Queen

were~ superbly trained and an-ned. The priests were peaceful men, who be-

  lieved that there was nothing that a fight could achieve that a smile

  could not, except blood and death and anguish.

  Jamie and Sean resisted the powerful simple urgings of the priests. This

  was no place for them, and it disgusted them to see that several of the

  peasants had already stepped forward and made their mark on the petition.

  As they were about to leave, they saw a messenger come gasping into the

  town. He shouted out his news. The Commissioner had been replaced;

  martial law prevailed. At nearby Dunvin, twenty Catholic peasants had

  been mercilessly shot for refusing to denounce their religion. At Camew,

  twice that number had died.

  Father Michael stared at the man, dumbstruck with pity and horror, and

  crossed himself, and murmured prayers for the souls of the dead. His

  brother, Father John, lifted the parchment that was the petition high in

  the air, and tore it to shreds, to the silent appreciation and

  deep-rooted fear of the people.

  Then they saw the flames, and the redcoats.

  The church at Boulavogue had been boarded up for years, unused by the

  clergy since the religion was proscribed. Father

  26 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

  John and Father Michael held their services in barns, or milking sheds,

  or ditches, believing that the Holy Spirit was with them wherever any

  number, no matter how few, were gathered together. But the church

  building, abandoned and rotting, had been a powerful symbol for the

  community, and they lived in the hope that one day the edict against their

  religion would be repealed, and they could take down the boards, and open

  the church, and let the sweet light of day come flooding in.

  Now it was burning, torched by the soldiers, who were marching toward

  them. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that a fate similar to that of

  their cousins in Dunvin and Carnew awaited them unless they renounced

  their religion, and this they would not do, They would fight and die if

  necessary, and preferred this to abandoning their God.

  To everyone's surprise, it was Father John who led the charge. The sight

  of his beloved church in flames, the news of the death of so many

  innocents who had done nothing more than worship God in their own way,

  and defended that right to worship to the death, enraged the gentle

  priest. With a cry that came from the very pit of his soul, he grabbed

  a stout staff from a man standing near, and ran screaming at the

  soldiers.

  Where Father John went, Father Michael went, and where the priests went,

  the flock followed. All the men in the square grabbed whatever weapons

  came to hand, pitchforks and sticks, spades and cart whips, and followed

  the priests into the fray.

  Sean looked at Jamie in triumph, and both cried out in exhilaration, Sean

  in Gaelic and Jamie in English.

  "Erin go bragh!"

  "Ireland forever!"

  They leaped from their horses and ran to the thick of the fight,

  punching, kicking, wresting guns from soldiers. The women of the town

  stood and cheered their men to battle.

  The soldiers were surprised by the speed and ferocity of the attack, and

  its very unlikeliness, and for the first few minutes, the peasants had

  the advantage. But, better trained and better armed, the troops recovered

  their wits, and fought back. In hand-to-hand combat, the peasant band

  slowly retreated toward the square.

  BLOODLINES 27

  A man fell to the ground, his head cracked open by the butt of a musket.

  His wife, who had been praying for him, ran to him, and saw that he could

  not live, or perhaps was already dead. Years of repression and anger,

  years of hardship, years of brutality by the soldiers now welled up in

  her. A banshee cry came from her, and she threw herself at the soldier

  who she thought had killed her man, kicking and screaming, tearing out

  his hair, gouging at his eyes.

  It was a clarion call to the other women. The primal scream that they

  heard from the now widowed woman woke the animal in all of them. Like

  their men before them, they grabbed anything they could find to use as

  weapons-pots and pans, sticks and stones, or just their bare hands-and

  they descended on the soldiers like lions in defense of their lair.

  The soldiers were astounded. They were trained to fight men, other

  soldiers, in fon-nal ranks of order. They were trained to kick and

  crucify docile peasants. They were trained to whip and mutilate untrained

  youths. But they were not trained to face a screaming, caterwauling mob

  Of rampant women out for blood.

  It was a rout, and the soldiers fled, to the cheers and jeers of the

  people. They fled to regroup, and nurse their wounds, and be harangued

  by their officers for letting a pack of women get the better of them.

  Most of them lived to fight another day, and would never underestimate

  the ferocity of females again.

  Not all of them lived. One soldier's neck was broken. Another had a

  pitchfork through his heart. Five peasants were dead.

  When the soldiers where gone, the cheering died to nothing. The women,

  as if appalled by the forces that had been unleashed from inside them,

  became docile, and wept for the dead, and for themselves. Their husbands

  and sons came to comfort them, and stood with them, thrilled but

  apprehensive, for they feared what the soldiers would do in retaliation.

  The brother priests stared at one another, and then each looked at his

  bloody hands. They whispered together, and began to make plans, for they

  had entered, or been dragged into, a strange and frightening new world,

  but they knew there was no going back.

  Jamie sat on the ground and tended his bloody nose and a

  28 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

  gash on his arrn, while Sean sat beside him, and put a wet cloth to his

  blackening eye, and looked at the scratches on his arms and legs. It had

  been a good fight, but they felt no sense of jubilation. It was only a

  skirmish, and the real battle was yet to come.

