Celtic Mist Ch. 12

"Have at her, lads, now that I've loosened her up," he charged over his shoulder, his cheeks creased in a broad grin. Behind him were visible two blue-uniformed men jumping into the center of the ring. Clodagh's screams rose anew. Blaylock laughed at Aoife's helpless, raging swings of the hurling stick.

At last her feet broke free of their spell, and she lurched forward, shrieking and brandishing her stick...but now the ground before her was blanketed with tall, black leather boots, and she waded and kicked her way through them, stumbling and scrambling to her feet again and again. When she finally reached the wall of red and blue-coated backs, they vanished away.

Before her, three charred bodies lay upon the blackened ground --- Clodagh, Paddy, and wee Eoin --- their arms fixed in a beseeching gesture. A gust of wind blew a few leaves about them. Weeping, Aoife reeled towards them, determined that they should be buried in hallowed ground, but as she neared, a black hole opened into the earth and swallowed them up --- nary a trace remained of their existence. Aoife fell to her knees and clawed at the earth, wailing.

She awoke clawing at the bedcovers. Pushing them away from her heaving chest, Aoife pressed her palms to her streaming eyes as sobs shook her body. The touch of Malachy's paw on her hand made her jump. Uncovering her face, she curled onto her side, hugging the cat close to her chest as the tears coursed...now silently...down her cheeks and nose.

* * * * *

The following night she returned to the Yeomen's garrison with a candle and tinderbox in her knapsack, neither of which elicited any questions when she was searched at the gate. She rushed through the boot polishing to allow herself as much time as possible for exploring the tunnel ere the sentries might expect her through the gate again.

Again, she timed her entry into the carriage house with the guards' movements. Through the connecting door she beheld no one in the dark stable, and she pressed on, slinking to the storage stall. Down the shaft she went, closing the hatch behind her and lighting her candle on reaching the bottom. The flickering light corroborated her previous impression --- there was one passageway connected to the shaft, and it appeared to head in the direction of the house. Therein did she go.

'Twas a narrow tunnel, wide enough for one person to pass, and of a height that obliged her to crouch slightly. The stone reinforced sides were roughhewn, although the course was generally straight and the air damp but not stale. In advance of the candle, she glimpsed mice running and cobwebs by the ceiling, old and fresh, and she shivered as she ducked under motionless spiders.

Some fifty paces along, the passage ended with a set of stone stairs. At the top was another passage forming a T with the one from which she had ascended; its walls had changed to large, smooth, even stone blocks, and the ceiling height had risen by over a foot.

She recognized these walls; she must be inside the house now, in the cellar...inside a hollow wall perhaps? Which direction should she go: left or right? She chose right.

Soon Michael encountered an opening in the wall of the passageway: yet another passage, much smaller. Lifting the candle higher, she could not make out any landmarks either before her or in the side passage. Uncertain of the extent of the tunnels, she shuddered at the sudden thought of losing her way and being trapped underground. Crouching, she arranged one of her rags on the floor in the form of an arrow, pointing back to the tunnel to the stable.

Into the small, side tunnel she then ventured. Several paces in was another staircase, this made of wood. Tiptoeing up, she found herself in an even narrower space where she was obliged to unsling her knapsack from her back and turn partially sideways to advance. The floor had wood planks, and the close walls on each side were lined by a row of vertical wood studs. Between the studs was the back surface of the paneling and plastered boards that no doubt faced the inside of the rooms on either side. The space extended some ten feet inside the wall, then ended blindly.

She was inside a wall between two rooms, so she was!

For a long moment she contemplated this and was about to retreat, when ahead at the far end she spied a tiny beam of light coming through the wall on the right side. Creeping towards it, she confirmed there to be a hole in the wall some four feet off the floor...'twas as wide as the tip of her forefinger. All eagerness, she crouched and put her eye to it, her lower body twisting sideways in the confined space.

Through the hole, she beheld a spacious, richly appointed parlour --- presently unoccupied but lit by a fire in a marble fireplace. The fur-crested, feather-plumed helmet on a stand upon an elegant gilt-trimmed desk told her it was an officer's study. Was it Blaylock's? She could not tell. Recalling her architecture lesson from the carpenter at Drumlevy Manor, she brought the candle closer and studied the wall around the peep-hole.

