Cave of Secrets (14 page)
Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
S
imon paused at the doorway of the great hall.
Catherine
Flynn was sitting on a bench with her back to him. She appeared to be holding the harp. He took half a step sideways to get a better look. In his memory no one had ever touched the harp except for Missus, who dusted the carved frame occasionally.
Catherine brushed the fingers of one hand across the harp strings as lightly as if stroking them with a feather. Then she dropped her hand back into her lap. ‘Come in, Simon,’ she said without looking around. ‘I shall not play, I’ve quite
forgotten
how.’
‘No one forgets how to make music,’ he said.
‘I have forgotten too many things. Was there any post for us in the village?’
He held out the letter. ‘This arrived this morning.’
‘Thank you, Simon.’ She carried the letter upstairs to her bed-chamber, broke the wax seal and opened the envelope.
My dearest Kate,
I am writing this letter on a rainy morning in late April. It is my last deed before leaving Ireland. The Earl of Strafford has raised a private army of 8000 foot soldiers and 1000 cavalry, including my own company. The troops are massed on the Dublin docks, waiting to board ship. As soon as I post this letter I shall join them. We depart for Scotland today. You should see how splendid we look! The wild Scots cannot possibly stand against us.
I may not have the opportunity to write again until we have won a victory or two, but do not worry about me. Since meeting Robert Boyle things have turned around for me. That young man proved to be my good luck charm. Perhaps we underestimate our children.
Robert is estranged from his father, which is a loss to both of them. A man’s sons are his bridge to the future. I may have been too harsh with my own son. Just as Robert Boyle is not to blame for the deeds of his father, Tom is not to blame for what happened all these years ago. When I return I shall be in a position to make amends to him.
We have high hopes for this undertaking. Once the
rebellion
is put down, we expect the king to follow royal custom
and reward his officers with grants of prime land. You will be able to leave that inadequate house, Kate. I shall give you a home more worthy of you, perhaps a castle in Scotland. …
Catherine Flynn put down the letter. ‘What does he mean by “inadequate”?’ she asked the walls of her
chamber
. The proportions of the room were pleasing to her eyes. In summer the great windows caught the morning light. In winter the fireplace filled the chamber with a golden glow. And the thick walls made sure it was always quiet. When she was a child she had grown so tired of the sound of the sea. William had carefully placed their house so she would not have to hear that endless, exhausting voice.
Her home was not a mansion, though her husband
persisted
in calling it one. It was just a draughty country house, better than some but plainer than most. Catherine Flynn did not want a mansion, and certainly not a castle. Her heart was cemented into the rubblestone walls of Roaringwater House.
Now William proposed to transplant her like the English rose bushes he insisted on buying every year. Uprooted from their native earth and sent across the sea to foreign soil, they always died.
She picked up the letter again.
I have always shielded you from financial concerns, but there is something I must tell you. As you know, for a number of years I have been doing business with Herbert Fox. That is over now. We quarrelled on the day I sailed from Cobh. Fox demanded I give Elizabeth’s dowry to him immediately. I succeeded in putting him off, but sooner rather than later he will repeat his demand. He may even ask for more.
The man is a total scoundrel, Kate, and greedy to a fault. I have decided that I do not want my daughter to marry him. In anticipation of our success in Scotland I have concluded new monetary arrangements. Therefore I no longer need Herbert Fox. I insist that Elizabeth break off the engagement.
I hope the girl will not be too upset. You must assure her that, as always, her father knows best.
* * *
Bright clear sunlight glittered on Roaringwater Bay. The waves appeared to be crested with diamonds. For a while Muiris talked about tides and currents and navigation, but it was too much information for Tom to take in at one time. He listened as hard as he could – until he began to yawn. The sun was very warm.
Muiris noticed the yawn. Turning towards Seán, he began a teasing banter. Soon they were exchanging the fond insults of brothers.
How lucky I am, Tom thought drowsily. I have two
families
, with an almost brother and an almost baby sister.
‘Have you seen any sea-monsters yet?’ he called to Maura.
‘Not yet, Tomflynn. Can we eat monsters?’
‘I don’t think so. Why, are you hungry?’
She patted her tummy. ‘Always hungry.’
Muiris said, ‘Bríd packed some food for us. We can go ashore on one of the islands and eat.’
‘Now?’
‘Not now, Maura,’ her father replied. ‘You have to find a monster first.’ He winked at Tom, who winked back.
Maura squinted at the water. After a few minutes she announced, ‘I see one! Can we eat now?’
‘Where is it?’
‘Over there.’ She pointed. ‘No, over there!’ She pointed in a different direction.
‘Keep looking,’ Seán said with a grin.
