Fugitives! (19 page)

While the others packed for their journey, James, who had already packed for his ride to Chichester, sat staring at the blackened hulk of his former home below.

When they were all ready to go, Haystacks called, ‘James, if you’re coming with us, we should be on our way.’

James got up and walked stiffly towards them. He stopped a pace or two short of Fion.

‘Fion,’ he said formally, ‘I would like to come with you and to
help you to find young Con. I suspect your quest involves more than that, but it will take time before you can trust me. I swear I will not betray you as others have betrayed me.’

There was a murmur of relief.

‘But I want to ask one thing,’ he continued. ‘From now on, I’d like to be known as … as Séamus.’

For a moment they stood in stunned silence. Sinéad wanted to throw her arms about her brother; she knew that this was a huge turning point for him, but how about Fion and Haystacks – would they understand? Could they trust him?

She turned to Haystacks. ‘May we tell him?’

‘Fion?’ Haystacks asked in turn.

Fion thought for a moment then said: ‘We fought a duel for this moment. I would trust Séamus – or even James – with my life. It’s going to be really hard to remember your new name, Séamus,’ he added, ‘but I’m very glad you’ve chosen it.’

They sat in a circle, heads together and told him of Uncle Hugh’s plans.

Now it was time to go. When Sinéad turned to look down on the castle for one last time, something drew her eyes up instead of down. Up and up she looked, searching the vast dome of the sky above, and there she saw a tiny speck. Without thinking, her fingers rose to her mouth; she took a long breath and her shrill whistle climbed to where Saoirse circled above. She saw her beloved falcon stall high above her and then begin his breathtaking descent, and
her heart gave a great lurch. She didn’t see the horrified faces of her companions, wondering who else might have heard her call, because here was Saoirse levelling his flight and flying straight to her out-held wrist, where he settled proudly.

‘Holy smoke, Sinéad, you can’t bring a hawk with you!’ said Séamus.

Sinéad just shook her head. ‘Here Jame– Séamus, I mean, help me! Your dagger – cut his jesses. He’s to be free now.’
Like me,
a secret voice whispered inside. ‘Quick, I’ve no gauntlet and his claws are killing me.’

Séamus carefully cut the thin leather thongs that hung from Saoirse’s legs; these might indeed have got caught in the trees and bushes where he must now hunt for himself.

Sinéad lifted her arm high. ‘God’s speed!’ she called as Saoirse spread his wings and rose above them, hovering there for a second before wheeling out over his old home.

Down in the castle village, where the fire had not reached, Henry Fenton looked up, startled.
I’ve heard that whistle before – but it can’t be! They’re all dead, all three – aren’t they?
Then a chill ran down his back.
Perhaps they’re not!

CHAPTER 16

Flight and Freedom

aystacks took charge. ‘It is more urgent than ever now for us to move from here.’

Sinéad winced: had her whistle put them all in danger? This was a different Haystacks; she could be listening to Father commanding his men.

‘Fion,’ he said urgently, ‘we are agreed that Con is almost certainly in the Sperrin mountains?’ Fion nodded. ‘That would normally be three days’ ride from here, but, frankly, you don’t have that much time. This is now Tuesday, and you must find Con by Thursday at the latest.’

‘Why do you say “you” and not “us” – aren’t you coming?’ Sinéad asked anxiously.

‘I’ll be with you and not with you,’ said Haystacks. ‘Three sparrows can fly through a hedge where an old buzzard like me might get stuck. In the old days the forest paths would have been the best, relying on help from the Irish chiefs, and hidden from the English lion. Sadly, many of the chiefs have turned against O’Neill
and might well hand you over to the enemy.’

‘So it’s Irish wolves or English lions!’ declared Sinéad.

‘It is indeed. The good roads will take a day off your journey, and while there is every chance you will be stopped by patrols, you all speak better English than most of the men who may stop you. Keep your Irish in reserve. Remember you have as good a right to travel as anyone, but agree where you are going, why you are going, and why you are travelling alone. In that way, you will all give the same story if you’re stopped. If Con can tie General Chichester in knots, you can.’

‘Listen, now,’ he continued, ‘and I will give you the route you should follow.’

Sinéad listened, but her mind was still on her thoughtless whistle.
Perhaps Bonmann’s saddling up to get me even now!

‘… then pick up the road to Newry,’ Haystacks was explaining, ‘but you must turn west before Slieve Gullion. There is a garrison at Castle Roche where you will certainly be stopped.’

Oh do be quick!
Sinéad thought, anxious to be away.

‘The Blackwater river will be your next hazard, as every crossing is guarded. I suggest you take the Blackwater fort, as it is a popular crossing. I’ll ride the first miles with you, then you’ll be on your own for a while. Remember, Con
must
be on that boat, or his life will be in danger. Come, we must go, before anyone else answers Sinéad’s whistle.’

Fion cupped his hands to help Sinéad mount.

‘Did you get all that?’ she asked him.

‘Oh yes,’ he assured her. ‘Don’t forget, this is O’Neill country. I know it well.’

For the first few miles Haystacks led, followed by the others. They rode hard, but Sinéad kept dropping back, her eyes clasping at every familiar thing on the road: the broken-backed cottage where Eileen, the herbalist, lived, the oak they used to climb for mistletoe.
I may never see any of this again
, she kept reminding herself as tears welled up. She couldn’t think of Mother or Father … not yet … but everything else was like crystal in her mind. When Haystacks slowed to keep her company, she managed a wan smile; he seemed to catch her sombre mood and they rode in silence. After a while she noticed his lips moving ever so slightly, and dared to ask him what he was thinking of.