Aye! The outline of a panel was visible inside a frame, and there were small hinges on one side. Opposite, she found a latch. Years of disuse and moisture had caused it to stick fast...after failing for several moments to free it with her finger, she extracted her dagger from the knapsack strap and used the tip to slide the latch open.

The panel was tightly fixed in place --- several sharp yanks upon the wooden cross bar on the back achieved victory: she fell against the studs behind her as the panel opened towards her. Firelight spilled into the hidden space. She paused for a moment, but no previously unseen person started up into sight.

Ducking through the opening, she stepped into the room and turned round, pulling the wall panel shut to see that it was concealed in the elaborate carvings of the wood wainscoting that covered the lower half of the walls. The peep-hole was in the center of a repeating rose motif. 'Twas a fine, clever piece of artistry, so it was.

Michael glanced round the chamber, deliberating her options, then stepped back into the wall and pushed the panel shut behind her.

Swiveling, she examined the opposite wall and quickly located another peep-hole --- dark, for the chamber on the other side was dark. She opened a similar hinged panel in the wainscoting and surveyed another parlour apparently being used as an office. Only embers were glowing in the grate. The officers were dining at this hour, she recalled, accounting for the empty rooms with fires still burning.

Back inside the wall, she descended the stairs and returned to the stone block passage. When she continued on, she determined that it terminated with another side passage with another stair. Here again she found a space inside the wall between two chambers, each with an opening panel and a peep-hole. On one side was a somewhat larger chamber with more bookcases, but again with a desk and a helmet on a stand. On the other side, the room was completely dark, but her candle disclosed an impressive library. No evidence of recent activity was apparent.

Given the passage of time, Michael hastened down the cellar portion of the passage and continued into the left arm of the T for a quick peek. In a mirror image formation, there were two side passages, each with stairs up into a space inside the wall. The first one had no discernable doors or peep-holes...perhaps the result of later architectural modifications? The second was between a dark ballroom and an unoccupied billiard room with a fire crackling in the hearth.

Retracing her steps, Michael retrieved her rag marker and rushed back to the stable, climbing out of the shaft and slipping into the courtyard unobserved.

On her walk back to Enniscorthy she reviewed in elation what she had uncovered, picturing the configuration of the concealed passageways. On the cellar level, the secret stone passage ran parallel to the long axis of the rectangular manse. The main floor rooms could be accessed from three hidden wooden stairs inside the walls --- at least the rooms on the north side of the mansion could. If Blaylock's office was one of the three she had entered, she might have just been blessed with the solution to her quandary.

* * * * *

Late Monday morning, Declan and Brian Foley carried empty casks from the storeroom to the Smithwick's wagon in the street in front of Foley's tavern. Brian was yet talking to the driver when Rose appeared from the hall next to the bar. "Where's me brother?" she asked.

Declan nodded towards the front door, which a moment later opened.

"There you are. I need ye lads to come with me to the market."

"Why? Are you buying a side of beef?" Brian asked.

Declan too was puzzled. Usually, Rose went with her grandmother and the children.

"The women were talking after mass yesterday...they said that there were soldiers patrolling the market now, harassing and insulting the women. I'll not be bringing the bairns, so I won't --- Granny will mind them. But I dinna want to go by meself."

The lads agreed readily and fetched the handcart. The trio set off for Market Square, Declan marking the altered atmosphere about the streets. Ever since General Lake had begun dragooning the neighboring counties, the citizens of Enniscorthy had been living in a state of heightened unease. The cancellation of the May fair this past Saturday had been the most recent sign of the potential havoc coming to County Wexford.

Now as they walked, there were noticeably fewer people about the sidewalks and scarce any children. Carts and wagons were moving purposefully without the usual good-natured disorder. At the market, smiles were tight, and chatter was strained among both customers and merchants.

