The Sword of the Banshee (4 page)

"Beggin' your pardon," a young man said, stepping up behind India. He held a cap in his hand and spoke softly. "Your husband said you've stayed too long."

India nodded, but did not turn around. She listened for the crunch of the boy's retreating footsteps then looked one last time down at the valley. She had given up many of her dreams. By now, she had hoped for a home and a family, but it had not happened. She took a deep breath and started down the path into the dark recesses of the mountains where the Ballyhoura Boys resided.

*           *            *

Colm Fitzpatrick had lied to India Allen. He had never left his world as the leader of a secret agrarian society. His operation was alive and well at the time of their marriage and spanned all of County Limerick, Cork, and Clare. Now, three years later he had support for his cause over most of Ireland from Dundalk to Bantry.

It was not hard rallying the Irish. Centuries of starvation and repression had reduced the country to ashes and anger. The Irish Catholics were treated as sub-human, nothing more than a slave to English landlords and unyielding lands. They lived in caves, dugouts, and hovels left with only with their faith in God and their outrage.

Colm Fitzpatrick offered them hope. Every Irishman loyal to the cause of freedom drank to his health and pledged their undying loyalty to him. Those who were able to read devoured his pamphlets, bards sang his praises in epic poems, and mothers named their babies after him.

Since most of Ireland knew his name, shortly after the wedding, Colm thought it best to inform India of the truth about his work. In no time, he had his young bride convinced that shielding her from the truth until now had been in her best interest
.

India arrived back at camp as the sun was dropping low in the sky. It cast an eerie, green light on the glade.  A long narrow cottage made of stones and thatch sat in the clearing and several horses stood by the front door swatting flies with their long tails. Crickets were beginning to sing and only a few birds called from the trees. Two men stepped out of the cottage strapping leather bags onto the horses. India saw Colm standing with Feargus O'Connor examining a map rolled out on a low wall.  O'Connor, a large surly farmer was the leader of Colm's faction here called the Ballyhoura Boys.

Fitzpatrick dismissed him, rolled up the map and walked over to India linking arms with her. "You were gone far too long, my dear. Do you remember what we talked about?"

India looked down and nodded. Even though she was a head taller than her husband, she felt Colm Fitzpatrick towered over her in every way, from his intelligence to his bravery.

"You were right," she admitted. "It was painful to look at the valley again. I won't be going back."

"Indeed, you won't my love. We are leaving tonight."

"Why so soon? We have only just arrived."

"It seems your cousin who lives at Ballydunne has caught wind of us and is organizing a raid."

"Cousin Raibert?"

Fitzpatrick nodded. "I am sorry we cannot stay longer. It was a complete waste of time. Feargus will deal with the informant who betrayed us, and we shall return later. We move to Offaly next."

India did not like the idea of traveling again so soon. She was weary, and she believed Colm to be fatigued to the point of exhaustion. For the first time since their wedding, she noticed deep lines etched onto his face, and his hair had more gray. At forty three years of age, these things were to be expected, but he seemed spent. His life had been an endless struggle of deprivation and violence, and she believed the responsibility of a large scale rebellion was draining him. Nevertheless he was a dedicated partisan. In fact, he was committed to the point of fanaticism.

At the age of seventeen, Colm Fitzpatrick had experienced the pain and humiliation of British domination. His family fell out of favor with the Monarchy, and his ancestral home in Kilkenny was immediately confiscated by the Crown. The Fitzpatrick clan was stripped of their titles. The family fled to France, and during that time, Colm conspired to regain his estate and launch a revolution in his homeland.

After several years of schooling at the Sorbonne, he started writing essays and distributing pamphlets to enlist the support of the French in an Irish revolution. After raising a modest sum of money, he moved to Dublin where he studied for the bar and began to organize a rebellion. He was immediately seized and imprisoned.

   During his years in confinement, his hatred for the English deepened, and upon his release, he organized several bands of Irish guerrilla fighters called repparees. They slaughtered cattle, vandalized property, and killed scores of British soldiers. Fitzpatrick even enlisted the aid of Catholic priests who joined the cause.

Fitzpatrick was unscrupulous. He strong-armed British land holders and merchants to pay protection money, guaranteeing that their homes and shops would remain safe from repparees if they paid the exorbitant dues. He in turn poured this money back into the cause.

In spite of these tactics, the injustices and abuses escalated. The British sent more troops, and the landlords tightened their grip on the tenants. Catholics suffered more discrimination and children starved.

Outrage swept across Ireland.
Fitzpatrick found eager and enthusiastic supporters ready to organize everywhere across the land, yet he could not expand without more money. He began to make inquiries and eventually gained an introduction to Lady Harriet Allen and her daughter India. He knew that their wealth could be of use to him. Once married, Colm used India's dowry for arms, ammunition and bribes to strengthen his underground network of insurrectionists.

He also began to prepare India to be a dedicated patriot as well. She had spent her entire life in the narrow world of the Anglican aristocracy, now Fitzpatrick would open her eyes to the injustices and harsh treatment of the Irish common man. He explained to India about the exorbitant rents paid for unyielding lands. He enlightened her about the abuses Catholics endured at the hands of the Church of England and even cited examples of harsh discrimination against many Protestants for not practicing within the Anglican Church. Fitzpatrick said sweeping reform was needed and if violence was necessary then so be it. He unveiled to India his plans for a widespread revolution assuring her that it could succeed beyond their wildest dreams.

In five years’ time, Colm Fitzpatrick had replaced the shy and withdrawn aristocratic schoolgirl with a disciplined, dedicated insurgent. India had become a committed Catholic and a loyal partisan ready to lay down her life for her countrymen.

