Beside The Clover

The stench of rot floats on the icy Irish breeze as I stand at the courtyard’s edge. Crows swoop over, and the bodies remain motionless where they fell. A lonely mare scuffs the earth, sensing the fear in the air, as the stables that were once filled with excellent horses lie empty.

But I’m not the only one. I am followed by three figures, all of whom hold a special place in my heart. They are what remains of my inner circle, the friends I can trust. Among them is Moira, tall and slender with fiery hair and a sharp wit. Eamon, who was formerly my father’s reliable bodyguard, is now sombre and broad-shouldered. Meanwhile, there’s lovely Nora, who was my lady’s maid until I made her walk side by side with me as an equal.

Moira furrows her brow in disgust as she brushes a strand of hair out of her face and surveys our surroundings. “We must leave this place, Bridget. The pestilence is pervasive. We run the danger of-” Breaks occur throughout her speech. We’re all too scared to act normally around her right now, even though she’s usually so composed.

“We ought to depart immediately, Bridget,” Nora says, her voice quivering. These people are beyond rescue at this point. Her face contorted with shame as she surveyed the lifeless victims lying on the ground. “Please, God, pardon my haste; I refuse to die here.”

With one hand on his sword’s hilt, Eamon advances. Despite being confronted with such horror, he maintains a composed demeanour. “My lady,” he continues, lowering his head slightly, “if we remain, we run the risk of sharing their destiny. Surviving is the sole means to fulfil your father’s final request. Somewhere this disease hasn’t yet penetrated; we might find shelter out there.”

As I shut my eyes, I can still feel the warmth of my father’s dying hand on mine. To safeguard our people, he pleaded with me. Despite our limited numbers, I will fiercely defend the remaining few of us. “We depart when the sun goes down,” I whisper. Even though my voice quivers with sadness, I make an effort to seem determined. “Get as much food, water, and medicine as you can. Check that we have enough warm cloaks. Perhaps we will be able to escape this nightmare if we muster the will to continue going forward.”

A wave of relief washes over Moira as she nods. “The kitchen and basement will be my first stops. Check to see if there is anything unspoiled left.”

Eamon promises to take care of the horses. “We may be able to locate one or two more horses in the village stables, and we still have the mare.”

Nervously, Nora inhales. “I will make sure to bring clean sheets and other materials that could be used as bandages. Perhaps we can find a useful item at the hospital’s storage area.”

As I watch them scatter, I halt. Over the crumbling gates and the deserted cobblestones in the courtyard, my eyes wander. A flashback comes to mind: this identical courtyard once buzzed with activity—knights coming back from patrol, peasants bringing food and fruit, and the sound of my younger brothers’ laughing as they played catch. Everything has been lost as a result of the pestilence that is steadily destroying Ireland.

Resisting the overwhelming sadness that tries to suffocate me, I turn aside. I will collapse under its weight if I give in to it. We still don’t know where our adventure will lead us. It is imperative that we take action nonetheless. This is for my father and all the others that passed away. Regarding our own interests only.

I silently pray, and then I go after my companions. Nightfall is approaching quickly, and when darkness descends, each shadow will serve as a stark reminder of the world’s growing danger. Still, I hold on to the tenuous hope that we can discover a safe haven outside of these terrible walls. Perhaps even a spot where optimism can reappear, like a tenacious weed battling against the icy soil of Ireland.

We start our trek away from the castle on a route that feels unusually deserted. Overhead, gloomy clouds gather, portending precipitation or worse. As my mare, Lilwen, lumbers ahead with heavy hooves, the rest of us keep quiet and watch every shadow and shape. Fear envelops us like a damp shroud. We are aware that this disease is not far behind, but we are unsure of what the future holds.

Moira appears anxious as she occasionally glances over her shoulder, her dark hair fluttering in the wind. With unwavering composure, Eamon maintains a hand near the hilt of his sword. With her knuckles white, Nora holds a little bundle of supplies. I tell myself that a princess shouldn’t be nervous, but I can’t help but feel nervous anyway.

