‘I have never been with any man.’
‘Will they know? If you have lain with me or not?’
She shook her head. ‘They will not force me to that indignity.’
‘Then before you leave – if you stay till morning – we could cut my wound once more – let some of the blood drop upon your dress …’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That is what we could do.’
I spread out the rushes on the floor a little more, and took down the priest’s robe again, to be a cover over us – it was coarse, but warm. She laid herself down, her head on my chest, as I held her close in the near-darkness, and wished her goodnight. Her breathing was even, but I knew she was not asleep. A tear ran down her cheek and I felt the wetness of it on my bare chest, where my robe had begun to come loose. I brushed her cheek and kissed her head again. She moved slightly and looked up at me. I lowered my head and kissed her again, gently, on the mouth. She responded and I did it again, less gently this time, pushing the crucifix at my neck to the side, desire taking over my senses. I knew it was wrong, and I knew it was not me that she wanted, but I had not been with a woman in three years, and in the darkness of that God-forsaken place, I submitted to her heartbroken passion and to my every carnal desire.
TWENTY
The Brothers of Bonamargy
It was almost dawn when I woke, Roisin still entwined in my arms, the lingering scent of rose oil from her hair drifting into my senses. The fire had gone out and the room was cold. The dark mass of guilt had found me, as I had known it would. I felt it weigh me down like a rock on my stomach. I looked down at her as she moved slightly and murmured in her sleep. Oh God, that Sarah would never know of this. I lifted Fintan’s cloak from where it had slipped to the floor and covered the girl’s bare shoulders with it, and prayed for forgiveness. Suddenly the cell door crashed open. I sat up quickly, trying to shield Roisin with my back, and was only a little relieved when I saw Father Stephen Mac Cuarta stride into the room.
He took in the scene in less than a second. ‘So, it is like that then. Like the rest of the O’Neills: weak in the flesh.’
I struggled to say something, but he put up a hand to stay me. ‘Save it for your prayers. There is no time.’ He quickly gathered the clothes I had put on the night before that were now strewn around me. ‘Quick, put these on. Time is scarce.’
Roisin was stirring now, but he crouched down near her and laid a hand on her head. ‘Sshh, sleep on, child. When they come, tell them you woke and he was gone, that you know no more.’ Taking a moment to understand what he said, she looked from him to me, then nodded her head. She lay slowly back down on the pallet, pulling the robe to her, and watched quietly as I dressed. Stephen strode around the room impatiently as I fumbled with the belt to my tunic and the trousers.
‘Come on, come on, man! Did your mother always dress you?’
‘I am not used to this clothing,’ I said, eventually triumphing over my leg wear and casting around the room for my boots, which, I was thankful, they had not made me exchange for a pair of priest’s sandals.
‘Here they are,’ said Stephen, thrusting them towards me. ‘Now be quick!’
‘But where …?’ I began.
‘For the love of God, will you move?’
A moment later I was ready and Stephen made for the door. I looked at him and then at Roisin, and understanding, he relented a little. ‘One minute,’ he said, raising a finger, ‘and not one second more.’
I nodded and, muttering something under his breath, he went out.
I went over to Roisin, crouched down, took her hands. ‘I am sorry,’ I said, ‘that I am not of your world. May you find someone who is worthy of you.’
She smiled. ‘Perhaps I did. I will not forget you.’
I bent down and kissed her, one last time, then left, without looking back.
‘Thank the Lord for that,’ said Stephen, in some exasperation. ‘Now can we go?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but go where? What is happening? Where are the guards?’
‘The guards are all drunker than lords, and will have heads like balls of lead when they come to in the morning. The apothecary at Bonamargy has many talents.’
‘You drugged them?’ I said in disbelief.
He smiled grimly, and with a relish that almost disturbed me. ‘Every last one of the devils, from Murchadh himself down to the boy who empties his piss pot.’
‘But how? You were drunk yourselves.’
‘Were we indeed?’ He allowed himself a low laugh. ‘You think those fools strutting about the stage in Coleraine the other night are the only men in Ireland who can act? No, my young friend, we were not drunk. But I think you would do well to take a lesson from your friend Andrew Boyd, and inspect very carefully any drink handed to you by an Irishman.’
‘How so? I was not drugged to sleep.’
‘Not to sleep, no, indeed not to sleep, but there was more stuff in the goblet you had by you in yonder room than any vintner ever put there.’
‘What stuff?’
‘How should I know? A man of my calling has no need for such arts, and indeed does better to stay away from them, but there were the dregs of something that was not of the grape in that.’
So I had indeed been drugged, given some aphrodisiac, at the instance of Murchadh, no doubt. His daughter would not even have known about it. This should perhaps have assuaged in me something of my guilt, but it could not, for I had wanted her last night, as I knew I had the very first time I had laid eyes on her.
Passing the main chamber, a quick glance confirmed Stephen’s story: it was like some enchantment in a child’s fairytale, as men, women and boys lay in attitudes of satisfaction and great contentment in utterly drunken slumber. We stepped with caution over the guards at one end of the corridor and then, with more apprehension, over those at the entrance to Dun-a-Mallaght itself.
Day was breaking as I emerged at last from my earthen prison. I stretched out my arms and breathed deep the fresh air of early morning.
‘No time for that,’ said Stephen, turning eastwards, where the sun had just begun to rise over the sea.
‘What of Deirdre? I will not leave her.’
‘She is there already, and a damned sight less trouble than you she was, too, let me tell you.’
‘Where is she?’
‘For the love of all things holy! Bonamargy, where else? Now come on, or I’ll leave you to Murchadh’s dogs.’
I had had enough of dogs and took my warning, following him in a steady trot towards his friary, which I could already see emerging out of the morning grey.
In a matter of a few minutes we had left Murchadh’s subterranean fortress well behind us, and had come within the precincts of the small friary, near the mouth of the river. My own college, my own haven, the Marischal College in Aberdeen, had once been a place of friars, a cloistered ornament to a debased way of life, put to better use in the service of God following the reformation of religion in my country. Despite the darkness and depravities of the place I had just left, I was apprehensive at entering this place that declared itself dedicated, in its misguided way, to the service of God.
‘Don’t look so pious, Presbyterian,’ said Stephen, ‘it sits not well on the countenance of one who spent last night as you did.’
Bereft of anything to say in my defence, I cast my eyes to the ground and braced myself for yet more of the rituals of their superstitions. We were welcomed by an old friar at the gatehouse, who greeted Stephen with a blessing and a prayer of thanks for his safe return ‘from that evil place’, and cast a suspicious glance in my direction. He did not question Stephen, though. I was beginning to realise that few people questioned Stephen Mac Cuarta, and those who did rarely received answers it did not suit him to give.