Dawn Of Ireland: Captive Heart Part 4

"It was an isle. Very small. Rocks and gra.s.s, wildflowers, more rocks. Thousands of birds. We were surrounded by the sea."

"And did they have houses built there?"

"Yes. A score of clay houses. Like our own, but smaller. Nestled-hidden, huddled-among the rocks. We...the women were together, five of us in that hut. There were but two captive men, and we never saw them again after we arrived."

"How many were your captors?"

"There were but six, and another six waiting for us."

"Were there other...captives when you got there?"

"Yes, but we never saw them. At first I could hear-could hear screams-in the night. And then our own screams drowned out the other voices, like...like the drowning waves outside our door. Through the months, I know that women, mostly women, came and went. Were they dead? Or did new ones take the place of old? I never knew."

There was a flood of tears waiting behind my eyes, and my throat was choking with bile. But I dared not show Mama my reaction for fear that she would not speak again.

"Just a few more questions-then I promise not to speak of it again." I took both her small hands into my own. "Why did they make you leave?"

"One day we were bound together, waiting to be taken to their-to the place they held us down at night. Then a shout went up, and we could hear a stranger's voice. It was a man who had come with a boat. A small skin boat, as before. After a while our captors herded all five of us out of the hut and down the beach. We were thrown, still in ropes, into the boat."

She stopped talking. "Then what, Mama?" I urged.

"We did not sail to the sh.o.r.e, but we stayed close enough to the sh.o.r.e to keep it in sight. Away from the setting sun. It took hours, and the man struggled with a set of-paddles? Oars? But before dark we set foot on real land. And there stood another man with a bullock wagon, or ox cart. The man I saw at church. He was almost big as a bullock, I thought. Yet until I saw him again, I thought his size was my own fear made whole. We could see and hear coins, or metal pieces, changing hands. And then both men threw us-actually threw us-in the back of the cart, all full of hay and dung."

"So that is how you arrived at Ballysweeney? In that same cart? With that same vile man?"

"No. After five days, we were put in a small boat again and then into another ox cart."

"How long was that trip, Mama?"

She seemed exasperated with my questions. "Oh, child, what does it matter?"

"Because I would-" I almost told her that I would trace that path back. Back to its source. And that source would be where I would take my revenge.

"Because II know not, dearest Mother. Because I care." I dropped my head into her lap, exactly the way I had done on that day almost ten years ago when she told me that Father was dead. And just as she had done then, she stroked my cranky, tumbling hair and consoled me.

"Shush, shush, darling. It is all over now. It is done. Let us live for today and for tomorrow." I looked up into her steady, brown eyes, and I beheld a world of sorrow. No tears. But unfathomable sorrow. I remembered what Sweeney had called her, after his native Gaelige word-"the one called Brn." The woman named Sorrow.

"Tell me how long," I whispered stubbornly.

"Very well, Caylith. Our next boat ride was very short-perhaps half an hour or less, as though we were crossing a river. The first man-the churchman-rode away, as if he lived nearby. A different man took us in a different wagon. But not before making us sit in the water and wash off the dung. Thank G.o.d. And then we b.u.mped and tumbled along for two days. South, I think, to judge by the sun. We could not see where we were going, but the land was flat, much smoother. Or perhaps there was a road to follow at last. And then we were ordered out of the cart. And there sat a man in a cripple cart. The man named Sweeney. And you know the rest."

Yes, she had finally confessed to me alone what had happened in Sweeney's brugh. And now that I knew part of her early captivity, I marveled all the more at the almost tender relations.h.i.+p that had developed between them in the three months he had "held" her.

"Thank you, Mama. I am glad to know the story at last. If you had spoken before, I think I could have given you a comfort tea."

She smiled. "My comfort tea is you, Caylith. And Glaedwine, too. The ones I love, who love me. Please, please speak no more about the past. My comfort lies in the present and the future. My granddaughter Quillan."

She rose, and her silken toga s.h.i.+mmered above me. "Do not see me out, darling. I need to walk by myself just now." She rested a hand on the top of my head, so lightly I hardly felt her touch. Then she walked as regally as any queen to the door, opened it, and left. I did not even hear it close behind her.

After she left, I could not tear her words out of my mind. "The place they held us down at night." I let the tears flow then, and I was still crying when Liam found me sitting on the wooden floor, my pretty leine flowing around me in little green waves.

That night in bed, a tall candle flickered and swayed in the restive air coming through the smoke hole in the ceiling. Liam sat up, his back against the wall, while he held me in his strong arms. My head was cradled on his shoulder, my thoughts far away.

"Can ye...finally talk, Cat? Do mhithir bhrn? Her sad story?"

"She...saw one of her captors in church, Liam. In our own church! That frightened her very much. She is still scared now-two days later." And renegade tears began to form again behind my eyes.

"An' b'fheidir ye...scared, too, Cat?"

