There was a noise;
his eyes were opened. The girl had come into the room, to start a fire.
The girl, was taking her time, damn her.
She managed to prove a match to her task, and a fire crackled away. His maid , moved to reach under the bed.
``Wait outside, a moment, until I call for you''
He clambered out of bed, and lifted his nightshirt, thank
God. Thank God, and his blessed mother.
The deed was done.
``Maria’’
The wretched girl, returned, and the chamber pot
vacated.
Oh, he had supped too much last night. It felt like he was wearing a cap of
sandstone. Oh sweet Jesus. Oh St Patick, st Peter and all the saints! Why did
he do that? Why? Oh he would need, to use the chamberpot again in a moment. He was a fool. He was of the blood, and a
father. Speaking of such, he went over to the chest, and fetched up a
coat, and placed it over his shirt. He
would have to get round to hiring himself, a proper manservant. The house was unbalanced, and it was not
seemly to have to many maids, about. He should marry again, and let his lady
take the household under her charge. But, before that, opening the door, he set off into the world. A fool, and a sot,
he may be but, not a laggard. Maria,
returning the chamberpot. Oh wait, did she empty it, or did she just walk
outside. With Maria, you could never be certain. Confronted by her lord, and
master Maria was the honest and honourable daughter of a man, who had served
his father, and her grandfather had fought beside the O Neills at Yellow Water,
one presumes her kinfolk were more vigorous stopped as still as a plains deer.
Nodding he told, her he was going to see his daughter, and she was to set out
his clothes, and than come to the nursery.
He would have to find, a match for Maria, when he was sober. She had served him well and honestly. Her reputation and his patience needed to be sated. The heir of Conn of a hundred battles stopped, outside a door. A door like any other in house, yet the heir of Kings would tread more lightly
here, than if he was in the castle of the Regent. Or at the mercy of the Moors..... With the delicacy of a surgeon he eased the door a touch...
Oh
Oh
She was beautiful, she was sleeping thank, you Jesus. Standing sentinel over her crib, there was her nurse. Snoring softly, well, that was alright.
Karoline, had been exhausted after her confinement. His nurse, had spoken of a banshee that
wailed and wailed. That kept vigil over the dead…
Perhaps not, that was ill done
His daughters nurse had woken. She blushed, and smiled. She was pretty.
It was perhaps a little unseemly; He would wait until there was a chaperone, and
he had to use the privy anyway. He could
see, someone pissing against the wall, in the courtyard. Blessed Mother
Galego
The fool, was punished, and the lord of manor, went to his
privy.
Maria was waiting outside. His Guardian angel was less proximate.
I will see my daughter. You will accompany me, he may well
have asked, the sun to rise tomorrow.
His daughter, was awake, and
Oh
Oh she was so beautiful, oh she was immaculate. Oh the world
was made new.
She was radiant. Everything, was good, and warm again.
She had her mother’s eyes. They were dark, and rich like two
bowls of chocolate. She gurgled, as he
spoke to her. To his pretty pretty daughter. His light
He felt richer, than the King of Spain. More blessed then
the Holy Father himself.
Now he told her, the news that had laid on his heart ```I am going to Lima.
I am going to meet the Viceroy, and
The Viceroy?
The Viceroy?
Maria, gasped out
loud. ``
``It is fine. Thank you Maria''
Of all his house hold,
the nurse, stood alone. His father,
had a nickname, for them. How had he translated it, to Karoline, it was
either she herself, or herself alone. Juan was half convinced the poor girl, was a
witch. The serving girl, that Juan believed he was courting behind his master
back, held no such doubts. The Portugese sections of the port, said that
the Wilde Irish, had a witch, that drank the blood of the dead, at Midnight at Midsummer. Which surely must confuse the devils, as Midsummer in the Port was not Midsummer in Rome. Alas such scepticism, was a lonely virtue. The rumour and reputation of the Wild Irish withch started fights in the winesinks and taverns. Juan had stabbed a man, for less.
The Wild Irish witch was nothing but, a country girl. A refugee, among the thousands who had clambered upon land in the port. Her family had been indentured into the
Americas, on a French ship. Her parents, had not survived long after the
journey. She had been crying, in Irish outside the warehouse, where her family
had slept, among the hides and fleeces. In fact crying would have been an understatement. The lass had been bawling, but it had saved her. Hugh’s father had heard, it
in the street while he had ridden down to port for news of their kin, who were campaigning with his Majesty against the Moors. . The orphan had
been inconsolable, and her tears had moved his Father's heart. Their great house had been empty since Hugh’s mother had
passed. So his father took her into his service. Well of sorts, she did not toil nor, did she spin, if one was totally honest. She was nothing more than a honest
country girl. Of whom the fate had been either fortunate or capricious
with. Yet, men slighted her. There was those who would forever see a witch.
If only her parents, had lived a little longer though. She was dutiful, and modest, enough. She was
somewhat familiar, however Hugh’s father, had said it was the way that women
were in Ireland, before they had left. After all, had it not been a woman whose
will and whims, that brought the foreigners, to their ancient homeland. In her heart of hearts, Hugh knew, she thought
she was somewhere, in the lands beyond the West.
She was right, he supposed. She was here, in the housewith the descendent, of her
peoples Kings. She ate meat every day, and slept on a good bed. Strong men,
guarded her door and person, and she prayed in a Chapel embellished with marble
and gold.
``I must go to Lima, I must speak with the Viceroy. You will
keep my daughter, safe until I return, will you do that for me?''
