A Game of Sorrows (36 page)

‘Then you were not persuaded by the priest? You will not take Sean’s place at the head of their rising?’

‘I am not the man they seek. I am not the man he was.’

‘I think perhaps he was a better man than I knew.’

‘He was a better man than I am,’ I said at last. ‘I will not fill his place, have no fears on that. Come, we have little time to lose.’ And within minutes we were pulling away from the shore, from Ardclinnis, and from the last earthly resting place of the man who had so mistaken what I was. I cast a glance behind me as we rounded the headland. A boat, long and dark, bearing a standard I knew to be Murchadh’s, was powering down the coast from the north. I committed our party to God and rowed for all I was worth.

It was the mist that saved us, and they could not see us. Or their need to search Ardclinnis, that bought us time. Or God in His Providence, who had not finished with us yet. Whatever the cause, we got away from the search party of Murchadh O’Neill and before midday had won to the safety of Ballygally.

‘Sir James Shaw is a Scot, well affected to the king and the Protestant cause. We will find sanctuary there, and a place of rest for the women.’

The latter was becoming a pressing concern: Macha was in a deal of discomfort, and the constant movement and exposure to the elements were playing hard on Deirdre’s weakened state of health. Her sleep last night had been restless, and full of terrors she could not name on waking. She had murmured of Sean, of the poet, and of Maeve MacQuillan, and I wondered if she was seeing again in her mind’s eye that vision of a death foretold.

She insisted on sitting up in the boat, on keeping watch, although we had told her there was no need to. ‘You will not watch properly,’ she said. ‘You will not see what I see.’ Her hair blew wild in the wind, and her eyes looked far into something that I knew in truth I could not see. She might have been a daughter of the legends of another age, fleeing from powers that had come to call her back to them.

Andrew watched her. ‘She loved me, Alexander. Like fire. Like a storm.’

‘She loves you still.’

‘I have lost her once already, to the English, to her own pride. But she can no longer hide from her roots: the Irish blood is too strong in her. Cormac knows this, and I think he knows her. He has bided his time, and waited, and I will lose her now to him.’

‘I have watched her with you, Andrew, and I have seen her with Cormac: she still loves you.’

‘I could only keep her while she is broken, and I will not do that.’ I did not argue with him, for he knew my cousin better than I did, and I knew him: he would not see atrophy that which he loved. And if Cormac’s rising did not fail then perhaps Deirdre would find her place in Ireland after all, the place that Andrew knew he could never give her.

We had kept close to the shore most of the way, but when the mist lifted, and Andrew pointed landwards, I thought we must have drifted across the narrows to the southern tip of Scotland. Only yards from the shore was a castle, a Scots castle, like so many I had spent time in as the friend of Archibald Hay.

It rose perhaps five storeys, looking directly across the sea to the land where it had its roots. The roof was steep, and turreted windows at the corners gave views to the west and the east, from where trouble or assistance might be expected to come. A high outer wall reached almost to the sea, where a small river met the shore. Loopholes in the walls allowed for musketry. Everything was clean and new, and it took me home, to the castles of Mar, like a miniature, a fragment of Castle Fraser, or Craigievar.

Before we had pulled the boat up on to the sand, a musket was sticking through a loophole in the castle wall, and a voice challenging us to state our business.

‘Tell Sir James it is Andrew Boyd. Tell him I bring news of Madeira, and seek shelter from rebels against the king.’

That was it, no explanation of who ‘Andrew Boyd’ might be, a direct appeal, with some shadow of a familiarity, to the master himself. Before I could ask what nonsense he spoke of ‘Madeira’, the musket had been lowered, and the huge oak gate in the outer wall was opening in before us. Andrew called for assistance for the women, and soon four men were hastening down the sand and helping them from the boat, as I was thrust by my companion towards the castle and told to get myself within its walls. A carving in the stone over the entrance portal showed its master’s initials and crest, along with those of his wife, Isabella Brisbane, with a date of 1625, the legend proclaiming God’s Providence to be his inheritance. ‘And mine also,’ I thought.

An attempt had been made, when we entered, to take Macha down to the kitchens with the servants, but Deirdre’s eyes had flashed fire: ‘She is my brother’s wife.’ And from that moment, there was no further suggestion that Macha should be handled as a servant.

