The Wild Irish - Robin Maxwell (21 page)

Gerald, the Earl of Desmond, was dark and brooding in his features and even more in his mind. I might have been too had I spent the last seven years in English captivity. He ’d never quite recovered from the hip shattered by Tom Ormond’s musket ball, and his pale face—the sharp slash of his mouth—was twisted in a mask of perpetual pain. ’Twas strange to see the grimace turn to a smile at the sight of me, and I saw all at once the quality that some women found so appealing. He seemed frail, as if he needed lookin’ after. Some women liked that, though I was not one of ’em.

“Well, Grace O’Malley,” he said, not bothering to rise. “Come sit on my other side.”

Eleanor rose and embraced me as I went round behind the table and took a seat. I smiled as I sat, thinking how Desmond was flanked by two mighty women who together, if they’d wished, could make mincemeat out of the man.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” he said, not altogether sincere.

“Well, I’ve missed you, Gerald. Horribly,” said I with a light tone. I was not ready just yet to batter him with my scorn, nor my demands for fair treatment toward his countrymen. Of course he knew what was comin’, but he played along.

“And I’ve missed you, Grace. Haven’t I, Eleanor?” She smiled indulgently.

“I was just saying the other day how I wished Grace O’Malley would pay a call on her old friend, finally out of prison and home in familiar countryside.”

“Did they treat you ill, the English?”

“No. They seem to enjoy my company. Seven years was not enough.

Now they require visits to Dublin, which I deny them, and constant communication, which I deny them. Unwavering loyalty, which I promise them. And copious proof of that loyalty, which I duly provide them.

Shite! Betrayed by the Queen of England, I was! A caged animal for seven years, desperate to stay Irish in England, and now desperate to seem English in Ireland. What an existence!”

“You seem comfortable enough, Gerald,” I said “And peaceful. I see no English troops garrisoned nearby, or coming to batter down your walls.”

“For now they trust me. Tomorrow, who knows?” His countenance darkened and he drummed his fingers on the table.

“We ’ve means to pacify them, sweetheart,” Eleanor said to Gerald, smoothing his oiled hair. “Don’t worry yourself.” All at once I felt the gall risin’ in me. Here they sat in Askeaton’s luxury—the king and queen of a Gaelic court—complainin’ of their ills, while Desmond’s captains were savaging the countryside.

“Well, Gerald,” said I, the tartness come into my voice, “I wouldn’t worry myself about the English, as much as goin’ to flaming Hell when I died.”

“Get fucked!” he said, his eyes narrowing to slits. There was no need to explain my curse. “Who do you think you are, marching in here to insult me in my own home?”

“I know who I am. It’s
you
who are confused, allowin’ your troops to commit atrocities against your own people.”

“Only the ones who gave succor to Carew’s Englishmen,” he excused himself. “Those who supported Fitzmaurice, I left alone.”

“But, Gerald, those poor people had no choice! They were tryin’ to survive, that’s all. You can kill a man, but you don’t need to nail him hand and foot to his door frame. And for Jesus’ sake, you don’t have to kill pregnant women and the babes movin’ inside ’em.
Irish
women.

That’s a disgrace, and unchristian as well.”

“Let me tell you something, Grace O’Malley.” He was leaning over me, though I refused to fall back. All signs of the pale cripple were gone, a cold-eyed snake in its place. “I was born Irish and I was born Catholic, but more important, I was born
noble
—son of the Earl of Desmond.

That’s an English title passed down from father to son by primogeniture, not Gaelic
tanaistry
. So before I am a Christian, before I am an Irishman, I am a
lord,
and a very great lord indeed. Lord of half of Ireland. It’s mine, and the people are mine to do with as I see fit. If they’re loyal, I’ll give them succor and protection. If they smooth the way for my enemies, then God help them!”

“That’s a revolting philosophy, Gerald, but there ’s a sick logic to it.

But how do you defend your atrocities on Burkes’ lands? And O’Flahertys? They had nothin’ to do with Fitzmaurice.” He looked like he might throttle me. I saw Eleanor’s hand grasp his arm.

“I don’t have to defend myself to you or to anyone else. I do what I please!”

“Well, I’m telling you, Gerald Fitzgerald, great feckin’ Earl of Desmond, you keep out of my territories and my sons’ territories or you’ll wish you were never born!”

“Get out!”

“Gladly.”

