Pay the Devil - Jack Higgins [68]
Shaun Rogan limped painfully to his trap and climbed into the driving seat. He picked up the reins and shook his head and there was a hard finality in his tone. “I told you once before that it was dangerous to raise the Devil, Colonel. Today, George Hamilton will find that payment is due. I hope he roasts in hell. Now you must excuse me. My wife is waiting at home for news of our son.”
With a heavy heart, Clay watched him go, the shadow of a man, changed beyond belief, and then he swung into the saddle and galloped back along the street to Father Costello’s house.
The priest waited for him on the doorstep and his face was troubled. “A sad day for Drumore, Colonel. Violence begets violence, as you told me in the inn at Kileen.”
“You knew me, then?” Clay said.
The old priest nodded. “I know many things, Colonel. A parish priest sees more than people imagine. Have you seen Shaun Rogan?”
Clay shrugged. “A waste of time, I’m afraid. He refuses to use his influence to disperse the mob. He’s gone home to break the news of his son’s death to his wife.”
“The people were in an ugly mood when they left here,” Father Costello said. “I’ve never seen such anger as was shown when Shaun Rogan arrived with the body of his son. There was nothing I could do to stop them. It took me all my time to save the three poor wretches they dragged from their horses.”
“Where are they now?” Clay said.
“Two of them left here not ten minutes ago. The other had a crack on the head. Your servant is seeing to him inside.”
“That leaves you free to come to Drumore House with me,” Clay told him. “Sir George has sent for help to Galway. If the cavalry arrive and find the people attacking the house, they’ll cut them to ribbons.”
The priest’s face became grave. “Then I would suggest you ride on ahead and do what you can until I arrive, Colonel. Believe me, you possess greater influence than you are aware, now that the people know of your other identity.”
He turned back into the house and Clay wheeled Pegeen and galloped away along the village street. The sky was now so dark that the light seemed to fail, and he became aware of a strange, sibilant whispering amongst the bare branches of the trees, as a wind seemed to spring up from nowhere. He could hear the sound of the mob when he was still some distance away from the house and then he thundered over the bridge and saw them clustered at the main gates.
The windows of the lodge had been smashed and the door swung crazily on buckled hinges. As Clay rode up, several men ran out of the front door, and an excited murmur rippled through the crowd as a tongue of flame licked at a curtain hanging in a window and blossomed into life. Smoke started to billow through every opening, someone laughed out loud and there was a general, ragged cheer.
One or two of the younger women from the village stood on the edges of the crowd, shawls tightly wrapped about their heads, but the vast majority of those present were men. On the whole, they seemed surprisingly well-armed. Hands gripped rifles convulsively, eyes shone as the flames danced in them. An old man cackled, exposing toothless gums and next to him, a boy shivered with excitement. A dangerous, uneasy frenzy became apparent amongst them and now the voices were no longer separate but one.
When people banded together to stand up for their rights, their integrity of purpose was measured so often only by that of their leaders. It was always the same, he reflected bitterly, as he urged his horse toward Kevin, who sat a black stallion by the gate and looked up toward the house.
As people recognized Clay, a cheer broke out and hands reached up to touch him. An expression of astonishment appeared on Kevin’s face and he clasped Clay’s hand warmly. “God, but it’s good to see ye, Colonel. So you managed to slip those black devils in there?”
“You’ve got to get out of here,” Clay said urgently. “You must make these people disperse to their homes. Hamilton sent word to Galway this morning. I