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.