I stood and pushed back my couch so violent like I knocked it over, and marched from the room. When I got to the courtyard, there was no sign of Daniel or Cormack, which perturbed me further. But my fury had blinded me, made me stupid, and ’twasn’t till Desmond’s men were upon me that I understood his treachery. And then it was too late. To the great delight of those gathered in the courtyard, I was dragged away and down into the dungeon of Askeaton.

Before they threw me in a gloomy cell, I caught sight of my men.

Both dead, run through and lyin’ crumpled like garbage in a heap. God damn Desmond’s eyes! I could only wonder what had happened to my ship, anchored nearby. If my men, without me, had defended it. If they’d got away or fallen victim to a cruel ambush. For though I thought poorly of Gerald, I’d not expected such low contempt for a fellow chieftain.

’Twas days before he deigned to see me, first makin’ sure I was chained hand and foot to the wall like a common criminal. He stood in the doorway, and by Jesus, ’twas a good thing I was shackled, for I would have torn out his eyes if I could’ve.

“What of my ship, and my men? The ones you failed to murder in cold blood.”

“You’ll be happy to know they survived our attack. Most of them.

They turned tail and ran for it, though, leaving their beloved captain my prisoner.”

“Exactly what I would’ve wished them to do,” said I. “But why
am
I your prisoner, Gerald? What is it you plan to do with me? Certainly not kill me, for if that was the case I’d be a cold corpse by now.” Desmond paced about the tiny cell—limped more like. Lopsided on his feet he was, his bad leg much shorter than the good. And he smiled that grimacing smile he ’d given when I’d first come, very pleased with himself now, like a man who’s just raided five hundred head of cattle from his neighbor.

“It’s like this, Grace. The English are having a hard time trusting my intentions. They’ve already fought with me my three-day rebellion and pardoned me for it. Certain of Elizabeth’s men are whispering fine things in her ear about me. Others—mostly the men who’ve been to Ireland—

are whispering their suspicions. What they need—all of them—is proof of my loyalty to the Crown.” He came close to me then and looked me up and down, like a man does a woman, and I almost spit in his eye. “I thought I’d give them
you
,” he said.

“Oh, you did?”

“You’re a real prize, Grace O’Malley. According to the English, you’re a ‘great spoiler, chief commander of thieves and murderers at sea.’ ”

“So I’m to be a pledge of your loyalty.”

“Precisely.”

He reached out, and leering, cupped my breast in his hand. I strove to be calm and not struggle against my chains, for it’d make me look helpless and weak.

“You’re a maggot, not a man,” I said, and held his eyes very steady and cold.

“And you’re a prisoner at a maggot ’s mercy,” he said and pulled away, receiving no pleasure at the feel of me.

But I wasn’t his prisoner long. Soon, still in chains and very filthy from my accommodations, I was carted off by boat for Limerick and the English prison there. Eleanor stood at the quayside, watchin’ me go. Her eyes were hard to read, and I couldn’t see if ’twas shame in her eyes for her part in this, or satisfaction. Gerald was an arse, but she stood behind her man in all he did, and would do until the day he died. Perhaps, I thought, my capture had been her idea.

The journey of fifteen miles upriver from Askeaton was perhaps the worst of my life, for as I reveled in the clean air and sunlight, the feel of the water lapping beneath me, the wind kissing my cheeks, I knew how short was my reprieve from dismal darkness.

Limerick was a miserable, soggy town with thick mists rising off the Shannon River and blocking out the sun’s warmth, even in summer. If I thought Desmond’s dungeon was foul, I was soon to know much worse.

Her Majesty’s gaol was the pit of Hell itself. Where before if I suffered, I suffered alone—which suited me—now I shared a small cell with two other women. Mildred, a whore; and Janet, a once fine English lady laid low by debts and now gone insane.

Jesus, we were a wretched trio. Watery gruel was our only food, and filthy vermin crawled about in the one straw mattress the three of us shared.

All I had was time and I thought endlessly of my children. Of Margaret, and Devil’s Hook, who was as good as my own. Of Owen and Murrough, wondering if they’d tried for my release. And what of Richard Burke? Why had my husband failed to rescue me? Sent a hostage in my place?

