Chapter Three: Irish Sunset
County Meath, Thursday the 21st of September
"The orders are to stay put," said Josh Kincannon, "and the Boss doesn't take it lightly when one tampers with his orders."
"I don't give a damn what your orders are," shouted Rory O'Banon, the local hot-head of the Irish League. "We have the possibility to eradicate the bloody English and nobody will stand in my way."
Kincannon smiled.
"I can't let you do it, Rory. Be reasonable. Ireland needs to show an immaculate political image. We are good people and we don't kill civilians out of revenge."
Rory grabbed his opponent by his collar and tried to bully him.
"You and your leader can go fuck yourselves; it's my turf here and I'll do what I want!"
Rory looked at his opponent and soon the anger in his eyes became surprise and pain. Slowly he looked down.
Was that a knife in his belly? And the hand holding the knife was Josh's. How…
"There was another part to the orders, Rory friend," whispered his old childhood buddy. "And you're just witnessing it! You do what he wants or you'll be gutted like the asshole you are! He's the Boss here, not a freaking idiot who believes he can play God in his own backyard. Without him we would have remained under the British yoke for centuries, so you just don't discuss what he wants. You got it?"
Slowly Rory felt his legs give up. He fell like a deflating wind pipe.
"Join you soon in Hell, my friend," said Josh while extracting and cleaning his knife on Rory's shirt. "I'm going to see if your buddies are smarter than you…"
Two minutes later he was meeting with the nine other members or his action squad.
"Smain and José you get the body and dump it somewhere discreet in the neighborhood. The rest, come with me! We're heading towards Athlone. We'll stop at the next village; rumors say that there is a group there that's trying to stir up the country side. I'm sure they'd love to know the French are already here." He sighed. "Let's go, we have quite a few more visits to carry out today."
William Wesley looked out his study's window on his Estate's park.
No gardener was to be seen and that was indeed very bad news. The servants must have heard and word was probably, at this very moment, spreading out like wildfire.
Because news from the French Invasion under that cursed d'Arcy had just arrived with a few of his Irish friends coming out of Dublin, very talkative and loud friends.
He sighed.
With both his elder brothers in India and his youngest in British Tobago, he had only his wife and himself to take into account.
Not counting the family's estate, of course.
"What shall we do?" asked Robertson the local leader of the Ascendancy and definitely the most hated man in the whole of Eastern Ireland. His casual haughtiness had, for once, disappeared under a mask of sheer terror.
"The troops have surrendered without shooting a bullet," Walter Gibbons, 2nd Barronet of Hamwal and friend of the Wesley family, repeated for the fourth time, now more scared than anything else. "We have nothing to stop them…"
William did agree but never would he say it aloud.
His servants were, as they were speaking, probably running toward the surrounding villages. Some ran out of fear, because nobody in his right mind would want to stay within a house, which would, come next morning, be pillaged and put to the flames. Most ran out of spite and to be part of the punitive expedition that the Irish rabble would launch within hours.
He went to the cord and rang for his housekeeper.
She was at the study's door within seconds.
Another bad omen.
"What is the situation, Mrs. Brown?"
"They are all leaving, Your Grace. Only a few agreed to stay behind. And even if a handful of your English retainers chose to stay, most, typically those married to Irish lasses, chose to hide at their wife's farmstead."
"We should have denied them the right to marry Irish sluts" shouted Gibbons. "We should have hanged the first who asked…"
Wesley shook his head and hesitated. Should he shut the fool up?
Gibbons was at the brink of fouling his pants, no need to remind him that it was at the Church's command that some of his loyal men had married into the surrounding families. To force said lasses to embrace the Church.
"How many left?"
"Twelve men remain. Ten more people if you count the members of their families who were at the Estate."
"Conal?"
"Still with us, Your Grace."
"Send him out to gather the families of all retainers who chose to stay here. They will be much safer here. Go now, Mrs. Brown, haste could be of importance."
Mrs. Brown curtsied and turned around.
As soon as she was had left the study Gibbons exploded.
"Why send for their families. Let them die!"
Wesley shook his head.
"Really, Gibbons, being scared to death doesn't agree with what's left of your intelligence. Just think about it a minute. What would happen if they hear about their families being attacked while they defend us?"
