There you are, it’s cheap!’ hissed Probyn.
Still Mick remained wary. ‘Oh, I don’t know. ’Tis looking a bit black up there.’ He pointed at the overcast sky. ‘And how far is it you’re taking us? We have to be back in barracks by four and ’tis half-past two already.’
‘For heaven’s sake what’s up with you?’ Probyn thrust his face into Melody’s.
‘I just don’t feel like going,’ whined Mick.
‘Well I do!’ Probyn was not going to allow anyone to jeopardize his chance of a sexual encounter. ‘And I’m always doing stuff for you so you can do summat for me, sithee, I’ll pay for us both if you’re that narrow-nosed!’ Forbidding any more refusal, he took a shilling from his pocket and paid both fares, then without further delay shoved Mick at the carriage and climbed up after him.
As the jaunting car set off on its tour, Probyn twisted round in his seat and made introductions with the girls who sat back to back with him and Melody. That the latter seemed very subdued made him irritated but not unduly concerned and, as the vehicle made its way out of town and into the countryside, he managed single-handedly to initiate a conversation with the girls who, though quietly spoken, responded with pleasant smiles to all he said. This was going to be a wonderful afternoon.
The mountains towards which they were heading were hardly more than gentle curves, the pony having to make little effort in its ascent along the winding road.
Engrossed in his pursuit of the colleens, Probyn hardly noticed that they had been travelling for miles when Melody tapped him and suggested they had better turn round as the weather was decidedly taking a turn for the worse and it surely must be close to four o’clock.
Having coaxed one of the girls into becoming more talkative, Probyn barely acknowledged him, nor did he heed the ruined churches, their graveyards crammed with Celtic crosses, nor the gambolling lambs, his mind engrossed with baser image.
Further into the mountain range they rolled, their vehicle rising steadily. Mick began to feel increasingly threatened and not simply due to the leaden sky. There was an air of desolation about their surroundings now. They had not passed an inhabited building for miles and save for the ever-present jackdaws the landscape was divest of animals. Some while ago, the driver had branched off the main road onto a narrow track. The route was becoming exceedingly bumpy, he wondered how this could go unnoticed to his friend, but then Pa was so sickeningly pleased under the female attention that an earthquake would not have distracted him. With spots of rain beginning to dapple his blue trousers, Mick decided he had had enough, and called out, ‘Em, would ye be able for taking us back now, jarvey?’
‘Best to take shelter,’ came the cheerful reply. ‘There’s a place just up yonder that will do.’
Temporarily diverted, Probyn examined his surroundings and suddenly began to share his comrade’s misgivings. The rain was becoming heavier, his tunic would be ruined if they did not find shelter. But just then he saw that the driver had spoken the truth, there was indeed a stone cottage ahead. It looked rather derelict but its roof was still intact. His predatory instincts rose again to the fore – surely fate had stepped in to lend a hand! Perhaps within those walls he and the Spanish-looking beauty would enjoy an erotic interlude to while away a rainy half-hour.
With the drizzle now appearing like a mist over the bleak expanses of grassland the occupants of the cart were glad to reach the cottage. Jumping down, Probyn helped the girls to alight, escorting them to the rickety pile of stones, a wary Melody lagging at the rear.
Just as they reached the door, however, it was dragged open by a youth with jet-black hair whose sallow visage Probyn recognized immediately. It was one of those with whom they had traded insults last week after musketry practice, and what was worse, the two others from that day appeared behind him.
Instantly robbed of libido, he glanced at Melody who obviously shared his worry.
Steering the females past him and into the cottage, the youth with the black hair barred Probyn’s way. ‘Thought you were going to have a nice little get together with the girls, did ye? Sorry to disappoint yese but they were only bait – and it didn’t take you eejits long to snap, did it? Back on the car with yese!’
Again Probyn silently consulted with Mick, alarm on both their faces. ‘We don’t want any trouble.’ He began slowly to retreat.
‘Then ye shouldn’t be invading another man’s country,’ came the dark reply, the youths following Probyn on his backwards route to the jaunting car.
He could go no further, an iron wheel against his back. He tried to reason. ‘Invading? I thought we were all British.’ But from the looks on their faces he knew he could have said nothing worse. Preparing for flight, he inhaled sharply as a knife was thrust at his neck, forcing him to lean backwards over the wheel.
‘Confound you, we’re Irish,’ came the menacing rebuttal of the one who stood over him.
Stunned, Probyn blinked the rain from his eyes but tried to avoid meeting the other’s confrontational gaze, instead fixing his sights on the lock of black hair that was only inches away from his nose and saying as evenly as he could with a blade at his throat, ‘So is my friend! You’ve no argument with him.’
‘On the contrary,’ sneered his abductor, removing his gaze only to flick a withering glance at Mick. ‘Your johneen here is even lower scum than you. No true Irishman would stoop to wear that bloody tunic.’ Eyes back on Probyn, he stared into his captive’s face for a moment longer. ‘Not so brave without your gun, are ye, soldier boy?’ Then he straightened abruptly and reiterated his demand, ‘On board!’
The relief at having the hard wheel rim removed from his back did not reflect itself in Probyn’s expression, for he noticed that the other two had produced cudgels. ‘Where are you taking us?’
‘Somewhere you’ll be taught a lesson.’
‘Oh, you’re not man enough to do it yourself?’ asked Probyn.
The youth did not react. ‘’Tis just that I know someone who’ll take even greater pleasure in it than I.’
Probyn’s face took on a look of obstinacy, but this was soon displaced by one of shock as the knife blade performed a rapid movement and he looked down to see a large rent in his tunic.
/> ‘That’ll be your neck if you don’t do as you’re told right now!’
‘Pa, do as the man says!’ Mick urged his friend, then cried at his kidnapper, ‘We’re going, we’re going!’
With a mocking smile, the black-haired youth asked, ‘You’ve brought your rosary with ye?’ Then he signalled for his companions to assist their prisoners on board. For Probyn and Mick there was no other option than to yield.
The vehicle was on its way again, two of the youths seated next to the captives, their black-haired companion squeezed next to the driver who had obviously been in on the plot all along. Though the knife had been withdrawn from its dangerous position it continued to present a threat. There would be little chance of escape.
It was still raining and the light was failing rapidly now. Trying to bolster himself, Probyn decided that this was an advantage, for if the men could be distracted he and Mick could leap unseen into the gloom. The one important thing was to keep calm. The chilling thought recurred that he might be going to die, but he would not allow it to fester. He must keep his mind clear if there were to be any chance of escape.
The journey seemed to take forever, taking them deeper into the mountain range, mile after bumpy mile was covered, rain trickling down their faces, clothes becoming sodden, until suddenly ahead appeared the dark outline of a building, this one inhabited, for a ribbon of smoke curled from its chimney. For Probyn and Mick there was a mixture of emotions as the jaunting car finally halted and they were ordered to get down. Every muscle tense in anticipation and at the mercy of their captors, they were bundled into the cottage.
The sole occupant, a much older man, seemed totally unprepared for this intrusion. A moment ago, lulled by the sweet scent of a peat fire and the contents of the black cooking pot upon it, he had been dozing. Now his startled visage flushed in anger and he jumped from his fireside chair, his pipe falling to the floor as he berated them in Gaelic. ‘What in God’s … is it mad you are, bringing soldiers here?’
Family of the Empire Page 17