Declan and Brian stayed close by Rose as they followed her among the shops and hawkers' carts. Declan monitored the activity in the square; there were indeed Redcoats about --- a trio on the far side of the square was methodically entering each shop along the street. On the side closest to them were three more soldiers moving among the street carts and seemingly questioning the Catholic hawkers.

But their attentions were not limited to the merchants, Declan noted with ire. They were addressing the women and lasses as they shopped, offering plainly unwelcome commentary about their purchases and appearance.

Rose had just completed a transaction and signaled to Declan and Brian; they loaded two large sacks of flour into the handcart. When Declan returned his watchful gaze to the square, he saw that the nearby Redcoats had plainly focused their scrutiny upon an apparently unaccompanied young maiden. They were nudging each other and conversing in low tones as they observed her for several minutes. She was a pretty, dark-haired lass, at the present moment sorting through the items in a basket on her arm.

The three soldiers stepped up and addressed her --- one man before her, and one at each side. A nervous expression clouded the poor girl's countenance as they subtly steered her with their hands upon her elbows, drawing her a little apart from the throng of people by the shops. No one save Declan seemed concerned about what was transpiring, and he could only suppose that she was at the market by herself.

He could not make out their words but perceived that they were speaking to her in turns, and that she was responding only with timid shakes of her head. They leant closer and plucked at her white cap and neckerchief...peeping into her bodice with chuckles and smirks. Blushing, she attempted to pull away, but was detained by the hands on her arms. The soldier before her began stroking his hand lewdly up and down the handle of the sword whilst the lass shook her head and averted her face.

Declan turned the handcart over to Brian and approached the Redcoats with a quick stride. "There's me wee sister," he called out with an impatient tone. "Where did ye get off to? I've been searching high and low for ye, and now here I find you flirting with soldiers."

The Redcoats turned and took in the tall, strapping lad.

Declan rolled his eyes and shook his head, saying with annoyance, "Lasses!" Taking the basket, he beckoned her. "Come along, now. Let's finish up. Ma will be needing the butter. Your pardon, sirs, sorry for the trouble." Giving the disconcerted Redcoats a brisk nod, he guided the lass back to the sidewalk next to Brian and Rose. "Did ye get Da's tea?" He rummaged among the items in the basket and muttered under his breath. "Join our party whilst ye market."

Her eyes were wide as she whispered, "Ta."

Declan's and Brian's presence as the lasses shopped dampened the soldiers' enthusiasm in their game. At least whilst the lads were still in attendance, the Redcoats' bullying was constrained to a sullen eyeing of the merchants and market goers as they walked about.

Declan forced his features into a neutral mien, hiding his anger and renewed perturbation that Aoife was daily surrounded by such men, her safety dependent upon a linen band round her breasts.

The lads walked Rose home, then the lass, advising her to henceforth forgo marketing alone.

Declan soon suspected that this was but the first of many confrontations to come with the Crown's troops. So far as he was concerned, the rising could not start soon enough.

That very evening as he was tending bar with Colin Foley, they were taken aback when four Yeomen entered the tavern --- none Blaylock. The customers were relatively few at the moment, but all were United Irishmen. A hush fell over the room as the four soldiers took up a challenging stance by the door and surveyed the establishment--- their hands upon their sword or pistol handles. The black fur crests on their helmets brushed the ceiling beams, and the silver braid on their blue uniforms glinted in the light from the fireplace.

Declan knew right well that the off-duty Militia and Yeomen frequented a handful of alehouses in the town --- Foley's not being one of them. This could only portend trouble. Foley and he exchanged quick glances.

From their uniforms, Declan took two of them to be officers, and the presence of metal gorgets below their collars indicated that they were on duty. The ranking officer strode up to the bar, where the gathered men moved aside.

"How can I assist you, sir?" Foley said in a civil tone.

"Are you the proprietor of this tavern?" the Yeoman officer said in a brusque Anglo-Irish accent. He was a man in his late twenties with brown hair visible under his helmet.

"I am."

"Then you can show me your license and books, if you will."

Foley nodded and told Declan to mind the bar before disappearing down the hall.

The officer's dark eyes flicked over the bottles on the wall. "Jameson's," he said.

