``Sleeping under the Cross'' Irish alternate history site

Reminder

2012-01-22T23:46:00.001Z

Its easier. to read the blog backwards

Interruption 19-1-2012

2012-01-19T03:16:00.001Z

I will now be posting, various Irish Alternate History stories. Alongside this blog.

Thank you

Chapter 18

2011-11-24T00:57:00.001Z

Oh blessed Maria, it was awful. Oh star of the sea, make it stop

The ship never stopped, rocking. It was worse than a limping horse, or a galloping charger, after a night drinking wine

It surely had not been like this, when he had been on the ship, that brought him to Buenos Aires from Galica. Juan knew would have remembered suffering like this. In truth he did not remember that journey so well. His strongest memory, of the time, simply was the boredom, and the hunger. Always having to stay out of the way, of the sailors, for fear of getting his ears boxed. When he arrived at the Port, it was like Christmas after the hardest December

Perhaps it had been like this then, and Juan had forgotten

The Iapaser... No the `` The Lasper!’’ Well even in the most pride ridden days of his youth Juan had never said to even the most gullible of maids he was a sailor. Or a clerk though he had his letters To complete the torments the craft was being tracked by a devious pair of seagulls. They were occasionally sweeping down upon the deck looking for scraps of food where they would be chased off, by the sailors. The sworn men, of the O Neill were trying to look brave and resolute as they tried not to slip and vomit. One had cried like a small girl startled by the seagull. Mercifully no one pretended to have noticed. Lest a fight had broken out, the Sworn men had confined there actions to scowls at a few Portuguese sailors.

This curious mix of Irlandessa and Lisbonian’s was leavened one or two of the Fishermen, from the Village. These men of fish found there earthly reward paid in silver. Thus Juan’s master the Young Don, was able to keep the Sons of Lisbon honest, and the largesse of the O Neill, would be famed from the plains to the sea.

Juan was master of the Isaper, in the name of the great house, the O Neill. He would not let, these Portuguese, thieves and cutthroats, seem him in this moment of Weakness. .. Isaper.

He could wait in the Captain’s cabin, if he wished too. It disturbed Juan, a little. That room had been full of heretic books. Juan had thrown them overboard. Someone had complained that they were good firewood or something to wipe ones backside with. Juan wanted rid of them. Now, they were in the deep.

There was a Portuguese. No, a French man., a Breton apparently was the Navigator. The man from Brest was messing around, with a spy glass, and talking to the Hands. Juan had decided, he would not have anything interesting to say. The spy glass was worth having though. It was a good one, Juan would remember to ask, him about it when the journey was over.

The Breton bowed, at Juan. He had made an effort to be civil after all. Upon this ship, he had a greater claim to precedence, than then a Captain of the house of the O Neill. Juan bowed slightly back, Juan did not want to put too much strain on his stomach, he had no desire to become reacquainted with his breakfast.

``So, what do you think, of the plan? The great compact between the two Houses that the Dons have agreed to?

``The Don swore he would uphold his end of the pact. That is enough for me’’ ``Beyond that it is not my station to talk more on the matter’’ Answered the Galician and nodded. The Sworn man of the O Neill went off to scan the skies, from the port deck. For reasons best known to himself. He refrained at least from puking up his guts. He would be back at the port soon. There would be his bed. Wine, and a world which stayed still under his boots

``Well, we shall be in Buenos Aires soon my friend. The Winds remain well’’

Juan nodded. The news sounded good, his stomach, was enduring the bombardment that Father Neptune, had unleashed and he hoped he would be relieved soon

The Navigator , made no more conversation, and the seagulls seemed sated.

Juan would have had a smoke. Though Juan had decided did not want to tempt fate. The sea looked calm. Juan’s nautical knowledge extended as far as the knowledge that the sea could turn, as quickly as the temper of a woman. A stroll by the docks would provide ample proof of the inconsistency of the Ocean. More Contrary than an Ale house bawd.

If he lit, his pipe, he may be expected to share his tobacco. . Juan, did not wish to do that.. Thus Juan practised the better part of discretion. He offered his forbearance as a gift to the almighty. He would refrain from tobacco, for the honour of the Star of the sea, until he had stepped off the gangplank and onto dry line again. Perhaps Odysseus, and Father Aenas had moments like this on their journeys but the great epics neglected them. Seasick, and sullen, did not songs make.

As to his thoughts on the colloqully in the surf? There was not really much Juan had to say on the matter. If his confessor had asked him, Juan would have preferred his Captain fight there, and then on the beach. He’d had set the charges, well and would have made it back to the beach, Juan reckoned.

The Don, had promised everyone that it was a good decision, and he seemed pleased with it. . Juan had clouted one of his men, for gossiping about it. The sworn men could be worse than women. They kept speaking about the lady, who was For the moment, events were out of their hands. They were in the hands, of the almighty and the sons of Lisbon. Should there be treachery, well Juan thought at least his suffering would end, and he hoped he would be avenged.

He began to whistle a tune, about a pair of virgins, who wandered too far from home

2011-09-11T23:33:00.000+01:00

There were gunners in the service, of his most catholic majesty. Who had studied the works of Euclid, since they had received the host. The fathers of the Artillerymen, had learned there trade, against the moors. They slept and ate and prayed beside their guns, and not one of these men, no matter the skill and arts of the craft of gunnery could have caused such an explosion

The secret of gunpowder may have been reduced to a science. Yet fear, the same green and yellow fear that, had gripped the wily Ithacan, could reduce towns, without the need for a baggage train.

Eduardo, had at least the sense to draw his sword, and beckon his chief back, another one of his men, fetched a horse. The villagers, were shouting and screaming. The children were now bawling. The ragged chorus of tears, and confusion performed with all its might.

The hens could smell the fox.

The women folk, were gathering up blankets. As much food, as they could carry. The men, were shouting at their wives, and children. Others with more presence of mind were fetching their nets and fishing lines. One of the villagers, blasphemed, and snatched a the flask of wine. One fool, stood as still, as statue of a saint. The Horses, some people were looking at the horses. Desperate thoughts, having invaded their minds Horses promised escape

Hughs hand was on his hilt.

``Hold!

``It’s the Henri!’’

``Hold, it’s the Henri. Look dam your eyes. Look you villains, and scolds.’’

An older fisherman voice rasping, above the din, he pointed. It is the Henri, out of Buenos Aires.

You dogs. Look! Look!...

Another voice, confirmed the identity of the , approaching vessel Something about the rigging of the Dom Henri revealed it nature and essence. ``The Dom Henri ‘’was well known for its rigging. Apparently sailors, and fishermen, from Buenos Aires to Brest knew of the titled Henri because of its unique and wonderful rigging. There motion was carried, by general acclamation.

As did the hunchbacks of the town enjoy a similar celebrity to the ships of the Ocean

Someone struck, a small boy, to ease their wounded pride. The babies were soothed, and people went back to their little homes. Eduardo sent the man, who faced with death had sought shelter in wine, back to his little shack after passing judgement on his character honour and parentage.

The old fisherman received the compliments of the aristocracy on his nerves, eyesight, and experience.

Wait, it was not a heretic ship, but was it friendly? And would Juan know the difference...

It was out of his hands...He was impotent. No, worse than that he was a cuckold.

Last night he had won a ship. In fair fight too, but before the sun set on the day, he would lose his prize / His mind strode home, like a man, who had heard gossip about his household, outside the chapel or in a tavern He would not stand for this. . .

Juan, what about Juan. If he recognised, the ship as being Portugese, he might let his guard down, or maybe he might fight. Good for him, but Gabriella, would die, not yet a widow. She would be confined to a limbo in the spheres of Women

If the Portugese had wanted a war, they would have one. The port could burn. He would not stand for the slight. He would drive them into the sea! Those whores!

Curse the sons of whores. As a crab in the cook pot, The Son of the O Neill raged, and raged, as the long boat slipped away from the Dom Henri

Eduardo, had brought a musket, to the shore. He was lighting the match.

The field glass, fetch the eye glass, man! Demanded Hugh, he took the musket, and delunged into the air, hopefully, Juan would hear it.

The bell! the bell! He demanded of a fisherwoman, who dragged up her skirts , and ran. The woman, had probably not run since, whatever fool had seeded her, had been caught by her brothers, and marched to the chapel

Damn them!

They would not rob him of his prize!

Eduardo was back, with the eye glass. Come on, he shouted, at his servant. What are you waiting for? The eye glass, was kept in a wooden box, which was stored in a leather pouch, this was belted on to the saddle, of his horse. It was the last thing that was brought out, of Hughs home, when he decided to go hunting, or to visit a client or friend, on the plains. It had cost, good money, in Seville. Two men, from Innsbruck, had ground the lenses. It had been commissioned before Christmas, and received at Pentecost,

Hugh grabbed, his expensive imported tool from his sworn man’s hands, as if was a beer from a bar strumpets tray.

Hugh‘s soul would be in mortal danger if he blasphemed again unless he mentioned it to his confessor, however he scorned the pleas of heaven, and his eyes scanned for the craft.

There was a woman on the quarterdeck, of the Henri, a blonde, he had seen her, the night of the fire..

No, before, that Antonio, had been escorting, him, she had fired the pistol that had saved, him from that madman, after the fire, and now she was here...

What was she doing on the Portuguese ship?

She was still beautiful; her hair was so blonde, so fair. She was wearing a sea cloak, even though the day, was warm enough for a siesta. Her gown was modest, but she stood out on the deck, like the morning star.

There, was a boat being disembarked, from the Portuguese ship,

There was shouting, on the Portuguese ship, as men and boys clambered down the ropes, to the boat. The movements of the crew were smooth and routine they struck up a song, as they moved to the shore.

Some of the fishermen began to sing the song too, they, were muttering at Hugh and his men. To the lower, orders, the deeds of mighty men must be like watching a play, or at least a troupe of street actors

A rowboat, with its own figurehead, was an extravagance, Hugh was not sure, even the pope could afford such,

The boatmen had reached the shore, their chorus, stopped and their oars rose. Hugh, and his sworn men, were at the surfs edge, there muskets, had a match, and power.

Monsieur je suis desole, la Mer, she smiled. She could have been a coquette, asking to be excused by her father, at a wedding. She almost blushed a little

Madame, responded, Hugh, and raised his hat, and bowed. One of the Portuguese, bowed, at Hugh, and got out of the boat, slowly, he left his sword, in the boat.

Hugh, passed the musket, to one of his men...

In the surf, they spoke, The Irlandessa and the Portugese

Sleeping under the Cross. 13a

2011-05-11T20:50:00.000+01:00

What to do with it?

He tried to say the name again I-asper? The Iasper was theirs and fairly won! A ruse that even the wily Oddysseus would have been proud of. There was that other rogue. The one his nursemaid had told him about, oh he forgotten the man’s name now. He had been one of the Company of Finn, but a coward and a trickster

It was annoying him now, trying to remember that rouges name, Hugh knew he would have to ask the Midwife, when he returned to Buenos Aires. No one else would know. His father had Irishmen, or rather the Sons of Irish men, among his retainers and sworn me. They were now the holders of great estates. Men of property, and distinction, whose grandfathers had been spearmen, hangers on, and the emptiers of piss pots

Such was the High King of Heaven’s great design for the world. It was to the more recent past that he was drawn His mind kept turning over the events of the night before, like a spinning wheel, or a water mill no matter how far the

They had drawn the ships fighting men out. His Galician had spent the day declaiming in vernacular that he was not a housemaid whose station it was to light fires. As the night had concealed his force, they had struck the landing party as it waded ashore. There had been no quarter offered. Their foes had reddened the rushes and sand.

Their enemies having no further use for their cloaks and hats were equally pleased to share their longboat. Besides there acquaintance with the Gentlemen from overseas had been if not long than an enduring and defining one.

The water had been cold. It had been a quick shock. His stomach was still on the rack, and his heart drummed liked an Easter procession, but he must keep his wits, and his plan

The plan that now rested on a boy with not more than 10 years.

Juan had looked at the lad. His words became heavy with memory sighing the Galician announced

``I was not much older’’

The Son of the Great O Neill, A knight of the realm, a man whose ancestors had knelt in front of St Patrick and his band of sworn men, placed their fates in the charge of a lad, who probably had never owned a new shirt.

Juan had gently but demanded none the less. That the boy to recite the Salve Regina a dozen times. O prayer for each of his fingers than again for each hand, a dozen. One prayer for each of the Apostles. Juan had made the boy repeat the instructions back to him three times. As the Cockrell had crowed for Peter

Once his duty to the Lord done than the lad was to light the lantern on the roof of the Chapel. He was not to stop for anything or talk to anyone. He was to keep to his task.

It was enough time to carry the unlikely Argonauts to the ship, and past her guns.

