HOW BRIAN WAS NETTED.
The Dark Master sat in his dark hall, brooding.
It was a bad morning, for there was a sweep of wind and black cloud
mingled with snow bearing out of the north; and since the great hall,
with its huge fireplace, was the warmest part of the castle, as many of
the men as could do so had drifted thither, but without making any undue
disturbance over it.
For that matter, they might have passed unseen, since the hall was black
as night save for a single cresset above the fireplace. Here sat the
Dark Master, a little oaken table before him on which his breakfast had
rested, and at his side crouched a long, lean wolfhound that nuzzled him
unheeded. On the other side the table sat the old _seanachie_, who was
blind, and who fingered the strings of his harp with odd twangings and
mutterings, but without coherence, for O'Donnell had bade him keep
silence.
"Go and see what the weather is," commanded the Dark Master. A man rose
and ran outside, while other men came in with wood. Their master
motioned them away, although the fire had sunk down into embers.
"A gale from the north, which is turning to the eastward, with snow,
master."
"Remain outside, and bring me word what changes hap, and of all that you
see or hear. Waste no time about it."
The Dark Master drew his cloak about his humped shoulders, and in the
flickering dim light from overhead his face stood out in all its ghastly
pallor, accentuated by the dead black hair and mustache. But his eyes
were burning strangely, and when they saw it the men drew back, and more
than one sought the outer chill in preference to staying.
Now O'Donnell Dubh stared into the embers and muttered below his breath,
while, as if in response, a little flickering whirlwind of gray ash rose
up and fell back again, so that it blew over the embers and deadened
them. The muscles of the Dark Master's face contracted until his teeth
flashed out in a silent snarl.
"I could have slain, and I did not," he whispered as if to himself. "But
there is still time, and I will not be a fool again!"
The watching men shivered, for it seemed that the wind scurried down the
wide chimney and again blew up the gray ash until the embers glowed
through a white coating. But the wind wrought more than this, for it
brought down from the gray clouds a whispering murmur that drifted
through the hall, and in that murmur were mingled the sounds of beating
hoofs and ringing steel and shrieking men.
"Are watchers posted over the hills and the paths and the Galway roads?"
spoke out the Dark Master as he gazed into the ashes.
"They are watching, master," answered a deep voice from the darkness.
Suddenly the wolfhound raised its head and stared into the ashes also,
as if it saw something there that no man saw, for the bristles lifted on
its neck, and it whined a little. O'Donnell dropped his hand to the thin
muzzle, and the dog was quiet again. But after that the men stared at
the fireplace with frightened eyes.
"There is still time, though one has escaped me," said the Dark Master,
looking up suddenly at his sightless harper, who seemed to fall
atrembling beneath the look. "The one who has escaped matters not, for
his bane comes not at my hands. It is the other whom I shall slay--Brian
Buidh of the hard eyes. Then the Bird Daughter. But it seems to me that
one stands in my path of whom I do not know."
He brooded over the ashes as his head sank between his shoulders like a
turtle's head. Then once again the wind swooped down on the castle, and
whistled down the chimney, and filled the great hall with a thin noise
like the death-rattle of men. The cresset wavered and fell to smoking
overhead.
The Dark Master reached his hand across the table and caught the hand of
the blind harper and spread it out on the oak. A little shudder shook
the old man, and as if against his will he spread out his other hand
likewise, his two hands lying between those of the Dark Master. Then
there fell a terrible and awestruck silence on the hall.
The stillness was perfect, and continued for a long while. Slowly
occurred a weird and strange thing, for, although no blast whimpered
down the chimney, the ashes fell away from the embers, which began to
glow more redly and set out the forms of the Dark Master and the blind
harper in a ruddy light. Suddenly a man pointed to the feet of the Dark
Master, and would have cried out but that another man struck him back.
For the ashes had drifted out from the fireplace, flake after flake, and
were settling about the feet of the Dark Master beneath the table. They
rose slowly into a little gray pile; then one of the men shrieked in
horror at the sight, and the Dark Master threw out his head.
