Devil's Island, page 14
Chapter 24
The forest
The O’Rourke took to the forests and lived like a bandit with Francisco, Brendan and his Galloglass. The chieftains of the clan who stayed loyal to him put up a token resistance, but the force that invaded from three sides was overwhelming. Some chieftains submitted early to have their lands spared, and the others took to the forest to be with their leader. Baile Nua fell without a fight and the Earl of Clanricard and the governor of Connacht installed the fourteen-year-old Teigue O’Rourke as the new O’Rourke.
Food soon ran low as the harvest had been poor, and they had made little provision for a long war. The peasants soon turned on their former lord as the loyal soldiers threatened to steal their crops. They pointed towards the forests, and the earl swept through their hiding places and cleared them out. One by one, the rebel chieftains either surrendered or fled.
Brian O’Rourke was left in the northern forests with his Galloglass and a contingent of Spanish. His numbers were much reduced, and only a hardcore of loyalists remained with him. When they were not evading mounted patrols and scavenging for food, they were trying to take weapons off the dead, for every time they lost a man, they lost his equipment, too. Francisco attached himself to the O’Rourke with the lure of escaping to Spain. He acted as his advisor and sounding board, for he knew he was a dead man if he was parted from the O’Rourke. The reward for a Spanish officer was as much as a farmer could make in over a year.
It was time to eat on an incredibly bleak day, for all the O’Rourke heard was tales of defections or men he had lost to the English sword. His hand juddered as he stoked the fire beneath the rabbit on the spit. He stared blankly, trying to figure out how it had all come to this. His son Brian Óg ran through the camp, covered in large globules of mud, with the blood splatter of others across his face.
“Father, Father, it is over.”
He collapsed onto his knees. His chain mail had become a burden covered in dried mud and blood. He threw it off and caught his breath. The O’Rourke threw down his stick and went to his son. Brian Óg placed his hand in the extended hand of his father.
“I am sorry, Father, but I lost most of my men. They came at us from all sides with bows. All we could do was run. They seemed familiar with the forest. I can only assume that some of your former minions have turned on you.”
The O’Rourke collapsed into himself as if overwhelmed by stomach pain. He staggered back but then saw his son's horrified face. He remembered he had to be the O'Rourke and stood up with a new resolve.
“We are the O’Rourkes, the former kings of Ireland. They will not make us into a shire and minions of the queen. I will seek help from our allies, even if I have to go all the way to the king of Spain.”
He helped his son up from his knees and placed his hands on his shoulders.
“You must stay here and rally the men. There must still be resistance when I am gone. Once Bingham knows I am gone, he will relent and return to his province. Then it is up to you, for the memory of your ancestors, for the memory of your brother, to defend the family honour, the family name, the family lands.”
Brian Óg clasped his father by the hand and looked straight into his eyes.
“It is a heavy burden you place upon these young shoulders, but I will prove myself worthy of your faith. Go forth and bring back an army, and I will make sure there is something worth returning for.”
The O’Rourke embraced his son until tears invaded his eyes and threatened to embarrass him in front of his men. He let go of the embrace and stood and looked his son in the eye with as much pride as he could muster. The O’Rourke slapped his son on the shoulder and turned to leave.
“Brendan, come with me to Fermanagh and pick only a handful of your best men, for we are travelling light. Francisco, bring two of your men with you, for if we go to Spain, I hope my cause will be well represented. We leave as soon as we gather our things.”
The O’Rourke went to his tent to collect his belongings. However, before he could get there, an arrow whizzed past his head and lodged itself in a tree.
“They are upon us!” Brian Óg raised his sword and cried out to rally his men. “Drive them away. Save the O’Rourke!”
The men of the camp charged towards the arrows. Brendan signalled to two of his men and they went to protect the O’Rourke.
“We must leave now, lord, or they may capture you.”
The O’Rourke dug into his bags, trying to decide what to bring.
“There is no time for that. We are well within arrow range. The next could be through your head.”
The O’Rourke cursed and threw down his things.
“To the horses then. Get Francisco and your men, and we’ll leave.”
Arrows came thick and fast, for Brian Óg had yet to find their source. The O’Rourke made it to the horses, and then he, Francisco, Brendan, and two Galloglass mounted up and rode as fast as they could towards Fermanagh.
Chapter 25
The court of the Maguire
Their horses pounded through the dense forest, hooves echoing off the trees. Despite their weariness, they rode on, determined to reach Maguire country as quickly as possible. The O’Rourke finally halted his horse and dismounted, his muscles aching from the long journey. He walked a short distance away, ensuring they were alone in this unfamiliar land. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he rubbed at his temples with his thumb and index finger, trying to ease the tension that had built up during their frantic ride.
“What is wrong, lord?” Brendan said. “We must not rest until we get to Enniskillen, for if we are pursued, they will care little for borders.”
The O’Rourke turned to him, his face a fit of rage.
“Can I not mourn for one son as I have condemned my other to death to save myself?”
“You don’t know that, lord. You can still save him if we can rally the Maguires to our cause. Get on your horse, for no salvation will be found for anyone standing out here in the cold.”
