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