Eunan awoke to the sound of rain pattering on the roof of his tent. His leaden limbs lay like disobedient, lazy dogs that refused to meet the day and unite with the surge of energy that burst through ’his hazy brain as the dreams faded away. Sitting up caused a sharp throb in his head. Was it from last night’s celebratory ale or exhaustion from battle? He inhaled deeply, only to fold in two under a coughing fit. The rancid smell of sweat and dampness filled his tent; unfortunately, he recognised it was coming from him.
The rhythm of the rain stopped. Eunan heard the clang of armour outside and the groans of the men. Then it dawned upon him. Yesterday was the greatest victory ever for the clans of Ireland, and Dublin lay before them. The enemy was beaten but not destroyed. The ultimate victory lay before him, but only if he could get out of bed.
He dragged his bulky frame through the various debris on the tent floor — bloody rags, a broken mug, and various trophies picked off the dead to earn him bragging rights — careful not to place his knees near the exposed blades of axes. He undid the flaps and stuck his head out into the crisp morning air. His red hair was immediately recognisable.
“So glad you could join us today,” said his uncle Seamus with a toothy grin as he poked at the embers of a fire, trying to eke out some heat without having to get more firewood. His grey, matted hair was slung over his shoulder, and though he was dressed only in a dirty white shirt, he seemed immune to the cold. Eunan joined him by the fire. Seamus smirked.
“Look at us,” he said wryly. “We have just won the biggest victory known on these shores over the English, yet we sit here like a pair of beggars.” Eunan gave Seamus a wide smile.
“I’ll certainly need a wash and to put on my fineries before I pose for the tapestry they’ll hang on the Enniskillen castle walls.”
Barely had contempt formed a sentence for Seamus’s riposte than a young boy sprinted up to them, heaving for breath.
“The O’Neill has summoned all the commanders to his tent,” the boy said between breaths.
“Thank you, son. Now, go quench your thirst before you return to your master.” Seamus pointed towards some barrels on a nearby cart.
The boy grinned. “’Tis a grand day indeed! Everyone is celebrating!”
Fearing the boy wanted some other reward, be it a tale or a coin, Seamus gestured towards the barrels as if that was his only reward. “Go quench your thirst for there is enough water today to go round for all.”
He punched Eunan in the shoulder. “Come on, now’s not the time for frivolities or dreaming of fancy tapestries they’ll make when you’re dead. You’ve got to think like a commander if we’re going to stop the O’Neill from squandering this victory.”
***
Eunan and Seamus knew they needed to be presentable before meeting the O’Neill, so they found a stream in which Eunan washed off the most visible excess mud from the battle the day before. He stood in the river, using one hand to ladle water over his body while scrubbing with the other. Seamus took a more cautious approach, sitting on a rock with much of his clothing still on and delicately pouring water while keeping an eye out for approaching people.
“Eunan! Come here!” Eunan turned around, making sure that his private parts were still beneath the surface.
“No one wants to see that,” Seamus said with a smirk, “but they might if you use these.” He held out a bunch of wildflowers he had collected. “Rub these all over your bits when you’re finished washing and you’ll smell lovely for your father-in-law and uncle-in-law. It will really impress them and show them what a great husband you are to Sorcha.”
Eunan averted his eyes from his uncle’s glance. “Keep them for your own wife. You’ll need them to apologise for being away for so long.”
“Dervella will be fine,” Seamus sneered. “I’m sure she’s glad to see me go every time I leave.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Eunan responded as he climbed up onto the bank to dry himself off. “That woman is the dearest person to me in the world; far more of a mother than my own. Her only mistake was choosing you as her husband.”
“Ha! She should count herself lucky. She could have married one of my brothers!”
The last sentence caught Eunan’s attention.
“You never told me before you had any other brothers besides my father,” he said.
Seamus swore, knowing it was his fault for stirring up Eunan’s curiosity.
“Now don’t you go blaming me for not telling you,” Seamus said wagging his finger. “As a commander, you should get all the pertinent facts before making decisions. Don’t inquire after my other brother. We’d be better off if he was in a much lower pit of hell than your father, as he truly deserves it.”
He picked up Eunan’s shirt and threw it at him; luckily, Eunan dove to catch it with enough time to prevent it from getting wet.
“Get changed and drop the subject of my immediate family. Bath time is over; we have to make sure the O’Neill makes the most of his victory.”
***
The path to the centre of the O’Neill’s camp was covered in planks of wood for it had only taken a smattering of rain for the many feet to convert the paths of the camp into mud. The air was heavy with the smells of roasting cows, smoke, and the stench of sweaty men. Most of them were in good spirits, though some faces were gripped with pain due to injuries they had sustained during the battle. They all waited anxiously for a physician who could help them save their limbs.