"They would run," whispered Robertson.
Gibbons tried to speak but Wesley stopped him.
"Indeed they would! And shooting them in the back wouldn't help at all. On the other hand with their families here our people will be even more motivated to defend the Estate."
Josh Kincannon stood up and put his spy eye in his bag.
"Most of the servants and retainers have just fled. I saw a double score run towards the park entry."
Smain Ibn Gafer shook his head.
"Smart people, those. Without your little chat with that O'Banon guy the people in there would probably have been dead tomorrow morning."
"Some of them deserve to die" grumbled Sean Farney. "Bloody Robertson is in there, I'd like to have a little chat with him."
"Not our job, boys." He pointed South East. "That's Bessières' cavalry's job. We, we have to 'convince' our Irish brethren to be calm and patient and obedient."
He went to his horse.
"Let's go, we have a long way before us."
Joseph Marie Castagnet, Captain in one of Bessières' battalion frowned at the little group who had just vacated the best look out of the surroundings.
By the way they moved those were probably some of d'Arcy's 'Special Agents'. He was probably lucky to have been able to sight them at all. Most of his fellow cavalry officers had never even seen them.
He didn't like what they were doing, but he could not deny that they were efficient.
Well, like it or not, he had his job waiting for him just a few miles away.
"Lieutenant?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"Take your squadron and enter the Estate which is just before us. Stay out of shooting range but don't let anyone go in or come out. I'll follow within the next minutes."
"Conal is back, Your Grace."
"Let him in," answered William Wesley when Mrs. Brown knocked at the study's door.
Soon the young man, his brother Richard's son, was shown in by a servant. He bowed as it was his duty. He didn't know that he was the Master's son. And since his mother's family was, as a whole, indentured somewhere in America there was no chance he would ever learned about it.
"The French are surrounding the Estate, Your Grace. I counted more than fifty just near the outer entrance. They wouldn't let me leave."
"Well if what happened in England is a rule," said the Master of the estate, "we should be better off with the French then with our own Irish followers."
He looked at his son.
"Conal, go back there and invite the highest ranking officers to come in. We'll see what they want."
Conal, who knew perfectly well that he was Richard's son, was split between two emotions: happiness to know that soon the rule of their English masters would come to an end and sadness at not avenging his mother's fate.
He loathed his father who had forced himself upon his mother and who had been unable to recognize his fifth son but had parted him from his mother.
His heart was bent on revenge but he knew quite well that until now he would just have signed his death warrant. With the French here, everything could change.
He walked toward the group of French soldiers and was soon able to join a little group surrounding what could only be an officer.
"I want to speak with your officer. I'm William Welsey's man and he is the Master of Dangan Castle the Estate you're trespassing."
The officer said three words and the pair of soldiers standing in his way stepped aside.
"Speak" said the officer.
"My master asks for your attendance, Sir. He wants to speak with you about himself, the estate and his guests."
The officer nodded.
"What guests are we speaking of?"
"The Honourable Walter Gibbons, 2nd Baronnet of Hamwal, and the Honourable Clyde Robertson, Earl Hammagh," answered Conal.
One man got to his saddle bag and came back with a book.
He searched a few moments and came with the needed information.
"Clyde Robertson ?" asked the officer.
"Indeed and Walter Gibbons…"
The officer called to one of his men, gave him an order where the names Robertson and Wesley were clearly stated.
The man literally flew on his horse and galloped away at high speed.
"Take me to your master, monsieur," said the officer. "We have indeed a lot to speak about."
The officer was wearing a bearskin hat which he politely took off immediately after saluting.
"I'm Captain Castagnet" he said while bowing. "I'm commanding a squadron of Consular Guards currently en route toward Athlone. At you service, Sir."
He spoke a well-accented, but fluent English.
William Wesley bowed in return and invited the Captain, who was alone, to sit.
The captain sat with grace and without losing hold of his sword nor being bothered by his heavy breastplate.
"What are your orders concerning the English population of Ireland?" shot Gibbons immediately. That earned him an angry glance from Wesley
"We are under orders to occupy the land and to secure law and order everywhere. We have no specific orders concerning any nationality. We are to protect the people living in Ireland. All the people."
