The Posy Ring

Brendan continued: “It would be more than my life was worth if it were discovered that I had harboured S p a n i a r d s .” He emphasised the word, as one might say “vermin”.

“And the people of my parish have great need of me in these uncertain times. It is only because these remote lands are still under the sway of the great Gaelic chiefs that I have any measure of freedom to practise my religion, but even that seems to be under threat daily. It’s the only reason that such oratories as that one” – he gestured back the way they had come – “are still in use from time to time.

“Nobody ventures out here who does not already know about it. But I have been asking the Good Lord what I am to do with you. For you.” He corrected himself.

“And has the Good Lord answered you?” asked Mateo, solemnly. “We seem to be going towards the sea again.”

“We are. My village is some miles farther on. But you say you came ashore on the west coast, and now we are heading more northerly as you can see by the position of the sun.”

Such as it is, thought Mateo, glancing at the pale circle in the sky, so shrouded in cloud that it might easily have been mistaken for the moon.

“It seems to me,” the man continued, “that you might meet with a more favourable reception in Scotland. There are many over there, especially in the west, who are no friends to Queen Elizabeth.”

“No indeed.”

Brutality

The Queen of Scotland had been executed by her cousin only the previous year. Long anticipated, the act – when news of it arrived – had nevertheless seemed extraordinarily brutal and unscrupulous. But kings and queens have their reasons and, no doubt, the shrewd Queen of England had hers.

As to Mary of Scotland, Mateo knew only that she had once been very beautiful, a vain but soft- hearted and impulsive woman, who had been greatly wronged, cheated of her kingdom. His father had heard as much when news of these events travelled south.

Mateo thought that he would never take anything at face value again, never believe anything but his own eyes. All the same, he had some stirring of interest at the thought of washing up on a Scottish shore. It had always seemed so utterly remote and unreal.

The priest drew his patient beast to a halt. “We’re very close to the coast of Scotland here, sir. I’ve never ventured forth from this island myself, but if you stand upon any high hill in these parts and look north-west on a clear day, you will see Scotland. I suspect that the sea holds few fears for you.”

“Then you might suspect wrong, Father Brendan.” Mateo permitted himself an anxious glance back at Francisco, who had barely been keeping up with them. “Paco?” he called. Francisco smiled, and embarked on a shambling trot. It broke Mateo’s heart to see him.

Freedom

“No, no,” he said. “Take your time.” He turned back to the priest. “As you can see, Father, my young cousin is all but broken in body and spirit. He’s barely 17 years old. The sea has been no friend to us these past months. But, yes, I understand that Scotland might be our best hope of freedom. We might stand some small chance of beginning the long journey home from there.”

“Then I may be able to help you. A mile from here, there is a decent enough harbour, with a few cottages, and an inn or sorts. I suggest you don’t venture in, but conceal yourselves somewhere and wait while I try to make arrangements for you.”

“What arrangements?” Mateo asked suspiciously, though he saw no other way for it but to trust the priest.

Father Brendan sighed, as though reading his mind. “There is a Scotsman I know by the name of Mcallister, and he captains a small merchantman. They call it a birlinn or galley in these parts. It is a ship that sails, as often as weather and tide permit, between here and some of the Scottish islands. He’s unmarried and when he’s not at sea, he frequents the inn.” “But if he’s not there?”

“I have a fancy he is. I think I caught sight of him earlier today, as I passed by. He was drinking his ale and gazing at the sea. We exchanged a few words. Pleasantries. But of course, I didn’t know what was waiting for me at the oratory.

The weather has been uncertain and I think he’s waiting only for wind and tide to suit him. These sailors rely on their pagan practices and superstitions when it comes to the sea,” the priest added, regretfully.

“They should be saying prayers to Our Lady! However, Mcallister remarked that he would soon be sailing, since he smelled change in the air. The winds would be blowing from the right direction, he said, or some such observation. I don’t pretend to know much about the sea. But perhaps you do.”

Human cargo

“I know something.”

“I said that perhaps the sun might shine for old Brigid’s funeral, and he grinned at me and said he doubted that. He observed that it would be a rough passage to Scotland, but not impossible. He’s a man who is not averse to a risk here and there I fancy. The cargo changes with the seasons.

“And sometimes it is human cargo, I think. He could be persuaded to set you ashore on one of the more favourable islands. But he is not a generous man. I have to ask you, can you pay him anything? I would give you something if I could, but the truth is that I have little enough for my own needs and those of my parishioners.”

The priest surveyed them doubtfully, clearly wondering if they had any resources at all and, if so, where they might be concealing them.

Mateo drew a deep breath. “I have a little money left. I’ve been saving it, hoarding it about my person, for desperate times.” A few gold coins were stitched into the lining of his filthy undershirt. Along with another keepsake that he would, he thought, sooner die than have to sell. His talisman. His luck. But perhaps the coins would be enough. And if not enough, then the knife might suffice. One way or another.

“Father Brendan, it seems to me that all times have been desperate for us, of late, and now I must spend what little I have left, for surely this is the only way in which I can hope to save my life – and his.”

I suggest you don’t venture in, but conceal yourselves somewhere and wait while I try to make arrangements for you

More tomorrow.

The Posy Ring, first in the series The Annals of Flowerfield, is written by Catherine Czerkawska and published by Saraband. It is priced at £8.99.