Devils island, p.24
Devil's Island, page 24
“Don’t worry, you’re safe here. We’ve been waiting for the man with four dogs.”
The man smiled, and the O’Rourke gave a nervous grin.
“I’m Diarmuid O’Neill. I’m a friend. If you look at that table over there, they are also your friends, and they are expecting you.”
The O’Rourke followed Diarmuid’s finger to a shadowy table where several bearded, long-haired men grinned and raised their mugs. The O’Rourke followed Diarmuid over to the table. A large man stood up, putting his arm around the O’Rourke’s shoulders.
“A thousand welcomes to the most wanted man in Ireland,” he said in his thick Irish accent. “Sit and drink. Eat your fill, and then we’ll talk, but not here.”
The O’Rourke’s grin gained some confidence, and he invited Francisco to sit with his new friends.
They stayed for several hours questioning the men about how they knew they were coming and ultimately decided they could trust them. Diarmuid guided them under the cover of nightfall through the maze-like backstreets of Edinburgh to what seemed like a safe house. The shadows seemed to dance and shift as they made their way towards an inconspicuous two-storey house, its windows tightly shut and curtains drawn. The surrounding houses seemed to huddle together in the darkness as if seeking protection from the unknown dangers lurking in the shadows.
“You will be safe here, and we can talk,” Diarmuid said. “There’ll be guards on the door. Good loyal lads.”
“Thank you, my friend. I will remember you when I speak to the king.”
Diarmuid ushered them into the old stone house, its walls damp and cold from the winter air. He carefully lit candles throughout the room, casting a flickering glow on the ancient furnishings. With a practised hand, he started a fire in the hearth, the crackling flames providing warmth and light. From a wooden cupboard, he retrieved some blankets and handed them out to his grateful guests.
“You’ll need these until the place warms up. But you’ll probably need them after as well. They’re clean. Nothing but the best for the O’Rourke.”
The O’Rourke and Francisco huddled close together, their blankets pulled tightly around their bodies to ward off the chill of the night. Diarmuid bent down to add a few logs to the small, flickering fire. Crackling wood filled the air as he straightened up and turned away to retrieve two mugs of ale. He returned with the mugs carefully balanced, steam rising from their frothy tops.
“Now I think we can have that talk,” he said.
But when he checked, both the O’Rourke and Francisco were fast asleep.
“May as well have these myself, then,” and he sat beside the fire.
A long six months later, the first rays of sunlight filtered through the window of the safe house, rousing the O’Rourke from his slumber. He had been disappointed many times, and Diarmuid's friendship had grated upon him, for all he seemed to offer were the dark shadows of the alehouse and the musty smells of the safe house. But today was supposed to be the fruition of his long wait. At last, Diarmuid came through with an audience with the king.
The Irish merchants in Edinburgh had generously pooled their resources to provide him with attire befitting his meeting. As the O’Rourke gazed upon his new clothes in the mirror, a renewed confidence coursed through his veins. Diarmuid meticulously smoothed down the shoulders of his jacket, glancing briefly at Francisco, who stood off to the side, looking forlorn and neglected amidst all the preparations.
“Don’t worry, we have you sorted, too,” Diarmuid said, nodding towards Francisco. “We’ll introduce you to the Spanish ambassador, and he’ll see about getting you sent home.”
Francisco smiled, and his hands shook as he clasped them in thankful prayer.
“Thank you! Thank you! I always knew you would see me right, Señor O’Rourke.”
“Stick with me, and that I will,” said the O’Rourke, not lifting his gaze from himself in the mirror.
Francisco ignored the O’Rourke’s self-absorption and thought of his own passage back to Spain. Meanwhile, O’Rourke started pacing back and forth, practising his speech while he waited for his evening appointment with the king.