One day, three months into captivity, two guards came—one a woman—and took me out. Mildred muttered, “Poor bitch,” thinkin’

they’d come to hang me, and Janet, who never paid me a bit of attention, began to wail, a high, keening sound that followed me out and down the long dark hall. On either side were thick wood doors. Faces peered out of the grates, and misery as I had never known.

I was brought to a bathing room, was bathed and combed and dressed in clean but humble clothing—an English gown and a hat that I pulled off, to my jailors’ great consternation. They took me up some wide steps to a floor with proper windows, and into a small stone chamber meant for visiting. There was even a stool that my guards bade me sit on, but I wished to stand to meet whoever was come to see me.

’Twas no less than the President of Munster, Lord William Drury. He was large and florid and looked unhealthy, in the way Englishmen who come to Ireland do. He spoke in Latin, knowing no Irish. I doubt if ever there was an English governor of Ireland who knew its language.

“I see you’re being well looked after,” he said, regarding my clean dress and fresh-washed hair. I never disabused him of his foolishness, knowing it a waste of my time.

“How long will you keep me here?” I asked him.

“That is unknown,” said Drury. He was lookin’ at me, really staring, as though to understand how a woman like myself—very normal—

could be the notorious pirate that I was.

“What right and reason have you to keep me here a prisoner for an indeterminate time, with no leave to communicate with my kin?”

“The right ensues from your sovereign, the Queen of England, and her laws. And the reason? Your exploits of course. Your plundering of our faithful servant, the Earl of Desmond’s lands—”

“
My
plundering of
his
lands?”

“—and piracy on the sea, all following your so-called submission to Henry Sidney.”

“My husband’s submission,” I corrected him. “I accompanied Richard to Galway.”

“Lord Deputy Sidney wrote the queen describing the scene, as your husband accompanying
you
. ‘A most famous feminine sea captain,’ he called you, ‘and more than Mrs. Mate with Iron Richard Burke.’ ” I stifled a smile at that, thinking how furious Richard would be if he heard such a thing.

“Therefore,” Drury said, “ ’tis
you
who have betrayed the Crown and will pay the price.”

“And what is the price?” I asked. I knew the cost of treason was a rope around the neck. My heart was suddenly pounding, but I tried to show no fear.

Drury’s watery eyes regarded me more softly than his harsh words betrayed. “There is no word yet. You will remain here in Limerick Gaol until a decision has been reached.”

The guards came in to get me, were leading me out, but I stopped at the door and turning back to Drury said, “Better watch Lord Desmond.”

“Why? He is a faithful servant.”

I snorted loudly.

“He delivered
you
to us. That was good and dutiful behavior.” I noticed a spark in Drury’s eyes. Kindness, I thought.

“Mark me,” I said. “You watch the Earl of Desmond. The closer the better.” Drury regarded me warily. “You won’t be sorry,” I added and let myself be led away.

Within the month I received my first letter from Richard. Drury had seen to it, bless his English heart. The missive told how, together with Owen and Devil’s Hook and a goodly force of men, Richard had indeed stormed Askeaton Castle to save me, laid siege to it for a week. But it had been futile. They’d been outnumbered, and besides, as they’d found, I’d already been moved to Limerick. They’d been lucky to escape with their lives.

Soon I had heard from all my children, save Murrough, who seemed not to care if I lived or died. Tibbot wrote me from the home where he was fostering. Highborn Irish children were meant to be sent away for their rearing in other men’s households. They built vital alliances with their foster families, much like marriages did. My son loved his foster father, Edmund MacTibbot, as much as he did his natural one, though the boy claimed to miss the sea and my boats and the times we spent together on the water. I cried when I read in his scratchy scrawl that he, my youngest, had begged his father to join the assault on Askeaton.

Richard had refused, Tibbot too young for battle.

Being my father’s daughter I’m not one for complainin’, but my year in Limerick prison was holy Hell. I could stand the dark and the damp, the stench, and the slop they called victuals. The rats and the roaches, the lice and the bedbugs were tolerable. I could even bear the hopelessness of my cellmates who, with no family or friends to sustain them, knew they would die there, more miserable than dogs. What nearly killed me, drove me insane, was confinement itself.

Freedom.
It had been mine, unquestioned, my whole life. I’d gone where I pleased, done what I pleased, said what I pleased to whomever I pleased. Nothing I’d ever dreamt of was beyond my reach, even the shores of India. And now, four stone walls and a family of wretched strangers were my whole world. I steeled my mind against the pain of my losses.