Chapter 9

A rogue drew his sword and lunged wild at the master.

Juan did not feel himself think he breathed out and quietly put a bolt in the man’s shin. The man yelped, and fell. Another of the Portuguesa clients ran towards them. The blacksmith struck him a terrible blow. One that would have felled an ox

There was the flash of daggers being unsheathed in the light. The pikes were pointed and raised.

``Tomorrow you can kill each other. The realm would lose nothing but a score of fools’’

``In the name of his most Catholic majesty I command you. Cease your feuding at least until the morning. If you are here to help then I thank you. If you want to fight, do it elsewhere

The governor’s pleas were punctuated by the report of a pistol! A man fell never to rise till judgement

The braggart had crept up close to Juan. The Galician had not seen him. A swift touch of iron, and Juan would have been dead, and then perhaps the Master.

It was a woman who had killed the rogue a blonde woman. Fair like the portrait of his Master’s mother. An angel of death, with a strange accent and perfect aim. She had been to visit the master with Antonio, the Sheep rancher

One of the Portuguesa came forward. It was an older man. Juan knew him. He was probably the richest man in Buenos Aires. He owned the ships that brought the great flocks of men, and women from Europe to the town. Now his face ran with sweat and ash. Tomorrow he may be a beggar.

The Portuguesa bowed at the Governor and offered the master a polite welcome. Honour was for the moment sated if not satisfied

The two sides let their weapons fall.

The master looked at Juan. Juan looked back and shrugged he was good. Not perfect. Sometimes he was lucky. Sometimes, he wasn’t. The Don could dismiss him.

He would not be dismissed tonight

They set to work. They struck at the flames. The tore at houses with hooks they had to drag one family out of their little shack. The eldest daughter bit Juan. She bit him hard she cursed him in some babble one did not need the gifts of the Holy Spirit, to infer what the maiden believed about Juan’s mother and manhood

The fire fighters laboured like slaves in the mines. They sweated and bled. Their hands were sore and red. Yet there overseers pushed them on. With butts and curses. When kind words would not win the day

Juan had not worked like this since he was a boy. It was one of his oldest and dimmest recollections from the morning of his life tolling away in the fields. In the summers in Galicia, so far away! A time spent cutting at the vines. Pulling and picking the grapes from their homes. Then kneading them into wine. Then the war had come. There were no more harvests. He had learned how to fight.

The heat!

It was like catching the scent of hell itself.

They tore down another building. Poets would not sing about this battle. No Lords would pay good silver to hear about panicking horses and treachery.

A small child was pulled from one shack. The blacksmith passed him onto the housewives and daughters who were making the chain of buckets. They mewed and cooed over the urchin. Until the Governor, scolded them

Then they went back to their buckets.

Juan looked up for a moment. He did not really take much of an interest in politics. He knew he served the House of O Neill. He knew he was on the side of the Irlandessa. That the Portuguesa where his enemies. He knew that the young chief quarrelled and schemed, with his father and their kin. To beat the Governor into their tool as a good blacksmith is. Such had it been amongst the men of blood and breeding in his own town. Even amongst the Indios and the slaves. There was contention

Tonight, the Governor half naked and haggard as he was for once seemed to be master of all Buenos Aires. The Irlandessa and the Portuguesa where here engaged in one task. Even their wives where at his command as if he was the Sultan.

Like the fires of purgatory the fires had cleanses Buenos Aires of its pride and faction. Like the souls of purgatory, who know they shall be in heaven too. The townsfolk where resolved to one high duty, and under the eyes of God they worked through the night. The chains of buckets, and the hooks and shovels wore the fire down.

The Great God in heaven saw his servants on Earth and took pity on them. It began to rain.

The Governor shouted alleluia, alleluia. The rain kept falling. The crowd took up the chant. They could not rest yet. The enemy had been surprised by our allies. The battle was not yet over. The chain of buckets continued. The crash of falling timbers worn down by the flames would still be heard. The hooks could not rest either

A meek Sun rose in the East.

Rosy fingered Dawn. The voice of his tutor reading Homer and asking him to recite each line was a curious thing to remember on this night. The scion of the House of Niall of the nine hostages was black with soot and ash that he might have fetched a good price at the market sold and shackled alongside a sorry band of Africans and Indios.

The rain promised some respite. As the Sun rose they would be able to make a survey of the township. Begin to bury the dead, and rebuild. One of the houseboys had been sent by the steward with cloaks and blankets. The lad was exhausted having been told to run to the Master and not stop until he got there.

A Portuguese wife gave the lad a crust. Her daughter smiled at him. Momma clouted her daughter and the backstairs tragedy never was written.

Hugh walked toward the Governor, and bowed. The boy presented the Governor with a cloak. The Governor thanked him. The man would be lucky not to be laid up in his sickbed with a chill in spite of the fire. Fate had a comic poets taste for irony.

The rain was making the tracks and path wet. Some of the women wanted to go home. One of the Portuguesa berated them. The Governor and Hugh made their pleas too. The Lords were then exposed to several poisonous oaths and a multitude of curses. Yet the Masters managed to get the woman to go back to their chain of buckets. There army was prone to munity when it was not deserting. Or indeed looting. The odd coin, slipped into a boot. Or bottle of wine, was the price of fighting the fire. There was a limit. Church silver was Gods possession. That would stay his. His servants on Earth would enforce it.

The Portuguese hanged a man who had thrown down a girl in a back alley. The Governor and Hugh turned away from his pleas. The villain had got what he deserved. Now he would face the more terrible fires of the most terrible avenger

They had forced a path through the fire. The rain and the chain of buckets had worked. Now the flames could be surrounded and cut off. They still had work to do. Like the farmer who would labour after the wheat had been gathered up. They would thresh the land.

A ship was coming in. They looked to their weapons. Swords and pikes would be of little use against a ships cannon. At most the Portuguesa and Irlandessa would feel less naked as they went to their deaths. Even an old toothless dog barks.

A man with a spy glass shouted that it was a friendly ship. The flag it flew was the Royal standard.

They sighed and thanked the most high God

They put their pikes and swords to rest. They then returned to the flames. The sailors would be gossiping about the Great fire of Buenos Aires. They would tell all of Spain about it. It would open the legs of whores, in Londres and Lisbon

There would be two shipfuls of sailors bragging about the flames.

Hugh cursed the thought and cursed the flames. Then handed a man a wine bottle, he had earned the drink. The man drank like a man who had heard the judge pronounce a sentence of death. Or had been told his wife had run off with a pedlar

Hugh wondered for a moment should they try to press the sailors into service. They would find little solace at the docks. The easy women and weak wine had melted away. A figurative and literal truth in this instance

Then again the sailors had been under rod for a good month. Pressing the sailors now may invite mutiny and riot. Perhaps they should not let them dock, but keep them at discrete anchor.

It may yet be fortunate that Buenos Aires had mustered for the fire. Indeed the Governor was at hand. Hugh nodded to Juan. The rogue sauntered over. There was the smell of tobacco. Juan had managed to forage some tobacco. Hugh wondered if his Galician had stripped the tobacco off a corpse. Hugh prayed silently to the holy Mother that the Portuguesa missed that little trick

Honour had to be satisfied even if one had to use dishonourable tools. Hugh instructed Juan to approach the Governor, and ask him to grant his master leave to speak to him, and the other leading citizens of the town. The Governor was actually speaking to two leaders of the Portuguese faction. The older merchant lord and their chaplain the parish priest of St Jorge.

