Celtic Mist Ch. 08

Throughout the remainder of the afternoon as he trained with his comrades, Declan's body was nigh shaking from the tumult of his rage and pounding heart. Immediately upon leaving Fleetwood's farm, he intended to proceed directly to Rossnalough Manor and see the scene for himself, but as he crossed Enniscorthy town, more measured thoughts began to temper his first instinct. He must not rush headlong after Blaylock with no preparation. Why, he wasn't even armed at the present moment, apart from a small pocket-knife.

The possibility that if he traipsed down the road by the manor, he might suddenly come face to face with Blaylock, soon raised other considerations.

How would Blaylock react upon seeing him, Declan? He had punished Declan's insubordination during the examination of Aoife with twenty lashes to his back. Moreover, in absconding with the lass, Declan had forfeited over a thousand pounds in prizefighting winnings that he had left in Blaylock's care. Nonetheless, Declan doubted that the flogging and the money had appeased his former Captain's fury at the defiance of his authority and the thwarting of his and Bruckton's procurement scheme for filling the Duke's bed --- at least so far as Aoife had been concerned. Indeed, as Fitzgibbons and Burrows had informed him --- before Declan had slain them --- he was lucky to have escaped Blaylock's wrath.

Close on eight months had passed since the night he had defied Blaylock. Was the man's desire for vengeance against him yet fresh? As fresh as Declan's was against him? To Declan's mind, his own cause for revenge was deeply rooted in honor...whilst Blaylock had experienced only a temporary challenge to his authority. But --- now knowing the extent of the man's savagery and pride, he would not assume his ire had abated. Declan must proceed with the expectation that Blaylock would respond with violence if he encountered him.

Thus, instead of continuing on to Rossnalough Manor, Declan returned to Foley's tavern and waited for night to fall. After securing Colin Foley's approval to start his barkeeping duties late, he borrowed the dog Dara and headed west out of town. Prepared for all eventualities, he had donned his weapons belt with the flintlock and dagger, all hidden under his waistcoat. He smiled wryly in remembrance --- they were the same belt and flintlock that he had taken from the armory the night Aoife and he had escaped from Kilmaedan Castle...the same flintlock which Aoife had snatched from him that night in the abandoned church and used to force him to strip naked.

After he had arrived in Dublin, he had stowed the gun and knife in the bottom of his knapsack --- no longer endowed with the prerogative of a uniform, 'twas too risky to openly carry the weapons.

A walk of some thirty minutes on a well-maintained road brought him to his destination. As he passed the estate, his eyes noted what they could in the starlight. Alongside the road, a stone wall some eight feet high ran for a half mile. On the opposite side of the road were fields and pastures. Inside the wall were visible the scattered, dark silhouettes of trees...suggesting groomed grounds rather than a wooded area...less advantageous for cover.

Half-way along the length of the wall, an iron gate was flanked by lanterns and two sentries dressed in blue uniform coats and holding their muskets on their shoulders. Dara, who was trotting unleashed at his side, veered towards the men, prompting Declan to call him to heel. He nodded at the soldiers as he passed, and they responded in kind.

When he reached the further end of the wall, he observed that it turned at a right angle and continued away from the road, its extent unknowable in the dark. Similarly, Declan could make out nothing of the mansion or additional soldiers on patrol. The thought that his enemy was somewhere within, behind the wall, kept his heart thudding, but he was not about to risk getting shot by venturing along the wall in search of a point of ingress.

Once no longer visible to the sentries, he left the road and, taking a wide-arcing path in the dark fields, made his way back to town.

With Blaylock so near Enniscorthy, Declan quickly understood that he must exercise the utmost vigilance when he was walking about the town or environs, lest the man see him first. He must ever be on the lookout for uniformed men...for tall men. He would let his beard grow and always keep his hat pulled down. What if Blaylock came into Foley's tavern? Aye, he must keep an eye on the customers entering, and stay out of sight if unable to confront him on his own terms.

Back in Enniscorthy, as Colin, Brian, and he cleaned the bar that night, Declan carefully took down from the tavern wall the old notice of Declan Quickfist's Dublin boxing match that was among Foley's collection. Let there be nothing to remind Blaylock of him should he venture into this tavern.

