THE NAILING OF BRIAN.
Brian woke in darkness, with pain tearing at his head and heaviness upon
his hands and feet. When he tried to put his hand to his head, that
heaviness was explained; for he could not, and thick iron struck dull
against stone.
He lay there, and thought leaped into his brain, and he felt very bitter
of spirit, but chiefly for those men who had come with him, and because
he had failed before the Dark Master's hand.
It was cold, bitterly cold, and thin snow lay around him, so that he
knew that he was in some tower or prison that faced to the east. It was
from that direction that the snow had driven, as he had sore cause to
know, and he wondered if the Dark Master had had any hand in that
driving. But this he was not to know for many days.
It was the cold which had awakened him from his unconsciousness, he
guessed. By dint of shifting his position somewhat, he managed to get
his back against a wall, and so got his hands to his head. In such
fashion he made out that his hair was matted and frozen with blood, and
his neck also, where a bullet had plowed through the muscles on the
right side. His head-wound was no more than a jagged tear which had
split half his scalp, but had not hurt the bone, as he found after some
feeling. Then he dropped his hands again, for the chains that bound him
to the wall were very heavy. It must be night, for light would come
where snow had come, and there was no light.
Now, having found that he was not like to die, at least from his wounds,
he set about stretching to lie down again, and found some straw on the
floor. He drew it up with his feet and gathered it about him; it was
dank and smelled vilely, but at the least it gave his frozen body some
warmth, so that he fell asleep after a time.
When he wakened again, it was to find men around him and a narrow strip
of cold sunlight coming through a high slit in the wall of his prison.
From the sound of breakers that seemed to roar from below him, he
conjectured that he was in a sea-facing tower of the castle, in which he
was right.
The men, who were led by Red Murrough, gave him bread and meat and
wine, but they offered no word and would answer no questions. So he ate
and drank, and felt life and strength creeping back into his bones. He
concluded that it must be the day after his arrival.
Now Red Murrough beckoned to the hoary old seneschal, whose red-rimmed
eyes glittered evilly. The old man shook his keys and stooped over
Brian, unlocking the hasp which bound him to the wall-ring. The
oppressive silence of these men struck a chill through Brian, but he
came to his feet readily enough as Murrough jerked his shoulder.
He followed out into a corridor, and the men closed around him, going
with him down-stairs and along other passageways. Brian wondered as to
his fate and what manner of death he was going to die; yet it seemed to
him that death was an impossible and far-off thing where he was
concerned.
He expected no less than death from the Dark Master, but at the same
time it was very hard to believe that he was going to that fate. He was
by no means afraid to die, but he felt that he would like to see the
Bird Daughter once more. Also, he had always thought of fate as coming
to him suddenly and swiftly in battle or foray; and to be deliberately
done to death in cold blood by hanging or otherwise was not as he would
have wished.
"At least," he thought without any great comfort, "Cathbarr and Turlough
will avenge me on the Dark Master--though I had liefer be living when
that was done!"
In one of the larger and lower corridors they came on two men bearing a
body, sewed for burial. Murrough stopped his party and growled out
something.
"It is the _seanachie_," answered one of the bearers. "Since the Dark
Master struck him yester-morn he has not spoken, and he died last
night."
Upon this Red Murrough crossed himself, as did the rest, muttered into
his tangle of red beard, and motioned Brian forward.
This wider passage gave through a doorway upon the great hall. There was
no dais, but the Dark Master was seated before the huge fireplace, his
wolf-hound crouched down at his side. The hall was pierced near the roof
with openings, and lower down with loopholes, so that when the sun shone
outside it was bright enough.
Red Murrough led Brian forward, the clank of the heavy chain-links
echoing hollowly through the place, but O'Donnell Dubh did not look up
until the two men stood a scant four paces from him. Then his head came
out from between his rounded shoulders and his eyes spat fire at Brian.
"A poor ending to proud talk, Brian Buidh!"
Brian tried to smile, but with ill success, for he was chilled to the
bone and there was blood on his face.
"I am not yet dead, O'Donnell."
"You will be soon enough," the Dark Master chuckled, and the hall
thrilled with evil laughter. In the eyes of all Brian had proven himself
the weaker man and therefore deserved his fate. "What of this O'Malley
journey of yours, eh?"
