Kings of the Boyne Read online

  He paused here, to allow his words to sink in. It was a trick he had learned from watching his father presenting unpopular proposals to fellow councillors.

  ‘Look, as Daniel has pointed out, I wasn’t there, but maybe that makes it easier for me to query her story. You two were after the horses and had enough to do to make sure you got them. So, you come back and describe her to me and I can jump to conclusions because I wasn’t there and therefore can’t be distracted by the children or her voice, or whatever else. Do you see what I mean?

  Robert nodded yes while Daniel stabbed a potato with a knife.

  ‘All right,’ said Robert. ‘So, what do we do now?

  Daniel looked at him warily. ‘What do you mean what do we do? We got the horses, didn’t we?’

  Robert ignored him and waited for Henry to answer his question.

  Henry scrunched up his features as if deep in thought, but Daniel felt that the would-be politician had known all along what he was going to propose. ‘Well, if you ask me, the only thing we can do is get proof of her identity.’

  Robert understood him immediately. ‘You mean we should return to the house to check if she is truly a woman or a Jacobite soldier in disguise?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Henry. ‘There’s no other way, is there? You have to get inside the house and look for a red coat or something like that.’

  ‘That’s settled then,’ said Robert, as he dusted himself down and prepared to take his leave. ‘It’s all right, Daniel, you stay here. I’ll do it.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Daniel.

  He wasn’t sure how he felt or what he believed but he wished to spare the Watson children any unnecessary upset. He felt he owed Marian and her siblings that much. He sighed heavily and said, ‘You lost your temper with her. She’ll let me into the house quicker than she’d let you. I’ll go.’

  Henry blocked his way. ‘Take your gun with you. If she’s a Jacobite you need to arrest him … or kill him if he resists.’

  Robert was suddenly unsure. ‘I should come with you, Daniel.’

  Thinking fast, Daniel told his brother, ‘No, we need to hide this from Reverend Walker and everyone else in case it’s nothing. If it is as Henry believes, then I’ll come straight back for you and Henry.’

  Chapter Ten

  Returning to the Watsons’

  Sometimes when Daniel was alone he imagined that his dog, Horace, was with him.

  Indeed, there were times when he found himself on a street in Derry looking around to confirm that his pet had not come back from the dead, because he thought that he’d heard the familiar pattering of four scruffy paws against the cobbled stones.

  How Horace would have loved this, thought Daniel as he retraced his steps down the long country road, hoping he could remember where the widow’s cottage was. It was not difficult to picture Horace scampering in and out of the puddles, barking loudly in great excitement.

  Maybe he would tell the widow about Horace to show her that she wasn’t the only one to lose an animal in the name of King William. Or he could ask her advice on cooking potatoes. Different scenarios were conjured up as he prepared for his mission. He needed to come up with something special in order to be invited into her home.

  A part of him wanted to curse Henry, but what if he was right? She was strange to look at, what with her immense tallness and the fact she was wearing men’s clothing along with those mucky boots. Plus what Robert said was true; she did keep her voice low even when she was angry about losing her horses. Any other woman would have cried and made a terrific scene.

  He found the field and the cottage and made his way to it, wondering if he should have let Robert come with him. What if she was a Jacobite who felt she had been rumbled and was waiting for him to come back to arrest her? She could be hiding at the window, a loaded musket in her hand, watching his lonely approach. Well, he thought, I’m hardly going to turn back now. There was nothing for it but to keep up a steady pace until he reached the front door.

  As he approached the cottage, he heard sobbing inside and had no time to consider how this might affect his visit. He knocked and placed his musket in the crook of his arm … just in case. Suddenly nervous, Daniel asked God to protect him as the door was slowly opened just enough to allow Marian to use one eye to identify him.

  She had to raise her voice above the noise of the crying and wailing to ask him what he wanted. She looked scared and upset.

  ‘I’m looking for your mother. Can I talk to her?’

  ‘No. She’s not here!’

