AT ASKEATON.
I was never one to whom it is easy to sit still with folded hands,
still less the man to muse darkly for long over the chances and
mischances of war. Mine certainly was it not to consider and to see
the end of a thing even from its beginning; the hour and its work were
enough for me. Scarcely, then, were we come back but I burned to be
again on the water with the deck of _The Cross of Blood_ beneath my
feet, and rejoice did I exceedingly when my mistress told me what her
purpose now was, and bade me get the three galleys ready for sea.
She was resolved to put her whole fortune on the hazard, and to employ
her entire strength in the struggle, and, at the same time, to get what
aid she could from others.
Thus, undeterred by our encounter with the English ship-of-war--from
which we had so hardly emerged--nay, rather made the more determined
by it, she had sent messengers, fleet of foot and strong, to Richard
Burke, the very day we had arrived at Carrickahooley, inviting him to
come to her with his best and his bravest, and, if he would serve her,
as he had professed himself ready, to tarry not by the way.
I was nowise in doubt as to what the answer of the MacWilliam would
be. Not only was he committed as much as we ourselves to the contest
against the Governor, but he had promised to support Grace O’Malley in
any manner she might desire; nor could I imagine anything that would
give him a keener pleasure than to comply with her request.
Two or three weeks passed, however, before he appeared at the castle,
but when he did come it was at the head of a picked company of his
gallowglasses, two hundred strong.
In the battles and fights of the previous year our force had been
reduced by perhaps a third, and our numbers had been still further
lessened in the bloody engagement with _The Star of the Sea_. Welcome,
then, were these stalwart Burkes of Mayo. True, they were unused to the
sea, but it was my mistress’s intention that we should all land, and
hold ourselves at the disposal of the Earl of Desmond.
“If need be,” said she, discussing her plans with Richard Burke and me,
“I will burn the galleys behind me.”
Whether I fought on the sea or on shore was a matter of indifference
to me; but I could not hear her say this without a pang, although I
recognised to the full the spirit which inspired the words.
“There will be no necessity for that,” said de Vilela, who was present,
smiling, “for the ships of my master, the King of Spain, will sweep the
sea clear of the English.”
It was the month of May, and the earth was arraying herself once again
in her garments of green, when we weighed out from the harbour of Clare
Island.
At first, the weather being unsettled, we made but slow progress;
however, on the night of the second day of our voyage a fair wind
sprang up, and on the fourth day we were in the Shannon, going up with
the tide, under a blue sky warm with the promise of summer. Casting
anchor between the Island of Aughinish and the mainland for the night,
I went ashore to see if I could hear any tidings of Desmond, or if
anything was known of the expected ships from Spain.
The sight of the three galleys had drawn a number of the peasants to
the bank of the river, and, when I had dispelled their fears of us, I
found that they were willing enough to talk. Howbeit, they could tell
us nothing of Desmond, nor had they any word of the Spanish ships.
When I had repeated this to my mistress on my return, she asked me to
go next day to Askeaton, and to inform the Earl, if he were there at
his fortress, that she was on her way to him, but if he were absent to
ascertain where he was. Accordingly I proceeded in _The Cross of Blood_
to the bay into which flows the stream on which the castle stands, and
arrived at my destination.
As I was already well known at Askeaton I was admitted within the
gate without demur, and almost the first man I met was Fitzgerald,
who greeted me with much warmth. But I had not conversed with him
long before I perceived that he did not seem to be in his accustomed
spirits, and when I told him that my mistress, Eva O’Malley, Richard
Burke, and de Vilela were no great distance away, he appeared to be
somewhat distressed.
“Is Garrett Desmond here?” I asked, and the usually frank expression of
his face was instantly clouded over.
“He is expected back at the castle to-morrow,” he replied. Then as I
looked hard at him, waiting to hear more, he broke out--
“Desmond went to Limerick yesterday in attendance on the President of
Munster.”
