Bertrice Small - Besieged

It was all whitewashed, and neat as a pin with roses and other flowers growing about it. There was a large stable for at least two dozen horses. There was glass in the windows of the place, and several chimneys smoking gently. She could smell the aroma of roasting meat and poultry. The scent of good ale wafted out from the taproom. Several young men ran from the stables to take the horses.

"Come along," Rory Maguire said, helping Jasmine from her mare. "Come in and renew your acquaintance with Mistress Tully. She can speak English now. She quickly found it necessary to her survival."

The duke of Glenkirk found himself a bit piqued by the Irishman's easy manner with his wife. Then he consoled himself with the knowledge that other than Adali and Rohana, Maguire was only acquainted with Jasmine. His was a difficult position. He was not really a servant, having been born to the nobility. Yet he no longer possessed his lands, but rather managed them for an English landlord, who just happened to be the duchess of Glenkirk. I must get to know the man better, James Leslie thought to himself. He seems a good fellow after all, and has been honest with my wife's lands and retainers.

Jasmine scarcely recognized Mistress Tully, who was now plump and rosy-cheeked. The innkeeper greeted her warmly, curtsying and thanking her again for Rowan Lindley's kindness those many years back.

"As you can see, m'lady, his good heart was our salvation. I don't know how I would have managed without it," she said in her soft lilt.

They sat down in a small private room to a meal of roasted lamb, onions, carrots, and potatoes. There was also a fat duck stuffed with bread and apples; a broiled salmon with dill; fresh bread, butter, and cheese. There were wine and ale both.

"I'm sorry we can't remain the night," James Leslie remarked as he loosed his doublet and pushed his pewter plate back.

"If we did we shouldn't be able to reach Maguire's Ford by late tomorrow, my lord," Rory replied.

"Where will we stop tonight, Maguire?" the duke asked.

"The only place we can, Sir John Appleton's manor," came the reply.

"Is he still alive?" Jasmine wondered aloud. "As I remember he and his wife were terrible snobs, and extremely unpleasant toward the Irish. He had done something minor in old Queen Bess's court."

"He's alive all right," Rory Maguire said darkly, "and he's but grown meaner with the years. His lady died, but his daughter and son-in-law live with him. They're no better than the old man."

"It sounds a right treat," James Leslie muttered.

"Oh, they'll fall all over you and her ladyship, my lord. 'Tis the rest of us that will be given short shrift," Maguire chuckled.

"There's no place else?" James Leslie queried.

Rory Maguire shook his red head, making a mournful face as he did so.

Sir John Appleton was now a fat old man with a gouty foot. His daughter, Sarah, and her husband, Richard, were spare and sour. They were openly flattered to be entertaining the duke and duchess of Glenkirk and their heiress daughter. They sat Fortune next to their son, John, and hoped for a miracle. They did not get it, for John, normally a loud bully, was struck dumb by Lady Fortune Lindley's beauty and air of self-assurance. She was like no other girl he had ever met, and he was frankly intimidated by her. For her part Fortune ignored him. Young John Appleton had a spotty face and damp palms. The fact he was so silent and lacking in interesting conversation did not stand him in good stead with Fortune. She thought him rather foolish.

"The reputation of yer horses is widespread," old Sir John remarked. "I'm amazed considering ye've got Irish Catholics working on yer estates. They've robbed ye blind, no doubt."

"I have both Catholics and Protestants working on my estates," Jasmine said sweetly. "Both render me good service, and I find no difference in them, Sir John. They are all decent people."

"Idol-worshipping papists," the old man said venemously.

"Catholics don't worship idols," Fortune suddenly snapped, highly irritated. "They worship God. What twaddle!"

"Madame! Reprimand your daughter. She is much too forward, and wrongheaded," Sir John snapped.

"Fortune, please apologize to Sir John. He cannot help his ignorance," the duchess of Glenkirk said to her daughter.

"Yes, Mama," Fortune remarked meekly. "I apologize to you for your ignorance, Sir John." She smiled sweetly. Then rising, Fortune curtsied prettily. "I must retire now," she explained, and left the room.

Sir John and his family were not certain at all that Fortune had really apologized, but they dared not argue further with the duchess of Glenkirk. The girl was not at all suitable for their young John, they silently decided. She was much too pretty, and far too bold. Undoubtedly she would come to a bad end. They were not unhappy in the least when their guests announced they would seek their beds.

Rory Maguire, Adali, and Rohana had been grudgingly served a meal in the kitchen of the great house. The servants were suspicious of the Irishman, and his two foreign-looking companions. After they had eaten they were told that Rohana could go with her mistress, but the two men would have to sleep in the stables.

"Master don't allow the likes of ye in the house," the cook said grimly. "We'd all be murdered in our beds!"

"I doubt there is any man who would even get close to that woman's bed," Adali said humorously as he and Rory found a spot for themselves in the stable loft. He spread his cloak upon the sweet-smelling hay and sat down. "I've slept in worse places," he decided.

"I, also," Rory agreed, laying his own garment upon the hay. He stretched out, and then said, "She looks happy."

"She is," Adali said.

"Good."

"You have never married, Master Maguire?" Adali asked.

