Chronicles Of The Maca Collection

Chapter 4

The crowd surged forward waving their clubs and staves. Screams of anger and desperation driven by hunger erupted from their throats. They needed food for themselves, for their families. If there was no food, vengeance would serve as their substitute for they would die either from hunger or the hated British troopers.

Three men stood in their path. One was a townsman serving as a guide to the other two. He promptly took to his heels. His pay as a guide was not adequate to cover this danger. One, a tall, red-haired gentleman clad in elegantly tailored clothes and fine boots, stepped forward, a serene look on his face as he pointed his index finger at the approaching mob. The other was his servant, a huge dark-haired youth dressed in dark clothing. He stared at the mob and began to edge backward, his fists curling and uncurling. This tis folly, thought the youth. They are too many. Even my great strength twill nay stop them.

The man pointing his finger at the mob realized too late that his mind could not penetrate any mind of the people in the foreground and a puzzled look came into his eyes. He sent his mind swooping among the crowd until he found one that he could control.

"You are to attack the person next to you," his mind commanded. The mind command was too late.

The man given the mind instruction stopped, drew back his club, and began swinging it viciously at the man next to him. The crowd moved forward and knocked him down. With a roar the angry men attacked the red-haired, finely dressed interloper with the strange copper eyes.

Screams for food and yells to look for his purse came from some of the group. Others took after the youth fleeing down the road. They were too weak from hunger and the youth too strong and long of limb.

The youth stumbled into the pub where they had lodged and gasped out his tale of a master dying. A man was dispatched to inform the local priest. The priest then sent a message to his Lordship. By late afternoon a group of men on horseback arrived at the country lane and recovered the stripped and mangled body of the stranger.

The body was returned to the village and his Lordship sent a trusted man to speak with the youth named Llewellyn. To no one"s surprise the youth was gone and the room vacated.

“Two strangers they were on a strange quest.” The pub owner assured the Lord"s servant. “They had questions about whether a different redheaded man with copper eyes and a golden ring around the pupils had been here. The man asked about the local cemeteries. Wanted to check out the tombstones, he did. His gold was good though. The gentleman"s servant had a strong accent. He"s probably from across the water.” The owner cleared his throat before daring to put a question to such an important man.

“Do ye think we are in any danger from the prowling mobs?”

“His Lordship has sent an urgent message to the brigade stationed but a few miles from here. I"m sure they will heed his call for help.”

“That won"t quiet all of the people. They can"t eat or sell their rotten potatoes.” The pub owner understood why the hungry mob prowled this part of Ireland. Still, it was worrisome.

“True, but 1842 has to be a better year for crops than the last two. We"ll have protection until then. Let us know if the young servant returns.” He turned and left the smoky establishment.

“He"s probably run all the way home or took a ship for the new world.” The last was muttered by the owner. Why in God"s name, he wondered, would anyone in his right mind stay in Ireland now?