Brian made no answer, save that his strong lips clamped shut, and his
blue eyes narrowed a little. O'Donnell laughed and began to stroke his
wolf-hound.
"I have many messengers and many servants, Yellow Brian, and there is
little my enemies do which is not told me. Even now men are riding hard
and fast to trap Cathbarr of the Ax and your following."
At that Brian laughed, remembering Turlough Wolf and his cunning.
"I think this trapping will prove a hard matter, Dark Master."
"That is as it may be. Now, Brian Buidh, death is hard upon you, and
neither an easy nor a swift one. Before you die there are two things
which I would know from your lips."
Brian looked at him, but without speaking. The Dark Master had thrust
out his head, his hand still lingering on the wolfhound's neck, and his
pallid face, drooping mustache, and high brow were very evil to gaze
upon. Brian, eying that thin-nostriled, cruel nose, and the undershot
jaw of the man, read no mercy there.
"First, who _are_ you, Brian Buidh? Are you an O'Neill, as that ring of
yours would testify, or are you an O'Malley come down from the western
isles?"
At that Brian laughed out harshly. "Ask those servants of which you
boast, Dark Master. Poor they must be if they cannot tell you even the
names of your enemies!"
"Well answered!" grinned the other, and chuckled again to himself as
though the reply had indeed pleased him hugely. "I would that you served
me, Brian of the hard eyes; I suppose that you are some left-hand scion
of the Tyr-owens by some woman overseas, and the O'Neill bastards were
ever as strong in arm as the true sons. Yet you might have made pact
with me, whereas now your head shall sit on my gates, after your bones
are broken and you have been nailed to a door."
"Fools talk over-much of killing, but wise men smite first and talk
after," Brian said contemptuously. He saw that the Dark Master was
somewhat in doubt over slaying him, since if he were indeed an O'Neill
there might be bitter vengeance looked for, or if he belonged to any
other of the great families.
"Quite true," countered the Dark Master mockingly, and with much relish.
"Therein you were a fool, not to slay when first we met, instead of
making pacts. Who will repay me my two-score men, Brian of the hollow
cheeks?"
"The Bird Daughter, perhaps," smiled Brian, "since two days ago she hung
ten of those men I took in my ambuscade."
This stung O'Donnell, and his men with him. One low, deep growl swirled
down the hall, and the Dark Master snarled as his lips bared back from
his teeth. Brian laughed out again, standing very tall and straight, and
his chains clanked a little and stilled the murmur. He saw that
O'Donnell wore his own Spanish blade, and the sight angered him.
"There is another thing I would know," said the Dark Master slowly.
"Tell me this thing, Brian Buidh, and I will turn you out of my gates a
free man."
Brian looked keenly at him and saw that the promise was given in
earnest. He wondered what the thing might be, and was not long in
learning.
"You came hither from Gorumna Castle," went on O'Donnell, fixing him
with his black flaming eyes. "Tell me what force of men is in that
place, Brian of the hard eyes, and for this service you shall be set
free."
"Now I know that you are a fool, O'Donnell Dubh," and Brian's voice rang
out merrily. "I have heard many tales of your wizardry and your servants
and your watchers, but when an unknown man comes to you, his name is
hidden from you; and all your black art cannot so much as tell you the
number of your enemies! Now slay me and have done, for you have wasted
much breath this day, and so have I, and it goes ill in my mind to waste
speech on fools."
"You refuse then?" O'Donnell peered up at him, but Brian set his face
hard and made no reply. With a little sigh the Dark Master leaned back
in his chair and motioned to Red Murrough to come forward.
"Strip him," he said evenly, and at the word a great howl rang out from
all the watching men, like the howl of wolves when they scent blood in
the air.
Murrough in turn signed to two of his men. These came forward and
stripped off what clothes had been left to Brian, so that he stood naked
before them. In that moment he was minded to spring on the Dark Master
and crush him with his chains, but he saw that Red Murrough held a
flint-lock pistolet cocked, and knew it would be useless. Also, if he
had to die, he was minded to do it like a man and not to shame the blood
of Tyr-owen, either by seeking death or by shrinking at its face.
Now there passed a murmur through the hall, and even the Dark Master's
evil features glowed a little; for Brian's body was very fair and slim
and white, yet these judges of men saw that he was like a thing of
steel, and that beneath the satin skin his body was all rippling sinew.