“The President of Munster!” I exclaimed. Then I stopped in the
courtyard, put my hand on his arm, and gazing earnestly at him, asked,
“What is the meaning of this?”
The President of Munster was the English Governor of all this part of
Ireland, and I could not but think this was a strange piece of news.
That he and the Earl of Desmond should be together, evidently on terms
of friendship, boded no good to Grace O’Malley, or to myself, or to our
cause.
“O,” said Fitzgerald testily, “the explanation is simple. The
country is excited over the prospect of the coming of ships from
Spain, and the President rode over from Limerick to Askeaton to see
Desmond--ostensibly on a visit merely of courtesy, but in reality to
spy out what was going on here. I would not have suffered him to enter
the castle had I been Desmond, but Desmond thought otherwise, saying
the time was not yet ripe.”
This was plausible, but did not account, I thought, for the moody looks
of Fitzgerald. There was something behind all this, but I did not press
him further, save to inquire--
“What is to prevent the President from seizing Desmond, and thrusting
him into prison at Limerick?”
“He has a strong guard,” said he, “and the President has very few
soldiers in Limerick. Besides, he feels confident that Desmond will be
true to the English.”
“Has Desmond given him any pledge of good faith?”
“No. He places his trust in Desmond too fully for that.”
When I thought over what I had been told, it seemed probable enough
that the Earl concealed his real intentions under the mask of a
pretended loyalty to the Queen, and would do so perhaps until the time,
as he said, was ripe. Yet the uneasiness I always felt with respect to
him increased in spite of this supposition.
Then it occurred to me that perchance Fitzgerald, now that he had
had time to become better acquainted with his cousin, was not more
satisfied with him than I, and that this was the reason for his change
of aspect.
However, when I met the Earl next morning, my suspicions and fears
melted away before the cordiality with which he received me. And when
I told him that my mistress was in the vicinity, he declared that there
was nothing he desired more in all the world than to see her.
“The President of Munster,” said he, “has just gone back to Limerick
from here, and for a time at least we will be free from his spying on
us. Nothing could have fallen out better,” he continued, rubbing his
hands together like one who was greatly pleased, “so tell your mistress
to make haste and come.”
Likewise his Countess, who was with him, bade me say to Grace O’Malley
that she was welcome to Askeaton.
When I returned to my mistress, I repeated to her the messages; but I
thought it right to tell her also that Desmond had been entertaining
the President of Munster. As I dwelt upon this matter, and remembered
Fitzgerald’s manner, something seemed to knock at my heart, and my
suspicions sprang up anew.
“He finds it needful,” said Grace O’Malley, thinking of Desmond, “to
wear a double face as affairs stand at present, but when the Spaniards
arrive he will come forward without disguise as our leader.”
And, in truth, when we were come to Askeaton, both the Earl and his
Countess made so much of my mistress that I felt a sort of shame that I
had ever had any distrust of him.
Great entertainments were given in her honour, all the noblemen and
gentlemen of Desmond’s household vying with each other in paying her
court, while the Earl himself seemed never to be able to see enough
of her. Indeed, he showed her so much attention that it soon became
apparent that she occupied a large part in his thoughts--so much was
this the case that Richard Burke grew very jealous of him, nor did the
Countess of Desmond regard the matter without displeasure.
Meanwhile the time was slipping by. Our galleys lay in the stream, and
though I visited them frequently to make sure that they were safe,
I could not but be aware that it was no good thing that they should
be there, tied up in the Shannon, within easy reach of any English
man-of-war that might ascend the river.
They were concealed, however, from view; but there was ever the fear in
my mind that a rumour of our being at Askeaton would be bruited abroad,
and come to the ears of the English. All the Burkes, and a considerable
portion of our own O’Malleys, had been withdrawn from our vessels, and
the force left upon them could scarcely be reckoned as formidable.
Another cause for uneasiness was that nothing more was heard of the
landing of the Spaniards. I had many conversations with de Vilela, who
was certain of their coming, but who knew the time of it no more than
myself. He did not exhibit the impatience which possessed me, but in
his heart I doubt not he longed for action as ardently as did I.
