This is the final copy of the Prologue.
Prologue
Rathmullan, Ireland
Daybreak
September 14, 1607
They came silently. They came swiftly. They came secretly. The ship, anchored off Rathmullan since September fourth, waited for them on the waters of Lough Swilly.
Ninety-nine men, women, and children of Ulster Gaelic nobility, led by Earls Hugh O’Neill and Rory O’Donnell, boarded the ship. After the travelers boarded, the crew placed a long shrouded cylindrical object in the hold. Everyone held a reverent moment of silence.
It was Cuchonnacht Maguire who planned this Flight of the Earls. Maguire, a master of disguise and an adventurer, had brought a ship from the coast of Brittany and sent messengers to Gaelic nobles and their families to arrive at Rathmullan as quickly as possible. From there the plan was to sail to Spain to approach King Phillip III and request assistance to fight the English. None of the Earls could know at the time that their flight would destroy Celtic culture forever in Ireland. None could predict the momentous changes in Irish life that would last for centuries. As a result of this flight, Ireland would suffer more than 400 years of war, famine, plague, and destruction.
The news of the flight spread rapidly though Ireland. The Irish were devastated by the news and correctly foresaw the end of their way of life. For many Irish, the English had won; Ireland was now in the possession of James I of England. James took over the now vacant lands that the Earls had left behind. Ten percent of those lands were rented out to the native Irish. Five percent were awarded to the English Soldiers, and the remaining eighty-five percent were retained for English plantations. The old Celtic ways were lost.
September 7, 1607
One week earlier
Somewhere on the Inishowen Peninsula
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” The young woman wrung a handkerchief between her fingers as she struggled to keep tears from flowing down her cheeks. She looked around the dark confessional as if trying to see who might be listening. Her pale blue eyes probed the dim light of the booth.
“Tell me, my child, the Almighty is quick to forgive those who confess and repent their sins.” The priest leaned forward expectantly.
“Father,” she said hesitantly, “I am with child.” Anna Margaret could feel the shame rising in her. What would happen when her father found out? Her father, Michael O’Connor, was cousin to the great Earl, Hugh O’Neill. Tears flowed down her cheeks.
“Who is the father? Does he know?”
“Robert Devany, and no, he doesn’t know, and I don’t want him to find out.” She rubbed her hands on her arms and squeezed tightly.
“The Devanys! The scourge of the peninsula! Their notorious actions are known far and wide across the Inishowen. They are a miserable family doing black deeds. The blackest of deeds, you know. I will not discuss them here in the sanctity of the Church,” the old priest grumbled, “for I would profane the altar of the Almighty by the telling of them.”
“Father, Robert has no hand in what his family does. He is a good man, kind and gentle, yet strong and full of life. I love him, Father, and he loves me. And, Father, he hates the English.”
“Nevertheless, his family sold out to the English to keep their lands. They are betrayers not only of our ancient ways, but also of the church. Child, do you not know that this love can be the undoing of you? You have royal blood in your veins. You’re descended from the High Kings of Tara. Rory O’Connor, your ancestor, fought the Normans at the battle of Trim. He was High King until betrayed by that bloody troublemaker, Dermot MacMurrough.” He paused as if listening to some distant memory. “It’s no good that can come of this, your cohortin’ with a Devany. Does your family know?”
“No, Father, it’s you alone I’ve come to. No one else knows. When my family finds out, they will chase Robert until they catch and kill him. They will hunt him down like a wild beast. And if Robert finds out, he will openly declare our love and fight for me to the death if necessary. He is too honorable to do anything else.” Her body tightened and she took a deep breath. “I cannot have that. I will not have that.”
“Then there is only one choice left, Anna. You must disappear. You must leave your family and Robert forever. And you must have your child in a far off land.”
“I can’t do that; I won’t do it!” She spoke between clenched teeth. “Besides there’s no way of leaving.”
“But there is a way of leaving, Anna,” the priest said. “Come to me two days from now. There is a ship leaving soon. I’ll make the arrangements for you. Just remember, there’s no way of turning back once you decide to do it.”
Rathmullan
September 14, 1607
When Robert Devany heard that the Earls were leaving Rathmullan, he figured that Anna was with them. He pushed his horse, driving the animal past the level of endurance, to Rathmullan hoping to catch her in time. The eight mile ride seemed to take forever. As he approached the shore, all he could see was the ship rounding the point into the Atlantic.
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