It was evident, from the manner of their greeting, that Andrew Boyd and Sir James Shaw were not strangers. ‘I am sorry to see you injured, Boyd, but glad that you have gained safe to my house. You do credit to your master, and,’ his eyes drifted to me, ‘to his grandson. But perhaps you, sir,’ and now he was addressing me, ‘would be more comfortable in some fresh clothing.’

The fine garments I had been provided with for my night with Roisin at Dun-a-Mallaght had not fared well since I had left that cursed place. I opened my mouth to protest that Andrew was in greater need of attention than I was, but was silenced by a look from my companion that brooked no argument, so I went reluctantly with the two guards whom Shaw deemed it necessary to attend to my dressing. Only then did it occur to me that my host believed me to be Sean.

Less than an hour later, after some vigorous scrubbing in a tub set out by the stream that ran through the inner courtyard, and arrayed in the serviceable clothing of a Scots servant, I was brought once more to the great hall, where a welcome fire burned. Shaw and Andrew had been deep in conference as I’d entered, but lifted their heads from some papers as soon as they heard me. A momentary hesitation in Andrew’s eyes was quickly replaced by relief, and Shaw, distrust now gone, strode towards me, his hand outstretched.

‘Mr Seaton. You must forgive the coolness in my manner earlier. You are so much like your cousin that although I had heard him reported dead, the sight of you made me think the reports mistaken. Be welcome to my house as a fellow countryman and one of my own faith.’

I took his hand gladly as Andrew took up the explanation. ‘Sir James was an associate of your grandfather’s. He is a staunch supporter of the king, and of the Protestant faith. I have apprised him of your true identity, and of what has brought you to Ireland.’

‘Damnable superstition,’ the older Scot interceded, ‘but you do honour to your family in coming to their aid. It is the tragedy of some that they will not be helped.’ I did not ask him what he meant, but visions of my grandmother passed through my mind. ‘And you have garnered little thanks and much hardship for your troubles, I hear. But no matter, that will be put to rights. First though, you will rest and sup here, now, before we come to business.’ He banged a great gong by the fireplace and within moments, a light quick step was on the stairs. Glad of the fire, I attended only to it until the girl’s voice made me turn around and look towards the doorway where she stood.

‘You wish something from the kitchens, sir?’

‘I wish my wife. Where the Devil is she? Our visitors are half-starved.’

‘She is with the ladies yet. I will go and fetch her.’ I looked to Andrew in astonishment; I knew beyond a doubt that it was Margaret, the girl from the poor roadside inn, daughter to a widowed mother and sister to a murdered brother.

Andrew registered the cause of my surprise and his face broke into a broad smile. ‘Yes, it is Margaret. You recall when we last saw her, she asked if I could do anything to help her find some position of service, that she might be a charge on her mother no longer, and might perhaps earn something to help her with? I wrote a testimonial for her and she took herself to Carrickfergus to find work. That very day.’

‘And indeed, it was our good fortune that she did. My wife had gone in despair to the town, thinking a trustworthy girl was not to be had in the country. Young Margaret is quick, and careful, and minds her tongue. My wife is much easier in her own house to have such a girl by her.’

In a country where I had known only bad news, and worse, this was something truly to be welcomed, and for the first time in many days I felt a gladness in my heart.

Margaret soon returned, begging Sir James’s pardon, but Lady Isabella was much preoccupied with seeing to the comfort of the ladies, and might she be of service instead?

He ordered her to have sent up whatever food the kitchens might have ready. In no time, a hearty quantity of food had made its way from the kitchens to the hall. I could see Andrew took genuine pleasure to see Margaret in her new situation, and I hoped something might come of it, when the time was right. That time, I knew, would be a while off yet, because he would never abandon Deirdre or thoughts of her until she was ready to abandon him. Margaret mastered her emotions well, and I doubt her new employers could have guessed at any feeling between the pair, but she could not mask them so well that I, who knew already, could not see what her feelings for him still were.

