Authors: Aubrey Flegg
Fugitives! (17 page)
Sinéad hadn’t realised how rough and coarse boy’s clothes would feel. It took careful selection, but in the end she had drawers, a woollen vest that tickled, patched trousers, a greyish linen shirt, and a short tunic such as country boys wore. She needed a cloak. Kathleen went off and was back in a minute. ‘Look, miss, I’ve found this old
one in the garderobe.’ She held up a mottled cloak, and despite the disgust on Sinéad’s face, she rolled it up firmly. ‘You’ll take it, young miss, and be grateful for it!’ She helped Sinéad make a pack of her spare clothes. When, however, she looked at the forlorn pile of Sinéad’s beautiful hair and Uncle Hugh’s dress thrown over the table, she lost her nerve and wailed: ‘What have I done – where’s my little girl?’ and gave Sinéad a huge and tearful hug. ‘The Mistress will eat me, and you don’t even feel right!’
Sinéad, beginning to choke up, pushed her away. ‘Give Bonmann a lock of my hair – with my love.’
‘Oh no, miss,’ said Kathleen, practical at once, ‘sure that might tell him to go looking for a boy.’
Somehow I don’t think he will
, thought Sinéad.
Father had left the guard room to talk to the guard, and Fion now faced James across the small table that had been brought in for Father to work at.
‘Well, James,’ Fion asked, ‘will you come with me, then?’
James’s mind was in turmoil. He had staked everything on his dream of English rule. ‘Fion,’ he said, ‘I’ll show you the way out, but I’ll leave you then. I’m convinced that Chichester knows nothing about Bonmann’s attack. I’ll ride south and appeal to him to call Bonmann off. I refuse to believe that Chichester is behind this.
Kathleen brought Sinéad the news that the boys were ready. Without telling anyone, she had made an extra pack of provisions which she now gave to Sinéad, who thanked her with a hug before making her way downstairs.
Sinéad hesitated outside the guard room door then pushed it open and slipped in.
Father looked up. ‘Hey you, boy, not in here. Into the great hall with you.’
Sinéad held her ground, then said loudly and, she hoped, confidently, ‘Father! I have decided I am going with the boys.’ She walked forward into the room. There was a gasp of surprise.
Mother let out a shriek: ‘Sinéad! Your hair! Your beautiful–’
‘Quiet, woman!’ interrupted Father. ‘Come here, boy …’ and he scrutinised her. ‘Well, I’m blowed, it
is
you, Sinéad.’ There was a long pause and everyone looked at Father. ‘I really don’t know,’ he said finally, ‘but it could be the answer.’
‘Don’t let her go, Sir Malachy!’ pleaded Mother.
But Father turned to the boys. ‘Well, will you take her?’
‘As far as I’m concerned, yes, but she mustn’t slow us down,’ said Fion.
Father looked at her – a look that seemed to search deep inside her. His eyes warmed. ‘I think she’ll keep up, and if she doesn’t, she’ll make up for it with sound sense.’ He turned to the boys. ‘Come, boys, my blessing.’ He placed his hands on their heads in turn. Then he looked at Sinéad and laughed. ‘You, too – I’ll name you Brian, Sinéad. It is an honourable name, don’t disgrace it. Now you must learn to kneel like a boy – anyway, you’re too sooty for a kiss.’
But Mother had no such scruples.
inéad was terrified, last in the line, crawling on hands and knees down the tunnel that James had found, leading from the castle undercroft to the fairy fort. It was awkward crawling with all her possessions slung around her neck. If only the boys would wait for her! Hot wax from her candle suddenly tipped onto her hand, and instinctively she let it go. The candle flared for a second, then died as the last glimmer of Fion’s candle ahead disappeared around a corner. Blackness such as she had never known enveloped her. Her short shout of terror was absorbed by the darkness, and she was alone with Father’s stories of ghosts and ghouls and fairies.
Or was she alone? There, behind her – a grunt – a shuffle.
Dear God, what is it?
Terror reached out and ran its claws down her back. She was last in the line, but yet, without a doubt, something large was pushing through the narrow tunnel behind her. She tried to scuttle forward on hands and knees, but immediately tripped over her pack. She turned. She could see it now in a sudden glow in the
tunnel – a great shaggy creature, like a bear. She let out a stifled shriek. The bear stopped.
Stupid!
she thought.
Bears don’t carry candles, but what could it be?
‘Is that you, Sinéad, or should I say Brian?’
‘Yes!’ she squeaked.
‘I’m Haystacks. Where’s your candle?’
‘Dropped it!’
‘And the boys?’
‘Gone on.’
‘I’m joining you, all right?’
