The Butcher's Daughter, page 4
I relished the moment when the Twins unearthed the first crate and pried the lid open. When the brothers saw the rocks Gilley had stacked inside that box they went berserk, kicking, cursing and screaming all manner of obscenities. I had to suppress the urge to giggle.
And that was the moment I had to decide. Attack or do nothing and safely slip away?
I did not hesitate. The choice for me was easy.
“FIRE!” I screamed.
One hundred muskets discharged all at once. Our first volley inflicted great carnage, more than I had dared hope. The Twins’ men were huddled close together, still digging with their shovels and pick axes when I gave the order to fire. They made easy targets. Dozens fell to our cruel lead. The rest dropped their tools and torches and scrambled to grab their muskets.
Half my men started reloading the muskets while the rest lit the fuses to our grenadoes - or grenades if you prefer the French taken from the word pomegranate, or so men say. We lit the fuses using lanterns we had buried in the ground to conceal the flames. But the drizzle had snuffed out more than one candle and we could only light a handful of our grenadoes. We tossed what we had at the boulders below and seconds later small explosions started popping off everywhere. More men fell and groaned, dead or wounded. I saw one Twin grab a man trying to flee the chaos. The giant lifted the coward off his feet and snapped his neck in two.
We fired-off a second volley and then a third and then we pitched the rest of our grenadoes down at the boulders. But the Twins and their men had snuffed out their torches, kicked dirt over their bonfire and had retreated behind the rocks off to the west for cover. It was too dark to tell what new damage we had wrought, if any.
“Mary,” Hunter whispered. “We cannot stay here long. The rest of the Twins’ little army back at the cove will have heard our musket fire. They’ll leave their ships to come to help the Twins. With our backs against the sea, we’ll be trapped here and possibly overwhelmed.”
“Green knows what to do. If Gilley doesn’t show, if there are too many ships anchored in the cove to attack on his own, I told him to sail around the island to our position and send in the longboats to take us off this bloody rock.”
Hunter smiled. I could see the pride in his eyes, the pride he had for me.
“Aye, I overheard you tell Green as much. Always have a back door to leave by if things turn ugly inside. Let’s hope he doesn’t forget about us. Let me take half the men and skirt around to the left. You and the rest stay here and keep the Twins pinned down against the boulders whilst I come up behind them and out-flank their position. We have time yet. We’ll fire off a volley and then rush them together, try to flush them out into the open so we can finish this.”
“How will I know when you’ve made your run at them?” I asked. I didn’t want to shoot my own men down in the dark.
“You’ll know when you hear the crack of musket fire on your left,” he replied with a wide grin.
I nodded my approval and off my Hunter went, disappearing into the darkness with half my men chasing after him.
A few minutes later Hunter and his company opened fire and charged at the boulders. My men and I raced down the rise overlooking the field to join them. But we found ourselves charging across only empty ground. The Twins and the remnants of their shore party had already fled north to reach their ships.
All seemed lost. Our ambush had failed. The Twins were in retreat and slipping away. I was disgusted with myself. The men we had killed meant nothing. The Twins could easily replace their losses and hunt us all down later.
But then we heard the boom of heavy cannon in the distance, the boom of ship’s guns, and we saw muzzle flashes lighting up the night sky above the cove to the north. Gilley…
One hundred strong, we took a moment to reload and regroup and then raced north towards the sound of manmade thunder. But nature chose to unleash her own, raw power just then. Terrifying bolts of lightning flashed across the sky directly above our heads, followed seconds later by the crack of heart-stopping thunder. And then it began to pour. Sheets of blinding rain hit us and hit us hard. We couldn’t see five feet in front of us. Our spirited chase across the island slowed to a miserable crawl. The deluge soaked our powder too, rendering our muskets useless.
Even so, we pressed on. We had no choice.
And when we reached the cliff overlooking the cove, Hunter whistled. “By God’s good grace,” he said and grinned.
The heavy rains had tapered off and in the cove below we saw six small boats sitting at anchor, ablaze and sinking. And out away, beyond the cove and breakers, in the dim light of a new day, we saw my two ships, the Falling Star and Phantom, bobbing up and down on choppy swells with sails half furled. They appeared no worse for wear. And then we saw a longboat in the water heading towards the beach, one of ours, and we hurried down the cliff to meet it.