Margaret bent to attend to the fire and Sir James moved from one side of the hearth to the other. ‘And so to business,’ he said. ‘You are accused of your cousin’s murder. I am blunt of necessity, for time presses and the niceties are not to our purpose here.’

Margaret could not help but look up at me, her face a study in shock. Andrew put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘Whoever murdered Sean, it was not Alexander. He was nowhere near Carrickfergus at the time: he was with me, and we have the witnesses to prove it.’ She regained a little of her usual composure, and attempted a smile in my direction, but she still looked far from assured on the matter.

Sir James continued. ‘The accusation, as you know, has come from your grandmother. There are few who believe her, however loud she proclaims it, but it must be addressed all the same. Now, Boyd here tells me you were together, taking shelter in Armstrong’s Bawn, on the road to Ballymena, on the night of your cousin’s murder. Is that correct?’

‘They tell me my cousin was murdered on the night of my grandfather’s funeral?’

He gave a curt nod, watching me carefully.

‘Then that is correct,’ I said.

‘Good, then there will be little difficulty in proving your innocence, as not only Andrew but others can vouch for your presence there. We must get you to Carrickfergus, to the safety of the garrison, and state your case to the governor.’

‘We need to get the women back too, as soon as possible, to the safety of my grandmother’s house.’

‘Murchadh O’Neill is after you, and his son also?’

‘Yes. Murchadh would like to get his hands on me, I think, one way or the other, but Cormac’s only interest is in Deirdre.’

‘And yet, from what Boyd has told me, it will go ill for your cousin’s wife should they come upon her.’

I did not want to think about what they would do to Macha and her unborn child should they realise who she was. ‘I think we must leave here soon.’

‘We cannot all go together. Murchadh will know our party, and once we have left the protection of the castle we will be at risk of capture, at least until we reach Olderfleet.’

Sir James was not disposed to be much put out of his plans by fear of the O’Neills. ‘I am not as young as I was, but I am not ready to bide my time at the hearth, sucking on my gums, quite yet. You and the Irish girl, Sean’s wife, must leave tomorrow, early.’ It was Andrew he addressed himself to. ‘My steward takes a consignment of hides to Olderfleet. You will travel with him, in the guise of a Scots servant and his pregnant wife.’

‘No great disguise required for that, I think.’

‘Indeed. If they do not know of the girl or that she is with you, you should not be troubled on your way. No one will be searching for a servant with a pregnant wife.’

‘And what of Deirdre, and Alexander?’

‘They will travel later in the day, with me, and by God, let O’Neill try his hand and he will soon see what a Scotsman can do!’

‘The man is ruthless,’ said Andrew bluntly.

‘Oh, never fear, for I know that well enough, and if I did not, there is Margaret here could have told me.’ The girl, who had been refilling our plates and glasses, lowered her eyes. I remembered how I had felt at the sight of Finn O’Rahilly hanging from a tree, and wondered how much worse it had been for her to so find her own brother. ‘No, I can be ruthless myself, and have had cause to be so before now, and will be again, if need be. But I have cunning too, and I think, unlike so many of his race, that is what our friend Murchadh lacks. They will have to halve their numbers if they choose to go in pursuit of both of us. Margaret here will take on the role of lady’s maid, and we will have eight of my strongest men with us. It is no great distance from here to Olderfleet, and from there we will be accompanied by a detachment from the garrison to Carrickfergus. Let him try to approach us!’

And so the thing was decided.

I took my leave of our host and went in search of Deirdre and Macha. As I mounted the stone turnpike stair, I glimpsed, through open doorways and at windows, men standing, muskets at their sides, eyes trained on the sea. They were watching for Murchadh. It was a place awaiting attack, preparing for a siege.

While we had waited for our food, James Shaw had sent for one of his men and entrusted him with some commission. He was striding towards the stable, fully dressed now for a late autumn ride, and making for the saddled horse that stood in readiness. Before he mounted, I saw him place a paper in the saddlebag of his horse. I could not tell, but felt sure it was the same paper over which Andrew and James Shaw had been bent when I had first come upon them in the hall. Within moments, he was through the gates and riding for all he was worth, towards Carrickfergus. I felt a chill that was little to do with the coldness of the early November air, and wondered whether I truly knew Andrew Boyd at all.