Read Online Kings of the Boyne by Nicola Pierce - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nicola Pierce
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understand. What have I said?’
However, Gerald refused to dignify the question with a reply, forcing Jacques to work it out for himself.
‘Wait!’ said Jacques, before declaring, ‘This is about mesaying there are no noble reasons to fight. I am right, no?’
He paused, not wanting to upset Gerald anymore than he had already done. Nevertheless, he had finished the second beer and, therefore, was not going to indulge any silly whims. He was nobody’s nursemaid.
But, first things first.
He stood up quickly, startling them all, announcing quietly, ‘I need more beer!’
Gerald rolled his eyes to the grimy ceiling while Jacques called out his order to the plump barmaid, who sloppily filled a jug and brought it over to share out between the four beakers. Joseph and Michael were mightily appreciative of Jacques’ generosity and drank up quickly, to make room for more. Only Gerald did not offer up his empty cup.
Jacques pretended not to notice and focused on the latecomers, asking them, ‘So, tell me, you two, why are you soldiers in King James’s army? Why will you fight his battle for him?’
Gerald scowled while the others seemed surprised at such a strange question.
However, Joseph wanted to be helpful and offered, ‘My father told me I had to go because we needed the money.’
Jacques seemed surprised at this and stared at Joseph, who suddenly looked far too naive for his red coat. Joseph’s face was covered by a dizzy blend of orange and brownfreckles, and Jacques pitied the boy for his giant front teeth that refused to stay hidden.
Feeling that he should elaborate, Joseph added, ‘I’m the eldest of seven.’
Michael nodded. ‘I have a family to feed back in Trim and this uniform is an improvement on scrabbling in other men’s fields, planting their vegetables.’
Gerald now stirred himself to ask, ‘So, you believe in King James and in returning to the old Ireland, where we can be free to better ourselves?’
Michael smirked. ‘Do you mean Tir na nÓg, the Fianna, Oisín, Niamh, Cuchulainn and his hound, and all that lot? Do not forget, my lad, that we are lining up to fight for an Englishman. I doubt that the Fianna would be so proud of us.’
‘But James can give us back our religion, our rights.’ Gerald was adamant that at least one of them would see sense.
Michael slurped his beer noisily and swallowed quickly. ‘As far as I’m concerned, James is the one who pays my wages.’
It was Jacques’ turn to become tetchy. If they were going to drink his beer they had to get their facts straight: ‘Correction! King Louis is the man who pays your wages. Without him, none of this would be happening. Your children would starve and you, Joseph, would be still sitting at your poor parents’ table.’
‘You know what,’ said Michael rather loudly, ‘I don’t like your tone. And I don’t care who pays me as long as I get paid!’
Joseph seemed lost. He sent Gerald a worried look, which was promptly ignored.
‘There!’ Jacques nudged Gerald lightly. ‘Is Michael any better than me? He might have an Irish accent but at least I know who I’m fighting for.’
Wanting to keep his two hands free to hit someone, Michael shoved his mug at Joseph. Joseph, however, scraped enough courage together to refuse it. He stared at his feet and pretended he was elsewhere.
‘You don’t know anything about me, Frenchie.’ Michael spoke slowly and precisely. ‘Remember you’re not in France now. You have no idea what we’ve been through.’
Jacques was confused. ‘Huh?’
Michael twisted around suddenly, making Joseph flinch, as he pulled up his tunic and shirt to show them his back which was crisscrossed with shiny welts that they could just about make out in the candlelight.
‘You know who gave me them?’ he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he told them, ‘the English lord that caught me looking for potatoes on his estate. I was twelve years old and my parents were dead. I was
However, Gerald refused to dignify the question with a reply, forcing Jacques to work it out for himself.
‘Wait!’ said Jacques, before declaring, ‘This is about mesaying there are no noble reasons to fight. I am right, no?’
He paused, not wanting to upset Gerald anymore than he had already done. Nevertheless, he had finished the second beer and, therefore, was not going to indulge any silly whims. He was nobody’s nursemaid.
But, first things first.
He stood up quickly, startling them all, announcing quietly, ‘I need more beer!’
Gerald rolled his eyes to the grimy ceiling while Jacques called out his order to the plump barmaid, who sloppily filled a jug and brought it over to share out between the four beakers. Joseph and Michael were mightily appreciative of Jacques’ generosity and drank up quickly, to make room for more. Only Gerald did not offer up his empty cup.
Jacques pretended not to notice and focused on the latecomers, asking them, ‘So, tell me, you two, why are you soldiers in King James’s army? Why will you fight his battle for him?’
Gerald scowled while the others seemed surprised at such a strange question.
However, Joseph wanted to be helpful and offered, ‘My father told me I had to go because we needed the money.’
Jacques seemed surprised at this and stared at Joseph, who suddenly looked far too naive for his red coat. Joseph’s face was covered by a dizzy blend of orange and brownfreckles, and Jacques pitied the boy for his giant front teeth that refused to stay hidden.
Feeling that he should elaborate, Joseph added, ‘I’m the eldest of seven.’
Michael nodded. ‘I have a family to feed back in Trim and this uniform is an improvement on scrabbling in other men’s fields, planting their vegetables.’
Gerald now stirred himself to ask, ‘So, you believe in King James and in returning to the old Ireland, where we can be free to better ourselves?’
Michael smirked. ‘Do you mean Tir na nÓg, the Fianna, Oisín, Niamh, Cuchulainn and his hound, and all that lot? Do not forget, my lad, that we are lining up to fight for an Englishman. I doubt that the Fianna would be so proud of us.’
‘But James can give us back our religion, our rights.’ Gerald was adamant that at least one of them would see sense.
Michael slurped his beer noisily and swallowed quickly. ‘As far as I’m concerned, James is the one who pays my wages.’
It was Jacques’ turn to become tetchy. If they were going to drink his beer they had to get their facts straight: ‘Correction! King Louis is the man who pays your wages. Without him, none of this would be happening. Your children would starve and you, Joseph, would be still sitting at your poor parents’ table.’
‘You know what,’ said Michael rather loudly, ‘I don’t like your tone. And I don’t care who pays me as long as I get paid!’
Joseph seemed lost. He sent Gerald a worried look, which was promptly ignored.
‘There!’ Jacques nudged Gerald lightly. ‘Is Michael any better than me? He might have an Irish accent but at least I know who I’m fighting for.’
Wanting to keep his two hands free to hit someone, Michael shoved his mug at Joseph. Joseph, however, scraped enough courage together to refuse it. He stared at his feet and pretended he was elsewhere.
‘You don’t know anything about me, Frenchie.’ Michael spoke slowly and precisely. ‘Remember you’re not in France now. You have no idea what we’ve been through.’
Jacques was confused. ‘Huh?’
Michael twisted around suddenly, making Joseph flinch, as he pulled up his tunic and shirt to show them his back which was crisscrossed with shiny welts that they could just about make out in the candlelight.
‘You know who gave me them?’ he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he told them, ‘the English lord that caught me looking for potatoes on his estate. I was twelve years old and my parents were dead. I was
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