Fugitives! (18 page)
Authors: Aubrey Flegg
hey crouched, still trembling from their escape, within the trees and bushes at the forest edge.
‘Do you think they got Haystacks?’ worried Sinéad.
‘There were several shots,’ said James.
Fion, who had slipped away to try to find the path to where the ponies had been hidden, reappeared. ‘I’ve found them. Come on. We should get away from here.’
But James was having second thoughts. ‘I think I should go back. If there’s to be an attack, I should be at Father’s side.’
‘Nonsense!’ said Sinéad. ‘You heard Father say that if they took you as hostage, they would use you against him. He doesn’t need that – and he doesn’t need fighting men now,’ she added generously.
She felt Fion’s hand on her arm. ‘Come on. Sinéad, you walk in the middle.’
‘How did you know we’d need the ponies?’ she asked his receding back.
‘Haystacks guessed your father would want us out of the way.’
‘Can we trust him?’ James asked from behind.
‘Uncle Hugh trusts him and that’s good enough for me.’ And Fion set off at a brisk pace.
They walked, like badgers, in a line, each lost in their own thoughts. Last year’s leaves whispered about their ankles. Would they have a home to go back to when they had found Con? Would Chichester listen to James if he found him? After a short walk, the eager whicker of their ponies welcomed them. Sinéad hugged her pony’s warm neck and breathed in the rich, horsey smell.
‘Where did you and Haystacks arrange to meet?’ James asked Fion.
‘The Fiddler’s Hill. We’ll rest there to see what happens. Maybe you two will be able to return home, but Haystacks and I must leave at dawn to find Con.’
The Fiddler’s Hill rose out of a clearing in the forest, a rocky knoll that looked down on the castle below. It had got its name from a long-dead fiddler – his wife, having no ear for music, had hunted him from the house to practise up here. People swore you could still hear his haunting tunes on clear evenings.
When they reached their meeting point they set about making a shelter out of green branches. It was big enough for three, but James was far too agitated to sleep, so he told Fion and Sinéad to get some rest, promising to wake them if anything happened.
James selected a small exposure of rock and settled to wait for the attack on the castle, but was unable to sit still. Like a caged animal,
he began walking up and down, and soon had worn a path for himself through the ferns.
What am I expecting? Will I hear it from up here?
He strained his eyes, trying to make out the castle. The campfires of the attacking troops had sunk to pinpricks.
What was that?
A stab of fire had shot out from the blackness below. Then it came, a roar loud enough to make his insides tighten. He waited and waited.
That can’t be all?
Another stab of flame, another gut-wrenching bang.
Missed once, missed twice.
He almost cheered, but then, at the third shot, he heard shouts below. Now lights were springing up in an arc across the plane as the attacking soldiers plunged their torches into their camp-fires so that their comrades could see to re-load their muskets. He heard the deadly rattle of musket fire, and there were counter flashes from the palisade as the castle defenders returned fire.
James imagined himself down there leading a counter charge when –
Oh dear God, no!
He covered his ears, trying to block out a sound that hadn’t been heard in four hundred years: the call of Great Horn of the de Cashels sounding the retreat. He sank to his knees in the ferns and wept. Then out of sheer exhaustion, he slept.
He woke an hour later, and got stiffly to his feet. His woollen cloak was drenched with dew. He shook it and glared angrily down at the grey bulk of the castle below. Then he looked again. A tiny spark of light showed.
What’s that? A flame on the castle tower? A signal? A beacon, perhaps? Careful
, he thought,
you’ll set the place on fire!
And he was right. That was exactly what was happening.
I don’t believe what I’m seeing
…
‘Fion! Sinéad!’ he yelled. ‘The castle’s on fire. They’ve set the castle on fire! Come quickly!’
The fierce orange glow now seemed to be the only light in the universe.
Dazed with sleep, unaware even that the attack had happened, Sinéad and Fion struggled from their shelter. They could see James, his front eerily lit red from a glow below, and rushed over. The castle –
their
castle – was ablaze. They watched in horror as the glow changed from yellow to red and flames sprang up to dance mockingly above their old home.
‘Oh my God!’ whispered Sinéad. ‘Father … Mother. Could they be trapped in the top floor?’
‘It must be an accident,’ James reassured her. ‘The only fireplaces are in the top floor. They’d be the first to notice – I’m sure they’ve had time to get out.’ The climax passed amazingly quickly – the flames burst upwards as the floors inside collapsed, then drew back, leaving a crown of orange, while the thick walls hid the furnace within. They could see the windows as scarlet slits in the black walls.