It was a risk. He must have been drinking whiskey rather than wine with his water. No matter! They had trusted in God, and kept their power dry enough by the time, they would be aboard. If not, than someone else would give the speech on his daughter’s wedding day

The Prince and the Pauper were both united in prayer, one by Land and one by sea

How often, had his men, handled a boat before the night? Juan had been born somewhere close to the sea. Though he rarely spoke of it, he thought for a moment. He had been the only won born in this Land, except for the boy they had left behind on the beach. The others had all been brought here

It had been the Lords doing, he had guided them. The Star of the sea, had watched over her servants, and let them punish the guilty

So he was now master of the Iasper

The sun was getting higher in the sky. The horses were sweating, some of the men, were seeking, shade. He had sent word to the port. Though rumour would claim the wreath in that race! Juan accompanied by some of the fishermen, were aboard the ship. The ships chest had been removed, and brought to shore. The crew were now. Well the fishing would be good for the next few days.

It was like asking a village butcher to carve a elephant for roasting. Or a portside Idler to snare a whale with the hook he dangled off a pier, on a friday. He could take as much as he would want, but what should he do with the rest

The Fishermen had been earning a little silver as they ferried Juan and Hugh back and forth to the Iasper. They had been singing loudly and joyfully if not melodiously as they worked there oars. It would be a feast day . Their families had stripped the Jasper crew, of their coin and hose. One old granny had smashed a set of gold teeth, from one dead heretic with a rock. Her granddaughter would have a fine dowry! A flask or two of wine had been passed around. Not more that that though. Hugh had promised at the Altar of the little rude chapel, that he would not forget the parishioners, who had helped him on this day.

Juan had one grim duty. Should an unfriendly ship, one of the Jasper confederates sail into view. Juan was to sink the Jasper. A match cast in her power magazine, and the ship would be lost.

That would at least resolve his dilemena

So, what to do?

He could hire a crew from the docks, appoint a Master and live off the cargo’s. It was a tempting prospect. Well he would perhaps supply Juan or Antonio the sheep rancher, with the capital. Even this far away from Madrid it was not the proper thing for a Gentleman to indulge in trade

It was several weeks sailing from Buenos Aires to the Plantations, and Sugar Islands. Would he ever see the Iasper again, the temptation for the ships company, to turn pirate would be great and he would be too far. Even horses went wild, if ones gazed slipped from them for a second. What he knew about picking

One of the fisher folk approached and bowed. Hugh took off his hat, to the man. There was time for a little magnanimity, the fisherman presented him, with a cup of water, it was a rude earthenware beaker. The peasants had been using them, since a little after Eden. Still the gift would be well meant and received, he drank from it.

He would at the privy till Christmas, he knew it, but such was the price of rank. He thanked the fisherman. It stood well, to be good to fisherman, one had done very well for himself after all.

The Fisher thanked him, bowed and thanked him, and then bowed, and then and asked if his Wife could clean his lordship boots. Juan thanked him kindly. There was never such solicitude from the lower orders as when your purse was full. Indeed he thought for a moment the Fisherman had addressed him, as Your Holiness

The petitioner and his wife beckoned him over to a small, hut. Not too far. A drift wood log outside made, well a poor man’s poor man’s bench and the shade unlike the Kingdom of Heaven made no distinction based on wealth. Slipping off his riding boots and handing them to the mistress of the cottage Hugh inclined his head. The nodding well received as a gesture of thanks by his host. The Cottager’s woman made a passable mimicry of a curtsey in reply

A daughter who was almost ten summers, he meant years. (The shade of his tutor should still stalk him even across the plains and waves) Smiled and she brought over another cup of water. The strawberry arms, of the Matrona began to beat his boots against the wall. A smaller child, looked at him agape. Than tiring of the heir of Niall of the Nine hostages, scuttled back into the cottage. His sister sang him a lullaby, and both the pup and the Prince napped.

(Karoline was laughing)

``Don ? ‘’

The fisherman fetched one of the O Neill’s sworn men. Eduardo. Eduardo who tall, and sought to usurp Juan position in the household. The long fellow was the nickname the maids gave him. Being the tallest of the company, the poor, children, and women imparted him with importance.

Which was perhaps a good thing, would being the Son of a Great house be compensation for having to stand on a stool, to mount his horse.

The two trades in colloquy had decided to wake the member of the first estate

His boots were clean. The Seasiders had done a decent job his purse would be lighter but it would be worth it. A small siesta had raised his spirits

There was a coin, in his sleeve.

`` Non! Non monsieur,’’ the housewife yelped. The Husband’s face flushed like a maid who has overheard her father and uncles joking over supper ... It may have youngest child had started to cry, and his older sister tried to hush him. Her face now as white as good linen, her extra years a burden the babe had the satisfaction of bawling. The fisherman bowed, and whispered something to Eduardo, and brought his wife indoors. Eduardo looked as if he was going to start to a fight

As with horses, a sweet word would do the work of a spur. You could never teach the Castlian’s that though

``My friend, what is the matter, a fine job you have done with my boots. Your wife is a credit to you’’

Monsieur, the fisherman, was probably Navarese, or maybe a Vascaro, like his mother. A Catalan or Italian would have said Don. An Irishman would have called him, by his surname. Than sworn that their grandfathers had been brothers, and indeed his great grandfather had saved his great grandmother from the lust of the Regent himself A Bohemian or a German simply bowed.

Even a day’s ride from the port, it was Babel.

The Fisherman speaking as quietly as he could bear Shared what had troubled his household so his wife, had a spinster sister. She had been one of th wretched company that they buried, in the women’s house. They had heard that the heretics had defiled her, and killed her. They had heard, it had been the young Lord of the ...Irlandessa, who had buried her, and now you avenge her murder. We are in your debt, as our our children. We cannot take your money.

A barefoot fisherman pled, and whimpered for the privilege of turning down a scrap of silver. After cleaning the calf skin boots of a man who feasted on veal.

He had almost said Wilde Irlandessa

Pride was a terrible sin.

Quietly like a cutpurse after Mass. The memory of that day, the stink and foulness of the place, the wretched fate of the woman crept into Hugh’s mind.

The Son of God, had instructed them, that the Poor would always be with him. So he let the matter pass. There would be time, to feed the hungry, and clothe the naked, and scold the proud tomorrow.

Hugh forced a smile and removed his hand from his hilt. Nodding he asked the good woman for a cup of a water. A sudden thirst had come upon him.

Th little daughter was whispering a lullaby, to the babe and the fisherman, and his wife scurried away. The wife being scolded under her husband breath, the neighbours would be gossiping about this day for years.

Eduardo pointed at the Horizon,

The Fishermen, were silent, the baby had been hushed

Sails

Sails, A ship, Another ship

Oh Jesu!

Chapter 13

2011-02-14T11:42:00.001Z

Jaap Simonson closed his Bible with a touch of the dramatic. The Psalms had been sung. The Lesson read. Their duty to Heaven completed the Men could return to their Earthly tasks. The all seeing eye of the Lord of Hosts upon them all the first mate to the meanest cabin boy.

The Jasper slinked out of sight of land she would be returning north soon. The summer had been profitable. It was a goodly harvest that the summers labour had reaped The Jasper and a few other ships had made their way south to prey on the Spanish dominions in the New World. Now their Ships chests full of silver and plate. The Roman Hersey had been smote. The crew had dined on fine beef, and wheat. The Don’s had been there Quartermasters. Now the Jasper’s and her companions would be returning to their homes. To mimic the Hellenes after they had burned the topless towers of Ilium.

The words of Marlowe echoed in his head. It was a small role, Jaap the Master of the Jasper, played in the great theatre of the world. Perhaps a mere spear carrier or one of the Chorus. Yet Jaap strove to exert himself in the service of the Crown and Regent as the players of the Kings men did for their audience and Patron

Would he ever see a play again? From time to time, tumult and plague closed the theatres. Sometimes the Parliaments argued that the Theatres were ungodly. The Regent had settled the Question, with his fondness for Marlowe’s works. It had been whispered that the Regent or maybe his Father had been supplied intelligence by Marlowe before the playwright was murdered.

Jaap cast his eyes on the deeps, he was the Master, he could not indulge himself for too long As his father had, The Captain of the ``Jaspar’’ looked to the Sea to seek his fortune indeed his Grandfather had before that, and it had been a trade that the Simonsons had known before his father’s father had been born. An Uncle who was too fond of Bordeaux claret had insisted an Ancestor had been the helmsman on the White ship the legend aside It took no Thucydides to note that the family seat, in Devon, had been furnished with prize money and Romanist candle sticks. The sot of an uncle was not the only relative who committed the sin of Pride Had not his mother sworn his grandfather, had been a gunner under Drake, when lead against the Armada. When fair and Godly England herself had been but a silver streak away from the heel of the Dons.

It was wily old Elizabeth who had seen the Dons and Parma driven off as beggars would be from the Kitchen of an honest Housewife,. The Queen placed her faith in God, and in her ships. Elizabeth, whom Marlowe had called Queen and served with Wit. The She Prince whom with the last of her strength had given the sceptre to the Regent. Elizabeth was the Midwife at the birth of the English Empire. The division of power between the regent, appointed by the commons and lords, from the best of their number and the King, prevented tyranny and shared the burdens of leadership. Like the twin kings of Old Sparta, with an heir and Regent always ready the King was free to reign and to reign well. Royal Tyranny was held in check. England had blossomed free from the slavery of Rome, free from the strife of intrigue and courtly politics. The world knew a new rule of the Good Emperors the ancients had cherished. The English Imperium had stood up, to challenge the Don’s, The House of Valois and the Pope and his Wilde Irish dogs

Thus the lands, of the Friesians and Hollanders had been liberated, brothers of the English from the Romish terror. Then the Kings of Denmark, and German princes brought into a great confederation. The Hugonauts, when their cause seemed lost, had been renewed

``parcere subiectis et debellare superbos’’

Jaap smiled he had received instruction in the liberal arts. He had been a good student, devouring Greek and Latin like sailor would biscuit. First Caesar, and then Virgil and Homer, and after his lessons, he would study by the fire. His nurse attending her needle work, a mariner might call on the Simonson’s looking to speak to his father. Or even with news a victory off the coast of France. A battle beyond the Rhine

Sometimes, an old salt stopped by with a bottle of claret to speak with his grandfather. Then the elder Simonson would sit and whittle away at wood. While him and his guest, told tales

Jaap had enjoyed the stories of Drake most. Though his nurse from behind her aprons, disapproved of Drake for some reason. Looking back now, he thought it was because his nurse believed there was something disreputable about Drake relationship with well, his mistress. She had been fair of face, and gentle of spirit. Of course modest in spirit Jaap now in command of his faculties saw the truth in his memories view that his childish eye had overlooked Jaap knew she had suspected something amiss. Something unbecoming

A fondness for maudlin, and common ballads, had been where his Nurse had been dipped in the Styx

Her charge, years and miles away smiled, and looked out to sea. He had been a little indulgent...

The sky was as clear as the conscience of the justified man.

A thought crossed his mind. It would be some change for some fortnight’s sail to the North. To the Ports, they had recently won in arms. From there, they were able to strike at the traffic moving between the Spanish ports and the New World. There pieces had won, the centre of board, and now could pick of their opponents. In the great contention that raged for the soul of the world. The Godly had won a real prize.

In the distance a whale, raised it tail in salute of the enterprise. Jaap wondered if he should choose Jonah as the lesson next time. No, no. That was superstition. The path was seductive enough. The crew would see the whales, and been inspired. He would follow the correct services, and lesson. The Jasper would maintain. As the tide and the winds maintained everything to its season, has the philosopher had noted, thousands of years ago. ``A time to reap A time to sow’’ The wisdom of the first ages, held true into the last days of mankind

The whale raised another salute. The crew of the Jasper shunned such pleasantries. They served their rigging and sails. Sunburned, and seasoned. They would have coin in their pockets, when they returned to Port. One or two of the ships officers had discussed investing their stakes in the sugar Islands. A man could make a fortune his grandchildren would not be able to spend. Jaap had given the idea more than a little consideration. On one hand, he was a creature of tradition, true and honest tradition. Not the novelties the Papist’s had endeavoured to enshrine. To leave his family home grieved him in his heart. Did not the Regent bring change? That said he did not fear change. A Good Captain knew that a squall may blow in, on the calmest sea. Or that the winds would drop and the Jasper and all her company would be becalmed for days on end. With only the crews character and the powder barrel, to prevent his throat being cut. Oh, he had worked hard to avoid hiring cut throats and malcontents A few days drinking brackish water and dining with weevils, would break even a Saved man too. The country minister, a day’s ride away from the sea did not truly know the trial that Jonah had suffered at the hands of the Lord. The Latin poet had said it best reflected that the worst things happen at Sea

Would one last foray be worth it? Mused the master of the Jasper as she sailed north. The release it would give the men, would probably keep the Jasper’s crew sated until they docked in their new home. There the godly would give praise, and the dammed, would drink and fornicate until their coin ran out. The Admirals men, with their carbines and cutlasses would be there to help keep order.

He would consult the charts.

His cabin like his ship, a little maid but one who’s curves drew the eye. As a good sailor and a loyal subject Jaap’s Gods demanded order the door opened and the Captains refuge was illuminated. As befitted one of the saved, it was modest. There was a course a bible in the corner, and a cutlass on the wall. There were some smaller books, of moral and spiritual worth. A few rough cut newspapers, news of Europe was necessary for Jaap’s trade. Should the alliances change, a battle lost, or a bad winter or a second Nicas bring about a Truce. The crew of the Jaspar could be unwelcome in a port, or hung as pirates.