As the sun began to set, the promised reception of the O’Rourke with the king of Scotland was finally upon them. The O’Rourke and his entourage settled into their temporary residence at the bustling tavern, greeted by an array of handshakes and praise from lowly and well-to-do Irish settlers who had made Edinburgh their home. Francisco couldn’t help but notice how every boastful tale the O’Rourke had told about himself had made its way to Scotland, each taken as truth and earning him even more admiration. It was precisely what the O’Rourke needed, a boost to his already inflated ego before he faced the intimidating prospect of meeting with the king.
With a determined stride and rosy cheeks, the O’Rourke set off to scale the steep hill that led to the towering castle. His loyal supporters cheered and waved as he walked through the bustling streets, their voices carrying words of encouragement and good luck. But as they reached the foot of the hill, they slowly peeled away, disappearing down narrow alleyways at the sight of the king’s intimidating guard on top of the castle walls. Soon, only Francisco, Diarmuid O’Neill, and a few young Irish noblemen remained by his side, warily escorting him to the castle gates.
He stood tall and confident and knocked on the massive wooden doors. Behind him, Francisco and Diarmuid held the fierce hunting dogs on tight leashes.
“Who stands beneath the king’s walls with a mob at his back?” a captain shouted from the ramparts.
The O’Rourke gave a disgruntled look over his shoulder at Diarmuid. He was expecting the gates to be flung open for him. The O'Rourke shook his head and put it down to an incompetent captain on the walls, whom nobody had informed of his arrival.
“It is the O’Rourke, a friend and ally of the king, having come all the way from Ireland. I seek an audience with him. I was assured it was arranged, and I would be well received.”
The captain’s head disappeared and reappeared a few minutes later.
“Whoever told you that planted a lie in your ear. No one gave us notification of such an appointment. If you think marching through his majesty’s streets with a mob causing an affray would make the king think you are a friend, then you are gravely mistaken.”
“Look behind me,” said the O’Rourke, throwing his arms into empty space. “Where is the mob? Where is this affray you speak of? All that is before you is a friend with a gift for the king.”
The O’Rourke stared up at the ramparts, trying to suppress the twitches on his face. The head of the captain darted in and out of view several times as he obviously consulted some unseen person.
“What is your gift to the king?” the captain asked as he came into view again.
“The hunting dogs my friends are holding behind me,” and the O’Rourke pointed back to Francisco, Diarmuid and the dogs. The captain leaned down on the ramparts as he squinted and assessed the dogs. One gave an untimely bark and tugged on his leash.
“Those dogs look like they could be set upon my men, meaning they can be used as weapons.” The captain straightened up and scowled. “If you are a friend of the king as you claim, remove yourself from the gates and refrain from causing any more disorder. If you fail, I will set the king’s horsemen upon you.”
Before the O’Rourke could protest, Diarmuid hooked his arm.
“Come. Let us not die this day before the king’s gate. I have another way.”
The O’Rourke let himself be dragged away, for he knew he should be out of earshot to hear Diarmuid’s plan. Diarmuid slung his arm across the O’Rourke’s shoulder and pulled him near so he would not be overheard. When he was out of earshot, the O'Rourke felt safe protesting.
“I hope this new plan is better than your old one. There was no audience with the king arranged today as you promised. Have I waited for six months just to be humiliated like this?” he snarled.
“I was assured by your supporters in the clans from the islands that he agreed to see you,” Diarmuid protested. “Nevertheless, I have a back-up plan. In a week, the king hears petitions from anyone in his lands who may have a dispute that needs to be resolved. It is open to anyone, so you can queue up and be heard. You can bring your dogs for the king as the people often bring him gifts to show their gratitude. I can get you past the gates and to be seen.”
The O’Rourke ground his teeth and made a fist, hoping such actions would absorb his frustrations. Was this another lie out of Diarmuid’s mouth? What had he to gain by such deceptions? But he deduced that if he had come this far, he might as well try for what other choice did he have?
He pulled his coat down and curled his lip.
“If I have to be a beggar and enter by the beggar's entrance, then so be it. But the O’Rourke will not forget this slight.”
Diarmuid smiled nervously and patted him on the shoulder.