"Slay him," he said quietly and drew in his head once more, staring at
the table.
There was a thudding blow and a groan, then the stillness of death. The
ashes were quiet; the fire glowed ruddily. After a little there came a
soft whirl of soot down the chimney, blackening the embers. The soot
rose and fell, rose and fell, again and again; it was as if an eddying
draft of wind were trying to raise it. Finally it was lifted, but it
only whirled about and about over the embers, like a shape drawn
together by some uncanny force.
The Dark Master raised his head as a clash of steel and the voice of the
watcher came from the outer doorway.
"Master, the blast thickens with black fog!"
"Remain on watch," said O'Donnell, and his head fell.
But through the hall men's hands went out to one another in the
darkness. For storm-driven fog was not a thing that many men had seen
even on the west coast, and when it did happen men said that a warlock
was at work. There was not far to seek for the warlock in this case,
muttered the O'Donnells.
Now the Dark Master looked into the fireplace and that whirling figure
of soot raised itself anew and began its unearthly dance over the
embers. After no long time men saw that the pile of gray ashes under the
table was lifting also, lifting and whirling as though the wind spun it;
but there was no wind.
"There is a man to be blinded," said the Dark Master. "Let him be
blinded with fog and snow, and the men with him, and let the wind come
out of the east and drive him to this place."
Slowly, so slowly that no man could afterward say where there was
beginning or end, the whirling figure of soot dissipated; and little by
little the dancing stream of gray ashes drifted back into the fireplace;
then it also dissipated, seeming to pass up the chimney, so that the
embers glowed red and naked.
"_Seanachie_," said the Dark Master in a terribly piercing voice, "who
is this standing in my way, standing between me and Brian of the hard
eyes?"
The blind harper began to tremble, but again came the clash and the
watcher's voice from the doorway.
"Master, there is snow mingled with the fog, and the wind is shifting to
the eastward."
"Light the beacon and remain on watch," said the Dark Master. But at the
watcher's word new terror seized on the men in the hall.
"_Seanachie_, who stands in my way? Speak!"
The beard of the blind harper quivered and rose as if the wind lifted
it, but men felt no wind through the hall. Then the old man began to
writhe in his chair, and twisted to take his hands from the table, but
he could not, although only he alone held them there. Suddenly his
mouth opened, and a voice that was not his voice made answer:
"Master, two people stand in your way."
"Describe them," said the Dark Master, and those near by saw that sweat
was running down his face, despite the coldness of the hall. After a
moment's silence the old harper spoke again; he had lost his eyes twenty
years since, yet he spoke of seeing.
"Master, I see two people but dimly. One is a man, huge of stature and
standing like Laeg the hero, the friend of the hero Cuculain, leaning
upon an ax--"
"That is Cathbarr of the Ax," broke in the Dark Master. "His bane comes
not at my hands. Who is the other?"
Again the old harper seemed to struggle, and his voice came more
faintly:
"I cannot see, master. I think it is a woman--"
"That is the Bird Daughter," quoth the Dark Master.
"Nay, it is an old woman, but she blinds me--"
And the harper fell silent, writhing, until horror gripped those who
looked on. O'Donnell leaned forward, his head sticking straight out and
his eyes blazing.
"What do you see, _seanachie_? Speak!"
"I see men," and the old harper's voice rose in a great shriek. "A storm
of men and of hoofs, and red snow on the ground, and fire over the snow,
and the man of the ax laughing terribly. And I see other men riding
hard; men with long hair and the flag of England in their midst--and
Cuculain smites them--Cuculain of the yellow hair--the Royal Hound of
Ulster smites them and scatters them--"
"_Liar!_"
With the hoarse word the Dark Master leaned forward and smote the blind
harper with his fist, so that the old man slid from his chair senseless.
Upon that the Dark Master swung around with his teeth bared and his head
drawn in like the head of a snake about to strike.