Even the Captain had to sleep in a hammock, however he did have a table, it had to be fixed to the deck, but it was good enough to keep his charts level, whilst he made his study.

He would have found his chart in pitch black. Indeed he had done before and would need to do again and seventy times after that. Weathered hands spread the paper out. The keen Mariner’s eyes followed the outline of the Silver coast. The Dons and there heretical kinsfolk had been pushing out from Buenos Aires for at least a generation. Now the stream of settlers was becoming a flood. Convoys of ships brought people from across the Papist realms. It was a tragedy to leave behind the superstition of the Old world only to plant it in the New

Before he was master on the Jasper. Jaap had been an officer on the Swift. As fine a ship that Portsmouth did see. One day the Swift had ran down a merchantman out from Lisbon. After the fighting, with the Portuguese vessel safely boarded and bested The Captain of the Swift ordered the vanquished up on to the deck. Where in full view of heaven offered the surviving crew and the passengers a chance at earthly as well heavenly salvation. The ship would be escorted to the English colonies in the Northern part of the Americas. There they would have the chance, to live out their lives free of Popery

Jaap remembered the Captains words. His blood had been hot, his shirt and hose wet with blood, but he had been astonished by the Captain’s mercy. He gave thanks and praise to God, when he heard it. The slaves were offered a chance to be lead out of Egypt.

A wife, a striking woman, perhaps the fairest Jaap had ever seen, clutched her child, to her breast and flung herself of the deck.

She was not the last

It still angered him. The waste, the waste was so senseless Could they not see how easy it was, how simple, and how liberating. A mere reading of the Bible and following its words were enough to be saved from damnation `Faith alone’’. A simple motto, it could be a rhyme taught to an lad apprenticing his trade to recollect how a knot was tied.`` Faith alone Fidel sola ‘’. What more did a man need? What else did Christ have in the Wilderness whence confronted with Satan himself?

Such pride and ignorance needed to be corrected.

The rage was a distraction. He had his duty to God, and his crew. He consulted his chart. As they sailed south, they had sent parties to scout the coast, and note the signs of settlement. The steeples could not be concealed, but a stone chapel could be defended. There would be a watch and a muster. There were fishing villages, along the coast. The trade of the Navarese, and the Sicilians, intelligences and informers said the two feuded in mimicry perhaps of the Irish and Portuguese gentry who dominated the port and the hinterland.

There was an old woman, in the Village Jaap had grown up in. They say her husband had been killed by an Irishe Kerne, in the last days of Elizabeth’s reign. Jaap remembered her sitting in church, she lived in a cottage, that a labourer might have scorned, but had the coin for the rent of one the better pews. The Regent, never forgot

There it was. There was a stream marked on the chart. If nothing else, they could fill some of the empty barrels with water. They had to be their own quartermasters. A nights fishing, and scavenging, would spare the biscuit

If they could strike a blow, against their foes than they should too

He took, a bearing, and said it again, and again. As he rolled up the chart, bound it with its leather strap, and restored it to its rightful station in life

Shutting the door, quietly, he relayed the Course to the helmsman. The sails would need a slight correction. The Men bounded up the rigging.

Ambrose Botranger coughed,

Jap answered his indirect inquiry. We will see if there is someplace open, for a drop of porter if nothing else. Have the boats made ready by the next watch.

The Master of the Japser related the plan Dusk fell, they would slip in, and make their way to shore, if they found one of the many fishing villages, than they would as night fell, slip in, cut throats and set fires

Anything they could carry, they would take with them. A goat, a few geese, and slip off. They had done the same thing, from Cadiz to Manila. They were beggars of the sea, they moved from house to house, and if the housewife, left the lamb unwatched, they would make off with it

They served one who separated the Sheep from the goats

The tides and wind’s, brought their servants the crew of the Jaspar closer to the shore. The day had risen, thanked it hosts and bid them a good night, it was about to turn and leave the drawing room

As a seducer would with a chambermaid skirts, they searched for the right spot to place themselves

With their anchorage secure, they could now exert themselves, indeed as a seducer would

As was his prerogative Jaap had chosen the Men himself a mixture of honest men, and veteran’s Indeed some honest veterans, and at least one ``old soldier’’ One Miles Glorious, that Terrence and Shakespeare would have recognised. At their Masters behest the landing party had their sea pikes ready, A few pistols to add to the pot and a musketeer should guard the boat. With Jaap the master it came to 12 men. That would be enough, enough for the Good lord, enough for a honest jury.

It was a goodly part of the crew. The Jaspar’s lot was but two score. It was only a village, and they had surprise on their side, and another score of men, and cannon, to call upon, should they be surprised

The padded oars, made their way to the shore. They could see the fires at least half a dozen. They could hear a bell, a tin or brass bell, and then singing. Latin it was. Popery Jaap muttered to himself, and his maker.

The locals had gathered for some festival, some act of Idolatry. The Lord had delivered them to be punished.

They were close to the shore now, two of the men got out, and ran the boat onto the sand. They slipped out one by one, waiting for the noise of the tide to conceal them

There were rushes, between them and the fires. Jaap whispered to one of his men, to stand sentinel over their boat. Allen Bontranger cousin to Ambrose, made ready with the Musket

Jaap loaded his pistol, now they were out of the spray like his maps; he knew where it lay even on the blackest night. The pistol was faithful companion to him, a most loyal servant. It had repaid him tenfold, from the two Guilders he had purchased it from in Amsterdam

The reeds were course, there was movement

``Hold

A of pain, and, he had fallen, he could not speak...There was blood, and hunting boots

Shots and screams...than.

Sleeping under the cross, 2.13

2010-11-29T23:11:00.000Z

The virtue of Piety had found a good home in the heart of the Governor He was loyal to the Church of his father and his father, and to the Holy Father in far away Rome He asked his wife, if this was not the case. She with her little hand on her heart looked him in the eye, and told him he was.

Tempering his piety was Loyalty, for he had served the King with all his heart, wit and strength. He had served a King he would never meet, or even share the same continent as for all his life. From the exactitude of tax returns, and harbour dues to the terrible haste of keeping the peace between, the Portuguese and the Irlandessa the Governor as a servant of Catholic Majesty would die to uphold his Sovereign laws in Buenos Aires and enforce against the Indio’s against the heretic,

He remembered a grey day. It had been after he was sworn in, as the Kings first servant in the town. There had been a feast, and some dancing.

If one day, he was to ride out, to the plains, or take his place at a barricade by the docks, and never return. His son would do the same if it was called upon. As his son would, and his son. Until the dawning of the day of the last judgement. Dutiful as servant and husband as had told her early in their marriage and she had wept and bawled as women were wont. His mother scolded him for saying such. The serving girl and the neighbours had made a great fuss, of his wife too that day. Scolding him, and talking low just in earshot. His fair Cecile tears having carried from the plaza to the docks, and some way out to sea he would wager. Yet he had persisted, despite her tears, despite her curses, her feints and her wiles in time his wife accepted it as part of her duties. Bearing it with not a little grace and courage

He loathed heresy. As all true men, did. He feared it he feared the horrors it wrought in this world. Yet it was nothing to the eternity of agony that would be the finish of Heresy. Better never to have been born, than to suffer the justice of the almighty. Yet while the fate of heresy was certain, it still existed and he would give up his life to prevent it, and punish it.

For a heartbeat the Governor felt kinship with the Men across from him. There were many times when he would have hanged them all. Buenos Aires often reminded him of a chessboard The Portuguese were the whites. Carved from pine and brushed with varnish The Irlandessa were of course, as black hearted as any of the opposing pawn. Yet today all pieces were united. The petty game put aside.

They did not need the Inquisition, The Irlandessa once again reminded him, that they had killed the heretic king. In case the event had slipped his mind, in the long period between drawing breaths

The Portuguese spoke of their ancient rights. They did not play the one tune, as the Irlandessa did, but knew their chorus well enough. One of their Kings, before the union of crowns had dispensed with the services of the holy office. The sons of Lisbon had claimed the right throughout the Empire. Depending on their circumstance luck and persistence sometimes they had kept it

This had been the way in Buenos Aires on the silver coast. Perhaps it had been an accident. The Church had overlooked them, as a small chapel in the plains which may go a season without seeing a Priest Perhaps it had been the trade and taxes the fruits of the ports harvest

A harvest sweetened with the hides and swordsmen that were the bounty of the plains. Was it that these things were sent north? Thus the Bishops and lawyers at the Escadorial willing to oblige their southern subjects

There was the danger of heresy among their homes and heath The Spanish Netherlands, had been lost to the faith. Not only the Netherlands. Once all Europe from the frozen north, to the Islands where crafty Odysseus had ploughed his furrow had been true to the Mother Church Now her children had turned against her. The house was divided whilst the strangers plotted The Sultan’s legions pressed and forayed from the south. Hungary had been lost. The gates of Vienna were spared the ram, only by the King of Poland

Now they had a case of heresy. A public display of contempt for the Host. Oh such things happened now and then. Last summer they had flogged a vile youth who with the devil in his heart had started to shout and curse during the homily at our Lady of Victories. There were the thieves who would try to make off with plate and the blackguards who loathed the laws of man and God.

Then there were the bands of renegade Indio’s. They always struck at chapels. They hanged for it. Screaming out the names, of the demons they had made sacrifice and paid honour before the coming of the Christians but now it was coloured by their brute view of the Church

He had heard that the same was true of slaves, in the great plantations of the Sugar islands

This was more this was an act of propaganda. It was a strike in the very breast of Buenos Aires. Indeed like a thorn or a splinter it would become putrid, and the smell and foulness would kill the body. The body politic of Buenos Aires would not only die but it would be dammed. Better to be cast into the lake

Who could look into the heart of every man? A man could say he was from this town or that village, or that he had been persecuted for his faith by the heretics, and when he was alone in his room, could be reading the bible in French, or singing Psalms in Navarese. Some would in their cups deny the Holy Trinity. Others would curse the Holy Father in Rome, call him a whoremonger and an Antichrist

The Indio’s were better. They at least had the excuse of ignorance. A rabid dog, was just a dog after all, its malady was to be pitied, even though it was to be destroyed

The whip would remind them of their place and their duty. The whip was a kinder master than hunger, or the horses and dogs of the Irlandessa. Those huge dogs half wolf that followed the horses of the Irlandessa they could easily tear apart a man. Once the Governor, heard the Irlandessa boast that they threw the body of the heretic King they slew, to their dogs. The Irlandessa had not repeated the boast, but said it, quietly in their cups, one day during a Christmas feast. So there was perhaps a ring of truth in the boast

An Indio, would get the consolation of the church, and fed. His barracks would have a fire. It was better than living as a fox on the plains, or begging at the port. Before the constable caught him, and made an example

One thing was as sure as winter following the harvest, there was heresy amongst them.

The Men of Buenos Aires had been in council for a long time. A boy had come into the chamber to start a fire. In the street the lanterns were being lit. The governor was about to ask if he should have bread and meat brought in, or would his compatriots prefer to recess until tomorrow Yet the day had gone well. No threats no curses, just talk. There was word of petitioning the King and the Viceroy. There would be a fast. The Great houses of the town and all honest men would make efforts to stamp out heresy. They would send honest men, to stand watch over the churches. They would listen for hints of heresy in their households. The Governor and all of the leading men of Buenos Aires would invite the fraternity of Jesu to establish a house here. They were ferocious in the struggle against heresy. They had been the shield that saved Poland

They also agreed to draw the funds, from the public purse for a carpenter who would get a commission to build a pair stout gallows. A gallows for the plaza of St James the very centre of Buenos Aires, and one at the docks.

Heresy would be seen to be opposed in the heart and face of Buenos Aires

The fire was lit, the flames, drew the governors eyes. Those would be the ultimate and eternal reward after the hangman, had been paid.

It was the Old O’Neill, who coughed politely. His people called him, Mor. They said it meant great but a few scholars insisted it really meant big. The younger son had a strange title. Oh si the Taniste. The O’Neill Mor was the Dragon, whose teeth had been reaped, and they had caused season, after season of grief. All of this from a grey man with hands as large as a blacksmith or indeed the senior magistrate of Buenos Aires. Such mischief inspired from such a melancholy man somewhere, outside Bilbao there was a village missing a widower. Had he seen him, leaving Mass on a Sunday, than the Governor would have nodded and made his way home without a second thought.

The Old Irlandessa begged leave of them all, as he was an old man, and needed to make his way home before darkness and cold, took their toll on him.

The Portuguese rose as one, and bade him a polite and for well meant farewell. The Irlandessa bowed, to their for once colleagues. Made their leave, and departed

The Governor was sated if not satisfied it was not a happy task, that they had gathered to share but they would prove themselves equal to the demands of God and the King

He told the boy, to fetch, the head servant. They would begin the Rosary.

The day’s work would belong to God. As the Grave diggers or the coffin makers did.

The cockerel stood sentinel and victor over the lighting of the fires. Telling all of his triumph as the town of Buenos Aires roused itself. The day’s work would begin.

Sister had risen, with her sisters, to join the second service of the day. She had woken for Matins and prime then she had broken her fast with her sisters. After the farewells and being given leave to venture outside the convent Eloise and her companion inside the gates, for there guides.

