NEW FRIENDS
Sisters, I from Ireland came.
COLERIDGE.
The duke, immediately on his arrival at the Castle of Buttevant,
despatched Hubert Burgh to the prior of Kilmainham, with a message from
himself and a token from Lord Barry, announcing his intention of
visiting him at the abbey the next day. But Keating feared thus to draw
the eyes of some enemy upon him, and appointed a meeting in a secluded
dell, near the bank of the Mullagh, or Awbeg, the river which Spenser
loves to praise. Early in the morning Richard repaired alone to this
rural presence-chamber, and found Keating already there. Hearing of the
priest's haughty pride, Richard, with a sensation of disgust, had
figured a man something like the wretched Trangmar, strong of limb, and
with a ferocious expression of countenance. Keating appeared in his
monk's humble guise; his light eyes were still lively, though his hair
and beard were snowy white; his brow was deeply delved by a thousand
lines; his person short, slender, bent; his step infirm; his voice was
silver-toned; he was pale, and his aspect in its lower part sweetly
serene. Richard looked with wonder on this white, withered leaf--a
comparison suggested by his frail tenuity; and again he almost quailed
before the eager scrutiny of the prior's eye. A merchant at a Moorish
mart he had seen thus scan a slave he was about to purchase. At length,
with a look of great satisfaction, the monk said, "This fits exactly;
our friends will not hesitate to serve so goodly a gentleman. The
daughter of York might in sooth mistake thee for a near kinsman. Thou
comest from Portugal, yet that could not have been thy native place?"
Richard started. This was the first time he had heard an expression of
doubt of his veracity. How could he reply? His word alone must support
his honour; his sword must remain sheathed, for his injurer was a
priest. Keating caught his haughty glance, and perceived his mistake. It
was with an effort that he altered his manner, for he exchanged with
pain a puppet subject to his will, for a man (prince or pretender) who
had objects and a state of his own to maintain. "Pardon the obscure
vision of an old man," he said; "my eyes were indeed dim not to see the
true marks of a Plantagenet in your appearance. I was but a boy when
your princely grandsire fell; nor has it been my fortune to visit
England or to see your royal father. But the duke of Clarence honoured
me with his friendship, and your cousin De la Poole acknowledged my zeal
in furthering his projects. I am now neither prior nor commander; but,
poor monk as I am become, I beseech your highness to command my
services."
This swift change of language but ill satisfied the pride of Richard,
and in reply, he briefly recounted such facts as established his right
to the name he claimed. The noble artlessness of his tone conquered the
priest's lurking suspicions: in a more earnest manner he besought the
duke's pardon; and a cordial intercourse was established between them.
The place where they met was secluded and wild; a bower of trees hid it
from the view of the river, and an abrupt rock sheltered it behind. It
was apparently accessible by the river only, and it was by its bank that
the duke and prior had arrived. Nothing could equal the picturesque
solitude around them. The waving of the leafy boughs, the scream of the
water-fowl, or the splashing they made as they sprung from among the
sedge and darted across the stream, alone interrupted the voiceless
calm; yet, at every moment, in his speech, Keating stopped, as if
listening, and cast his keen eyes, which he libelled much in calling
dim, up the steep crag, as if among its herbage and shrubs some dreaded
spy or expected messenger might appear. Then again he apologized to the
duke for having selected this wild spot for their interview. A price, he
observed, had been set upon his head, and his only safety lay in
perpetual watchfulness and never-sleeping caution. "My zeal in your
highness's cause," he added, with a courtier smile, "cannot be deemed a
strange frenzy, since your success will not only assure my restoration
to the dignity of which I have been unjustly deprived, but prevent an
old man from perpetually dreaming of the sword of the slayer, or the
more frightful executioner's axe."
