Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [345]
The cattle had passed over the attackers now, and were spilling down the slope below. Maurice was working his way round, skilfully turning them. Behind, where the raiding party had been, was a scene of carnage.
If the horsemen had been quicker, if they had not hesitated, they might have survived by wheeling round and running with the herd.
Several had tried, but too late, and had collided either with each other or the foot soldiers. Three had started to run, but not fast enough. The great engine of the herd had either smashed into the horses or overtaken them from behind, borne them down and then trampled them into the earth. The destruction of the men on foot had been even more complete. It made no difference whether they were horsemen, kerne, or the mighty gallowglasses: the herd had passed over them all. Arms, legs, skulls, and breastbones had been cracked and crushed; their bodies mangled or pulped. The great axes of the gallowglasses lay with cracked shafts, their heads useless.
For this was the ancient stampeding of the cattle, an Irish battle tactic as old as the hills. Though Eva had only seen it done once, when she was a child, it was not something you could ever forget; and as every person at Rathconan, from herself down to Seamus’s youngest child, was adept at driving cattle, it had not been too difficult for them, few though they were, to stampede and drive a herd of three hundred.
Seamus’s wife was coming across now. She’d been driving them from behind. The women from the house arrived, too. They surveyed the wreckage. A number of the men were already dead. Others lay groaning. One of the big mercenaries was even trying to get up. The women knew what to do. At a nod from Eva they took out their knives and went from one man to another, slitting their throats. Eva dismounted and did the same for the unfortunate horses. It was a bloody business, but she felt triumphant; she had saved them all. And as Maurice came back, just as she was finishing, he too gave her a look of triumph, love, and joy.
Sean O’Byrne took his time. They had rested for some hours once they had got back into the safety of the hills. They had not been followed. There was no reason to hurry. It was a little before dawn when they set out to cross the mountains with their burden.
The ambush had been well prepared. Before dusk he had found the place he was looking for. The men had been carefully placed. He and Fintan were to go in and make straight for the Doyle woman while the rest of the party, led by Seamus, drove off her escorts. Though all his men were armed, he had told them to use the flats of their swords unless they encountered serious opposition. With luck they could accomplish the business without having to kill anybody. In particular he was concerned about MacGowan. Walsh’s wife had been certain that the grey merchant would be escorting Dame Doyle to Dalkey, and O’Byrne couldn’t imagine him giving her up without a fight. He liked MacGowan and would be sorry to harm him, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. The game had to be played; the rest was up to fate.
The only other problem might be in seeing her. There was a half-moon, however. That should give enough light. He had waited,