Juan waited a few minutes for the Governor to deign to acknowledge him, and made his request. The bow was actually polite. The rogue could make a passing impression of manners when he deigned

Honour was satisfied and the young Lord joined his peers. Should the ship be let dock. The Portuguese looked askance at him for a second. Another time, they may have seen it as a question of honour. The fire had left its mark on the town and their bodies. Soot and scars they had been anointed in fire

They would need rest. The town would need rest

By nightfall the whores and thieves would have straggled back. The decent men of the outer parishes would see to it. Hugh would send word to his kin to drive some cattle and sheep in, to provide meat for the hungry.

Lumber would be worth more than gold, in the next few days.

It was a mercy that the fire had hit the Portuguesa clients and parishes hardest. If a fire had started among the fodder and hides, from which his family drew their wealth then the O Neill’s may be beggared

The ships master if he had the wit he could make his fortune taking an axe to his craft.

There was a fortune to be made here. Not in specie. The Portuguesa would feel the cold of the night. Their clients would want for meat. The same clients and families would be hungry for lumber, any lumber that could be spared. Lumber cost a king’s ransom. The wood to build and furnish the great houses of the Irish had to be dragged over the plains, where the cattle ran free. An open hand might win hearts and head. The flocks and herds of men of Buenos Aires would follow but one master

If there was one thing an O’Neill could do it, was steal cattle

There was a chance. A chance to end the game, the Irlandessa and Portugese had played for all of Hugh’s life. To be the first in Buenos Aires

The thought distracted Hugh a little. The young Don almost gave himself away. A mercy the Portuguesa Chaplain was fond of his own voice

They congress of the leading men of the town reached a consensus

The sailors would wait at anchor for a few days. At least until their town had washed the soot and ash from her face. Until some semblance of order and normalcy was restored

When it was restored

Perhaps then in the words of the poet

Let there be one master and one...

Chapter 8

If that man coughed again then he would hit him!

The day had started well. Towards the evening it had taken to its bed. Complaining loudly of a chill in its chest

It should have been a good day. It had been a poor turn of fate that the fact that hunting trip had ended with a skirmish. That said the Master and his men had returned to the town.

Along with the Don Neil they brought to the Governor the dreadful news from the country. They had spent the morning dealing with the highest affairs. Juan himself had ridden to see the Governor, with his Master.

Juan knew in a better world he should have been relating the facts to Gabriella. Standing tall, with his chest out, and his hat cocked

Oh she was beautiful. Her hair was like drying corn. The strands of gold shone out. Her eyes were green. Those eyes promised paradise. They were lush but they held dangers. Like the great humid forests to the north. Juan knew Gabriella had got her letters from someone. Oftentimes Juan wondered if the maid’s wit was greater than his. For simple Gabriella parried his approaches like an expert duellist.

Juan never doubted that the great God in heaven has a plan. Yet he had oft spied that his Earthly Lord had trouble forging his scheme on earth. Someone needed to oil the muskets, and keep the street rats and Indio’s from running riot.

The Captain General relied on his Captains

A Captain should have a woman, to comfort him. For him to share his burden and bed with

Thus Juan would have been relating the importance of his role in the recent events. Juan would impress on fair Gabriella the dangers that he had faced both beast and man, whilst out hunting. The horrors he had seen. All of it! The he would catch her, hand in his, and tell he had worried about her. .. Then leaning in, to bring himself to flank the Maid. As Gabriella inhaled, and her breasts rose...As her teeth flashed

She would tell, him with as face as grave as a Bishop dealing with a heretic. She needed to make the prayer. That she had promised her departed Aunt. A rosary, on her saints day.

Her Aunt must have had many names....

Arggghhhh,

Or she had been wanton

The feast smelled wonderful. Then again, he could not eat. His duty was to keep an eye, on the townsfolk, and an eye, on the House. It was like being one of those slaves that the sultan kept. A Eunuch. A eunuch at the harem.

There was beef. . It would have been a good dowry’s worth of fat calves that had been slaughtered. There was Pork and lamb too. It was good meat. No Rats. No plains beasts. All freshly killed today!

A butcher served the housewives and widows. Then the maids wrapped the meat in thick leaves. The chief Cook, eyes never left Gabriella. As Aphrodite was envied amongst the goddesses Gabriella was envied among women. The men and the boys in the crowd all tried to catch her eye and be served by her. They all smiled and stood straighter when they. Gabriella kept her eyes down. At the table she was as modest as a statue of our Lady

No one was fool enough to say a lewd word. The maids, and the housewives, were safe. Some of the Townspeople had brought jugs, to collect watered wine.

The Great O’Neill hand was always open.

For a moment Juan wondered why there some with no meat. In a land where fat heifers roamed free. They were as common as hares, in the old country

Juan looked up and down the crowd again. So much good meat! Cleary it would be wasted on street rats, and idlers. Half of the crowd were Indio’s. The others were fools just off the ships.

No wonder they were hungry. They should be grateful to the master

One of the servants struck a man who started to relieve himself, in the courtyard. The vulgar fool yelped as he felt the rod across his back

Juan pointed his musket, at the man. Two of Don Hugh’s sworn men dragged him away.

The fool could do that elsewhere. He could foul someone else’s nest. The man would leave with a full bladder and an empty stomach.

The crowd quieted down. You could never take your eyes of the Mob. Someone was here feeding them. Feeding them good beef, if you pleased and people still took liberties.

The Steward of the House spoke.

``Remember my friends.

Your friend....

``The Young O’Neill, remembers you. He is happy to have you share from his table. No matter what dispute he may have with the governor. He will not let his good Christian neighbours go hungry, or undefended. ‘’

There was some polite applause. A few men took off their hats. One mother told her daughter, that the O’Neill’s, were always kind and generous. A widow, behind Mama agreed.

At least it was not going to rain.

The crowd, scurried away as darkness began to prowl. The Gates of the House were locked. The dogs were untied. The Watchmen took their places ready with their muskets and pikes. The Steward, and the chief cook oversaw, the cleaning of the courtyard. The floor swept. The tables were washed down. Then steward and the Cooks ushered the maids indoors. The mother hen watched and counted every head. She would lead them to their bed chambers, and watch them retire behind their bolted doors.

There were still some comforts of a great house. Juan mused, as he took a piece of tobacco from his pouch. Oh, it was sweet stuff. A ship from the Indies or smuggled from the lands the Ingles held in the North. A pity he had not taken it, off the sailors’ corpses. Juan cursed. The thought of the Woman’s house, would follow him for a long time. Like a scar, from a burn. Perhaps it would go away, next winter. Perhaps it would not. It would follow him, into bed with Gabriella

One the house servants, summoned him. The young Lord, asked his counsel

Don Hugh, was sitting just inside, his house. The young Lord fed his dog, some scraps from the table.

Their master’s face foretold a storm. The Dog was being indulged, coddled and caressed, as his master needed something to do. There was a blizzard in the young Lords heart.

