Kings of the Boyne (5 page)

Cait collected saints like Gerald used to collect rocks. Father Nicholas usually helped with this, returning from his trips abroad with pamphlets and books that he thought she might appreciate. She once said that Saint Teresa was an inspiration to women everywhere because she wrote several important books and helped to found convents all over
Spain. Cait also admired her because: ‘She did not allow herself to be pushed into marriage, preferring to keep herself free to pursue her own work.’

Gerald could not imagine either of his parents attempting to push their daughter into doing anything she didn’t want to.

The Spanish saint was a mystic and was jeered for her visions of Mary and Jesus. Cait was not blind to the looks that some of the locals gave her while she claimed strange occurrences for herself. Hadn’t she heard the banshee wail her terrifying lament not three days before their grandfather died? Afterwards, man to man, Gerald’s father had wondered to Gerald if she had not just heard the screeching of an owl.

Cait spent her days looking after the sick and the poor. Nobody had asked her to do this; it just sort of happened, as Gerald remembered it. Naturally her favourite saint was also a healer, bringing a child, her nephew, back from the brink of death just by laying her hands upon him. In truth, Gerald found himself more interested than he expected, and he was definitely impressed by the coincidence of finding one of her books here in Drogheda.

The pages were edged in more gold, and, with an obstinate puff, the book fell open on a page where Gerald felt obliged to read the following:

It was as if he could hear the saint herself, her breath cool against his ear, the slightest hint of blossoms in the air, the gold colouring suddenly suggesting the gold of evening sunlight as it stretches across the fields in front of his home.

Completely absorbed in his thoughts, Gerald almost screamed when Jacques crept up behind and tapped him on the shoulder, asking, ‘Did you not hear me calling you?’

Ignoring his friend, Gerald called over to Mr Mahon, his timidity gone, ‘May I ask the price of this book?’

Of course it cost more than he had in his pocket. In fact, it cost more than he had ever had in his pocket. Well, it was beautiful, it would be an insult to attach a mean price to it. Yet, Gerald lingered, turning the book this way and that, wondering what he could do.

However, Patrick Mahon was not a bookseller for nothing. He recognised and appreciated when a customer had fallen in love. And this young soldier looked truly smitten.

‘If you like, I can hold it here for you. Just pay me a deposit and the rest as you go. I promise that no one else shall get their hands on it.’

Gerald hesitated. As of yet, there was no firm information available regarding the payment of wages for the Jacobite army. The deposit was the easy part; simply hand over the contents of his pockets and hope for the best. He looked down at the book again as if waiting for guidance. It was the perfect gift for Cait and, yes, for him too. How odd it was, that those few words moved him to remember that he was never truly alone but also served to remind him that he was about to take part in what promised to be a momentous, not to mention dangerous battle. After all these months, it was easy to forget why he was wearing this uniform and what all these days were tumbling him towards. How small he suddenly felt. No, he
needed
to have this book because he needed to believe that he would survive what was coming if only to press this precious book into his sister’s hands.

He nodded to himself, thinking,
If worst comes to worst and I can’t pay for it, I’ll just tell him to put it back on the shelf, but he can keep my deposit.

Still, he heard the tremor in his voice as he told Mr Mahon, ‘Thank you. I would be most grateful if you held it for me, although I am not exactly sure when you will see me again. I mean if … or …’

The bookseller hushed him. ‘Do not trouble yourself, lad. See, I will keep it right here with your name on it. Just give me half of those coins in your hand. There’s no need to clear yourself out completely. A man should always have a bit of money in his pocket, just in case.’

Stuck for words at Mr Mahon’s kindness, Gerald could only obey him, dutifully counting out the larger coins into his hand before mumbling his thanks.

He turned and walked out the door, fighting the tears that threatened. Outside, he had time to collect himself. What on earth had come over him? Perhaps it was just as well he didn’t brave the bookshops of Dublin.

The other two were taking their time saying goodbye to the bookseller.
How wonderful it was that Nancy knew him
. A passerby glanced at Gerald, and the boy hoped that his face wasn’t red.
Well, as long as I don’t look like I’m about to cry … that would be embarrassing.