Again the prior fixed his eyes on a fissure in the rock, adding, "I had
appointed to meet one in this place before your message was communicated
to me--and in good time; for, methinks, the object of your visit may be
furthered by the intelligence I hope soon to receive. Your highness must
have heard at Cork of the war carried on by the great earl of Desmond
and a native sept of this region. Macarthy, their chief, fell during the
struggle, but his successor and Tanist mustered his broken forces to
avenge him. The earl is impatient of this resistance, for his presence
is necessary in Thomond to drive the O'Carrols from that district. At
his invitation he and Macarthy meet this day to parley but a few miles
hence. I was to have made one among them, but a boding raven told me
that danger was abroad."
The tidings of the near presence of the earl of Desmond were unexpected,
and most welcome to the duke. He immediately resolved not to lose the
golden hour. He eagerly asked where the meeting was to be, and how
speedily he might reach the spot.
As he was thus earnestly expressing his desire, a slight rustling caught
the prior's ear: he looked up; a human form hovered as in mid-air,
scarcely, as it were, alighting on the precipitous rock; quickly, but
cautiously, it threaded its steep and tortuous path. A large mantle was
wrapt round the mountaineer, a large white kerchief enveloped the head
in the manner of a turban, yet the prince caught the outline of a female
figure, which soon descended to the little plain on which they stood,
and advanced towards them; she was evidently very young, but
weather-worn even in youth: her wild, picturesque dress concealed the
proportions of her form; her large white sleeves hid her arm, but the
emaciated appearance of her face and hands, and bare feet, struck
Richard with pity. She seemed astonished at seeing him, and spoke to his
companion in the language of the country, which he did not understand:
the prior's face darkened as she spoke: there dwelt on it a mixture of
disappointment and ferocity, of which it could hardly have been deemed
capable by one who had hitherto seen it only bland and smiling; swiftly,
however, he dismissed these indications of passion, and addressed the
prince calmly. "I cannot go," he said; "my time is still to be deferred,
though it shall not be for ever lost. How does your courage hold? if you
are not afraid of going alone with a guide whose very dialect is a
mystery to you, through a country torn by opposing factions; if you do
not fear presenting yourself friendless to a haughty noble, who deems
himself sovereign in this domain, I will contrive that, ere four hours
elapse, you shall find yourself in Desmond's presence."
"Fear!" the prince repeated. His eyes glanced with some contempt on the
priest's cowl, which alone could suggest pardon for such a thought; yet
he checked himself from any angry disclaiming of the accusation, as he
said, "Whatever in my presumption I may hope, sage forethought tells me
that I walk a road strewn with a thousand dangers, leading, it may be,
to an early death. Not for that will I deviate one furlong from my path.
Sir Prior, where is the guide you promise?"
Keating, after a few minutes' reflection, instead of replying, conversed
again with the girl, and then addressed the duke: "This hapless child is
a victim of the wars; she was born far hence, and is the last surviving
of my foster-sister's once blooming family. Her mother saved my life.
This child, barefoot as she is, guided me hither. Is not a Keating
fallen, when he cannot give succour to an offspring of his fosterer's
house? And she, poor girl! she has walked far for me to-day; but she
will not slacken in her toil when I bid her proceed. She shall be your
guide, and your grace may rely upon her; the dog you fed from its birth
were less faithful. Now, at the hour of noon, Desmond meets Macarthy of
Muskerry, on Ballahourah. But for the bogs and streams that cross your
path, it is not far; at the worst, you can reach Mallow, where the earl
will lie to-night. It is best not to delay; for, if there is peace in
Munster, very speedily Desmond will be on his way to Thomond."
This was a fresh spur to Richard. He accepted the proffered guide, who
listened attentively to Keating's instructions given in her native
tongue. He followed the girl but a short distance ere he looked back;
the prior was gone; the solitude of the wild crags and shrubs alone met
his eye. Meanwhile his companion stepped forward, motioning him to
follow. They plunged into the brake; the sun rose high; the birds winged
their glad flight among the trees. Now toiling up a steep, now wading a
stream, now entangled in a thicket, now stepping lightly over boggy
earth: now meditating on Andalusia, and now wondering at his present
position, Richard followed his swift and silent guide through the wild
country between Buttevant and Mallow.