``Juan I wanted to ask you something. Do you think that?’’

Juan would never learn, what his master inquired after

Noise

Was it the call of the trumpet? Was the Day of judgement upon them?

The ringing in his ears started. There was another flash.

The young master went to rise. The dog started to bark. The Dog was sure of the doom.

Juan pushed his master to the ground. Until, he knew what was going on. The Don could stay on the floor. The Dog tried to bite him. Juan kicked out at it. They were almost out of range, of cannon

Almost kept the gravediggers in bread.

A Fire!

There was fire from the docks. There were screams now, and shouts. Buenos Aires was a world of wood, wine and straw.

The heretics! They had returned, and they were firing the port.

That was why they never found the fishermen. The Sailors Dutch or Ingles had killed them and stolen their boats. They had towed the boats behind their ship or stashed them close to the port in some quiet cove. Then they filled the boats with pitch, powder, and rags. Set them alight with a fuse.

Fire!

The screaming accompanied the flames. Like the choir at Mass

The chill had become a fever

Fever spread so quickly

If only it would rain.

The season was wrong.

The horses!

Juan, told actually he demanded his master get indoors. The young Lord could check on his Daughter and the servants. It would give the Young lord, an honourable duty. It would also keep him away from the Horses. The Horses should be safe. The Master having played host to so many tonight. The groom’s would have put the horses, to their stalls. They were tied up, and braying and kicking. The smoke and the noise were scaring them. Like Indio’s with cannon. The Horses knew it was trouble. There was no beast so brute it did not fear smoke. The Horses panicked and panicked.

The grooms and the stable master had earned their bread and wine. The horses had been covered with thick blankets. They were made lie down in there stalls. The Horses were stroked and brushed. As safe and secure as a newborn at his mother’s breast.

Juan closed the stable door behind him. The groom’s would bolt it from inside.

The maid’s and horses were safe. No one would ride away with them...

His master waited for him in the courtyard. The sworn men were there. They had pikes, and axes. No firearms. There was no need for more sparks.

Juan flinched. Without powder, he felt naked. A sword was all very well. If he had been born a gentleman, he could have practised with a sword all day. There would have been some Milanese or Roman fop, to teach him the virtues of the code duello. A pistol finished matters

Juan remembered something. There was an old crossbow somewhere. One of the Portuguese had used in the street fights years ago. In those happier days when Buenos Aires only excited the passions of its natives. The old steward of the house a Vasco with very fair hair He had been a very thorough man. Juan had never even gotten a kiss, from a maid when the Vasco had run the house. Anyway the auld Vasco had snatched up the crossbow years ago. Then he had a blacksmith put some bolts together for it too. It was in the cellar, behind, the wines.

The fires had one mercy. Juan did not need a candle to descend the stairs. It was bright enough to see. They crossbow, and bolts were where they always where. On a notch over the Beer barrels and wines. Some kind saint had watched over the crossbows string. It would have made a good meal for a mouse and his sons.

The crossbow, would win arguments where a honest pike, or a rapier might stutter

The chief spoke. They would make their way to the docks. If they could help anyone they would. It would be better. To help others help themselves. They would rouse their clients, and friends.

The Steward, and the cook, had risen from the beds. The whole House would be mustered.

The Don called the steward, and the cook, to his side. Juan walked over, the crossbow slung over his shoulder.

Should we wake the maids? If water must be fetched and carried it would be as natural to them, as breathing. The maids would need to be protected. Men must stand by them with pike, and sword.

There were vagabonds who would use the flames, as license to commit rape and rapine. The virtue of the maids of a good house would be a prize sort by blackguards. Their tears and honour would mean nothing. A life’s reputation lost, for a few minutes fleeting lust and bragging in a low tavern.

The Chief counted his men.

No doubt, the decent citizens, of the Buenos Aires were mustering in an ideal world, there would be enough men, to guard the maids, and fight the fires. In an ideal world there would be no heretics

That said there was no way of knowing who would answer the call. Who would hide in their beds, and who would run for the plain. The fire was not a duel. Brave men, veterans of battles would panic, at the cackling teasing flames

No, the fires had to be fought. God would have to look after the maids.

The young lord spoke to the Cook. The Mare that led the herd’s philys

To the river, with as many buckets you can carry. The steward, will go with you. Those of you who have fathers and Brothers nearby r fetch them first. My steward will give honest men arms. The steward, will rouse the names of our clients and friends.

The O'Neill gave the steward a pistol. Take the maids, to the river. Rouse any honest men, you can. Look to our friends if someone troubles you shoot them

`` If a hand is raised against you know that the House of O’Neill will take terrible revenge on them.

Them and their families.

May God and Holy Mother protect you all!’’

A boy had been sent to the chapel. The parish priest had been woken.

The steward bowed, and brought the priest to the young lord. The O Neill kissed the priests hand, as if it was the Pope himself.

``Father, I am sorry you are forced to leave, your bed chamber. I need your help. I need the names of honest men, who will help fight the fires. I know tonight may be busy for you. People will need the comfort of their priest. If you can help me you and the sexton can save lives’’

The priest gave several names. Some of the boys who sleep by the church, made a few silver coins, running to wake the sacristans, and choir master. One of the men was a carpenter he had a strange accent. An odder look about him. Irlandessa even of the boat would be dark. This man was fair, with an odd nose. From one of the emperors further realms

The time for talk was over. The swordsmen would make their way to the docks. The womenfolk, a touch further upstream. The sun and the moon bowed and left the dance floor.

The walk to the docks would take a few songs

A thought crossed Juan’s mind suddenly like a bird darting between houses. His life here in the great lands of the South. Indeed his service amongst the Irlandessa. It had all begun, by walking from the docks to the house. Did clocks work backwards as well as forwards?

Well, they walked. Juan shouted. For all honest men, to join them! Some men met with them at the crossroads. They had brought crowbars, and a leather bucket. It was the local blacksmith, and his sons. They were good people. The master shook the blacksmiths hand. The Chief was not a small man, but the blacksmith hands made the Hugh’s look dainty.

Like the Israelites they kept on walking. They shamed a couple of street rats into joining them.

A crusade against the flames! They could have some honest work for once. The rats held their nerve as they watched people running away from the flames. The women and children were directed to the Church. The Men they urged them into joining them. Sword and shame, and silver bolstering duty A rider less horse bolted past it could have killed someone. Towards the docks, they kept on walking.

Juan shouted and shouted. ``For all honest men to come to their aid.’’ There were more honest men then unicorns in the parish of the Church of our Lady the star of the sea, but not many!

That said one fellow came out to join them.

A young lad Juan guessed a cabin boy who had jumped ship. Yet now the scion of Heroes slapped him on the back, and wished him well.

They could taste the smoke now.

The taste meant they were close to the waters now. The smoke got thicker it was as punch now, rather than wine. Now they finally had a view of the river. The brambles of Houses chapel’s taverns and shacks had made way.

It was quiet.