The children clung together like sailors on a sinking ship.
When dawn was still only a promise in the sky, Sinéad thought she would start down the track to see if there was any sign of Haystacks. He was to have followed them to the Fiddler’s Hill, but hadn’t arrived. She came on him not far below the clearing, leading his horse. Haystacks didn’t say anything to begin with, just put his arm across her shoulder. As they got to the brightness of the glade she looked up with a smile, but the smile froze on her lips. His face, capable of so many moods, was now etched with grief, and she
knew it was on her behalf. A dreadful chill ran through her. He reached across and turned her till she was facing him.
‘Father … Mother …?’ she whispered.
‘Sinéad, my dear, it’s bad news. Alas, they didn’t get out of the castle in time. They had no chance.’ He closed his eyes for a moment as if seeing it all again. ‘I was trapped down there and got mixed in with the attackers. I saw it all. I last saw your father fighting his way up the stairs. I like to think that he and your mother died in each other’s arms.’ He closed his cloak around Sinéad as she collapsed against him, shaking with grief.
Later, they all sat on the rock where James had held his night vigil and gazed down at the dimming glow from the castle, now a funeral pyre. Sinéad’s shakes were sporadic now. She searched for Fion’s hand from under Haystacks’s cloak and clamped on to it tightly. As if her touch had opened a dam in him, tears streamed down his face too, and she knew that he shared her sadness.
After a while James left them and began to pack his clothes and harness his pony as if preparing for a journey. ‘Haystacks, I won’t be coming with you,’ he announced. ‘You see, I must be avenged for what happened down there before I can grieve properly. You two are lucky, you can cry. My only hope of justice is to appeal to Milord Chichester.’
Haystacks stood up. ‘Come, James, spare me a minute.’ He turned to the others too. ‘Listen, all of you. There are things I learned last night that shocked even an old cynic like me. It’s time you all knew the truth about what happened down there. Sit down and I will tell you what I know.
‘You all know that Chichester has a loathing of your Uncle Hugh
that goes back to when his brother was killed years ago in a skirmish with one of Hugh’s followers? Over the years, this hatred has extended to all your Uncle’s friends, including Sir Malachy de Cashel. Only the king’s pardon stopped him from arresting your father, James, and taking all your land. Instead, he recruited Fenton to act as a spy in your household with instructions to recruit you, James, to the English cause. It was Fenton who sent Chichester word of Uncle Hugh’s visit that time when Con rode in to warn us.’
James put his head on his knees, remembering the pig-swill man’s message, “They’re coming, Master!” and then how Fenton had suddenly changed his tune, wanting Uncle Hugh to stay so that Chichester would catch him surely.
How was I so blind?
‘Who burned the castle then? It obviously wasn’t Bonmann,’ James asked. ‘Remember, Sinéad, how he said: “First your castle, then your land…?”’
‘No, it wasn’t Bonmann,’ said Haystacks. ‘It was Chichester.’ There was a stunned silence. ‘When Chichester saw that Bonmann wanted your castle, he let him raise his private troop, and even gave him a cannon to help do the job. Once he had ousted your father, however, Bonmann’s usefulness was over. The last thing Sir Arthur wanted was to have the castle in the hands of an idiot like Bonmann, who could lose it to us Irish any day. Better to torch it so no one could use it.’
‘But… but… Chichester wasn’t there. Who…?’
‘Someone who knew the castle backwards, someone you all know.’
James’s mouth dropped open. ‘Fenton?’
‘Who else? He came as a member of Bonmann’s troop, but was
under Chichester’s orders. I suspect that these orders were to burn the castle – and Bonmann too, if he had the chance. Bonmann only just got out.’
Sinéad began to cry. ‘They’re all so horrid. I want to go down,’ she whimpered. ‘I want to see Mother and Father properly buried. I want to know that all the people who worked for us are all right. What about Kathleen?’
‘You’re right, of course, Sinéad. But just now you three are in the most terrible danger. Don’t you see, Chichester wants Fion as a hostage to keep Uncle Hugh in order. Bonmann wants you and James out of the way so he can take your lands for himself. But possibly most dangerous of all is Fenton. He is a murderer, and murderers will murder again to escape discovery. We all know too much for his comfort. At any minute now they will discover that you three did not die in the fire. Any one of them would be a bad enemy, but all three! We must go – and go now. We have one clear instruction and that is to find Con.’