“For weeks on end. . .he was caged there without light or hope, like an animal. Each return to the light of day saw him more ill, and more distracted. But it never once brought him closer to submission. Towards the end, his feverish mental state had become so acute that our captors thought of sending him to an asylum. This, until it was learned that he had contracted the shakes*, which would sooner or later carry him off of their own accord.
*Ague.
“It is a wonder that he lived to see the escape, let alone survived our long flight across the countryside. What a bloody hell that was. Stealing food, horses when we could get them, riding or walking the endless miles by night, hiding out like thieves and murderers by day. All in the land of our birth, and the home that we had fought for. After what we had already been through, I don’t know how he endured it. I, at least, had thoughts of you, though I had lost all hope of your love. He had nothing but fever and chills, and a strength that grew less each day.”
“My God. Michael. Did he know about the letter, the one you thought I wrote?”
“Yes, love. We’d been together through so much, and were now thrown into such a desperate pass..... There could be no secrets between us. But he loved you, as cousin and friend, and never held it against you.”
“Then he died thinking. . .that I was in love with those who did this to you. Oh, it is horrible.”
“Easy, lass. His pain is over.” Again they embraced, taking that last human comfort against young and tragic death. Then Michael began to pace again, both to warm himself, and to finish what he must say. For he, too, carried a burden of guilt and remorse.
“As I said, it is a wonder that he survived it. But some last obsession drove him: whether hope or madness, I could never say. He was determined to return to the home of his fathers, and perform some last act of heroism.” He paused. “There is something else I haven’t told you. Something very painful to me.”
“What is it, Michael?”
He could not face her, as if she were some part of himself which he had shamed. And the look of self-reproach that she had long known in him, returned with a force she had not yet seen.