Unfortunately for Gerald, he was destined to be embarrassed when Jacques and a grinning Nancy joined him.

Doing his best to look normal, Gerald smiled in all innocence. ‘What?’

Nancy nudged Jacques. ‘Best give it to him now. I have to get going in a few minutes.’

Gerald turned his head from one to the other as Jacques handed him a hastily wrapped package. Again he asked,
‘What?’

Then he opened the package and found that gorgeous book, and Nancy, who couldn’t wait any longer to explain, exclaimed, ‘We bought it for you.’

In fairness to him, Gerald managed to open the book and also managed to read aloud the new inscription:
To Gerald, a good friend and the best of companions. From Jacques and Nancy
.

The next words that Gerald remembered hearing were from Jacques: ‘I think we need a bigger handkerchief!’

T
here was a confused silence and the woman glanced from one Sherrard to the other as if trying to guess who would speak first.

‘You are so tall!’

The words were out before Daniel could stop them. Immediately he felt foolish and ashamed, saying, ‘Forgive me, I did not mean to be rude.’

The woman blinked and replied, ‘Well, I am tall. There is nothing I can do about it.’

She was Scottish then or, at least, that was what her accent suggested. Her voice was softer than they expected.

Robert speedily pieced together the various reasons why he had mistaken her for a man. For starters, Daniel was right, she was the tallest woman he had ever seen, plus her shoulders were broader than his own. The wide-brimmed
hat nicely camouflaged her long, thin nose; high cheekbones and the odd wispy strands of blonde hair hinted at the rest of her crown. Furthermore, she had misled him with her attire. Unlike every other woman and girl he knew she was not wearing a dress. Robert wondered at the farmer allowing his wife to appear in his jacket, trousers and even his old boots. Corporal Sherrard could not even begin to imagine his mother wearing anything else except her skirts and apron.

She sighed and asked them, ‘Are you lost?’

Robert was instantly huffy. ‘Lost? No, we are not lost. We are soldiers from King William’s army, as I have already said.’

To counter the sting in his brother’s tone, Daniel offered her a small smile and decided to make a formal introduction, saying, ‘My name is Daniel and this is my brother Corporal Robert Sherrard.’

The woman did not look impressed and only asked a second question, ‘Where are you from?’

Robert answered first, ‘Derry. It’s fifty miles from here.’

The woman shrugged. ‘I’ve never been to Derry but I would imagine that it’s a lot more than fifty miles away.’

‘Well, we live there and have walked from there. So … I think we ought to know!’

Robert could not bear to be criticised and the slightest whiff of being faulted in any way made him choppy in manner.

It seemed to Daniel that the woman suppressed a fleeting smile.

‘Mama! Mama!’

And just like that, they were surrounded. Six children in all, including the girl they had seen washing clothes. She was younger than Daniel had supposed, no more than thirteen or fourteen years old. She carried a chubby baby who reminded Daniel of his sister Alice. The baby sat upright against his sister’s hip and fearlessly met Daniel’s gaze while sucking on its thumb.

‘What’s wrong, Mother? Who are they?’

Robert would not deign to introduce himself to children, and Daniel followed suit, leaving the woman to say, ‘Hush, Marian. Nothing is wrong. They are just soldiers, that’s all.’

This was all getting a bit much for Robert’s patience. If he owned a pocket watch, he would surely have checked it by now to see how much time had already been wasted. Clearing his throat, he asked, ‘Can I speak with your husband?’

Daniel wished his brother did not sound quite so imperious. However, neither Sherrard was prepared for the woman’s solid reply: ‘No.’

In particular, Robert was taken aback and repeated her answer, ‘No? But I … I … we need to speak to him at once.
Can’t one of the children fetch him?’

The woman caught a strand of her hair and pushed it beneath her hat before answering again, ‘No, they cannot.’

