‘There is no treachery …’
‘Do not lie to me; I heard you at Dun-a-Mallaght. You plan rebellion against the king. You boast of continental powers …’
‘There is no treachery and there is no boast. We fight for the Holy Roman Mother Church and her daughter, Ireland. We cannot be traitors to a king to whom we have never bent the knee. Our people are paupers in their own land. Men like Murchadh, heads of great families, revered through all Ulster, forced to till the land like beasts or peasants.’
‘But there is peace,’ I said. ‘And Murchadh has prospered in this peace. Many have told me so – he has made his bargains with the English and has done well of it.’
‘And is held in distrust and contempt by the Irish because of it, and do you think he does not know that? He wanted Roisin to marry Sean to gain some of the affection and esteem in which your grandmother’s family is held, as well as to build up his lands.’
‘But surely that could have been achieved without rebellion?’
‘He can only properly establish himself by wresting power from his English masters.’
‘But why did you join with him? You saw what he did to Michael; you know what he has done to others.’ My mind went back to the shabby Scots inn where Andrew and I had taken rest and sustenance, where a widow and her children lived in the shadow of a murdered son.
He breathed deep. ‘I made common cause with Murchadh for a greater purpose than his: a cause whose ends could not be achieved in opposition to his, so must needs join with them. But it was never Murchadh who was to lead the struggle, it was to have been Sean. Murchadh does what generations of his sort in Ireland, leaders of septs, have done through time – he fights for himself. He has used the English to further his own ends, and has no notion of leading a rising for the sake of the Irish. Throughout time, for centuries, our poets have called for a leader who would put an end to rivalries, unite Ireland, and protect her against the foreign invader. It was to have been Sean. Did you think for a minute your cousin was involved with Murchadh for personal gain? Sean was all that a leader should have been, and with access to Murchadh’s power base, much might have been achieved. And he was faithful, too. Faithful to the Church and to Rome.’
It made sense now, the talk of powerful friends, of Louvain, Madrid. ‘And this is why you came back from the continent? To put your Franciscan mission in the hands of the king of Spain, and wrench Ireland from King Charles’s hands in the name of Rome?’
‘You think I had done better to stay in my college in Louvain and simply pray for Ireland?’
‘Better than to have joined with a butcher like Murchadh.’
‘Butchery, is it? Let me tell you something of butchery, my young Scottish friend. When Chichester burned and destroyed the whole of Ulster, when you were a babe safe in your mother’s arms in Scotland, and Sean had been abandoned by her, starving children were found with their hands in the innards of their dead mother; old women enticed boys and girls away from their play, to murder and eat them. And you would disdain Murchadh for making his peace with the English whilst hoping to raise himself once more? Those whom the earls left behind in their flight – brothers, sons – were rounded up, imprisoned, for the very fact of their existing, and some rot in the Tower of London still, children once, now men, grown to manhood in their chains. They will never see the blue of an Irish sky nor drink the clear water of a mountain burn again. Others, who took ship for England to plead their case with their king, their Celtic king, son of a faithful daughter of Rome, never saw his face before they were shipped to Virginia, to be murdered by savages or die of disease in his colonies. Say what you will about Murchadh, but he remains an Irishman, holding his land on Irish soil, and as such gives hope to other, better men, who do not.’
The effort of this speech had cost him much, and he lay back a moment with his eyes closed. I offered him a little water and he took it gratefully.
‘But I will die in Ireland. Unlike your uncle, Tyrone, Tyrconnell, so many others that I left with, so many years ago. I have seen the sun rise and set once again on the land of my birth, and for that I give thanks to God.’
‘And that is why you came back now? Because you knew you were dying?’ There was little point in sentiment, or dissembling. He had seen the last sunset of which he spoke.
He raised the familiar grin, and the trace of a sparkle came into his eyes. ‘The timing of that is merely a stroke of good fortune. Many powerful men on the continent take an interest in the affairs of Ireland. Tales of Murchadh’s planned rising came to their ears – through MacDonnell, I am certain – at about the same time that Sean’s letters on the same subject came to me.’
‘Good news for you,’ I said.
His eyes were quick. ‘No: the worst. Murchadh is unmeasured, hot-headed. He lacks discretion. We all feared a repeat of the debacle of ’15.’
‘What happened then?’
‘I forget you have lived your life in such blissful ignorance. In 1615, plans were laid for a rising against the English, to free prisoners – Tyrone’s own son amongst them – and to drive the English, those who were not put to the sword, from Ulster.’
‘And it failed?’
‘Failed? It never even began. The leader, Rory O’Cahan, did little but drink and brag the country round for weeks what he was to do. The English heard of it, of course, and he was caught, tried and hanged, with six others, a Franciscan priest among them, before flame was lit or sword lifted. The Spanish stood ready then, as they do now, to help. But they will brook no more Rory O’Cahans, and Murchadh is such a one. I was sent here to assess the readiness of the English in their settlements – not just the towns like Coleraine, but the bawns too – to meet our attacks, and to gauge the level of supplies we might garner from them. But I was also sent to protect Sean, and to rein in Murchadh. I have failed in my second object, but God willing, will not do so in my third.’
‘I think Cormac has greater honour than his father ever did, but his determination upon Deirdre threatens to blind him to all other concerns. He is no Sean.’
‘No,’ he said, looking at me as if by the concentration of his mind alone he could pierce my heart, ‘he is no Sean.’
It was cold enough in the crumbling church, and what heat the fire had first offered could do little against the advancing frost of the night, but the shiver that passed down my spine under his gaze had little to do with the air around us. I looked away, pretending to make a start on gathering up the straw.
‘Look at me, Alexander.’
‘It is very late. We have an early start in the morning. We should go back to your …’
‘I will go nowhere in the morning, as you know, save to the place of atonement for my sins.’
‘You may go where you will, if you believe in such places. I have need of sleep.’
I bent down to lift him to his feet, but he shook his head. ‘I will see my last of this world here.’ He gazed up through the hole in the rafters. ‘The stars in their firmament were never more beautiful than they are here, tonight.’ Then he looked back at me. ‘You know now why you are here, don’t you?’
‘I am going to my bed,’ I said.
He reached up and gripped my arm, a terrifying grip from a man so close to death.
‘You know why Sean brought you here, don’t you?’
‘The nonsense of the curse …’
He shook his head, impatient. ‘Sean no more believed that than you do. But Deirdre does, and more importantly Maeve. When the curse was laid and Maeve told him he had a cousin …’