Of Fitzgerald I saw very little, for two days after the arrival of my
mistress at Askeaton he rode over to Limerick, and there remained.
When I spoke of him to de Vilela, he said he had heard that Fitzgerald
was madly in love with a lady who was staying in that city, and that
that probably accounted for his being there. Knowing what Fitzgerald’s
disposition was, I could not forbear smiling, and now fancied that I
had discovered the cause of his want of spirits in that he had not been
very successful in his wooing.
I thought no more of him or of his affairs, little dreaming who the
lady was, until the mention of her name one day filled me with lively
feelings of astonishment and vexation, and, as I pondered this new and
perplexing turn of events, with something close akin to terror.
It so happened that I was talking and jesting with one of the
Geraldines, when the conversation came round to Sir Nicholas Malby, and
the iron rule he had imposed on Galway and a large part of Connaught.
“Grace O’Malley,” said he, “was more than a match for him.”
“Sir Nicholas,” said I, “is the best soldier the English have in
Ireland, and if he did not prevail against my mistress, it was rather
because he underrated her strength and her prowess, than from any other
reason. He esteemed her as no more than a feeble woman, and so was
deceived.”
“By the way,” asked he, “are you well acquainted with Galway?”
“Yes--well enough,” replied I, somewhat crisply.
“And do you know the Mayor of the town, one Stephen Lynch?”
“Yes,” I assented, wondering.
“A great merchant?” he inquired.
“The richest in Galway, perhaps in Ireland,” I answered.
“With a daughter, an only child, who will inherit his whole wealth?”
“Yes,” said I, wondering still more.
“Mistress Sabina Lynch?”
“The same,” said I; “but why do you ask these questions?”
“The woman is beautiful, is she not?” he went on, without replying
immediately to my query.
“No doubt of that,” I replied.
“Rich and beautiful!” he exclaimed, and then he laughed very merrily.
“Tell me,” said I again, “why have you sought to know all this?”
“Ask Dermot Fitzgerald,” said he, and would say no more, but I
understood--all.
Dermot Fitzgerald was in love with Sabina Lynch! And she was in
Limerick, where were the President of Munster and his soldiers, and
Fitzgerald too! Here, indeed, was a pretty heap of faggots, and it was
my hand, as it were, that might have placed the fire beneath, and set
it in a blaze!
I saw at a glance how easy it would be for Fitzgerald, without
intending in any way to do mischief or to betray us to the English, to
let drop a word or a hint that might suggest to a quick-witted woman
to inquire further into his meaning, and that so dexterously as not to
excite in the least any alarm on his part.
And what might not be looked for when she learned that Grace O’Malley,
the woman she hated most, and Richard Burke, the man she loved best,
were together at Askeaton? And Fitzgerald was said to be madly in love
with her! He would therefore be as wax in her hands, and she could
mould him to her will as she pleased. Small wonder, then, that I was
disturbed, and felt that we were far from secure.
And now there fell out what, at the time, gave me the keenest
regret and even pain, though afterwards it proved to be of the most
inestimable service to us.
It had become very plain to anyone who gave it the slightest thought,
or, indeed, to anyone who used his eyes, that Desmond was infatuated
with my mistress. Every moment that he could find was spent in her
society, to the neglect of other matters, however important they were.
Before he had seen her he had been fascinated by what I had told him of
her and her deeds; now that he saw her for himself, and marked how like
a queen she was, he was as one bound hand and foot before her.
Grace O’Malley had a great power over men when she chose to exercise
it; and now, on her side, she appeared not only to encourage him, but
also to be bent upon his complete subjugation.
I marvelled at her, yet assured myself that she could have no love
for the man, but that, perceiving the weakness of his character, she
took this course in order to make certain of his firm adhesion to our
cause. But it was a course full of danger, for the strength of the
passion of a man, even of a weak man, is no more to be reckoned up and
measured than is the force of a mighty tempest, beginning in a breath
and dying out in ruin.