She smiled at the Irony and whispered it to sister Innes. They would guide the young lady’s soul from the dangers of ignorance and heresy. Whilst the kinsmen and clients of the lady would protect their bodies from insult and injury the Sun and the moon worked in harmony

Oh the faces were friendly and welcome. It was the pious husband and wife, who had provided her escort, to Buenos Aires. They were being escorted by a pair of rider, were waiting to take her to the caravan. A nephew, apprenticed to the Uncle. The Irlandessa had a word for it, which Eloise spent a few seconds torment trying to remember and his servant. A few years older than his young master! Walking quietly behind someone who walked quietly behind

The nephew was slightly less talkative than the mare he rode, but seemed twice as strong. He doffed his cap, and bowed. His eyes did not trace the Sisters form. If he had the laconic manner but their virtue of readiness. On his introduction, he let his hand move away from his hilt, noticeably but returned her swiftly. The nephew who barely spoke was the talkative one of the pair. His servant, would made a fine statue, had that been a trade.

They had brought her and her sister a pair of honest mules. A lad earned an honest wage in there service. it would be him, who drove the mule which the Brides of Christ rode A stout stick would determine the mules place in the great chain of being, after his service the lad would dine on beef today. Eloise gave thanks the Youth could not conceal the fact that he missed more than one meal of late

Eloise took a moment to point out the convents kitchen she was a slave to charity. The sisters were well known to the poor. Yet a good teacher always repeated the lesson when she could

They set off, the boy walking a little in front of the procession. It was not the swiftest route to the house of the young O Neill, but it was the safest and most decorous and therefore the conveyance that they would take.

The caravan set off. They reached the house of the young O Neill, with neither insult nor injury suffered. The Nephew, bid them wait, for a moment, while his servant announced them

The steward of the house, came and made them welcome, offering water and wine. The boy was directed to the Kitchen the rest of the party were brought in off the courtyard to a room. There was a man, coming back from the stables, talking with a very pretty housemaid. She curtseyed and hurried away to her duty. Her suitor, by his colouring was Galician. Hawk like he surveyed the men in their party. Finding them agreeable he turned and went towards the servant’s quarters, his apparel dusty his musket, spotless. A guard dog,

The O’Neill’s aunt would receive them. It should have been, Karoline, alas now she was in a greater house. The steward at the gate of that house, was of much more renown too

The younger O Neill entered the room. He bowed to his guests and introduced himself

Alas again Eloise would have to remember the momentary failing of her sex, to her confessor. Their thanked them, for coming, begged forgiveness for the rudeness of his house, and his manners.

The Aunt, than asked that the womenfolk, to retire with her, to another room. The Men were to discuss some of the pressing matters of the days. The Indio’s had been restless. Like youths they were trying to intimidate a few ranchers and villages a mornings ride away from the town.

The Younger O Neill had been riding out amongst them. Showing the savages the teeth of his dogs and the power of the muskets of his sworn men. Cold steel and Christian discipline brought the savage to bear

Eloise nodded and rose. She was offered refreshment but declined. The Aunt, and the Matron, spoke of their families, inquiring after sons, and nephews, daughters and nieces, and their issue.

Eloise offered polite acknowledgement a nod or when that was too much a slight tilt of the head, and a quiet prayer for those resting in purgatory whilst she waited to be addressed, in conversation.

The young lady she has tutored was mentioned, and the aunt inclined towards her. The child needed to continue with her, studies. Eloise, would be soon to join her former charge and her guide her through her letters

Then a revelation, the Aunt, would be sharing their journey, to the house of the O Neill. She would be guardian, of her niece, the daughter of the younger O Neill. The one the Irlandessa called the Tánaiste Eloise would assist in the upbringing of the child at a remove from Buenos Aires and its dangers moral and physical.

Eloise and Ines would recite the matins as the sun rose over the plains

chapter 12

2010-08-10T22:48:00.001+01:00

It would soon be midday the church bells, would ring and betray the hour as had the cockerels call betrayed the guilt of Peter. Juan made his way to the coffee house by the strawberry market. J He was wearing a leather cloak, high on his head despite the sunshine, so he may move with more discretion amongst the folk. He also changed his gait, he set himself the strides of a nervous man, a servant or a day labourer, one with little position in society, one whose bread was earned at others pleasure. To this end he had borrowed a servents tunic too. The gold he carried however would win the affection of the King and the Pope. The Gold would open doors, and hold or loosen tongues

The errand boy had reached the stables, Just as the bells pealed for midday, people would be taking their lunch now, the Portugese and others would be sleeping The place was at least respectable, at least at this hour. No wenches or cut throats, were being served. There were some men, sitting at the far end, talking about the trade winds. They were Navarese men by their accent, and dress.

The Coffee house keeper nodded to him, as Juan slipped in quietly and a serving girl, offered him, a bowl of coffee.

Juan waved away the beverage. He had never seen the point of it, let alone the taste. Why would anyone work all day, and then force themselves to drink something hot and bitter? Only a madman would to Juan’s mind, but if a madman claimed they did it in Madrid, and claimed to have a title. Then the whole world would try to bark at the moon.

The Young Lord served it to some of his guests from time to time. His late wife, the mistress of the house, had a taste for it. The Portugese shipped it south from their countrymen’s Plantations to the North in Brasil. Caroline’s dowry had been grown there, with the sweat of slaves, and the trade winds as the principal investors.

Coffee was what the Portugese and the rest of the port set, The lawyers and the well to do and the odd traveller from Europe drank. If he ever made a honest women, of Gabriella, she would be forcing him to drink the swill in company. As well as moaning if he cleaned a musket by his fireside, such was the way of women Coffee apparently made one alert, why should that endear it, it to people. Did it make the heart gladder? No. No more than bowl of hot soup when it was cold. Did Coffee, win the hearts of the maids? Did a penitent abstaining from Ash Wednesday till Easter call for Coffee? Neither did a squadron of troopers who had chased the Indio’s into the plains for a fortnight. Coffee was an affection, not unlike a red ribbon Or a youth trying to make the feeble spray of hairs on his cheek appear a beard. It was a pointless one It was like most pointless things an annoyance

Come to think of it, the Governor had been brewing coffee, that day when the Master and his father had gone to see him. Before the heretics had burned the port, the Governor had been brewing coffee for his more respectable guests. The vile drink was unlucky. The Heretics had smelled it, and believed they were welcome

The serving girl could bring him some water and a little wine. He was still a Galician... for a moment his thoughts stumbled. He paused. The thought had vexed him. Once the priest had forgotten his place in the service, and the whole chapel felt a chill. He, Juan was still a proud Galego, but here he was sitting in a coffee shop, waiting for intelligence, on a woman, from God knows where. In the service of a great house, who had the origins in an Island, across the sea from the realm of the King. An Island, at the edge of Europe merely an brief memory

For a moment, he stumbled again, like a sailor on the quarter deck, in the swells, or a drunkard coming out of a tavern at the dawn. Another strange thought troubled him. Juan found himself in consideration of the Irlandessa. They looked a bit like Basques. They could be fair and ruddy. Strangely enough they blended best with the Basques. The two nations spoke gibberish The Irlandessa spoke Spanish, but they still fetched nursemaids, and though not the Master but the lesser branches of the family had sent for an occasional bride, from their ancestral Island. They were good Catholics even the ones who had just stepped of a gangplank, and were crossing themselves in thanks Men and Women who often spoke better English, than Spanish. They didn’t speak the tongue of the Irish at all.

It was than Juan remembered Maeve and not kindly, that nursemaid, of the Masters sometimes troubled him. She was too strident, and at least half a witch. The master and even his father seemed to tolerate her. She would give them advice, speak out of turn, and even rebuke them! The leaders of Irlandessa, with sworn men, with guns and horses, veterans of battles in Europe and the new world would smile weakly

It was a plain truth that the Irlandessa where more tolerant of their women, than Castilians. Even the Portugese, Irlandessa woman, did not hide from society. Juan had heard some idle gossip directed at his masters womenfolk and kin and normally replied by kicking the cur in crotch and producing his pistol. There woman had braved the winds and storms, of the sea crossing.

They were the first of many Buenos Aires, had mixed blood, at first, but the Irlandessa had been the first drops of rain that heralded a deluge from all over faithful Europe. Not just landless sons, and treasure seekers as in Peru, or Nueva Espanaga, not monks and mercenaries but here maids, and their families. Women with babes at their breast, could be seen, walking gingerly down the gangplank, from the dock. Followed by tradesmen

Where was the wine and water?

The Irlandessa were something new, something different, perhaps they were never supposed to be here? Perhaps if the Irlandessa had pressed onto Londres, Juan might be riding there, stealing kisses from pious English Maids and riding by the Thames, rather than the by the Plata

It was God’s plan after all, and they were his masters, they had prospered, as did he

The serving girl, smiled and brought his wine and water, she bowed and produced a newssheet

It was the rough local version, of the Gazetta. Juan had picked up his letters something that surprised even the master sometimes. He had made a point of reading everything he could get his hands on. Or at least attempting to read everything, the master paid people good silver, to write in tongue of his ancestors. He had to make an effort to keep his hand of his hilt, when the master spoke to that nurse in that unholy cant

Besides, there were only so many times you can sharpen a sword. He could not play dice, he had to set an example. The stable hands, and the

Juan’s eyes, followed the words across the paper, as a ploughboy followed his beast The news spoke of The King in Madrid, sitting in the Escadorial. Praying and dispensing Justice. The Moors were causing trouble, as were the heretics. The twin plagues on the faithful There had been a battle near Biarritz. The heretics raiding and than returning to their ships

This was all for the good, Juan mused. Yet they were here, so far away from Spain. The heretics had attacked them, and they had burned the town. The Master and the Portugese had attended to it. They might as well, as asked the Emperor of Cathay for help, fighting the flames.

There was news of the burning of the port. This was news to whom?

Perhaps more wine? he looked at the serving girl. Not a bad looking lass it must be said. No he would have to wait for his intelligencer, and that meant keeping his wit.

He would have at least the consolation of tobacco.

Smiling as he inhaled, as the blend they sold at the coffee house was rich. Probably smuggled from the Ingles plantations The World seemed a much better place. The rhetorical musings that had troubled him evaporated, and he smiled his face, sunburnt his teeth yellow, but he smiled

The man he was waiting for arrived. Like all good intelligences, he was anonymous. Taciturn and discreet He would have made a good monk. A better matchmaker and a fine chaperone. Even the man’s mother would have had trouble remembering his face.

Juan watched as his guest walked over to the bar, and ordered a drink, rather than waiting for the serving girl to pass. But on his way to the bar, the informer walked up the Galego whence he stopped and spoke quietly.

``The woman you speak of arrived last month on Le Luna, she found respectable lodgings, accompanied by her widowed mother. There is a crazy rumour she killed a man, who tried to kill the young O Neill.

She has money, from somewhere. I would wager she is the paramour, or the illegitimate daughter of some blue blood across the sea. The story about her shooting the man is false though. That’s what everyone is saying.

Gracias’’

Swiftly Juan, exchanged, some gold pieces, with his source. The intelligencer thanked him, for remembering his father, and continued on to the bar enjoyed a coffee

Juan, had to go and speak with the young lord. He gave the serving girl, a bit of silver, and fetched up his cloak. Something was afoot.

The coffee house was situated at the corner of the Church of St Colm, the square in front of it was where the Strawberry vendors earned their breads. It being summer the fruit was in season. The square was host to a herd of carts. The maids, giggling and modestly smiling at the youths The barrow boys calling out, who would buy their wares? There were matrons buying the leaves for washes, the old wives told that strawberry leaves made maiden’s fair. Even if it didn’t the smell, was sweet Here and there a parent treated their charges, and a suitor bought a sweetheart a gift from the heart

The merchants smiled and doffed their hats. The strawberry merchants were Irlandessa men. Juan had never understood why this was. Goodness know the Irlandessa knew nothing about wine Yet the master, sent strawberries and hides to Madrid, every year

The Galego hastened on through the streets. If his master had wanted a philosopher, he could have had a Jesu chaplain.

Irlandessa!!!

Juan turned his hand on his hilt, his other reaching for the dagger he kept concealed on his person. As a greyhound darted after a hare, the Galician sprang,

It was a man, an old man, a priest, who had called him. The man was in his cassock and hat, Juan stepped back. Buenos Aires could be a vipers nest, but the Portugese, would not stoop so low,

Surely, if this was the case, than it was time to send as many of them to hell, as possible.

The man, pleaded with him. Begged him for help, he was on his knees. He was hysterical, Juan moved back, from the padre, but didn’t loosen his grip. Something terrible had happened, he had been recognised as the sworn man of a great house. That may save him, or may damn him

A crowd gathered. Juan turned ajar slightly to face them. His eyes travelled along the faces of the strawberry sellers, meeting the eyes of many as he could Looking into their eyes squarely and honestly As a storyteller would to his audience in a Taverna. Juan hoped to move the passions of the theatre of the street, and to send the spectators home before the last act. The families among the throng were dragging their wayward sons, home, and hurrying their daughters along home. Some of the smaller children were crying. The older men were limping away,

God would have to protect, Juan and the small children from the drunks and fools

Then there were the usual idlers. The thieves and troublemakers were always present for a lynching but rarely got the rope they deserved

The Portugese were not the only people who could kill him. Neither were the heretics the only men with such capacity. A street rat or an Indio, could do the job, with a well aimed stone or a lucky blow.

