The Butcher's Daughter Read online

  Then Gilley, climbing up the ladder from the main deck, stepped onto the quarter deck carrying a basket of bread from the ship’s galley. The bread was freshly baked, still warm and smelled delicious.

  “Mutiny is it?” Gilley asked while handing out his loaves. “Never trusted the likes of these two, Mum. Be happy to gut them both for you after they finish their breakfast. I’ll hang their worthless carcasses off the main yardarm to rot. Let them serve as a warnin’ to all other would be mutineers.”

  “Hunter,” I said, “is worried about Dowlin’s brothers.”

  “Ah, and well he should be, Mum,” replied Gilley with a serious nod. “Well he should be. Them two aren’t no better than Dowlin. Worse maybe. An ill-tempered litter sprung from the angry womb of an ill-tempered bitch.”

  “Aye,” I agreed. “So gentlemen, we must be the first to strike. And when we strike we must do so with deadly purpose.”

  I stopped along the narrow path for a moment to catch my breath after the long and strenuous climb. I could see my ship peacefully riding anchor in the cove below. Phantom was a five hundred ton, French-built nao, ships renowned for their strength and speed. She was both square and lateen-rigged and carried eighteen great guns cast from solid bronze - a mix of falconets and sakers mounted on rolling carriages stood neatly against her bulwarks like soldiers on parade. And fixed to iron pedestals mounted along her rails were another thirty swivels for close-quarter fighting. Sitting next to Phantom was Dowlin’s larger ship, a fine, Dutch-built man-o’-war displacing six hundred tons or better, not as swift as a nao but she was well-armed and built for rugged war. The sight of the stubby noses of her guns protruding through the open gunports - a mix of periers, sakers and falconets, twenty-four great guns in all - sent a tingle up my spine. She too carried a goodly number of swivels. What a handsome sight both ships made together!

  The man-o’-war had been Dowlin’s flagship. Now Dowlin’s flagship was my flagship. Under Dowlin, men knew her as Medusa’s Head. And just to make certain that any who laid eyes on her knew exactly what ship she was, a hideous replica of the witch’s head, with deadly snakes for hair and sharp fangs for teeth, adorned her high prow. No sailor roaming across the open sea could ever gaze upon that carved monstrosity without freezing in their tracks. As I resumed my climb up the cliff, I decided I would rechristen Dowlin’s ship. I would rename her Falling Star after the shooting star I had seen streaking outside my father’s butcher’s shop at the very moment my father’s assailants had pried my legs apart and deflowered me. And then I’d pitch the witch’s grotesque likeness into the sea.

  After we reached the summit of the cliff the land flattened out before us and we could see the Irish Sea in all directions for miles. Visibility was excellent. There was not a single sail in sight.

  The island was little more than a desolate pile of rock and sand covered over in wild grass and patches of scrub brush. The only inhabitants we saw were small lizards scurrying about and seabirds, birds of many kinds and colors. Countless numbers of birds squawked and chirped at each other all across the island.

  Armed with shovels and pick-axes, my new recruits led the way under a bright and sizzling sun. They were clearly fidgety and reluctant to press on, fearing I suppose that they were marching to their own graves. I gave them no reason to think otherwise. We marched in single file towards the southern tip of the island until we came upon a cluster of boulders surrounded by a thicket of scraggly thorn bushes.

  “This is the place?” I asked the lead man after he stopped and surveyed the area around us. I addressed this man first because I had seen the deference the others had given him. He had also been the first to tell Gilley where we could find Dowlin’s treasure.

  He hesitated before answering me. I gave him a hard look and then took a moment to consider his men. “Did you, or did you not all swear your allegiance to me?”

  “We did, Mum,” the lead man answered.

  “What is your name?” I asked.

  “Flannigan, Mum, Joseph Flannigan from Kinsale in County Cork.”

  “Well, Master Joseph Flannigan from Kinsale in County Cork, I did not come all this way, I did not go to all this trouble, just so I could kill you. I don’t need to kill you. And besides, I don’t murder unarmed men.”

  Flannigan lowered his head. “Beg pardon, Mum, but Dowlin was unarmed.”

  “Ah, a fair point you make there Master Flannigan,” I said. “Touché. But you are mistaken. I didn’t murder Dowlin. I executed him.”