The O’Rourke turned his back, for he was ashamed of his tears.
“Look, lord. Francisco holds your horse for you. Let us ride while there is still daylight, for the robbers and bandits will come when the night descends.”
The O’Rourke stormed past him, ashamed of his display of emotion and thinking it made him look weak in front of the men.
They rode towards the towering gates of Enniskillen, their horses’ hooves kicking up mud as the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the low rolling hills. The river splashed and gurgled alongside the castle, the perfect invitation to tired and dirty men. But the O’Rourke had a job to do, and he had to summon the last of his energies to appear as the O’Rourke to his Maguire neighbours and impress them enough to shelter him despite the dangers that pursued him.
The fortress loomed above them, its stone walls and fortified towers even more intimidating to weary men. As they drew closer, they could make out the intricate carvings and symbols etched into the massive wooden doors, hinting at the rich history and legends within them. The O’Rourke’s voice echoed through the quiet evening air as he called out to the guards stationed atop the gate tower.
“I am the O’Rourke, and I call upon my neighbour to shelter me and provide hospitality as per the terms of our treaty and the traditional friendship between our clans.”
Several perplexed faces appeared on top of the walls to see if this claimant could be who they claimed to be. Francisco twitched on the back of his horse, both at his unease of riding in the traditional Irish way without stirrups and at why, after all the O’Rourke’s bragging, they did not fling the gates open for him. The men on the ramparts called their constable, who peered over the wall at the O’Rourke in disbelief of his claims.
“Your master will not be pleased with the hospitality you show to one of the most important clan leaders in all of Ireland,” said the O’Rourke as he shook his fist up at the rampart.
“If you’re so important, why are you calling here at twilight?” said the constable. “How do we know you are not in league with the English, and this is a ploy to get us to open the gates?”
“Let me assure you it is no ploy, and you humiliate your master by forcing him to apologise to me for you casting such insults down from your walls. Open the gates, for I grow cold out here.”
“Let me consult my master, for I do not want to place him in peril because you claim insult.”
The O'Rourke waved him away.
“Do as you must and pray it does not earn you a flogging.”
The minutes dragged as the O’Rourke took out his temper on the men on the walls. But eventually, the scraping sound on the other side signalled the removal of the door bar. A handsome, well-dressed young man appeared with a smile of greeting on his face.
“Welcome, oh exalted leader of the O’Rourkes. I apologise for making you wait out here in the cold, but it is not every day we find a stranger at our gates claiming to be the O’Rourke. As I'm sure you understand, our men had to be certain.”
“No, I do not,” the O’Rourke growled. “My fame as a rebel spreads far to the north and even across the seas. Your men should have recognised me immediately and flung open the gates for me.”
The young man bowed.
“I can only apologise and hope the feast we are preparing for you makes up for it and is worthy of a man of your stature.”
“I am famished, so it is the least you could do. Now, what is your name, boy, so I know who formally invites me in?”
The young man bowed again.
“I must apologise again, for our hospitality has not been up to the standard our master expects. My name is Donnacha and I am the advisor to the Maguire.”
“You are a bit young to have gained wisdom, but you may make up for it with intellect. Please invite me in, show me to a bath and bring me to your master.”
Donnacha extended his arm in invitation.
“This way, please.”
Donnacha invited the O’Rourke into the great hall where Hugh Maguire and his advisors waited for him. The O’Rourke smelt fresh, having bathed and donned clothes given to him by the Maguire as his own garments were being washed. He nodded at Donnacha, who bowed in deference. The veins of the O’Rourke surged with confidence. He was at last being shown the respect he deserved.
He had not met the new Maguire but knew he was young. He heard he had replaced all his advisors with younger men. The O’Rourke was well used to the cut and thrust of diplomacy and inter-clan politics and would easily bully them into doing what he wanted. He would soon ride back to West Breifne at the head of an army. He saw his old comrade Desmond standing beside the Maguire and knew he had an ally. But he would save all that until after he had eaten.
“Please sit,” and Donnacha extended his hand.
The O’Rourke sat, picked up his fork and plunged it into the side of roast venison. But the smell of mud and dirt interrupted the waft of the meat. He looked beside him and there sat Francisco and Brendan, sullen and still stinking of the road. But that did not dent the contentment of the O’Rourke. He placed the contents of his fork in his mouth. They cooked the venison to perfection.
“I am sorry to disturb your meal,” said the Maguire, “but time is of the essence. We received this.”
Donnacha came and placed a letter in front of the O’Rourke. It bore the seal of Bingham, the governor of Connacht.
The O’Rourke glanced at it but did not pause from shovelling food in his mouth.
“Since when did you take orders from him?”
The Maguire sat forward. His unwanted guest would not disrespect him.
“The Maguire takes orders from no one. However, we must consider the threats contained in it. Three armies have invaded your land, and we could not hold all of them off if they turned their attention northwards. But we are still your ally even though they prohibited us from sheltering you.”
The O’Rourke scowled at having his enjoyment of the food spoiled. He put down his fork and gave the Maguire his full attention.
