Plura Ater Nox
Chapter 34

Author's Notes: Okay, the next couple of chapters or so are flashback chapters and they focus solely on Marcus and Dwight. I thought I should do a character history, and since they were my oldest ones, that they deserved such an honour, plus, I believe I owed my readers an explanation as to why Marcus joins the rebels. These chapters will explain that. ^_^ I hope you all enjoy it.

1912 – Dublin [Flashback]

"Top of the morning to you, good lad!" A simply dressed man called out to a young man, no more than fourteen years old, who ran by in a blur of dust. The man was dressed in beige britches, held up by smart black suspenders. He wore a white shirt under with a vest over top. His bright red hair comb back smartly, his green eyes twinkling in the early light of dawn.

Turning to the man, a young Marcus Faulkner smiled bright and pushed long annoying bangs out of his eyes. "Good morrow, sir! Is Ike done his morning tasks? We're going to the docks to see the Titanic! She's coming for the good folk lucky enough to see the land of the free!"

Grinning at the bright enthusiasm of Dwight's friend, Fionn Marshall chuckled. "I'm sure his Ma can spare him for a few hours as you lads go get a glimpse of what Irish sweat and toil built. Her picture was all over the press. They talk of her beauty and they say she's advanced for her time."

"I heard that as well, sir." Marcus replied. His gaze shifted to the metal box that the father of Dwight carried. "Off to the plant for another hard day of labour under the cruel watch of those nasty Bible-pushing Protestants, who are damned to hell?"

"Watch your tongue boy." Fionn replied sternly, as he stared at the boy. "They don't like our kind very much. We are lucky to be able to freely worship as Catholics as God wanted. Do watch your tongue; you don't want of those awful bloody Brits catching a slip."

"Indubitably, sir!" Marcus replied with a firm nod. "I'll do my utmost to keep skid chains on my tongue. I don't want those bloody Brits whipping my hide clean off my arse; Mama does a fine job of that when she gets a bee in her bonnet."

"Good lad, you should find Ike back." Fionn explained, as he pointed a thick finger to the alley that led to the back of the long narrow row of houses. "But don't stay too long, you do have school, Marcus, and your teacher will be greatly displeased if you stay at the docks too long and the truancy officer will surely go looking for you."

"I am bearing that in mind. I already got permission from Mama. She is going to be there because her younger sister is lucky enough to get a ticket to board the maiden." Marcus replied happily. "Aunt Treasa promised to write to Mama once she got there."

"Ah, good for her. She deserves it. May God bless her and her husband. Pass on our blessings. Tell Treasa we wish her well in the new land." Fionn and his wife were friends with Marcus's mother and Aunt Treasa, and had grown up with each other.

"I will do, sir." Marcus assured the other man smartly, with a sincere smile.

Nodding, Fionn turned and began to walk away. He glanced back over his shoulder. "Cheers good lad."

"Godspeed sir and God bless you!"
Once Fionn Marshall was out of sight, Marcus sighed softly and turned to the alley. He knew this area all to well; he had spent many-a-day here with his good friend Dwight Marshall, who spoke of his dream to join the ranks of the Irish Division of the Royal Army, while he spoke of fighting for the good of the Vatican and the faith the Protestants and English tried to crush. He spoke of one day fighting the evil that pervaded every corner of their lives; he spoke of a desire to live in a free land that was sovereign and was ruled under the will of the Irish. A free land like America.

He cast a gaze over to toward the house that his friend lived in with his two older brothers and four younger sisters. The houses were easily two or three floors. They were stacks on one another – flats. They were where a lot of Catholics lived if they couldn't afford a normal house. It was for low-income families, located in the heart of the downtown core of Dublin.

Long clothes lines hung across the cobblestone path and horseless carriages sat on the street. Young children ran between them, laughing freely, as they chased their friends and siblings. It was evident that a lot of these children came from impoverished families, but one wouldn't think so when they looked at the happiness and youth that radiated from the youngsters.

Darting down the alley, Marcus grabbed a handful of pebbles and heaved them at the second story window, which he knew was the kitchen. When he saw a person appear, he dropped the remainder from his hand and waited for the person to stick their head out.