Already the meeting between the earl of Desmond and Macarthy, the chief
of Muskerry, was at an end. They parted with fair words and exasperated
thoughts. The native lord could ill brook the settler's haughty
assumptions; nor Geraldine endure the obstinate pride of the conquered
native. Still their relative positions enforced a peace.
They had separated, and after a hasty repast, spread on the heathy side
of Ballahourah, the earl proceeded towards Mallow. He was surrounded by
warriors, who all claimed the Geraldine name, and who variously
distinguished themselves as the White Knight, the Knight of Kerry, and
the Knight of the Glen. There was Lord Fermoy, his father-in-law, and
others of the Roches. Nor did all the native chiefs absent themselves.
One sister of the earl had married Macarthy Reagh; another, an O'Brien,
whose daughter had intermarried with an O'Carrol--all this in defiance
of the English law, which forbade such alliances, through which, the
father of the present earl was beheaded in the year 1467. Their antique
costume, tight truise, saffron tunics, and flowing robes, distinguished
them from the Saxons; yet these had not followed the fashions of the
times, but dressed in the garb used by the courtiers of Edward the
Third.
Maurice, tenth earl of Desmond, was brave even to a proverb. He loved
war, and deemed himself rather king of Desmond, than a chief of English
descent. To extend and secure his possessions, rendering them at once
independent of his sovereign and of the native chieftains, was the aim
of his life. He now meditated the invasion of Thomond; but Macarthy's
angry demeanour showed that he must not be left unchecked in his rear.
"Where is my cousin Barry--where the lord of Buttevant--the chief of
the Barrymores? Flying before a slip of parchment indited in far London,
as if my sword held not better sway in these regions than a Parliament
attainder! Were he here, the O'Carrolls should hear the thunder of my
arms ere this moon waned. Muskerry could make no gathering in the vales,
while Barry sat on his perch at Buttevant."
The earl had time to waste in thought, as he was borne along--at the
age of fifteen, pushing rashly forward in an assault, he received a
wound in his leg, which lamed him for life, so that he was carried about
in a litter, and went by the name of Claudus; yet he was not deemed the
less an experienced and gallant warrior. With the virtues of a chieftain
he possessed the defects: Munster was his world; his universe was
peopled by the Geraldines, the Macarthys, the Barrys, Donegans,
Barrets, Roches, O'Briens, O'Carrolls, and the rest; he disdained his
noble brethren of the pale. He considered it a mark of distinction to be
exempted by a law from attendance of Parliament and the government of
the land; he saw in the king of England, not his monarch, but the
partizan of Ormond, and therefore an enemy. This, and an ancient
alliance, linked him to the cause of the English outcast prince, who
solicited his aid; he had replied favourably to his request; but his
interests and the conquest of a kingdom must be delayed, while he
subdued the half-naked septs who insulted his power.
While thus busied, reflecting upon the events of the day, the earl sat
silent and thoughtful. Suddenly, at a turn in the road, he called on his
followers to stop; his eye lighted up,--he saw two horsemen swiftly
approaching--Lord Barry was the foremost rider. Forgetting his lameness
in his joy, the noble warrior almost threw himself from the litter, as
he cried, "Jesu speed you, my loving cousin! spur on! spur on! remember
your badge, _Boutez en avant_! No enemy ever turned his back on your sword
to avoid, so eagerly as my arms will open to receive you! Were you
bound for Mallow?"
"No, my noble coz," replied Lord Barry, "I am for Kilnemullagh; an
eaglet I have nursed has winged its way thither, and I fear may suffer
injury in my absence; for he is young, and his pinions all untried."
"Leave him to his fate, my lord," said the earl; "if he be a faithful
bird he will find his way back to his fosterer; meanwhile the king of
eagles, thy cousin Desmond himself, has need of thee."
"One word, dear Maurice, will explain the greater duty that I owe my
princely fowl. The White Hose of England, missing him, loses all; you,
I, each, and every one of us, are his servants and must become his
soldiers."