"Lights!" he roared. "Lights! Bear the _seanachie_ to his chamber, and
send men to ring in the harbor and build beacons on the headlands.
Hasten, you dogs, or I'll strip the flesh from you with whips!"
Under his voice and his flaming eyes the hall sprang into life, while
the men carried out the blind harper and one of their own number who had
been stricken with madness at what he had seen. Then the hall blazed up
with cressets, logs were flung on the fire, and parties of men set out
to build beacons and guard the bay as the Dark Master had given command.
And when word was spread abroad among the others of what had chanced in
the hall that morning, Red Murrough, the Dark Master's lieutenant, swore
a great oath.
"If that Cuculain of whom the _seanachie_ spoke be not the man Brian
Buidh, then may I go down to hell alive!"
And the men, who feared Red Murrough's heavy hand and hated him,
muttered that he would be like to travel that same road whether living
or dead, in which there was some truth.
While these things took place in the hall at Bertragh--and they were
told later to Brian by many who had seen them and heard them, all
telling the same tale--Brian and his sailing galley was making hard
weather of it. Six of the O'Malleys had been sent with him to manage the
galley, for he was no seaman and had placed himself in their hands; and
after rounding into Kilkieran Bay from the castle harbor and reaching
out across the mouth of the bay toward Carna, intending to reach
Cathbarr's tower direct, the blast came down on them, and even the
O'Malleys looked stern.
Sterner yet they looked when Brian cried that Golam Head was veiling in
fog behind them, and with that the wind swerved almost in a moment and
swept down out of the east, bearing fog and snow with it. Nor was this
all, for the shift of wind bore against the seas and swept down
currents and whirlpools out of the bay, and after the snow and black fog
shrieked down upon them, the seamen straightway fell to praying.
"Get up and bail!" shouted Brian, kicking them to their feet, for the
seas were sweeping over the counter. The helmsman groaned and bade him
desist, and almost at the same instant their mast crashed over the bow,
breaking the back of one seaman, and the galley broached to.
With that the O'Malleys ceased praying and fell to work with a will,
getting out the sweeps and bailing. The mingling of snow, shrieking
wind, and black fog had been too much for their superstitious natures,
but made no impression on Brian, for the simple reason that he did not
see why fog and wind should not come together. After he understood their
fears better he shamed them into savage energy by his laughter, and
since the broken-backed man had gone overboard, took his sweep and set
his muscles to work.
They made shift to keep the craft before the wind, but presently Brian
found that half the men's fear sprang from the fact that the fog and
snow blinded them, shutting out the land, and that the shifting wind had
completely bewildered them. When he asked for their compass, their
leader grunted:
"No need have we for a compass on this boat, Brian Buidh, save when
warlocks turn the fog and wind upon us. I warrant that were it not for
the fog, we would be safe in port ere now. As it is, the Virgin alone
knows where we are or whither going."
"This is some of the Dark Master's wizardry," growled out another.
"Before we hung those men of his last night, they said that the winds
would bear word of it to the dark one, _cead mile mollaght_ on him!"
"Add another thousand curses for me," ordered Brian, "but keep to the
bailing, or I'll give you a taste of my foot! And no more talk of
warlocks."
The five men fell silent, and indeed they needed all their breath, for
the struggle was a desperate one. Instead of lessening, the fog only
increased with time, and even Brian began to perceive the marvel in it
as swirl after swirl of darkness swept over them. Yet, since the wind
was from the east, he reasoned, it would naturally blow out the fog from
the bogs and low lands. But this explanation was received in dour
silence by the men, so he said no more.
There was no doubt that Cathbarr had reached home safely, since the
night had been fair enough for the winter season. An hour passed, and
then another, still without a lessening of the eery storm; and the nerve
of the seamen was beginning to give way under the strain, when the
helmsman let out a wild yell:
"A light ahead! A beacon!"
