Page 119 of The Pirate Queen

He clenches his jaw. “I have.”

“And what have you done about this?”

“I have sent letters to the Privy Council expressing the need for more troops. I—”

“You have failed to suppress this rebellion in its entirety. All of Mayo is in chaos. The Bourkes have raided every one of your strongholds from Kilmaine to Galway. They have been so bold and unopposed as to fight and pillage right up to the very gates of Galway City. In fact, I got a letter from the Mayor of Galway himself describing these miscreants. According to him, this war band ‘came and wasted, burned and destroyed’ for an entire week. He says that Athenry Castle has been ‘put to ashes.’ Do you know what this conflict has cost Her Majesty thus far? Beyond coin and reputation, that is?”

Bingham thinks it best not to answer, for FitzWilliam doesn’t truly want one. He has come to give a lecture and Bingham will let him. Afterward, he’ll take further vengeance on that plague of a woman. His scouts have alerted him to the location of her brother and youngest son. He thinks it is time to extract a personal price from her.

“You are to desist from any further action against the Bourkes, or anyone else associated with this rebellion,” FitzWilliam says. “The O’Malley woman in particular. Is that clear?”

“You cannot be serious? O’Malley is known to be harboring Spaniards. All of whom have every intention of remaining in Mayo and joining the rebels.”

“You may take your complaints up with Her Majesty. Though you will likely find that she is tired of this trouble and expense. I have been ordered to facilitate a truce.”

“That is why you’re here? You intend to meet with them?” Bingham demands.

“The meeting has been set for one month hence in Galway City.”

“Where?”

“It is of no consequence, for you will not be attending.”

He ignores the Lord Deputy. “I can be there easily. I will order my staff to begin making arrangements today.”

For such a thick man, FitzWilliam has a thin laugh. Small and reedy, like a tin whistle. It brings Bingham up short.

“Damn it, man! Will you listen? For once. Your presence is not wanted,” FitzWilliam says. “You will stay here. Which should be no great sacrifice. From what I’ve been told, you have not left this stronghold once as Mayo burned.”

Bingham can think of no argument. None that would change FitzWilliam’s mind, at least. He is too loyal to the Queen. Too good at taking orders. He would not have agreed to this second term as Lord Deputy of Ireland otherwise, for he is known to dislike the country immensely.

“You would have me sit here and do nothing?”

“Yes.” FitzWilliam nods. “It would seem that the ravages inflicted these last months are a vendetta against your person specifically. So I cannot imagine that your presence in Galway would be beneficial.”

“Then take my word on one thing.”

FitzWilliam lifts an unruly silver brow.

“You cannot trust that O’Malley woman. She is evil. Double-tongued. Duplicitous. And yes, I know that Sidney favored her. As does Walsingham, for reasons I cannot fathom. They have been fooled. But mark my words, she is a blight upon this country. I have seen it with my own eyes. O’Malley is the nurse to all rebellions these last forty years.”

FitzWilliam tips his head to the side. “That’s a pretty line. One you’ve practiced. Isn’t that what you called her in your last letter to the Privy Council?”

“It remains no less true now than it did then.”

“Well, in any case—” FitzWilliam stands, leaving his ale untouched. He lifts his still-wet cloak and gloves from the floor. “I’ll be going to offer Her Majesty’s terms of truce to this woman. And you will not.”

“You’re leaving now?”

“I dislike being between two things, Bingham. Athlone sits directly between Dublin and Galway. Between war and truce. The sooner I can get to the other end, the better. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go clean up your mess.”

Bingham rises. Bows. When FitzWilliam has left his study, he chugs the cup of ale on the small table beside him. Then goes to his desk and chugs the whiskey. He throws both empty cups against the door and watches the porcelain shatter.

He waits. Nearly an hour he waits. Until FitzWilliam’s retinue is gone. Then he marches into the courtyard amidst the pouring rain and calls for the son of Murrough O’Flaherty to be brought out to the gallows. Damn every one of these bastard Irish heathens. The prisoner doesn’t look scared. Not even when Bingham puts the noose around his neck himself. Not even a flinch when the trapdoor drops.

Bingham feels nothing but rage as he watches yet another enemy dangle at the end of a rope. So when he returns to the study, he calls for the maid again, and this time locks the door behind her when she enters.

“Fecking Galway.”