"Cousin," replied Desmond, "one son of York made my father, whose soul
God assoilzie! Lord Deputy; another chopped off his head--so much for
the White Rose! Still I allow this new Lancastrian king is a bitterer
enemy: he is a friend of the Butlers, whom the fiend confound. We will
first subdue the O'Carrolls, humble the Macarthys, take Coollong from
Clan Cartie Reagh, and root out the Desies; and then, when we are kings
of Munster, in good hour let us march with your duke of York, and set
our foot on the necks of the Butlers in Dublin."
The earl spoke with rapidity and energy; all Munster spread before Lord
Barry's mind--city, town, stronghold, held by ancestral enemies; and it
was wonderful what a change was wrought in his mind by his cousin's
eloquence, and the names of all these sons of Erin, with each of whom he
had a mortal quarrel. He agreed, therefore, to go with the earl to
Mallow that evening, postponing his visit to Buttevant till the
following day.
Such were the wise counsels that stayed the mighty power Barry had
promised York should rise at his name to vanquish England. It was better
thus; so the royal boy thought himself, when, welcomed by Desmond at
Mallow, he looked round on kern and gallowglass, hearing a language that
was not English, viewing their strange attire and savage countenances.
"It is not thus, my England, that I will seize on you. Your own nobles
shall place the crown on my head; your people wield the sword that will
injure only our common enemy. Shall I make a Granada of my native land,
and shed Christian blood, better spilt in the cause of God against
infidel dogs?"
When the earl of Desmond found that the prince, whom he regretted to
receive with such cold hopes, was well content, nothing doubting that
the good-will of the English would prove a better ally than the spears
of the Irish, he conceived a sudden affection for him. It was no wonder;
for the ingenuousness of untarnished youth is ineffably winning; and
here it was added to a quick wit, a grace and gallantry, that shone as a
vision of light in this wild region.
A few days brought still greater satisfaction to all parties. An embassy
had arrived in Cork from the king of France to the duke of York to
invite him to Paris. Desmond would not relinquish his guest: he carried
him to his noble seat at Ardfinnin; and thither repaired in due time the
messengers from Charles the Eighth.
The chief of these was our old friend Frion, besides a Frenchman called
Lucas, and two Englishmen, Stephen Poytron and John Tiler. The duke was
not well pleased with the selection of Frion; but, while this man by his
singular arts of insinuation made good his cause, Barry showed how in
two points his cause was benefitted by him. First, that having been
secretary to Henry, he knew many secrets, and was acquainted with many
circumstances that might be turned to use; and, secondly, that his very
attempt to entrap the prince was a proof that he was fully aware of who
he was; that he would prove a useful link between Perkin Warbeck,
Richard Fitzroy, and the duke of York; that he need be no more trusted
than was deemed expedient; but that meanwhile it were good to entertain
him with fair words. Richard yielded; and Frion made good use of this
standing-room by which he meant to move the world. Master of the arts of
flattery, cunning and wise, he so ingratiated himself with the duke, and
afterwards with his other friends, that by degrees he was admitted to
their confidence; and at last succeeded in his chief wish, of becoming
follower, secretary, counsellor, he called himself friend, of the
English prince.
Urged by the earl of Desmond and Lord Barry, and sufficiently inclined
in his own mind, the duke accepted the French king's invitation, and
prepared to cross to France. On the very eve of his departure, he was
surprised by a visit from John O'Water, of Cork. This warm-hearted old
man had conceived a paternal love for the royal youth. He came to
recommend his return to Cork--his taking up a kind of regal residence
there--the not deserting a nook of his kingdom which acknowledged him.
He came too late:--already the prince was on board the vessel in
Youghall Harbour which was to convey him away. "One day you will return
to us, my lord," said O'Water; "a future day will afford us opportunity
to prove our zeal. I am old; I had given up public life: but I will take
to the oar again. John O'Water will once more be mayor of Cork, and his
right beloved Sovereign shall command him in his service."
The good man departed; with blessings, thanks, and glad prognostics,
Desmond and Barry also took leave of him. The wind was fair, the sea
smooth: before morning they lost sight of the hospitable shores of
Ireland, and turned their thoughts from its quarrels, its chieftains,
its warm hearts, and kind reception, to the civilized land of France,
and the more influential protection promised by its king to the royal
adventurer.