A figure, arms flailing madly, falls into view around the curve in the road. A skinny, desperate-looking man—probably younger than me, maybe a few years older—is in it. He looks terrified, and his clothing is ripped.

“Help!” he cries out, his voice quivering. “I beg you! She is quite sick, my sister. I require medication, nourishment, anything!”

My chest aches. Remembering how swiftly my own family was consumed by this disease, I can’t help but feel some pity. While looking at my friends, I bring Lilwen to a halt. Firmly, I urge, “We must aid him.”

Moira sees narrowed eyes. “Bridget, we have no way of knowing if he is being truthful. Right now, people will steal or lie to get by. Right now, we don’t have much.”

Conflicted between being careful and wanting to help, I chew on my lip. With tears welling up in his eyes, the man falls to his knees. “Please. I beg you.”

Moira warned me not to, but I just can’t leave. “Let’s at least see if we can spare something,” I say firmly. Nora gives Eamon a wary look, but I can detect a hint of empathy on her face. Eamon raises his head and surveys his surroundings, trying to identify any potential dangers. He then gives a subtle nod.

After that, we leave the main road and follow the man into a little forest. According to him, his sister is hiding out in the thicket. However, Moira whispers, “I have a bad feeling about this...” as soon as we’re beneath the canopy.

Shadows moving amid the branches make my heart race; there must be more than one set of eyes observing us. Three unkempt men emerge from the shadows, wielding clubs and knives, just as I am about to speak. With a sinister smirk on his face, the man who had pleaded for our assistance quickly dashes away from us.

“Give us your coins and supplies, or we’ll make you pay for it with your bodies,” one of the men says with a low, threatening shout.

My stomach knots up with fear. Almost losing our supply bag, Nora stutters backward and cries out a little. I look over at Moira, and her wrath at being proven right is visible in her flaming eyes.

Eamon effortlessly draws his blade. He yells out, “Stay behind me,” as he steps in between the assailants and us. He charges forward, wielding the blade with the agility of an experienced protector. The initial assailant charges at him brandishing a knife, but Eamon skillfully redirects the blow and smashes his pommel against the man’s jaw.

As the second assailant attempts to sneak up on Eamon from behind, Moira swiftly seizes a branch that has fallen to the ground and smashes it across his shoulder. Cursing, he stumbles. Eamon spins around and slashes in the air, sending the assailant reeling.

My heart is pounding so rapidly that I cannot breathe, and I stand motionless for a beat. Afterwards, I push Nora to remain nearby and snap out of it. We cling to the horse’s reins, crossing our fingers that Lilwen won’t be scared.

Eamon outpaces the third man, who is circling with his gaze fixed on me. As a warning, he swings his sword, almost touching the thief’s chest with the tip. “Don’t,” he says with an icy tone. The guy pauses for a while, reconsiders, and then dashes off into the forest. Effortlessly carrying their fallen comrade, the others swiftly follow behind him.

The attempted ambush ends in a matter of seconds. My heart is thumping, and the echo of cries is filling my ears. With heavy breaths, Eamon brings his blade down. I can’t tell whose blood is on the blade—a streak here, a streak there.

Nora whimpers, her hand pressed to her mouth. “My God... I knew times were desperate, but...”

Following the fleeing assailants, Moira glares at them. “This is the result of living in a land where fear and death are commonplace. It’s a crisis for everyone.” With her former confidence dwindling, she nervously wipes her brow.

A mix of shame and relief knots in my chest, and I swallow with force. “I—I just wanted to help,” I whisper, voice unsteady.

After Eamon wipes the grass off his sword, he puts it back in its sheath. “We understand, my lady. But from now on, we must be more careful.”

A heavy silence hangs between us. The sun peeks through the trees, illuminating us with a sardonic light that serves as a constant reminder of the danger that lurks around every corner, day or night. We swiftly make our way back to the main road, our hearts pounding and our nerves tingling. We all stare into space for a moment, contemplating the world as it has evolved and just how much farther we must go to find any shred of peace.