‘Oh yes, please do!’ In her relief she wanted to hug the furry creature, but he was being strictly practical. He found her candle on the floor, lit it from his, and explained briefly how Father had asked him to see them to safety. She could see now he was wearing the shaggy Wexford mantle that Con had mistaken for a haystack.
‘This is the easiest way of carrying it,’ he explained.
‘Where did you get to, Sinéad?’ demanded the boys when Sinéad caught up with them. Then, seeing the lumbering form behind her, ‘Stop there! Who … what are you? Go back!’
‘Put your daggers away, boys, I’m just something ancient that Sinéad disturbed in the tunnels.’
James recognised him. ‘I know you. You’re the poet who played the harp at our feast for the English!’
‘The very man,’ said Haystacks, shuffling forward.
Sinéad could see now that they were in a chamber where several
tunnels met. It was a relief to be able to sit upright.
‘I hear you’ve found a way through this maze?’ Haystacks continued.
‘Yes, sir,’ said James respectfully. ‘At the moment we are under the very centre of the ancient fort. It’s a short climb from here up to the roots of the great hawthorn in the middle.’
‘Is there no exit closer to the woods?’
‘Well … yes … sort of.’ James sounded doubtful.
‘Well?’
‘Beside the fort there’s a tomb that even the ancients never entered. I broke in once by mistake and found a tunnel lined with stone slabs and a chamber with bones – human bones in a cupped stone. The place was full of ghosts.’ He shivered. ‘I even heard unearthly voices and panicked. Luckily the badgers had broken in on the far side, so I was able to escape. But I don’t want to go back.’
‘I echo your respect, James, but the only bones you need to fear are living ones, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the voices you heard weren’t real voices coming through the badgers’ entrance. How far is it to the forest from the badgers’ set?’
‘A hundred paces, at a guess, sir.’
‘You’ll be seen, for sure, as the moon will be bright. But it’s the best route. We need to create a diversion. I will climb up into the fort while you crawl through to your tomb. When you hear an unearthly voice, that will be me, and it will be your chance to run. Fion will lead you to where we tied your ponies and a place where you can rest. Before you go, however, here’s a piece of advice: from now on when you travel, remember your first duty is always to the
person
behind
you on the path, not in front. That way, no one will get left behind. God knows what Sinéad will stir up next if she’s left on her own!’
Sinéad clamped her arms between her knees to stop her candle from shaking. Forcing her eyes open, she gazed cautiously around the chamber. This was the scariest place she had ever been. It was quite small and the sides were huge vertical slabs of stone. Above her was a single immense slab that covered the roof. And there, in the centre of the tomb, was the cup-shaped stone with its pathetic pile of blackened bones. They were quite small, like sticks from around a bonfire.
A girl, perhaps – like me!
An unexpected draught made her candle flicker. ‘I’m sorry!’ she whispered to the unquiet spirit, shielding her flame with a cupped hand, but the others had noticed the draught too.
‘That’ll be Haystacks opening the exit in the fort,’ James whispered. Sure enough, somewhere out there in the darkness a voice began to chant a lament, a high, weird sound, music with embedded words.
‘Come on!’ said James, ‘that’s Haystacks. We must go!’
They moved towards the exit. But suddenly there was a patter of feet and a burst of Irish from outside: ‘God almighty, I’m getting out of here, the place is bewitched. I’ve had enough of soldiering, I’m for home.’ Two soldiers crashed into the bushes outside the chamber. The children quickly blew out their candles and pulled back into the darkness.
‘But there are officers following us,’ said the second soldier.
‘Quiet!’ said the first.
The children could clearly hear the thud of boots over the heavy breathing of the two deserters.
‘Where did those layabouts go?’ said a voice in English. But at that moment Haystacks’s lament rose again. ‘There’s that call! Prime your pistol! Come on!’ and the feet thudded off into the distance.
There were surreptitious sounds from where the two deserters were hiding just a few feet away from the children. There was a whisper in Irish. ‘I reckon if we lie low here, Sean, we’ll get away.’
The three children stared at their only exit in dismay. Something must be done. Then, in a flash, they all had the same thought. Fion began it with a note as low as he could muster; James joined in, and together their cry rose into a wavering wail. When Sinéad joined in, swooping down from a high note, there wasn’t a man or woman in Ireland who wouldn’t have run for their lives like those two soldiers!
‘Now!’ whispered Fion.
One after another they squeezed out to find themselves kneeling in the soft bedding that the badgers had cleaned out of their set. A brief look left and right, and off they sprinted across the moonlit meadow. A musket shot rang out, but it wasn’t aimed at them. Half-way across both Fion and James remembered Haystacks’s instructions and looked back, but Sinéad was right there with them. They reached the forest, melted into the trees and were safe.