*             *             *

Colm and India journeyed to Offaly and stayed in the uninhabited manor house on the estate of an absentee landlord. They came in the dark of night admitted by a housekeeper loyal to the cause. She met them at the door with a candelabrum and ushered them quickly through the dark passageways to the top floor in the back of the home.

The sumptuous furniture was covered with sheets, and the rooms smelled musty. The housekeeper apologized to Colm for not having the apartments ready.

"No apologies are necessary, Mrs. Burke," Colm said arranging the lace at his wrist. “How could you have known? We must keep our movements clandestine. We thank you for your hospitality."

In a night gown and shawl, the little woman curtsied and smiled mischievously. "No, Lord Fitzpatrick. Thank the landlord."

Colm chuckled and picked up a sheet looking at the divan underneath. "Indeed, he has lovely things. A pity he does not know that I am here."

It always surprised India when people addressed her husband as Lord Fitzpatrick. After all, it was only fitting; at one time he had been a nobleman in Ireland. Colm
had grown up on an estate like this one. He explained to her that he was used to fine things and that is why he slept in manor houses while his men camped nearby in the woods.

Fitzpatrick had little trouble finding empty manors. British
landlords found life tedious in Ireland, so they used the estates for income purposes only, not as residence. They visited their properties infrequently, so land managers sympathetic to the uprising offered lodging to Fitzpatrick.

The next morning, Colm was gone before daybreak, leaving India alone in the large soft bed. Sunlight flooded the room. There were heavy oak furnishings and Flemish tapestries on the walls. She sat up and pulled her shawl around her shoulders. The floor felt cold on her bare feet as she walked to the window pulling back the drapes. Her jaw dropped when she saw the view. Just below her window there was a river as blue as the ribbon in her nightgown with two swans coasting lazily on the current.

The spring morning lured her outside, so after dressing and a light breakfast, she walked along the river. India enjoyed her walks. She believed walking is what helped her endure childbirth
and
death. After the passing of her twins, who were only five months old, India had walked for hours on end, distraught and stricken with grief. The steady movement of her body, the breeze on her face, and the fatigue that followed were comforting to her. Slowly the dark days passed, and she accepted the will of the Lord. At times, she still raged against Him for allowing disease to take her babies, but gradually she walled off the bitterness and swallowed her fury.

India stepped out onto the steps of the manor and greeted the guard Colm had placed on the grounds. She felt the man’s eyes on her as she followed the walkway along the river. She was uncomfortable because she had left her hair down this morning allowing it to drape over her shoulders like a golden sheet. Women were expected to have their hair tied up first thing in the morning.

Gradually she relaxed as she strolled away from the house smiling when she spied otters sliding up and down the banks of the river, rolling over to crack shells on their stomachs. She quickened her pace filling her lungs with fresh morning air.

When she followed the path into the woods, she surprised a young girl picking mushrooms in the thicket. The girl straightened up abruptly, and her mouth dropped open.

"Oh! I am sorry I startled you," said India.

The girl continued to stare. She shook her head as if waking from a dream and mumbled, "You are--I-I have heard of you, milady. You are the wife of Lord Fitzpatrick."

India did not answer. Colm had taught her to be on her guard.

The girl curtsied and climbed through the brush out into the sunlight. She put down her basket and brushed off her apron pushing back her dark hair. She looked ten or eleven years of age. "We have heard of you. You have hair the color of the harvest moon and eyes--" she got on her tip toes to look at India and said, "eyes that bewitch."

India laughed and rolled her eyes.

The girl asked, "Change the color for me. Won't you please?"

"You have been misinformed, little one," she said still smiling and shaking her head.

Lifting her skirts, India began to climb the embankment toward the manor house. The child fell in step alongside her and asked, "You seem so nice. Why do they call you the Ice Queen?”

India stopped walking. She was astounded. "They call me the Ice Queen? Who calls me that?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders and said, “Everyone, I guess.”

India frowned then resumed her walk. She knew that she seemed unapproachable. She had always been quiet and reserved, but this new description had surprised her.

She shrugged and let it go. It was just as well, she thought. In her position, she must remain aloof. She could not allow others to be part of Colm’s innermost circle.

The child said goodbye and began to skip down the road toward one of the cottages with her basket over her arm. India assumed she was the granddaughter of the housekeeper. She went in the house to ask about dinner. Whenever possible, India prepared her husband’s meals. Colm had mentioned once the threat of poison, and India had been stricken with fear for his safety ever since.  He reassured her continually that his followers were trustworthy, but she nevertheless monitored his every meal. If she could not prepare the food herself, then she ate a sampling first.

Colm laughed at India, but the thought of life without him was terrifying for her. The future of Ireland was at stake, and without Colm Fitzpatrick, the rebellion would crumble. To India, it was one small way she could contribute to the cause.

She found the housekeeper in the kitchen washing vegetables. India had been unable to see the woman clearly last night. Now in the morning light she saw that she was an elderly woman, alarmingly thin with a face like a dried apple. She smiled a broad toothless grin and greeted India.

“I believe I met your granddaughter this morning, Mrs. Burke,” India said.

The woman laughed. “She was supposed to be pickin’ mushrooms. Did she have any?”

“I didn’t notice. We spoke so briefly.”

“Probably not,” she said turning to her soda bread. “She is the flightiest child I have ever seen.”

“Do her parents live here?” India asked.

The woman's smile faded. “No, me daughter died givin’ birth to her, and the child's father went to the Colonies to find a better life.” She shook her head. “We are losing all our young people to this new land.”

India nodded. It was a story she had heard over and over.