  The messenger ran. He had seen the fight and bashed a few British heads

  with his long, thick pole, and felt a swingeing surge of excitement, for

  this was something that was worth the telling, and it was his alone to

  tell.

  He raced from the town, and pole-vaulted ditches and hedges with

  breathless, careless speed, to the villages nearby and gasped his news.

  Other messengers took up the cry, and soon the county rang with the glad

  tidings, that a small group of unarmed peasants, led by two priests, had

  defeated the might of Britain.

  They left their homes, taking with them what weapons they had, and came in

  a trickle at first, and then a flood, to Gorey Hill, not far from

  Boulavogue, where the fathers, Michael and John, had made their camp.

  Within two days their number was a thousand, and within a week, three times

  that.

 
But on that first night they were only a dozen, the priests and Jamie and

  Sean, and eight more, young men eager for battle. The soldiers could have

  struck them down with ease, if they had found them, but they did not bother.

  They contented themselves with setting fire to a score of peasant cottages,

  as vengeance for their defeat. Several of the women who had fought, and a

  few who had not, were raped.

  Jamie and Sean had cast their lot with the priests because there seemed no

  better place to be. The fathers had thanked them, and accepted,

  unwillingly, their congratulations. Father John looked at his hands again.

  "With my own hands I choked a man almost to death," Father John said. "I am

  in fear for my mortal soul."

  "But he didn't die," Jamie said, puzzled by the priest's grief.

  "No." Father John nodded, but mournfully. "But others will, and I believe

  that I will do some of that killing."

  He looked at his hands again, as if continually astounded by what they had

  done. "I have devoted my life to the healing

  BLOODLINES 29

  grace of God, but it seems He has other plans for me."

  Sean took charge, for the priests were not practical men of war.

  "They will come again," he said. "We had best find a hiding place."

  "Yes," Father Michael agreed. "Are you with us?"

  He was only offering shelter, but he had the first two recruits of his

  army. The priests led Jamie and Sean to Gorey Hill, avoiding the

  soldiers' camps, and to a small shack that they used when the town was

  unsafe for them. As the four men wended through the dew-soft evening,

  other young men joined them, and made camp on the hill, and, safe in the

  night, celebrated, at last, their victory. Some had beer, which they had

  stolen and shared, and food given them by their families, for all

  understood that it was only the beginning. But it was something. After

  years of servility, it was a start on a long road to freedom.

  The little group of unarmed, unlikely soldiers who had priests as their

  generals sat around the campfire, as soldiers do, after battle, and

  recounted the stories of their day and their fight. They relived every

  moment of the small battle, and exaggerated their roles in it, and their

  own valor, and laughed with love at the reckless women who had probably

  saved their lives, although none would admit that.

  Jamie had never known such a sense of companionship and, sitting in

  Sean's company, felt that he had proved his bravery to the world, and,

  most important, to his friend. At that moment, he wanted no other life

  than this, to do daring, foolish things in a great cause, in the company

  of like-minded fellows, and to sit with them afterward and revel in the

  memory of it.

  Then they saw fires, and stood and looked at the burning cottages around

  Boulavogue, and knew what the soldiers had done.

  " Damned British Protties!" a young man said, tears in his eyes. His name

  was Liam and his home was in flames.

  Jamie was silent for a moment, but had to tell them, whatever the

  consequences might be.

  "I am not Catholic," fie said.

  There was an awful silence, and then Liam, who had damned the British

  Protestants, damned him too, and spat at him.

  30 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

  "Then go to your heretic mates," Liam cried, ready, at that moment, to

  kill Jamie.

  Jamie knew it was a test, and the moment was his. Others might defend

  him. He had to defend himself.

  "I did not think to fight with God," Jamie said softly. "I thought our

  cause was Ireland."

  The moment passed. Liam leashed his anger, and looked away. Father John

  made a joke, which voiced what most of them felt.

  "It doesn't matter," he said, "if he's a good Catholic, or a wretched,

  fornicating Protestant-he is a good Irishman."

  They laughed to break the tension, but Sean did not. Proud of Jamie, he

  said something simpler, and, to Jamie, so much more important. He stared

  at Liam.

  "He is more," he said. "He is my friend."

  It was said quietly, just as it was, a simple statement, but it

  communicated to Liam and to them all the sure and certain conviction that

  anyone who challenged Jamie also challenged Sean.

  They lay side by side, on the soft Irish grass, under blankets the women

  had brought them, and stared at the stars.

  "It was a good day," Sean whispered, and turned his head to sleep.

  "It was a good day," Jamie whispered. He stared at the moon and shivered

  for his life.

  It had been the most wonderful day of his life. The cause was just and

  the fight was good. But he had discovered a terrible secret within him.

  He did not want to die, because living was infinitely precious to him.

  4

  For ten days they camped on Gorey Hill until they were three thousand

  strong. The volunteers brought hope and conviction, and a crusading

  dedication to their holy cause. All had weapons, pikes and pitchforks;

  some had horses and a few others guns. They sustained themselves with

  faith and ancient battle songs.

  Very few brought any food.

