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

by Jason Henry Evans

  Most of the crowd were well on their way home when Mannan got the reins of his horse. In the back Deborah and Ote held each other. Both had their pride hurt tonight. Mannan snapped the reins and the horse began her trot when someone grabbed the reins. “Mannan,” the voice called out. “It’s me, Angus.”

  “How’s your brother?” Mannan asked.

  “His pride’s hurt. Your sister left a deep mark,” Angus said.

  “Good!” Pipped up Deborah. “If he—”

  “Quiet!” Mannan snapped. He turned to Angus. “Sorry about that.”

  Angus shook his head. “No. He was drunk. Hopefully he’s learned a lesson.” He looked to his right and Riona came out of the shadows. She glowered at Mannan.

  “My people are all going home, I made sure of that,” Mannan said.

  “I thank you for that. I separated my people, as well.” Angus sighed. “Shame, it was a grand party.” Angus smiled and let the reins go. Riona only watched as Mannan and his family rode away.

  The road was lit by the stars and a crescent moon as they rode in silence. The only sounds came from the creak of their wheels and the steps of the horse. Suddenly, the howl of wolves broke the silence somewhere off in the distance. Today started so well. Now what?

  Eibhlin trembled at the wolves howl, so she broke the silence in the wagon. “You looked quite fine, Mannan. You too, Deborah. And you, as well, Ote,” she said, awkwardly.

  No one replied, so she continued. “I’m sure this will all blow over in a day or so.”

  “I hope it doesn’t,” Deborah announced. “I never liked Diarmuid.”

  Deborah was baiting him for an argument. This time he wouldn’t take it.

  Deborah turned to Ote and stroked his nascent beard. “Are you well, my love?”

  “Always when I’m in your arms.” Ote pulled Deborah’s hair away from her face.

  “It was very gallant what you did. I’m proud of you,” Deborah said.

  Mannan noticed her volume increased when she spoke. Those words were meant for him.

  “A REAL man you are, my love. Protecting us women folk from the likes of those Mickens.”

  Easy Mannan. She’s just trying to needle you. Ignore her, he thought.

  “I wish our family bread more honorable men,” Deborah continued.

  Mannan would not take the bait. He kept hold of the reins and continued forward to the farm. Meanwhile Deborah kept needling him and praising Ote for his bravery. It was at times like these Mannan missed the kissing and caresses of earlier. At least he didn’t have to hear that.

  The darkened silhouette of their home and barn came into view. “Ote, go to the barn and fetch the lantern. I have flint & steel here. Go quickly, I cannot unhitch the horse in darkness.”

  Ote did what he was told.

  Mannan got down and helped his mother from the wagon. She kissed his check gently in thanks, then turned towards the house. Deborah was about to walk past them both when Mannan grabbed her elbow. She looked at him in anger and was about to speak when Mannan nodded towards their mother.

  Deborah jerked her elbow free and waited until their mother went inside the house. “You need to stop, Deborah.”

  The wild girl tossed her hair as she moved away from Mannan. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You are going to get Ote killed. This is not a game.”

  “Neither was Diarmuid’s pawing of me,” Deborah hissed.

  Mannan sighed. “I’m sorry for that. I didn’t realize he was that drunk.”

  “Well he was and his hands wandered all over me.” Even in the moonlight Mannan could see the red in her eyes. “I only danced with him because you wanted me too.”

  “Again, I am sorry. But don’t make this worse. He took his liberties with you and you chastised him. No one will fault you. No one will fault us. But if this persists people could die.”

  “Good,” Deborah said gaily.

  “Do you want Ote in a grave? Do you want me in a grave? Is that what you want? You’re too young to remember the troubles. But I’m not. Men would fight and die over a milking cow, or a pound of butter found in a bog.” He stepped forward and took hold of Deborah’s shoulders. “We have something good here. The wolf doesn’t howl at our door. Our larder is full and our fires bright. Isn’t that enough for now?”

  “What about my honor?” asked Deborah.

  Was she serious? Mannan sighed. “You defended your honor when you marked him. All will know what Diarmuid did and all will mock him.” The sounds of steps and clanking loudened. Ote was approaching. Deborah went inside the house while Mann struck flint to steal trying to light the wick. When the light began its glow Mannan saw the simple smile on Ote’s face as the boy held the lantern high. “Go ahead, Mannan. Unhitch the horse.”

