Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [225]
“I have thought of that,” said Peter. And he told Strongbow the rest of his plan.
“You can get out, past the sentries again?” Strongbow asked, and Peter nodded. “How?”
“Do not ask me,” Peter replied. “It will be low tide tomorrow morning,” he added, “so you could use the ford as well as the bridge to send the men across.”
“And where should we station the man to receive your signal?”
“Ah.” Peter smiled. “On the roof of Christ Church Cathedral.”
“So,” Strongbow summarised, “the plan is by no means without risk.” He ran over the details, step by step. “But if it works, you will have done well. It is, however, contingent upon one other thing. A clear and sunny morning.”
“That is true,” Peter admitted.
“Well,” Strongbow concluded, “it’s worth a chance.”
It was sunset that day when the sentries at the forward post saw a figure leave from the western gate and start walking towards the hospital. They had already stopped both Una that morning and Fionnuala an hour ago to make certain who they were. Once again, they decided to check, and one of them rode quickly forward. The figure was dressed as a priest, but the sentry was suspicious. It could be a disguise. The fellow wore a hood over his head.
“Who are you and where are you going?” The sentry addressed him in Irish.
“Father Peter is my name, my son.” The answer was delivered in a comfortable Irish also. “On my way to visit a poor soul in the hospital there.” He pulled back his hood, to reveal a tonsured head and gave the sentry a pleasant smile. “I am expected, I believe.”
At this moment, the gate of the hospital opened and Fionnuala appeared. She gave a sign of recognition to the priest and waited respectfully by the entrance.
“Proceed, Father,” said the sentry, a little embarrassed.
“Thank you. I do not expect to be returning until tomorrow. God be with you, my son.” Pulling his hood on again, the priest continued on his way and the sentry saw Fionnuala usher him through the gate, which closed behind them.
“A priest,” the sentry reported. “He’ll be going back tomorrow.” And no one thought any more about it.
Inside the hospital, meanwhile, Fionnuala was leading Peter to the room they were to use—a separate compartment, entered by an outside door, at the end of the men’s dormitory, where kind, gullible Una had promised her they would not be disturbed.
As they got inside and Peter pulled back his hood again, Fionnuala could hardly restrain her laughter.
“You’ve got a tonsure,” she whispered, “just like Gilpatrick.”
“It’s as well, or I might have been in trouble with that sentry.”
So far, Peter congratulated himself, everything had worked out perfectly. His quick thinking and foresight two days ago had made everything possible. He was sorry that it had meant that he must deceive Fionnuala, as he was doing now, and make use of her; but he told himself that it was for a greater cause.
His calculations had been precise. Discovering that she was due to be in the hospital the next two evenings, he had decided it would be unwise to attempt the female disguise twice. On the assumption that, after his return from his scouting expedition, he would want to go straight back out again, he had hit upon this new device.
“The day after tomorrow, we’ll spend the night together,” he’d said.
“By the wharf?” She’d looked uncertain.
“No, in the hospital.”
“The hospital? You’re mad!” she had cried.
“Is there a quiet place there, somewhere?” he asked. She had thought and said there might be. “Listen, then.” He had grinned. “This is what we’re going to do.”
And now, as Fionnuala looked at him in wonderment, she decided this was the most daring thing she had ever done. Amazingly enough, it hadn’t even been very difficult. Once she had told Una that she felt the need for spiritual counselling, her friend had been sympathetic. “I want to make my confession to a priest, Una,” she told her. “And then I need to have a long talk with him.” She smiled apologetically. “It’s those O’Byrne boys. I don’t know what to do.” When Una asked how she could