"Nay," came the answer. "There was no point to it. The lands were no longer mine. I had naught to offer a woman. Children would have but complicated my life for they would be Catholics by faith, Irish by blood, and alien in their own land as long as the English occupy it. I cannot be certain of the future myself. I should not want the responsibility of a wife and children to worry over."

"You have no need of a woman?" Adali probed.

"After her?" was the reply.

"It was but one hour of one night almost twenty-one years ago, Master Maguire. Are you telling me there has been no other since?"

"Aye. Oh, once in a rare while I have a bout of lust which is satisfied by a village widow of my acquaintance. She is known for being kind to men like me, but as she is discreet, there is none who would call her a whore," Rory said.

"Can you be as discreet as your widow, Master Maguire?" Adali asked him in all seriousness.

"Of course!" Rory exclaimed. "Have I not always been? I know she knows nothing of what happened. I would not distress her."

"Good. She thinks of you as her friend, Master Maguire," Adali told him. "I believe you would not want to lose that friendship. She loves James Leslie, and he loves her. They have built a good life together in Scotland with their children."

"You need not fear, Adali," Rory Maguire said, and there was a dark hint of sadness in his voice. "She never saw me as anything other than a friend. It is the best I can hope for. I will not lose even that small part of her attention on a foolish hope and dream that will never, ever be. Nay, Adali. I would give my life for my lady Jasmine, but she shall never know the part I played in saving her own life all those years ago. It would shame us both."

"Nay, there was no shame, Master Maguire," Adali reassured him. "You, the priest, and I did what had to be done. No more than that. There is no disgrace in it, nor should you feel guilt. Good night now. I will see you in the morning."

"Good night, Adali," Rory Maguire said quietly, rolling himself onto his side, wrapping his cloak about him. Then he thought that the next few months would be the hardest of his life.

They departed the Appleton estate even before the sun was up. Their hosts were still abed, but they were anxious to remain not a moment longer than was necessary.

"Please tell your master," the duke of Glenkirk instructed the butler, who himself was but barely awake, "that we thank him for his hospitality, but our journey is a long, tedious one. If we are to reach its end by sunset today, we must depart earlier than would be expected."

The butler bowed low, as obsequious as his employer. "Very good, my lord. Sir John will be sorry he had not the opportunity to bid you a proper farewell himself," he replied smoothly.

"He is excused," James Leslie said grandly with a wave of his gloved hand. Turning he shepherded his wife and stepdaughter from the entrance hall out into the damp and foggy morning.

The coach carrying Adali, Rohana, and their small bit of luggage had already departed. Rory Maguire stood waiting, holding the horses. They mounted quickly and cantered down the gravel drive away from Appleton Hall.

"Good riddance!" James Leslie said.

"Aye, and amen to that, my lord," Maguire responded.

The morning brightened, and the fog slowly lifted, but there was no sun, and it rained once again. Strangely the gray only made the countryside greener by comparison. The green hills over which they traveled rambled gently. The rolling landscape was broken only rarely by a gray stone tower, usually in a state of ruin, or a small village. There were fewer villages, Jasmine noted, than when she had first come to Ireland. Some were deserted and falling into decay; others were gone entirely, their former existence attested to only by a broken and pulled-down Celtic cross in a weed-strewn square. Ulster, never heavily populated to begin with, was now even less populated it appeared.

"What has happened here?" Jasmine asked Rory Maguire.

"Not all landlords are like you, my lady," he replied. "You know the penalties placed upon those who follow the Catholic faith. Many have been driven off their lands because they will not convert to Protestantism. It is that simple."

"But these landlords are not even in Ireland," Jasmine said. "What difference does it make to them as long as the land is worked properly and is prosperous for them?"

"They appoint agents who follow the letter of the law," he explained. "Most are English as are the settlers. We have Scots landlords too, but for now the Scots remain in Scotland, except for those who are able to give up their clan ties to seek lands of their own."

"What happens to the people?" she queried him.

"They go to relations in parts of Ireland where the laws are not so assiduously followed. They flee into the more remote regions, living a more primitive existence. They die. A few emigrate to France and Spain. There are no other choices."

"It is the way of the world," Fortune said quietly, surprising them. "I have learned this in my studies, and Mother has often said that it is so. One tribe conquers another, and another, and so forth. Nothing remains the same forever. Like my mother, however, I see no necessity for what is happening in Ireland. Bigotry is wrong, and it is cruel."

"There's just as much of it on one side as the other," Rory told the girl. "At Maguire's Ford we are fortunate to have two men of religion who are liberal and open-minded, but such a thing is unique. For as many Protestant ministers who tell their flocks that Catholicism is a wicked, idol-worshipping faith, there are an equal number of Catholic priests howling that the Protestants are dirty heretics who ought to be burned, and if not here on earth, then surely in hell, for they are the devil's own spawn. Such thoughts do not lead to understanding, or tolerance, my lady. There are, I fear, and am sorry to say, far more John Appletons upon this earth, than people like yer mam."

"You like my mother, don't you?" Fortune observed, moving her gelding next to his.

His heart contracted in his chest, but Rory Maguire flashed her a casual grin. "Aye, my lady, I do. I always have. It must be the Irish in her for she's got a big heart, does the lady Jasmine."

"My mother says if I remain in Ireland I should keep you on because you can be trusted, and few men can," Fortune said.