Free Dark Rosaleen by OBE Michael Nicholson

Keegan’s neighbours had watered her mare and let her graze on the slopes. As she mounted, a woman came with a knitted shawl. She spoke in Irish.
    ‘She wants you to have it,’ Keegan said. ‘To cover the blood.’
    Kate wrapped it across her knees. ‘I will bring it back tomorrow. Tell her I am very grateful.’
    ‘And we are too, Miss Kate. If we seem shy, forgive us. We are strangers to kindness of this sort.’
    She waved them goodbye and cantered away to join the road to Cork. When she was above Kinsale she stopped and looked down. She could see the schoolhouse shining in the last of the sun. Around it, like a litter of suckling piglets, the semicircle of cottages. How wonderfully safe it all looked, as if nothing that had happened this past year had touched it, as if all the suffering and dying had bypassed it, leaving it clean and tidy. Then she thought of the little boy Eugene in her arms, his blood trickling through her fingers, a child who had lost all and she knew that Keegan and his hamlet had not escaped that winter’s sorrow.

    It was almost dark. On the rise she could see the lights of Cork. She had left the road and cut cross-country, following a route she knew well. At the Owenboy River at Fivemilebridge she quickly reined in her mare. Three horsemen were waiting on the far side. She was about to turn when one of them came trotting towards her.
    ‘Mistress Kathryn.’
    She knew the voice.
    ‘Moran. Is that you?’
    He stopped beside her and took hold of her bridle. ‘Thank God we found you first, Miss Kathryn.’
    ‘Moran. Why are you here? I am almost home. Did father send you?’
    ‘No! But he has many men out searching. He knows what happened in Kinsale. He is not pleased but Mr Ogilvie says there will be no charges against you.’
    ‘It was a terrible thing I did, Moran.’
    ‘No man deserved it more. But that is not why I’m here. I must tell you …’
    He hesitated. Kate tugged at his sleeve.
    ‘Go on, Moran. Tell me what?’
    ‘Captain Shelley is dead.’
    It was as if she already knew, as if this was simply confirmation. She had not heard from him for over a month and his smuggled letters had been so constant, so regular. This was expected. She did not feel shock.
    ‘How did he die?’ she asked.
    ‘He and the others broke into a depot in Kinvara. It was full of food, over five tons of it, enough to feed all Galway. But it was a trap. They were waiting for them, waiting inside. There was nothing they could do.’
    ‘Who was waiting? Tell me, Moran, who were they?’
    ‘The military. Fusiliers. They shot them, every single one of them, a boy and all. They didn’t have to. None of them was armed. But they shot them as they stood and dragged the bodies into the sea. It was planned. They were meant to die.’
    She said nothing. Moran touched her arm.
    ‘He is dead, Miss Kathryn. And we did it. We killed them just as sure as if we had pulled the triggers ourselves.’
    There was a splash of fish downstream and the call of a coot.
    ‘I don’t understand,’ she said.
    ‘I sent them news of that food convoy. At first Shelley said they could do nothing, it would be too well guarded. But then you told me that the military would leave once the food was in place, that Martineau had not wanted soldiers there. I sent your note to him, telling him that, just as you asked.’
    ‘Yes! Just as I asked. Oh! Moran, how could we have known?’
    ‘It was Martineau, Miss Kate. It was his doing. He planned it. He let us know deliberately. The English could never arrest the captain. They could never have let him stand trial. He had too much to say, too much to tell.’
    ‘He had to be silenced.’
    ‘Yes, Miss Kate. They have silenced him. And all who were with him.’
    From the far side of the river a man called out, ‘Come, Moran. We must go. We have a long night ahead.’
    Kate looked towards the horsemen. They were bareheaded. The collars of their coats were pulled high, covering their