Declan's face remained expressionless as he poured a measure of whiskey and pushed it across the bar. The man extracted a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and cleaned the rim of the mug before taking a sip.

In the meantime, the other three Yeomen were making a methodical circuit of the tavern, pausing to study each of the customers in turn. Declan sensed that they were looking for someone in particular...whom, he wondered? His gut tightened. Had one of their members been betrayed? To their credit, the United Irishmen remained unflustered under the scrutiny, looking up with bland inquiry from their drinks.

Foley reappeared carrying a ledger which he set on the bar before the officer.

Intermittently sipping his whiskey, the officer turned through the pages of the book, by and by looking up when the junior officer approached. The man shook his head, to which his commander said calmly, "Search the rest of the place." He returned his attention to the book.

Foley and Declan shared another glance.

"What's back there?" the junior officer demanded, pointing at the doorway behind the bar.

"A storeroom," Foley replied.

The three Yeomen stepped behind the bar; at the officer's signal, the two privates entered and began searching the storeroom. Foley and Declan stood aside as the junior officer walked along the bar, his eyes darting over the shelves and counters. He pulled open drawers and crouched to look in cabinets.

After searching the area behind the bar, the three men proceeded down the hall towards the rear of the building.

Foley called after them, "Mind ye, me daughter and grandchildren are back there."

Rose's husband was there too to look after them, and Declan refrained from following the soldiers, lest it rouse suspicion. After several minutes, he heard one set of boots going up the stairs, and two others exiting through the door to the yard.

Then he remembered: there were pike heads hidden in the barrel! Rory Redmond had delivered a pair earlier that evening!

Declan's heart thudded, but he began cleaning mugs with a staid demeanor. He had washed all the mugs when the footsteps eventually descended the stairs, and the rear door creaked again. Boots tromped down the hall, and the trio reappeared, their faces unreadable. The commanding officer again glanced up.

"Nothing, sir," the other officer reported.

Declan's breath eased.

The commanding officer swiveled, the handle of his saber knocking over his unfinished drink and spilling the liquor over the open ledger. "Gentlemen," he said curtly. Without paying for the whiskey, he strode to the street door, his men following.

Colin Foley swore and hastened to rescue the doused book.

In the wake of their departure, such was the unsettled state that for the rest of the evening the men adhered to the pretense of an unremarkable gathering for drink and craic. Not a word of politics or planning was uttered, so possessed were they by the fear of being spied upon.

'Twas not till the tavern closed that Foley and Declan conversed in low voices in the kitchen, speculating without answers as to the true purpose behind the Yeomen's inspection. They favored that the soldiers had been hunting for a person, for after thoroughly assessing the customers, the search had otherwise been perfunctory. Whom they were seeking was the mystery...Captain Fleetwood?

The Yeoman's visit to Foley's tavern was much on Declan's mind the next morning as he worked at his second job digging clay for the pottery firm.

Were they indeed searching for someone...or something in particular, or had it merely been a calculated act of intimidation, similar to the Redcoats' harassment of the Catholic merchants and market goers? In this case, the target being a tavern whose custom was reputed to harbor rebel sympathies? Given the unchecked force being employed by the Crown's soldiers in the neighboring counties, why would any restraint have been observed in their case?

Should they devise a different procedure for transporting the pike heads and hafts out to Fleetwood's farm? Any day now they were expecting to hear word of the date of the uprising --- perhaps they should alter not what had so far proved successful.

By God, the incident was wholly unnerving...and perhaps that alone had been the intent.

On his way back to Foley's in the early afternoon, Declan turned onto Market Square where he observed again the relatively subdued activity among the shops and street carts. No Redcoats did he spy today. However, as he crossed the square, he heard from somewhere ahead of him the ominous sounds of marching boots. Louder and louder did it grow till a detachment of Yeomen swept into the square at the northwest corner, likely having come from Rossnalough Manor.

They were marching in a tight formation of four rows of four, their blue coats, white shoulder belts, and shouldered muskets perfectly aligned. At the head was an officer on horseback riding with one hand on the reins and one hand on his hip --- 'twas the same officer who had examined Foley's ledger last night.