  Inside he could hear little voices crying, ‘Mama!’ and ‘Where’s Mama?’

  Daniel imagined Henry whispering to him that this was all part of an elaborate act to make him leave.

  Marian wiped the tears from her eyes and blurted out, ‘It’s all your fault!’

  ‘What do you mean? Where is she?’

  Wait a minute, thought Daniel. No, she couldn’t be.

  Samuel appeared beside Marian and, on seeing Daniel, bawled at him, ‘You took our horses. I hate you!’

  Daniel ignored him and asked once more, ‘Marian, please tell me where your mother is.’

  For an answer, the girl stepped away from the door, bringing her brother with her. Daniel pushed the door open. Inside was smoky from the small fire that barely thrived in the grate. Apart from the baby, who was stretched out on his belly on the grubby floor, the rest of the children were seated at a small, square table, seemingly competing with one another to see who could cry the loudest. Samuel took his place beside them and scowled at the young soldier.

  Marian sounded weary as she told him what he wanted to know. ‘She’s gone to get our horses back.’

  Daniel had not really believed the widow when she’d said as much to him. What on earth was she thinking? Foolishly he asked the girl, ‘Are you sure that’s where she went? Absolutely sure?’

  Marian nodded her head. ‘I tried to stop her. We all did.’

  Georgie, the baby, seemed to recognise Daniel from earlier and babbled some form of greeting before launching himself in his direction. Daniel tried to think. The whole thing was ridiculous. Suddenly, it occurred to him that when his brother and Henry heard about the woman’s disappearance they might well be convinced that this was the proof they were looking for, that Mrs Watson was actually a murderous Jacobite spy who was now, thanks to the Sherrards, in hot pursuit of their king. He imagined Robert’s embarrassment at having allowed her to escape.

  ‘We begged her not to go. Even our neighbours told her it was too dangerous.’

  Daniel felt something tugging at his leg and looked down. Georgie was staring up at him expectantly. Without thinking he bent down and lifted the baby into his arms.

  Samuel shouted, ‘NO! You can’t take our Georgie. Tell him, Marian.’

  Fortunately his sister realised that little Georgie was not about to be whisked off to help King William on his campaign. ‘Oh be quiet, Samuel Watson. He’s not taking Georgie anywhere.’

  Daniel felt obliged to add his own assurances. ‘It’s just that I miss my own sister, Alice, she’s about Georgie’s age. But I can put him back down on the floor, if you prefer?’

  Samuel shrugged and announced, ‘I’m hungry!’

  There was a chorus of ‘Me too! Me too!’

  Daniel felt sorry for the harassed girl who muttered, ‘I’m doing my best!’

  ‘Of course you are. Do you have food for them? I can go and shoot a rabbit; there are plenty of them around.’

  ‘No,’ said Marian. ‘Mother left us plenty. I have some rabbit left over from yesterday with potatoes boiling in the big pot. I was about to check them.’

  Marian was rather shocked when the soldier suggested that he’d take a look at them to see if they were ready. He explained, ‘I do most of the cooking for our group in the camp.’

  The meat was soft enough, while the overcooked potatoes were starting to break apart. Marian placed six bowls on the table and took Georgie from Daniel so tha
t he could carry the pot over and begin ladling up the steaming food.

  ‘Will Georgie eat the meat?’ asked Daniel.

  Marian shook her head. ‘No, he hasn’t the teeth to chew but I’ll mash up some potato with milk for him; he likes that.’

  Georgie began pointing at his bowl and bellowing something that might have meant, ‘Please hurry up, I’m simply starving!’

  ‘Let me do his potato,’ said Daniel. ‘You just eat your dinner.’

  Grateful to have someone else be in charge, Marian handed the baby back to Daniel and sat down to eat.

  Daniel mashed up the already mushy potato for Georgie and, taking the last stool, he folded the baby into his lap and began to spoon-feed him, being careful to blow hard on the potato first to cool it down.

