‘Don’t do this, Alexander. You cannot give her to them.’
‘What will become of her in my grandmother’s house?’
‘A chance, for life.’
‘He would give her that chance. At least she would have a position and respect.’
He looked me straight in the eye. ‘Alexander, if you let her go with Cormac she will be hanging by the neck from Carrickfergus Castle before a month is out.’
‘You cannot know that.’
‘I know it.’
He looked into my eyes, hard, a moment longer, and I stepped back from the edge of the wall, trying to ignore the shouts of my name until the crack of a gun startled Cormac’s horse and sent its rider back to join his father. We watched as they conversed a few moments, before wheeling their horses round and retreating to the woods. But they did not leave. Torches glowed amongst the branches of the trees, and then swiftly moving shapes began to emerge from the glen behind us – shapes that were men, unencumbered by munitions or mounts, almost silently jumping burns, scaling rocks, flitting through trees. They had no guns, these men, but swords, or bows on their backs. And for every ten of them, one carried a flaming torch. Within a very little time, the castle was surrounded on three sides, the sea alone offering some chance of escape. And then, as I tried in a desperate way to understand how we might make use of that, a line of boats appeared, snaking down the still water from the west, a dozen men and a burning brazier in each one.
‘Oh, dear God!’
James Shaw turned to his wife. ‘Get back to the women, Isabella; this is no place for you.’
‘We will burn in our beds.’
‘Did you hear me, woman?’
He turned to Andrew and myself. ‘You, too, should go back. There is nothing you can do here, but these Irish dogs are cunning, and thrive on the ways of the night. If one should find his way undetected into the castle … Go inside. Bring the women down to the great halclass="underline" you can guard them closely there, and there will be greater chance of egress than from my wife’s chamber should the place take light.’
We did not need to be told twice. The noise had woken both Deirdre and Macha, and they were glad to see us. In Macha’s eyes was a truly hunted look. She held her hands across her belly, the last defence of her unborn child.
I went to her, put a blanket around her shoulders. ‘It is all right. They still do not know about you. I will see that no harm comes to you.’
I had spoken to her in English, but she answered me in Gaelic. ‘You can have no knowledge of the brutality of these men, what they can do. For Sean’s sake, save his child.’ I remembered Michael, lying beaten and blinded by the altar at Bonamargy, and I prayed to God for His mercy on these innocents.
Lady Isabella refused to lie down, but took up a seat by the window in the great hall, watching through the night at the deadly show of light in the woods beyond the castle. A servant had brought rugs and blankets, which we put in front of the hearth. Deirdre and Macha both, in the ways of the Irish that I had come to know, were used enough to sleeping on the ground, with little to cover them, and exhaustion soon won out over anxiety and took them to their sleep. Andrew and I sat on the carved oak chairs at either side of the fire; he watched me intently.
‘You have to make your choice, Alexander. The time is coming when we must all make our choice and trust to God.’
‘I am here, am I not?’
‘But your heart is not entirely.’
‘I learned long ago to bridle my heart.’
Nothing more was said between us as the hours of the night advanced, and the candles burned down in their sconces. Margaret tried to persuade her mistress to rest. The older woman shook her head kindly and continued to gaze out of the window, from where salvation or eternity might come.
It was about an hour before dawn that the first of the arrows was launched from the edges of the woods and into the castle yard. It formed a perfect blazing arc in the sky before dipping, assuredly, into the thatched roof of one of the byres. A rush of men and buckets was running for the byre when the second arrow hit – this time landing close to the pond. Ducks and geese screeched horribly and took flight, flapping in the faces of those who sought to douse the arrow in the water. A third arrow came, taking the shoulder of a guard on the inner wall. The man’s screams were quickly muffled by the comrade who launched himself at him, flattening him to the ground and putting out the fire. The flames on the roof of the byre had taken hold now, and the whole was ablaze. A chain of men and women passed bucket after bucket from the stream to the flames, while others released and sought to calm the terrified and bellowing beasts. Another arrow came, and found the brewhouse.
I surveyed the scene from the windows. ‘There is no way out,’ I said.
‘No way but surrender,’ said Andrew.
Lady Isabella’s face was drawn, hardly moving. ‘My husband will never surrender.’
I had not planned for such a death as this. I summoned images of Sarah and Zander, as if I could hold them, keep them before my eyes to take me through whatever was now to pass.
‘Then we must commit ourselves to the mercy of God.’ It was Deirdre, she was on her knees. Macha soon joined her, and I heard the words I had come to know so well over these last weeks, the words that begged intercession from Mary, the holy mother of God. My hand again was at the crucifix at my throat, still there. Andrew watched me carefully, as if waiting to see if I would bend the knee and join them. I fought the urge to do so, and tried to summon in myself the strength and faith that He had given me. I reached up my hand to pull at the chain around my neck, thinking to break it once and for all.
As I felt the cold metal at my fingers, a shout went up from outside, a shout that rose above the clamour of the flames, the sloshing of the water, the terror of the yard. Andrew ran to the window. I was quickly at his shoulder.
‘What is happening?’
It was a moment before he was able to make sense, through the smoke and the last dark before the approaching dawn, of what he was seeing.
‘They are leaving,’ he said at last. ‘Thanks be to God: they are leaving.’
TWENTY-FOUR
A Homecoming
‘It was a messenger. On foot. One of my tenants saw him coming over Ballygally Head a little before dawn. He was running like the wind. My man knew it was a native the moment he saw him. By the time he had saddled his horse to go in pursuit, the fellow was almost here. The men on the walls saw him from here – they took aim, but none hit him thank God – or we might all be ashes now.’
We were standing in the burnt-out remains of the inner courtyard of Ballygally Castle, an hour after unknown tidings from the fleet-footed messenger had caused Murchadh and his men to lift their siege and beat a hasty retreat to the north. The fires had all been doused, and what had yesterday been a picture of well-ordered industry was now a blackened and sodden mess. Animals had been calmed, and word had come from the nearby pastures that it was safe to let the beasts out once more.
‘It is a miracle, a blessing of God. Only six injured and none killed, and the house still standing. I doubt you will come closer to death without meeting it than you did last night, Mr Seaton.’
‘Your hospitality to us has cost you dearly, Sir James.’
‘It has cost me nothing that cannot be mended. Fore-knowledge of the events of last night would not have made me refuse you. But I think the time when my hospitality was a protection has waned, and we must get you all to Carrickfergus before Murchadh has dealt with his other business and returns.’
I was a little uneasy now, at the prospect of leaving Macha in Andrew’s care, but there was no option, and to separate would give at least one of us a chance of getting through to Carrickfergus, regardless of the fate of the other. Andrew took time to speak alone with Deirdre before he left, and then came to me. ‘Whatever you do, promise me you will not hand her over to Cormac. Give her a chance, at least, to come back to herself. With him she will have none.’