“Then what are you to do with me? I see you didn’t waste any bath water on my men. Is this because we are to be cast out onto the road again, and there is little point in them cleaning themselves?”
The Maguire sat back in his chair. It was his turn to scowl in this tense exchange.
“Bingham has also offered a substantial bounty on your head if you care to read the letter. Given the reward is offered on a dead or alive basis, there are few places of refuge for you.”
The O’Rourke picked up his fork again and stuffed some food into his cheeks, fearing his meal would be cut short.
“So you will not throw me out the gate, for if you did, I would be straight into the arms of the bounty hunters, and no leader wants to unleash such chaos on their lands. So what is to be done with me? Will you take the reward for yourself while you fatten me like a prize bull?”
The Maguire sat forward at this perceived insult to his hospitality.
Your old comrade, Desmond, will take you to the islands. When it is safe, we will smuggle you into Tirconnell.”
The O’Rourke threw his fork down and spat out his food.
“Your father would never have treated me like this. He always honoured the treaties he made. If there were only one reliable man in all of the north, it was Cúchonnacht Maguire.”
Hugh Maguire stood up and slammed his fists on the table.
“Do not come here and wave my father’s good name in front of me to gain an advantage. The only service that will bring you is to wear out your welcome. You and your foolish sons brought the English upon yourselves. That is why none of your allies will come to your aid. You even endanger me by brazenly bringing a Spanish captain into my halls. I, too, have sheltered the Spanish, but I do not parade them around in front of the lord deputy and the governor of Connacht and dare them to do something about it. My hospitality ends when this meal does. I suggest you leave for Tirconnell at your first opportunity. Goodbye, and I hope it is in better circumstances next time we meet.”
The Maguire stormed out with Donnacha in his wake. The O’Rourke and his entourage sat mouths agape. Desmond remained seated opposite them and shrugged.
“Sure, you may as well finish your meal. I’ve only fish to offer you on my island.”
Francisco and Brendan looked at each other, and neither needed a second invitation.
Chapter 26
Pride and its slippery slide
“My pigs that would drag their snouts through the mud and shit of my yard had more pride than you,” said the O’Rourke. “How can you eat his food when he has thrown us out into the woods?”
Francisco and Brendan threw down their utensils and scowled at the O’Rourke.
“We have been faithful to you, lord,” said Francisco. “Would you deny your men the last chance of a decent meal?”
The O’Rourke flipped his plate and stood to leave as his meal dripped from the table onto the floor.
“Decent? Decent!? I’m surprised you don’t choke on the last meal of condemned men. By what he said, I would not be surprised if Bingham himself was outside those doors waiting to hang us in the yard.”
Desmond stood and walked over to the O’Rourke.
“What is a young man with little experience to do when the most wanted man in Ireland comes knocking on his door seeking sanctuary? He couldn’t handle you.”
The O’Rourke’s anger deflated as his ego inflated.
“You should have told him who I was before I arrived. Surely you talk about me in the court as the greatest rebel alive?”
“Oh, but you are too much to live up to for those with little experience,” said Desmond. “He hears the stories, and yet he cowers under the weight of your shadow. Give him a chance to get used to you being here and to see that the English army is not about to arrive at his door, and he’ll soon warm to you.”
“Well, it had better be quick, for my son’s sake.”
“Now, don’t dilly-dally,” said Desmond to Francisco and Brendan. “Fill your pockets with whatever food you wish to take for the ferryman awaits.”
The O’Rourke sneered as Francisco and Brendan took as much food as they could carry.
“We’re not beggars,” he said. “What will the Maguire think of me if my men stuff their pockets with food?”
“He shall think them good warriors taking their opportunity,” said Desmond. “Now take the food he has left out so we can leave while there is still light.”
The O’Rourke begrudgingly nodded his approval. The Maguire’s servants gave them some bags and Brendan and Francisco packed enough for the O’Rourke as they both knew that hunger would eventually eat his pride.
They made their way to Desmond’s boat, the sound of rushing water and creaking wood filling their ears as they neared the Enniskillen quays. The O’Rourke’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the vessel, a mixture of resentment and suspicion evident in his gaze.
“Are you caught up in some plot to drown me?”
Desmond smirked at what his friend had become.
“It is no plot to have you travel the lakes in the boat of the common man. Sure, if we had a procession for you, the governor would spot you a mile away and wait at the end. You’ll have to get used to the sodden ground and the fern now that you’re a fugitive.”
“What about my men? How will they all fit in there?” said the O’Rourke, drawing derogatory circles in the air above the boat.
“They won’t all fit on my island either. Decide who you will take and send the rest to Tirconnell or back to West Breifne to help your son. All you need to do is get to Tirconnell, and you can hire some Scottish Redshanks there, and you’ll be back in West Breifne in no time.”
Francisco broke into a sweat on the windswept quayside. Was this his journey’s end? It was all down to whether or not the O’Rourke would choose him to continue the journey. He remembered Desmond from the beach and feared if he was left behind, he would end up as a slave to the Maguire trying to train his savages.