  The children ignored him and he was glad that all the crying had stopped. Briefly he worried that their mother might have a change of heart and suddenly appear in the doorway. What would she make of him sitting at her table as if he was one of her family?

  ‘So,’ said Daniel, ‘you said your neighbours told your mother not to go. How did they know?’

  Marian replied, ‘She went to all of them whose horses had been taken and tried to get them to come with her.’

  Daniel guessed what happened. ‘But nobody would go with her?’

  ‘No,’ said Marian. ‘They told her to forget about it, that the horses were gone and that was that.’

  Marian couldn’t help looking proud as she continued, ‘Mama told them she wasn’t scared and that she’d go to the king herself. Some of them laughed at her but they aren’t nice people.’

  Samuel nodded. ‘They never helped Mama when she was tired.’

  ‘I see,’ said Daniel, feeling somewhat triumphant that Samuel was talking to him in a civil fashion.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Marian, ‘Mama told us that she had to go to King William and make him listen to her.’

  Samuel butted in, ‘I wanted to go with her but she wouldn’t let me!’

  The boy sounded upset which propelled Daniel to say, ‘Well, that’s because you’re the man of house. You’re the oldest boy, aren’t you? So, you have to look after everyone here.’

  Samuel took a moment to see the truth in Daniel’s words and rewarded him with a smile, albeit one that was covered in bits of potato, as he declared, ‘Yes. I am! I’m in charge!’

  Typically, big sister Marian attempted to burst his bubble. ‘Samuel clung onto Mama to stop her from leaving. I did my best to hold them back but I had Georgie and they ran after her, crying all the way.’

  One of the others, a girl of about four, quietly stated, ‘Mama kicked the wood away.’

  Daniel looked to Marian for an explanation. She told him, ‘There is a stream behind us and the only way to cross it is to walk along the plank of wood. When Mother saw Samuel and the others coming after her she kicked the plank away.’

  ‘She didn’t want us,’ said Samuel.

  ‘Oh, but she does want you!’ said Daniel. He was surprised at how upset he felt on behalf of the children. ‘She didn’t want to leave you but she needs to keep you safe and make sure that you have enough food. She’ll be back before you know it.’

  ‘When is she coming home?’ It was the little girl again.

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Isabel Watson. I am four!’

  ‘What a lovely name!’ gushed Daniel, stalling for time. ‘And who is that beside you?’

  Isabel checked who was sitting next to her before making any introductions. ‘That’s just Anna. She’s three.’

  There was just one more child to go. Daniel nodded at the littlest version of Marian who was too absorbed in her food to realise the attention she was receiving. Her potato was sliding around the bowl and it was proving quite a challenge to catch it with the spoon.

  Isabel obliged. ‘That’s Sarah but she can’t talk. She’s too small.’

  Daniel held up his fist to count out the names: ‘So, there’s Marian, Samuel, Isabel, Anna, Sarah and baby Georgie. Did I get it right?

  The thing about four-year-olds is once they want to know the answer to a question they are almost impossible to distract.

  Isabel proved this superbly by repeating her question, ‘When is Mama coming home?’

  Daniel looked at Marian to see if she knew the answer; however Marian was gazing at him waiting anxiously for his.

  Well, he was not going to lie to them. He made some quick calculations in his head. If William was, let’s say, three days ahead of them and the widow had only just started out, it might take her about five days to catch up with him. Although she might be faster since a massive army on the move could be slow and cumbersome. Then, she finds William – here, Daniel struggled to imagine her actually meeting the king but that had nothing to do with the question — so, she meets William and gets the horses and makes her way home. Of course, by now, she’s on horseback which would speed up her return. Yet, that still meant …

  ‘I think that she’ll be gone two weeks. It shouldn’t be much more than that.’

  He did his best to sound confident but poor Marian looked utterly distraught. The others, Daniel sensed, knew as much about the length of ‘weeks’ as they did about the stars in the sky. Marian bit her lip and did her best not to cry.