The docks were always full of noise. There was the shouting of stevedores. Calls of hawkers begging and bawling to get people to spend the coin in their pockets. There would have been the animals too. The smell of oxen and mules and the noise of Horses clattering about the streets. A dock meant the shouts of whores shouting to the sailors. Hubbub from the cheapest taverns where men would cut your throat for a shiny round piece of tin.

If it was not for the flames then Juan would not have ventured here without a pistol, he would have had several pistols. His hands checked the crossbow again

They could see the great river.

The fire ships had caught two vessels alight. One had been moored by a wharf, further upstream. The ship’s powder had surely exploded. The flames had spread to the eastern part of the town.

The sun rose over the homes of the Portuguese.

The blacksmith began the prayer to our Lady. As they crusaders walked towards the direction of the rising sun. The flames were a dim and dangerous reflection of the heavens.

There was never a war, without plague.

They did not come here

Maybe once or twice to attend a funeral.

Or for a quiet meeting on the steps of a Chapel. With safe passage and the word of the clergy, and the right sanctuary as their guarantee

Then they made haste back to their homes

The only more dangerous place would have been Londres. Amongst the Ingles

``Water! Water!’’ He demanded. ``Water! Water!’’ A cloak covering his nightshirt, and having lost his hat. The Governor of Buenos Aires seemed a pathetic figure. A tragic actor in Madrid charged with the role would have moved the crowd to tears.

``Water! Water!’’

The Governor shouted at the stream of maids and wives, who had made a chain of buckets. Husbands and sons fought the flames with hooks and other were beating the flames with damp blankets and stirring the earth up before them.

The night had already seen justice mooted out to one looter. The villain had been caught with a silver cup. Then babbled and lied in some strange tongue. As they put the rope around his neck

A wretched lord, perhaps but still a lord

``Water! Water at haste!’’ The Governor shouted

The heretics had struck a swift sharp blow, like a cutthroat at the docks

The fire had caught two ships and then spread to the wharves. Wharves full of leather and grain there was even wines now, and that awful drink the Irlandessa drunk. The fire was preying on them like a fox in a chicken coup.

It would hurt There city maybe the bastard child of the empire but it was growing tall and strong.

There was a clamour. The men had their hands on their hilts. A woman dropped a Bucket.

``Water! Water! ‘’The Governor like a fiddler in a cheap tavern knew only one tune.

The Irlandessa had shown up....

Chapter 7

The Governor of Buenos Aires swore an oath

The letter from Lima brought bad tidings

For a moment, the Governor asked himself why he was surprised. Angry and upset, he could understand by why the feeling of surprise The Viceroy of Peru, did not put pen to paper, to ask after his health. Nor did the Viceroy send an epistle across a continent. To praise the Governors good looks. A letter was a command. It was to cajole and too often condemn. There

Indeed at worse it could have been his death warrant.

After all, did he really expect the gates of Eden, to be reopened today? If was so would the news come from Lima

The morning began with a storm, in his heart.

No it was a blizzard. Cold wet, listless rage gripped him. The Governor fingered his neat dark beard. The slave who shaved him did a wonderful job. His master was a handsome man. Just on the cusp of a virile middle age. His family had been in Buenos Aires since the beginning of the colony. As a boy the Governor remembered seeing his Grandfather struggle to use a quill. Indeed had inherited his grandfather’s big hands. Now the Grandson, of simple sailor was Governor.

There were times he envied his Grandfather

After the bad news from Lima there were his audiences. After the wolf made its kill, the crows gathered

It was only fair, supposed the Governor. There were people tormenting him from thousands of miles away. It would not be right to turn his neighbours away from the dance

There was one Audience that demanded his attention like the sharp pains of gallstones.

So now the day would be spent in contention with those damn Irlandessa. The dam wild Irlandessa! They where the largest nail in his cross

The Indio’s and the slaves turned Men’s hair grey. They had troubled his father who was only on the council It was true in Lima, even in Mexico city. The Ingles and the French in the new world went to their beds, with Indio and Slaves troubling their sleep

Life the great river, had a unique codicil

It had begun with the Irlandessa. They had been the first. The first of the newcomers. The schools of new people washed up with every tide were another headache. A score of different tongues praying to different saints.

From all over Catholic Europe they had came: Aragonese and Rhenish Croats and Milanese.

The city had begun to sprawl out over the plains. New houses. New churches There was talk of the town becoming a bishopric

Such noble things did not help with the stench. There was more noise, more shit and fighting. More whores and thieving, and more taxes. Then anyone had ever imagined. When they had first sighted the river.

The Irlandessa claimed credit for this. The Irlandsessa claimed credit that the sun rose, and set

It must have been a perverse spell. Perhaps it had been the design of the Heretics all along to undermine the Spanish empire. Whom the Gods wish to destroy they first send mad.

The Monks had instructed him well, on the Greek masters. Oh for the days when he only had to worry about the Brothers strap!

The Irlandessa after being driven from their Island about a century ago. Still aroused the ire of the Inglesis. Like Hannibal to the Romans. The Wilde Irish hid in the hearts of the heretics. An accursed inheritance. A wise Ambassador passed over them when dealing the Heretics The Iglesias and the cursed Dutch had forced his most Catholic majesty, to send the Irish out of Europe.

A small price for peace it must have seemed to the King. Many were flung against the Moors

A few of the Irish were pressed into service, into an expedition to the Plata.

Like the horses, turned loose on the Pampas. The Irlandessa, had flourished

The Governor knew why, he had seen it in his own eyes, and heard it from his father. The Irlandessa, didn’t use saddles, and basically lived off nothing else but milk and beef. This was there paradise.

It was like locking a seducer in a nunnery or a drunkard in a wine cellar.

Or perhaps like the Elysian Fields or the Valhalla that the pagans believed in. The Irlandessa had found their heaven. The Governor remembered an old joke that his father whispered to him.

``Surely Christ did not die for these people’’

It was said by the Spanish General who had fought alongside the Irish, when they killed the heretic king.

Diego of Scotland.

The Irlandessa never got tired of reminding him of that. They had reminded the Governor before him. They would be reminding the Governor of the children of his children

The horrible truth was the Irlandessa had been their deliverance. They had been the difference between famine and feast. They had run off the Portuguese merchants. They had hunted down the Indios. They had lived on milk, and beef, when Castilians and Creoles had turned up their noses.

The hides and the grain they sent back to Spain Earned Merchants money. Money they spent digging the mines. Constructing barracks for the Slaves and Indio’s. The Mines paid for Empire. Not as much as Lima, but still a goodly sum. Then ships brought People from Europe. More hands and trades.

Oh it was a curse, to have to be grateful, to people you despised

Why could he not have had a quieter life perhaps preaching to the Moors? No he would run into Irlandessa there.

Escape ! He could escape! Steal the servants hat and cloak, and make to the port. Or head towards the mountains. Find some long lost tribe of Indio’s and live naked and Godless

Alas it would have to wait till tomorrow. A glance at pocket watch, confirmed his sentence

The priest, slammed the bible closed, and the hangman placed the rope around his neck...

The servant announced the Governor. The duties of the day began

The first supplicant bowed, and introduced himself. A drover clad in expensive boots, and a good linen shirt. Indignant at a barn burned by indios. Another man, quite tall was asking for clemency for his son. There were the sisters of charity looking for money for a house for lunatics.