One of the wives, ran to the priest carrying her skirt, she sprinted with a haste that Juan would envy in 20 summers time, she was a relative of the priest. His niece Juan guessed, she pointed them towards the Chapel. As a skilled fisherman she had baited the crowd’s curiosity.

For a moment, the crowd did not trouble Juan, as much as the thought that

The cold touch of horror traced its fingers down his back. Like the venom of a spider could not allow himself to feel it

He hoped there would be men, who feared God. Whom would hear his word’s To be the first to die in a riot, was not an honour Juan craved. If it was just thieves they could hang them and be done

``I am a sworn man of the O Neill. You know his name. He has been as a friend and a kinsman, to you. You know my master fears, God. As I do. I call upon the honest men, and their sons. I call upon the God fearing men, and their sons to rally to listen to me.

Something terrible may have happened! Look to your families’’

The crowd began to thin. Yet how did it thin? Juan did not want to see maids violated, and houses burned. The nieces, brothers and kinsmen, were approaching’’

``Listen to me, my friends. Listen to me honest men, and my compatriots. The Fathers family are here My friends, look the Father’s kin are here. To not disturb them, in this time of grief for them, give them peace and respect you would wish. Will you stand around here, as gossiping women would? ‘’

The people dispersed. Some of the strawberry sellers began to persuade the onlookers and idlers to move along. To go to their homes, they were free to go elsewhere to Cathay or Rome if they must, but not to stay here. Others began to call out the virtues of their wares. One of the priests kinsmen, stood glaring at the crowd.

Father, what is wrong..?. The Father’s niece read aloud the the words written across Juan’s face and mind. The Priests nerves were spent and he had to make a real effort to keep his wits He was old enough if not to have remembered the flood, to have gone to Mass with those who did.

A man who shepherded the flocks of Buenos Aires, did not blush like a maiden or a nun. He would have given penance to whores, to footpads, and wild shoeless Indios, and yet the priest was shaken

The chapel,

They would find something foul there. An affront to God,

He could not enter a chapel with a drawn blade. It would be wrong.

He closed his eyes, and prayed. With his eyes closed, he remembered the first time, he had fought. The heretics, had raided his village. The Ingles or perhaps the Netherlanders, it might have even been French heretics. There were rumours later it was Navarese men. Who had supported the heresy in their heart’s but feared the King and the Inquisition too much

They had ran, and ran, he had ended up hiding, in the inn. He had never been there before. His mother had always boxed his ears, when they walked passed there. Now he was upstairs, cowering in a small room An old man had passed him an even older musket, and sternly told him to point it outside a hole in the roof. he remembered the noise the shock of its report. The flash when he fired the musket, his aim wild and blind. He remembered the people praying. There were people running mad, and some struck dumb. They were throwing stones at the heretics, at the end. Then the storm passed by, the church candlesticks gone the chapel and barns burned, a virgin or two raped.

Juan had walked home, from the inn. The next day the priest came and read the funeral rites for his parents. Juan walked to join the port to join the army.

A change of the winds the heretics would have hit another village or town and he would have been a farmer like papa. Attending to vines and praying for sunshine and rain, rather than attending to muskets and intelligences

There was no fragrance. When he entered a chapel, which may just be the largest shack in a fishing village, or in the grandest of the churches of Buenos aires, the fragrance, of incense, and a feint residue of soap and perfume. It was not a modest building. The strawberry sellers were pleased to worship with good wax candles. There was a statue of St Anthony , carved in wood, shipped from the great forests to the North. Juan smiled. The Portugese had brought the wood, which the strawberry

Juan smiled, St Anthony was as strong as St Jorge, or the Columba, that the Don remembered every summer.

This may not have been the heart of the Buenos Aires, but a blow was stuck here, it could kill the man

Juan was uneasy. His sword was a comfort, but would he draw it in the house of God, would he act like a heretic? He had heard it said, even the Moors might respect a chapel.

``Sacred Mother, the star of the sea...

The tabernacle, had been broken into, the host, cast on the floor. Someone had scrawled on the altar

``Scriptura sola, La papa est Antichristo, Iesus sola est ri’’

It almost unmanned him, trying not to vomit

He remembered speaking with the Master, the master excused him from his duties. Several priests asked him, again and what happened. The Governor and the younger Don exchanged words, quietly and hushed like parents talking of illness in front of their children.

Garbiella asked after him, when he came home, he nodded, and went to his bed, and the next morning to confession

Chapter 11

2010-05-03T14:38:00.000+01:00

The sisters were proud of their library. As a mother would take pride in her children. They rejoiced in inviting visitors to inspect their collection. The sisters showed their books to everyone. They as close to shameless as nuns could be. There would be nothing lewd naturally. The sisters would die for their vows. A fate alas shared by too many of their cousins in Europe It was rather the brass neck of a wife who had married new money, and was trying to introduce her husband to society, did the wits of the town compare the sisters in their pride over their library

Like all good jokes. The target saw the truth in them. If the sisters had an excess of pride in their library they were humble in the eyes of their God. So they amused themselves with the thought that the armies of his most Catholic majesty did not dragoon with the skill of the Sisters, in bringing their collection to the attention of the learned and the good.

The Governor had pretended poorly to look interested at their priceless books He was but young in office and the last Mother superior had never forgiven him for such a slight. She was muttering afterwards. Of the more choice terms to fall from the Abbess lips were `` A mere clerk!’’. ``A sailors son!’’ ``Manners that would make even the Wilde Irish blush’’

The Order had begun the library, when they had expanded the convent a generation before. In those days the Irlandessa lived clustered in rough homes amongst their great house. As the first trickle of newcomers made it inland from the harbour. Their passage booked on the ships of the Portuguese who were but a few families who made their living from a few ships. There were the Indio’s, and the grasses. Yet before that, had the land changed since the flood? The strange Pagan chiefdoms of Mexica and Peru, were a long way away from Buenos Aires. Buenos Aires could have been part of Europe. Or perhaps a mirror to the colonies of the English further North. They were something of the Old world, in the New. Yet something New too

The Library had once been the main dormitory where the sisters would have slept. Now there was a score of shelves. Good strong southern pines. They were still women, and knew how to shame a merchant into the respectable price.

There was the old Bible from Seville. A legacy from a ship’s captain who had made a goodly profit selling cattle hides to Europe and then southern pines to the port. The man had spent his life following the North Star and compiling ledgers. Yet the devout Captain had not forgotten the prayers and works of the sisters. The sisters remembered his soul, on the anniversary of his passing

There were primers that had come from Nice. They had been worked on by men who had seen the dust of crusaders riding on their great steeds The Portuguesa had deposited with the sisters some works of Aristotle from Lisbon of great providence. The whispers were that it had been owned by a family of Jews, whom the inquisition had exposed and punished. The Portuguese had discovered that the Sisters loved books, as other women liked fine dresses. Like an adulterer learning a trick of womanly character, they had exploited it again and again

The Mother superior had been most attentive to their wives spiritual consolations afterward. The Sisters read to them lessons of Thomas A Kempis. ``The wisdom of Mother Julian of Norwich’’ a work from a land lost to the lord. In return Eloise had listened to the stories of little ones left to sleep in the earth forever. She had wept with their mothers she wept for their children, and tried to remember them always in her prayers

The Irlandessa, had returned the favour not to be undone, by their rivals. The Irish section of the library had been established. Works that St Patrick may have scribbled on his mountainside. Such tomes where now safe in the charge of the Sisters of Charity.

The lore and legends of a nation had been reduced to a few books. All which had been saved from the Regents armies. A copy of the Gospels which had once been the boast of a fine monastery, it had been hidden from the Vikings. The Normans had left it in peace. Though offered a stern correction to its scribes. Then the heretic’s had made it homeless. A brave soul had rescued it, and brought it aboard a leaky ship. From there it had been mouldering in the ports of Spain, it had been wrapped under a cloak, or stowed in a chest. It was a mercy it had not been sold for bread. Or not rather rudely tossed into a fire for warmth. The rats in several ports had been robbed of an easy meal. As had the fishes

After such trials and tribulations The manuscripts were now guarded by adobe wall and stout southern pines. Would they be safe here? Was she safe here? The war in the old world had finally come calling on Bunos Aires. They had have rumours of war, and now finally the horseman had crossed there threshold mercifully he had slipped away into the night

There were some secular works. The works of Caesar. Eloise smiled to herself when she saw those leather bound books. Not only did Caesar state that ancestors of the Irlandessa had been cannibals. There was an irony in that the heirs of long haired Gaul. Where now in the service of a Roman father. There was the Iliad of Homer. The tales of Charlesmage alas how Europe mourned him now. Where once a strong song of the Church had brought unity and fidelity there was now division.

There was a work on the recent wars in Europe. An account some hand had sketched of the battles and blood. The Irlandessa did serve in his most Catholic majesty’s armies across the sea.The Portugese had buried sons and lost fathers to pirates and the navies of the enemies of God and the Crown. Many of the new comers had been soldiers or were refugees. From this sieges, or that campaign

Even if the Pope and King should be victorious tomorrow It was the duty of the sisters to give instruction to sons, as well as daughters. The mind was as a garden to be cultivated and kept pure. A garden needed to be protected, against crows, and weeds. The harvest of heresy was war.

The tree that Luther had planted had brought the bitterest fruit.

The task in hand remained. The work she had wished to consult, was kept in the next set of shelves. It was a journal kept by a lady. She was the widow of one of the early governors of the town. She had acted as Grandmother or perhaps Durena in the towns girlhood

She was the midwife that had delivered the great marriage. Working quietly with the blessing of the Viceroy in Peru. His most Catholic majesty and even the holy father in Rome... The widow, as she had been known, had made a match. She had joined the hands of Karoline de Sousa, daughter of a merchant prince, and the son of the great O’Neill.

The union had been quietly happy. As had Buenos Aires. Trade bloomed and the streets were quieter. The contention between the two tribes healed. The Irlandessa flung themselves across the plains. The Portugese attention returned to the wares and ships. The Governor went to his bed, a contented man.

The union bore fruit. Marie the child of the two houses, the great hope of the south.

Who would never know her mother. One of the endless martyrs to the child bed.

Eloise now found herself in full remeberence of the funeral. Like a counting rhyme for children There was the big crowd of mourners a multitude the like of which the port only saw for a riot.

The chapel doors had been open, for the service to be head. An angel dancing on a pin, would have been told to hush, and had its heavenly ears boxed for making a show of himself such was the grief and silence over the city

The tall son of the O’Neill stood weeping at the grave. The day was perversely bright and favoured. Grief belonged with the winter. Some people fainted in the mourning clothes.

As Caesar and Pompey had never been reconciled again after the death of the woman that linked them so had the great houses of Buenos Aires been unreconciled. Mercifully Rome’s fate would not be shared. Fear checked even rumour

That Karoline, whose kinsfolk were born in Lisbon, had issue of the heiress of the O’Neill house indeed the honour of the best attended grave in the hundreds of miles was no comfort for the living.

The sisters had prayed for her, soul. They had prayed for peace. Then they had a pious smith cast a new bolt for their door. The storm passed. The younger O Neill drifted away from society. Preferring the hunt or his discreet mistresses Buenos Aires lapsed into faction.

Sister Eloise closed the book. Replaced it carefully, on its allotted shelf, and went off to pray

She opened the door, quietly. Good Mama was asleep. Indeed she was snoring. Indeed she just ..

Smiling to herself. She closed the door gently, and walked to her room. The rooms were quite pleasantly furnished. The house had been built by a prominent merchant whose love of cards had ruined him. The doors and walls were stout. It was close to the chapel. To one and all, it would quietly announce respectable.

She left her sleeping mother, and returned to her room. Taking her bible she sat down upon her chair. Her copy of the imitation of christ had been at her side, as she crossed the ocean. Along with Mama

She remembered very well the first time she had met both

For a moment she indulged herself. She had not done that since, oh since she was living in a town on that big river. Since what did the barbarians call it? Oh yes The Rhine. She remembered her house. It was always snowing there. Other people remembered their childhoods in summer. But she remembered hers in winter. The land laundered with snow and Papa riding on his big horse. It used to scare her. Oh and her naughty little kitten, Timosha! Her rogue Timosha! Whom would waste his days chasing the hens. Or if Timosha was feeling bolder he would stalk the sparrows. If Timosha had to hunt for his supper rather than wait, he would have been a beggar, a dead beggar

Mother used to scold her, about wasting scraps of herring on that silly kitten. She remembered mother now. Mother’s hair had been the colour of corn. Her skin, milk that still not spoiled, while the other matrons made good with cheese! In her mind’s eye across the ocean and rolling back the winters Her Mother working at her spindle again, Olya would hold the thread, and they would sing. Oh how she loved her sister voice. Olya. All the men, looked at Olya as she walked out of the chapel. Father always went with Olya to the well. For a moment her reverie slipped. Even at her mother’s knee she had learned a hard lesson. Olya was a prisoner of her beauty. The plainer girls could gossip by the well, or take a walk to see their neighbours, and kin. Olya was a like Helen. A quarrel that would one day spill blood.