  It was a desperate situation for the widow who was caught between leaving her young family alone but having to do so if she wanted to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. Daniel was filled with sympathy. What a horrible decision to have to make.

  A loud explosion broke the silence in the room. Daniel then felt a fierce rumble in his lap followed by the sensation that someone was pouring something warm down his leg. A moment or two passed before the smell was suffocating. Daniel stared at the placid baby who was busying gnawing on his spoon and looking the picture of innocence.

  ‘Phew!’ gasped Daniel. ‘Perhaps King William should have taken Georgie instead of the horses. He’d send any army running for cover!’

  Marian smiled through her tears.

  Chapter Eleven

  Location! Location! June 1690

  James heaved a heavy sigh, ignoring his French and Irish commanders who waited to discuss locations for the battle.

  The last few weeks had dragged by, and it had recently occurred to him that he was far from happy. Apart from everything else that was going on and the fact that he hadn’t seen his wife and baby son for the best part of a year, he was homesick. The city of London had just about framed every major event in his life, from the death of his father, King Charles I, at the hands of a Cromwellian mob, to the reign of his brother, King Charles II.

  His brother had shared his love for the grimy, dirty city. Perhaps one of the most exhilarating experiences of James’s life was accompanying his brother out into the middle of the street during the great fire of 1666. He and Charles had rolled up their silk sleeves and carried umpteen buckets of water, directing the line of helpers back and forth, the smoke blinding them and giving them a hacking cough that produced phlegm as black as tar.

  Of course he still loved England as much as he ever did. It was not England he had declared war on, only William, his nephew and son-in-law and, therefore, most unnatural enemy.

  In his last letter to France he had shared a little of his predicament with his wife, Queen Mary Beatrice:

  I sense I am losing my popularity amongst the Irish. However, my dear, you know me well enough to appreciate that I will not do something just because others think I should. For example, a printer that I hired to print the pamphlets about the new rules for Protestants says he has lost the original copy and cannot do the job. Of course he has lost nothing. He is merely looking out for his fellow parishioners and I rather admire the plucky fellow. The Irish wanted me to imprison him but I refuse to. They only want him punished because he is a Protestant.

  Oh, how I wish we were all together again and back home in London where we should be!

  His
mood of the last few days was so different from the night before he left France.

  King Louis had embraced him and said, ‘I hope, sir, never to see you again. Nevertheless, if Fortune decides that we are to meet, you will always have my support.’

  James had bowed his head graciously, feeling most honoured, if still somewhat dubious, about what lay ahead. A tiny part of him felt he was being wrapped in a spider’s silk web and that he was not moving entirely of his own free will.

  For the onlookers, however, it was a touching scene. The French king gave an eloquent speech, describing how he had placed five hundred thousand francs and ten thousand muskets at James’s disposal.

  Playing the part, James replied for all to hear: ‘My thanks indeed to you, sir, but you have forgotten one thing and that is to arm me!’

  With a grave flourish, Louis unbuckled the sword and belt from his own waist and leant across to fasten it around James. It must be said that Queen Mary Beatrice was not the only person in the handpicked audience to succumb to tears.

  Up to the last few weeks that distant memory kept James warm at night, but now, today, it only served to remind him that had it not been for Louis he would be with his wife and son back in France. At times like this, it felt like he had been cast adrift on a bare plank of wood on which he was expected to sail the seven seas.

  Thus while James was temporarily lost in his worry that he was merely being used by the French king, his French and Irish commanders could only wait politely for their king to return to the task in hand.

  The portly Richard Talbot, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, sat patiently, or at least pretended to. He had known James for thirty years or so, and James realised that this proud man had a lot in common with the king of France. Both seemed to expect so much from him.

  ‘Do you mean to stay in Dublin, Your Majesty?’ The Lord Lieutenant tried to make his question as casual as possible.

  It was young Colonel Patrick Sarsfield who piped up with an answer: ‘Surely not, sire. Why would we want to bring William’s army to Dublin? I’d rather burn the city myself than leave her vulnerable to an enemy army.’