864. Chapter 864

After The Wild Rover

Episode 5.17

By

UCSBdad

Disclaimer: I have neither gold in great store, nor Castle. Rating: K Time: See above.

Strongbow.

Pembrokeshire, Wales, 1170.

"Father Kevin, will you walk with me?" Monsignor O'Day said in a kindly way.

Father Kevin Ryan nodded and began to walk unwillingly with his superior. "Yes, Monsignor." He said quietly.

"You have the best command of Latin of any man in Ireland. That's why our king needs you. Although I know that you do not favor this enterprise."

Ryan saw his chance to put forth his case. "Our King Dermot was ousted as King of Leinster by the High King of Ireland, Rory O'Connor himself, because King Dermot abducted the wife of the King of Breifne."

Monsignor O'Day shook his head. "The Church has not yet decided on the…unorthodox relationship between Dermot and the lady Derbforgaill."

Father Kevin rolled his eyes. "She is married to another man. They are living in sin!"

"That is neither here nor there. Now, King Dermot has fled Ireland and come to Wales to ask for troops from the Earl of Pembroke, called Strongbow. However, we have no common language between us save for Latin. We speak Gaelic and the Normans speak French. Therefore, our King wishes you to translate the words of Bishop De Ming, who speaks for the Earl to our King."

Ryan shook his head. "The Normans conquered England a century ago and have held it down with blood and fire ever since. They have conquered the Welsh principalities as well. And if we let them cross to Ireland, we'll never see their backs. They'll conquer us and reduce us to their serfs."

"Would you have King Dermot give up his lands? The Earl offers to lead two hundred knights and a thousand foot to Ireland. Other Norman Marcher Lords will support him. And you, Father, must be obedient to your superiors. You do recall that you took an oath of obedience as well as poverty and chastity?"

"Yes, Monsignor." Father Kevin said unhappily. "But Ireland will long rue this day."

The Flight of the Earls.

Ireland, September 1607.

"Is it true, Thomas?" Kevin Ryan demanded of his brother.

"Is what true?"

"That the Earl of Tyrone and the Earl of Tyrconnell are abandoning Ireland to the damned English? And that you will go with them?"

Thomas Ryan nodded. "We've been defeated, Kevin. Bloody Queen Bess's troops have beaten us and bloody Chichester, the Lord Deputy of Ireland, has been chipping away at our Gaelic laws and customs and reducing the wealth and land of the nobles all over Ireland. I am Tyrone's man. He's decided to flee to Spain and try to convince the Spaniards to invade Ireland and restore our rights. What else can he do?"

"He can fight like a man!" Kevin raged.

Thomas Ryan shook his head sadly. "He cannot, for he would lose and take everyone down with him." Thomas smiled at his hotheaded younger brother. "Come with me, Kevin. You're a bright lad and a good fighter. Live to fight another day." Thomas held out his hand.

Kevin looked at his brother, then turned on his heel and walked away.

Thomas Ryan lived in Spain for the rest of his life, founding a branch of the minor aristocracy that lasted into the nineteenth century. Kevin, however, was dead within the year.

The Curse of Cromwell.

Near Galway, Ireland, April 1651.

Kevin Ryan poked his head through a hedge and made sure that the buff coated English cavalry was well and truly gone from the little port he was headed for. Moving to the top of a hill, he could see nothing but a pillar of dark smoke where the little village had been. Walking barefoot, he headed down the hill, keeping one hand on the hilt of his sword.

Arriving at the ruins of the town, he looked in vain for a building that had not been destroyed. He moved from one dead body to another until he came to a woman who had been ravished by the departed troopers. He tried to ask her if there was a boat in the small harbor, but as soon as she saw him, she jumped up and ran, screaming as she went.

The church, a small wattle and daub building was completely destroyed, the congregation lay where they had been slaughtered. He searched in the abandoned buildings to see if anything had been left to eat and did find a partially burned loaf of bread.

"Where were you when we needed you, soldier?" Rasped a voice from behind him.

Ryan turned, drawing his sword. He found himself facing a tall, older blue eyed man. "I was trying to stay alive. You?"

"They're all dead. My whole family. They killed them all. My Meredith and little Alexis. Why?" The man began to cry.

"Where were you? How did you survive?" Ryan demanded.

"I was at sea. Fishing. When I saw the fires, I came back, but…"He began crying again.

"You have a boat?" Ryan said, feeling that his luck had finally changed. "We must flee. Go to Europe."

"In my little boat? You're daft. We'd not get halfway there."

"Do you wish to stay here and let the English kill you?"

