The Forgotten Holocaust

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It had been raining all morning, but now the sun shone brightly over the fields. Other than the gentle breeze that rustled the crops, all was still and silent. Beyond the rickety wooden fence, the country road was empty, except for two men approaching on horseback.

Any local observing the pair of riders would have been able to tell at a glance that they weren’t simple peasants. They made an odd couple. The younger of the two was a tall, broad, self-assured man with a certain air, whose high-bred chestnut hunter was worth far more than any Irish farmer could have afforded — the Penal Laws had made it illegal for many years for an Irish Catholic to own a horse worth over £5. His older companion, a smaller, much slighter bespectacled fellow jolting uncomfortably along beside him astride a bay mare, had the look of a parson or a schoolmaster, and certainly not one from these parts.

What no observer could have guessed, though, was the deadly secret nature and equally deadly purpose of their mission. A mission that had taken many months to engineer, and was now about to become complete.

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