THE DARK MASTER.
"There are two things, Yellow Brian, for you to mind. First, you must
have men at your back who know you for their master; second, you must
stand alone, giving and receiving aid from no man or party in the
land."
Brian nodded and stored away the words in his heart, for in their three
weeks of wandering he had learned that Turlough Wolf was better aid than
many men. It was his doing that, when they had chanced on a party of
ravagers beyond Carrick, Yellow Brian had been led into strife with
their leader. The upshot of that matter was that there was a dead rover;
Yellow Brian had a dozen horsemen behind him and money in his purse, and
of the dozen none but feared utterly this silent man who fought like a
fiend.
To the dozen had been added others--four Scotch plunderers strayed from
Hamilton's horse and half a dozen Breffnians from Ormond's army, who had
been driven out of Munster by the rising of the Parliament men there.
They were a sadly mixed score, of all races and creeds, but were
fighting ruffians to a man, and were bound together by Brian's solemn
pledge that he himself would slay any who quarreled. The result was
peace.
So now, with a good score of men behind him, Yellow Brian had ridden
down into Galway, was past Lough Corrib and Iar Connaught, and was hard
upon Connemara.
There was a thin snow upon the hills, and the bleak wind presaged more;
but the score of men sang lustily as they rode. Two days before they had
come upon a dozen strayed Royalist plunderers, and had gained great
store of food and drink--particularly drink. So all were well content
for the time being.
"Turlough," asked Brian suddenly, as they rode side by side, "did you
ever hear of one called the Black Woman?"
The Wolf crossed himself and grimaced.
"That I have, Yellow Brian, but dimly. They say she deals in magic and
sorcery, and no good comes of meeting with her. But stop--there are
horsemen on the road! Scatter the men, and quickly; let us two bide
here."
There was cunning in the advice, for the two had come to a bend in the
road and the men were a hundred yards behind them. Brian drew rein at
sight of a score of men a scant quarter-mile away and riding up the hill
toward them. He knew that they must also have been seen, but his men
would still be out of sight, so he turned with a quick word:
"Off into the rocks, men! If I raise my sword, come and strike. Off!"
As he spoke he bared that same huge cut-or-thrust brand he had borne
from Drogheda and set the point on his boot. Instantly the men scattered
on either side the road, where black rocks thrust up from the snow, and
within two minutes they and their horses had disappeared.
The riders below came steadily forward in a clump, and Brian saw old
Turlough staring with bulging eyes. Then the Wolf half caught at his
bridle, as if minded to fly, and his hands were trembling.
"What ails you, man?" smiled Brian. "Are they magicians and sorcerers,
then?"
"No, _fareer gair_--worse luck!" blurted out the other. "Look at the
little man who rides first, Yellow Brian!"
Brian squinted against the snow-glare, and saw that the leader of the
approaching party seemed indeed to be a little man with hunched
shoulders and head that glinted steel.
"A hunchback!" he exclaimed. "Well, who is he?"
"The Dark Master--O'Donnell More himself! It is in my mind that this is
a black day, Brian Buidh. O'Donnell More is the master of all men at
craft, and the match of most men at weapons. Beware of him, master,
beware! I had thought that he was still under siege at Bertragh Castle,
else I had never taken this road."
"Nonsense!" laughed out Brian joyously, drinking in the clear afternoon
air. "So much the more honor if we slay him, Turlough Wolf! Let him
match me at weapons, or you at wits, if he can!"
Turlough muttered something and drew back behind Brian's steed with
pallid face. Yellow Brian, however, having a sure trust in his own right
arm and his hidden men, scanned the approaching O'Donnell curiously,
seeking what had inspired such unwonted fear in the old gray Wolf.
He could find nothing ominous in that hunched figure, save its mail-coat
and steel helm. Yet the face was peculiar. Over a drooping mustache of
black flared forth two intense black eyes. Brian noted this, and the
thin, curved nose and prominent chin, and laughed again.
"Who is this Dark Master, Turlough?"
The other shivered slightly. "He is an O'Donnell from the north, come
here some ten years since--he seized on Bertragh even as we intend
seizing on a stead, and has since done evil things in the land. Now
hush, for they say the wind bears him idle talk."
Brian's thin lips curved a trifle scornfully, but he kept silence,
watching the approaching men. At fifty yards' distance they halted.
Their leader eyed the motionless pair for a moment and then slowly rode
on alone, waving back his followers. And Yellow Brian made a strange
figure, with his ruddy hair streaming from beneath his steel cap and the
bright, naked sword rising up from toe to head beside him.
"Well?" O'Donnell More's voice was deep and harsh, though Brian
afterward found that it could be changed to suit its owner's mood. "Who
are you thus disputing my passage?"
"I am Brian Buidh," came Brian's curt reply. "As for dispute, that is as
you will."
