Mannan: A Tale of Vengeance: A Novel in the Chronicles of Philip Williams

by Jason Henry Evans

  “Aye. Mother will be glad to hear it. Everyone well at home?”

  Seamus nodded. “Aye, we are well,” he began. “Spring saved us.” He walked on. “Of course every spring is a savior here. We save and we pile away, like some squirrel. Every year the winter seems to go on forever and every year we’re saved by a late spring and blooming crops.” Seamus shook his head. He wanted to say more, but didn’t. Instead he shook his head, sighed and then looked at Mannan as he spoke. “We must remember our blessings. There has been no violence here. No raids by our neighbors.” Seamus nodded towards some Mickens tending to their horses a short distance away. “No army comes to steal our sons and brothers, or our larder. No. The highlands are better.”

  “Aye, they are.”

  “And here, only fools and the misfortunate starve.” Seamus fell silent as they approached a mare. He pulled a brush out of his sleeve and began stroking the beast. “Have you heard the rumor?”

  “No,” Mannan said.

  “The O’Donnell’s are offering top wages for redshanks. Good pay. And we only need to go back for a season.” Larceny twinkled in Seamus’s eyes. “A chance for booty, too.”

  Mannan sighed.

  “Think of it. A man could become rich,” Seamus said.

  “A man could become dead.”

  Seamus ducked under the horse’s neck and began to stroke the other side while he spoke. “The English are almost done. Revolts spring up everywhere. Soon, even the great O’Neil will come down from Dungannon and join the fight.”

  “Does the O’Neil have muskets?”

  Seamus said nothing, knowing the truth of it. Irish revolts always failed because the English were always better armed. After some uncomfortable silence Seamus finally spoke. “Well, at least the fighting won’t come here.” He raised his glass.

  The two spoke of family and farm life. Of horses needing shoes and when to slaughter hens too old to lay eggs. They walked back towards the Diarmuid’s house as the sun waned in the west.

  “Have you found someone, Mannan?”

  “Jesus, not you too,” Mannan groaned.

  “It’s a serious thing. Deborah will be gone soon, living with that Ote. That will leave you and your mother. Who will take care of her as she ages?”

  “We will be fine, Seamus.”

  Mannan’s cousin interrupted. “There are things only a woman can help you with. You’ll need to marry soon.”

  Mannan rubbed his eyes and sighed. He hated this conversation. He wanted to speak, “Cousin—” but the words stuck in his throat as Mannan caught glimpse of Riona, by the cooking fires.

  “Mannan? Mannan?” Seamus turned to see what had caught Mannan’s eye. “Aye. You have been planning something.”

  “Piss off, Seamus.”

  “She’s a fine woman, she is. Strong. She has her wits about her. But you’re not the only one interested.” Seamus nodded towards Riona.

  Mannan was so intent on her, he did not see the four young men trying to speak to her. She was holding court, of a sorts. Suddenly her eyes lit up and she laughed prettily as she pulled her soft brown hair away from her face. What chance do I have with here? I would be a fool to try and she would be a fool to follow, he thought. Mannan shook his head.

  “You’re not worried about those lad’s, are you?” Seamus asked. “They have as much of a chance with her as a rabbit with a wolf.” He chuckled at his wit. “Come with me.” Seamus sauntered over to the table holding several kegs of beer. He grabbed two cups, and poured. When he was done with the first one, he handed it to Mannan and filled the second one.

  “What sorcery do you have cooked up, Seamus?” Mannan asked.

  Seamus only grinned as he headed straight for Riona.

  Mannan’s heart jumped into his throat. St. Brigid, preserve me, he thought. He’ll make a fool of me. So Mannan caught up to his cousin while trying not to spill the beer. Fortunately, Riona’s back was turned.

  Suddenly, Seamus stopped and turned. “Oh, I forgot something. Here, hold this.” He gave his beer to Mannan and left. Now Mannan stood behind Riona with two drinks. Suddenly Riona turned. Her dark brown eyes looked Mannan up and down in a stern gaze. Suddenly they twinkled and a burst of laughter followed. “Thank you, Mannan Mor MacOWen. I will have something to drink.” She took a cup from his hand, then wrapped an arm around one of his giant forearms as she pulled him away from her suitors.