"Why, perhaps I am." I had not thought about being frightened. But the raw edges of her story haunted me-rocks like broken knives...held down at night...thrown among the hay and dung...a monster hidden in our own church.

"Ye know nothing can harm ye here, a ghr. Or your mother."

"I know that, darling Liam. I want to trace her back, find where she was held. And punish those who hurt her."

With one swing of his large hands and arms, Liam brought me up on his chest and looked into my eyes. He spoke urgently. "Ye must not think that way. 'Tis over now. Too late to go back. Our Lord said, be merciful."

I was angry that he sounded just like Mama. "Be merciful-and let slave traders bruise and beat and rape their victims. Is that what you want me to do, Liam? Let them expand their vile trade, until it affects everyone in eire-even people in our own church?"

I sat on his chest glaring down at him, thoroughly exasperated. "What if I could find out where they are, where they skulk about, stealing and defiling and selling human beings? Should I close my eyes and whisper a pious prayer?"

He looked troubled, running his finger down my cheek from where the tears began to where they dripped from my stubborn, stiff chin. "Hush, Cat. Blaze not at me. For I would burn up in your fire."

I thought he meant to make me smile, but I had hardly begun. "I think the reason these-these savages are able to ply their trade is because no one wants to look at the truth. Even I. For months now, I have tried not even to think about what happened to my own mother. And all the while her scars burned at night, and her mind festered, and I would rather not know."

I stood up, looking down at my husband lying between my wide-s.p.a.ced legs. I knew my eyes were as wild as my hair, and I continued to rant.

"I want to track her path back until I know where it started. Never forget-these same beasts torched my home, sent me running into the night-sick, frightened, desperate, thinking my mother burned to ash. They have much to answer for. They killed Brindl's husband-to-be and his parents, too. I cannot-I will not think about what they did to Mama, all bound in ropes. Liam, they need to be brought to justice."

"Cat, listen to me. Will ye stop a moment?" He sat up fully and grasped my hands, a pleading gesture. I stopped.

"I said 'tis too late to go back. I mean, Cat, the past is past. We...capture these mad dogs, an' sure we bring them back to answer for their sins. But never...bring back your old home. Or lost lives. Or...or old joys of your mother. Those never come back. Let not anger be your path. Please, be loving, Cat, an' let our Lord take care of punis.h.i.+ng. If he will."

I let his words settle in. "You mean-we can go bring them back?"

"We can. If that be your will."

"And we give them to the Lord."

"Yes."

"Should all criminals, all murderers, all who break the Lord's commandments-should they all be given to the Lord for punishment?

"They should."

"And then what? Will they be struck down by his mighty sword? Or brought to their knees to praise his name? Or be forgiven, only to sin again?"

"The Lord will decide."

I knelt then, my legs straddling his hips. "T go maith. I agree. If we can bring them back, I will give them to you to deliver to their righteous judge."

"Amen, Cat."

"Then I will start tomorrow to trace these butchering savages to their safe island in the sea. And when I think I know where they are, we will leave together. Yes, Liam?"

"Yes, Caitln."

I leaned over further. My naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s, forgotten in the heat of my anger, swung like pendent fruit before his mouth. "Together, fear agus bean cheile?"

"Yes. Man and wife," he repeated. His fingertips began to stroke my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, very softly.

"Then-then suck my nipples, Liam. Let me shout in joy and not in anger."

Chapter 7:.

Isle of Captives Still in my tattered deerskin, I lay atop my favorite large rock in the Foyle, my flaxen fis.h.i.+ng line jumping in the vortex of water below. This morning's visit with Sweeney had been short, and that was good. I had not wanted to linger, especially since I felt we had said our fare thee wells two days ago.

Sweeney was alone when I arrived. Moc had gone with her brother Jay to see Nuala-Mother Sweeney-and I thought Swallow might be visiting Torin in the tunnels somewhere in the intricate underground network. He had greeted me civilly enough and then sat back on his favorite bench, his legs covered as always, waiting for me to blurt out my intention for disturbing his tranquility.

"To get straight to the point, Owen-"

"Please." But he said it with a half smile, and his eyes betrayed an edge of humor.

"Mother was frightened in the churchyard on the Sabbath. One of the slave traders, one who bought her from the savages, was there. He had thrown her into a bullock wagon. He did not remember her, but she remembered his face...and his large size."

Sweeney's eyes changed from humor to a kind of bleak anger, like a man confronting a fate he could not control.

"I am sorry to bring up the past. Mother fought against telling me anything at all. But from her few words, I could piece together a story. And I would like to tell you that story so that you may perhaps help me."

"Help you, Caylith? Not your mother?" He spoke softly, his eyes still suffused with a kind of pain that I had hoped would not still be there almost three years later.