“Bugger me, Gilley, you son of a three-legged alley dog!” Hunter shouted as the boat’s crew raised their oars and let their boat glide up onto the sand. When Gilley jumped into the knee-high surf, Hunter rushed out into the water to embrace him.
“Master Gilley,” I called out. “You’re a tad late.”
Gilley, beaming proudly, doffed his hat and bowed. “No, Mum. From where I stand I would say I’m right on time!”
Are those six boats burning on the water,” Hunter asked as he and Gilley waded through the surf together locked arm-in-arm, “everything the Twins brought with them?”
“No, I fear not, James.” Gilley answered. “A large war-carrack got away from us in the storm. We could barely see her in the downpour. We did not know your predicament Mary so I decided it best not to give chase. I decided it best to fetch you and the lads straight away instead.”
“Did you see the Twins?” I asked anxiously.
“Nay, Mary. We did not.”
“Any prisoners?”
“None that I know of. But at first light we can scour the island and have a look around.”
Hunter took in the six burning hulks and nodded. “Fine work there, Gilley. And here I thought all your foolish stories about your time in the navy were rubbish, just braggart’s gibberish.”
“Well, I won’t be bragging about this battle. Those wrecks you see on the water are nothing more than flimsy, poorly-armed coasters. ‘Twas hardly a fair match, more of a slaughter truth be told. That war-carrack looked like trouble though. She looked formidable to me.”
“So,” I said. “The Twins brought men and ships enough to move the treasure, but didn’t expect a fight. What are your losses, Tom?”
“Why none, Mary. But Phantom was the closest to the carrack and traded several broadsides with her. Our poor Phantom took several direct hits as the two ships passed. Green is staying outside the cove to watch our flank. You?”
“Three wounded,” replied Hunter.
“We’ve been most fortunate,” I said, relieved. “There may be wounded among the Twins’ men on the south side of the island.”
Gilley nodded. “I’ll send a company of our lads out to look for them and for any stragglers too who might be in hiding.”
“Especially the Twins, Tom,” I said. “Maybe they’re out there lying dead or wounded somewhere, but I don’t think so. The master of that carrack would never have left without them.”
“Sadly, I fear you are right, Mary,” Gilley agreed.
“We thought,” Hunter interjected, “you were going to miss the party, Tom.”
“Aye, some fool of a ship’s master rammed his ship into ours just as we were leaving Dublin Bay, fouling both bowsprits. It took some time to untangle the sorry, bloody mess.”
“Intentional you think?” I asked.
Gilley scratched his chin as if it might somehow help him think. “Doubt it, but I suppose it’s possible. What witless idiot would insult Dowlin and ram his ship on purpose though? Who could be that stupid?”
Hunter cleared his throat. “Ahem, well…” he said, turning to look at me with one of his boyish grins.
Chapter Three
Adept at hiding both her thoughts and emotions, I did not yet know how to read the queen. Her expression, like a sheet of blank parchment, revealed nothing. I marveled at her inscrutable manner. Even so, her eyes betrayed a kind and gentle nature as she continued to scrutinize me dispassionately.
“Tell us now, Mary,” the queen commanded. “And no false modesty either. You’ve skipped over a part of the story, an essential part we think. How is it you took Dowlin’s ship, Medusa’s Head, a ship larger and stronger than your own? Of even greater interest to us, tell us what drove you to loathe Dowlin so? What deep-rooted hatred spurred you on to risk everything to undo this man and his brothers? You had paid Dowlin off for nearly a year we heard you say for the privilege of crisscrossing the Irish Sea. And still you made a goodly profit. Still you enjoyed a living any prince might envy. What changed? What provoked all-out war between you and all the Youghal chieftains?”
Gretchen. Gretchen had been her name I divulged to her majesty. I found it difficult to talk about her. I stumbled with the words.
She had been about my age when I had fled my father’s house in blood, when I had found her living on the streets in filth and alone, an orphan. I brought her aboard my ship. I fed her, washed her, clothed her, I doted on her and she willingly sailed with us and became a member of my crew. She was a bright and happy child. She took to the sea like a fish to water. She flourished. My men adored her - not an easy thing for a young girl to win over a ship packed tight with rough and bawdy men. I especially grew very fond of Gretchen.