The following two days, Declan returned to Rossnalough Manor whilst there was yet daylight --- after the Sunday training at Fleetwood's farm and after his day work digging clay for the pottery firm. He eschewed the road and instead approached the manor house via the fields to the south (one day) and north (the next day), keeping under the cover of trees and shrubs as he worked his way closer and closer. Each day, once he had crept as close as he dared, he climbed a large tree and found a limb from which he gained a better vantage point upon the grounds, whilst he remained shrouded by leaves.

He had borrowed a telescope from Fleetwood and now employed it to survey Blaylock's lair. The manor house faced south, and between its façade and the stone wall along the road were sculpted gardens with flower beds and a few large trees. 'Twas a mansion of relatively recent construction, compared to the forbidding Norman-built mass that was Kilmaedan Castle. There were no battlements, but simply the tall stone wall. The house itself was three stories high with refined lines. Occupying the northwest corner of the grounds were a group of outbuildings among which were the stable and carriage house.

When he approached the rear of the manse from the fields, Declan discovered that the stone wall did not entirely enclose the grounds, but was U-shaped, ending at each side with a small tower, leaving unobstructed the prospect of the splendid countryside behind the mansion. Close to the house were more gardens, and beyond them a large, grassy park, now occupied by forty tents of tan canvas, arranged in four rows of ten. Each must house five soldiers to give a total of two hundred in the regiment. The officers, one would guess, were occupying the mansion itself.

Declan observed with keen attention the men training on the ground beyond the tents --- aye, drills much like those of the United Irishmen, primarily with muskets and sabers.

He studied the arrangement of the soldiers on guard duty: how many and where they were stationed, how much ground each patrolled. From his knowledge of Blaylock's command at Kilmaedan Castle, he anticipated how the arrangement of guards might be altered at night.

Through the telescope, he even saw Blaylock...or so he believed...standing on the veranda behind the mansion, speaking to three other uniformed men as he gesticulated towards the training soldiers. Aye, he recognized that tall, strapping figure! Declan's chest throbbed against the tree limb upon which he was lying.

By God, if only for a trusty musket at this moment!

* * * * *

On May 1st, two days after learning of Blaylock's return, shocking tidings came from Wexford town: McBride --- the wool merchant from whose warehouse they had retrieved the shipment of firearms --- had been arrested! No particulars were available regarding the charges, but with this calamity following so closely on the heels of the lads' mission, the conclusion that the operation had been betrayed was unavoidable.

But betrayed by whom?

Declan wracked his brain, methodically going over the events of the day's journey to Wexford town. Who had had knowledge of the mission? Fleetwood, Foley, Byrne, Michael, and himself on their end. It seemed impossible that any of these had deliberately betrayed the wool merchant McBride --- given their fervid support for the cause.

But could one of them, in an unguarded moment, have inadvertently revealed something to an acquaintance or family member, who then communicated it to the authorities?

Then Declan reminded himself of the United Irishman turned spy who had betrayed the leadership in Dublin in March. Aye, even the most avid patriotism was no guarantee of unflagging loyalty --- people could be bought or persuaded by other means, or the apparent dedication could be a sham to insinuate themselves into the Society.

And what of the people on the Wexford end? Who besides McBride and the dockmaster had known of the gun shipment? Whom had they talked to? Could there have been a person hidden inside the warehouse who had witnessed them loading the guns into the wagon?

It then occurred to Declan that there was yet a further factor to consider: the people on the road between Enniscorthy and Wexford...namely the two lasses Betsy and Hannah, and the Militia company that had searched the wagon. Could one of the soldiers have been dispatched to follow them? Or could the lasses have followed them to McBride's from the Market House where they had left them? Had Jamie, in an attempt to impress Betsy, alluded to their mission?

The sheer number of possible avenues of discovery was frightening.

Moreover, what else could this potential spy reveal or have already revealed? Were the members of Fleetwood's company in imminent danger of being arrested...and executed? And all the hidden weapons at the farm and members' homes being seized?

Fleetwood was pursuing the very same line of investigation.

