The Butcher's Daughter, page 3
That money, that godsend, inspired yet another plan. After I succeeded in sobering Gilley up, I purchased a small but sturdy Dutch fly boat with Gilley’s expert help and without being swindled. The boat had been rigged for fishing. But I had no interest or experience in fishing. My surrogate father you see had never used his trawler for fishing. Dalton’s interest in boats was for smuggling goods into Ireland from places like England, Holland and France, from lands as far away even as Spain, Morocco and Italy. I had travelled to all those places and had learned the business well…
It was well past midnight when the second landing party led by Gilley returned to the ships with the last of Dowlin’s buried treasure. But before I gave the order to weigh anchor, I sent Gilley and his men back to the site one last time with empty crates and instructed them to fill the crates with rocks and sand, bury them and then cover up any trace that we had ever been there. And when Gilley returned from that task, I gave the order to sail and we headed out across the vast and rolling sea, my home and refuge since the day O’Malley died, heading towards no particular destination. Once we were clear of any land, I called my officers together, as was my custom from time-to-time, for a council of war in my great cabin.
Hunter, as usual, was the first to arrive. “Good evening, my lady,” he said and kissed me quickly on the cheek. “I see you’ve found time to mend the two buttons on your blouse.”
I tried not to smile as Gilley walked in a few steps behind Hunter. “Master Hunter, Master Gilley. I trust all is well on deck?”
“All is well, Mary,” Gilley said in his usual, fatherly tone. “It is a happy ship.”
Hunter chuckled. “No doubt, no doubt she is with all that loot we have stowed on board.”
“And the new men?” I asked.
“As I said,” Gilley replied, “all appears well but these men did, until a few days ago, sail for Dowlin and Dowlin was - as we all know - more pirate than smuggler. Who knows what sins they’ve committed whilst sailing with Dowlin, or what sins they’re capable of in the days ahead? None would be my first pick for a crew.”
I turned to Hunter. “Hunter?”
“Thomas raises a fair point. It’s impossible to know how much these men can be trusted so I trust not even one. We should put them ashore at the first opportunity and rid ourselves of them for good before they infect our own men like a cancer.”
“Hmmm, and let them fend for themselves against the Dowlin clan?” I asked.
“You reap what you sow, Mary,” Hunter replied coldly. “We owe these men nothing.”
Neither Hunter nor Gilley were men who liked to take chances and I admired them both for it. They gave me balance against my own impetuous nature, against my lack of caution.
“Well,” I said, “we need them in any case for the battle yet to come. And Medusa’s Head, Tom, how goes it?”
“She’s fit enough for an easy cruise into Dublin, Mary, no more. Smyth is a gifted ship’s carpenter, but I wouldn’t trust that jury-rigged rudder of his in heavy seas.”
“Excellent. From today forward she’ll be known as the Falling Star.”
“You can,” Hunter snapped, “call her anything you like, Mary. But men will still recognize her as Dowlin’s pride and joy, as his man-o’-war.”
“I’ll have,” I said curtly, “that ghastly witch’s bust removed and pitched into the sea.”
“Even so, Mary, men will still know her…”
“Good, let men know what I did,” I said defiantly. “Most will thank me for it.”
Hunter knew enough to stop. Then the rest of my officers started filing into my great cabin. As each man walked past me, I cheerfully handed him a glass of Portuguese Madeira from Dowlin’s private stores.
My officers, on their own accord, remained standing until I took my seat before they took their own. I paused for a moment, as I often liked to do, to glance around the table, to study the face of each man.
Thomas Gilley, a large, beefy man with a balding scalp, was the ship’s master and my first officer. He was a fine sailor. He had spent over twenty years in the Navy Royal as a senior chief petty officer before coming home to Ireland and turning to smuggling with me - after I had saved him from the bottle. James Hunter, my lover, was the ship’s first lieutenant, my second officer and third in command. He was also the Captain of the Guns, commander of the ship’s great guns. Gilley and I had found him floating in Wexford harbor one night with a knife sticking in his back. After we fished him out of the harbor’s murky waters and nursed him back to health, he simply stayed with us like a lost puppy that had found a home. He had served with the French navy for a time, or so he said, and had been a soldier of fortune in the Americas for the Spanish for a year or two, though neither his Spanish nor his French was very good. Whatever the truth, he was indisputably an expert with anything that could cut, stab or go boom. Benjamin Green and Albertus Fox, both smart, eager young men and inseparable friends, shared the rank of midshipman. I had given each of them command of a gun battery and they answered to Hunter. Green and Fox had both spent a few years with the Navy Royal. And then there was Mustafa Agah Efendi, a short, wiry Turk from Istanbul who had washed up on shore in Ireland, the sole survivor of a band of Turkish pirates whose ship had foundered on rocks off Louisburg. I had rescued Efendi from an angry Irish mob bent on stoning him after he had naively wandered into Westport, half frozen and starving. Efendi was our ship’s chief petty officer and had dominion over all the ratings. On more than one occasion he had proven his mettle. He was worth his weight in gold. And finally there was Hadley Ferguson, the ship’s navigator. Ferguson was my only officer with no formal military experience, but he was a gifted navigator with an uncanny sense of knowing when we were nearing unseen danger. He knew the coasts of Ireland, Scotland, Wales and England like no other. Ferguson had been the last to join my small cadre of officers and that had been over a year ago. Except for Ferguson, to whom I owed my life after a rogue wave had washed me overboard, my officers were all beholden to me for one reason or another. A special bond of trust and loyalty had formed between us all.