The woman looked quite displeased until she laid eyes on Marcus. "Good morrow, Marcus, how fares your mother? I hear your Aunt Treasa is headin' for a better life in America!" She glanced back over her shoulder then back out the window. "Dwight shall be down shortly, he's just gathering his things. I trust you boys won't play hooky for too long, you do have final examinations for your first year at the secondary education institute."

"Yes, ma'am, we'll to our utmost to stay only shortly. We shan't neglect our studies!" Marcus called up to the lady of the house. "We're just going to see the Titanic and give our blessings to Aunt Treasa and her husband."

"Mark! Good to see you! Ready to scout out the docks?" Dwight called as he jumped over the railing half-way between the first and second floor. He landed soundlessly on the ground with elegant grace, only disrupting the dust.

"Most certainly, mate." He winked and whispered, "all the skirts will be there and not too many of them fussy old spinsters and biddies. Hopefully we'll see some ankle."

"Good Ike, we'll see many ankles a-plenty. Remember when Aíne O'Malley was sent home for her wickedly high hemline? She got a good forty less one lashes for it, but us boys had a most excellent look-see. Miss Flanagan wasn't very happy." Dwight smirked, enjoying a good chuckle. "Miss Flanagan wouldn't hear out Aíne's side, but we good lads knew her family was too poor to clothe a willow like her."

"We were naughty, I thought Miss Flanagan would surely send home notes to our Mamas telling 'em how we were sinful lads. By luck, she didn't and I knar missed getting my backside skinned. Mama was in a terrible mood that day." Marcus replied mirthlessly, as he recalled that day.

Soon the two boys were out of the sight of Dwight's home, when Marcus turned to his friend, oh, what mischief danced in his youthful eyes. "Say good friend, let's say we fool the truancy wanker and go for a good swill of whiskey at the docks at Dun Laoghaire?"

"My mama would strip the skin off my hide! Goodness knows it's in her, even father fears her! She's birthed twelve of us and only stopped to give the birthing! Toughest woman on God's green earth! Even the Good Lord Himself would fear her when she got to Heaven. She's a pious lady with a backhand that men tremble at." Dwight shuddered, remembering the numerous events when he felt his mother's wrath.

"Aye, good lad, she surely isn't so terrible!" Marcus winked. "My mama once gave me forty less one lashes and I couldn't sit for a good week! I thought she broke that switch her lashes were so harsh!"

"If your mamas heard ya speakin' so ill o' 'em, they'd whip ya into nex' year!" came the familiar drawl; a voice they knew all too well. It belonged to none other than Aíne O'Malley. Her dresses never quite fit her. The bodice was tight and placed emphasise on her ample bosom, the waist was tight and the hemline came dangerously high, a good inch or two over the ankles. She was the eldest child in her family. She had seven younger siblings and another one on the way. Her parents were dreadfully poor – the poorest in the neighbourhood.

"And a good morrow to you too, good lass." Marcus smirked. He sauntered over and placed an arm around Aíne's shoulders. "Did Miss Flanagan die?"

"Git off me!" she snarled as she pushed Marcus's arm off her. "Nay, she didn't. She's at 'em docks at Dun Laoghaire. Her sister's goin' to 'Merica, y'known, so she's seein' 'er off with blessin's and such."

Undeterred by Aíne's rejection, Marcus tried again. "Yeah, it seems America is very popular these days, especially amongst the Irish." He leisurely took her hand. "Have I mentioned just how lovely you look today?" He winked.

"Yer word nay shall win me." Aíne haughtily retorted as she pulled her hand from his. She did have to admit to herself she was attracted to him, even if he was a boorish male with an insufferable ego. He did have a certain charisma to him, and he was known for his loyalty to his friends.

"You're bloody stubborn, but I'll win you yet." Marcus whispered, pulling her close. "You know exactly how I feel and there is no escaping it, and when the day comes, I'll go before your father and ask him for your hand in marriage. I don't care if I have to bribe him, I'll have my way and I'll get you."

"Be weary of the stars, my friend. They carry a curse of the past, and it could follow you and rain dread unto your luck." Dwight murmured more to himself than anyone else. He, like Marcus, knew of a life from long ago, where they had not only been friends, but chosen ones; celestial warriors who destiny was to protect a girl, who would appear in their world, summon their god and set everything right again.