Of course Robert took the reply personally and believed that he specifically was being thwarted in every way possible. He gulped in air and then spoke slowly as if he were addressing someone with little intelligence: ‘I must order you to summon your husband to us and I do so in the name of King William … and Queen Mary. Therefore any refusal to fetch him is treason.’

He added the queen’s name, instinctively feeling that this misguided woman might be more considerate of Her Majesty over the king himself.

Daniel flinched inwardly at the mention of treason. Traitors were hanged or shot. Surely Robert was not threatening to hurt this woman because she didn’t call her husband. What was his brother thinking?

But there was something wrong. Daniel detected a flicker of something in the woman’s expression and noticed the mortification on her daughter’s face which propelled him to ask the obvious. ‘Excuse me but why can’t we talk to him?’

It was the boy who answered. He had dark hair, a slimy nose and big brown eyes that looked older than his years, which were maybe eight or so. With a solemn look, he
explained, ‘Because he’s dead.’

Ah.

As embarrassed as he felt, Daniel was somewhat relieved for his brother’s sake. The woman was not disobeying him nor was she trying him for a fool. Indeed, he was not the least bit surprised at hearing the relief in Robert’s exclamation, ‘Well now. I see.’

It all made sense. The husband was dead and so his widow was wearing his clothes and ploughing the field.

‘What did you want him for?’ The daughter Marian asked her question at the exact same time that Robert asked, ‘When did he die?’

There was a pause and the two questions hung between them. Robert and Marian looked at the woman for guidance, and she naturally chose to repeat her daughter’s question, asking, ‘Well, what did you want with my husband?’

Up to now both Sherrards had steadily avoided looking at the two large items they had come for. Daniel, for one, would have preferred to have found the horses idly grazing and of no use to anyone.

The baby reached for the nearest horse and his sister obliged it by stepping forward so that the child could knock at the animal’s neck with its pudgy fist.

The eight-year-old boy lodged an immediate complaint. ‘Georgie! That’s not a door! Mama, tell him!’

But his mother only said, ‘Hush, Samuel!’

Next, Georgie launched himself forward and planted a moist, sloppy kiss that left an oval-shaped blot on the horse’s coat. Daniel smiled along with the family, leaving Robert all alone to make his declaration.

‘Madam …’ he began.

‘Jean Watson,’ she replied.

‘Uh … I beg your pardon?’ said Robert.

The woman took a breath, possibly to hide her impatience, before saying once more, ‘Jean Watson. My name is Mrs Jean Watson.’

‘Oh, right. Thank you!’ said Robert, obviously feeling that he was starting to get somewhere at last. ‘Well, Mrs Watson, as you might have heard, King William plans to confront James Stuart and his Jacobite army. In fact, that is where my brother and I are headed. However, the king has recently discovered that he needs more horses.’

Daniel watched Mrs Watson’s lips almost disappear as her gaze became a glare.

Robert kept talking because he simply had to. Gesturing at the horses, he continued, ‘And he hopes to depend on the generosity of the Protestant population … that is …’

Marian was incredulous. ‘He wants our horses?’

She hoisted Georgie onto her other hip as she faced her mother. ‘He wants our Bess and Star?’

How Robert wished the widow would send the children back to the house. They were complicating matters needlessly.

Daniel reckoned that he had better help his brother and added, ‘Just for a while.’ He hoped he was telling the truth as he rushed on to explain: ‘You see we have a lot of equipment and thousands of men and, well, it’s faster on horseback.’

The only listener who looked convinced was Robert who nodded and said, ‘I’m sure you understand. When you think about it, you would be a part of King William’s campaign, without having to fight.’

Even as he spoke, Mrs Watson was already shaking her head. ‘Absolutely not. I need these horses. I wish the king well on his campaign, but these animals are my only farm hands.’

Robert opened his mouth to argue, but she interrupted him, asking him sharply, ‘How many children do you see?’

He stopped short and counted them. ‘Er … six?’

‘Yes, six!’ she snapped. ‘Six hungry mouths to feed. And how many parents do they have?’

Samuel wanted to help the conversation along and did so by answering, ‘Just you, mama.’

