It was a nasty business. Liam steeled his heart against feeling any sympathy for FitzMaurice or his men, and he could hardly prevent the widespread famine which affected all of southern Ireland, as a result of years of the vicious maurauding of both the Irish rebels and the English armies. No, he focused on but one thing. He must bring FitzMaurice to heel; he must have his son. And Katherine.
Liam finally determined the identity of the small shipracing ahead of him. It was Scottish. He smiled, lowering the spyglass. And ordered theSea Daggerbrought about so that they might race for the safety of the harbor on Valencia Island.
For he wanted the Scottish cargo to reach FitzMaurice. Unbeknownst to the Scots, the powder they carried was defective. It would fail to explode, rendering useless whatever muskets it was loaded into. Liam was well aware that FitzMaurice desperately needed this gunpowder, just as he desperately needed the victuals so far denied him.
TheSea Daggercame about, plowing now through rising, heavy swells, intent on outracing the impending storm.
Richmond—March 1, 1573
Sir John Perrot’s messenger was an exhausted boy of perhaps sixteen. His red uniform was black with mud, torn in numerous places, and threadbare everywhere else. He stood before the queen shaking with exhaustion and fatigue. “Your Majesty, the lord president of Munster commands me to give you this,” he said, handing Elizabeth a sealed missive.
She already knew what it contained. Rumor flew faster than any messenger or document could ever travel. Her heart beat wildly. She tore the letter open, read its three lines and looked up. “’Tis true?” she cried. “FitzMaurice surrendered to Sir John at Kilmallock last month?”
“Aye,” the boy said. “And a sorry sight he was, too. Bony and white, more naked than not.”
Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed loudly.
Leicester came forward to wrap his arm around her. “What good news this is!” he said.
She embraced him briefly but hard. “Oh, yes! One papist traitor dispatched—at long last!” She studied the last line of the letter again. Perrot had written that O’Neill had indeed played a most important role in forcing the rebel leader to his knees. Elizabeth smiled again. Her golden pirate had not betrayed her this time. Her heart quickenedas she imagined seeing him again, and rewarding him perhaps with a lingering kiss.
Elizabeth dismissed the messenger, and quickly realized that Cecil wished to speak with her. By the look in his eyes, she knew he had something serious upon his mind, and that he wished to speak with her privately. She sighed. Could she not just enjoy this victory? It had been so long in the coming. “William?”
Cecil murmured, “We have matters to discuss.”
Leicester stepped forward to stand at the queen’s side. He smiled, but his gaze was challenging.
“Speak. I do not wish to send Robin away. To the contrary.” She sent him a warm glance. “I wish him to sup with me this night.”
Leicester’s expression brightened. His tone seductive, he murmured, “As you wish, Bess, always as you wish.”
Cecil was annoyed and made no attempt to hide it. “Southern Ireland is without a leader. Another papist traitor might move into the breach left by FitzMaurice. Wemustforestall that.”
Elizabeth scowled. “I know what you will say next.”
“Indeed? FitzGerald should have never been removed, Your Majesty. He might be wayward, but he is a petty lord, interested only in his own power. Send him back, now, before another, more dangerous man comes forth.”
Elizabeth began to pace. She felt like ranting and raving about the injustice of it all. In truth, she could not stand the impudent, arrogant Irish lord, she could not—and she had always detested him. Too, Ormond, who was in Leinster on his own business now, would not be pleased should his ancient rival be returned to Desmond.
Leicester moved to her side. “For once I am in complete agreement with Burghley, Your Majesty. FitzGerald is basically harmless, especially now, with Desmond destroyed. Return him to his home immediately, before another FitzMaurice rises up with Spain’s encouragement against your authority.”
Elizabeth sighed.
“We will structure an agreement where he is beholden to you,” Cecil said. “In restoring him, we will make himyour great ally.” Cecil smiled then. “Lethimfight any more wars in southern Ireland. Let us concentrate ourselves elsewhere as we have longed to do.”
Cecil was so right. Ireland was a constant problem, but so damned insignificant. Elizabeth nodded then, sharply. “So be it. That cocky little traitor shall be pardoned and returned. God’s wounds! How this annoys me!”
It was Cecil’s business to know the movement of significant personages about the world, much less about the court. The moment he learned of Liam O’Neill’s arrival at court, while Elizabeth flew upstairs to her royal apartments to ready herself for the audience she would grant him, Cecil secluded himself in the Privy Chamber and ordered the pirate brought to him.
O’Neill’s expression was impossible to read as he entered the room. His gaze was perfectly blank. Cecil ordered his clerks and secretaries to leave them alone. They faced one another, Cecil smiling faintly.
Finally Liam smiled slightly in return. “My lord, you wish to speak with me?”
“Indeed,” Cecil said. “I wish to congratulate you, O’Neill, on a game well played.” Admiration had crept into his tone.
Liam blinked at him innocently. “And of what game do you speak?”
“Oh, I speak of games politic, of deadly, dangerous games politic.”