A score of papers, were signed. Warrants and requisitions. A long day’s work, that had begun with the sunrise. Accounts and invoices sealed.

The representive of his most Catholic majesty, looked up from his desk.

It was certain he had died. The damn Irlandessa had killed him.

It was a conspiracy. The New comers had a hand it in it to There were more arriving at every high tide The New comers and the Irlandessa had conspired with the wretched slaves,. Finally the Indios had joined the plot. All Buesnos aires had killed him. They had stopped his heart with melancholy and rage.

The Good lord had sent him an angel to guide him to heaven

A servant announced her

The lady Valene Rodrigo and her Mother the Lady Helena greet you. They have heard of your wisdom and honesty. They are two feeble women and they beg for your protection. Two Widows whom have come here to Buenos Aires to take shelter from the war and rumours of war across the sea.

Mother and daughter curtsey. A curtsey that would have won praise at Escortial and Paris

The daughter was a tall blonde. Like the willow tree that reminded Odysseus of Nausicca. She was slender and graceful. Bright eyes and white teeth flashed at him Her skin, was lightly seasoned with the sun.

Aquinas would have rejoiced to have proof of Angels, demonstrated. The Irlandessa reminded him that the adversary was still in business and indeed, had a thriving practice

A well dressed servant ran into the room.

There was supposed to be a steward. There were supposed to be guards.

Your grace...

``The O’Neill, ‘’

There were supposed to be guards. There was supposed to be a steward.

The O’Neill , and his son . The O’Neill of Clandeboy. The McSweeney, The O Sullivan . There was a about a score of them. The heads of the Irlandessa families, and their oldest sons

``Gentlemen, I bid you welcome Thank you for making the journey to meet you’’

The Governor would answer to his maker, for such a bold faced lie.

The Irlandessa spoke about the ship. The ship that had burned the small village. How the Sailors had wounded the son of the O’Neill. There he was tall and blond like Hercules. The killing and burning of the women’s house, and the violations rendered on them was recounted.

The Irlandessa demanded of him Vengance

They insisted on action for the honour of the realm. To heaven, and Madrid they demanded action.

After being lectured again After being regaled with a footstep by footstep of evey indio the Irlandessa, had hunted down. Every heretic they had slain, in the wars. They Moors they had After being told about every dollar they paid in taxes, and the vast amount of beef and hides they supplied.

They again cried to God, and several of their perverse saints for vengeance.

The weather cleared for a moment.

The Governor was left with an ulcer,. The Viceroys letter had been clear. There would be no move, against the Heretics. The Ingles and the Dutch. His most Catholic Majesty was quietly feeling for peace in Europe. A move against the vipers nest to the North was forbidden

There were still other petitioners.

There was a man, who wanted to build a shrine to our Lady

A widow of a man, who was killed in a duel.

Oh how the Governor wished he could settle things with the Irlandessa like that! To know the question would be settled by the noon

There were too many of them. They were like weeds in the cornfield. Or the Hydra’s head. There would be another to take the place of their fallen brother

The Governor, frowned. As an Italian Marco of Petroni, begged him to write a letter of introduction to the Viceroy

Frustration, would dine with beside the Governor and his wife tonight

They had informed the Governor they would return tomorrow. A second delegation, would call at his house before the governor would sup. Another would greet him as the sun rose. Then the O Neill would parley with the Governor once more

Hugh watched as the party said their goodbyes. Don Neill was staying with his father in the Great house. The two would talk, about the old days and the old lands, for a long time into the night.

The Governors door, opened, and the light and smells of the day struck them

The delegates was met, by their kinsmen, and clients. Followers, and friends. Some of the mob had stopped to see what the fuss was. Beggars and onlookers made up the rest of the din.

Hugh watched as his father clambered on to his Mount. A servant held him. . He was in the Winter of his life. The O’Neill then addressed the crowd.

``We shall be back to speak to the Governor tomorrow. The Governor may forget his obligations. We will not!’’ ``God save you all, and God save the King’’

They did not want a riot. The streets were quieter, then the mornings, They had in the middle of sisesta time. The Irish had never taken to it.

It was a mark, of those who followed the Irlandessa, and those who followed the older settlers

As the great river divided the land custom divided Buenos Aires.

A page boy handed, him Rosc’s reins. The lad had had some Indio colour. Well it did not matter in the stables Rosc began to canter home.

Juan met him a little up the road. Track really. Politics demanded a balance between strength and restraint. To call upon the Governor, with too many men at arms. To have too many horses then the mob, and the Castilano’s might riot. No one wanted that

Juan tipped his hat.

At least he was not smoking his master mused.

Juan watched as his Masters, left the Governors house. They were quiet and frowning. Some made strange Oaths. To the front of the Masters men, he took his horse

Two strumpets one with very large breasts, called out after them . Juan rode on quietly, his eyes somewhat tardy as he made his way to the fore of the group. Shouting in Spanish to make way.

A street rat barefoot and ragged asked for alms. Juan shouted there would be meat at the House of the O’Neill. Good Meat and Bread!Meat and Bread for all the honest and loyal subjects of the Crown!

The party continued on their way home. Past the fish sellers.

A Housewife, haggled with over the price of crabs. Demanding the stall holders tell her if she looked like a shoeless indio. They responded, with questions about her faith. One enterprising Fishmonger looked u , and offered the Young Don a large crab. Hugh tossed the man a silver dollar. Too much for a crab. Hugh nodded to Juan. Who told the fish monger, that the Good lady would dine on his dollar.

A Taverna full of toughs, and sailors glared silently at the procession. Hugh felt his pommel. Juan, had his French musket cocked. Some of the Men, in the Tavern looked like they had Slave blood.

The new comers hated the Slaves, as the Irish hated the portugese and Castilanos. Juan would talk about slaves as if they were the Personal bodyguard of the English Regent himself. As the enemy only offered mutter curses. The party rode on

There was a friendly sight The. twin steeples of his Chapel. Juan doffed his hat. Hugh removed his hood. The party crossed themselves. The High king of Heaven, demanded his homage. God was listening and watching, in their dispute with the Governor. The King of Kings would be watching his servant in Madrid, and his Servant in Lima

A pig startled someones horse. They were lucky. It could have been a bad bolt.

Hugh Dismounted. Some of the party started on the way back to their houses and homes. Juan remained in the Saddle. Riding over to take Rosc’s reins. His little musket, never uncocked.

The Steward and a servant greeted Hugh at his threshold. Another member of his household. A cousin or nephew’s of Juan. Stood off, with a pike.

The Young prince pulled of his hood. He was home at last

It was his mother’s house. The Basque countess, his father had been matched with. She had never been happy in the O Neill’s Great house. She had called it a fort, when she was being polite, and a stables when she was vexed. So his father, had her built a house in the town. In her country’s style. The house had been worth its weight in gold. His mother, was settled, and at ease. Decorating the house, and guiding the servants. His father, had a place, to bring newcomers. Emissaries from the viceroys. Ships captains.There was a picture of his mother on the wall.

She had been fair even a little ruddy perhaps. Father had thought she was a red head before their wedding night. Which made the women of the house laugh. . She had been taken from them too young. His father mourned her all his days.