  I turned to address Flannigan’s men. “I know Master Gilley explained things to you the other night and explained them to you clearly. Killing or harming innocent or helpless men, women or children is strictly forbidden. It is a violation of our Ten Rules. Now it is hot and this island is no paradise. Let us to business shall we? You can help me recover Dowlin’s plunder - and take your rightful share - or I can leave you all here to live on birds’ eggs until some fishing trawler happens upon you. But I will not kill you.”

  Flannigan shook his head. “Even if what you say is true Lady Mary, we are still all dead men. Dowlin has two brothers, the Twins. They know us and they will find us and kill us all for helping you.”

  Hunter took a step towards Flannigan and rested his hand on Flannigan’s shoulder. “Lad, you and your mates are most likely dead men already even if you don’t help us. Once you reach home, Dowlin’s brothers will find and kill you all just because you didn’t die with Dowlin.”

  Flannigan’s men exchanged looks all around. Heads started bobbing up and down.

  Flannigan clenched his teeth; he stared at me with eyes as cold as stone. “We won’t be the only game the Twins will want to feast on, Madam.”

  I answered Flannigan with a bold and cocky smile. “Aye, the Twins, the Devil’s own offspring to be sure and far more dangerous than Dowlin ever thought to be. They’re more dangerous because they’re smart. The Twins and Dowlin were only half-brothers I hear, same she-bitch mother but begotten from different seed.”

  “You know them then?” asked Flannigan.

  “Not well. I saw them once tie a man down and slowly skin him alive. The poor devil’s only crime was to prudently pitch some Dowlin cargo overboard during a treacherous gale to save his ship and crew from foundering.”

  Flannigan nodded. “Aye, I’ve seen some of their grizzly work up close.” Then he baited me. “One brother is a big, ugly bastard, strong as an ox. The other is a bit prettier, but just as big and no less strong.”

  “Ah, Master Flannigan, you wish to test me? I respect that. No, the Twins are nearly exact copies of each other. One is challenged to tell them apart even close-up. They’re both huge, a head taller than any man I’ve ever laid eyes on. But one brother is a half hand taller than the other and as for appearances, well, not my taste, but they are hardly ugly.”

  “Apologies, Mum. Right you are. I fear your man Hunter here is right too. The Twins will come looking for us even if we refuse to help you. What then?”

  “You let me worry about that. First things first. Now, shall we dig?”

  Flannigan pointed to a pitted, reddish brown rock in the middle of patch of wild flowers that seemed somehow out of place. The rock, I soon realized, was not indigenous to the island. I grabbed a shovel from Flannigan’s hand and started scooping out the first shovelfuls of dirt and sand myself.

  Chapter Two

  The queen, showing no favor or disfavor towards me, not even an inkling, narrowed her eyes slightly as she considered what I had said thus far while I paused to take a sip of water. “So are we,” she asked me, “to understand that when you first decided to try your luck at smuggling, you began your venture in league with Dowlin?”

  “Yes and no your Majesty,” I replied. “I never actually sailed with Dowlin. Even now such a notion is abhorrent to me. My men and I sailed for ourselves, but we had to pay Dowlin a percentage of our profits, a tax or royalty I suppose one might say, for the privilege of crossing the Irish Sea.”

  The queen nodded. “Dowlin, by other names, was well-known to us as an outlaw and a villain. How is it you intercepted and took his ship when no one in the whole of our mighty navy could do so?”

  “I intend to come to that matter your Majesty in good time.”

  The queen smiled sweetly at me. “It is your story, Lady Mary. Please, do continue as you see fit and proper.”

  “Gladly, your Majesty. Forgive me though, your Majesty. My men often addressed me as Lady Mary but, in truth, I hold no such lofty title. I’m no lady, here in England or back in Ireland.”

  “Oh? We think that within the four corners of our kingdom you are who we say you are.”

  The queen turned her head around to look over at an older man with a long, grey goatee sitting at a crude table in the corner of my cell. The gentleman had a pasty face, white as chalk, and liked to dress in black. “Sir William, we would have the title lady bestowed upon our most honored guest. Make it so.”

  The man named Sir William nodded obediently to the queen, dipped his pen in the ink jar and scribbled some notation across the margin of his paper.