  Mannan did was he was told and lead the horse to the barn. “You can stay here, tonight.” Mannan put his arm around Ote, who suddenly grinned in reply.

  Chapter 4

  Several tense days passed as Mickens and MacOwens avoided each other. This was particularly hard considering they lived on either side of a set of hills from each other. But the peace was kept and no one died. Mannan was grateful for that.

  A few more tense days followed when the great corpulent friar, Fr. Duncan waddled down from the lonely chapel and spoke with each side. Mannan always thought Duncan besotted with the local gifts given him in beer and food. A man who enjoyed the easy life. But the priest had done his best to keep all concerned at peace.

  “I thank you, for the water, Mother Eibhline.”

  “Sure now, I can get you something else? Milk? Wine?”

  The priest’s eyes twinkled at the thought of wine. “No. No. I am fine. But Deborah, Lass. How are you?”

  “I am fine. My angered has cooled,” Deborah said softly. She sat near Ote who tenderly held her hand. “I was so angry that night.”

  “Well,” Fr. Duncan began. “I can assure you the Mickens were just as upset. In fact, I spoke with all the menfolk and to the last man they were embarrassed by Diarmuid.”

  “They should be,” hissed Ote.

  “And they bear no anger at you, Ote. Why, what man wouldn’t unsheathe at the offense given to his betrothed.” He leaned over and squeezed Ote’s knee. “No, all is forgiven.”

  “Forgiven? We gave no offense, father. What should we be forgiven for?” Ote asked.

  Flustered, Fr. Duncan reddened as he tried to find soothing words. “I mean to say, they hold no ill will.” He turned to Mannan. “And you, even Connell thanks your smart thinking on that night. You prevented bloodshed, Mannan. Connell holds you in much regard.”

  Mannan stood. “I thank you, father.”

  The priest understood the gesture and stood himself, ready to leave. He thanked Eibhlin for her hospitality and left their modest home to untie his horse. Mannan walked him out. “Father, you said ‘All the menfolk,” does that include Diarmuid?”

  Fr. Duncan paled. He looked down to gather himself. “Diarmuid’s pride is bruised. They chide him for his actions, but he broods.” Fr. Duncan put his hand on Mannan’s shoulder. “Give him time, he will come around.”

  Mannan nodded, then helped the priest on his horse. As the priest wandered up the high road to the chapel Mannan breathed a bit easier. Perhaps this would pass with only hurt pride? Thinking of the great danger both families avoided, Mannan said a little prayer to the Virgin in thanks. As he mumbled the Ave Maria in the mid-morning, the echo of a lone wolfs howl faintly floated through the valley.

  ◆◆◆

  Another half week had passed. Yesterday the chapel was filled as Fr. Duncan said mass. There was now too many people in the glen, so two services were had. An early morning service for the Mickens and a late morning service for the MacOwens. Mannan was not one for much church, but he went gladly yesterday.

  Today seemed like a return to normal. The day was warm by highland standards and Mannan busied himself with milking the heifers. He liked making ch
eese and butter. But Ote was late, again. After service he swore he would be at Mannan’s farm by mid-morning, but was late. He knew the boy meant well, but he dreamed too much. Distractions came easy for him.

  Mannan milked cows all morning long. He filled several crocks that day. Only stopping because his stomach would not let him focus. So he went to the house where his mother prepared a stew and fresh bread. Opening the door the perfume of cooking food excited him and he found his chair quickly. Eibhlin caressed his head as he sat. He took a bite of the meaty stew and sighed “This is good, ma.”

  Eibhlin smiled as she washed a wooden bowl and wandered to the door to enjoy the noon sun. But her smile slowly died as she watched the road come down to their farm. “St. Brigid, protect us.”

  Mannan turned to the door. “What is it?”

  Eibhlin said nothing as she wandered out.

  Mannan followed. Down the road a group of men and women, no more than twenty, followed a donkey on a small cart. Eibhlin was half way up the road when Mannan started running. What had happened?