One day Dowlin decided to seize one of my boats for, he claimed, unpaid tribute. That was a lie. He took one of my boats because he was jealous of my burgeoning success and this was his way of taking me down a peg or two.
As I have said, I was little more than a child when I bought my first ship with the money Lord O’Malley had given me while he lay dying in his bed. I made myself the ship’s purser and hired Gilley on as the ship’s master. The Dutch fly boat we acquired was a small but sturdy vessel. She was flat-bottomed which gave us the freedom to cut through shallow waters and sail up remote estuaries along the coast where we could pick up or land our contraband without drawing attention to ourselves, without any irksome interruptions. She was a good sailor. Using O’Malley’s connections in France, England and Spain, Gilley and I, and soon thereafter Hunter too, started building up a fine, little business for ourselves.
While cruising along Ireland’s west coast on the Atlantic, we sailed under the protection of the O’Malley clan and all was well for us for a time. But, as our business grew, we bought more ships and hired more men and expanded our operations into the Irish Sea, smuggling goods up and down Ireland’s east coast. Large swaths of those waters were controlled by the Síol Faolcháin and we had to pay Dowlin tribute for the privilege of sailing through his territory.
Fool that I am, when Dowlin seized one of my boats unfairly, claiming unpaid tribute, I, in a rash and thoughtless act of defiance, rebuked and insulted him publicly. Like many in our trade, I had grown weary of Dowlin’s greed. I had grown weary of his unrelenting arrogance, of his cruelty towards any who crossed or displeased him. With just one flick of his hand, whole families had disappeared in the night.
When word of my public insult reached Dowlin, he let it be known that I would be sharply punished for my transgressions. I paid his threat little heed, thought it no more than idle bluster from a buffoon. He did not own me.
And then one day Phantom needed her bottom graved, along with some routine repairs, and so we put in at Wexford harbor. I gave the crew their liberty and sent Gretchen into town to buy new clothing and a few amenities for just the two of us. That was the day she disappeared. That was the day I lost my poor, beautiful Gretchen forever.
My men and I scoured the town looking for her of course after she failed to return to the ship. I thought at first she had fallen ill or that perhaps she had taken on a lover and simply run off for a few days. But there was no sign she was lying sick somewhere, no indication any harm had befallen her or that she had run off to satisfy some guilty pleasure. Before leaving Wexford, I left a letter for Gretchen, along with some money and instructions on how to find me, with an innkeeper whom I trusted at a tavern favored by my crew.
And then, just as we were preparing to cast off our cables and drop our sails, a number of loud and vulgar men - Dowlin henchmen - appeared on the dock. They called up to me, told me that they had come to deliver a message. Dowlin had taken Gretchen they said, had snatched her off the streets and carried her down to Youghal. But she had disappointed him in bed and so he had decided to release her. They told me I could have her back if I so desired, that I could find her broken, disfigured body at the bottom of Youghal Bay.
“Hate?” I asked the queen. No, not hate I told her majesty. What consumed me, what fed my loathing and drove me on was something far worse than hate. I know hate. I was beyond hate. Never before had such blind and raging fury seized me. Never before had such a mad craving to kill a man and more - to obliterate everything in this world that was ever dear to him - obsessed me.
Loss and pain and I are old and familiar companions. But Gretchen’s death, I must confess, hit me hard and laid me low, beyond anything I had ever known before. My mind could not fathom such ungodly barbarism. Gretchen was a beautiful, innocent child. She was, like me, a beautiful rose with prickly thorns struggling to survive in the desert.
For long weeks I did not leave my great cabin. I could not eat. I could not sleep. I could not focus my thoughts on much of anything at all. Not even my love and my rock, Hunter and Gilley, could console me. But they did what needed to be done to keep our operations humming while I wallowed in my misery. I was grateful for that at least. And when I finally did emerge from my cabin, when I finally was able to rise above my great grief, I had but one thought in mind: kill Dowlin and take away his most precious possession - take away his gold.