Like a husband who slipped into the whorehouse, once or twice. Yet kept his virtue, and manhood in thrall for the rest of the year. She ended the indulgence. Her mind raced as her eyed began to survey the works of A kempis.

She had exposed herself, saving the Irlandessa Prince. That had been a necessary evil. The city would have been torn in two, such as it was. Her plans ruined. Scores dead, and thousands beggared. All so someone could claim their account on their vengeance

For a moment she cursed. If she was a man, her plans would have been accelerated and amplified by the act. Respectable ladies did not kill. They were supposed to retain the position of their sex, even in the face of assassins If they had been in a carriage, confronted by bandits

The aftermath of the fire would keep the mob occupied. Society would be attending to its civil a nd sacred duties. Though the horse had long since bolted, the Milita had mobilised. There would be calm throughout the Port The Idle hands were now patching shingles. The more foolish blackguards were swinging from the gallows. The Wives were consoling widows. There were funerals being arranged. Friends and Family were sheltering the homeless and the displaced.

Now was perhaps the time, for some piety and charity. ``Mama’’ would be pleased. There was a convent nearby. The sisters would be busy, but not too busy for the Gold and comfort of a Godly widow

Oh and they would need to buy wine. She would have to talk to one of the maids. The prices would be gorged after the fire. It was two mistakes she had made. She was getting old and careless.

Mama slept soundly if not quietly

Chapter 10

2010-01-25T23:09:00.001Z

She would have to mention it to her confessor. It was pride. Wicked pride

Pride the oldest sin. The first sin and the hardest penance Adam and Eve were driven out of Eden. Lucifer was cast from Heaven as punishment for his pride.

Would God forgive her, her vanity? Lucifer had been an Angel. Adam and Eve had been formed by the hand of God themselves. They had been subject to wrath

She was comparing herself to the Mother of God simply due to the species of her mount.

Her Mule was clearly more Donkey then horse. As her own form remembered her mother

It still was a mule. So the analogy was not even that accurate. The good Mule would have surely reared up and released itself of its burden. If it had the wit. If for a moment dumb beast had realised what sinner bestrode it.

If she had been born a man she could sit astride.....

Not Mary but Eve. Her pride would be her undoing. Eloise chastened herself. The shame was harder than a flagrante lash.

Was she ungrateful for the gift of life as a woman? Had not Elizabeth and Ann be content? Had not the women of Jerusalem been given the honour of wiping the blood from the head of Christ?

Unlike the Holy Mother or the common mother of all Mankind. She like her Mule would remain childless. They would not

Sister Eloise prayed inwardly for forgiveness, and strove to remember it to her confessor.

The sun was proud. It was not a day for dark thoughts. Her confessor would learn of her sins. He would prescribe her penance for her repentance. She would be forgiven

Her companion Sister Ines was refreshing her soul with the waters of the rosary. Eloise would have accompanied her sister. Her mind unquiet. She had been too long in the sun perhaps.

Two of the O’Neil’s tenants, rode just a little in front of them. A dark haired woman sharing her choice of mount (Eloise despite being able to recite Homer had forgotten her chaperones name.)She was a Vasco though. Like her Husband thus they were both fairer than the multitudes of the town. The Matron was approaching the autumn of her life yet she could look forward to a prosperous feast of the saints. The lady had married well her greying Husband had something of a pot belly. Though the lady’s taste was modest. It was clear she lacked nothing. Excepting conversation Antonio was a touch laconic. Though thoroughly respectable in manner, and breeding. The lady indeed refrained from the deplorable excess of vanity, unlike Eloise.

No, No it was, not the time for that. She would see her confessor in time The Pious Vasco lady was a blessing she should be thankful for. Her companionship had enabled Eloise and Ines to call upon their sisters. Offer there thanks, condolences and service

Thus the honour of the O’Neill and the dignity of the daughters of Christ stood fast

The brief spiritual crisis of its passenger aside, the Mule plodded onward. This traveller had the comfort of her cell to look forward to. There would be more of a welcome for her. Then the holy family had, in the seat of David the claims of the Irlandessa were grandiose yet despite their boasts the Irlandessa’s genealogy did not stretch that far back what they insisted on in their cups was myth and hearsay. Often pagan she suspected. Duels had been fought when such thoughts had been put into words

The caravan made its way to the town. Slowly and surely as the great river made its way to the sea. The herd of horses and their backstairs kin the mules were followed by a few carts, trundled on. Carts full of hides, wool and dried dung Mercifully Eloise was ahead of that cart, and well upwind too

The strong sunshine had one slight unfortunate side effect there. To the van of the travellers there were the carriages with whatever lumber could be found. That was worth more than her mistresses’ wedding ring at the moment. Behind her the drovers followed with a goodly amount of Cattle and sheep. The O’Neill’s tenants and sworn men riding guard kept beast and Indio’s at bay

She prayed for dry weather to last. The Lord had sent rain, to save the port of Buenos Aires. The downpour had smothered the flames of the heretic fireship. Was it one Fire ship or fireships?

In the plains rumours grew as high as corn. There were stories that the English had landed. That the churches were sacked by an invading army. That the Irlandessa and the Portuguese factions of Buenos Aires had fallen into stasis. There were even those who claimed it was the second coming. There had been some fretful hours. When smoke and rumour where the only reference to the events. Than the Vasco, and his old wife, had returned. They brought word from the O’Neill. The news of the terrible fire had lead the port and its people had been saved by the great saviour

Now his mercy would be shown in the broad sunshine. With the sun shining hands could carve and cut, in the open air. Under a generous sun men would be able to climb up onto roofs and thus the burned shingles and slates would be replaced. A dry night would preserve the health of those who slept under blankets of stars. The families sleeping on rushes had no door to protect them from flux and fever. Sunshine meant that the paths to bring cattle and sheep into the town would be dusty and firm, rather than a mire the labourer and craftsman would need meat.

The Irlandessa had opened their hand. Such generosity would be remembered by the King of Kings

Such generosity would be remembered by the poorest of the poor too.

The act was as politique as Constantine after the battle of the Bridge. It did not matter why the little children and peasants came to Mass. As long as they came they could be saved.

The axels groaned as the cartwheels span. The noise unfortunately resembled the sound of the bedchambers of a bride on her wedding night for the more demure ears of a bride of Christ. One of their escort took off his hood, and nodded to her. A pious man paying his respects to his sister in Christ The rider spurred his grey mare to the van of the procession. It was a relieving army in a sense, an army mobilised against want! A general who relived a city was remembered in schoolbooks, and statues

The ram would not strike the wall.

Rather they would feast on the fatted lamb

The drovers sang as they toiled. The song was based on a hymn. Their melody was simple, and the lyrics mercifully modest. The voices betrayed their origins, some were Irlandessa. The oldest and youngest voices, few Wilde Irish slipped into the town.

It was a point of pride for the old Irlandessa families. To have nursemaids who babbled in Erse. Some were the sons, or rather grandsons and great grandson’s of the first shiploads to land here. There lonely cottages and scattered farmsteads being little islands of Irish in the great sea of Spanish.

It was a form of Spanish. Eloise found herself, having to concentrate when she heard the young and common folk of the port speaking. They were as ignorant of grammar, as the millions of Cathay were of Jesus. The shouting and cat calling from behind the convent walls betrayed a great ignorance. The differences between Masculine and feminine speech never having been mastered, were discounted

The chorus revealed Galician and Navarese accents. There was one of two voices she could not place. The blond man, with the snub nose could be heard over the melody. His vowels where sheared when the others singers let theirs grow long

An odd Indio baritone could be heard in the chorus. The man driving the sheep before her was of mixed breed. There cattle would have made Papa sigh the calves were plump and healthy. If they had been women, they would have been goddesses or nymphs. A fitting subject for art

The song of the men Godly and humble inspired Eloise. She offered thanks to her Master in heaven

If nothing else, the cartwheels and cows, was muted. The Sun stood proud in the sky.

They could see the smoke from the town on the horizon. The chimneys smoked the bonfires blazed. The tanneries and bakeries Mankind had not forgotten the gift of Prometheus. The smoke spoke of blacksmiths and coppersmiths sweating and cursing until they could take their lunch. Soon the smell would be overpowering. The dung that witnessed the hundreds of thousands of head of livestock that ended their days at the butchers, and tanneries the stench of rotting fish. The privies, chamber pots’s and piss of a busy port. Industry and squalor were bedfellows.

Alas there was no Hercules to cleanse these stables

The House of the sisters of Christ was towards the outskirts of town. Away from the temptation and troubles of a port. Yet close enough for the duties of charity. It was also under the eyes of the honest men of the militia. In case any Indio’s or the mob, should try to impose themselves on the sisters the house of women that had fallen to the lust of the heretics came to mind. The vengeance of the Lord was doubted by the proud and the Godless.

It would be good, to see her companions in Christ again. Her duties with the O Neill's had not been onerous. Indeed her charge had been blessed with some wit. The rod and a few raised eyebrows dealt with her childish excesses. The Mistress of the house had joined her and Sister Ines in their prayers. She had endeavoured to keep the conversation at dinner from digressing to the horses. The prospects for the corn harvest. The Don Neill’s house was full of music. Before the Nuns retired of evening, their hosts made an effort to keep their choices of song, if not Pious then polite

Her home was among her sisters. She had entered the order, as a novice not long after she had arrived in the port. The long journey had been difficult. Papa had been fearful for her virtue and never let wander too far. The ship was a Babel the seas were rough and the rations worse. She had been but an animated skeleton when they reached the port of Buenos Aires. She smiled remembering her determination to join the sisters. Father had wanted her to sell fish, or become a laundress in the service of some house. For a moment she considered her life. As a path which reached a fork. She had taken one path, the path of modesty of charity and of service. Suppose she had not listened to the voice inside her. Did not Samuel ignore the voice of God, for a few moments repose? What had she been but a mere girl? Suppose she had become a washerwoman for the O’Neill’s. The path of her life would have reached almost the same place. Like a river determined to reach the sea. She would have been here, in Buenos Aires, at the service and in the train of the Irlandessa

The sun shone brightly the song of the drovers began to ebb. They were close to the outskirts of the town. The steeples of the churches could be made out. As could the masts of the ships in the harbour be seen too. The O’Neill’s family seat was close by. It was bare rugged building a block of Atlantic stone defiant against the plains. The Convent where she resided was all the more elegant. She had heard that the O’Neill’s now had a town house. Where the son of the great house received polite society

She remembered he had a daughter... The young prince had mentioned it

Then she remembered

The girl’s s Mother had been Portuguese.

Chapter 9

2009-12-05T23:31:00.001Z

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

2009-10-29T23:40:00.001Z

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

2009-10-01T23:34:00.000+01:00

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

2009-08-10T22:33:00.001+01:00

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

2009-08-09T13:20:00.000+01:00

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

2009-08-09T13:14:00.001+01:00

The Sun, and the Moon began to go their separate ways. Some of the maid’s 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

Riders mounted their horses. Muskets and pikes were slung over shoulders. Riders put on their hats. The smell of tobacco clung in the air. A husband and 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’Neil 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.

Her 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 was of age, she 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 home was burning. The church was burning. Her neighbour’s houses, 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 could 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

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 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 Hugn

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.

He scowled, he was annoyed now

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. A Well Sun scorched bricks. It was stood under the gaze, of our Lady. A painting of the Virgin had been placed on a little grove. The pious had brought flowers, to adorn the Queen of the May.

Man and beast, came to rest. Some took water others passed it. Knapsacks were opened, and 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. The might have remembered the flood. His hair was white and wild, like a patriarch.

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.

Sleeping under the Cross Chapter Three

2009-07-16T00:17:00.000+01:00

``Sleeping under the cross’’

Oh Oh , he needed to piss.

A pair of eyes staggered open. Licking his lips as he grew accustomed to the light. It was early morning. Where was he? He was thirsty.! A dry throat and a full bladder! Tormented by Scylla and Cararibdi . Grasping the blanket he endeavoured to rise.

The sudden pain, from his thigh won the argument for staying still. As the pain subsided . Hugh scouted his surroundings

There was no stink It was a goodly house. A fine bed had been provided for his sickness and slumber. The sheets were good white linen. Where his bed a woman, she have had suitors from three parishes away.

Another day, It would have been a fine place to wake up. Why could it have not just been a hangover? Or a stout kick, between the legs. Spilling boiling water on himself would be more desirable. Or perhaps, he could have the pain, but keep the room, a fine place for the wedding night after eloping with a pretty milkmaid.

The pain, would not accept a trade. ..

Outside someone was smoking. The rest of creation gently reminded himself of itself in the scent of,the tobacco . While his microc

osm shouted in pain He didn’t know where he was, and he could barely stand Yet he could still shout.

``Juan! Juan!’’

Or rather summon, or call. His tutor cane had left some of the most strong memories.