The man thought and then began walking to the sea. Ryan followed him.

"What is your name?" Ryan asked.

"Cashel. Richard Cashel."

Half way to Europe they were picked up by a shorthanded Dutch fishing boat and eventually landed in Holland where they disappeared into the seafaring population.

The Wild Geese.

Dublin, Ireland, 1731.

"So, you're an Irish gentleman, are you, Kevin Ryan?" The priest asked.

"As much as any Irishman may be called. I have my letters and numbers and a bit more of schooling. But my older brother Finn will take the farm when Pa passes. I have no future in Ireland, nor does my intended, Jenny."

"And how can I help you?" The priest said carefully. Not all, especially the English government, appreciated his actions.

"I wish to join the Wild Geese."

"You wish to become a bird, young man? Most unusual." The priest smirked.

"Irish gentlemen who have no future in Ireland offer their swords to the King of France." Jenny said. "The French have a brigade of Irish troops in their service. My brother serves in the Regiment Clare." Jenny smiled. "They say that when an Irishman dies fighting his nation's enemies abroad, he returns once more to Ireland as a wild goose to see his homeland for a final time."

"A pretty tale." The priest said. He looked around the church and saw no one, but he lowered his voice. "There will be a lugger off shore in three nights. Go to McMurray's. There are three other young gentlemen there, waiting to go to France. And may God go with you."

The lugger took them to France where Kevin Ryan entered the Regiment Dillon and eventually rose to the rank of Captain. He married Jenny and his sons entered the Irish Brigade as did their sons until the French Revolutionaries, suspicious of the Irishmen's loyalties to the King of France, disbanded the brigade in 1791.

The United Irishmen.

Dublin, Ireland, March 1791.

Kevin Ryan, dressed in rags, and shackled hand and foot shuffled before a bored judge. He heard the charges read out against him.

"Kevin Ryan, you are charged with rebellion against your lawful king, being taken in arms near Vinegar Hill, County Wexford. How do you plead?"

Ryan drew himself up. "I recognize no kings above any man. I favor a republic and…"

"Guilty." The judge said in a bored voice. "Sentence is death by hanging. Next."

Ryan was led away and jammed into a cell holding many Irish revolutionaries. All had been taken in arms and all were to die. After a week, the warders came for the men.

"Are we to die then?" A man named O'Donnell asked.

"No, you bloody Irish scum. You're to be transported." Growled a guard.

"Transported to Heaven, perhaps?" Ryan asked.

However, they were led to the docks and put aboard a ship. They were told that they were being sent to a penal colony at Botany Bay in the Southern Hemisphere.

"Terra Australis?" Said O'Donnell.

"Where the hell is that?" Someone asked.

"The end of the bloody world."

Seven months later Kevin Ryan staggered of the ship, starving and suffering from scurvy. He collapsed as soon as he was on dry land. When he came to, he found that a beautiful brunette was giving him water. "Can you eat a bit?' She asked. "And I have lemon juice. It's good for scurvy."

He drank the juice and eventually staggered to a tent where the woman lived. She found him a bit of food and he felt better.

"You're a rare beauty. Why has no man taken you for his wife?" He asked.

She raised her skirt to show a bent leg. "I was rode over by a cavalryman at Vinegar Hill. A woman who can do no hard work is of little use here."

"What's your name?"

"Katie. Katie Beckett."

"Well, Katie Beckett. You've found a man."

Bold Fenian Men.

Brooklyn, New York, September 1917.

Little Michael Ryan crawled up onto his grandad Kevin's lap. "Can you tell me about the Fenians again, Grandpa?"

Kevin sighed, for there was little good to tell of that. "In 1866, the Fenian Brotherhood planned to arm Irish veterans of the Civil War and invade Canada to hold that country hostage for the freedom of Ireland. But, the American government wouldn't support us and declared themselves neutral and would not help us. The bloody British bloody soldiers were too much for us and chased us away. We tried several times, but with no support from our government, the invasions failed."

"Well, damn them, then." Michael said.

"Watch your tongue, boy.' Growled Kevin. "I served with the Irish Brigade of the Army of the Potomac, as did many a good Irish lad. Your uncle Joseph, what was a policeman, went off to fight in Cuba with Teddy Roosevelt, who had been Police Commissioner here in New York. And your older brother Joseph and your cousin Patrick are in the Fighting 69th, getting ready to go to France to fight. We Ryans are fighters, boy. Whether for the United States or Ireland, we'll fight to our final breath. Never forget that."

Michael Ryan did remember that to his final breath, which came on a flyspeck of an island called Iwo Jima in 1945.