Lords of Darkness and Shadow (77 page)

Devlin was pleased with her delight. “I’m glad you think so.”

Emllyn admired it a few more moments before wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.  It was a sweet and tender moment as their boys played a few feet away, the sons Devlin had threatened her with those years ago, only now it was not a threat.  It was a reality, and one she had embraced completely.  A new generation of sons, a legacy to their great and noble father. Emllyn was proud to be part of it, proud to bear the sons of the man she loved with all her heart.  Letting go his neck, she kissed his cheek and resumed admiring her ring.

“Dev?” she asked.

He was enjoying watching her expression as she loved up her ring. “Aye, love?”

Her attention came off the ring and her expression washed with reluctance. “I… I suppose it would be well enough for the boys to have toy swords,” she said. “But only if you are with them. They are never to use them alone.”

Devlin’s grin broadened. “Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“I didn’t give you the ring so you would agree to the swords.”

“I know. But you are correct; it is their legacy, after all.  They must learn.”

Devlin wasn’t too enthusiastic in his response because he wanted Emllyn to feel as I she had final say in the matter. Were he too happy about it, she might have second thoughts because she would think he was happy that he had his way in all things.

“I promise we won’t run out and start any wars with them,” he said, but shrugged as if reconsidering. “At least, not this week. Mayhap next week. Mayhap we’ll ride down to Glentiege and challenge Connaught and de Noble to a battle.”

Emllyn laughed softly. “You would, wouldn’t you? And Connaught would lay down and pretend to die while de Noble tried to explain to them the finer art of swordplay.”

Devlin wriggled his eyebrows in agreement, glancing over at his three boys, healthy and intelligent children that he was extraordinarily proud of.  They were, after all, his legacy, as his wife had said. They were born of this land.

“I will do the teaching,” Devlin said. “I told you once we would breed fine Irish sons to wreak havoc on the English.  Mayhap it’s not so much havoc now as it is now an understanding.”

“What understanding is that?”

Devlin looked at her. “That sometimes peace and family is a far better path to take,” he said, reaching out to stroke her cheek. “And that no matter what, you cannot put a price on true happiness.”

Emllyn smiled faintly. “Is this what you hope to teach them?”

He nodded, watching Flynn and Daven chase a puppy under the bed. “God, what glorious days lie ahead for us,” he said, squeezing her gently. “And no matter what happens, no matter where I go or what I do, know that everything leads me to thee.”

She did.

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EPILOGUE

Present day

National Museum of Ireland

Dublin

Tuesday morning and he could already hear the school children yelling in the foyer. As a docent for the archaeological department of the National Museum of Ireland, he always seemed to get the school children who, at times, acted more like wild animals than human offspring. He wished for ladies’ clubs but those always went to the women docents who couldn’t be heard over the shouting of excited kids. 

As he approached the foyer, listening to the yelling of the wild scallywags reverberate off the one hundred year old walls of the museum, he braced himself. It was going to be a long day.

The children were primary school aged, dressed in their Catholic school uniforms. But there were Catholic schools all over Dublin so one uniform didn’t look too different from another. As he approached the group, he headed for the woman who seemed to be the zoo keeper. She was up to her ears in wild beasts. When he caught her attention, he forced a smile.

“Hello,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Peter Ward. I’m to be your guide today.”

The woman took his hand and shook it. “Hello,” she responded. “Helen Walker. Thank you so much.”

Peter continued to smile weakly, watching the children who were thumping each other and generally playing loudly. He eyed Ms. Walker. “May I?”

She nodded wearily. “Be my guest.”

Peter’s smile vanished and he suddenly emitted a piercing whistle from between his teeth. The kids shrieked but immediately stilled. Some of them even put their hands over their ears. The entire group of thirty-three of them turned to the bald, middle-aged man with the shrill whistle. When Peter saw he had their attention, he smiled thinly.

“Greetings, ladies and gentlemen,” he said formally. “My name is Peter Ward and I will be your guide today. How many of you have been with us before?”