What was that smell...?

Juan, Juan, I shall not tell you again. To the Kitchen...

A servant came to take his boots. He removed his hood. There was warm water waiting for him to wash. After drying on good, linen. A good glass of wine embraced him as crossed his threshold

``How is my daughter?’’, demanded the Master?

The steward asked, for the wet nurse. She entered and bowed.

`` My lord your daughter is well. She has been sleeping well. A little ange!@@

``My thanks Maeve’’

The O’Neill’s brought nurses from the old country. Maeve was devoted to her charge. Hugh had decided to keep her on. Despite the fact that she seemed to be convinced, that the great river she could see from the chapel, was but the Shannon, a wee bit upstream.

The steward ushered Maeve away. Hugh told him, he would lie down for a few moments. Then he summoned Juan.

Keep an eye, on the bread and meat. I don’t want a riot

(Or you bothering the maids)

The steward coughed

My lord

``My Lord your Tennant and his wife. Beg your leave to introduce you to

The lady Valen and her mother.

Hugh opened his eyes, and looked up. Oh it was.. Oh yes Antonio, and his wife. They kept a large flock on the lands, near la tigre. They would be in town. To pay their respects. To show their faces. Good people. Antonio asked him, how things went with the Governor, and asked him advice on what to do, with his flock, should the problems continue.

Antonio then introduced his wife. It was his second wife. He had sent for her from Bilbao. The first had died in confinement.

The same time as I was married.

Antonio after he made the pleasantries decency demanded. Bemoaned the strife that had befallen the land. Then asked of Hugh, to take a Christian and knightly interest in these two respectable women. Who driven from Europe by the Moor and the Heretic, sought sanctuary by the great river

There was a clean quiet matron, in modest black.

Then she was there. She was dressed modestly. She was dressed well. She could have been a courtiers wife in Madrid. She could have been the pretty widow, of the principal magistrate of one of the Italian cities. Fair like his mother had been. She was different thought. Her face was like some of the new comers, from Bohemia. She was a good height.

As she curtsied they eyes never left his. They were clever eyes. Like a book keeper. They missed nothing. Like a hunter. They missed nothing.

Beautiful.

Like a Tiger

Her mother began to speak. She recounted the perils the two had faced, since they left Europe. The Mother then began to weep. Hugh had a chair brought for her.

``You must forgive my mother. We suffered so much. My Husband was the Count of Vitrio. A loyal officer in the army of his most Catholic majesty. My Husband lost his life, fighting in the civil war in France. He was a brave man. In the artillery he served. He lost his life, at the siege of Montpellier. Where my mother and I escaped, with only our virtue and our clothes’’

( For a moment Hugh cursed both)

We have come here. To the lands of the Plata. To seek shelter from the wars of Europe. We turn to you the strongest son, of the most noble family. We implore your protection. You are a father and a widower. We know that the name and reputation of your family is a safe harbour from the storms

The mother, suddenly lunged, forward. She fell to the feet of Hugh, and grabbed his knees

I beg you in, the name of your ancestors. You heir of Naill ‘’

``I am your servant ladies. ‘’

Hugh managed to bow. That had surprised him

Antonio thanked him, for his time, and left.

Hugh eyes followed the blonde, like a boy staring at the girls in the chapel as she left his house...

Chapter six

The council was swift. Hugh would ride towards the smoke. The Don Neill, and his men, would follow. As a stratagem it would not win a chess game. Then again they were not sitting in good drawing room, or even a coffee house. They were about to give battle As they spurred their horses. Their hearts raced, their stomachs skulked. One man, lost his hat

It did not matter

The deed was done

They reached a house. It was once whitewashed now it was wasted with fire. The smell almost spooked their horses. The equines drew back from the house like witches from the Host. Hugh watched Juan and one of the men, dismount They took their pistols, and went inside. Muskets covered the door.

As Juan braved the flames. The rest of his men, cast earth on the fire others fetched water from the brook. The hissing and cackling ended.

They had won at least one battle today

Juan returned swiftly, now as white as good linen. Juan’s companion vomited and vomitted

It takes a lot to trouble Juan. The bell weather was foretelling a storm

The young Captain sighed and whispered to himself. The O’Neil He was the O’ Neil! Insisting on it demanding it. The words acted like a blacksmith hammer, on his courage.

It was easy to fight. Rage swept him along the currents to the sea

Now The Great O’Neill had to deal with the deed. Now the scion of Kings was confronted with his helplessness, with his impotence. Almost cuckolded

Hugh the O’ Neil Mor breathed in. Like a seducer leaving a sleeping maid The horseman with great care dismounted. Dismounted gently afraid that Rosc would bolt. The mount whinnied and pricked its ears The scent of death and smoke disturbed the horse’s wits Its Master prayed quietly for strength to face the horror ahead.

It had been different at the fishing village. That was pure rage, and righteousness. Now they were faced with the vanity of their efforts. Like a tavern song. The words and sounds kept turning over in his head.

There was always duty. Even Rosc had duties owed to him. As the horse pricked its ears and sniffer the air. Its owner looked about for somewhere anywhere to tie his beast. Stump and post escaped them in other times this was a duty for a page, or a groom. Burying the dead was a task he left for others too. Rosc’s Masters scattered wits were shepherded into some honest labour. There was nowhere. Taking the reins in hand he brought his mount around the back of the house

Now that they knew they would not be fighting he could make sense of things. A fierce mist, drew back. At the back of the house was a small stream. The house and some trees had obscured it. That is how the sailors came here and left. Like Oddyessus sneaking away the Cyclopes sheep.

These wretched lambs were lost now

Juan walked over to his horse. It was a mare. Funny Hugh found himself thinking of that now he watched as his Man stroked his horse, and soothed her. Juan looked for something in his pack. It was not there. There was a Galician curse. Then Juan tried under his saddle.

It’s bad in there Chief. I counted seven dead. I doubt they had a pot to piss in. Oh, a few goats, and a copper crucifix. The sea is a long row away. Maybe this was spite. Maybe the Bastards who did this have a plan. Or they are half way around the world and we will never hear from the whore’s son again.

Another long sip punctuated his words. Whatever Juan was drinking it was rough stuff.

``My counsel, my lord. We follow the river, we will reach the sea. That fire was just smoke. So they are really not far ahead of us. We ride quickly enough then we can catch the bastards. Then it will be easy. There on a boat. We shoot holes, in the cursed thing, and watch them drown. Anyone makes it to shore we will cut their throats, and leave them for the crows.

Either the crows or the crabs will eat well tonight

``I say we do it. Let’s ride. The Don’s men can bury the poor girls. We should ride after them and kill the blackguards.’’

The O’Neill Looked up. ``I am going inside. I want to see it’’

Then walked towards the house. . It was a simple place. Compacted earth floor. The walls had been white washed. Now they smeared with the stains of soot, and smoke A few simple stools. Bed rolls on rushes. A fireplace. He had seen many places like it. Ventured inside but a few, yet seen many. Like the stars, they were familiar, but distant to him

The smell forced itself on him. There was the sweet smell of vomit. Then the iron tang of blood.

