Pay the Devil - Jack Higgins [75]
The coffin was on the table, a candle burning at each end in a brass holder. Mrs. Rogan sat beside it, a shawl wrapped about her head, and the beads of her rosary clicked between her fingers as she sobbed.
Shaun Rogan sat in his chair by the fire and stared blindly into the flames. The deerhound sprawled at his feet, and as Clay moved forward, its eyes opened and it growled warningly deep in its throat.
Shaun Rogan turned his head and his face was haggard beyond belief, the eyes filmed with moisture. He extended a hand toward an empty chair and said in a dry, unemotional voice, “Sit ye down, Colonel. It is good to see friends in time of sorrow.”
Cathal produced a bottle of whiskey and two glasses and the old man toasted Clay silently in the ritual drink. Clay emptied his glass. “There can be little point in my trying to tell you how I feel.”
“I know, you’re a friend,” Shaun Rogan answered him. “You were one of our own from the first. Did my son die well up there at the great house?”
“He took Sir George Hamilton with him,” Clay said.
“And the house itself?”
“Dust and ashes.”
Behind them the woman moaned softly, and Shaun Rogan brooded into the fire. He sighed and it seemed to come from the very depths of his being. “A poor exchange for two sons, Colonel. A poor exchange. You were right from the first.”
Clay could think of nothing adequate to say in reply, but there was no need. From some inner hardihood of spirit, the old man drew new life. He turned to his two sons. “We will bury your brother in a little while, decently and with respect, here where he lived. Later, Father Costello can come and bless the ground.”
“We will dig the grave by the bottom wall of the orchard,” Cathal said. “The ground is soft. It will not take long.”
He gently moved his mother away and Marteen closed the lid of the coffin. They carried it out of the kitchen into the other room, and in a little while came the sound of hammer blows as they nailed the lid into place.
Rogan poured himself another drink with a steady hand. “And what of you, Colonel? Have you any plan for the immediate future?”
“No, but I’ll need one,” Clay said. “The cavalry arrived at Drumore just after the boys left to bring you the news of Kevin’s death. I was lucky to get away. It’s a known fact that I was Captain Swing, and several of Hamilton’s men survived the burning of the house. They’ll tell of the part I played. On top of that, I killed Burke.”
Rogan nodded slowly. “Your trial would be a mere formality, Colonel. A mere formality. ’Tis a good thing you came here and to no other place.”
“You mean you can help me?” Clay said eagerly.
Rogan nodded. “What you need is a fast boat out of here and that can be provided. There’s a French schooner trades into Galway. We have a regular rendezvous with him. It’s a common enough thing in Ireland, God help us, for good men to need a quick passage by night.”
“How soon can this be arranged,” Clay asked.
“This very night,” Rogan told him. “But there’s one thing you must do for me in return. Take Cathal and Marteen to America with you. God knows there’s little enough for them here in a country that’s dying, year by year.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Clay said. “Why don’t you come with us?”
The old man smiled sadly. “The roots are too deep. I’d wither away in any other soil or climate.”
“But what of this rising the Fenians plan for next year?” Clay said. “Your sons are members of the Brotherhood. Won’t they want to take part?”
“They’ll do as I say,” Shaun Rogan said. “I’ll feel happier knowing they’re safe in a land where they may prosper by hard work and all men are equal.”
“You think the rising will fail?” Clay said.
“It will fail,” Rogan said heavily. “As you once told me, England has all the big guns.”
Clay sighed. “If that’s the way you want it, that’s the way it will be. I’ll take them to California with me. They’ll get every chance, I promise you.”
“They’ll need money for their passage,” Rogan said.
Clay