Conor Dillon – Beginnings Excerpt 14
My Mother thanked them both, for their assistance in making a man out of her boy. She asked to be excused for a moment, then returned with my Father’s sword, which she told me to wear with pride and make her proud of me! She took a ring off her finger and placed it in my hand saying, ‘Wear this on a cord around your neck, when you meet your true Father, give him this and a letter which I will give you, both will identify you to him, and prove your true status.’
I was almost in tears, I knew this was goodbye, my boyhood was over, from now on I would be expected to think and behave like a man, was I up to the task?. ‘In the stable,’ said my Mother,’ You will find three good horses, each with a musket and two pistols, you may not need them, but better safe than sorry.’
‘Three horses?’ I queried, ‘I knew Michael was going with me, he was the only one who could identify the man, supposedly a Dillon, who had paid him to assassinate my Father. ‘To be sure!’ piped up Shamus, ‘You don’t think I’d trust you two to find Europe without me guiding you, do you?’
The boy, Conor, with exercise and training had now grown in to a man. He was tall, straight and although he would probably cringe at the thought, he had grown in to a handsome youth, he had florid red hair, green eyes and a few freckles which I suppose denoted his youth.
He may look youthful, but he was a man in every sense of the word, and definitely not a man to be underestimated. He was deadly with musket or pistols, an accomplished swordsman and deadly with a throwing knife.
And most unusual for a gentleman, for that was how he would be classed. He could hold his own in a rough and tumble. He was quite handy with his fists and knew lots of dubious tricks thanks to the teaching of his compatriots, Black Michael and Shamus.
(C) Damian Grange 2018