The Revenge

“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.” ~ Confucius.

Beneath the thick canopy of ancient trees, shadows danced on the forest floor. The air was heavy with the scent of pine and moss, and the silence was broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the huffs of the horses. In this secluded grove, two figures stood facing each other, their breaths visible in the chilly air.

One of them, cloaked in a dark, hooded robe, bore a mysterious scar that ran from their temple down to the corner of their lips—a stark reminder of an old betrayal. The other, a person of noble bearing, gazed back with a mixture of determination and resignation.

“This union,” the noble began, “was meant to bind our families and end the feud that has plagued us for generations.”

The scarred one let out a bitter laugh, their eyes glinting with a vengeful fire. “An arranged marriage to solve your father’s mistakes? Do you genuinely believe a piece of parchment can erase the blood spilled?”

The noble took a step forward, their voice softening. “I don't seek to erase the past, but to forge a path forward. Together, we can bring peace to our people. This feud between us must end Roibeard O’Hanlon.”

Silence stretched between them, the weight of history pressing down. Roibeard turned away, fingers brushing the rough bark of a nearby tree as if seeking solace in its ancient strength. His right hand felt the hilt of his sword.

“You know Roden Ua Deághaidh, I am not seeking revenge. I am seeking justice.” 

Roibeard replied. “My son will not marry your daughter. The feud will end  when  justice is served.” 

“With my death?” Roden asked. 

“No, Roden, with mine.”

 Then with a benevolent gesture he said “Ho! young Roden, the stories you were told, and the feuds of our families are written on my face. But you cannot read them” Roibeard said. “Has no one ever told you how I got this scar?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “It is about time for you to learn this story before you come up with more crazy ideas like the proposal to marry our children.” 

Roden dismounted his horse and dispatched his servants and guards. Suddenly, the sombre look on Roibeard’s face relaxed, seeing that the young noble was willing to risk his safety to achieve peace between their families. 

Since the death of Roden’s father and subsequent seclusion of his mother in the convent of  Saint Benignus of Armagh, Roden had been on a quest to find peace between the neighbouring clans. He had made a promise to his mother before she entered the convent to reach out to Roibeard with a peace proposal and the willingness to share the wealth of the valley. Roden had also included a marriage proposal between his daughter and Roibeard’s son, thinking it could be a way to ensure a successful peace. 

“Roden, our children cannot marry each other.” Roibeard said. “The story of my scar began here in this old grow. I was in love with a woman. Because neither of us were free we saw each other in the forest. One day we were betrayed and her husband found us, right there between those trees” Roibeard pointed to two old oaks near by. “I barely survived the attack, this scar” he said touching his face, “is one of the memories of that encounter the other… the other is you. Your daughter is my granddaughter, my son’s niece.”

“Now you know, my revenge happened thirty years ago, young Roden. I am dying, my time has arrived. The justice I was seeking was to have access to the water in the valley and you have agreed to it. I am at peace” Roibeard concluded. 

Roden barely recovering from his surprise asked, “did my father ever know?”

Roibeard shrugged his shoulders, and mounted his horse responding, “I don’t know.” Then muttered almost inaudibly…“Your mother did.”

…

All of a sudden, the door of the bedroom popped open. It was Maureen with an expression of disapproval painted on her face. Without waiting for a reaction, she asked Jack stop reading stories like that. Jack responded “It’s a story of early Irish lords! Didn’t you know Peterborough was founded by Irish immigrants? Besides, the stories are not scarier than those video games the kids play everyday." 

Maureen countered “Perhaps,  and since you are into -did you knows-. Did you know? this month is “Black History Month. And did you know? he is not an Irish descendant, and by the way you aren’t either . Did you also know that Peterborough Public Library is celebrating February as Black History Month! and it has plenty of books and short stories about our ancestors. By the way not one of the Irish Peterborough founders were nobility.” 

Maureen ended her interruption and left. Jack promised his young listener, who was giggling about the scolding his mother had just given to his step father, that the following evening he was going to tell him a story to commemorate “Black History Month.”