‘But …’ protested Robert.

‘No!’ said Mrs Watson. ‘I don’t care about your “buts”; I
don’t have time for them. If I cannot work this farm, my children will starve.’

As if to emphasise her point, she prepared to return to her ploughing and called the horses to attention. She also told Marian to bring her siblings back to the house. ‘Everyone now back to your chores.’

Robert kept quiet while the children reluctantly walked away in line behind their leader Marian. Samuel stuck his tongue out at Daniel, filling the young soldier with shame. When they were finally alone, Robert tried to sound as civil as he could. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Watson. I understand your predicament but orders are orders. His Majesty needs more horses. Right now your neighbours are being told the same thing by our colleagues. You don’t have a choice.’

Daniel longed to distract himself by scuffing at the upturned earth with his foot, but he knew he had to show complete support for Robert and for King William.

The widow spoke through gritted teeth. ‘If you take my animals I have no way of feeding my children or paying the rent. We’ll lose our home.’

Robert shrugged helplessly. ‘I understand …’

‘But you don’t care, is that it?’ She looked as if she might spit at him, at the both of them. She tried another approach: ‘Does His Majesty wish more children to die in his name? Surely enough children starved to death in Derry.’

Daniel felt winded by her words because they were absolutely true. She was right; hundreds of children had died during the siege. A whole generation of youngsters had been wiped out and now slept underground within the cathedral grounds. An idea came to him then and he said to his brother, ‘Robert … I mean, Corporal, couldn’t we just take one of the horses? Wouldn’t that do?’

Daniel was desperate to appease the woman and save her children; he pleaded with her, ‘You could plough with one horse. Couldn’t you?’

It was a most practical solution, really the only one available to suit everyone as far as Daniel could see.

Alas he had made a mistake which worsened when the widow tilted her head to consider his suggestion and seemed to agree with it, asking Daniel, ‘And when will you return my horse to me?’

It was an impossible question to answer, right then and there, in the middle of the half-ploughed field as the rain began to spill once more.

Daniel saw fury on his brother’s face and realised his dreadful error. He bowed his head in shame, noting how the raindrops sprinkled the earth; it reminded him of his mother sprinkling flour on the old kitchen table where she made the bread.

Why hadn’t he just kept his mouth shut?

He heard Robert say to the widow, ‘We are taking both horses.’

Robert didn’t shout, he didn’t even sound angry, but there was something about his voice that made the woman drop her arms to her side. Daniel could not bring himself to look at her.

‘Unhook the horses, Private.’ With that, Robert turned and strode away, making it abundantly clear that there would be no further discussion.

Mrs Watson didn’t help, of course she didn’t. She just stood there and watched Daniel fumble with the reins. How many moments dragged by until he managed to free the horses from the plough? Raindrops sank into the horses’ coats and disappeared without a trace. Daniel wished he could do the same.

It required all of his strength not to apologise, either for his brother or himself. Yet, he had to say something and what better than those two words his mother had drilled into him as soon as he could talk: ‘Thank you.’

The farmer’s widow didn’t soften her gaze, though she must have guessed at the young soldier’s inner turmoil. He took a step and pulled at the animals, who surely wondered who he was and where he was taking them.

‘Just a moment, Private.’

His heart sank but he turned to face her.

‘They are used to being fed twice a day. Watch that Bess doesn’t gorge herself on sweet apples, and the shoe on Star’s right foreleg will need replacing soon.’

Daniel nodded. He had already thanked her and it seemed a little pathetic to say it again.

‘Where is King William now?’

The question surprised him.

‘He’s … he’s a few days ahead of us, going south. Two or three days, I think.’

‘Good!’ was all she said to that.

Now that he had removed the horses from her side she seemed taller than ever.

He asked, ‘Why do you want to know?’

She gave him a bitter smile. ‘Because he has left me no option. I’m going to ask him to return my horses to me.’

Now it was her turn to march away, calling over her shoulders to him as he stared after her, ‘You see, Daniel Sherrard, sometimes men need to be reminded that there are more important things than war.’