"Yellow Brian?" The black brows shot up in surprise. "A strange name.
Whence come you, and seeking what?"
"I seek men, O'Donnell More." Brian swiftly determined that this was a
man who might give him aid, a man after his own heart. "Whence I come is
my affair. Give me men, and I will repay with gold."
"What need have you of men, Yellow Brian," came the sardonic answer,
"when your own lie hidden among the rocks?"
Now indeed Brian started, whereat the other smiled grimly.
"How knew you that?"
"If you recognized me from afar, you had not stayed to meet me unless
you had men," stated O'Donnell shrewdly enough.
"True," said Brian, and laughed out. "Well said, O'Donnell. I have a
score, and want another score. I will match mine against yours, or make
a pact, as you desire."
The Dark Master sat fingering his sword-hilt and considered. With the
black brows down and the black eyes fixed on him, Brian suddenly began
to like the man less.
"I will give you service," returned O'Donnell at last.
Brian smiled. "Men serve me, not I them."
At this curt answer O'Donnell looked black, then fell into thought, his
shoulders hunched up and his head drawn in like the head of a turtle.
Brian wished now that he had struck first and talked afterward.
Finally the Dark Master looked up with a slow smile.
"Welcome to you, Brian of the hard eyes and hollow cheeks," he said.
"_Slaintahut!_ I will not give you men, but I will give you the loan of
men if you will do me one of two favors. Ten miles to the south of here
there is an old tower on a cliff, and in the tower dwells a man with
certain companions who sets me at naught. On an island out near Golam
Head is a castle where a woman rules, who has also set me at naught. Go,
reduce either of these twain, and I will lend you twoscore men for three
months."
Brian sat his great horse and looked at the Dark Master. He would have
sought advice from Turlough Wolf, save that he did not like to turn his
back on those burning eyes. After all, the pact was not a bad one.
"These enemies of yours--who are they, and what force have they?"
The Dark Master chuckled, and his head shot out from between his
shoulders.
"The man is called Cathbarr of the Ax, and he is a hard man to fight,
for he has ten men like himself, axmen all. The woman cannot fight, but
she has a swift mind, many men, and her name is Nuala O'Malley, of the
O'Malleys of Erris."
"I had sooner fight a man than a woman," returned Brian slowly. "Also,
this Cathbarr of the Ax has fewer men. I will do you this favor,
O'Donnell Dubh."
He gave no sign of the wonder that had shot into his mind at the name of
Cathbarr, except that his blue eyes seemed changed suddenly to cold ice.
The Dark Master saw the change, and his smile withered. Brian, watching
him, reflected that this malformed freebooter could be venomous-looking
at times.
"I have passed my word," O'Donnell the Black made curt answer. "Fetch
either of the twain to Bertragh, dead or alive, and you have the loan of
twoscore men for three months, free. Is it a pact?"
"It is a pact," answered Brian, and at that the other galloped back to
his men.
Brian swung his sword and flung it high into the air; before it had
flashed down to nestle in his palm again, his men were scrambling into
the road. He sheathed the sword, smiling a little, and turned to
Turlough.
"Well? To your mind or not, Wolf?"
"My father saw the Brown Geraldine at Dublin," responded that worthy,
scratching the gray beard which had begun to sprout. "They broke his
bones with the back of an ax and swung him out in a cage until he died,
and after. He made pacts too easily."
"Well?" asked Brian again, but a dull flush crossed his cheeks.
"I gave you my rede," said Turlough sullenly. "I said to stand alone,
receiving aid from neither man nor faction. Now there is mischief to be
repaired."
"Then my sword shall repair it," said Brian, and ordered the men to
swing in after him. "Guide us to this tower of Cathbarr's, for my honor
is in my own keeping."
They swung about and headed to the south and the sea.
The hill-paths, which Turlough Wolf seemed to know perfectly, were
cruelly hard on the horses; none were as yet trodden down, for the snow
was fresh, and all the west coast lay desolate. The plague had stricken
Galway and Mayo heavily that year, smiting the mountains with death.
Some few parties of Roundhead horse had come through, because they
feared God and Ireton more than the plague, and some Royalists had fled
up from the south for much the same reason.
In any case, Yellow Brian found all the land desolate, and liked it. The
more wasted the land, he reflected, the more chance for that sword of
his to find swinging-room. As he had ridden, news had come from the
east--news of the Wexford killing and the curse that was come upon the
land. Owen Ruadh O'Neill was not yet dead, but Brian knew that he had
prophesied truly. Ireland's day was gloaming fast.
Despite the dismal tone of Turlough Wolf, Brian told himself that he had
done a good day's work. O'Donnell Dubh would keep his word beyond any
question. As for the man he was to slay, the only part of it which
troubled Brian was the prediction of the Black Woman at the Dee water.
