Fugitives! (20 page)

‘Oh yes, sir, they do, sir,’ said Séamus in his best ‘Fenton’ English. ‘They sent us away. We are to go to relatives in Newry, sir. They … er … er … couldn’t come.’

‘Couldn’t come? That’s a bit lame. You’d better come with me to the castle and explain yourselves.’ The three or four cavalry men who were attending the officer moved forward as if to take the reins from the children.

‘Sir … I think perhaps you shouldn’t come close, sir. You see …’ and with this, Séamus appeared to catch his breath and he began a cough, which rapidly developed into a paroxysm of coughing which he tried to stifle with his kerchief. Sinéad and Fion watched in admiration as the fit shook him from head to toe. Suddenly, however, their admiration changed to alarm as he took the cloth away from his mouth to show it spattered scarlet with fresh blood! There was an audible gasp from the men, who drew back involuntarily.

Sinéad, who hadn’t expected this extra bit of drama, had to
gather her wits in a hurry, but now her rehearsed lines came to her rescue: ‘Please, sir, please don’t make him speak. You see, that’s why we’ve been sent away. It’s because … of … of … the sickness at home.’ She too, quite involuntarily, drew back at the sight of Séamus’s bloody handkerchief. They’d talked of her bursting into tears, but she remembered just in time that ‘Brian’ would have died before weeping in front of the soldiers. The message, however, had got across and soldiers were already backing away.

‘Plague, by God! I’ve got a hundred men in that castle, and you dare to come near us with the plague!’ the officer accused them. ‘It’s the last thing we want! I should shoot you now, but then I’d have to bury your diseased corpses. No thanks. Go on to your family in Newry and give it to them if you must, but keep away from the castle.’ He raised himself in his saddle. ‘Sergeant! Quick – march!’ And they set off as if they had a rabid dog at their heels.

‘I only thought of the blood when I’d started coughing,’ Séamus laughed. ‘You see, I’d folded my kerchief bloody side in.’ To his surprise, the others were almost cross with him at having scared them as well.

‘All my horror wasted on a mere cut finger!’ grumbled Sinéad. ‘Let me look at it!’ Séamus held it out. ‘Pah! Don’t expect any sympathy from me next time!’

All at once their eyes met, and with a splutter of delight they burst into laughter, the sound bouncing off the hills around.

At that precise moment, in the privacy of his old home, close under
the reeking ruins of the de Cashel castle, Dr Henry Fenton was doing his best to persuade Sir Geoffrey Bonmann that he should chase after the children.

‘But don’t you see, Milord,’ he squirmed, ‘only the boy – James – stands between you and your claim to these lands through marriage to the girl. Get rid of him, get her – and it’s all yours!’

‘But there was no agweement with her father!’

Fenton’s reply came as an exasperated whisper. ‘So much the better! Wake up, man – we will
make up
an agreement. I wasn’t de Cashel’s secretary for nothing. But first we must find James.’

‘And what will we do with him?’

‘Leave that to me, Milord.’

‘Perhaps I
should
mawwy the girl, after all …’

‘By all means!’ said Fenton, thinking:
Over my dead body!
Once he had got rid of the boy and the girl there would be nobody to inquire about who had started the fire. Murder was easy to him now.
I must get this oaf away before he starts wondering who nearly fried him too.
‘Come, sir, we must go while their trail is warm.’

The children were united now in their urgency. Hours passed in a routine of walking, trotting, galloping – and for backsides that were beginning to glow uncomfortably from hours in the saddle, welcome hills where they had to dismount and lead their tiring ponies. Eventually they reached a stream banked with fresh grass, where the ponies could graze and they could flop down and investigate their packs for food.

‘A little and often is best,’ said Séamus, quoting Father, as they inspected their rations.

‘God bless Kathleen!’ said Sinéad as she unwrapped a solid lump of mutton, as well as bread and hard cheese. Knowing Sinéad had no dagger, Kathleen had included a sharp knife, as well as a flint and steel and tinder to catch the spark if they needed a fire.
Typical! Dear Kathleen, I wonder if she’s alive? I’ll miss her terribly. Just think, when Kathleen packed this, Father and Mother were alive … and now – STOP! I mustn’t cry!

They watched the ponies drinking, their mobile lips sucking at the water and listened for the swoosh of water inside their necks as they lifted their heads.

If it’s good for them, it’s good for us, they all agreed, and drank deeply from the stream themselves, cupping the water in their hands, and watching the scatter of diamond drops falling back onto the surface. They leaned back against their packs and closed their eyes and tried to relax, but their own private tragedies made it easier not to think, better to drive on.

They got through Armagh without challenge, and Fion told them how the remnants of Marshal Bagenal’s army had gathered here after Uncle Hugh had beaten them at the Battle of the Yellow Ford only nine years before.

‘Why do all the exciting things in history have to happen before my time?’ Séamus complained.

‘What d’you think this is?’ snapped Sinéad.

With Armagh behind them, they had made great time, but their ponies were getting weary now, so they walked beside them more and more.