The door was opened

, Juan entered, and bowed slightly. They were in good company then. Despite the rare politeness It was the same man, who he had ridden, to the hunt with him. Juan was wearing his cloak and his simple hunting boot’s ,buckskin breeches. This clad a man, of about six feet. He was wide across the shoulders too. His skin, was brushed with the varnish of the summer. He had the frame and form of a blacksmith. Not just in body, his hair was a forge full of charcoal and ash. Older than his Chief by ten years. Or Winters as Juan would have it.

``Juan I need to piss, help me get up and get the chamberpot’’

After much cursing. As well as not a little blasphemy, and a few threats. Juan relented, and assisted

With an empty bladder, and the pain from his leg ebbing. It was time to start the interrogation

``Where are we?’’

``We are at the House of Don Neil. You will have to apologise for your blasapemies. To him, as well as to me, and the almighty We brought you here, after your wound turned bad. Your wits have been muddled for two days nearly.’’

``You remember the fight with the sailors?’’

``I do’’

``We are not sure, where there ship was. Your cousin, the Don is at arms, waiting and watching for them. Maybe the wolf will return maybe it won’t. It will not raid our flock’’

``We will eat little dinner . I will inform our host. You have recovered your strength, if not your wits or manners. There will be much talk’’

Juan, closed the door. Noisly enough to annoy his convalescent comrade .Leaving only a smell of tobacco and a memorable curse, to announce his departure

After Juan exit A polite knock broke the silence A Manservant begged leave to enter Carrying under his arm a pair of breeches. His own had died on the operating table. He had also brought a stout walking stick. He excused himself again, and returned with a jug and bowl of warm water. Hugh washed his face. The servant helped dress.

He hoped the High King of Heaven will forgive his silent curses, as he struggled with the breeches.

With his toilet completed. His boots polished, and his sword sheathed. His hair combed, and his face washed The manservant begged his leave returning a moment later, to tell him his host was to call on him

A tall man, entered the room. A man he known since childhood. He has ridden to the hunt, with him. He sat on his knee. He has eaten his bread.

The Servant named him. ettiquete never slept. They were not the beasts of the plains. Nor the Indios. Wounded, with dull wits he may have been. Yet

May I present, and name. Don Neil, O Neill of Clandeboy. Marquess of San Anono

``Don Neil’’, the young man made a gallant effort to bow. Gritting his teeth, as his wound protested

``Don Hugh’’ his host returned the compliment.

``You honour me, and my home. My bread is your bread. My fire is your fire.’’

``You have exceeded, yourself again. I owe my life, and strength to you. Your kindess exceeds Finn Macool, who gave away gold, as if it was the leaves of fall. A

I was glad to help answered the Don. Your health was in the hands of one of the Sisters of Christ. My brother has exceeded himself. I must write to him, and thank him for his choice. Truly our lord guided his heart

How is your brother inquired Hugh. I have not seen his Grace for so long I am keen to make my thanks to the Great God, for my recovery

My brother has been in St Marys. He and his brother Bishops are attending to a letter from the Holy Father himself.

What an honour. I must mention to my confessor The sin of envy

Indeed, but even whilst dealing with such weighty matters he has not forgotten us, and we owe your health to his nomination

``I shall introduce her after you have little dinner. Come with me. My table awaits’’

Don Neil took his arm, his leg was still weak. It hurt as he hobbled across the courtyard.

There were tables set up for them. Benches had been set and good Chairs brought in, for those who deserved them. Bread ,pastries, and broth. Yet Man does not live on bread alone. There was meat, Plains hare, chickens and partridges. He took his fill. He was so hungry. It felt like he not eaten since the flood. He washed it down with small beer.

The Ship?

Don Neil sipping wine, looked up from his cup. He bit his lip, and began to speak

``We have heard and seen, nothing of them. I sent word to the Viceroy, I have had good men, watching the coast. I have spared neither bread, not shot nor horse. We are ready for them.

The fire is roaring, and we are in our best clothes. Yet they will not come to dinner. A pity, I would so like to meet them’’

``I might say I have a hunger for them’’

The morning was warm, but there was winter in his host’s eyes.

``I have sent word to your father, or course. Your little misadventure, may stir something other than stern proclamations, and the wringing of hands from the South. ‘’

``My father is not the Viceroy’’

``No, and he is not a beggar either. Do not be niave Hugh. The Viceroy can dismiss reports. The Viceroy can ignore messengers. The Viceroy can plead illness or Now he must act. He knows The Great O Neil’s son, has been wounded. You might have died. It will be spoken of on leather couches, and wooden benches. In the finest drawing rooms, and in barns

``They may even mention it in the El Escorial’’

``The King? ‘’

``We do pay taxes. We furnish him with bread and beef, Even Silver. We are men of skill and reason. ``We are the finest land in the Empire.Men cross the ocean to join us, from all Spain even from Italy and France. We are a realm, in the eyes of God. ‘’

His friend and kinsman words, were greeted with a cough. Not, as sign of displeasure. Rather the fever had not been vanquished. Like the Indios it had been scattered yet it still had the strength to burn his crops and steal his cattle

Don Hugh summoned, a servant with a nod. The man was swift and brought a cup of cool water.

We can at least speak. Let no one from here to Rome said, we stood by and said nothing.

We will do what we can here. we will speak loudly in the town.

Can you stand?

``Yes, but even if I could not stand. I could still ride, like your ancestor of old. Like the Cid, Juan tells the men of over campfires. Even with fever, and flux. I still have my duty. To you. To our people, to our Name, and to God’’

``We shall fetch our horses We shall make a patrol of the coast. The people will know that they are not alone. That we stand between them and grief. Maybe our new friends will join us. If they do, we shall give them the gifts we have prepared for them. ‘’

``Let us leave the talk of men, and indeed Gentlemen for a moment. I must introduce you, to the person, who healed you Don Hugh. The good Sister in Christ. Who eats with my wife. We shall join them.

The two walked across the courtyard. There was a line visible in the eyes of God, and hearts of man, that separated the diners, by sex.

`` Don Hugh, I know you have been eager to meet my wife. ‘’

Don Hugh bowed. Gladder to bear the pain now. It was a more pleasant duty

`It is like the warmest days of summer, to be in your house again. I thank you for the feast my men and I have enjoyed. I thank you for the wonderful lodgings. It has been a small glimpse of heaven on earth. Now how is your Mother?’’

The hostess smiled. Flashing good strong teeth. She was With skin was smooth and healthy , her eyes blue like the skies of the plains. Nut coloured hair still strong with colour lined the edges, of Cotton cap. Her dress was fine brown linen. Along with the scent of rosewater she was accompanied by her oldest daughter, 10 years. (He would only be struck once)

The daughter was her mother in Microcosm, excepting some of her father darker colouring and height. Hugh smiled at her, and greeted her politely. The youngster gave a fine curtsey. The mother squeezing the hand of her

The hostess spoke. A voice which was as smooth as fine cream

`` Don Hugh, let me name, and introduce you, to Sister Ines. When you were wounded, she brought to our home a mastery of the healing arts, to our side. She has graced our home, with her piety and service, to the high king of heaven. I look forward to my daughter learning from her example

``Sister Ines, I am your servant.’’ The wound had been spared from Hell. Yet would spend some time in purgatory

The Nun was a tiny woman. Hugh stood a good French foot taller than her. The Bride of Christ’s shape was well concealed by her habit. A simple cross, she wore. Her eyes were dark and intelligent

``Donna O Neill, Don Hugh, Don Neil. I thank you for your kind words. Don Hugh, I am a humble servant of Jesus Christ. I am subject to his commands. I must heal the sick, and feed the hungry

``Well, Sister Ines. I thank you and your master. I will remember your order, in my prayers. Indeed to my father. You are here as a tutor?’’

``Yes, for our hosts daughter’’

``I have a daughter too’’ `She is younger much younger’’

There was sadness in his voice.

The men folk made polite conversation for a while The Hostess inquired after Hugh’s daughter. She was three years old. The mother had died of fever. It had been as Pallas and Helen. With the heroine carried off by malady rather than Menelaus. The wound in Hugh heart left a deeper scar his leg

Chapter Two

2009-07-08T18:13:00.000+01:00

`` Sleeping under the Cross’’

``I Missed the Villian! Damn them, Damn them all!''

Hugh O Neill Mor spurred his horse, ``Come on lad! Harder Rosc!’’ his saber flashing, as his mount splashed across the brook.

How many where there? 7 or 8?

Hugh heard another shot. No time, to use his pistol again.

Now! The rider watched as his sword struck true.

It caught the Blackguard's shoulder Hugh smashed the pommel back down, on the Man below him.

Did the swine fall? No time! Hugh drove against another one of the banditos lashing out with his sword. This one was luckier, and caught him with his blade. Catching him at his thigh.

Oh Holy Mary it hurt. The horseman lashed out at his foe. Only to be met with strong parry. It would not be so easy now. stuck his spurs, with his good leg. His horse would have to be his weapon now

Rosc flung forward, almost throwing his rider. Yet what would come close to demounting Hugh would knock his foe clean over.

Near half a ton of horseflesh came down, on the sailor

Another of the blackguards beaten!!! Hurrooo!!!!

How many of the rogues were there? Curse the smoke!

Hugh realised had ridden further, and faster then the rest of his band. The price of a fine horse Curosity won hom over for a moment. Hugh looked at his leg. It was bad! The rider gritted his teeth. Was their time to load a pistol? No. Yet he had however got behind, the villains.

The Young Prince tightened his grip on the reins.

``Come on Rosc.''

`` An Lámh Dhearg Abú!’ was screamed afore Hugh the chant went up!

`` The red hand, Victory ‘’

The riders sword was a man, walking in the surf, but splashing blood rather then brine. Hugh caught another one of the brigands. His blade the winner again Now he could see his men, Earning their keep! Pistol shot, hit some ones horse, there was a yelp. It would be over soon. A horse was no victory,

``NO, mercy no, no parole Sir. Gawd sir, Mercy sir save us, sir Mercy’’

There were 4 now. It would be a slaughter.

His men, looked at him, with sword and pistol they

``No! No! Mercy Please Sir, have mercy! For the love of Gawd Sir! Please the Love of God begging you Sir?’’

The locals are here. They were alerted by the smoke. They took their blessed time

``Enough!’’ It was finished.

The Sailors knew it was over. They might chance their arms against the locals. Against him and his men It was another tale.

The scion of high Kings looked about the place. A wee fishing village. They had planned to to stop there, for something to eat, water the horses, and rest. A small Chapel whitewashed, and swept.

The Chapel was circled by little houses, Sun dried brick and the thatch. Dung heaps and fish drying on racks. Honest folk, humble and God fearing.

Now the best thing that could be said was, at least the smoke covered the stench.

The Brigands wanted what here? Beef, and the chapel candlesticks, and any poor virgins, they could get their hands on? Had they even made a plan? Not that many of them? Where were the fishermen? Their wives and children were dead or bleeding. Why did they not see the smoke?

Hmm

He looked over his prisoners. Sailors. Heretics. Dutchmen or Saxons.

They had probably slipped in during the night. Then the Sailors waited until the menfolk went to sea. had struck. A village full of Women and Children. Perhaps the odd Priest, and an Auld man.

A slaughter

Hugh surveyed the Sailors again

Would their comrades avenge them? Where they deserters? Pirates?

``Where is your ship? How many of you?’’ Demanded the man, with the guns

A man on horseback, approached, them. One of the locals Probably from the next village over. They would have seen the smoke. They gathered up there pikes, and whatever guns they had.

Let our friend see, you, all of you

Following his lead, his men, tugged off their hoods. They did not sheath their swords, yet.

``Who are you?’’ Demanded the rider `` what are you doing here?’’ His sword drawn , and his eyes a barrage behind the rider were a score of men, with Pikes, and a few flintlocks. Fishermen, cousins, and communicants.

The reply would have to come, from Juan. The O’ Neill did not answer to demands. the wound on his thigh, was starting to spike

This is Don Hugh Mor, son of Brien Mor. I am Juan rial, his sworn man . We are his men. We caught these men whilst they murdered, raped and stole.

You are?

The newcomer took off his hat.

`` I am your servant Sir. I am Patrice De Vega’’ Dipping slightly

Oh God! The pain, it had wandered away, and now had returned. Like the prodigal son he would almost be rather eating swill.

DeVega, trotted round them. When De Vega saw the Church, started shouting.

Oh it hurt! Hugh watched as Juan dismounted and walked toward De Vega. Devega was roaring, screaming. Now he was spitting at the prisoners.

Juan was trying to get him to calm down. Juan was slipping into his native dialect The rest of the locals had arrived. Oh it hurt so much

Hugh leaned over, his horse. he had to vomit De Vega, was shouting to his men. Juan was trying to restrain him. Juan and Devega were shouting about the prisoners Who were whimpering and mewling. One of De Vega’s men, had walked up to the prisoners, and was shouting another followed. The prisoners started shouting now. Pleading and calling.

It hurt, his leg hurt so much

``Enough!’’

Hugh fired his pistol.

He didn’t even have to aim. The sailor caught his eye, for a second.

He would never see anything again

Juan told his men, to stand aside. The locals, had there fill. The screaming stopped after a while. The locals, revenge, lasted a bit longer.