She had known him, and had prophesied O'Neill's death, and had spoken of
the west and this Cathbarr of the Ax. After all, however, she might have
shot a chance shaft which had gone true. Brian had no faith in magic.
All that afternoon he rode on, Turlough Wolf ahead of him, the men
behind. They feared and hated the old Wolf as much as they feared and
loved Brian.
Progress was slow, owing to the bad paths, the snow, and sundry changes
of direction, so that when night fell they had covered but eight miles
of the ten. Turlough suggested that they push on and finish their
business at a stroke, but Brian curtly refused. So the men made camp in
lee of a cliff and proceeded to feast away the last of their provisions
and wine, in confidence that on the morrow they would have more, or else
would need none.
Brian and Turlough built a fire apart, and after their repast Brian
broke silence with a request for information about Cathbarr. It was his
first speech since the parting with the Dark Master.
"I never heard of him," responded Turlough. "No doubt he is some outlaw
who has become a thorn in the Dark Master's flesh. With the woman it is
different."
"Tell me of her," said Brian, gazing into the fire.
"She is an O'Malley, and, like all the clan, makes much of ships and
seamen and little of horses and riders. When the Dark Master came, ten
years ago, he slew her father and mother by treachery, and would have
slain her but that her men carried her off. She was a child then. Now
she is a woman, very bitter against O'Donnell Dubh, and is allied with
the Parliament so that her ships may have the run of the seas, it is
said. O'Donnell takes sides with no faction, but caters to all. He lays
nets and snares, and men fall into them, and he laughs."
"Why is Nuala O'Malley called the Bird Daughter?" asked Brian quietly.
At this question old Turlough rose on his elbow, and in his wide, gray
eyes was set mingled fear and wonder.
"_M'anam an diaoul!_" he spat out. "Who are you to know this thing?"
"Answer my question," returned Brian, hiding his own surprise.
"Seven years ago, master, I was at Sligo Bay with O'Dowda when Hamilton
cut us to pieces. Nuala O'Malley had brought us some powder--she was but
a slip of a girl then. In the evening I was down at the ship when I saw
her come from below, a hooded pigeon in her hands. She whispered in the
bird's ear, set off the hood, and the bird flew into the night. I named
her Bird Daughter, but no other man knew the name."
"Then a woman did," chuckled Brian dryly. "It was but a carrier pigeon,
Turlough; I have seen them used in Spain. Now listen to me."
With that he told him of the Black Woman and his weird meeting at Dee
water. Old Turlough listened in no little amazement, for he was full of
superstitious fancies, but Brian said nothing of his own name. The
uncanny prophecies, however, which now seemed on the road to fulfilment
were enough to give any man pause.
When he had finished, a very subdued Turlough Wolf stated that the Black
Woman was an old hag who wandered all over the land, that some called
her crazy and others thought her inspired, and that his own belief was
that she was a banshee, no less.
At this Brian saw the thing in a more rational light. The old woman knew
of this nook in the west, and, attracted to him by his resemblance to
the long-dead earl, she had endeavored to steer him thither. After all,
it was quite simple.
Of course, old Turlough swore that he had never breathed his name of
Bird Daughter to a living soul, and that it was but a name he had used
in his own mind for the slim girl who had fetched powder from the south.
Brian chuckled, guessing that Turlough was not the only one who had seen
carrier pigeons used, and who had ascribed the thing to higher powers.
The incident served the purpose of establishing a firmer intimacy
between Brian and the old man, however, and convinced Turlough that his
master was destined to fly high. Nor through all the storm of men that
befell after did Turlough again breathe reproof as he had dared that
day.
"I begin to see that your advice was good, Turlough Wolf," said Brian
the next morning, as he rode shivering from camp. "As to making my men
know me for their master, that troubles me little; but I think it will
be a hard matter to avoid making pacts, and to stand alone."
"Lean on your sword," grunted old Turlough. "To my notion, such
friendship as that huge blade of yours can give is better than good.
Order men ahead."
Brian nodded and sent two of the men ahead as scouts, with the Wolf
himself. For the better part of an hour they made slow headway among the
rocks, and then emerged suddenly on the slope leading down to the cliffs
and sea. Turlough pointed to the left.
"There lies the tower, if I mistake not."
Drawing rein, Brian saw at once why he had been sent on this errand.
Cathbarr's tower was an old ruin at the end of a long and narrow
headland--indeed, at high tide most of the headland would be covered,
for it was low and yet beyond shot of the cliffs. Except from the water,
it was almost impregnable; cannon might have reached it from shore, but
two axmen could have held the narrow way against an army.
Brian laughed softly and ordered the men to remain where they were.
"What are you going to do, master?" queried old Turlough anxiously.
"I am going to lean on my sword, as you advised me," chuckled Brian, and
rode on alone.