A few hands lifted and Peter acknowledged them. “Good,” he said, his manner growing clipped. “Then you know that this is a place of culture and learning, not a school yard. Keep your voices down and your hands to yourself, or you can go back and sit on the school bus until we are finished. Is that clear?”

The kids nodded with uncertainty as Peter waved then onward. “Excellent,” he said. “Now, we can get started. Our very first stop will be the Medieval exhibits. Can anyone tell me what Medieval means?”

The children followed Peter as he led them across the cavernous foyer towards the first floor Medieval exhibit section. One or two raised their hands to his question. Peter, walking backwards, pointed to a serious young man with a crown of reddish-blond hair.

“It means Medieval times,” the boy said. “It means Middle Ages.”

Peter nodded his head, impressed. “It does indeed,” he said. “It means the High Middle Ages, or at least the section we will be attending does. This was a very important time in Ireland’s history. Can anyone tell me why?”

No one seemed to know. They were entering another room now, a big exhibit room that had a variety of displays. Peter drew the children into the center of the room and had them gather around him as he continued.

“The High Middle Ages was a very important time in Ireland’s history because it was the time beginning with the Norman conquest of England,” he said. “The Normans were very greedy people from France; once they began to spread all over England, they came to Ireland as well and claimed lands.”

“Didn’t the Irish fight them off?” a boy from the crowd yelled.

Peter grinned and pointed over to an exhibit near the south side of the room. He began to move in the direction of a series of cases and a large, imposing display sign over them that said “BLACK SWORD”.

“Take a look at this over here and that will help answer your question,” Peter said. “This is an exhibit of an Irish rebel known as Black Sword. He was one of the great freedom fighters in the fourteenth century against English rule. Now, if you take a look at the first exhibit, it shows a map of Black Sword’s family territory. He came from the de Bermingham family which was, interestingly enough, Norman. The family married into the Irish nobility over the centuries so much that they were essentially Irish. By the time Black Sword was born, he was so Irish that he bled green.”

The kids giggled as many of them, mostly boys, began to crowd around a display that had things like an old dagger and other warfare implements. Peter pointed to the display.

“This display holds items that were dug up in an archaeological dig around the turn of the last century,” he said. “Devlin de Bermingham, or Black Sword as he was called, lived at Black Castle in Wicklow, just south of here. It was his castle from around 1320 A.D. to 1351 A.D. as far as we can tell. There aren’t a lot of records to tell us what happened during these years but we do have records from the English settlements to the south that recorded a peace treaty with Black Sword. We know that Black Sword was a great man because rather than use mostly warfare to gain his ends, he was very good at negotiating treaties with the English that kept them from grabbing more Irish land in the Wicklow area.”

A boy with dark hair and freckles raised his hand. “Did he really have a black sword?”

Some of the kids giggled. Peter smiled. “Well, we never found one, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “Who knows why he was called that? People back then earned nicknames and reputations for reasons that have become lost to history. We do know, however, that he married an English bride and that they had eleven children, ten of whom lived into adulthood, and out of that group, nine of them were boys. Can you imagine having all those brothers?”

The kids giggled and joked with each other. Before it got out of control, Peter lifted a hand to quiet them.

“It was important back then to have a lot of children to help with the household or with the fighting,” he said. “In Black Sword’s case, he had nine sons to help him with his fight against the English. Several of those boys grew up to be great warlords in their own right, and two of them, as far as we know, went to England and actually served in the court of Edward III and Richard II. Like their father, they were said to be great knights.”

The children were growing increasingly excited about Black Sword, which is how Peter had planned it. He usually took children’s groups to the Black Sword exhibit first because the thought of a great Irish knight usually got their attention. But it was time to move on because there was much more to see, so he began to move slowly past the rest of the exhibit, pointing to the last case as they moved out.

“Here you can see some other things that we found during our excavations of Black Castle, but I want you to notice this one item in particular,” he said as he paused by the case and pointed to a small scrap of material, very old and stained, but with faded green stitching on it. “Do you all see this piece of fabric?”

The kids were climbing all over each other to see it. They started shouting in the affirmative so Peter continued.