“I realize the hour is late,” I said, rising from my chair and lifting my glass. “I intend to be quick, but first gentlemen a toast. If we live long enough to enjoy it, we’ve all become modestly wealthy. Let us then toast to a long and healthy life so that we may all have time to spend our good fortune!”
My officers stood and raised their glasses too. “Here, here, to a long and healthy life!” they replied with one voice and tipped their glasses with me.
“Please gentlemen, be seated. Much has happened over the past few days. We took Dowlin’s pride and joy and then killed him or, in truth, I killed him, and then we took his treasure. The Twins will declare a blood feud when they hear of it and we all know what that means.”
“It means,” Hunter interjected gravely, “we’re badly outmanned, outgunned and outmatched.”
“True, Master Hunter, true,” I replied. “We can’t hope take on the Twins with all their ships and men at once and whatever is left of Dowlin’s clan. Still, we’re hardly outclassed.”
“There is often a razor-thin line, Mary,” Hunter warned, “between bold talk followed by prudent action and imprudent talk followed by bold but reckless action.”
“The Americas, Mum?” Ferguson interrupted, sensing the tension in the air.
“Possibly,” I answered, still unsure of whether I was annoyed with Hunter or grateful to him for his not-so-subtle admonition. From the beginning he had been uneasy about my decision to go to war with Dowlin. “That is an option, Master Ferguson, certainly. But we have unfinished business in Ireland and some of you, and most of the men, have families here. Ireland is our home. There is another way. We can’t take on the Twins and all their might and hope to win. Master Hunter is right of course. So instead we must cut off the monster’s double head.”
Gilley started chuckling. “So you have a plan in mind already, Mary. We all should’ve known. I’m curious though, how long have you had this plan rattling around in your brain?”
I gave Gilley a mischievous, prankster’s smile. “Once blind greed and an unquenchable lust for blood consumed Dowlin, we all knew it would come to this someday. Dowlin had to go. The plan to crush the Twins only came to me as we were recovering Dowlin’s gold at Saltee.”
After I explained my stratagem, I asked each officer for his opinion. There was not much discussion though. Everyone understood that after dispatching Dowlin, a showdown with the Twins was inevitable. And then we took a vote. The Ten Rules required a vote. More, the Ten Rules required that any vote to put the ship and crew at great risk had to be unanimous.
There is nothing quite like the exhilaration - the sheer ecstasy - of setting a plan of your own making into motion and watching it unfold in choreographed sequences with near perfection. I must confess the thrill of it for me is an addiction.
I sent Gilley and a prize crew on to Dublin with the Falling Star to buy a proper rudder while I took Phantom on to Waterford, an easy sail away, to gather up more men. After departing Waterford, I then sailed south for Kinsale, a small port not far from Youghal where the Twins kept their stronghold - which was as close to the Twins as I was willing to venture.
Once we put in at Kinsale, I sent two men on to Youghal by horse to keep an eye on the Twins. On the following day, I sent a few more men into Kinsale to sample the taverns and whorehouses there, not to drink or to satisfy their lust, but to spread the word that they had seen Medusa’s Head tied up along the docks on the River Liffey with a crew not of Dowlin’s own looking to purchase a new rudder. And then, for good measure, my all-to-willing gossipmongers were to say that they had heard talk in Dublin, ugly talk, that Dowlin might be dead.
Such rumors I knew would fly back to the Twins with the speed of Hermes carrying the commands of Zeus around the world. And I knew the Twins well enough to know that they would set out immediately after hearing such rumors. They would sail straight for Great Saltee to retrieve Dowlin’s precious treasure before anyone else dared try. They would sail out, top speed, with notions of bloody revenge no doubt, but with little thought or care that they might be sailing straight into a war. Their strength had made them arrogant and reckless.
My spies soon returned from Youghal with news that the rumors had reached the Twins and, just as I had predicted, the Twins wasted no time rounding-up their men and were making ready to sail. We set out for the Saltees ahead of them, setting into motion the second part of my plan.
If you watch and listen, you can learn a lot about men while working a tavern. There are men who pretend to be strong who are weak. There are men, for their own reasons, who pretend to be weak who are strong. Some men, weak or strong, are thinkers. More are not than are. Some men like to lead. Most like to follow. All men wear masks - though women are far better at it.
A good brawl always captured my attention. You can learn a lot about a man in a good fight. But only the best fighters ever caught my eye. And the best fighters were not always the strongest or the quickest I discovered. The best fighters held back, took time to take stock of their opponent, searching, probing, always looking for some weakness to exploit and rarely, if ever, did they attack their opponent head-on, attack their foe where he was strongest.