  I only learned sometime later that the queen’s elderly escort was Sir William Cecil, the 1st Baron Burghley. Cecil had a keen interest in strengthening the Navy Royal and always accompanied the queen during her visits with me in the Tower. On each occasion he sat at the table in the corner with a pen in hand, scratching my words onto parchment as I spoke.

  So now I was the Lady Mary and the queen’s good sister. Even though this was no more than a pleasant fiction, I nonetheless felt flattered. I wondered quietly to myself whether the queen would allow me to keep my title after she took my head.

  I had taken twenty men with me to find Dowlin’s gold, ten of Dowlin’s men led by Fla
nnigan and ten of mine. It was not enough. Even Dowlin’s men were startled by what we found. We lifted crate after crate out of the earth, crates filled with gold and silver coins, precious gems and pearls. We found sterling silver bowls, chalices and cutlery, finely crafted neck watches and even a large, jewel-encrusted crucifix of solid gold mixed in with other baubles of great value.

  As we headed back to the ship, Hunter straddled up next to me cradling a small, wooden chest in his arms. “Did you know about all of this, Mary?”

  “No,” I replied as I took my sleeve to dab the sweat out of Hunter’s eyes. “I had no clue what we would find. ‘Tis a king’s ransom.”

  “It will be dark soon. Climbing down that path along the cliff carrying all this loot will be tricky enough in daylight, Mary.”

  “You think it best then to wait until morning to return and fetch the rest?”

  Hunter smiled at me. I could tell from the look in his eyes that he wanted to lean over and kiss me.

  “No,” he said. “I think you will do what you will do. I simply made an observation.”

  “Ah, and what is it you think I’ll do?”

  “‘Tis a risk either way. Walking around on this rock at night with torches in hand could attract attention. But if we stay here through the night, who knows what we might find waiting for us in the morning.”

  “You dodged my question.”

  Hunter burst out laughing. “Ha! Ha! Ha! I never win this contest with you, Mary. Oh, very well, I’d wait until morning so I think you’ll wait.”

  “But my plan requires us to move quickly,” I said with a flirtatious smile.

  “I’ve never known you to like it too quick before,” Hunter replied lewdly and winked at me.

  “Money, filling your bellies and screwing is just about all men seem capable of thinking about.”

  “Ha! And women are so different? And well I know that smile. If we were alone on this rock right now we’d be naked, rolling around in the grass and moaning deliriously with wanton pleasure.”

  “I’d rather read a good book,” I said sharply, trying to hide my smile.

  “Suit yourself, my lady. I can always play cards with the lads tonight. There’s bound to be a game of chance or two up on deck with all this loot to gamble with.”

  “But then how will we discuss my plan?”

  “Ah, aye, the plan. And the plan requires us to recover the rest of Dowlin’s treasure and weigh anchor tonight?”

  “Well, the plan might give you and me some time for other things. Gilley and the lads will have finished repairs to Medusa’s Head and scrubbed her decks down clean by the time we return. He can lead the next team ashore whilst you and I retire to my cabin - to talk about my plan.”

  “I think we might have different plans in mind, Mary.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t think so,” I said and just to make certain that I was understood, I unfastened the top two buttons of my blouse. Hunter, never slow or dimwitted, smiled appreciatively at my cleavage.

  I do not consider myself an extraordinary person. Men, I know, find me very desirable but that is of little import to me.

  I do though have a gift, an extraordinary, wonderful gift. I first discovered this gift on the day-of-days, on the day I was transformed from a moth into a butterfly, on the day the child in me died, on the day I was liberated and reborn a woman.

  The gift I speak of is this: when confronted with a dilemma, a problem or a puzzle, my mind starts churning out ideas, possible solutions to the problem, at a dizzying rate of speed. Some have remarked on this gift; they have said that I am clever. And this is true. I am quite clever.

  But I think the word clever is inadequate, too broad a term to describe this particular gift of mine. For many people are broadly clever. This gift is more refined, more limited in breadth. This gift makes me unusually adept at concocting plans and schemes.

  And I’ve been doubly blessed. For this first gift goes hand-in-hand with a second, extraordinary gift God has seen fit to give me. Under times of tremendous stress, or even when danger is whirling about all around me, my mind continues functioning with great clarity of thought, calmly, dispassionately, with little emotion to distract me.