The rowers twisted about with shouts of joy, and Brian perceived a
faint, ruddy light against the sky. Also, the fog began to lessen
somewhat; and upon making out that the beacon undoubtedly came from a
high tower or crag, the shout passed around that they had headed back to
Gorumna with the shifting wind.
This heartened them all greatly, the more so since the gale drove them
straight onward toward the beacon. The fog closed down again, but the
ruddy glare pierced through it; and of a sudden there was no more fog
about them--only a blinding thick snow, which made all things grotesque.
Then two more beacons were made out, lower than the first, and the men
yelled joyously that fires had been lighted on either side the harbor to
guide them in. And so they had been, but otherwise than the men thought.
Half frozen with the cold, they drove on through the snow and spray
until at length they swept in between the guiding fires and scanned the
shores for landing. Then the snow ceased, though the hurricane howled
down behind them with redoubled fury; and as they floated in against a
low, rocky shore, silence of wild consternation fell on them all. For
they had come to Bertragh Castle, and fifty feet away a score of men
were waiting, while others were running down with torches.
Even in that moment of terrible dismay, Brian noted their muskets, and
how the lighted matches flared like fireflies in the wind.
"Trapped!" groaned one of the men, and they would have rowed out again
into the teeth of the storm had not Brian stayed them.
"No use, comrades. They have muskets, and there are cannon up above. Row
in, and if we must die, then let us die like men and not cowards."
Seeing no help for it, the men growled assent, and they drifted slowly
in, all standing ready with drawn swords, while Brian's Spanish blade
flared in the prow. Then in the midst of the gathered men he saw a dark
figure with hunched shoulders, sword in hand. As he turned to the seamen
behind him, there was a glitter in his blue eyes colder than the icy
blast behind them.
"There is the Dark Master, comrades! Let him be first to fall."
They drove up on the shore, and Brian leaped out, with the men behind
him. Still the group above stood silent until the voice of O'Donnell
sheared through the gale. "Fire, and drop Yellow Brian first."
So there was to be no word of quarter! As the thought shot like fire
through Brian's mind, he leaped forward with a shout. A ragged stream of
musketry broke out from the men gathered on the higher rocks, and he
heard the bullets whistle. He paid no heed to the seamen who followed
him, however. His eyes were fixed on the Dark Master's figure, and with
only one thought in his mind he plunged ahead.
More and more muskets spattered out; a bullet splashed against his jack,
and another; something caught his steel cap and tore it away, and a hot
stab shot through his neck. But the group of men was only a dozen paces
from him now, and a wild yell broke from his lips as he saw O'Donnell
step forward to meet him.
Then only did he remember Turlough's speech on the day of that first
meeting with the Dark Master--"The master of all men at craft and the
match of most men at weapons"--and he knew that, despite the hunched
shoulders, this O'Donnell must be no mean fighter. But the next instant
he was gazing into the evil eyes, and their blades had crossed.
Flaming with his anger, Brian forced the attack savagely; then a sharp
thrust against his jack showed him that O'Donnell was armed with a
rapier, and he fell to the point with some caution. With the first
moment of play, he knew that he faced a master of fence; yet almost upon
the thought his blade ripped into the Dark Master's arm.
Involuntarily he drew back, but O'Donnell caught the falling sword in
his left hand and lunged forward viciously. Just as the blades met
again, Brian saw a match go to a musket barely six paces away. He
whirled aside, but too late, for the musket roared out, and a drift of
stars poured into his brain. Then he fell.
Like a flash the Dark Master leaped at the man who had fired and spitted
him through the throat; the others drew back in swift terror, for
O'Donnell was frothing at the mouth, and his face was the face of a
madman. With a bitter laugh he turned and rolled Brian over with his
foot. The five seamen had gone down under the bullets.
"He is only stunned," said Red Murrough. "Shall I finish it?"
"If you want to die with him, yes. Carry him in, and we will nail him up
to the gates to-morrow."
And the clouds fell asunder, and the stars came out, cold and beautiful.