Chapter Ten
The great settlement of the House of de Cleveley, heirs to the barony of Bowland, was one of the largest Norman settlements in Ireland.
An early Lord de Cleveley had come to Ireland a few years after William the Conqueror had started his systematic takeover of England and had staked out rich and prosperous lands in Wicklow with the help of a few thousand Norman soldiers.
He used local and conquered tribes to build him a castle in the village of Wicklow proper and also one to the south near the small village of Glenteige.
Wicklow Castle had been captured by the O’Byrnes about five years earlier.
On the coattails of the O’Byrnes, Devlin and his father had managed to clear the de Cleveleys out of a major portion of Wicklow and subsequently chase the Fitzgeralds out of neighboring lands, resulting in the capture of Black Castle.
While Devlin had an organized rebellion against Kildare with the purpose of regaining a massive portion of Wicklow for the de Berminghams, the O’Byrnes ran wild in Ulster, burning and looting and killing, which had reduced the de Cleveley holdings to the southern portion of the county.
It was a bit of a complex situation and one that was extraordinarily volatile.
It was for that reason that the de Cleveley settlement was surrounded by an enormous wall built from wood and stone, and surrounded by a ditch that was several miles in length.
The ditch was filled with seawater which washed in with the tides because some Norman engineer had designed an ingenious system. It was a fairly impregnable compound.
Devlin had never been inside the complex but he had seen it, many times, and he had even helped the O’Connors lay siege to it twice.
He knew that the wall surrounded a settlement that housed several thousand people and he also knew there was a central castle and keep buried deep in the complex.
Being that it was a village, a living and breathing entity, the gatehouse remained open during the day for trade and commerce to commence.
There were always dozens of guards near the gates and the gatehouse itself were heavily manned by English soldiers who hated the sound or sight of anything Irish.
It was going to be a problem for Devlin considering the plans he had forged at Black Castle, the scheme he and Emllyn had rehearsed over and over, was now nil.
Emllyn had been unconscious for a few hours at least and would be unable to tell anyone who, or what, she was.
Worse, Devlin’s plans of pretending to be a mute were now dissolved.
He had to speak because Emllyn couldn’t, so he had spent the past two hours desperately trying to concoct a believable story.
He’d come up with two or three versions but wasn’t entirely comfortable with any of them.
Still, he had little choice; Emllyn needed a surgeon.
With each step he took, he was growing increasingly worried over her condition.
He found himself wishing Eefha had not deserted them because he knew the old woman would know what to do.
Eefha had a way of healing. He also began to wonder if it wouldn’t have been better for him to return to Black Castle, but that would have taken at least two days on foot.
It was no option at all. As he drew closer to the gatehouse of the de Cleveley settlement, he braced himself for what was to come and prayed he could come across convincingly in this new plan he was forced to perpetuate. Their lives depended on it.
Being that it was after midday, most of the farmers and other vendors that usually did business in the morning hours were gone and there wasn’t a great deal of traffic at the gates.
Sentries were checking everyone who entered the complex and as Devlin drew close, he took a deep breath for courage and moved towards two English soldiers who were watching the activity of the gates.
“M’lords,” he said, trying to sound timid and polite. “I have come from the north. There was a great sea battle there four nights ago at Black Castle. Have ye heard?”
The soldiers, dressed in well-worn mail and de Cleveley tunics, looked at him with both curiosity and suspicion.
“What sea battle?” an older soldier asked.
“Kildare,” Devlin said, struggling not to react to these English soldiers who represented everything he hated.
He’d probably fought them on many occasions, and even killed some of their kin, but he couldn’t think of that now.
“Kildare came ashore at Black Castle and was destroyed by Black Sword. Have you not heard the news?”
The soldiers looked at him with shock. One even called his superior officer and relayed the news. The superior officer was an older knight, short and bald, with dark eyes and a growth of beard. He eyed Devlin a moment, his focus shifting between Emllyn’s limp form and the very big Irishman in rags.
“What’s this you say about a battle at Black Castle?” he asked. “Where did you come from?”
Devlin increasingly struggled with his attitude towards the haughty English.
He wanted very much to reach out a massive fist and smash the swagger right out of the knight’s face.