The day after the news broke, Captain Fleetwood came to Foley's tavern and took Declan into the yard out back where he interrogated him about the events of the Wexford mission. Cognizant of the grave import of uncovering the truth, Declan gave him a thorough accounting of the journey to McBride's warehouse in Wexford town. He had already apprised the Captain, the night they had returned, of the confrontation with the Militia cavalry detachment on the road. They again reviewed that exchange.

Despite his embarrassment over having deviated from the mission's plan, Declan did not dissemble about the encounter with the two lasses --- but not wishing trouble for Jamie, simply stated that they offered a ride into town to two lasses walking along the road.

Fleetwood looked at him sharply. "Lasses? Who were they?"

"Kitchen maids from an estate outside of Wexford...Balfour Manor, I think 'twas called. They were sent to the market by the cook."

Fleetwood rolled his eyes. "Bonnie young maids, I take it?"

"Aye, so they were."

"What did you say to them?"

"Not much at all...just that we were going to sell the fleeces at the market."

"Did you say where specifically?"

"No, sir."

"And what of Byrne --- did he say anything beyond that to them?"

"Well..." Declan swallowed. "Not that I heard, but...we separated for a wee bit...so I didn't hear everything he said."

Fleetwood raised his brows. "Separated?"

Declan flushed. "Well, we took a...respite, ye might say, away from the wagon...each with a lass."

Fleetwood looked at him steadily for a moment, then shook his head slowly. "Aye, what can you expect when you send wee lads to do men's work." One corner of his mouth lifted wryly. "Could you say where their sympathies might rest, these lasses, other than with your cocks?"

Declan pondered the question. "Not for certain, but they were afeared of the Redcoats, to be sure. Think ye that they might have reported us?"

Fleetwood shrugged. "Anything seems possible at this point."

Over the course of the evening, Jamie Byrne and Michael, both of whom were at the tavern, each in turn went out to the yard, clearly to undergo a like interrogation by Fleetwood. When Declan and Brian cleaned the tavern at closing time, Fleetwood and Colin Foley were in the yard engrossed in conversation.

The circumstances leading to McBride's arrest remained a vexing mystery.

* * * * *

Between training at the farm and working his regular jobs, Declan devoted all his remaining spare time to surveilling Blaylock's garrison at Rossnalough Manor --- hidden in trees with his pistol and knife concealed under his waistcoat as he awaited an opportunity to make his attack.

From his post upon a tree limb, Declan beheld his target leaving the estate on two occasions, each time on horseback at the head of a company of soldiers --- circumstances that rendered it impossible to confront the bastard without meeting his own death first. Instead, Declan employed his rapidly increasing knowledge of the unit's routine to devise a plan by which to make his entry into the grounds undetected.

'Twas early evening two days after the news of McBride's arrest --- Declan was lying upon a bough when his attention was drawn by a motion at the front gate of the estate. In the diminishing light, the telescope was reaching the limits of its usefulness, but Declan was able to make out a lad in ragged garb standing upon the road, talking to the two sentries. 'Twas Michael McArdle --- his boot-polishing proposal had evidently come to fruition. The soldiers searched him and his knapsack, then let him pass through the gate.

As Declan watched the supposed boot black head up the lane towards the house, the wind abruptly rustled the leaves about his hiding place...then sounded the distant cawing of a bird. 'Twas a moment ere Declan recognized it as the cry of a crow. He tensed upon the limb and cast his eyes about --- was it the Morrigan? But in the dusk, he saw no hint of the goddess in her winged disguise. When his gaze returned to the gate, his mind jolted.

Michael McArdle! Was he the spy? Was that the Morrigan's warning?!

By God! All at once enlightenment came over him.

Thinking on it, was it not a wee bit too convenient that the lad had an excuse to be in the presence of officers of the Militia and Yeomanry? Was it not a wee bit too easy how he had gained entry to their garrisons? "Michael Goodwin" he had said was the name he used to win the soldiers' trust. What if Michael McArdle was the false name, and he was in truth Michael Goodwin --- a loyalist spying upon the United Irishmen and reporting back to the Crown's forces!

Declan's blood ran cold and his fingers gripped the bark under him. So evident did it seem with his eyes now opened! Before he himself had been sworn into the Society, he had undergone a several week proving period, with Foley assessing his character. Michael, on the other hand, had been admitted to their confidence almost instantaneously.

