698. Chapter 698

After The Wild Rover

Episode 5.18

By

UCSBdad

Disclaimer: No, nay, never, no, nay, never, no more, I don't own Castle. Rating: K Time: See above.

Clontarf, Ireland, April 1014.

Riagháin of the Red Hand took off his helmet and wiped his brow, being sure to keep alert, and his sword handy. He looked at a small tear in his chain mail hauberk and smiled. It had saved him. The Vikings were fleeing, having been defeated by High King Brian Boru's Irish army, but they hadn't all fled, nor had they all died. But they all soon would be dead.

"Riaghain, are you well?"

He turned to his younger brother. "Aye, Domnall. Not a scratch. And I see you're well. Your handsome face is unmarked. Which should please a certain slender, brown haired lass."

Domnall blushed slightly. "She's pleasing to the eye, is she not, brother?"

Riaghain just laughed.

Before either man could speak, they were approached by a tall man on horseback. He also pulled off his helmet, showing a strong face but with blue eyes that darkened with grief. "The High King is dead. Killed as he thanked God for our victory."

Domnall frowned. "With the High King dead, every man in Ireland will seek to replace him, or carve out their own kingdom."

"We'll not be kings, brother, but we'll hold our land, and hold it forever."

The brothers sheathed their swords and headed for Connacht.

Connaught, Ireland, June 1651

"Joseph, there are riders coming."

Joseph Ryan looked out of the door to his house. Indeed, riders were coming. Although they had just turned off the post road, he could see the sun glittering off their steel breastplates. "They're here." He muttered. Then to his wife, "Brigid, get Mary and Joseph." His wife went to gather their two children.

Ryan stepped out of his house as the riders approached.

One stopped directly in front of Joseph Ryan. "You're Ryan?"

Ryan nodded. "Joseph Ryan. May I ask why you're on my property?"

The man laughed. "I'm Captain George Demming, and this is my property." He held out a piece of paper. "Can you read, Irishman?"

"I have my letters."

"The Lord Protector, Oliver Cromwell, is giving the lands of Irish traitors to good Protestants, such as myself."

"I'm not a traitor. I took no part in the recent wars." Ryan said stubbornly.

Demming snarled at him. "Your brother did."

Ryan nodded. "My brother fought for the Confederation of Kilkenny, but I had no part in it. And he's abroad now."

"Aye! Abroad. One of the so called Wild Geese who serve the French. But no matter, you're still a traitor and this land and all that is upon it is mine." Demming drew his rapier. "Begone with you and yours, or else."

Ryan knew that Irish landowners were being dispossessed all over Ireland. There was no hope of keeping his land. "Allow me to gather my things and we'll go."

"Did you not hear me, you Irish rogue?" Roared Demming. "All that you own is mine. Out of generosity I give you and your family the clothes on your back and no more. Now, go."

A week later Brigid Ryan sat in a tumble down, mud walled, one room house and cried. "Our nice warm, cozy house is gone and everything in it. And we're reduced to….this." She waved her arms at the miserable shack they now lived in.

"And we're lucky Colonel Grant allows us to be tenants on his land, Brigid. We'll have a roof over our heads and food. And one day, we'll get out own back."

But none of the Ryans then living ever saw that day.

Outside Dublin, Ireland, August 1747.

"I need to rest, Michael. I'm so tired."

Michael Ryan put his arm around his wife and took their small son from her arms. "It's only a bit further, Meg. There's an inn up ahead and surely we can get some water and a bit of food."

"We have no money." Meg said.

"I'm strong and I can work." Said their companion.

"You're a mere slip of a girl, Annie." Michael said softly.

"I'm thirteen and big for my age, and strong, too." Replied Annie Beckett. She took the pack with Meg's meager possessions from her back and put it on her own. "Lean on me. It's only a little bit to the inn."

The innkeeper did allow them to drink from the horses' trough, but refused them food. "If I feed you, I'll have every beggar in Ireland here."

"But I'll have work in Dublin." Michael told him. "My cousin is a printer and he has work for me. My landlord threw me off his land and we have to go to the city. We haven't eaten since yesterday. Please!" The innkeeper was unmoved.

As they sat in the inn's courtyard, a fine carriage came by. A tall, swarthy and somewhat overweight man alit from the carriage and demanded food and drink. The landlord rushed to serve him.

Seeing the plate of food set out for the man, Annie approached him. "Please, sir. Me and my friends are very hungry and you have so much food. Could you not be a good Christian gentleman and give us a bit of food?"

"If you want food, girl, you'll need to work for it."

"I'm very strong and I've always worked hard, sir."

"I'm Doctor Josiah Davidson, and you are a very pretty little girl. If you will warm my bed for the night, I shall feed you and your friends now, and in the morning."

"Warm your bed, sir?" Although Annie was young, she had an idea of what the man meant. "I cannot do that, sir, for we aren't married. I'm saving myself for my husband."

"If you starve to death, wench, you'll have no husband." Doctor Davidson reached for Annie, but she ran away. They were hungry until a travelling peddler gave them a half a loaf of bread the next morning.