  These two gifts are what allowed me to coolly assess my options against my assailants on the day-of-days. Many ideas went through my head during those wretched, horrid moments, during my father’s murder, throughout my own violation. And when I saw the knife tucked inside my first assailant’s belt within easy reach, I knew what I had to do. A plan, a plan to live took root in my mind and inspired me into action.

  And when my first plan succeeded - to my great astonishment I must confess - I desperately needed a second plan. I needed a plan to escape. But at the tender age of only twelve or so, I was not especially conversant in the ways of the world.

  I knew enough at least not to tarry in my father’s house for very long with two dead men inside. And then there were two other men on the loose somewhere to consider, one in hiding, unscathed, and the other running down the streets of Dublin screaming with a knife lodged in both cheeks. Whoever had ordered my father’s killing would want me dead too. So I took what clothes I could carry, and what little money I could find, and headed out into Dublin’s cold and dismal streets, alone.

  My second plan was not of my own making. It was a gift from my father. He had told me on more than once occasion that if trouble ever found me, and if he was not there to protect me, to find a man named Eoghan Dubhdara O’Malley who lived in Westport on Clew Bay in County Mayo. I was to travel to Westport on Ireland’s west coast and give this man my name. That was all I needed to do. Find a man named O’Malley in Westport, Lord O’Malley, and give this man my name.

  And after I ran away from my father’s butcher’s shop and found Lord O’Malley’s home, a great estate, a castle really, he took me in and kept me for a time until he could make arrangements for me to stay with a family who lived down by the water’s edge. I did not understand the source of this generosity at first. I did not understand until several years later.

  My new father, my surrogate father, was a man named Dalton. He was not a particularly affectionate man, but he treated me well-enough. Dalton was a person of modest means. He lived quietly in a small house with a sickly wife who rarely left her bed. They had no children. Dalton owned an unexceptional tavern down on the waterfront near the docks and he was the proud owner of one, humble fishing trawler. I divided my time equally over the next few years between helping him with the tavern and learning the mysteries of the sea sailing with the trawler. Between these two interests, my entire world was men.

  Dalton’s tavern was where I had first met Gilley. Gilley was a frequent patron and, for reasons I cannot explain, I had taken an instant liking to him as he had to me. He was sweet and kind to me, never vulgar, and shared the most wonderful stories of his days at sea with me. He had done good service with the English navy for many years. He was man to be respected. And I took pity on him. He was retired and had no family. Like me, he had been an orphan and he was alone. He found comfort in the bottle and was often drunk, or working at getting there. I looked after him and he looked after me.

  The fishing trawler was where I met my first, true love - the sea. From the very start, on my first time out on the open water, I knew a sailor’s life was for me. The brisk ocean breezes, the cool sea spray, the rhythmic movements of a ship under full sail dancing in-between the waves invigorated me. The serenity of being surrounded by blue water for as far as the eye could see soothed my troubled spirit. Travelling to foreign lands excited me.

  During my days in Westport, I saw Lord O’Malley on only two occasions. The first was when I pounded on the front door of his castle in freezing rain at the age of twelve or so. I had travelled long and far. I was cold and hungry and underneath my street clothes I still wore my torn, bloodstained nightgown.

  On the second occasion I was fourteen or fifteen, a full-grown woman and wise in the ways of the world. O’Malley had sent for me from his death bed.

  I was directed to a small cottage overlooking the bay where I found O’Malley being attended to by several people I did not know, including an ancient priest with a crooked spine. The old man dismissed them all with one sweep of his hand when he saw me, including the priest. O’Malley looked old and frail and had a nagging cough. I had to lean close to hear him speak. He told me that he had loved my mother very much, that she had been his one, true love before she married. He grabbed me by the wrist and squeezed with all the strength he had left and then, after lowering his voice to a whisper, he confessed that I was his illegitimate daughter. He told me that I had a half-sister too whose name I did not hear. And then, with a trembling hand, he reached for a folded piece of paper on the nightstand and pressed the paper into my own. The paper was a bank note for £5,000 pounds sterling, a huge sum of money. With that final act of kindness, he took one last gasp of air, closed his eyes and died.