‘I was thinking of a poem, Sinéad. Long before the birth of Christ, a wandering prince came to Ireland. His name was Amergin, a Milesian they say. He left us with a poem which for me contains the essence of all poems. It begins like this, and he began to intone, half-speaking, half-singing:

After a short silence, Sinéad said: ‘I like it, I like the sounds, I like what it makes me see. But is it the poet speaking or is it the wind and the wave?’

‘Ha ha!’ Haystacks laughed so loudly that the boys stopped and turned to see what was going on behind them. ‘You shall be my
apprentice, Sinéad – sorry – Brian. You have put your finger on the pulse of the matter. You see, the poet’s task is to use his eyes, his ears and his heart until the wind blows through him, and the wave rises inside him, and they all become one – and then he can truly speak as a poet and say:
I am the wave of the ocean
.’

And then Haystacks recited the whole poem of Amergin, and for a while the terrible happenings of the past days fell away.

When he had finished, Sinéad’s head felt clearer and she was ready to ride on.

‘When we find Con, what then?’ Sinéad shouted across to Haystacks. ‘What will happen to
us
? We’ve got nothing now – no home, no money – and the only people who want us seem to want us dead.’

He didn’t answer at once. When he did, he said: ‘I wish I’d known your father better, Sinéad. He was a remarkable man. He knew that the safest thing for you to do was to escape from the castle, and he was prepared to trust you. “They are good children,” he told me. “I trust them, but they’ll need help.” It was then that he asked me if I would go with you. I was already committed to helping Fion, so I agreed.’ A sudden smile crossed Haystacks’s face. ‘I never thought I would acquire an apprentice for my pains.’ Sinéad blushed. Then he said: ‘There is more to tell you, but it is difficult to talk like this. I must leave you now as I have business to do. Fion knows your route; trust me – you’ll be all right.’

Their road had been rising, and now broke free of the forest, and they could see Dundalk and the sea. They slowed to let the ponies catch their breath. Séamus, who had nicked his finger while trimming a hazel switch, stemmed the flow of blood with his kerchief.

‘That’s Slieve Gullion ahead,’ Fion pointed out. ‘I came near here when hunting for cattle that time for Uncle Hugh and your father, and beyond is Newry – and somewhere up there is Roche’s Castle. Come on, let’s go.’

As the road was now wide enough for conversation, Sinéad rode up between the two boys. She wanted to take their minds off the horrors they had all experienced. ‘Haystacks was telling me about that castle as we came along,’ she told them. ‘It was built by a Norman lady called Rohesu to keep you wild Irish’ – she glanced at Fion – ‘under control. She had pots of money, but she couldn’t get anyone to come up here into the wilds to build the castle for her. So, in the end, she offered herself in marriage to whoever would build her a castle. But they didn’t exactly fall over themselves – she wasn’t young, she was ugly as sin, and she had a fierce temper. Eventually, one brave architect, with more of an eye for her fortune than for herself, took up the offer and built her the Castle Roche, which Haystacks says means “castle on the rock” in French. Well, the marriage took place, and the feast was over, and they were climbing–’ Here she had to break off as they had come to a crossroads.

‘I think we should turn left here,’ said Fion.

‘Oh no, look, there are soldiers down there and coming this way. There’ll be another turn surely,’ said Séamus. ‘Let’s go on. You
were telling us about the castle,’ he added.

‘So I was! Once up the stairs the not so lovely Rohesu leaned out of the bedchamber window, combing her hair – if she had any – and called to her new husband to come and take a close look at all the land he had got by marrying her. Poor soul, he came like a lamb and leaned out of the window beside her, whereupon she tipped him out and onto the rocks below, just to give him a closer look!’

‘So, that was the end of him!’

‘Oh no. You can see him any moonlit night standing in the bedchamber window – only it’s bricked up now.’

They chuckled appreciatively, then Fion clapped his hand to his forehead, ‘Which reminds me, have we got our story ready if we’re stopped? You, Sinéad, or rather Brian, had better be Séamus’s younger brother. I’ll be a cousin, because I’m fair. So, why are we on the road, and where are we going?’ They had only just settled on their story when they heard marching feet catching up with them from behind.

‘Soldiers!’ exclaimed Sinéad, looking over her shoulder. They urged their ponies on till they topped a gentle rise, and there, on the opposite side of a shallow valley, rose the towering walls of a castle, Castle Roche surely, perched like a panther ready to spring from its craggy outcrop. ‘Now we’re caught between the Devil and a rock!’ This was no fortified house, but a proper fortress with a high curtain wall glinting with armed men. The red cross of St George flew from the keep and cooking smoke rose from hidden buildings within the walls.

‘That’s a long, long drop for a new husband!’ said Sinéad in awe.

At that moment a voice roared out behind them: ‘Hey there! Stand clear. You don’t own the road!’

‘We do actually – a lot more than you do!’ snarled Fion under his breath, as they drew onto the verge. ‘Now we’re for it! It’ll be us for the long drop!’

The column of soldiers ground to a halt. The officer, a brawny man with a drooping moustache, eyed their sturdy ponies and well-made harnesses.

‘Well, now, what are you three lads roaming the country on your own for, eh? Running away? I’ll bet your folk don’t know where you are.’