Eunan shared in the jubilation of those who survived the battle relatively unscathed as he followed Seamus through the camp. Seamus retained his demeanour as a commander and shook hands with those men along the way who he considered would not make it to the end of the day and promised them prayers and more victories in their names.
The O’Neill’s galloglass surrounded an open area and carried his chair into its centre where he could address the subordinate clans. Eunan and Seamus were pointed to the right-hand side and were invited to stand behind the Maguire. The men exhibited an array of emotions — some were still celebrating from their victory the day before, others showed signs of disquietude, shifting uncomfortably as if debating whether or not to voice their inner qualms.
As soon as the O’Neill entered surrounded by his bodyguards, a thunderous cheer erupted from every throat present in deference to him. However, Eunan noticed Cormac walking solemnly at his heels, head bowed. Without further ado, the O’Neill took up residence on his throne-like seat, face stoic and as if cast in solid stone.
Seamus sensed the mounting tension and huddled closer to Eunan. “I get the feeling we won’t be here for long,” he muttered beneath his breath.
As the O’Neill stood, a deafening silence descended on the sea of people. They all anxiously held their breath as they waited expectantly. He quietly rocked back and forth before finally addressing them.
“Yesterday we won a great victory, one that will be remembered throughout the ages. As we speak, my agents are at sea to tell the Spanish King of our great victory in the hope that it expediates his army’s arrival. But contrary to the songs I heard around the campfires last evening, I still believe the Lord Deputy to be a powerful foe. There is still a strong chance of an English army landing behind us. No O’Neill can countenance being out on campaign while his wife and children get murdered at home. Therefore, there will be no march on Dublin and we shall wait in Ulster where the Englishman fears to tread until the Spanish King sends his army. Congratulations to you all. Return home and take in the harvest, sons and daughters of Ulster!”
The shouts of disagreement rumbled like thunder through the crowd. But before anyone could act on their fury, O’Neill was ushered away by his bodyguards, flanked by his Galloglass entourage.
“Come on,” Seamus said to Eunan as he signalled him to leave. “There’ll be no persuading the O’Neill today.”
Eunan followed and worked his way through the crowd. He felt a slap on his chest and looked down to see a hand with a letter.
“From a rebel in Munster who hopes to see you soon,” a voice said.
Eunan looked up and saw a figure melting back into the crowd. He quickly tucked the letter away into his pocket, resolving to read its contents when he was alone.
***
The letter felt like a death sentence in Eunan’s pocket. Its cruel mystery threatened to unravel all he had worked for, and with the Seamus’s suspicious eyes upon him, he doubled his efforts to lose himself in the throng of commanders. Eventually, he returned to his tent, shut out the world, and entered the stale air that was almost suffocating in its intensity.
His breathing quickened and his hand trembled as he pulled the letter out, barely managing to keep his grip on the paper. Images of Sorcha flashed before him — lying immobile on her bed surrounded by white sheets, her arm reaching slowly towards Eunan as though it drained all her energy; Cara’s smiling face framed by windswept curls on Devenish Island, her cheeks flushed with life. Tears stung his eyes and exhaustion gave way to guilt. Then came a vision of Sorcha pregnant with their child; her body barely rising from the bed. Should he discard the letter unopened outside the camp, where it would be drowned in mud kicked up by a thousand marching feet? His breath hitched in his throat but he knew he had no other option than to open it. He had to be brave enough to accept whatever awaited him.
He ran his fingers over the creases and lines of the letter, which carried both the potential evidence of a conspiracy against him and his strongest hope in weeks. He shut his eyes tight and said a silent prayer before prying open the paper with desperation. The parchment shook in his grasp as he read through it quickly until finally there it was, at the bottom of the page: Cara. The name alone was enough to bring raging flames back to life inside him.
“Eunan? Where are you?”
The voice startled him out of his trance. Seamus’s voice echoed through the thin walls of the tent, but Eunan did not move. He clenched his fists hard around the remnants of the letter so tightly that his knuckles turned white, then he shredded the letter into tiny pieces and stuffed the remains into his pocket with determined rage. With one last deep breath to steel himself, he stood up straight and marched out of the tent, and cleansed himself of emotion.
“There you are,” Seamus said. His eyes narrowed. “What have you been up to? Your cheeks are all red.”
Eunan made a feeble attempt at a grimace.
“I may have got a little too much sun yesterday being spared rain for so long. What has you interested in my complexion all of a sudden?”
“I have commanded men for too long not to know when someone is up to something. But that is a question for another time. Gather your men. There is a column of the enemy retreating towards Fermanagh. We are needed to ensure your homeland is safe.”
Eunan pulled his shirt straight and thought of his sick wife in bed with her slightly elevated belly.
“To Fermanagh. Let the people know we are their protectors.”