  Eibhlin ran to the cart, then walked beside it, weeping. Soon, Mannan met the cart and knew the truth. Ote lay in the back, unconscious and fevered. His face a bloody mess and his chest wheezing in between soft coughs. “Jesus, what have you done?” Mannan said.

  ◆◆◆

  The boy was moved to Mannan’s mattress filled with soft, fresh straw. Deborah held his hand and wept bitterly. Mannan went back outside where his cousins stood around. “What happened?”

  Seamus held his chin against his chest in shame. “Aaron Rue knows. Tell him, Aaron.”

  A wiry blond man, much like Ote himself, stepped forward. “Ote asked me to be his second as he challenged Diarmuid to a duel.”

  “Oh no,” Eibhlin cried.

  Mannan turned back to the house and listened to the soft weeping of his sister inside. “And it was this morning?”

  Aaron nodded. “Aye, it was.”

  “What do we do now?” Seamus asked.

  “I have my armor,” someone called out.

  “I have my bow,” said another.

  Mannan turned. His face flooded with heat. “What do we do? We do NOTHING.”

  His cousins looked confused. “But look at the boy. He’s kin. Look what they did,” Aaron Rue said. “We cannot let that stand.”

  “We can and we will. This was OVER. All the Mickens’s felt Diarmuid was in the wrong. His scratches were his penance.” He pointed inside. “Now this pup of a man wants satisfaction? Well, as far as I’m concerned, he got it. This is over.”

  “You’d let one of those do this to one of us?” A man shouted.

  “Aye, I would. Have you gotten soft living on oats and leeks and butter every day? Have you forgotten how bad Leinster was? Ullum, your children have a chance to live in peace here.” He turned to another cousin. “Brian, no one will burn your crops here or slaughter your cattle.”

  He walked through the crowd and down to the well where everyone could see him. “And remember, all of us our tenants here. The Mackenzie’s will not allow us to fight a private war. Not like we did back home. Even if we slaughter them, the Mackenzie’s will drive us off their land and replace us with others grateful to be here.” Mannan shook his head. “No. We must let this stand.”

  The crowd of cousins grumbled in reply.

  “The Mickens. They will lord this over us for a year or more,” Ullum called out from the crowd.

  “Is your pride worth more than warm nights and full bellies?” Mannan stared at his kin. “Is it?” A few of his cousins looked at the ground or turned their eyes. “Go home. We will take care of Ote. If they try to provoke you, for once be good Christians and turn the other cheek.”

  The crowd of Irishmen grumbled and milled about for an hour or so as Mannan went inside to tend to his sister. Soon they were all gone except Seamus and Aaron Rue, who waited outside as the bright morning became a warm afternoon. Eibhlin baked bread and made fish stew for them all. They sat at outside so that Deborah could be alone with Ote.

  Aaron Rue supped his stew then spoke. “How’s the lad doing?”

  Mannan shook his head. “The swelling is awful. But the bleeding has stopped.” He tore a piece of warm bread and dipped it in the stew.

  “And your sister?” Seamus asked.

  “She cries uncontrollably and lays her head on his waist,” Mannan said.

  “I am sorry, Mannan. If I had known—” Aaron Rue’s voice trailed off. “If I had thought about it, I would have turned Ote down flatly.”

  Mannan sighed. “It wasn’t you he would have found another damned hot head for his foolish work.” He looked off across the field where the cattle chewed grass lazily. “We have to let them know. We have to convince the Mickens that this is it.”

  “Just how do we do that?” asked Seamus.

  “We go over there,” Aaron Rue said. “They’ll respect that.” He shoveled another spoonful in his mouth.

  “But we go with no weapons. Not even an eating knife,” Mannan said.

  “But Mannan, what if things go wrong?” Seamus asked.

  “They already have, Seamus,” Mannan said.

  ◆◆◆

  Seamus and Aaron Rue went home that evening. Mannan checked in on his sister and Ote. Deborah had stopped crying because she had fallen asleep. Eibhlin changed the damp cloths from Ote’s forehead for other rags that had been freshly rinsed in the cold stream. Mannan looked at the boy. Yes, he was gangly. Yes, he was foolish and stupid beyond measure. But Ote was kind, just as Deborah had said. He was a hard worker and more importantly, he loved Deborah. Mannan could forgive all manner of faults for that fact alone.