  What was happening? Mannan thought. One minute I was desperately trying to avoid being embarrassed and now I’m walking with —

  “Mannan, that was very kind of you to rescue me,” Riona said.

  “I—I didn’t think you needed such a thing.”

  “They mean well, but they’re all boys. None of them remember Leinster the way I do.” Riona looked at Mannan. “The way we do.”

  “I don’t understand. Most women like that kind of attention.”

  Riona sighed. “Do you think I’m that kind of woman?”

  Mannan’s mouth dried, preventing a cogent reply.

  Riona looked down. “I do admit, it is fun to be the center of attention. And they are entertaining,” she said smiling. “But, they’re so earnest and prideful. Some of them have never known a bad harvest, or had their crops burned.” Riona shook her head and sighed before looking up at Mannan. “Their not serious.”

  “You cannot blame a man for acting the fool when courting a lass. The game seems to center around how to make you laugh,” Mannan said.

  Riona nodded sternly. “Aye, you speak true.” Then a smile broke on her face, again.

  For the first time, with Riona so close, Mannan noticed the freckles on her face. He took a sip from his cup to prevent himself from saying something foolish.

  “Why have you never courted me, Mannan?”

  He coughed as she spoke the question while he swallowed. Beer went up his nose — and out. He coughed fiercely.

  “Are you all right?” Riona asked patting him on the back.

  “Aye, I’m fine.” He tried to compose himself as a hot streak welled from his belly and flushed his face. He lead her away from the party and back towards the horses. “Why haven’t I courted?” He coughed the rest of his sentence.

  Riona nodded.

  Mannan took another sip. “Well, these three years have been full. What with the farm and the chickens.”

  Riona listened, wide-eyed.

  “And then there was Deborah. Finding suitable match for her.” Mannan stopped to think as they came to a tree. “I have just been busy.”

  Riona turned away to sit under an old oak. When she looked up again her eyebrow was raised. “Really, Mannan?”

  It was time. Now or never. Mannan sat next to her, but with his face turned away. He drained the dregs of his cup. “I have always felt some tension between your family and mine. I don’t think it’s any one person’s fault. Life up here is safer in many ways, but more threatened, too. There’s only so much grazing land. Only so much farm land. The streams carry only so much fish. Every new mouth to feed is watched with envious eyes.”

  “Aye. I’ve felt it, too.”

  Mannan continued. “The thought that I would march up to your brother and ask for the right to court you . . . Well, the thought was daunting.”

  Riona’s gaze softened. “Why?”

  “Well, you and your brother are tanists. You are gentlefolk and leaders of your people.”

  Riona placed her hand on his cheek. “You, too, are a leader among your people.”

  “Aye, but I am not gentle. No chief’s blood runs in my veins.” Mannan’s heart pounded in his chest. He continued to look away as he spoke. “But to be honest, with all those lads encircling you, I never thought I would catch your eye. I never thought I was good enough.” There, it was said. For good or ill.

  Riona took Mannan’s left hand and placed it in her right. Mannan turned to look at her haunting brown eyes. He waited for a jape, or a cutting laugh. Perhaps even a smirk. Instead, she leaned in and kissed him
gently on the mouth. A sweet courtly kiss. In that moment he wanted to grab her, kiss her again. Turn to caress her cheek. But the smell of soap in her hair and the beer on her lips made Mannan freeze and enjoy the moment.

  Riona rested her head on his shoulder. As a light breeze came in, she snuggled closer. All he could do, all he wanted to do, was hold her close. He noticed how small she was compared to him. How he could crush her, if he wanted. Easier to keep her warm at night, Mannan thought wickedly. How long they lay there, under the oak, Mannan could not say. But the day had ended in the violet twilight of a highland summer evening. In the distance people ate and drank, laughed and talked.

  “Come, let us eat,” Riona said.

  The two stood and made their way back to the party. The boron accompanied fiddles and whistles as people danced around a camp fire. Mannan and Riona each got a plate of roasted meats and roasted onions with bread and butter. As they tried to find a place to eat, Mannan spied his mother near the bonfire. “Let me check on my mother to see if she needs anything,” Mannan said. But as they approached Eibhlein was clearly having the time of her life. She sat in a carved chair flanked by greying women and their husbands.

  “Thank you, Mother Eibhlein.” A man knelt before her and kissed her hand. “Your midwifery saved my wife.”

