The Last Days of Newgate - Andrew Pepper [94]
Magennis took a while to prepare his response. ‘You know a lot, but then again, you know nothing.’ He pulled out a stump to sit down on, and motioned for Pyke to do the same. ‘For example, do you know where you are right now?’
‘A hamlet near Loughgall.’
Magennis nodded. ‘You talk of our hate as though it’s something other-worldly, monstrous even. But what about the hate that’s been turned against us, for no other reason than we’re proud, God-fearin’ Orangemen? If you know so much, why don’t you tell me about the time when, two hundred years back, Irish papists led by Phelim O’Neill marched into Market Hill, a few miles from here, and started gleefully killin’ all the good Protestant men, women and children they could lay their hands on, ended up murderin’ thirty thousand, three-quarters of all the Protestants in Ireland.’
His voice was trembling a little. Pyke decided to let him finish.
‘Let me tell you the story of this wee place. We call it the Diamond. Twenty-four years back, I was a strapping lad, like you, just startin’ off in the world, a new wife and child to protect. Thing was, we’d suffered terrible losses to the papist Defenders over the previous few months. One fellow on the Jackson estate, he’d had his tongue ripped out, his fingers cut off one by one. They’d sliced his wife’s breasts clean off her chest. Mutilated his wee boy. Things were gettin’ mighty tense, to be sure. Both sides started to gather themselves, the Defenders, looking to run us off our land, and our boys, Orange boys and the Peep o’ Days, skirmishin’ a little, just tryin’ to hold the line. The Defenders massed yonder at Tartarghan an’ we gathered up on that whinny hill on the other side of the river. One of their lot was killed and when the magistrates heard of it, they joined together with three Catholic priests, to try an’ make the peace. Some agreement was reached but the papists were itchin’ for a scrap and they started to move into the fort up on yonder hill. Later, they ran down the hill and attacked Dan Winters’ pub, tried to set it alight. But we were ready for ’em, we were stronger than ’em, too. We fought ’em hand to hand, and killed maybe thirty of ’em before they finally saw sense, and retreated to lick their wounds.’
At some point during the telling of the tale, it was transformed from a story of hate and recriminations to one of unfettered masculine glory.
Pyke allowed his stare to drift over the man’s shoulder. ‘And thirty-year-old tales of bravado and killing are somehow more important than your own flesh and blood?’
‘ “You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people He claims for His own to proclaim the glorious works of One who has called you from darkness into light.” First book of Peter, chapter two, verse nine.’
‘Do those sentiments help you to deal with the death of your son?’
Magennis stared at him through narrowing eyes. ‘Stephen was lost to us long before he died.’
Pyke slammed his fist down on the table so hard the prayer book jumped. ‘He didn’t die, he was murdered. Killed. Stabbed. Don’t you understand? Your grandchild, too.’
Just for a moment, the words seem to dry up in the old man’s throat.
‘Did Davy kill his own brother?’
‘No,’ Magennis said, with little conviction.
‘Did he kill the baby?’
‘He’s impressionable but he’s not a monster, the big lad,’ Magennis said, less sure, trembling more acutely.
Pyke had to resist reaching out and grabbing hold of him. ‘Can you imagine what it must have been like? How delicate a newborn is?’ He waited until Magennis looked up at him before adding, ‘Your flesh and blood.’
‘What is it you want from me?’
‘I want to speak to Davy.’
‘And who, exactly, are you?’
Pyke ignored the question. ‘Whereabouts did Davy go, after he’d been dismissed from the constabulary?’
The old man stared at him with steely eyes. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Did he stay in Ireland?’
Magennis just shrugged.
Pyke thought about Davy Magennis, hiding out in the yard of a Sandy Row terraced house. Alone and afraid.
‘I think