Fugitives! (23 page)

‘This is it, Macha! Seventy yards more.’ He could hear horses’ hooves closing on him. Fifty yards. ‘Come on, my darling!’ he shouted at the heifer. Twenty-five yards; the top of the hill was close, but the heifer was slowing. It had never occurred to Con that they might shoot at him, but it was the bang of a pistol that won the race for him. Whether or not the bullet had actually stung the heifer he would never know, but with a toss of her head and a kick of her heels she was off and over the top into Tyrone territory before he could blink.

Amazingly, his pursuers stopped at the border – perhaps they suspected a trick – but Con kept going until he was out of range of their pistols. Then he turned, doffed an imaginary hat, and gave the heifer a slap on the rump that sent it back home. His point had been made. He then rode off with all the dignity he could muster;
he was already rehearsing a colourful version of the tale for Aoife.

Sinéad went to find the girl.
I bet she knows where Con is, but how do I get her to tell?
Sinéad imagined that she was Aoife:
I’ll stick by Con no matter what – I know where he is, but I swore not to tell anyone, least of all these bossy children who want to take him away.

As she’d guessed, Sinéad was met with a clamped jaw and shuttered eyes. But she was imagining herself as Aoife now, loyal to her small heart’s core, and in that moment knew that only one thing would unlock her mind – and that was the truth. It was a monumental risk, but she knew now that Aoife would guard their secret as if it were Con’s once she knew why. So Sinéad told her everything: about the ship, the waiting Earl, and the danger to Con. Little by little the shutters lifted and Aoife began to tell her about Con, until finally … finally, she told Sinéad where Con was. When Sinéad gave Aoife a final hug, the child was as stiff as a board again; not even torture would get a word of O’Neill’s flight out of her now.

Keeping to the ridge, Con followed it west; his planned route was to cross the valley directly opposite the O’Brolchain camp. The wind was still strong, and a blast of rain momentarily blanked out any view further than the few yards of heather ahead of him. He pulled his hooded cloak over his head and bent into the rain. It cleared almost as soon as it had come; he raised his head, and pulled Macha to a halt.
Who on God’s earth are those? One, two, three ponies and a
man, in my territory; I can’t leave them unchallenged
. Lowering his cattle pole like a lance, he whistled a loud challenge and charged down the slope towards them.

Sinéad’s heart was sinking. There was still no sign of Con, and they were up in the mountains wasting time. Rain lashed at them. Then suddenly, from high above them, came a piercing whistle. They looked up, and there, flying down the ridge at them, holding his cattle pole as if to run them through, came a boy on a pony.

‘Con!’ they exclaimed as one.

Sinéad put her two fingers in her mouth and gave her own challenging whistle. That brought the boy’s head up. He seemed to be having second thoughts about running them all through, and raised his pole in the air. Ignoring Haystacks, he rode up to challenge the children.

‘Which one of you whistled?’ he demanded.

‘Me! The person who taught you how to whistle yourself, Con O’Neill, son of Hugh. Don’t you recognise a lady when you see one?’

Con’s bewilderment was comic, a mixture of bluster and apology, first that the smaller of the boys was a girl, and then to recognise her as the girl who had indeed taught him to whistle. They all dismounted. When Con recognised Haystacks as the man who had helped him through the plashing, he became almost polite. But this was no time for lengthy explanations.

Fion formally delivered Hugh O’Neill’s command for Con to
join him on his ship at Rathmullan no later than tomorrow evening. Con’s expression changed from disbelief to consternation, and then to delight as Haystacks told him what this meant. ‘New adventure’ was written all over the boy’s face. Haystacks then said: ‘We have very little time, and you will want to collect clothes for the journey, and make your farewells.’

Clothes? Farewells? Nonsense! ‘But I can come now, as long as I have Macha to carry me,’ he said airily. ‘I don’t need anything.’

‘Good,’ said Haystacks, ‘but we must get word to your foster family that you have been found; you will want me to greet them on your behalf.’

‘Oh it doesn’t matter – the O’Brolchains are just herdsmen, you know.’

Sinéad gasped.
You arrogant little prig! You may not care for them, but they care for you!
‘Herdsmen or not,’ she said tartly, ‘there is someone there who admires you more than you will ever deserve. Have you nothing, no token, no keepsake for her? She knows what loyalty means, even if you don’t!’

For a second or two Con pretended he hadn’t understood what Sinéad was saying. Then he dropped his eyes. ‘There’s Aoife, of course,’ he said. There was a long pause while Con remembered that he had won the bet over the heifer … Finally, reluctantly, he reached inside his shirt, pulled out a small leather pouch, and extracted a pebble from it.

‘This is for Aoife, so,’ he shrugged, ‘a keepsake.’ He dropped it onto Haystacks’s palm. They all bent forward to look. At first glance it appeared to be just an ordinary water-worn pebble, but as Haystacks turned it over, bright flecks and ribbons of real gold
flashed from its surface.

‘It’s heavy,’ murmured Haystacks.

‘Here, take this too,’ Con handed him the pouch, ‘else she’ll only lose it.’
Well done!
thought Sinéad. Con then gave Haystacks a gracious message of thanks for the O’Brolchains.

Haystacks turned away. ‘I’ll catch you up,’ he said. ‘You’ll be easily followed – and I hope it’s just me that will be following.’

‘Dwat them anyway!’ exclaimed Bonmann. ‘This is the second time we’ve been given wong diwections!’

‘That’s because you treat them like dirt,’ said Dr Fenton. ‘Next time, you stand back and I’ll ask in Irish!’
Pity they haven’t put a spear through you already,
he thought.

Con managed to look superior for about a mile, riding beside the others as if they were low company.
Damned girl, dressed up as a boy
… how was I to know!
Then he thought of Sean and Maire O’Brolchain – kind but tough – who beat him as regularly as they beat their dogs, which wasn’t often, but always well deserved. He blushed.
I didn’t really mean it about them being just herdsmen.
He looked up at the receding mountain, not wanting the others to read his thoughts. Then he thought of Aoife and a sudden lump formed in his throat.
But I did give her my pebble
, he thought,
and she’s wanted it since the day I found it
. Gradually he felt better about himself and able to think about what was happening.
I can’t
believe it – going with Father on a ship to Spain! How do they know about this plan and how did they know where to find me?
He looked across at the two boys. He was not normally bothered by people older than himself, but he was still feeling a little bit small. Then he remembered the boy/girl’s name, Sinéad. She’d looked like a proper girl then and had surprised the life out of him by whistling like Father. Better than that, she’d taught him how to do it too. Perhaps she’d tell him more about Father’s message; he pulled Macha over to her side. It was not long before he was entertaining her with tales of his recent adventures in the mountains.

Light was fading fast when they reached the river Foyle. Con respected his companions now. They could ride like demons; but Macha had had a day on the hills, while their ponies were rested. They halted and watched people plodding homeward after a day at the market. There was a patrol stopping people and looking into their bags and baskets. Was this normal? Were the soldiers extra vigilant?

‘I think we should split up and attach ourselves to different groups,’ Fion said. ‘Look, Con, see that woman with a bundle of sticks, why don’t you offer your pony to help her with them over the bridge? We’ll meet up at the next turn after the bridge.’ They watched while Con charmed a toothless smile from the old woman, and then gave her an arm as he led his pony straight past the soldiers and across the bridge. Fion quietly hitched his pony to the back of a laden cart without the owner noticing, and then walked across with
a group of apprentices from the tannery. They stank from their work, and were waved through quickly, as they laughed at the soldier who was holding his nose. Fion was relieved to find his pony still behind the cart when it caught up with them.