The weasel had spun a yarn about his family perishing in the dragooning of Ulster and had presented himself to their leadership with a small piece of intelligence that won their trust --- now he made free about Fleetwood's farm. He had quickly gained extensive knowledge of the identity of the members, officers, and the store of weapons. Declan grimaced as he recalled the lad's attentive participation in the drills in the hidden glen.

All this intelligence was being passed directly to their enemy! With only weeks to go before the rising!

Declan resolved that he would uncover the truth of this Michael McArdle/Goodwin. Intending to follow him once he departed Rossnalough Manor, Declan waited in the tree for some time, but he re-appeared not...suspicious in of itself. At last, needing to return to Foley's tavern for work, Declan ceded his post, considering the possibility that Michael was actually a young Yeoman in Blaylock's regiment.

The next time he saw Michael at Fleetwood's farm, he was engaged in his usual activities of sharpening the newly delivered pike heads and participating in the maneuvers drills. Declan watched him narrowly, debating whether to confront him, or report his suspicions to Fleetwood. He decided to wait till he had more sound intelligence of the lad.

When Michael left the farm that evening, Declan followed him, keeping to the fields a fair distance behind him. Along the same road that Declan usually took back to Enniscorthy, the lad walked briskly, enlivening his journey by kicking a pebble for a while, then jumping up to walk atop the low stone walls along the fields. Reaching town, Declan struggled to stay unseen whilst yet keeping his suspect in sight amid the narrow turning lanes, wagons, and townspeople. In the streets between the castle and the river, he lost sight of him, and could not recover his trail.

The next opportunity to follow Michael from Fleetwood's farm came the next day.

This time 'twas full dark when they arrived in Enniscorthy, and Declan took the precaution of shortening the distance between himself and his quarry once they were in town. With the late hour, there were fewer people about. As Michael made his way through the dark streets, he intermittently surveyed the street behind him, clearly watchful of his surroundings...a behavior that kept Declan ducking into doorways to avoid being detected, even as it bolstered his suspicions of the lad.

Michael's course led south of Abbey Square, to a street with intermingled shops and residences. As the street curved and he glanced backwards, Declan dodged into a doorway.

He waited a moment, then peered round the edge of the doorframe in time to see the lad turn left between two buildings. After delaying several seconds, Declan ventured after him. Where Michael had turned, the street lanterns revealed the entrance a narrow alley. Sidling further into it, Declan discovered it did not go through but quickly terminated as a small, unlit courtyard surrounded by houses built one against the other. Nary a soul was in sight.

Declan stood motionless, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The houses appeared to be residences or the backs of shops. They were tall and narrow, three or four stories high. Light shone from scattered small windows. Michael must have darted out of sight somewhere. Declan's own experience living upon the streets had taught him how to ferret out the most obscure nooks and crannies along a row of houses --- thus, from one shadowed doorway to another his gaze passed, seeking out any sign of life. Still he saw no one.

A sudden motion startled him --- Declan's heart jumped --- then he saw the dark shape of a cat scamper across the cobblestones and leap onto a window shutter of the house in the near corner. By a series of jumps between shutters, windowsills, and brick ledges, the cat ascended to the roof. In the moonlight, its orange fur glowed a ghostly hue as it disappeared over the shingled peak of a dormer window.

Puzzled, Declan returned to the street from whence the alley arose. How had Michael given him the slip? Had he misjudged where he had turned? There was no other street or alley nearby. Had he known he was being followed and somehow sneaked back onto the street after initially misleading Declan by turning in the alley? Or had he simply gone inside one of these houses?

The street had a well-kept, though not exalted air, suggesting the inhabitants to be tolerably prosperous...perhaps merchants and the like. The shops nearest the alley included a solicitor's office, a dressmaker's shop, a book binder's shop, and a land surveyor's office. A tavern was across the street. Mayhap Michael was not a young Yeo soldier, but was in service in one of these homes or businesses? A footman or some such servant?

Declan had an inkling of another possibility --- perhaps the rascal was not homeless at all! Perhaps Michael was from a family of means who benefitted from the English occupation of Ireland, and he was counterfeiting a ragged street urchin to worm his way into the confidence of the rebels and gather intelligence. After all this did appear to be a Protestant neighborhood.