“This piece of fabric actually has a very interesting history, much richer than Black Sword’s short history,” he said. “Black Sword’s wife evidently gave this to him on their wedding day and it’s a very special piece; it’s said that whoever possesses it will have luck in love. It was passed down through Black Sword’s family, from father to son for generations, until it ended up in the possession of Marie Antoinette. The legend says that one of Black Sword’s descendants was Marie’s one true love and gave it to her. She kept it until she was executed and the piece somehow became lost in the French revolution before reappearing, centuries later, with Wallis Simpson. Does anyone know who she is?”

The kids shook their heads even though the teacher nodded. In fact, the teacher seemed more interested in the piece than her students did.

“She was the wife of a former king of England,” Peter said. “In fact, she gave this piece to her husband, the former Edward VIII, who actually gave up the throne in order to marry Mrs. Simpson. I would say they had great luck in love, indeed.”

“But how did it get here?” one of the children asked.

Peter gazed at the faded piece of cloth. “The British royal family donated it to the National Museum of Ireland because we asked for it,” he said. “We knew what it was and the significance of it. It belonged to one of the greatest Irish figures in history and we wanted it back, so they were gracious enough to comply.”

The children gazed at the cloth for a few seconds longer before their short attention spans had them looking elsewhere. Peter took it as his cue to move on.

“Let’s come over here, ladies and gentlemen,” he called out to the crowd. “There are some swords over here we will take a look at.”

The children followed him in a group, surging forward towards the weapon display, but one young man hung back. He had bright red hair and a dusting of freckles across his nose, a big boy for his age. He was still looking at the piece intently. The teacher, seeing that she had a straggler, went to retrieve him.

“Come along, David,” she said.

Young David looked up from the case. “That thing is very old,” he said.

The teacher nodded, her gaze falling on the faded piece of embroidery and feeling a romantic tug to her heart. “It is indeed.”

“It has words on it.”

The teacher bent over to see what he was seeing. “It does,” she said. “But it’s hard to see what they are.”

David stared at the piece. “It says ‘everything leads me to thee’.”

The teacher looked at him with surprise. “How can you tell?”

“I just can.”

By this time, Peter saw the dawdlers and was waving them over, but the teacher motioned to him instead. Leaving the wild animals lingering by the sword case, Peter scurried over.

“Yes, ma’am?” he asked quickly. “Did you have a question?”

The teacher pointed at the case. “He says that there are words on that piece of fabric.”

Peter nodded. “There are, indeed.”

“Do you know what it says?”

“It says ‘everything leads me to thee’.”

The teacher looked at young David with shock. “That’s what he said,” she exclaimed softly. “David, how did you know that?”

David gazed up at the teacher and the docent with his dark blue eyes and shrugged. “I just do,” he replied. “He carried it with him all the time, didn’t he?”

Peter was impressed with the young man’s apparent knowledge of the Irish rebel. “He did,” he confirmed. “Do you know much about Devlin de Bermingham?”

David shook his head as he looked at the cases with all of the items that seemed oddly familiar to him. He had no idea why and, being nine years old, didn’t give it much thought.  But he had an odd sense of déjà vu. Still, it wasn’t particularly concerning. He wanted to go see the Medieval weapons.

The boy wandered off, leaving the teacher and docent standing at the case, looking rather perplexed. Peter wriggled his eyebrows.

“How on earth could he see what that cloth says?” he wondered. “You can’t tell that just by looking at it. It’s very faded and torn.”

The teacher shook her head, a lingering gaze on the case. “Who knows?” she said. “He’s always been a bit of an odd duck. He’s had violent outbreaks at times and when we’ve met with the mother to discuss them, she says he has violent dreams as well. Battle, death, destruction, and a particular hatred for England.”

Peter shrugged and they began heading back over to the Medieval weapons case.  “Perhaps he’s just a good Irish rebel,” he said.

The teacher grinned as they came upon the children, who were very excited by the Medieval swords and weaponry. “I suppose that’s true,” she said. “Maybe there’s a little Black Sword in every Irish boy.”

THE END

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