‘We
must
cross the Blackwater before night, then it’ll just be a sprint for the Sperrins in the morning,’ urged Fion. ‘We’ll definietley find Con in time then.’

The thought of sprinting was almost too much for Sinéad as she eased herself into the saddle once more. But soon the ground levelled out, and across the meadows they could see trees that clearly flanked a river. Rising above the meadows, to the right of the road, were the earthworks and palisades of a fort, the cross of St George again showing it was in use.
Blackwater Fort
, Sinéad remembered.

A cart, piled high with wood for winter firing, lumbered towards them. The driver shouted across: ‘Forget it, lads! They’ve closed the bloody bridge,’ and he spat with disgust.

‘Why? What’s happening?’ Séamus called.

‘God knows. You’d think they’d seen the Devil himself walking on the water!’ He cracked his whip and the cart lumbered on.

They met other travellers who had also been turned back, but none of them had any information. When they got to the bridge, they saw that a massive gate had been swung across to close it off. Soldiers from the fort were turning back anyone who approached. ‘Only locals, and that’s orders!’

‘Well, what do we do now?’ wondered Sinéad.

‘Look, there’s a path beside the river,’ said Fion. ‘Let’s follow it. Try to look as if we know where we’re going. Maybe we’ll find somewhere where we can hole up for the night and get some hay for the ponies.’

After a quarter of a mile or so they did find a cottage with a barn, where they were told they might sleep, and, for a halfpenny, buy hay and a bag of oats for the ponies. They were worn out, so after a sparse supper there seemed to be nothing to do but settle for the night.

Séamus, however, was restless. ‘Do you think Haystacks will be looking for us? I’m going to wander back to the bridge in case he’s following us.’ But what he really needed was somewhere to think, so he turned up-river to where a narrow path led down through the reeds to a little wooden jetty. There was a boat there, sunk to its gunwales, half-hidden in the reeds. It looked a wreck, but the rope that tied it to the jetty was new. He sat down. An otter appeared on the bank below him, looked upstream, then down, called once and slid into the water, where it rolled on its back to watch its three full-grown kits slip in to join it. Only that morning, Séamus realised, he had been pinning his hopes on Chichester.
How did I let myself be so fooled by Fenton? Of course my loyalty must be to Uncle Hugh now! If we don’t find Con, and the English do, they’ll hold him hostage until Uncle Hugh surrenders. I need to prove my loyalty, and the best way to do that is to find Con.

The light was fading fast when he reached the bridge where the soldiers had lit torches and a brazier to keep warm. He tried them in English first, but soon found that they were Irish conscripts, so it wasn’t long before he was holding his hands out to the brazier, happily talking about army life. After a bit, he thought it safe to ask why they were blocking the bridge. ‘It’s not falling down on us, is it?’

They laughed, but they dropped their voices. ‘A constable in the village reported seeing a party of well-dressed travellers passing
through late last night, and some idiot started a rumour that it was the Earl of Tyrone! Bloody nonsense. Everyone here knows he’s off to London in chains to have the head eased from his shoulders. Anyway, they want the bridge closed – maybe they think there’s more rebels on the road.’

For a while now, Séamus had been aware of the sound of approaching hooves.
Haystacks
, he thought hopefully, but this was a whole group of horsemen.

The soldiers were listening too. ‘Here comes the Earl and all his ladies!’ one of them joked. Séamus backed away into the darkness. He should leave, but he was curious. It was a group of five horsemen: three men at arms behind two vaguely familiar figures on horseback.

‘Halt, sir! The bridge is closed,’ the sergeant called out.

‘Let me pass, soldier. I’m on important business for Milord Chichester.’

‘I’m a sergeant, I’ll thank’y, sir, and who’s that with you?’

‘It’s my secwetawy,’ said the voice.

Séamus could have been struck by lightning.
Bonmann! And Fenton with him. What are they doing here?
He didn’t have to wait for his answer.

‘Seen three youngsters on ponies? Did they pass here?’

Séamus shuffled back, ready to run, but the sergeant, clearly narked at Bonmann’s lordly manner, snapped out: ‘We’re not here to police children –
sir
. The bridge is closed. If you want to pass, you can report to the fort’s commander!’

‘I will – and I’ll weport you to the commander for insolence!’ At that they wheeled off and up the slope to the entrance of the
fortress.

Séamus wanted to thank the sergeant, but instead he continued to edge back out of the light, then turned and ran hell-for-leather down the path. The moon hadn’t risen yet, so it was pitch dark as he turned off the path towards the barn, only to collide with something huge; a horse tethered beside the door snorted with indignation. Heart hammering, he heaved at the barn door.

He expected Fion and Sinéad to be asleep, but they were sitting up, mirror images on each side of a single candle.

‘They’re after us,’ he blurted out. ‘Bonmann and Fenton with three men at arms. If only Haystacks were here!’

‘Oh but he is!’ declared a deep voice from the shadows. Once again, Séamus nearly jumped out of his skin:
Haystacks!
‘Come on, Séamus, tell us what you know!’ and Haystacks emerged from the shadows.

Putting his own questions to one side, Séamus told them about the soldiers on the bridge, and the horsemen.