  "God will provide," Father Michael told them, but there was little to

  eat, and in private the priests prayed for manna from heaven, or a

  miracle of loaves and fishes.

  Jamie was in despair. Cursed with a rational mind, with every increase

  in their swelling numbers, he felt his belief in their ultimate victory

  diminish. He could not make anyone else understand the proportions of the

  coming disaster.

  "It is pointless, we cannot feed them!" he whispered angrily to Sean, who

  shrugged.

  "They are starving anyway, and prefer to fight," Sean said, irritated by

  his friend's practicality, for it dampened his own optimism.

  Before them, on the plain, the British assembled a formidable army.

  Although few in number, less than a thousand, the Ancient Britains had

  a fiercesome reputation as a ruthlessly successful fighting unit. Their

  very name carried with it the frightening ferocity of their ancestors,

  naked savages painted blue, whose primitive religion called on the sun

  itself as their ally, and whose battle skills had been honed against the

  unconquerable forces of Rome. Eventually, they believed, they had

  conquered those invincible legions, and driven them from their shores,

  and the noblest days of their history came to them---Arthur, and his

  heroic knights, whose quest was holy-and even if the legends of that

  history were not true,

  31

  32 ALEX HALEY'S QUEEN

  they were believed. They were ruled by formidable monarchs, 'whose

  achievements propelled and nourished them, and they had conquered, on land

  and at sea, half the known world. It was this unshakable faith in their own

  invincibility that had given them an empire the like of which the world had

  never seen, and earned their country the title "Great." A bunch o
f rowdy

  Irish peasants were nothing to them.

  The flawless order and discipline of the red-coated army arrayed before

  them struck fear in the Irish hearts, and hunger brought dissension to the

  ranks. They were not afraid to die for their cause, but they would rather

  die in battle than suffer the slow death of starvation. Their generals,

  however, the priests, seemed reluctant to fight.

  Yet fight they must, and perhaps succeed, for if they did not fight they

  could not win.

  It was a warm night, and a fine, soft rain was falling. Sean came to Jamie,

  who was lying against a tree, trying to sleep. His clothes were wet, his

  blanket was soaked, and he had not eaten anything other than some oatmeal

  for days. But Sean had a smile on his face.

  "It is tomorrow," he whispered. The words hardly gladdened Jamie's

  miserable heart, and he tried to come to terms with the fact that tomorrow

  he might die.

  "If I should die," Sean said softly, "and you should live, do your old

  friend one last favor."

  "Anything," Jamie answered.

  "Bury me decent, in some quiet place," Sean said.

  Jamie did not react for a moment, for Sean's simple acceptance of his

  possible fate disturbed him. Nor was he puzzled that he did not ask the

  same of Sean, for he was determined not to die.

  "Swear it to me," Sean insisted.

  Jamie swore his vow, which seemed to satisfy Sean. They lapsed into silence

  for a while, each man considering the morrow.

  "Are you scared?" Jamie asked him, when he found the courage to voice his

  own fear.

  "Oh, I expect so," Sean laughed. "But anything's better than living as we

  have."

  He stared at the drizzling rain and was glad of it, for the

  BLOODLINES 33

  resulting mud would hamper the formally uniformed British, and give the

  peasants some small advantage. They were used to mud; it was the stuff of

  their lives. They built their houses from it, and burned it to warm them,

  and its clover fed their cows. He looked at Jamie, and saw, not for the

  first time, fear in his friend's eyes. He laughed, put his arm round his

  friend, and took a small flask of poteen from his pocket.

  "And it's better than being bored to death," he said. He held up the

  flask.

  "Erin go bragh," he whispered, excitement in his eyes, for he had been

  chafing for action. He passed the flask to Jamie.

  "Ireland forever," Jamie agreed, and drank deep of the harsh liquor, and

  felt better as the warm fire raced through his body, and calmed his

  raging fear.

  They attacked at dawn, hoping for the benefit of surprise, but the Ancient

  Britains were ready. They had been trained on the battlefields of India

  and America, and always stood to just before dawn, for that, experience

  had taught them, was when savages attacked.

  The mud was not the peasants' ally because they had to run through it,

  down the hill, and slipped and slid toward the waiting muskets of the

  British, who stood in formal ranks, picking them off as they presented

  themselves. Jamie believed it must be a rout. They could not possibly

  win. The sound of gunshots and the screaming of wounded and dying men

  deafened him; the riotous energy, the flashing of colors, and the sight

  of spurting blood almost blinded him. He saw the standard-bearer shot

  from his horse, and all hope deserted him.

  He saw Father Michael caught in the dichotomy of priest and soldier. As

  men died, his faith asserted itself, and he ran to give them the last

  rites, which were more important for their immortal souls than any

  earthly victory. He had hardly begun to say the precious words of

  redemption when a bullet blasted into his heart and he fell to the ground

  to die beside his brothers, and went unsung and unshepherded to heaven.

  Still the peasants charged, for they could not go back, only forward.

  Sean, riding by on his horse, saw the tattered rebel flag, green with a

  golden harp, trampled in the mud. Fury invaded him, and reckless abandon.

  He snatched up the glo-