  The small house was stuffy so Mannan went outside to think. He saw his ax laying by a pile of wood and thought the house needed more firewood. As he chopped he thought of what Connell and Diarmuid would say and what his reply would be. Like a play, he rehearsed the entire scene in his head. Suddenly he remembered that the hens had not been checked from that morning.

  Mannan walked over the hen house to hear the screeching of the chickens. A few feathers hear and their lay strewn on the ground. “Lord, preserve us.” He opened the latch and found all six hens pecking and screeching away. “Thank the heavens.” He closed the latch and checked the other side. There he saw large gouges in the wood. “Damn it. Wolves,” Mannan mumbled. They had scratched and pawed at the hen coop, but to no avail. It was another thing to think about. When this was all over those wolves would have to be taken care of. Another item to work on while he tended the cattle.

  After checking that the hens were not injured Mannan went back to the house. The sun would set soon but it felt good to swing an ax. With every swing Mannan tired. He was weary. Weary of the work, weary of the tension, and weary of violence. More than weariness, Mannan was frightened.

  Frightened that ten years of back breaking work would be undone with a dance and a duel. Frightened that this new home would go up in smoke like some much tinder. But most of all, he was frightened that, somehow, he could have done more. That if he had been in the right place, or hadn’t gone to the party at all, none of this would have happened.

  As he grabbed a blanket and lay near the hearth he thought of Riona. Her beautiful brown eyes and her wicked smile. If he could only keep the peace. He thought of that one, perfect kiss under the oak tree and the warmth of her body lying next to his. Mannan drifted to sleep with the remembrance of Riona on his mind.

  ◆◆◆

  The next day the highland summer disappeared. Soft winds pushed the fog and mist out in the late morning and replaced it with gentle rains, which in turn stopped and settled into more fog.

  That afternoon Seamus and Aaron Rue returned on their highland ponies wearing the thick woolen brat over their head and shoulders. Mannan went to the barn to get the horse, Fiona. He put a blanket on her back and a bit in her mouth before climbing aboard.

  The three road in silence over the hills to the next glen. There the s
torm waxed and waned, drenching the three. After ascending a hill in the road the three reached the crest and saw Diarmuid’s house and land, dotted with oak trees.

  “Are we sure this is wise?” Aaron Rue asked.

  “No. But what options do we have” Mannan asked.

  “Besides, we’re already wet,” Seamus said.

  They rode down the hill towards Diarmuid’s home. Thunder clapped, scaring the horses. In the distance a figure came out of the home and stood still for a moment before rushing back inside.

  “Now it begins,” said Aaron Rue.

  “Keep calm. Everything will be alright,” Mannan said.

  Five figures burst through the door and ran to the barn nearby.

  Mannan eased Fiona to a stop. His cousins followed. “Hey,” Mannan said as he nodded towards the house. “Look who’s coming.” From behind the house rode five men on horseback. Mannan clucked his teeth. Was this some kind of display or show of force? An attempt at intimidation?

  “Don’t they look impressive,” Seamus spat.

  The five men closed quickly on the MacOwens. The day was dark but lightening flashed as they galloped up the small hill revealing they were all armed. As they approached the MacOwens the Mickens slowed their horses to a stop. Connell’s horse was in the middle with Diarmuid’s to his left. Connell spoke first. “Nice evening for a ride.”

  “That it is,” Mannan said.

  “Did you come for another chastisement, MacOwen?” Connell shifted his weight on the pony.

  “We came unarmed, Connell.” Mannan raised his hands high above his head. “We just want to talk.”

  “Then talk,” Connell replied.

  Mannan began. “I had no idea Ote would ask Diarmuid to a duel. That’s the Lord’s truth. If I had known, I would have boxed his ears myself.” He looked at Diarmuid. “But Diarmuid beat me too it.” Diarmuid seethed from atop his horse. Even with the lingering cloud cover, it was clear where Deborah scratched him. From his left ear to his left lower lip, and red, gauging wound, hot and swollen, traced three lines across his face. Mannan flinched to look at it.