The sun was warm, the wind was gentle. The oars sang tloc swoosh,
tloc swoosh, tloc swoosh
. Tom felt himself growing sleepy. Seán and Muiris began arguing over which one of them was … was …
‘Monster!’ announced Maura. She leaned far out, pointing again. This time nobody looked.
So nobody saw the large black object just below the
surface
until the boat struck the rock.
The jolt threw Maura from the currach.
The little girl’s terrified scream woke Tom. By the time he realised what was happening Donal had leapt to his feet and lunged forward, vainly trying to catch his sister. In his anxiety Donal lost his balance. And followed her into the sea.
The water closed over them both.
Muiris cried in horror, ‘They can’t swim!’
None of their family could. As Séamus had once explained to Tom, ‘Men who make their living on the sea do not want to be able to swim. If a man loses his ship he could spend terrified hours struggling in the water, only to drown in the end. Better to drown straight away and be done.’
Tom had not admitted to Séamus that he could swim. He wanted to be like the rest of them. Without allowing himself time to think, he held his breath and jumped overboard.
He sank like a stone.
Down he plummeted, farther down than he had expected. This was not the shallow water beyond the beach. This was the deep bay. Down, down he went into the dark, until he heard a roaring in his ears. Trying not to panic, he began moving his arms and legs. He could not paddle the way he did on the surface. He was not even sure where the surface was. Which way was up?
His toes tried in vain to touch the bottom.
There was no bottom!
He was too frightened to think of a prayer. God, he said in his head. The one word. God. In the dark and the cold.
Then he realised he was rising. Up and up, until he popped onto the surface like a cork from a bottle.
One quick gasp of air and Tom started down again. This time he reached forward with his arms and kicked strongly with his legs, taking control.
A solid body bumped against his and glanced off. Maura’s sea monster! He had not realised his eyes were closed until he opened them. It was Maura herself, drifting away from him. He reached for the little girl but she was gone before he could catch her.
Tom propelled himself to the surface long enough to take another gulp of air, then went down after her.
Her skirt ballooned upwards as she sank. He caught hold of it and hung on with all his strength, dragging her towards him. When he could get an arm around the child’s waist he began to fight his way back to the surface. It was the
hardest
thing he had ever done. His lungs were near to bursting. Maura was limp. He did not know if she was alive or dead.
They came up not far from the currach. Muiris was in the water by then, holding onto an oar which Seán was
extending
from the boat.
‘Tomás!’ Seán shouted. ‘This way!’
Tom tried to swim to Muiris. With only one arm free it
was difficult. Maura was a dead weight, further slowing his progress. But he could never turn her loose. He held her tight against his body. Her head was tucked beneath his chin. He was Tomflynn and she was his little sister and he would not let her go. Not even to save himself.
Seán and Muiris were both shouting to him now. He dare not answer. If he swallowed water he might drown. Then Maura would surely drown – if she was not dead already. No! Tom refused to accept that possibility. Yet he could feel a cramp beginning in one of his legs. A cramp now could prove fatal.
Muiris stretched his arm as far as he could; stretched so desperately he thought his joints would pull apart. Stretched still farther. Saw Tom’s white face grimace with pain as the boy struggled to reach him. Glimpsed the top of Maura’s head, her dark curls plastered to her skull. Her dear, dark curls …
One more mighty effort beyond human strength … and Muiris closed his hand around Tom’s wrist.
S
eán braced himself in the currach to hold the oar steady while Muiris drew Tom and Maura to the side of the boat. ‘All right, Tomás,’ Muiris said hoarsely. ‘I can take her now.’ He reached for his daughter but Tom could not release her. His arm was locked in place around the little girl.
The two men – one in the water and one in the boat – had to lift Tom and Maura over the side together.
Gasping for breath, Tom slumped in the bottom of the currach while Maura’s father and uncle bent over her. Muiris began talking in Irish to the little girl. Urging her to live. To Tom’s relief, he heard her cough and splutter. She called in a weak voice for Donal.
Muiris looked over his shoulder. His eyes met Tom’s.
This time Tom knew what to expect. Yet he went over the side anyway, back into the sea.
‘Why did you let him do that!’ Seán cried accusingly.
‘How could I stop him?’
‘How could you not,
amadán
? If Cait’s son dies trying to
save yours she will never forgive any of us.’
The two men glared at each other across the body of the little girl who was just coming back to life. Then they turned to look at the sea. The water was dark and choppy, a
constantly
moving seascape. Somewhere down there Tom had disappeared as surely as if the bay had swallowed him.
Muiris gave a single moan of despair. His expression quickly changed to determination. ‘They are still here, Seán, they have to be, and we can find them. Take up your oars; hurry!’
