Authors: Aubrey Flegg
Fugitives! (15 page)
Merciful Heaven!
No wonder the boy was nervous! This was news beyond anything she could have imagined. It stopped her in her tracks.
‘Uncle Hugh leaving!’ she gasped, her own fears flooding in. For all the trouble Uncle Hugh had caused them, it was he who had not only kept the English land-grabbers away from them, but the feuding Irish as well.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be back,’ he said gallantly.
‘And young Con? Are you all going?’
‘Yes, but that’s why I’m here. You see, we don’t know where Con is. He should be with his foster family, the O’Brolchains, but they’re
following their cattle somewhere in the hills, and nobody knows where. I told Father I’d go and find Con, but he says that I must stay with him because Mother would never forgive him if he lost both of us.’
‘Perhaps we could help find him?’ she said without thinking.
‘That’s just what Father was hoping – not you, of course, but someone your father can trust. It’s so, so secret, you see – if Chichester gets a whiff of it we will be headed off before we can get to the boat.’
And be caught and hanged
, Sinéad thought grimly. It wasn’t much to ask; they’d surely find someone reliable to search for Con.
‘I’m sure we can help, but you must tell Father yourself. How is it that you know the short cut through the plashing?’ she asked.
‘One of us knows the way. It was tricky because the road was blocked by a whole mass of soldiers.’
‘What soldiers?’ she asked, suddenly alert.
‘Someone called Bonmann exercising his troops. I don’t know where they’re going.’
‘I can tell you that. They’re coming here!’ she said. ‘This is the end of the road.’
Bonmann again!
Her legs felt weak.
With Uncle Hugh gone, who’ll look after us?
‘Come quickly, John, you must tell Father and then get on your way.’
Father took the news of Uncle Hugh’s departure almost as if he’d expected it. ‘So they sent a boat in the end,’ he said to John. ‘Your father will do more for our cause in Spain than he can here. We
must do our utmost to find Con for you.’
‘It was my brother, Henry, who sent the boat–’ began John, but Sinéad interrupted, ‘Sorry, John, but tell Father about the army you dodged on the way here.’
Father listened with a growing frown. ‘Bonmann, by God!’ and at that moment, from somewhere high above, came a sound that sent a thrill down Sinéad’s spine: the Great Horn of the de Cashels blowing the alarm.
Father sat up. ‘Quickly, boy, tell me roughly where Con’s to be found, and then you must go.’
ames sat up from his work when the braying sound of the Great Horn rang out from the battlements above. The breastplate he’d been polishing for Father slipped and crashed to the floor. In a single bound, he leapt over the fallen breastplate and made for the tower steps.
‘What? … Where? … Who?’ he gasped as he reached the lookout, but then had to cover his ears as a second blast rang out. The man on watch, too puffed to speak, pointed to the forest road, where James saw a solid phalanx of horsemen appear. The sunlight glinted on their helmets.
No plumed hats
, thought James,
is this war?
He soon had his answer, for in no time at all the horsemen had spread out to cast a moving net across the meadows.
They’re after someone!
he thought, and looked down onto the village below. Everywhere people were responding to the alarm, running
towards the safety of the castle from the fields, or out to man the palisade. Father must be told. As he hurtled down the stairs, James felt betrayed.
We’re loyal now. Why are they hounding us? If it’s the cows they want, why send a whole army?
He forced his way through the bustle at the door and burst into the great hall, where, to his surprise, he found Father talking to Sinéad and a young red-headed lad, who looked vaguely familiar; but he must interrupt.
‘Father, excuse me, I’ve come from the battlements. There are twenty horse or more spreading out from the forest road.’
Father frowned. Signalling for James to wait, he turned to the boy and said: ‘Go now, while you can. I have your message and will send a man as soon as the present trouble is over. God’s speed!’
The boy ran past James for the door.
That’s who he reminds me of,
thought James,
Con O’Neill!
‘Another O’Neill?’ he asked, as the boy disappeared. Sinéad opened her mouth to reply, but Father got in first: ‘Just a messenger. Thank you, James, for coming so quickly. I have feared this; we must put our defence plan into action. I will move into the guard room now and take command. You, James, will clear the great hall here as a refuge for the women and children. All able-bodied men will take their stations at the palisade with the instructions to fall back on the castle if there is any attack. I want no heroics; we have a castle, let the walls be our defence, understand?’