The dung from loosed bowels added to the miasma. The smell, of spent seed completed the bouquet. The bitter aftertaste to tell you the women had been violated. One was someone’s grandmother, grey and nearly toothless. Another who had her face bloodied and beaten was not yet a maiden. Age had not spared them. Nor had their poverty or Sex. Simple womenfolk who had come together to live and pray. They had slipped away from the eyes of fathers and husbands. Like a horse turned out to the plains.

Something caught his eye. There was a drawing of the Madonna on the wall. A beautiful woman, her features slightly Indio. None the less she would have given the blacksmith, and the shopkeepers pause as she fetched water from the pump. At her breast suckled the Saviour. The baby serene in the embrace, of the High Queen of Heaven. In his mind he stumbled across a long forgotten memory his father had returned a woman, to her husband from a house like this. He had asked his tutor about it, and been rapped on the knuckles for his curiosity. To find such skill in such a low place. Now no one would ever see it again. Where once there had been prayer and talk, there was now death, and smoke. The Women of the house they were in embrace of the most merciful mother now. Wretches. Poor wretches.

This was spite. The sailors could have burned a fishing village. They would have faced men there.They could have burnt a Chapel. Struck against the Holy Father and the High King of Heaven. They would have had a few pewter candlesticks for their trouble This was pure spite. Someone had shit on the floor next to one of the bodies. It may have been excitement or rage.

The lesson would have been understood by an Indio who had never seen a book

The Sailors, whoever they were had sent him a message. They could come here. Rape his women. They could do, it. They did it with contempt. Whilst they did it, his manhood, and name were in the mire.

The Tune, that cursed tune. It would not stop playing in his mind

The O’Neill walked out. It was good, to get back into clean air. By the side of the threshold, there was a dead dog. A ragged little cur. Perhaps the little girls pet. Someone had stabbed it with a pike. Then kicked the corpse away.

One final insult

They spat at him, as they walked away

We will ride. They can only go as far as the sea.

The young lord told his men. As Juan says. We will follow the waters back to their mother. If we catch the pirates. We kill them. Hugh ordered t two of his men, to stay behind. To tell the Don what happened to the scouting party.

Hugh clambered onto to Rosc. Honour demanded, nothing less. Master and mount rode away grimly. At least he would not have to be a gravedigger

His duty saved him from that duty

Watching the sun set over the plains did not raise Hugh spirits. Nor did reuniting with the Don.

They had reached the sea. They were camped outside another Fishing village. A rough Chapel and coarser shacks. They prayed for victory and mercy. They prayed for wisdom. For a soft bed, and rump steak and wine

Night relieved the day. The watches were prepared. Juan smoked, and the men sang. There songs were subdued. A forced marched, with burial detail, at the end of it, will stifle you

Prayer had not soothed Hugh. Like a tradesman waiting to be paid. Hugh paced back and forth, back and forth.

``Your father was like that when your mother was confined’’ Stated the voice of Hugh’s kinsman Don Neill , following his words with a brief bow.

`` I wish it was so simple. The sacrament that comes to my mind is of penance rather the baptism.

I should not have killed those sailors at the fishing village. I went back on my word. As I was wounded, and angry. I lost my temper, and people have lost their lives. We are chasing shadows and rumours. While they murder our people.’’

``This is my fault’’

Guilt rode back to Buenos Aires with Hugh, with its brother grief as an escort

Chapter 5

Juan looked at his pack . Someone had started with a leather sack. Then they had sewed a strap across it . With twine they had tied a woollen blanket under the sack. With the pack prepared his benefactors had filled it few days worth of bread The bread was baked and baked again. Dried beef and some weak beer made up the rest of his provisions. The canteen was his. Surely His parents had brought half way across the world. So that could find a finer station in life, then chasing after people. Who wanted to kill him? To do this pleasant duty demanded being burdened like mules. He may has well have a Castliano to drive him.

He sighed. He cursed the son of a whore. The whole brothel and their large shower of bastards Whom had brought him down this road. He should be at home. Not checking his pack

He had shot, and powder. Don Neil’s people had even sharpened his sword. He was well provisioned, and well supplied. That was good. Whatever else happened the enterprise had started well

He would run, out of tobacco soon though. Maybe they might capture, the damn cut throat ship, and find it was carrying tobacco from the Isles or the cursed English colonies. One could always hope. He always hope the King of Spain, would give him, his fairest daughter.

He had least his horse. It could be worse. He could be dragging a musket on his back, or a pike. It was not his weary legs that had to make each step. He could even dose off a bit, now and then. It was hot. There was still so much to go. He would have been on his way, home by now. A few days worth of hunting stories, to tell the maids. How he had chased this beautiful deer, and he had saved a good shank of venison for her. Or this pretty flower that he found on the plains. Which he kept by his heart, to win hers. Watching the girls eyes grow wide, and them giggle. As he smoked the finest bacco in the land. The Master’ s good beer and wine to drunk.

Instead he was chasing heretics. Actually he wasn’t he, was making his way, to the coast. Where, they would wait to see. They might wait and wait. Then, they would have to march back. It might be better, if they could just settle it now. Then he could ride back, to the house. Catch that pretty maid. The new one, Paola and steal a kiss, when the cook was not watching. Anything else he could get away with.

He would only be holding his musket tightly. It was the only thing, he would be squeezing come to think of it. At least it was dry

He opened his pack. He drew out, some dried beef At least here it was always beef. God knows what he ate before. Cat, or rat. He chewed it. When they came closer to the sea. He could pick up some fish, and maybe the odd partridge. He preferred a good piece of fish. Everyone else here ate beef They sometimes, seemed to talk about nothing else but cattle.

The beef was good

His chief nodded to him.

The Men heard Juan shout, It was time to move on. As he was not going to kiss any maids till Sunday Juan climbed back on his mount.

Don Neil, cantered past on his hunter

``You know when, we first came to this land. We never used saddles. Don Neil, informed. Our ancestors, fought the indios and killed the heretic king riding bareback. ‘’

The Don flicked his hat, and grinned.

Juan, kept his thoughts about riding bareback to himself. The Don was a gentleman after all

`` There are a score of pikes. Five of my men have muskets. There are ten mounted gentlemen’’

Hugh wondered if Juan, would match the criteria for a Gentleman. Perhaps then the true and perfect form of Juan. The Juan that exists in the mind of philosophers. The Juan that existed in the heart of his mother. In those Judges courts Juan was a gentleman. Someone who is very different to the man, he had to chase away from the maids, and tear the tobacco out of his mouth before he entered a chapel.

Still, he had seen a street rat with a stone, kill a man of the blood. A fine horse, a good name, did not save that poor man. That his kinsmen, and retainers had avenged him. Did not feed his widow. Nor did it restore him to his marital bed. Not just the Indios, when they stole guns and horses. Indios who had guns and horses, kept the governor and the council, awake at night. Kept the armourers in good bread

If the Heretics and the Moor could smash pious armies, lead by princes. Then one had to admit Blood and breeding were sometimes found wanting. Like a debt, it was not something he would admit in public. His confessor and God, were the only one who needed to know

Hugh stroked Rosc. It could be the last time, he rode a horse. He could have ridden, home. He could still ride home. Shout to his men, and turn off. No. He was who he was. His ancestors had been Kings, and had killed a King. His was not the lot, of a rancher Or a merchant. Living a quiet life. Worrying about his daughters marriage prospects or the price of corn He was not. It might not save him, in the end. Yet he was of the blood. He was a man who shaped the world. He was riding with his kin, and sworn men.