“Come, I know where to get a good drink while we wait.”
Chapter 44
A courtly dance
A week later, Francisco and the O’Rourke found themselves at the end of a long, winding queue in the grand hall of Edinburgh Castle. It was the time allotted by the king to hear the grievances of his people so anyone could queue and wait their turn to ask for the king’s justice. Francisco and the O’Rourke shuffled along at the back of the queue and looked at the ground to compose themselves and hide from prying eyes that may call them out as imposters who should not be there. The smell of sweat and nerves lingered in the air as people jostled for position, eager to have their voices heard by the king. In the hall, the clan chieftain stood beside the courtier, the merchant, and the southern lord. All represented the wide range of factions the king had to juggle and draw together to keep happy.
As they neared the front, the O’Rourke’s previous anxieties returned with a vengeance. He had been told in the taverns that he would be greeted as one of the significant chieftains of Ireland, but instead, he found himself standing behind local Scots with land disputes and cattle rustling allegations. The O’Rourke registered his name and grievance with a clerk who walked along the line, carefully noting each petitioner’s concerns. This information would be passed on to the king, who needed to understand the core of each issue before meeting with the petitioner. The O’Rourke swallowed his pride and gave only the barest of information, eager to get through this process as quickly as possible and not be rejected on some administrative detail.
He stood shuffling in the queue, clenching his teeth, listening to the farmers telling stories of missing cows, kidnapped daughters, absent fathers, and people accused of witchcraft or blasphemy. He felt increasingly out of place, comparing these petty struggles for justice and fairness against his own turmoil of fighting for the freedom of Breifne and, ultimately, of Ireland.
The O’Rourke peeked over the shoulders of those before him to size up the king. King James VI of Scotland slumped on his throne, the heavy crown atop his head threatening to tumble off with each careless movement. His eyes, usually sharp and observant, now appeared dull and listless as he gazed out at the grand hall filled with scruffy petitioners vying for his attention. He inwardly cringed as he feared having to feign interest in another story about a fluctuating number of sheep resident on the hill of God-knows-where and why he had to do something about it.
The king’s fingers absent-mindedly tapped against the armrest of his throne, a habit he had acquired during long, tedious meetings such as this. The rich velvet of his robe pooled around his feet, the intricate embroidery catching the light and shimmering like stars in the night sky.
Despite the lavish surroundings, an air of restlessness hung heavy in the chamber as if even the very walls yearned for excitement and adventure. The king let out a heavy sigh as only he could, longing for something to break the monotony of his royal duties and bring a spark back to his weary heart.
The O’Rourke finally came to the front of the line and squeezed the tension from his fists. He twitched as he went over the speech he hoped would refill the king with the passion for rebellion. The King's secretary stepped forward.
“Sire, may I introduce the one who calls himself the O’Rourke? He is a chieftain from somewhere in the middle of Ireland. I cannot say where for he did not have the foresight to bring a map.”
The O’Rourke seethed with anger as the secretary continued to treat him disrespectfully. His jaw tightened, and his breath came out in short, controlled bursts. Every fibre of his being wanted to throttle the impudent man, but he knew it would do him no good. Baile Nua, it was not. As he turned his head, he caught sight of a well-dressed, one-armed man grinning in his direction. It was the English captain. His enemies had arrived before him and were already making their moves. But before him sat the king himself, offering both a grand opportunity and potential finality. The O’Rourke took a deep breath and lowered himself into a deep, respectful bow, ready to seize this crucial moment.
“My name is Brian O’Rourke, chieftain of the O’Rourke clan. We are one of Ireland's greatest clans, having been previously high kings of Ireland. I come to you as Ireland’s greatest rebel.”
There were cheers from a certain section of the crowd, and the king looked around to see who was the most boisterous. The movers and shakers of the court did neither. The highland chieftains, the O’Rourke’s most likely supporters, remained silent and looked uninterested. The king smiled, for he noted that the O’Rourke had support from the rabble but not amongst the factions of court. That would make him easier to control. But one man moved and shook his finger as he stood forward from the king’s advisors.