Tom was unaware of what was happening on the surface. He had returned to a hostile world where he knew he could not survive for long. He must make every moment count. He peered into the watery gloom, looking for Donal.
When Maura fell from the prow she had gone straight down. Donal had fallen from the middle of the boat – how much difference would that make? The bay was huge, and the currents which Muiris had been describing earlier were strong. Donal might be anywhere by now. The only thing to do was keep searching for him as long as he could.
Which would not be long. Tom’s strength was almost gone.
He swam to the surface to take one more breath of air. When his head cleared the water he tossed the hair out of his eyes. They were stinging painfully from the salt. He could hardly see. There was a sort of blob which might be the boat, he could not tell. He thought he heard shouting again, but
over the noise of the wind and the waves he could not be sure.
Tom took a big gulp of air and went back down. One more time, he told himself. I can do this one more time.
He went down as far as he dared, until there was just enough air left in his lungs to get him back to the surface.
A hand grabbed his ankle.
Instinctively he tried to kick free.
Then he realised it must be Donal. He twisted, reached down, found the arm that was attached to the hand, and pulled. Donal rose in the water beside him. The other boy’s eyes were open. His face was contorted into a grimace of terror.
Tom pointed upward. He could not tell if Donal
understood
, but he started swimming in that direction. He meant to carry his friend with him. Donal responded by trying to climb him like a tree, threatening in his panic to drag them both down.
After the day they first met, Tom had never matched his strength against Donal’s. Now he must.
‘I tell you I saw Donal!’ Seán was shouting. ‘Just over there, Muiris! He came up for a moment and vanished again. But they come up three times, do they not? Three times?’
‘Maybe he had come up twice already and we were
looking
the other way. What about Tomás?’
‘I don’t see anyone now,’ said Seán. ‘They’re gone. But we
have to … we must …’
‘We must,’ echoed Muiris, his heart breaking. He knew what neither of them could say. Must search the coastline for the bodies and pray they eventually came ashore.
Something struck the bottom of the currach.
Seán swore at the rock that had caused this tragedy.
‘That did not feel like a rock,’ Muiris told him.
The bump came again. ‘More like a dolphin …’ Muiris looked over the side. ‘Seán, quick! Help me!’
Together the brothers pulled an exhausted, watersoaked boy out of the water.
And then another one.
* * *
The little island with its crown of trees was the most
beautiful
sight Tom had ever seen. By the time they beached the currach he had recovered enough to help Donal ashore. Muiris carried Maura in his arms.
As soon as they were on dry land the little girl said, ‘Can we eat now?’
Seán’s laughter was almost hysterical with relief. ‘Bless the child, I’ll find an ox and slaughter and butcher it myself.’
‘Don’t like ox meat,’ Maura declared. ‘Like bread and buttermilk.’
They ate while sun and wind dried their clothes. Tom discovered
he was ravenous. ‘I don’t want anything wet,’ Donal said, ignoring the buttermilk. But he consumed a huge amount of bread and cheese. Only Muiris had no appetite. When Seán offered him food he refused. ‘I could have lost all of you,’ he said to the three children.
‘But you didn’t,’ Tom pointed out. ‘Have some cheese.’
‘I owe you a greater debt than I can ever repay, Tomás.’
‘You don’t owe me anything. Just take me smuggling with you the next time you go.’
Before Muiris could reply Donal said, ‘I didn’t know you could swim.’
‘I taught myself last summer. I practised in the cove on days when you didn’t come.’
‘But why?’
‘Because the water was there.’ Even as Tom said the words, he knew it was no answer. Yet it was the only answer he could give. Why does anyone do anything?
He turned back to Muiris. ‘Will you take me smuggling the next time you go?’
The man shook his head. ‘I cannot, Tomás. Smuggling is not something we did for pleasure, and I pray we never have to do it again. But even if we were going tomorrow I would not bring you. Letting you join us was an act of revenge on my part. Now that I have seen my sister again, I regret it.’
Tom frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I took you to get even with your father. It was my revenge
for his taking Caitríona from us.’
Seán said, ‘You never told me that.’
‘I am the chief,’ Muiris reminded him. ‘I do not tell you everything.’
Tom could not help laughing. ‘You wanted revenge against my father, Muiris. So did I! I wanted to join the smugglers to help make a fool of my father.’
‘Now I do not understand,’ said Muiris.
Donal spoke up. ‘I think I do. I saw a Persian rug in your house, Tomás. For several months we had that rug stored in the cave. I know it’s the same one, because I used to unroll it to look at the horses and peacocks.’
Tom was nodding. ‘I suspect Father’s been buying
smuggled
goods for years without knowing it.’
Muiris raised one eyebrow. ‘Are you sure he did not know?’