"Eamon, you have to learn your letters!" Catriona knelt on the floor beside Eamon. "You'll never make anything of yourself."

"What if I don't want to make anything of myself?" Eamon frowned at the page in front of him.

"Then that's just too bad, it is," Catriona's lips curled up. "Your parents had high hopes for you. You'd not be wanting to let them down, would you?"

"No." Eamon stabbed a finger at a word. "That says potato."

"Good!" Catriona pointed out another word. "And that?"

"Tenant."

"Very good. That's enough for today. Go out and play." Catriona took the paper and put it away carefully.

Eamon was gone before she could say anything else, running out the door where the moors awaited. He rushed over the hills to the house of a friend. "Tadhg! Tadgh!" He yelled. "I'm here!"

A blonde boy came out of the cottage to meet him, brandishing a stick. "It's been near ten minutes I've been waiting, Eamon!" He complained.

"T'wasn't my fault!" Eamon pouted, saluting Tadhg with a stick of his own. "Are we off to the wars, then?"

"Aye. Oh...I've forgotten our rations." Tadgh rushed back into the house and reappeared with a bundle. "We're on half rations: a forced march, Eamon."

"We'll make the best of it," Eamon said staunchly. "Come, Tadgh, we'll be back soon enough." The two boys fell in step with each other, carrying their sticks over their shoulders.

"T'would be so much better if we'd a piper with us," Tadgh said after a while. "We're out of step."

Eamon scoffed. "We've no need of a piper when we've our voices," he said contemptuously. "Sing out, lads!" He called, beginning a song. Tadgh joined in and the two boys' voices rose into the air.

Óró, sé do bheatha bhaile

óró, sé do bheatha bhaile

óró, sé do bheatha bhaile

anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh.

'Sé do bheatha, a bhean ba léanmhar

do bé ár gcreach tú bheith i ngéibhinn

do dhúiche bhreá i seilbh meirleach

's tú díolta leis na Gallaibh.

"Bí ciúin!" Eamon commanded, breaking off in the middle of a chorus. "D'you hear the hooves?"

"Aye," Tadgh breathed. "It'll be the British for sure! Take cover, lads!" Both boys dove under a thin covering of shrubs and waited breathlessly as the hoofbeats drew nearer.

"Ready?" Eamon put his stick over one shoulder as if it were a musket. "Hold until I give the word." Tadgh mimicked Eamon's actions, positioning his own stick.

"Wait...wait..." Eamon closed one eye and squinted down the stick. A horse's legs cantered by and Eamon huffed in surprise. "I buachaill! A boy!" He whispered in disbelief. "We can't shoot a boy, Tadgh!"

"No, we can't," Tadgh agreed. "And he's gone by now, anyway. What if..." His eyes widened. "What if he's a British spy?"

"He'd not got on a red coat," Eamon frowned. "He was wearing a blue coat."

"Eedjit," Tadgh giggled. "A spy wouldn't be wearing a red coat!"

Eamon punched Tadgh in the shoulder. "I'm no eedjit. I'm your commanding officer!"

Tadgh exclaimed, "Ouch! And who said you were in charge?"

"I did," Eamon replied.

"Did I agree to that?"

"I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Sure, it matters to me!" Tadgh frowned.

Eamon was silent for a moment. "All right. I'll be in charge until noon, then you'll be in charge."

Tadgh shrugged. "That's good enough for me." A grin spread over his face.

Eamon and Tadgh emerged from the bushes. "I want his blue coat," Eamon muttered.

Tadgh brushed off his threadbare coat. "So do I. But wanting it won't get it."

Eamon scratched his head. "We could get it," he mused.

Tadgh wrinkled his nose. "Have you gone mad? We can't get that coat, Eamon."

He put his stick over his shoulder again and turned to walk away.

Eamon caught up to Tadgh and put a hand on his shoulder. "Who says we can't get it? There are two of us and one of him, Tadgh!"

Tadgh snorted. "Aye, two of us and only the one coat. Forget it, Eamon." He looked his friend in the eye. "It's not worth the risk."

"Risk!" Eamon exploded. "There is no risk! He's a skinny, British-loving boy!"

Tadgh took a step back, eyeing Eamon cautiously. "Not just the risk from him, Eamon. From other people."

Eamon rubbed his chin. "We'll hide in the bushes again," he decided. "Then surprise him."

Tadgh sighed. "Eamon, that's a bad idea. If you're caught..."

Eamon was already under the bushes. "Just get under here!"

Tadgh sighed again, glanced around, and wriggled back under the bushes. "It's grateful you should be that I'm sticking with you," he grumbled, brushing twigs out of his hair.

Eamon rolled his eyes. "Oh, bí ciúin, Tadgh." The two boys sat in silence for a time until they heard the sound of hooves again.

"You take one side, I'll take the other," Eamon ordered, his breathing quickening. "Spring out and yell."

"Eamon..." Tadgh groaned. "I don't think-"

"Hush!" Eamon ordered, tensing his muscles. "Come, come to me," he murmured. "Now!" The boys exploded from the bushes, yelling high in their throats. The horse reared and Eamon grabbed the reins. "Dismount," he called in a high, excited voice.

The boy in the blue coat frowned. "I will not!" He cried, raising a riding crop. He swung it at Eamon, who grabbed the crop in midair and wrenched it away from the boy.

"Dismount," Eamon said calmly. He waited for a moment, then nodded across the horse's back to Tadgh. Tadgh grabbed the boy's foot from the stirrup and shoved. At the same time, Eamon grabbed the boy's other foot and pulled.

The boy squawked in fright, grabbing for his horse's mane. He tumbled onto the dirt road and sprang up, fists clenched tightly. "You...you dogs!"

Eamon glared at him. "A dog, am I? So that's why you tried to strike me." He leaned forward. "Dogs don't talk, and they don't hit back. For sure, they can bite, but they can't do this." He swung the crop at the other boy's face. The boy stumbled back with a cry, putting a hand to his face.

"Eamon!" Tadgh gasped, mouth wide in horror. "Stop!"

Eamon struck the boy twice more and stood with his legs spread wide, nostrils flared. "We are not dogs."

The boy sniffed and wiped a hand across his face. He flinched as Eamon walked forward. "Give me your coat," Eamon ordered.

"No!" The boy pulled the coat tighter around his body.

Eamon lowered his voice. "I'll be taking it, then." He paused, then sprang at the boy, knocking him to the ground.

The boys rolled in the dirt, Tadgh looking on anxiously. The boy defended himself well, but Eamon and the riding crop triumphed in the end. He tore the coat off the boy and stood panting victoriously, blood oozing from a cut on his cheek.

"Eamon! Eamon!" Tadgh was calling repeatedly. "There's someone coming!" The blond boy looked panicked. He fidgeted, then dropped the reins and dashed off.

The boy hastily mounted his horse and threw a venomous glance at Eamon. He rode up to the approaching riders, calling loudly for help.

Eamon stood dumbfounded as the riders approached. He suddenly came to life, forcing his legs into motion.

Run, Eamon!

***

Translation of the song Eamon and Tadhg sing:

Oh-ro You're welcome home,
Oh-ro You're welcome home,
Oh-ro You're welcome home...
Now that summer's coming!

Welcome oh woman who was so afflicted,
It was our ruin that you were in bondage,
Our fine land in the possession of thieves...
And you sold to the foreigners!