He recalled the tragic love story of his friend. In the past where they had lived, Marcus had been caught in an unfortunate situation. There was a girl he loved dearly, and she reciprocated that love, but there was another man, his best friend, who also longed for the girl. The story had ended in heart break for Marcus, who at the time was better known as Chichiri, who in blind rage went after his friend, and in the fray, in the midst of a raging storm, his friend had lost his footing on the edge of the bank and slipped into the raging river. His hand had been grabbed by Chichiri, but the hand slipped from Chichiri's grasp when a wild log came barrelling at them, catching Chichiri in the eye and blinding him. He had let got of his friend's hand…

The girl and his friend had died, along with many others in that flood. Chichiri wrought with grief, had become a wandering monk with a scar on his face. He eventually covered up with a mask and hid his true feelings from his friends…

Dwight, who had been known as Mitsukake at the time, had a common understanding of his friend's grief and loss. He had even tried to heal the scar, but the offer had been declined. He said nothing more. But now, he had learned from his mistakes, and didn't want to see his friend wind up down the same tragic route again.

"Ya betta give it up, 'cause Papa will ne'er 'gree." Aíne retorted, winking at Marcus. This had become a ritualistic thing. He flirted; she discouraged him, yet at the same time used subtle willies to seduce him. She did love him, probably more than he loved her.

Marcus leaned against the lamppost. "Surely you'll convince him. Being the oldest child carries some weight, doesn't it? Besides, wouldn't he like for you to end up with a decent man?" He winked.

"Then I guess ya ain't got no chance, eh?!" Aíne smirked, tweaking Marcus's nose.

Dwight rolled his eyes. He knew he should be used to this by now. Marcus and Aíne were always flirting like this. He half-expected to wake up morning to Marcus hurling pebbles at his bedroom window declaring that he had got an eloped with the girl overnight. It wouldn't really surprise Dwight if his friend did that. His friend was extremely impulsive.

"Hey, Mark if we's going to the docks, shouldn't we get on a moving instead of staying here while you act all moony-eyed?" Dwight remarked, lightly punching his friend in the shoulder. "And how're going to hit the pub if we's got a girl on our backs? They're terrible nags."

"Watch yer tongue 'ere, Ike, we ain't all bad." Aíne replied, poking him in the shoulder. "But I'll get movin' on, n' I'll leave ya lads to do 'lad' things. Just no getting' into no shit with 'em bloody Brits, now Mark."

"All right, we'll behave, and you'll wait up for me. I'll coming by your humble abode later today to get permission from your father to court you." Marcus took Aíne's hand in his, kissing the top of it. "So, be prepared for a good time.

Once she left, Dwight turned to Marcus. "Got a tupence on you? I only have a hay-penny."

"What do you need a tupence for?" he asked, reaching into his back pocket. "It's only a penny to ride the street car."

"That way you'd still have your fare."

"Here, I have a hay-penny." Marcus reached into his pocket and fished around until he found it. Taking it out, he handed it to his friend.

Graciously accepting, Dwight thanked his friend as they walked to the nearly street car stop point.

When they got to the docks, they would be immersed in a crowd of unimaginable size; people celebrating the maiden voyage of Ireland's gem. It would be hard to imagine that this magnificent beauty would be taken down in the Atlantic Ocean mere days later. The news, when it would come, was extremely shocking. No one had considered this possibility. The Titanic seemed immune to everything, well, except of course for ice bergs which were floating dangerously around the North Atlantic.

The families who had seen loved one off on the voyage were on edge, waiting in anticipation for any news; good or bad. They just needed to know what happened to their loved ones. This included Marcus and his parents. His grown siblings had all moved to America two years ago at least, so he was the only one left at home; the youngest of nine, and the only boy.

"Ma, have they said anything on Aunt Treasa?" Marcus asked softly, as he assisted in mother in cleaning up the kitchen. His father had already left for work. They were the only ones left in the house and it was a Friday morning. He had already written his final exams, so he was just helping out around the house before he would start his summer job the following week.

"I haven't heard a thing from them bloody Brits." Mrs. Faulkner replied bitterly as she shoved a plate to her son. "And they already know, and most of their own kind lived because those bastards got upper class tickets. Rumour mill says that the poor, who were in the belly of the Titanic, were trapped because no one left 'em out until the last moment."

"That doesn't surprise me. But I hope God spared Aunt Treasa and at least reduced any suffering she may have faced. I hope that he help her out in her moment of need and lifted her from that floating casket." Marcus replied softly, crossing himself as he thought of his beloved aunt.

