Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [204]
Una had certainly been busy in the hospital, as Fionnuala had not appeared again. Her father had sent word that he wished her to stay with him for the present; but Una suspected that there was an additional reason for her absence. She’s heard that I’m here, she thought, and she doesn’t want to face me.
As she passed through the market by the western gate, she noticed that nearly half the stalls were open again and doing a quiet trade. Walking up towards the cathedral, she saw that most of the houses now had troops in them, and some had obviously been abandoned entirely by their owners. The Englishmen seemed strange. With their harsh accents, stout leather jerkins, and padded tunics, they somehow seemed tougher, more compact than the men she was used to. Some of them gave her looks which made her uncomfortable, but nobody molested her. In an open space by the cathedral, a group of archers had set up targets for practise, the arrows thudding into the packed straw with a precision that was almost mechanical. She found it disturbing. Passing down the slope of the Fish Shambles, she turned into the lane that led by her home.
She hesitated. Why had she come here? To see what had happened to the house? What if it had been burned? It was sure to be full of English soldiers anyway. She felt suddenly miserable and had half a mind to turn back. But she couldn’t do that. For her family’s sake, she had to find out what had become of it.
The lane was rather quiet. She could see behind the fences that most of the houses were being used as quarters for the soldiers. In one yard several of them were sleeping; another seemed to contain only an old woman. When she reached the fence in front of her own house, she glanced nervously at the gateway. It was open. As she drew level, she looked inside. There was no sign of damage, anyway, nor could she see any occupants. She stopped and glanced along the lane. No one was coming. She put her head through the gateway and looked round the yard.
It was a strange sensation, to be peering furtively into her own home. From the wood glowing in her father’s brazier, which had been moved a little, and from the scattered possessions in the yard, it was clear that the place was being used. Perhaps the men were asleep inside the house. In any case, she had better move on. But she didn’t. Instead, after glancing down the street once more, she stepped into the yard. It was silent.
The strongbox: what a chance! It was sitting there, waiting to be rescued; and no one was looking. If she could just slip through the yard to its hiding place. It would only take a moment. She knew she could carry it. The woollen cloak over her shoulders would cover it. How long would it take to walk up to Christ Church and bring it to safety? Moments. No more. And when might she get another chance like this? Perhaps never.
But were there men in the house? That was the question. To get to the hiding place she would have to go past the open doorway. If anyone was awake in there she’d probably be seen. There was only one thing to do. She started to cross the yard, past the brazier, past the bread oven. She would have to look in through the doorway and see if anyone was there. If they caught sight of her, she’d have to run. She didn’t think they’d catch her. But if no one was there, she could get the box and be gone. Her heart was pounding, but she forced herself to keep calm. She reached the doorway.
She looked in. It was hard to see anything, since the only light came from the doorway and the small opening in the roof. Were there eyes in there, watching her, hands reaching out? She strained to see into the shadows. There was no sound. After a few moments, she could make out the benches along the walls. There did not seem to be any human forms on them. Very cautiously, she stepped inside. Now she could see better. She looked at the place where her parents always slept, then at her own corner. No. Nobody