‘But, Father, these are the king’s men, why should we have to defend ourselves?’
‘Because the king’s men don’t always fight for the king; they
fight for themselves.’
James had no more time for speculation but as he ran to complete Father’s orders he couldn’t help wondering about that boy. If he was a mere messenger, why would Father wish him ‘God’s speed’ as if he were a nobleman? It was strange.
Sinéad, however, ran after the boy towards the stables, and would have helped him saddle his pony if one of his companions hadn’t appeared to help him.
Where have I seen that man before?
she wondered as he calmed and reassured the boy, holding his foot as he swung into the saddle. As the boy rode out he looked down at Sinéad and said, ‘I hope you’ll be all right.’
‘We’ll be fine,’ she replied. ‘Haven’t we got four stone walls to hide behind? God’s speed,’ she added, liking the phrase Father had used. As he cantered off she noticed that the boy had only one companion now. The other was beside her still, watching the boy fondly as the two disappeared into the forest. She turned to look at him.
Of course!
It was the poet who had played that night when Chichester had dined with them. He was looking at her quizzically, one bushy eyebrow raised.
‘Am I forgiven?’ he said humbly.
‘For what, sir?’
‘For playing a Sassenach tune that caught you a fish you could have done without.’
Sinéad grimaced. ‘Yes, but I don’t want to be the jilted lover in one of your songs. Father says: “Never cross a poet.” May I ask your
name?’
‘Young Con called me Haystacks. The name tickles me.’
‘I’d say it does. You’d better come into the safety of the castle. My suitor is about to attack.’
‘I will come, but first I would like a word with one, Fion O’Neill. Do you know him?’
Fion recognised their visitor from Sinéad’s description. ‘I’ve heard he’s a poet, and a harper too,’ he said, ‘but I’ve never worked out if he’s Uncle Hugh’s poet, or if he’s just a poet who’s adopted Uncle Hugh. If he’s here, we can be sure it’s about Uncle Hugh’s business, whether Uncle Hugh knows it or no.’
Sinéad introduced him to Fion as Mr Haystacks, and then excused herself, sensing that their talk would be private.
As she walked back to the castle from the stables, Sinéad felt as if the weight of the world had landed on her shoulders. This was like a stage play, to be repeated whenever the English fancied it: fleeing friends, approaching horsemen, marching men.
If only there was something I could do that would send them all away
… At that moment she knew, and knew clearly! She stopped in her tracks.
Oh dear God give me courage!
When Fion and the stranger were alone he said: ‘Your uncle thinks well of you, Fion, so I won’t beat about the bush. I could have spirited you away with John just now, leaving your young fosterlings to fend for themselves, but my guess is that you would prefer to stay?’
‘Yes, sir!’
‘In that case, let’s prepare for all eventualities. We’ll steal some horses together for a start.’
James, watching the advance of the horsemen from the castle tower, never noticed four ponies and a horse being quietly led away into the woods behind him. He did, however, wonder who the boy was who had been talking to Father, and whether he had got away. Meanwhile the approaching horsemen were wasting no time, and soon the castle was effectively surrounded by a vigilant ring of horsemen circling the palisade, just beyond bow-shot. For the time being they made no attempt to close in. All they did was to arrest and question a couple of herdsmen caught hurrying home in answer to the Great Horn.
‘There, sir, there!’ growled the watchman beside James, pointing to the forest road. ‘Foot soldiers, a hundred by the look.’ James squinted, trying to make his own estimate, but it was impossible to see how many there were, or what they had with them because of the dust they raised. As he hurried down to see Father, the Great Horn rang out again.
It took the foot soldiers twenty minutes to reach the castle, a
formidable force of men that, like the horsemen, drew up a safe bow-shot from the palisade where they seemed busy, as if they were making preparations for a long stay. They even pitched a tent at their centre. A messenger came forward from their ranks.
‘Go to the palisade gate, James, and report what he has to say,’ ordered Father.
James went and returned quickly.
‘Well, boy, who is it? If it had been Sir Arthur himself I’d have come to the door–’
‘No sir, as we know, but Sir Geoffrey Bonmann. You’ll remember he–’
‘Indeed! Well, what’s that upstart doing coming here to menace me? Who’s he acting for and what does he want? Tell him he has no right to Chichester’s cattle!’