  “If it wasn’t for you, winter would have been our end,” said another earnest father.

  A great bearded man came forth with a plate and tankard for Eibhlin to drink from. She smiled warmly before she sipped her wine.

  “Your mother is revered by all for her kindness, Mannan.” Riona leaned on Mannan’s arm as they got closer.

  “Aye, she is good woman that is for sure.”

  A tall man approached Eibhline flanked by two men Mannan had never seen. The one in the middle wore a doublet, in the English fashion, of fine wool alongside wool trews. He wore a blue sash off of his left shoulder and a long sword dangled from his hip. Glints of light danced off a gold chain worn around his neck. Mannan raised an eyebrow. A sash meant he held some kind of office while the chain probably denoted some other office, or even a knighthood. His two men dressed similarly, but without the chain denoting a rank.

  As they approached, everyone stood — including Eibhline. “Mother Eibhline,” began one of the men. “This is Sir Duncan McKenzie, Sheriff of these lands.”

  Eibhline bowed solemnly.

  “Sit ye down, Mother. It is I who should bow to you.” Sir Duncan removed his cap and bowed in return, doing much honor to Mannan’s mother. He then stood straight and spoke to the crowd. “It pleases The McKenzie greatly that his tenants would show such love and affection towards each other. Let the bonds created be a guiding lamp for other tenants to follow.”

  “Enough with the speeches. We want to drink,” someone retorted from the darkness. Laughter followed.

  “Yes . . . well. Continue on!” Sir Duncan said.

  The music and laughter started up as Mannan and Riona approached.

  “My son,” Eibhline said. Mirth danced in her eyes as she stood to hug him.

  “Hello Mother.” Mannan turned to Riona. “This is Riona, Diarmuid’s sister.”

  Riona tried to bow but Eibhline would have none of that. She grabbed Riona’s elbow, drawing her in for a kiss and tight embrace. She whispered something in Riona’s ear that made her laugh.

  Mannan closed his eyes and sighed. How would his mother embarrass him now? “I see you are doing well, mother?”

  “Aye, I am. These Mickens are great hosts. If I eat any more I will burst,” Eibhline said in a fit of laughter. “Now, you two are young. Go enjoy this time. Dance, eat, and drink. Let us old folks be.” Eibhline turned Mannan and Riona around and pushed them away.

  They wandered a bit before Mannan spied Deborah and Ote sitting on a log, eating with cousins and laughing loudly. Deborah seemed to be holding court herself.

  “I swear by Mahlrubha’s well, I do,” she said laughing. “Do you think me false?” her eyes twinkled as the boys around her laughed at her story.

  “Telling falsehoods again, sister?”

  Deborah’s eyes widened as she looked up to see Mannan with Riona. “Will miracles never cease?” She pushed two boys off the fallen tree so that Mannan and Riona could sit. “I will pray the Lord’s prayer to the Virgin on the next full moon in thanks.” Everyone laughed.

  “We’re not sisters yet,” Riona mocked.

  “Who says I’d let you have’em?” Deborah retorted to the howls of the crowd.

  Mannan knew his sister was teasing, but did Riona know?

  Riona buried her head in her cup. Suddenly the music changed.

  “Ote,” Mannan began. “Ask Riona to dance.”

  Ote cocked his head at Mannan. Suddenly his eyes widened. “Oh, Aye.” He drained his cup and stood—almost tripping over himself. Ote affected a bow and put his hand out. “Would ye dance?”

  Riona looked at Mannan and smirked. She then took Ote’s hand and they bounded off into the night.

  “What was that about?” Mannan asked Deborah.

  Deborah drained her cup. “Oh, it’s all a bit of fun.”

  Mannan grabbed Deborah’s arm. “We are guests here. Remember that.”

  “Mannan,” called a booming voice. Two bury men sauntered over to Mannan and Deborah. “Connell, this is the man who introduced us to the French Captain,” said Diarmuid. He slurred his words slightly. In the firelight stood a tall, lean man. “Mannan, this is my uncle Connell.”

  Mannan stood and offered his hand. Connell brushed his long, straight black hair out of his face to reveal a goatee, like the English wear. He took Mannan’s hand. “I hear all this is because of you.”