The O’Neill got off his horse, and he lay down, the grass was wet, his eyes were so heavy

The Don, was stirring. He was shaking himself out of his fever

Hugh had been sleeping now for a few hours. It had gotten dark. It was not a good sign.

It foretold sickness. ``Don, Hugh, Hugh,’’ he asked, and squeezed his hand. ``Hugh.

They had not been able to wake him. His men had moved their chief onto a blanket, and lit a fire. They kept watch on him,

They had grim work to do. The dead had to be buried. They were Christian. They buried the dead. Old women and their grandchildren. Mothers and one very pretty maid, who had been defiled. The chapel she been baptized in had suffered the same. They were in the hands of the savior now.

Was Hugh ?

Their earthly master’s eyes opened and he murmured something,`` I am tired. Juan. I am tired and weary leave me be’’

Don, he said rasping. He squeezed the hand hard. We are going to move you. ``You are not well. We will leave this place, and seek refuge at your Cousin, the Don Neil of ‘’

…….

We have prepared a horse, for you.

``Come lift him.’’ Juan,now bore his masters burdern and his men, picked up Hugh lifting him onto a stretcher. The men had liberated the cleanest woolens from the village.

The locals took off their hats, and DeVega bowed slightly.

``We will remember him of course in our prayers and in the holy sacrifice of the mass’’

Thank you, Juan bowed back. ``We were glad to help. We are returning to our Kinsman. We travel overnight; we can get there by morning. Don Neil of …. Will want to know what happened here. You have done yourself credit sir.

You know this is not over. The men, who did this deed may be back. Send your women and children inland. We will be back, with more men. If they come back, we will be ready for them

Remember it was Hugh O ‘Neill who avenged your kinsmen and countrymen’’

``God save you, God save you all. There was no more to be said. Juan slung his foot into the stirrup and clambered onto his horse.

It should not have been like this. A few days of good They had caught deer, and Big eared Hare. They should be merry and sunburnt. He should have been winking at Maidens in the village. Not praying for their souls.

The sailors had got what they deserved. Yet Hugh should not have broken his word like that. Even, if they were just heretics and rapists. When Hugh is better, he should say something.

A man’s word means something. Hugh’s should dam well mean something more.

He looked back at Hugh. He had a deathly pallor. He was shivering. It did not bode well.

Sitting in his saddle, Juan Rial. began a quiet prayer looking up at the great cross, of the sky.

Eloise Hermet sister of Christ had always loved the smell of Tobacco. It was perhaps a failing. She would have to remember it to her confessor. Yet for the moment, she breathed in deeply.

Outside someone was smoking. It was a finely cured blend.

A few paces away, her companion Sister Innes silently recited the rosary.

The Don O Neill and his handsome wife , and her Spinster aunt sat afore her. The Aunt whispered something to her niece.

Eloise allowed herself a smile at the absurdity of it.

Innes is enough to protect my reputation. It takes two women to protect my benefactor from me.

It was a strange mix. Wild Irish mores, refined with Spanish manners.

Eloise’s host spoke. ``Sister H'elois, he began, offering her the constanant, for the vowel, he had lost. It is agreed, then, you will tutor my daughter?’’

``Yes Sir’’

Eloise was glad to be obedient

`` Good, I will pay well. You and the Order. Your sisters will prosper from our association. I am pleased my Brother was able to recommend you. The Sisters can be proud of their work. They have schooled the flower of Catholic maidenhood across the world. The Ban Donneill will find quarters here. For you, Oh and I will see you are fed, and clothed, as befits my Christian duty, and oh you'll need Capal''

Now it was Eloise turn to test her mettle. Capal? Ah Oui cheval! A horse. Eloise

Her host smiled at her returning the compliment. They were not so Spanish in their manners then.

``It is done then.’’ Concluded the Don. ``I insist you accept the courtesy of a nights lodging at My home. You and your Sister. Sister Eloise can return to the convent on the morrow, with my wife's Aunt. She wishes spend some time among the Sisters. ‘’

Of course, you will join us, at my table tonight. You shall not want for Bread, or Meat.

Modestly. Eloise nodded.

``If you will allow me, to retire now?’’

``Of course’’

Eloise looked over her new master again. A slave to manners her host rose, to let her depart. The Don’s skin was sunwashed. The consequence of a lifetime riding to the hunt.Looking over the foremens shoulders. This was not a perfumed courtier Topped with dark hair that was common as the lapin had been on her father’s little farm. The Don was tall though, as befit a gentleman a head taller then the Gascons . Eloise had played with as a lass

# Loitering in her hostss eyes there was a weariness. It was why one can see weeds of grey sprouting in his hair. Eloise hair would remain to the world as the Trinity was a mstery.

The door was opened. Eloise watched the large man, who attended the door, step backwards and bow. His high boots, would not have been faulted in Versailles. Ash wool breeches, a stout leather belt supported a unflinching rapier. Then the leather cloak. The simple leather cloak and hood, that Patricos, must be born with.

A maid, curtseyed, and asked Eloise and Ines to follow her. They trio made their way down the staircase, and into a courtyard. The day was going to be warm. There guest quarters, were, well better then she had expected. Since the....No she would not think of that.

The bed was a board of ash on brown bricks. A woolen rug decorated the floor and more woolen blankets furnished the bed. There was a Yankee stove in one corner of the room. A chest, from the south. Wood shipped up and dragged across the plains. Indeed as the Sisters of charity had been.

A crucifix, reminded one and all that this house was under the eyes of Almighty God.

The maid gave another curtsey and left. Eloise joined her sister, in the Rosary.

The smells of cooking, added to the many distractions of the world. As the day grew weak

The maid returned. The meal was ready. They were lead to the court yard. Their places, were by the hostess. Quite respectable. Joining the table of their hosts, would be the elder daughter There would be some tenants. A few kinsmen, and the senior men of the estate. The Stable master . The Huntsmaster. As well as one or two neighbours and their wives.

They had killed the fattened calf.

Eloise shared in the thanks, for their meal. Giving her praises to Him gladly. The torches were lit. There was wine, but her hosts drank some kind of beer. The bread was soft, and rich. The beef was even better. There was game too. Lapin? no hare? Tasted slighty different, a sauce? Oh and geese.

Her host, smiled, and nodded at her. Oh they ate well. Simply perhaps none of the good sauces of her far of …. Yet still they dined well. Linen, covered the tables. Torches lit the diners, and servants busied themselves. They drank from good pewter, and earthware jugs.

Eloise was content.

The piper took his place by the fire prepared his instrument. A musicians skilled fingers, gliding along the pipe, a thoughtful ear, studied the noise. The piper started to earn his pay playing a sad song. It was a little jarring, observed the Nun. The day had been a fair one. The sun bright but modest. The Don’s business with her had been concluded well. There was neither stormcloud or smoke scarring the sky

On the other hand, better to start the evening sad, then finish it that way. Bitter beer before the sweet wines

A young lad one of the tenant’s Son joined the piper and he began to sing...

It was a sad song. A song of loss. A song of dashed hopes and scattered armies.

A song of smashed thrones Choruses of Widows and verses of burning homes. Lines about famine, and orphans. Added to a chorus of exile and despair

Yet the melody changed. The bare earth sprouted anew. It was a different crop then the one sewn

It song of birth A painful birth but the child, grew strong Sweeping the Indios aside.

The Strong son had flourished. Like the cattle, the sea of cattle which which made the land

The piper, then struck up another tune. Eloise rose from the table, In her heart called upon the grace of the Virgin.....

Eloise prayers were quieter with then the rooster. The maid, came, to empty her pot. Then she returned with a jug of warm water. To break the fast of night, she was furnished with bread and wine. Her solitary sleep her hosts, waiting in the courtyard.

The Sun, was young, and innocent. In the distance there was the dust of Horses. Spurred to the gallop by determined men. The hooves rumbled like thunder. Alas the rain, would not be

``Don Neil, Don Neil!’’The shouts came.

Eloise, kissed her cross. Dust and shouting where the herald of disaster, as sure as the north wind brought the winter snows. The rider, was recognised and bade enter

Her Host, had not been idle. He was rushing to the door, clutching his saber. Demanding action and Arms, from his men

The rider bowed. Don Neil, Don Neill. ``We were hunting; we came across some sailors plundering the fishing village, a day’s ride away. With the locals we drove them off. However we fear there ship lurks among us like a serpent in the cornfield. Your Cousin, Hugh Mor is ill with fever.’’

Eloise prayed that her host would be forgiven for his momentary lapse.

The Don’s self indulgence was only momentary. Alerted he shouted, to his servants.

Arms were gathered, sentries posted. Steel from pike and sabre tip flashed in the sunshine, like the smiles of maidens. It drew the eye.

The rest of the party arrived at the house. There were perhaps half a score of them.

On horseback. Young men. The followers of a Gentleman. The Myrmidons to an Achilles

One horse, had been burdened with the body of Hugh, Mor. Eloise watched as the men, lifted their wounded leader gently off his mount. Hugh’s chest rose and fell. That was a good sign. The paleness troubled Eloise.

The Allmighty and all seeing received a silent prayer from his humblest servant. The daughter of Christ knew a great task, awaited her. The young man’s body was in mortal danger. A priest would attend to his soul. The earthly matter was hers.

The Mistress of the House, did not neglect her duties either. She had hurried to Eloise side

``Sister our nephew is sick. We have sent for a priest. Your prayers and assistance, we beg you. Your order is known for its craft with the sick’’

My most pressing duty, and my great pleasure Eloise assured her host, and master

They had taken the young man, out of the He had been brought to a good room. Full of air and swept. A fire had been lit. Good

Eloise observed her charge, Hugh

He was handsome. He was quite handsome. She found her eyes wandering away, looking at his chest. She remembered her duties and vows. That would be the last lapse.

The Women of the Household, had removed his breaches. They had covered his manhood, with cloth. Eloise looked at the wound. It was beginning to turn foul.

She remembered the teachings her sisters had impressed on her. The wound was to be cleaned. She called for water. Quickly Water any water. The maid brought her some water that was being boiled for cooking.

It would do. Dousing the cloth in water, she began to clean. Hugh stirred as the heat pressed against in thigh. Eloise took her time. She was washed the wound. She called for Wine. One of the most pious and wisest sister she knew insisted on the washing of wounds with wine. Like the Wedding feast at Canan. Water and Wine, and prayers, and the savior would do his work

The Maid like Eloise did not shrink from her duty.

Eloise began to stitch the wound. The matter was out of her hands now.

She looked at her patients head. He was so handsome. His eyes remained concealed A few days growth of beard covered a strong jaw. His ragged beard almost covered a slight scar on his cheek. His hair reached for his shoulders.

She could smell Tobacco

`` Tell me again, what happened?’’

``We were riding after deer. It must have been the third or fourth hour, after the noon. We thought we would stop at this wee fishing village. As we ride up, we see smoke, its quiet. Too quiet, where are the women? Where are the animals? It was as quiet and still as stone

Hugh saw it and he knew something was wrong. He rode in, drew his sabre and we followed. There were these sailors there. Raping and burning. I guess they wanted the church silver. Hugh thought them. Killed a few. We beat them , but Hugh got hurt. ‘’

Juan, blew smoke… Eloise asked for forbearance, and forgiveness

``There is a ship offshore somewhere. Lurking like a wolf. Perhaps he has run into the forest

He has feasted on our lambs’’

Sleeping under the Cross

2009-06-19T23:19:00.000+01:00

This is a story of a world that never was....

I am going to ask a lot from you when read this. I am asking you to take your disbelief, and not just suspend it but freeze it in carobnite and present it to Jabba the hut.

The premise of this story is simple. ``What if?''

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alternate_history

Most of What if stories take very simple premises. What if Hitler had won the war? What if the South had triumphed in the American Civil War.

My story is a little more complicated.

I studied Herodotus at high school. There is a discussion between two Persians. I believe it was Mardonius and King Darius. Mardonius asked why the Persians masters of the world. Still lived in there small rough land. Why did they not move somewhere, where the ``living was easy''

I was always interested by the thought.

So the Premise of this story is simple.

The Spanish intervene successfully, in the nine years war. The O Neill, and the O Donnell, backed by Spanish guns and gold. Sweep across Ireland. The excitement in the Highlands leads to a great host against King James. The Irish-Spanish-Highland Army.Known now as the Army of Ireland Kill King James in Battle. There high tide.

With the line of succession broken. Ireland under Spanish protection and the Highlands afire. Elizabeth, takes the crown of the Spanish netherlands on her death bed. Passing it to a Regent.

Under the Regent Anglo Dutch Kingdom, goes on the offensive. Driving across the Highlands, and Ireland. The Irish are evacuated to Spain. Think the Flight of the Earls, and the Wild Geese.

After some more years of fighting. The Haspburgs and the Regent sign a truce. One clause of the treaty states the Army of Ireland cannot be settled in Europe. They are to go and stay gone

So the Army of Ireland ragtag and hungry accompany the expedition to the great river, below the tropic of Capricorn. A place we would call Buenos Aires..

Far away, from Europe, Far away, they sweep the indios afore them....