But Dowlin would not be an easy kill. He surrounded himself with lowly sorts of all kinds, with murderers, rapists and thieves. He surrounded himself with thugs with twisted hearts who took pleasure in their grisly work. And Dowlin was the master of a magnificent, powerful warship. Smugglers mostly sail small, swift vessels with little or no armament. A few ships carry cannon, but not many and even these ships carry only small cannon. Dowlin had a powerful man-of-war. Dowlin had a ship any captain of any navy would want to command, that any pirate would envy. Medusa’s Head was a machine of war built to intimidate and kill.
My Phantom was the queen of the Irish Sea. She was swift and sturdy and she too was a powerful warhorse. But she was no match for Medusa’s Head one-on-one.
I needed some advantage. I needed some trick or ploy. I needed a plan. But for weeks none came to me. And then one evening Hunter, a virtuoso with anything that could cut, stab or go boom, gave me an idea, a stimulating, tantalizing idea…
My crew was with me. To the last man, they wanted to avenge Gretchen’s death; they want to avenge the evil done. This rivalry between clans had turned into a blood vendetta. No, that is not quite true. I was the mistress of the Phantom and owned a small squadron of modest coasters. But I was no clan chieftain. I was a petty thief and smuggler. My men and I did not have the muscle to take on any of the clans. In truth, this blood vendetta was between Dowlin and me. This feud was personal and could only end with one or both of us dead.
I sent a letter to Dowlin in Youghal, asking him to meet me face-to-face at sea, asking him for a parley. At sea because there was no place on land either of us would ever agree to meet and because at sea Dowlin would believe he was secure. I wrote that I wanted to make amends for my unfortunate outburst, for my lack of good judgment, and pay fair tribute to one of the mighty lords of the Irish Sea. I wrote that I held no grudge over Gretchen’s death, but thought her end an unfortunate waste because she could have pleasured his men as she had served my own.
All foul, filthy lies of course. Gilley had to pen the letter for me. I could not bring myself to do it.
The offer was too good for Dowlin to reject. He agreed to meet me off the tip of a spit of land called Old Head, just a few leagues south of Kinsale. But he insisted we meet aboard his grand warship - as I knew he would - and I eagerly accepted.
The night was clear and warm. The sea was in a tranquil, quiet mood.
Hunter took my hands in his and looked me in the eye. “Are you ready for this, Mary?”
“Are you ready?” I replied and forced a smile, trying to reassure Hunter.
“As ready as I’ll ever be, Mary.”
“As are,” interjected Gilley, “the lads and the boats, Mary. Except for Dowlin’s ship, there’s not another sail in sight. This will be a cozy, private party.”
“Excellent,” I said and turned to look over at Medusa’s Head, that magnificent man-o’-war, sitting only two hundred yards off our stern with all her lanterns lit. Even the witch’s figurehead mounted to her prow was bathed in ghoulish lantern light. “Dowlin will only allow ten men to accompany me over.”
“Ten it is, Mary,” Hunter offered solemnly. “Our very best.”
“If it all goes wrong, Tom, you know what to do,” I said and squeezed his arm.
“Aye, protect the ship and bolt to Clew Bay.”
“Good - and fifty pounds to the widow or orphan of any man who falls,” I added.
Gilley nodded.
“If I fall, Mary,” Hunter asked with a grin, “would my fifty pounds revert back to you as you and Tom are my only family? If so, I think perhaps I’m being swindled.”
I leaned over and kissed Hunter on the cheek. “Don’t then be a fool and get yourself killed is my advice to you.”
My ten men and I piled into a longboat, set the oars and rowed across the sea’s still waters with a second boat in tow, with a boat loaded down with crates and barrels of different shapes and sizes. I began to fret as my men pulled at their oars towards Dowlin’s ship. We were taking on an awful risk. So many things could go wrong. I tried to put my mind at ease. I tried to extinguish any doubt and focused my attention on the soothing, pleasant sounds of water coursing over the oar blades. But when those pleasant sounds were spoiled by another, more potent sound, by the annoying clatter of a single, squeaky lantern swaying lazily back and forth from an iron staff attached to the stern of the second boat we had in tow, my misgivings about my plan resurfaced. The anxiety bubbling in the pit of my stomach left me with an awful taste.