  “I only made introductions and suggestions. It was Diarmuid here who offered good hides to the French captain.”

  “Aye, it’s true,” Diarmuid slurred. “And a toast?” He held up a bottle of wine and poured out some to Connell, Mannan, and lastly Deborah. She held her cup out and Diarmuid grasped it as well, pouring slowly. The bonfire flickered in his eyes which darted back and forth from the cup to Deborah’s face. He raised the bottle, smiling recklessly. “To friendship,” Diarmuid said. All concerned drank.

  “Deborah, may I have this dance?” Diarmuid tried to bow and almost fell.

  Deborah narrowed her eyes on him then turned to Mannan. Must I? her eyes said.

  Mannan nodded.

  His little sister sighed, drained her cup, smiled prettily, and took Diarmuid’s hand as they went into the night.

  “My nephew tells me your family settled here some ten years ago, before our family came. It that right?” Connell asked.

  “Aye.” Mannan looked Connell up and down as he sipped. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Have you newly arrived?”

  Connell nodded. “I had to complete a contract with the O’Donnell’s first, but now I am here.” He sipped at his wine.

  A contract? So Connell was a gallowglass, a mercenary. How many more Micken’s were mercenaries?

  Behind Connell he could see people dancing. Their shadows grew and fell with the rhythm of the music. Mannan sipped his wine and tried to listen as Connell spoke. In the distance he could make out Ote awkwardly dance with Riona, who laughed through the song.

  “I think I’ll go back in the spring,” Connell said. “The coin is too good.”

  He saw Deborah twirl and leap to and from in conjunction with the dance. But something was wrong. Where others held hands, Diarmuid would clasp Deborah’s waist. Each movement brought unwanted touches.

  Come now, Deborah. You know how to handle yourself. You’re in control, Mannan thought.

  They twirled again and Diarmuid put his hands on Deborah’s waist, then casually down below her hips. Mannan stood. “Excuse me, Connell.” He walked briskly to the dancing. Over the din of the music he heard Deborah yell. “Stop it, Diarmuid.” But Diarmuid was drunk. He could not keep up with the rhythm of the music. He grabbed at her one last time.

  “N
O!” She squawked in a high pitch voice. The music stopped.

  “Give us a kiss,” Diarmuid slurred as he caught Deborah’s elbow. Deborah turned and raked Diarmuid’s face with her hand, from ear to chin. He staggered back, yelping in pain.

  “What did you do?” Thundered Riona who stormed across the bonfire to confront Deborah.

  “That beast shall not put his hands on me again,” Deborah shrieked.

  “Touch my betrothed again and I’ll geld you!” Ote pulled a knife from his belt.

  Suddenly Mickens and MacOwens separated. Mannan ran to Ote and grabbed him by the arm. “Let go! Let go,” Ote hollered.

  Mannan pulled Ote’s arm behind him and pinned it against his back. “Well, this has been a lovely party, but it’s time to go.” He forced Ote over to their wagon.

  Ote struggled but was no match for Mannan. “How dare you. He took liberties with my betrothed—your sister—and you restrain me?”

  They were almost to the wagon when Eibhlin rushed over. “What happened?”

  “Diarmuid took liberties with Deborah in the dance. She scratched him. I’m gonna put this lad in the wagon. Get Deborah before she starts a war?” Mannan pushed Ote forward by his pinned arm. As they got to the wagon, two figures came out of the darkness.

  “What’s this?” One of them asked.

  “Angus, is that you?” Mannan asked.

  “Aye.”

  “There’s been a ruckus. Your brother Diarmuid took liberties with my sister when they danced. He was drunk. She scratched him. Let’s separate our folks before somebody does something stupid.”

  Angus sighed. “Aye, I’ll take care of our people. You take care of yours.”

  “Agreed,” Mannan said while struggling with Ote. Angus and the other walked towards the bon fire while Mannan threw Ote into the wagon. “You’ll stay there.”

  “But Deborah, I need to protect Deborah!”

  “Deborah has been taking care of herself and our family since she was ten. She’s stronger than you and smarter, too. You’d do well to remember that,” Mannan said before leaving. He searched through the night finding MacOwen’s here and there. Some spat insults at their hosts while most didn’t even know what was going on. That was a blessing. It would be easier to break things up if nobody knew what was going on.