"So you will protect us against the Irish rabble?" asked Robertson.
"We will maintain law and order until the military campaign has ended" answered the Captain without giving a hint about what he felt in relation with Robertson's words. "As soon as the situation is normalized we will hand the power to the legitimate Irish authorities who will then decide what to do. Meanwhile our orders are clear. No civilian is to be molested and the properties must be protected… The Proconsul has given strict orders: where we have troops there will be no exactions, no arson and no random killing."
Wesley nodded.
"What about weapons?"
"We have no orders to keep track or take hold of privately owned weapons," said the Captain. "But," and he looked at Robertson while speaking, "we will shoot anyone seen with a rifle or a pistol. We won't take any risk there will be no warning shot and no questions."
Wesley nodded once more.
"Will we be free to move?"
"It would be better not to, Sir. We can't be everywhere and we are not sure all the Irish will accept to follow the Proconsul's order. Stay here and we will be able to guarantee your health and survival. If you're in a carriage on the roads we probably won't be able to guarantee your safety."
He smiled at Robertson.
"It took us a month to secure England as a whole. Now the Citizens of England can journey from one end of the country to the other without taking a risk. We ask for the same delay here in Ireland. Within a month the situation will be stabilized and civilians should be able to travel safely."
"You're very certain of winning," grumbled Robertson.
"Your troops are surrendering as soon as they spot us!" answered the Captain. "Where are you going to find soldiers to fight for you? The people in England didn't rise to defend their fleeing King! Do you really believe that in a country where you killed several thousand men, women and children three years ago you'll find anyone willing to stand against the armies who took England's homeland in three weeks?" He shook his head. "If you want to try, feel free to do so. I and my men would rather welcome a little bout of action! If the truth must be told the English campaign was a rather dull one. We never saw any action." He grinned at Robertson. "Should it be that you are only brave when you have to fight against women and children?"
Robertson stepped forward but Wesley was immediately at his side.
"Don't be a fool, Clyde. Even if you should happen to win against the captain his men are just a few hundred yards away."
"He slandered us."
"No he just stated the truth," cut Wesley. "We fought against unprepared and badly armed peasants. It would have been more difficult against real soldiers."
Robertson tried and opened his mouth but once more Wesley shut him up. "You're my guest here and you are risking my family's life with your insane behavior. If you want to fight the French, you're free to go out and proceed."
Captain Castagnet shook his head.
"I fear we won't let him, Sir. He is much too precious to let him just die. There's a ten thousand Francs reward on your friend's head."
Robertson' face lost all color.
"Why?" he stammered.
"Seems the Irish want you rather badly, Sir. I suppose your record at Enniscorthy got you a greater popularity than you thought. I know quite a lot of d'Arcy's Irish bodyguards who would gladly come to greet you if they knew that you were here."
"If you fail to raise the alarm" whispered Robertson, "nobody will ever know."
Castagnet snickered.
"One of my men is already galloping toward Dublin with the news. I fear that whatever you try here is already too late to escape our attention."
Wesley looked at the young French officer who looked quite smug.
"How is it that you knew?"
The Captain smiled.
"The Proconsul does believe in getting as much intelligence as possible," he said. "And he believes even more in sharing said intelligence with his men in the field."
Castagnet looked at the men sitting in front of him.
"Before leaving Dublin, we were painstakingly briefed about what we would encounter, Sir. We know a lot about you and your friends in the Irish Ascendancy. We know where to look for certain people and we know how to get at them without losing too much time. He shrugged. "And that explains why two days after landing we are here at the Indian Governor General's Estate in Summerhill."
He nodded at Williams Wesley's frown.
"Indeed, Sir, we know about your brother Richard. And we know about your brother Arthur and his skills as a Strategist. We know even how many Indian troops he commands and where he was based a month ago."
His smile disappeared.
"Knowledge is power and the one rule the Proconsul insists on is that the more you know about your enemy the easier it will be to subdue him."
His smile came back.
"And his second rule is even more ruthless: let the enemy know how much you know about him and soon he will lose himself to doubts and procrastination."
He stood up and bowed.
"And meanwhile we act and win!"