Dublin Ireland, May 1751

There was work for Michael Ryan in Dublin, but his cousin had no work for Annie Beckett. However, there was a washerwoman who needed a strong girl and so Annie had a roof over her head and food in her belly, but little else.

After Mass on Sunday, Annie walked through the market place, listening and watching people and marveling at all of the wonderful things that were there for sale. Although she worked very hard, she hardly ever had any money, but she remained happy.

As she passed an apothecary, she saw a rascal steal the purse of an elderly man. The rogue turned to face Annie who promptly kicked him in the groin. "Excuse me, good sir, but this man stole your purse." The thief took the opportunity to run as Annie handed the purse over. The old man looked at his purse and then at Annie through thick spectacles.

"Vy tank you, yunk man. I am Herr Professor Doktor Klaus von Perlmutter." He removed a shilling from his purse and handed it to Annie. "Fur your honesty, yunk man."

Annie curtseyed. "I'm a woman, sir. Annie Beckett and thank you. I've never had a whole shilling before."

"Vell, I must be uff to my home in Earl's Court." The man began to walk away.

"Sir," Annie called after him, "you're headed away from Earl's Court."

The professor turned around and looked confused. "It iss so different den Heidelberg. Ken you help me younk man?"

By the time they arrived at Earl's Court, Annie had a new job as the maid, and assistant, for Professor von Perlmutter's experiments. The experiments often ended is fires and explosions, but the professor never minded. He never did seem to understand that Annie was a young woman, though.

When the professor passed away, he left Annie his home and a bit of cash. Annie took in boarders and eventually found a man of her own.

Vitoria, Spain, June 1813

"Sergeant Ryan, isn't it?"

Sergeant Mick Ryan came to attention before the tall figure on horseback. "Yes, sir. That I am."

"We gave the French a thrashing today, didn't we?"

Ryan felt that the French had given them a hiding in return, but knew better to argue with Arthur Wellesley, Marquess of Wellington, who commanded the British, Portuguese and Spanish armies fighting the French in Spain. "That we did, sir. That we did."

Wellesley looked closer at Ryan. "Is that blood, Ryan? Are you wounded?"

Ryan looked down at the green uniform of the 60th Rifles and shook his head. "Not my blood, sir. T'is that of young Corporal Rodgers. He's dead, sir. His wife, Becky, is with him there."

Wellesley followed Ryan's gaze to a slim, chestnut haired girl kneeling by a man covered in blood. "If she's not a wife anymore, she can't draw army rations anymore, you know."

"That I do, sir."

A look passed between the general and the sergeant. "Good, sergeant. Good day to you." He rode off.

Ryan walked over to where Becky was crying over her husband's body. "Come now, Becky. We must be off. The army is marching north and soon scavengers will be about. You don't want to be here when they come."

Becky stood up. "I'm no longer Mrs. Rodgers. I can't stay with the army. I'm just poor Miss Becky Beckett again. I might as well stay here."

"If you'll be Mrs. Ryan, you can stay with the army."

She smiled at him. "Oh, you're such a hopeless romantic, aren't you, Mick Ryan? You've truly the soul of an Irish poet with a marriage proposal like that."

"That I have, Becky Ryan." He held out his hand. She thought for a moment, then took it. They began walking north.

Dublin, Ireland, October, 1844

"We have no choice, lass." Padraig Ryan said sadly. "Potatoes are rotting in the ground all over Ireland. The starving poor are pouring into the city. Wages are falling and I fear my job at the brewery will go to some lad who'll work for half my wages. Then what would me and poor Peggy and the children do?"

Mary Beckett sighed, to hear her friend thinking of leaving Ireland for America. "If only Gran and Ma hadn't married such drunken oafs, I might have a bit of money to last me through. But the house is gone now and I've but a few pounds to my name."

"That's enough to get you to New York, lass. You should leave now while you can."

Mary nodded her head sadly. "You're right, I suppose. But to leave Ireland for another land…I don't know."

The next day they went to the docks to seek passage on a ship. The only one in their price range was the Amethyst , a dirty and disreputable looking vessel run by a Captain Hunt. When they went aboard, the smell of vomit, rotten food and feces was overwhelming.

"It'll cost you Irish bastards seven pounds to cross the Atlantic with me." Hunt said nastily. "Pay up or get off my ship." Padraig, Meg and Mary exchanged looks and left.

"Aha. You're one of the few people I've ever seen get off that disgraceful tub more alive than dead." The speaker was a tall, dark haired man with a twinkle in his blue eyes, sitting comfortably on a bollard. Mary, who had worked tatting lace knew that he was dressed in the height of fashion, and very expensively.

"You may laugh at us, sir. But you need not insult us, you who have oppressed us Irish for generations. Be off with you."

The man laughed, which angered Mary even more. "I? Who have oppressed the Irish for generations? I'm hardly that old." He laughed again at his own joke.

"You have landlord written all over you." Mary spat at him.

The man examined himself carefully. "I fear I don't see any writing. And I do not own so much as a square inch of Ireland. "He stood and doffed his hat. "Captain James Rodgers, at your service. I own and captain the Wind Spirit, a fine Baltimore Clipper."