And simple plans are best I’ve learned. Less moving parts, less that can go wrong. But no plan is perfect and one must always be prepared to improvise.
“Where’s Gilley?” Hunter asked me gruffly as we stood together on the aftercastle. We both had our hands cupped over our eyes, scanning the horizon, searching. Falling Star was nowhere in sight.
“I don’t know,” I snapped back. Hunter damn well knew I didn’t know where Gilley was.
We had furled all sail and were bobbing up and down on the gentle swells standing off the leeward side of the Saltees to the north. This was where we were supposed to rendezvous with Gilley. The Twins would soon be coming up from the south with their ships and fighting men to retrieve Dowlin’s buried loot and we dared not let the Twins see us, lest they started to suspect that they were sailing into trap.
A decision had to be made: keep to the plan or abort? The Twins were only a few hours behind us and I had no idea how much muscle they would bring with them. Without Gilley and Falling Star, we might have no chance at all against their numbers.
Hunter took my hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry, Mary.”
I kissed him lightly on the cheek to let him know that all was well. I knew he was anxious, not for himself, but for me.
“What now Mary? The Twins cannot be far away.”
“We go.”
“Go? We go ashore or sail on to Dublin to find Gilley?”
I chose to roll the dice. We had come too far. “Assemble the lads for me, James. We keep to the plan. We’re going in. Allons.”
Hunter shouted up to the two lookouts at the masthead, told them to look alive, to keep a wary eye out for any sail. And then he brusquely called all hands on deck.
I stood against the fore rail on the quarter deck and looked down on nearly two hundred souls gathered on the main deck. Good men, hard men, loyal men, men who had sailed with me, off and on, for several years.
“I won’t mince words with you.” I told them. “You know why we’re here. We’ve all suffered under Dowlin’s whip, some of you more than others, but we’ve all suffered. The high and mighty Síol Faolcháin thought no one could touch them. They were wrong. Dowlin the pig, a madman whose depravity knew no bounds, is dead. But we have unfinished business here this day. We may not get a second chance to catch Dowlin’s brothers out on the open sea again where we can even-up the odds. You know the risks. Any man unwilling to see this fight through, who’s had a change of heart - say so now - and I’ll put him ashore on Little Saltee where he can catch a fishing boat home after this day is finished. Speak up, no hard feelings towards any man who decides this fight is not his own.”
But no one spoke. Not one man stirred.
I looked at Green and turned command of Phantom over to him, his first command, and had him ease our ship into the cove. I took Hunter with me and we went ashore with one hundred men armed with muskets, pistoles, swords and knives. We headed up the cliff overlooking the cove in single file and marched south after we reached the top while Green took Phantom back out to sea where he was to skirt around the northern tip of the island, just a little ways, and wait out of sight from any ships approaching from the south.
The light was fading fast and the air smelled of rain. My men and I were crouched low behind a depression, behind a natural trench that had been gouged out by centuries of rain. From that vantage point we could look down on the field of boulders below us where Dowlin had buried his treasure but still keep out of sight. I had noticed this natural hiding place when we first started digging up Dowlin’s treasure and thought it a perfect spot for an ambush.
Behind us, we could hear the walruses playing and the roar of the surf crashing against the breakers below. Flocks of squawking seabirds, Great Black Gulls, Razorbills and Gannets, circled overhead to keep us company and to pass the time we tossed them bits of bread. We watched them dive and fight over the scraps and placed bets on our favorite champions. And then, after tedious hours had passed, off in the distance, just past midnight, we saw a long line of torches snaking its way towards us. The Síol Faolcháin was on the march.
“How many do you think, James?” I asked.
“Hard to say in this light, Mary. I count twenty-five torches. My guess is that every third or fourth man carries one. If that’s true, then perhaps we’re looking at seventy-five men or so. Maybe more, I doubt less.”
I suddenly felt ill and had the urge to vomit. When I had revealed my plan to my officers at our council of war, both Hunter and Gilley had warned me that we needed two-to-one odds or better in our favor to win.
Still, we had the advantage of surprise and we held the high ground. Still, we did not need to do anything. We could let the Síol Faolcháin come and go unmolested and slip away into the darkness with the clan none the wiser. They would never know that we had been waiting for them behind the trench, bent on killing.
As the procession of torches continued approaching our position, I could make out the dark silhouettes of two hulking giants, a twisted pair of brutes, leading a long line of men. I was, I knew, staring at the face of Death and I felt a chill run down my spine.
Long minutes passed as the fire snake inexorably slithered towards us. I could feel my heartbeat quicken. I could feel the sweat trickling down my armpits. I could hear my own, heavy, labored breathing. I took deep breathes. I tightened the grip around my pistol. The smooth, polished wood felt comforting in my hand and as the enemy drew nearer I tightened my grip even more.
Then the air turned misty and a fine drizzle began to fall. When the Twins and their men finally reached the field of boulders, barely fifty yards or so away from us, they set their muskets aside and built themselves a large bonfire before digging, oblivious to our presence.