"She will not hear of punishment. The retribution would be by the will of the Lord. Liam, too, will not tolerate the thought of civil punishment. He thinks the cowards need to be brought before the church authorities. I have agreed, against my will. He will help me-but only if I promise to deliver them to Father Patrick."

Owen's face had settled into the melancholy lines I thought had been banished, and his voice was low. "How then can I help, Caylith?"

As best I could, I recounted her story to me-how many days she sailed, what direction, how the little boat landed among rising crags on the small island. And then the journey back, ending at his own doorstep at Ballysweeney. I deliberately refrained from telling him any details of her captivity, whatever little bits I knew. He, too, had suffered enough pain.

"I am not skilled at such things, Owen. But my mind sang to me over and over as she spoke-Inishowen. They sailed west to Inishowen, and probably beyond."

"I agree. There lies an island somewhere to the west of the bay. An island I know not. From what you say, it is no doubt some forty or fifty miles beyond any area I am familiar with. There must be a dozen such islands."

"So far away?" I was disappointed. I thought-I had hoped-it would be so close that we would have no trouble locating it and settling matters with the savages.

"As the owl flies, young lady, it is not far at all. Let me give it some thought. I will also think about who may help us. My own legs will not carry me there-though I wish I could confront those brutes myself. I think I would have a hard time letting them remain alive as far as Father Patrick's monastery."

Yes, I thought just then that Owen might exact his own kind of justice, even though he had recently been baptized by the good bishop himself.

"Am I right, Caylith, that these same savages torched your mother's villa-your own home-and left the dead in their wake?"

"Yes." My voice was barely above a whisper.

"I will do my part. Give me a few days to form plans."

I rose then. "Thank you, Owen. I bid you farewell. Again."

"And again I tell you, I will feel joy when you visit me on Trawbreaga Bay." This time he reached out his hand, not waiting for me to extend my own. I squeezed it as hard as I could with my small hand, and then I left.

Now, leaning over the swirling waters of the Foyle, I thought about the pain I had left in Owen's eyes. He was in love with Mockingbird, to be sure. But he had told me himself a few months ago how he felt about Mama, the woman named Sorrow.

We had been speaking in private, and Owen had spoken more openly than ever before or since. "...Your dear mother made me see that I could be a whole man. I love her for that, and now I can let her go. I no longer feel the desperate desire but only the admiration. I hope she will somehow know that."

I, too, hoped that someday Mama would understand what a large part she had played in Owen's newfound love of life. And I knew that regardless of what he had said, he would never really let her go. She was part of him now, forever.

In spite of the roar of the river, I fancied I heard a horse's whinny, and I glanced casually toward the hay haggard. I almost dropped the fis.h.i.+ng line when I beheld a rangy, tall, dark-haired man making his slow way over the tumbled rocks at the edge of the river. Murdoch! It was Owen's son Murdoch.

I felt a warm glow as I watched him, not raising my head to reveal that I saw him. Murdoch was one of those rare men-and I counted other members of Liam's family among them-who made me laugh, who stirred up my admiration, whom I could tease and call my friend. He was a man who, in another lifetime, might have played a different role in my life. In that spirit of teasing friends.h.i.+p, I kept my head averted, pretending I had not seen him. Through the corner of my eye, I saw him standing, watching me watch him.

I called out without turning my head, "What brings you to Derry, my friend?" And then, taking my time, I turned my head fully and gazed at him. A lock of straight, black hair lay across his forehead, almost in his eyes. Under his dark brows, his eyes, usually somber, were glittering, almost dancing with reflections of the river's currents. He wore a light leine, belted with a wide strap of leather, and rather heavy traveling boots. He wore no weapon that I could see.

"My, ah, my father. I am come to help him relocate."

I had once told Murdoch that he was not a liar. I knew at that moment he was skirting the truth, perhaps embarra.s.sed to tell me the real reason behind his visit. Or perhaps he had not yet confronted the truth within himself.

"I would have thought you were more help to him on the bay, building a homestead for his arrival." I spoke idly, almost offhandedly, not standing or making any move to get down off the rock.

"Will you come down from that d.a.m.ned rock, Cate? And greet a visitor properly?"

I laughed. "You are the visitor. You must approach me." And I brought up my line, then cast it again, looking into the whirlpool below, almost daring him to scramble onto the large, wet rock.

"Very well, you devil woman. If I fall, you will pick up the pieces. Yes?"

"B'fheidir. We shall see."

He started for the rock, hesitating, looking for a foothold for his large boots. At first tentatively, then with more confidence, he began to inch his way onto the rock. At last, on his knees, he was within a foot or so of me.

"Now greet your visitor."

Laughing, I held out my hand, and he seized it. Just as he did before, last February, he brought it to his lips palm up, and his mouth and tongue moved across it. "G.o.d, I have missed you, Cate."

I s.n.a.t.c.hed my hand back, laughing again. "Enough overlong greetings, Doch. I am joyed to see you, too. Tell me why you are really here."