Instead, he clutched Emllyn tighter, finding a strange and calming comfort in her.
She soothed him in ways he couldn’t begin to understand.
“To the north about ten miles, m’lord,” he said.
“I have a farm to the south of Black Castle. There was a great sea battle four nights ago and the English were defeated. I have come because this woman washed upon the shore and I found her. Before she went unconscious, she told me that her name was Emllyn Fitzgerald, sister to the Earl of Kildare. She’s very sick, m’lord.
She needs help. I tried to tend her but she is so much worse. ”
The bald knight’s gaze lingered on Devlin a moment before focusing on Emllyn. He went to her, peering down at her unconscious face curiously. He eyed the clothing she wore, as it was Irish in design and fabric. He didn’t look particularly sympathetic.
“What would Kildare’s sister be doing on a battle armada?” he asked dubiously.
Devlin didn’t hesitate. “She said something about witnessing the victory for her brother,” he replied. “Will you please help her?”
The knight eyed Devlin for a long moment before turning and walking back into the gatehouse.
Devlin could see him in the shadows of the gate, speaking with another man dressed in expensive mail.
The second man was tall, with gray hair, and he kept looking at Devlin as the bald knight spoke to him.
Finally, he emerged from the gatehouse and approached Devlin with the bald knight following close behind.
“Who are you?” the gray-haired knight demanded. “No lies, now. Who has sent you?”
Devlin didn’t like the man in the least; he had a very clipped and unsympathetic manner about him. Rather than react with hostility, he fought down his instincts and labored for control.
“As I told these other knights, m’lord, there was a great battle at Black Castle four nights ago,” he said. “Kildare’s fleet was destroyed and this woman washed upon the shore. She says she is Kildare’s sister. She is very ill so I brought her here.”
The gray-haired knight did the same thing the others did; his gaze lingered on Devlin with suspicion before turning his attention to Emllyn. He leaned over to peer at her but didn’t touch her. After a few moments of inspection, he lifted his eyebrows.
“Hmmm,” he said. “I was not aware that Kildare had a sister. Even if he did, what on earth would she be doing on a ship bound for battle?”
Devlin repeated what he’d told the bald knight. “She said that she was there to see victory on behalf of her brother,” he replied. “She has a bad wound on her leg. Will you please help her?”
The gray-haired knight pondered the question. He stepped back from Devlin, sizing him up. “What do you do?” he demanded. “Are you a warrior? A soldier? Answer me.”
“I am a farmer,” Devlin replied quickly. “I tend the soil. I grow vegetables and sell them at market.”
“Where at market?”
Devlin had already told them his farm was south of Black Castle so there was no alternative but to tell him the closest marketplace which, in fact, was Black Castle. He had absolutely no choice and prayed his answer wouldn’t cost him.
“At Black Castle,” he replied steadily. “It is the nearest marketplace.”
The gray-haired knight’s manner turned to one of marginal interest. “You have been inside the castle?”
Devlin nodded. “I have.”
“Do you know Black Sword?”
“Do you?”
The gray-haired knight wriggled his eyebrows and glanced at the soldiers around him. “Nay,” he admitted reluctantly. “But you did not answer my question. Do you know him?”
Devlin replied carefully. “I have seen men I was told were his generals but Black Sword keeps himself hidden,” he said. “I was told the man is eight feet tall and breathes fire.”
That brought a grin from the gray-haired knight. “Ah, the ignorance of the Irish, and this one as big as a bull.”
The men around him laughed at Devlin’s expense.
After that, they all seemed to loosen up a great deal as they came to realize that Devlin wasn’t there to do them any harm.
Devlin was trying to come across as an ignorant peasant and evidently doing a good job of it from the reaction of the English.
The gray-haired knight nodded his head in Emllyn’s direction.
“One of my men will take her,” he said. “As for you, I am interested in speaking with you further to discover what more you know about Black Castle.”
Devlin didn’t like that at all. He shook his head. “I will not leave the lady, m’lord,” he said as respectfully as he could. “I found her and I am responsible for her. I’ll not leave her alone with a host of English soldiers to molest her.”
The smile faded from the gray-haired knight’s lips and his eyes turned hard. “Turn her over,” he commanded. “You will come with me.”