If he had to die, it was better to die after hunting. If there was a fight, it was better to fight with Juan

After all he wanted to win

They kept on riding, the sun behind them the sea before them. Moments became minutes, and minutes became an hour. The men started up a song. Then they stopped. Juan pointed towards the horizon

A shroud of black smoke, gloated over the horizion

The spur struck his horse...

Chapter 4

The Sun, and the Moon began to go their separate ways. Some of the maids returned to the kitchen. 

A faction swept the courtyard and cleared the tables. The Lady of the House stayed in discreet view. Allowing her to now and then exchange words with the tenants, and the retainers. Some small greeting or shard of news for her guests. 

Riders mounted their horses. Muskets and  demi pikes were slung over shoulders. Riders put on their hats, and pulled their hoods over there heads.  The smell of tobacco clung in the air. A husband & wife kissed. A maid waved goodbye to her sweetheart

They rode away. The smell and noise of the horse’s, died down and drifted away. The men filed out, beyond the walls. Soon, they would hide behind the horizon.

``Then men, have their distractions but a woman’s work is endless. Is it not?’’ The hostess had joined her side. The lady of the House eye’s were moist. `

`My daughter is in need of diverting, and discipline’’

``Yes''

The O’Neill daughter’s room was as befits a maiden modest. A bed and a well carved chest. Doll, sought repose on her, bed. It was expensive. A skilled potter had worked the head, and dark horse hair. Her dress was Purple. As befitted a little Queen.

I will have one of the maids, fetch a chair.`` Juanita?’’

Juanita nodded, bowed and went to fetch, a chair. Returning in a few moments

``I will leave my daughter in your capable hands.’’ Her hostess bowed, and left the room.

She started by asking the girl, questions. The Socratic method had stood the test of centuries. It had been embraced by the patient Mother Church.

Sister Eloise charge was a bright girl. Her parents and nurse had prepared her soul. She had made a goodly indeed godly start into the liberal arts. She would remember to ask our Lady for patience, with the girl’s athrimetic. That was something that needed to be addressed. When she became of age, the young lady would have a fine house to run. The maids and dressmakers would ruin her otherwise.

As the girl, recited her times table. The maid returned. Eloise mind began to drift. She used to have a doll. Margot. Petit Margot. One of her uncles had carved it for her. He uncles, she had not thought of them for years. Which one had done the carving? Jean . Uncle Jean with his big hands. It had been a saints day present . She remembered the Saints day...

She was looking into the sea, she was crying. In the morning she was crying. In the evening she was crying. She cried herself to sleep There were no tears, she was spent, but her heart bawled. . Her mama was dead. Her  little home was burning. The church was burning. Her neighbour’s homes, the tree which Jorge had fallen from, the summer before. , the hayricks, were burning. They had even killed her dog

It was all lost, all lost. She could not lift her, head, to see the shore. She ould not lift her head, lest she see the smoke it hurt and hurt. Worse than when she cracked a tooth on bad bread

.

Then she felt a voice speak. She felt it, inside her speak. Like Samuel, it called her

``No!''

``8 times 8 is 64!''

The lass frowned.

``Start again, 8 x 1 is...''

The girl, stumbled and strained under her own Cross

``Mule driver! What was the name of that Mule driver?

``Forgive me, what did you Say?

The Mule driver, you beat, in that duel’’

``The Holy Father in his study in Rome, probably heard the sigh . I fought a Castilian a nobleman of the sword in a duel. The gentleman’s name was de Lancastre. It was over a question of a ladies honour. I was much younger then you  are now Hugh

Delancastre?

Yes. I believe the name is of English origin ...We have a new chaplain, Hugh. Another gift from my Brother You should call on him. He is most thorough in delivering the sacrament of penance. You must indulge me, a few moments''

 The Don flicked his hat.

A  scowl stirred across his face, he was annoyed now and not just annoyed he  was bored. They had been riding a good while. The sun was nearly halfway across the sky. Their men trudged behind them, their enthusiasm, now being to wane, as the sun and hunger grew.

The grass divulged a secret. There was water, not far, a few thousand paces away.  Sunbaked brick, stood guard over the water, and the water stood under the gaze, of our Lady. A painting of the Virgin had been placed on a little grove. The pious had left flowers, to adorn the Queen of the May.

Man and beast, came to rest. Some took water others passed it. Knapsacks were opened

 Juan started to smoke

Juan’s cheif dismounted. Rosc was let graze, for a bit. He would be watered later. That was Juan would see to that later. Don Neill walked over accompanied by a servant. The servant, fetched from his leather knapsack, a bottle of wine, and two pewter cups. The vintage was fine.

``Wine, share, your wine, like our saviour did?’’

The two men of noble blood were accosted, by a gentleman in rags.

``Wine, share your wine?’’

The voice implored again

The voice came from under a tattered hood. The sun had left her marks on his flesh, as well as clothing. He was old, really old. This Man might have remembered the flood. His hair was white and wild, like a patriarch. It was worn in the Old Irish stile, over his face. 

Don Neil whispered to his Man. The servant passed a full cup to the man. He drank, as if he had been at sea for days, or if he heard the trumpet for the last judgement. The man had thirsted.

With my compliments Don Neill bowed as if he was in the presence of his most Catholic majesty

Perhaps, you would offer, our blessed mother, a few prayers, on behalf of us. We are going to the coast. The villages by the sea have been attacked. Christian women and children, killed.

``Sassenach?’’

``We don’t know. Sailors. It could even be Frenchmen. They ravaged a chapel. So, we think heretics.’’

How old are you sir?

I don’t know. I was born, in Spain. The seed would have been sown in Ireland.

My father was part of the great host of Ireland. The great host that beat the heretics. Killed their king, then, after they went to Spain. I was born. I was young boy when we landed by the Lord of Rivers

I remember, seeing the O’Sullivan ride against the Indio’s.

You are of Nail’s line. I see it in you. I remember them. I marched and marched with them. we made this land our own. The Spanish, had been idle by the shore. Your ancestor was almost a king. A John Baptist, and Elijah, who, made the hearts of men ready for the Saviour

Thank you. I shall, offer prayers for you night, and day to our holy mother

The Guardian of the Shrine, bowed and left them in peace.

Why were they giving, wine to a beggar? If had just been Hugh, then he would walk over and put a stop to it. That pup sometimes had no sense. The other Don was a man of a world. More then that he was a fine man Don Neill, was a gentleman. Sometimes Gentlemen did surprise you Juan mused. Thats why they got to sit at the top of the table. Sleep in good beds. Drink wine

Sometimes, the dog just barks. Things seemed to be alright. The old man, the beggar, was pleased with a cup of wine.

Juan looked at his pack.

There were more of them, this time. Yet the sailors, would know they would be looking for him. At best this would be a march, to the coast. He had been to the coast before. It was good, for hunting

This prey could shoot back.