Desmond’s countess grew pale and silent, and I noted that the furtive
glances she stole at my mistress were touched at first with dismay,
then with anger. She must have known the kind of stuff of which her
husband was made, but her rage, as might be seen, was directed wholly
against my mistress. I felt a sort of compunction, and sometimes wished
that we had never come to Askeaton at all.
And this wish was made much stronger, for Richard Burke, who bore and
endured for awhile the utmost torture when he saw how matters stood
between Grace O’Malley and the Earl, told me that he could suffer to
see it no longer, and so was determined to speak to her and remonstrate
with her.
What passed between them I do not know, but it was of such a nature
that the MacWilliam shortly afterwards withdrew in high dudgeon from
the castle with all his men.
I attempted to restrain him from going, but in vain. He admitted that
he had received no promise from Grace O’Malley of her hand, but as she
had not repulsed him utterly when he had preferred his suit to her, and
had come to Kerry at her request, he had hoped that the matter was in a
fair way to be settled as he desired. Now, he said, she had no thought
of him, her whole mind being taken up with Desmond.
I endeavoured to gainsay this, but without success, and I had
sorrowfully to witness the departure of the Burkes from Askeaton. I
so far prevailed upon him, however, that he agreed to stay in the
district, and, having obtained permission from the Earl, he pitched his
camp a few miles away in the woods.
Richard Burke’s troubles made me think of my own love affairs, which
were in the same position as before, for, albeit, I had a secret,
satisfying conviction that Eva O’Malley had no special regard for de
Vilela, I still adhered to my resolution not even to appear to come
between them. Wherein, perhaps, in my stupid pride, I did my dear, to
say nothing of myself, a great injustice, for she might have supposed
that I cared for nothing but the fierce, mad joy of battle. But never
loved I anyone save her alone.
It was on the second or third day after Richard Burke had left us that
the arrival of the messengers from the President of Munster with a
letter for Desmond threw me into a state of great concern. And when I
knew what the tenor of that letter was, I was disquieted the more, for
I could but conclude that what I had dreaded would happen with respect
to the intimacy of Sabina Lynch and Fitzgerald had indeed come to pass.
The Earl received the President’s messengers with some state, several
of his gentlemen and myself being with him.
As he read the letter they presented to him, he was evidently
disconcerted by its contents, looking now at it, now at the
messengers; but when he had perused it a second time, he laughed
strangely, and said he would give no answer at once, but would consider
what was to be done.
In the evening, when we were all together in the great hall of the
castle, my mistress also being of the company, he was in a boisterous
humour, and bade his harpers sing of the glories of the house of
Desmond. He sat beside Grace O’Malley, and I saw him, under cover of
the music, speaking to her very earnestly; and presently he called me
up to them.
“What think you, Ruari?” said my mistress, and her eyes danced and
smiled, “what think you, does the President of Munster ask from the
Earl of Desmond?”
“What is his demand?” cried I.
“Nothing less or more,” said she, and the laughter suddenly went out
of her face, “than that he should instantly deliver up a certain Grace
O’Malley, as a notable traitress to the Queen and a spoiler of ships,
at present lodged in his castle of Askeaton, and should forthwith cause
her to be conveyed to him at the city of Limerick, to be there dealt
with according to her deserts and the pleasure of her Highness. What
think ye of that?”
“What says the Earl of Desmond?” cried I.
“What, indeed!” said she, answering for him, and turning to him with a
smile.
“Ay--what, indeed!” said he, meeting her look, and smiling back at her.
At that instant there was a commotion at the further end of the hall,
and there entered a man, with his garments stained with travel and
befouled with mire.
As soon as de Vilela saw him he sprang forward with a great cry of
delight, and, careless of us all, embraced him, while a sort of silence
came upon us, and the bards ceased their singing; but the whisper soon
and quickly ran among us that the Spaniards at last were come.