‘Mr Alexander Seaton, a Scot, making his way to Coleraine, and Andrew Boyd, Scot, his servant.’ A shutter was opened then closed again, and a moment later a lighted torch appeared at the top of the wall above us.
‘Let them in.’
The doors swung open and I followed Andrew under the archway and into the courtyard beyond. What greeted us as the bolt was brought to behind us was not a fortress or castle but a farmstead, and the gatekeepers looked to be cottagers or craftsmen, not soldiers. The stockier of the two came to take my horse.
‘Welcome, friends. You are late abroad. You should not travel in these parts after dark. The woodkerne are about.’
‘Are you much troubled by them?’
‘We keep watch night and day.’ The man jerked a thumb eastwards. ‘There, it is safe enough, but they roam almost at will from the northwest. You are fortunate to have reached here in safety.’
More torches had been lit about the enclosure as curious inhabitants came out to view the foolhardy visitors. A long stone-built house was set at the far end of the homestead, and three squat, thatched timber-framed cottages ran up the west wall of the place. Two women, an old man and half a dozen children had straggled out of the buildings and were watching us from a distance. When the women saw that we posed no threat and were welcomed, they went back into their dwellings, leaving their children, under the eye of the grandfather, to come and look at us more closely.
There was a bakehouse on the eastern wall and to the right of the entrance doors on the outer wall was a small clay cabin that passed for the guardhouse. Next to it were the stables, in the loft of which Andrew and I were to spend the night.
The place was filled with animals. Goats were tethered near the cottages, and some sheep were penned in a far corner. Between the cottages and their well was the hen house, its inhabitants at rest for the night. A few small, black, Irish cattle lowed in another corner. A couple of friendly dogs came bounding up to us, and to my surprise, Andrew knelt down on the ground to greet them: it was the first time I had seen him show affection to anything. As I bent towards them, something caught my attention, a slight movement at the edge of my vision. A man had moved out of the shadow of the bakehouse door; his eyes were fixed on me as if they were looking at a dead man.
Andrew straightened himself at last and asked if we might have some refreshment after we had seen to the horses.
The older gatekeeper nodded. ‘After you have finished in the stables, go to Stephen and he will see you all right with food and drink – will you not, Stephen?’
The expression on the face of the man who had been staring at me changed swiftly, and the grimace broke into a broad smile. ‘Oh, I will that, don’t you worry. You gentlemen just come over here when you are ready, and I will have fine warm pasties and ale waiting for you.’ Nodding cheerily to us, he returned to his bakehouse where a faint golden light still glowed. I shivered now, conscious of the approaching coldness of the night.
Once we were safely in the stables, I quizzed Andrew. ‘What is this place?’
‘Armstrong’s Bawn. It’s a Scotsman’s estate but the lands were formerly in the O’Neill kindred – they raised cattle and lived here for much of the year. When the lands were seized by the Crown those amongst them who could not be trusted were executed, imprisoned, banished. And so they have a great grievance, and they show it by attacking and despoiling the settlements while they can. Like many others, Armstrong is obliged to defend his land, his tenants and their livestock, and because they have not yet built suitable houses themselves, they come and live here, within the safety of the walls.’
One of the gatekeepers had come in while we had been talking. ‘It would be madness for us to live outside the bawn by night. I have been here three years and have never yet been inclined to build my own house further afield. Though God knows, there will be little enough safety here if they put their minds to it. Their leaders play their hand so close and clever. If once they should rise against us, they will tear us limb from limb and feed us to their dogs. This is a barbarous country you have come to, Mr Seaton, and godless too.’
Later, as we crossed the yard, I spoke quietly to Andrew. ‘Have you been here before?’
‘No. That is why I chose this place. I am too well known in the inns and villages on the road. There would have been too many questions about you, and always the chance that someone might have taken you for Sean. It will be safer for you here.’
His words brought home to me what I had tried to ignore: out on the road, away from all the safeguards of my grandmother’s tower house and of the town, it was not Sean’s life that was in danger from this curse but mine. There had been a time when I would not have cared about that, but now I did, for now I had a life, the promise of a life with Sarah and Zander, that I wanted to hold on to. ‘There is no chance that Sean would ever have been here?’
Andrew laughed. ‘Do you see a tavern somewhere, or a whorehouse? Besides, your cousin has no need to seek shelter from the woodkerne.’ The meaning of this was plain enough and I asked no more about it.
Neither of us had noticed in the gloom, but the baker was waiting for us by the door. He thrust out a hand to greet us. ‘Gentlemen! Welcome, welcome. Come away into the warmth and take a seat. It is a bitter night, and you will be tired after your long riding.’ Andrew stepped back to let me pass ahead of him under the low doorway. As he did so, I caught for a moment a look of unease in his eyes that had been wholly absent until the baker had spoken.
The bakehouse was warm and welcoming, and only once seated on a straw pallet that passed for the baker’s bed did I realise how weary I was. The baker was pulling a pan with half a dozen pies on it out of the oven. The smell alone made me ravenous. While the pies cooled he poured us each a jug of ale. Andrew watched him all the while. The baker held his drink up. ‘Slainte!’
Andrew nodded. ‘And to you.’ He took a drink and set down his cup. ‘You are Irish, then.’
The baker looked at us, conspiratorially, his eyes dancing. ‘I am that, but you gents need have no fear, for I am as English and well-affected as the Irish come. I know the scriptures from back to front and could recite the oath of allegiance at the drop of your hat.’
Andrew was not altogether reassured. ‘Have you been here long?’
‘Ah, not long, sir. I travelled many years and learned my trade and only now am I ready to settle back in my homeland, in these new times. I offered my services here and they were taken. The master has trouble finding men and women enough to work the land, and a baker and brewer in the bawn frees others to go out and work in the fields and woods. I can see to the stores and buy what is needful at the markets, and the native Irish cannot cheat me as they would others, for I know all their ways.’
I could believe this; he must have been fifty, but he was of burly build and strong still, and the ready humour in his speech could not quite mask the busy intelligence of his eyes. This man was thinking, thinking all the time.
‘You have travelled far today?’
Andrew spoke before me, which was as well – my answers were ill-prepared. ‘We landed at Olderfleet this morning, and have been travelling ever since.’
‘You would not have gone by Carrickfergus, then?’
‘Why should we have gone by Carrickfergus? Our journey takes us north, to Coleraine.’
The man nodded. ‘Coleraine. Of course. But you met with no one from Carrickfergus on your way?’
‘No one.’ Andrew’s voice was becoming harder.
‘There was a party passed by here yesterday on the way from Coleraine to Carrickfergus. They were making for the funeral of some great merchant that was to be held there today.’