“Can this man make up his mind what he is?” The English ambassador Robert Bowes stood defiantly in the middle of the hall and pointed an accusatory bony finger at the O’Rourke. His clothes bore an air of respectability, but his mouth contained the poison of a snake. “Not only do we not know where he is from, he also claims to be a king and a rebel. How can one be both? From the state of him, he looks far more like a rebel than one fit enough to converse with you man-to-man, sire. If he is the greatest rebel in Ireland, it means he is a criminal, and he seeks refuge from the laws of your neighbour, the queen of England. There is a handsome price upon that rebel’s head, so whatever he asks for, the queen will double it to prevent him from creating mischief. May I suggest the queen would extend many favours to whoever handed over this criminal?”
“Who are you to suggest who is a criminal in our lands?” came a voice from the crowd of onlookers.
Robert bowed deeply in front of the king.
“Forgive me, sire, if I was over-enthusiastic in defending your reputation as a just and wise monarch who sees the upholding of the law in other territories as an example to his own.”
“I will extend the man the same courtesy I have to any other petitioner today,” said the king, “and let him say his piece before I pass judgment.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” and Robert bowed again and melted back into the crowd. “But do not forget that merely a week ago, your men wisely turned him away from your gates for causing an affray.”
The king frowned at being interrupted. Robert bowed once more and stepped back to give the O’Rourke the floor.
“Come forth and speak your piece,” and the king waved the O’Rourke forward.
If Robert had meant to knock the O’Rourke’s confidence, he had succeeded, for the O’Rourke hid his shaking hand behind his back. The O’Rourke tried to bow as low as Robert and almost succeeded until his back twitched, and he jolted upright.
“Thank you for allowing me to continue, Your Majesty.” The O’Rourke ran through what he wanted to say in his head until he was ready to speak. “Scotland and Ireland have shared a long heritage completely apart from the state that calls itself England. Indeed, the sounds of Scottish accents are common in the north of Ireland, and we have adopted many of your mannerisms and colloquial flourishes. In the not-too-distant past, it was even a serious topic of discussion that the kingdom of Ireland pledge our allegiance to the king of Scotland.”
“Is the rebel of the shadows and bushes here to claim he speaks for Ireland?” said Robert. He raised an eyebrow to the king and smirked at the O’Rourke. “It is more ridiculous than someone posturing in clothes caked in mud in this great court and claiming they speak for the highland clans.”
The O’Rourke snarled as he began to lose his cool.
“I know the lords of the north of Ireland, and they would switch their allegiance to you without hesitation if they knew they had your protection.”
Robert prowled around the court in the free space beneath the king’s seat. He bowed and extended his arm with a flourish as if asking some respectable young lady to dance.
“And so it begins, the merry dance of the Irish chieftains. First, I am your friend, and we jig arm-in-arm, then I remember an old grudge when we are enemies, and we clash swords, then we dance arm-in-arm once more until the queen places gold in the pocket of one, and they slit the throat of the other.”
Robert stopped swaying from side to side.
“Is this a serious proposition by this known liar and murderer? Sire, do not be deceived by his deceitful words for who knows what could happen were your judgement to become tarnished by them.”
Robert skipped behind the O’Rourke.
“But let us not be poor hosts and let him have his say. If he is right, you could double the size of your kingdom. You would have the troublesome, unruly clans to the north in the highlands and, for fairness’ sake, let us say the equally unruly Irish clans across the sea. Sire, you could be in an eternal loop touring your kingdom, resolving blood feuds and land disputes, and as soon as you took down your tents, they would be at each other’s throats again. But let that not interrupt the fairy tales of the past. This wanted man has to tell you that Scotland and Ireland are really all one big people, and everything would be fine and dandy if you ruled them all, irrespective of who actually rules Ireland. It would do us good to have some amusement after all the tales of strife and murder we heard today from the other clans.”
