The Kings of Clonmel

Chapter 23

Tug welcomed Will back to the little clearing with a brief toss of his head. Will moved to the horse and stroked his soft nose.

`Good boy,' he said quietly. Tug snorted softly in reply, aware that if Will were speaking, there was no need to maintain his own silence. Will considered his situation for a moment, then decided that there was time for a few hours' rest. The man called Driscoll was leading his raiding party out at dawn. But they were going by the lowland route to Mountshannon, crossing the river that ran past the camp and following a trail that led through the flatlands below the hills. He wouldn't be bothered by them.

The second group, as Padraig had ordered, would be moving out around midday, and following the ridge trail that Will was on. But he planned to be on his way before first light, so there was no chance that they'd catch up to him. That decided, he prepared to get a few hours' rest. He'd been on the move all day and well into the night, after all.

He unsaddled Tug. There was no need for the little horse to endure the discomfort of the saddle now. Tug shook himself gratefully and moved away to crop the grass. Will looked up through the tree canopy to the sky. He could see the stars quite clearly. Occasionally, a wisp of cloud would slide across the sky, blotting them out. But he could tell there was little chance of rain so he didn't bother to set up the small one-man tent that was rolled behind his saddle. He'd sleep in the open tonight, he thought.

He ate a cold meal. He wanted to leave no trace of his presence here so he couldn't light a fire. He reflected, as he chewed doggedly on the tough dried beef, that he'd be glad when this was over and he could find a good hot meal.

Potatoes would be nice, he thought. Boiled in their jackets, perhaps, and then smothered in butter, salt and pepper. His stomach growled at the thought and he glanced with disfavour at the unappetising twist of dried beef in his hand. Earlier in the day, he had reflected that he quite enjoyed the taste. In the ensuing hours, it seemed to have lost some of its appeal.

There was something still niggling in the back of his mind about the conversation he'd overheard in Padraig's tent. Something was illogical but he couldn't put his finger on it. Then it fell into place.

From all he'd heard, Mountshannon was considerably larger than Craikennis. Yet Driscoll was attacking the larger village with thirty men only. Then he was rendezvousing with another force of fifty men, led by Padraig himself, to attack Craikennis. It didn't make any sense. Surely the larger force would be needed for Mountshannon?

Perhaps he'd heard wrong?

He took a drink of cold water from his canteen, regretting the lack of a good cup of hot, sweet coffee.

No. He was sure he'd heard it correctly. Thirty men for Mountshannon. The combined force of eighty for Craikennis.

Unless they're not actually attacking Mountshannon, he thought. Maybe Driscoll is leading a reconnaissance in force? But he shook his head at that thought. If he wanted to reconnoitre, half a dozen men would be sufficient. Even fewer.

He replaced the cap on the water bottle and set it to one side, yawning hugely. Now that he had decided that he would get some rest, the efforts of the day, and the tension he'd been under, made themselves felt and he couldn't wait to turn in. Taking his blankets, he moved across the clearing and quickly made himself a bed inside the trees, where a large bush would shelter him from unfriendly eyes.

His mind kept turning over the problem that was nagging at him. Eventually, he shrugged it away and fell asleep within a few minutes.