The Law of Dreams by Peter Behrens Page B

still don’t know. Seeing that Brown
     Bess gun of his gave me the notion for shaping the boys into a band of ribbonmen,
     outlaws. Rebels.
    â€œBecause my gentleman always said there was plenty of food only it
     isn’t in the towns, the strong farmers have it. The farmers are holding it for
     themselves and selling dear. Anyone could see the carts and wagons lined up on the quays
     in Limerick, stuffed with food — butter, honey, bacon — and the cattle and
     sheep, everything going onto the ships, sold away to England.
    â€œEveryone who couldn’t afford a passage was dying in Limerick
     that week, so I made up my mind we should all leave the town and go outlawing and find
     some of that food my old fellow was talking about. I organized the boys, and found
     rations for the road, and Shamie come along with his little Mary, wearing a cloak over
     his uniform, with one of the boys carrying his musket.
    â€œShamie hates the road. He don’t have the outlaw heart. He is
     a coward. You can’t live on boiled nettles forever.” Stopping, she turned
     and looked back in the direction of the farm. “The food is there, Fergus. I know
     it is. You know it. Butter. Honey. A fletch of bacon. What right have they, those
     farmers? Who gave them the land? Vengeance is due, Fergus. That’s why you’ve
     come among us.”
    Vengeance? Fergus looked back at the mountain. Considered from a distance,
     it seemed small enough. There was the sky he had lived under all his life. It was hard
     to believe that the mountain had contained his life and the lives of everyone he had
     known.
    â€œDon’t you think, after all they have done, Fergus, that they
     deserve to pay?”
    â€œThey won’t give up anything. They’ll fight.”
    â€œThe Bog Boys would rather die in a fight than in a ditch,
     Fergus.”

The Oath
    THE BOG BOYS SPENT the next few days searching for birds’ eggs and beating through the gorse, trying to flush another hare. To Fergus’s surprise, Luke did not mention raiding the farm to any of the others, and Fergus did not raise the subject, grateful to let it lie, hoping Luke would forget it. He had found a wooden handle from a turf cutter’s spade and was making a lister, a fish spear, honing the tip to a sharp point and notching teeth in the shaft.
    While he worked on the lister, Luke gathered charlock and other herbs.
    Shamie amused himself by placing shots very near the little boys beating the gorse, who screamed with laughter as the bullets snapped by them.
    â€œHe is a fool,” Fergus said angrily to Luke.
    â€œDon’t mind him. Shamie is careful.”
    â€œHe’s wasting powder.”
    â€œPractice is good for him.”
    When Johnny Grace, one of the Bog Boys, flushed a hare, Shamie killed it on the run and they carried it back to camp in triumph, Johnny Grace walking at the head of the column with the dead hare on his back.
    It was quickly peeled and cut up, the meat added to the stirabout. While the kettle simmered, Luke and Fergus sat puffing their pipes.
    â€œIt’s time you had the oath,” Luke said suddenly. She looked around at the others. “What do you say, men? Shall we oath Fergus in?”
    â€œNo, no — not yet,” Shamie warned. “You watch that fellow, Luke — he’s not one of us. Let him put some meat in the pot before you oath him.”
    â€œNo, it’s time,” Luke decided. She stood up. “Give me your hand, Fergus.”
    The small boys gathered around eagerly, as if the oath had a scent that tantalized them. Licking their fingers, they stared wide-eyed from Luke to Fergus.
    â€œRepeat after me,” Luke began. “I swear to defend the queen —”
    â€œI swear to defend the queen —”
    â€œâ€” and true religion lost at Reformation.”
    â€œâ€” and true religion lost at Reformation.”
    â€œI am bound to rebellion for