Aunt Treasa was the youngest of his mother's siblings, barely twenty years old; half as old as his mother. His mother had a total of about twelve siblings, two of which died before reaching five years old because of tuberculosis and cholera. There was a third that would have died, but by a miracle survived, but was crippled by Polio.

"I know, I know, but she had a lower class ticket, which was very, very dear in price. She paid nearly three pounds for the ticket! I told her to spend more, but she said that daddy gave her enough to buy a ticket and start a new life in Canada. She told me that she would need the money to pay for housing until she expects to find a nice young man to marry and settle down with."

"Why didn't she stay here then?"

"Daddy, who's very weak for her since she's his youngest daughter, gave in to her wishes to go over seas and start a life free of English oppression. She said she wanted to live where there was no famine."

Nodding silently, Marcus continued to dry the dishes without another word.


1914 – Western Front

Gun fire ran out around them, the pungent odours of dead rotting corpses wafted through the air into the depths of the trenches from when the men knew as "no man's land". Exploding grenades rocked the earth and brilliant flashes of fire could be seen over the parapet of the ten foot deep trenches that stretched for miles east and west, and into infinity…

On a pair of crates sat a pair of sixteen year old friends, each smoking a cigarette, as their Lee-Enfield rifles sat on the ground next to them, preloaded and ready to fire on command. They hadn't been called to duty yet by the captain of their regiment, The Royal Dublin Fusiliers of the 16th Irish Division, so they enjoyed their break while it lasted, under the resonated ringing of gun fire and explosions that rang through the French countryside.

The two young men wore dust-laden military issued uniforms, which had been issued to them at the start of the war. They had enlisted together. Dwight Marshall, deciding to pursue his dream of joining the armed forces, took the chance to enlist, while Marcus Faulkner, not wanting to see his friend go off to die in a foreign country, enlisted as well so that his friend wouldn't have to go off and die alone.

Together, they sat in quiet contemplation, as the snow began to fall around them, watching each other. They had grown up in the heart of Dublin together and couldn't picture doing something without the other near for help or just for a good laugh. They had insisted on being placed in the same regiment, so they could fight side by side again.

"Hi fellows, got a spare cigarette I could have?" A soft-spoken sergeant, about six years old than them inquired, as he sat down on the crate that Marcus was seated upon. He held out his hand. "Sergeant William Delaney, of the Royal Armed Force of the Dominion of Canada, part of the Canadian Expeditionary Force." He placed his Ross Rifle by his side, as Marcus handed him a cigarette.

"Well, I'm Private Marcus Faulkner and this is my friend, Private Dwight Marshall. We're from Dublin and part of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers of the 16th Irish Division." Marcus replied, as he dropped the butt of his cigarette onto the ground and put out the smouldering ashes with the toe of his shoe.

"Ah, good lads you are. So, whose name and honour are you fighting for? Got a special lady waiting back at home, pining away while you bravely fight here?" Sergeant Delaney asked, as he lit up the cigarette Marcus had handed him.

"Poor Ike doesn't, I, however, do. Lovely little wench by the name of Aíne O'Malley…"

"Aw, damnit, did you have to go and ask that? Now he's going to be all moony-eyed." Dwight whined, as he interrupted Marcus's reply.

"You love her, eh?" the sergeant asked, winking at the young man.

"Yes sir! I love her, sir. I'm going to ask for her hand in marriage when I return." Marcus eagerly replied; his eyes lit up with glee as he thought of the girl whom he loved dearly.

"Do you carry a picture of the lass close to your heart?"

"Of course, sir. I refused to leave home until she gave it to me."

"Would you care to share?"

Pulling the picture wallet from the inner pocket of his jacket, Marcus handed it over to the superior officer. "She's a diamond in the rough, but I love her."

"She's very nice looking, she has a pretty face, seems motherly, the kind of woman you'd want for your children." The sergeant replied as he studied the black and white photograph before he handed it back to Marcus. "I have a wife and child back home in Canada. She isn't as beautiful as your catch, but she is still good looking." He pulled out the photo and handed it to Marcus, who gasped out in surprise.

"Aunt Treasa! You married Aunt Treasa!"

"Well, ain't it a small world. I guess it means you're my nephew. Well, though these aren't the pleasantest of circumstances, it's nice to be able to meet you."

TBC...