Mary, Padraig and Meg looked at the ship, which was everything the Amethyst was not: Clean, tidy, and all shipshape and Bristol fashion.

"Were you actually thinking of sailing to New York on that?" Captain Rodgers pointed to the Amethyst.

Padraig Ryan nodded. "We may have to, all we have between us is seven pounds and no ship will allow us passage for less than that."

Captain Rodgers smiled. "What an amazing coincidence. Passage on my ship for you all would be seven pounds exactly."

They took up Captain Rodgers' offer, although Mary Beckett slept with a belaying pin the whole voyage for fear the Captain would assault her. And when the ship docked in New York, she left without saying a word to the captain and never saw him again.

New York City, September 1865.

"Lieutenant Francis Ryan, Sixty Ninth New York Volunteer Infantry. Enlisted as a private in 1861 and mustered out in June 1865 as a lieutenant. You fought from Bull Run to Appomattox." The man smiled at Ryan. "And never got so much as a scratch. You're a lucky man, Ryan. Brains, brawn, knowledge are all important, but give me luck every time."

Ryan blushed slightly. "So, I'm lucky, Mr. Vaughn. But the War of the Rebellion is over. And I'm plain Francis Ryan now."

"What do you intend to do now, Ryan." Vaughn asked.

"My father's got a butcher shop. In Brooklyn. I'll work for him and one day take over his shop."

"So you have no more ambition than that, man?"

Ryan frowned. "It's good, honest work. It will support me and my wife and we'll be starting a family soon."

Vaughn looked at the two men sitting at the table with him and smiled. "A family man, Ryan. Better and better."

Ryan was wondering what this conversation was all about. "Begging your pardon, sir, but what is this all about?"

"Ah. You want to get down to cases. I like that. Good for you, Ryan." Vaughn waved to a waiter. "Will you join me in a beer?"

Ryan nodded. "I'm an Irishman."

Everyone at the table laughed.

When the beer was served, Vaughn leaned forward. "Tammany Hall is organizing the Irish voters in the city. The Irish maybe looked down upon by the elite of this city, but an Irish vote is as good as any millionaires'." The men with him nodded in approval.

"I'm no politician, sir." Ryan said.

Vaughn nodded as well. "That you're not, but you are a hero. And a very tough man. To organize the immigrant voters, not just the Irish, but the Germans, the Poles, the Italians, the Hungarians, and all the rest, we need people out on the street to watch out for things. And who represents the City of New York to most immigrants?"

Ryan shrugged.

"The cop on the beat. He's the one most people see every day. He is the government of New York City to most people. And we need our people out there every day."

"You want me to become a cop? The Royal Irish Constabulary has oppressed Irish Catholics since….forever. Every Irishman hates the police. They always have and they always will."

"But if your own were the police?"

"A policeman?" Ryan thought it over. "An Irish policeman in New York?"

"For starters. With Tammany Hall behind you, you'll be a police lieutenant in no time. And then, Captain and perhaps higher. You're a man of action, Ryan, not someone who'll be content with being a butcher in Brooklyn."

Ryan told Vaughn that he'd think about it. And think he did. He retired many years later as Captain Francis Xavier Ryan, a tough but gentle man, respected and loved by all.

Connaught, Ireland, June 1923.

"You must leave, Jamie. The Garda was here looking for you yesterday. There are Free Staters in the town. They'll become suspicious of the food I bring."

James Ryan looked at his old friend. "Leave and go where? The bloody Free Staters are everywhere."

Richard Collins looked at his friend. "A car will pick you up and take you north to Derry. We have a place as a ship's stoker for you. The ship's a Yankee, headed for San Francisco in California. You'll be safe there."

"Leave Ireland? Like hell. Never."

Collins shook his head. "The Irish civil war is over, Jamie. We've won independence for twenty six of Ireland's counties and have our own government. We're not run by the bloody British anymore."

"No, what we have a bastard Irish Free State that's still part of the bloody British bloody Empire. We declared a republic back in 1916. And we declared it for all of Ireland, not just a part. The bloody Free Staters sold us out."

"Aye, that they did." Collins conceded "And they won. The IRA has called a truce, which is a polite way of saying they surrender. You're a wanted man, Jamie. You can leave Ireland, or you can die. You'll not win."

"Bloody hell." Jamie Ryan muttered.

And so he became one of many to leave Ireland for other lands.

New York City, March 2007.

"You're Ryan?"

Kevin Ryan nodded as the lead detective looked over his personnel records. She was, as Ryan had been told, very hot. And, he had been told, as tough as nails. He believed it.

"I'm Detective Kate Beckett. Welcome to my team. I'll introduce you to your partner, Javier Esposito, when he gets back from CSU. In the meantime, I'll show you around." She got up and led Ryan through the bullpen. "You have a good record, Ryan. You did a good job in Vice. I hope you do well here."

"I think I will. I've always wanted to be a homicide."

"Me too." She said wistfully. "Me too."

I do feel at home here. He thought. Odd feeling so much at home on the first day.