misshapen vision of a warrior red-faced, swarded upon the shoulders with black matted hair that he would use to wipe the sweat of his forehead. They dug the hole down to the height of their chests and stood in it ten feet long and then Barnabas climbed up out of it, put a hand down to pull McDaid up. They sat for a few minutes smoking on the old stone wall and when they were finished they began to walk through the field.
Nothing left of some of the burnt animals but heads and hooves that looked as if they had been discarded by itinerant folk who just picked up after a huge feed and left. Darkened rib cages pointed at them like petrified fingers. Flies fed upon the corpses and the sound of their buzzing thickened the air and McDaid carried his vest hitched to his nose. The corvids pitched upon the trees and the perimeter walls to watch with their mechanical heads or they circled beady-eyed and raucous. The men walked about the field surveying the mess, over by the stone wall where one of the cows had collided with it, sent the top rim of stones sprawling, and they travelled around by the old oak that stoodsentry over the fields some two hundred years but had never been witness to anything like this.
Barnabas went back to the yard and fetched some rope and looped it around the shanks of the lesser-sized animals and they began to drag them towards the pit. Some of the cattle were too big to move by themselves and they left them as they were to be dragged by the horse. One cow had the throat burned out of it but for the muscle of tongue that lay exposed and cooked as if ready to be eaten. They stood over another that lay near intact in the middle of the field, its front legs curled delicate as if it had been sleeping. The way its head rested belied the violence of its death, the skin flayed into a charred leather that lay pleated like finger folds at its rear and the sheen off it like new shoes. McDaid rested his foot upon it and put on his vest. Get me a knife and I’ll cut you a pair of brogues, he said.
Barnabas was silent.
Arrah, Barney, the big serious head on ye.
The birds had been to work on the carcass, took the sweet eye jelly from the sockets while the ridges of the animal’s back were burned black as if the fire had only licked up its spine and left the rest to brown in the heat. They walked up the low rise of the field and at the crest they saw one cow lying on its back as if it had been stunned by a blow. Barnabas stared at it. God damn, he said. The legs of the cow were starred to the skies in a salted biblical manner, its head stretched back and its body stiff as stone. They looped rope around the shanks and tried to pull the animal but the dead beast was stubborn to them, as if it had enough of what already was and it flashed fire-browned teeth at them in defiance. Barnabas went for the bay horse.
A lemon sun swung pale arcs of light that shined the horse’sflanks and made her fawn. She flicked her dark tail as she sauntered. Barnabas rubbed the dark poll hair and began to talk to her. Rotten business here old one. Hope you don’t mind looking at it. Just do like me and hold your nose. He ambled the horse through the gate and saw McDaid standing bent at the edge of the pit. Barnabas looked at the corpse and wondered if the horse had any sense of it. Aren’t these your brethren? he said. The horse breathed easy and stared superior into the distance, the darkening fuzz of head hair to match the colour of the hills watching down on them. Barnabas lined up the horse and tied the rope to the harness and got her to pull and the slack rope stretched taut until the carcass was dragged into the hole. McDaid kicked dirt after it and shook his head. Jesus Christ, sir, he said. That’s some lot of beef.
Barnabas reached into his pocket and began to roll two fags and he lit them both in his mouth and proffered one to McDaid. The man took the fag and grimaced as he sucked on it.
You know what bothers me,
Nothing left of some of the burnt animals but heads and hooves that looked as if they had been discarded by itinerant folk who just picked up after a huge feed and left. Darkened rib cages pointed at them like petrified fingers. Flies fed upon the corpses and the sound of their buzzing thickened the air and McDaid carried his vest hitched to his nose. The corvids pitched upon the trees and the perimeter walls to watch with their mechanical heads or they circled beady-eyed and raucous. The men walked about the field surveying the mess, over by the stone wall where one of the cows had collided with it, sent the top rim of stones sprawling, and they travelled around by the old oak that stoodsentry over the fields some two hundred years but had never been witness to anything like this.
Barnabas went back to the yard and fetched some rope and looped it around the shanks of the lesser-sized animals and they began to drag them towards the pit. Some of the cattle were too big to move by themselves and they left them as they were to be dragged by the horse. One cow had the throat burned out of it but for the muscle of tongue that lay exposed and cooked as if ready to be eaten. They stood over another that lay near intact in the middle of the field, its front legs curled delicate as if it had been sleeping. The way its head rested belied the violence of its death, the skin flayed into a charred leather that lay pleated like finger folds at its rear and the sheen off it like new shoes. McDaid rested his foot upon it and put on his vest. Get me a knife and I’ll cut you a pair of brogues, he said.
Barnabas was silent.
Arrah, Barney, the big serious head on ye.
The birds had been to work on the carcass, took the sweet eye jelly from the sockets while the ridges of the animal’s back were burned black as if the fire had only licked up its spine and left the rest to brown in the heat. They walked up the low rise of the field and at the crest they saw one cow lying on its back as if it had been stunned by a blow. Barnabas stared at it. God damn, he said. The legs of the cow were starred to the skies in a salted biblical manner, its head stretched back and its body stiff as stone. They looped rope around the shanks and tried to pull the animal but the dead beast was stubborn to them, as if it had enough of what already was and it flashed fire-browned teeth at them in defiance. Barnabas went for the bay horse.
A lemon sun swung pale arcs of light that shined the horse’sflanks and made her fawn. She flicked her dark tail as she sauntered. Barnabas rubbed the dark poll hair and began to talk to her. Rotten business here old one. Hope you don’t mind looking at it. Just do like me and hold your nose. He ambled the horse through the gate and saw McDaid standing bent at the edge of the pit. Barnabas looked at the corpse and wondered if the horse had any sense of it. Aren’t these your brethren? he said. The horse breathed easy and stared superior into the distance, the darkening fuzz of head hair to match the colour of the hills watching down on them. Barnabas lined up the horse and tied the rope to the harness and got her to pull and the slack rope stretched taut until the carcass was dragged into the hole. McDaid kicked dirt after it and shook his head. Jesus Christ, sir, he said. That’s some lot of beef.
Barnabas reached into his pocket and began to roll two fags and he lit them both in his mouth and proffered one to McDaid. The man took the fag and grimaced as he sucked on it.
You know what bothers me,
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