Red Murrough drew out a hasp, brought his chained hands together, and
caught the chain close to his wrists, so that his hands were bound
close.
"Now," said the Dark Master, settling back and stroking his wolfhound as
if he were watching some curious spectacle, "do with him as we did with
Con O'More last Candlemas. But let us work slowly, for there is no
haste, and we must break his will. In the end we will nail him to the
door, and finish by breaking all his bones. It will be very interesting,
eh?"
A fierce howl and clash of steel answered him from the men. At another
sign from Red Murrough, Brian felt himself jerked to the floor suddenly,
and his hands were drawn up over his head. His wrist-chains were
fastened to an iron ring set in the floor, and his ankles to another,
and he stared up at the ceiling-rafters of the hall, watching the motes
drift past overhead in the reaching sunbeams. It all seemed very unreal
to him.
"First that long hair of his," said the Dark Master quietly.
Murrough went to the fire and returned with a blazing stick. Brian's
gold-red hair had flung back from his head, along the floor, and
presently he felt it burning, until his head was scorched and his brain
began to roast and there was the smell of burnt hair rising from him.
Then Murrough's rough hand brushed over his torn scalp, quelling the
fire, but it did not quell the agony that wrenched Brian.
"Paint him," ordered O'Donnell.
Again Murrough went to the fireplace, and returned with a long white-hot
iron which had lain among the embers. This he touched to Brian's right
shoulder, so that the stench of scorched flesh sizzled up in a thin
stream, and followed the iron down across the white breast and thigh,
until it stopped at the knee, and there was a swath of red and blackened
flesh down Brian's body. Yet he had not moved or flinched.
Then Murrough touched the iron to his left shoulder and drew it very
slowly down his left side. One of the watching men went sick with the
smell and went out vomiting. A second swath of red and black rose on the
white flesh, and beneath it all Brian felt his senses swirling. Try as
he would he could not repress one long shudder, at which a wild yell of
delight shrilled up--and then he fainted.
"Take him away," said the Dark Master, smiling a little, as he leaned
forward and saw that Brian had indeed swooned with the pain. "To-morrow
we will paint his back with the whip."
So they loosened him from the iron rings, and four men lifted him and
carried him out. As they passed across the courtyard another came by
with a pail of sea-water, which they flung over him; the salt entered
into his wounds, washing away the blackness from his scalp, and slowly
the life came back to him after he had been chained again in his
tower-room and left alone.
He was sorry for this, because he thought that he had died under the
iron. He found a pitcher of water beside him, and after drinking a
little he spent the rest in washing out the salt from his flesh, though
every motion was terrible in its torture. So great was the pain that
gasping sobs shook him, though he stared up dry-eyed at the stones, and
a great desire for death came upon him.
"Slay me, oh God!" he groaned, shuddering again in his anguish. "Slay
me, for I am helpless and cannot slay myself!"
As if in answer, there came a soft laugh from somewhere overhead, and
the voice of the Dark Master.
"There is no God in Bertragh Castle save O'Donnell, Brian Buidh!"
The blasphemy shocked him into his senses, which had wandered. Now he
knew that from some hidden place the Dark Master was watching him and
listening for his ravings, and upon that Brian sternly caught his lips
together and said no more, though he prayed hard within himself. A cloak
had been laid near-by him, and when he had covered himself somewhat
against the cold, though with great pain in the doing, he lay quiet.
The cold crept into him and for a space he was seized with chills that
sent new thrills of pain through his burned body, for he could not
repress them. After a time he relapsed slowly into numbed
unconsciousness, waking from time to time, and so the hours dragged away
until the night came.
Then men brought him more food and wine and straw, and he managed to
sleep a bit during the darkness, in utmost misery. But after the day had
come, and more wine had stirred his blood redly, Murrough fetched him to
his feet and bade him follow. Brian did it, though walking was agony,
for his pride was stronger even than his torture.
He was halted in the courtyard, found the Dark Master and his men
gathered there, and knew that more torture was to come upon him. After a
single scornful glance the Dark Master ordered him triced up to a post,
which was done. Brian saw a man standing by with a long whip, but gained
a brief respite as the drawbridge was lowered to admit a messenger
mounted on a shaggy hill-pony. O'Donnell bade him make haste with his
errand.
"The word has come, master, that five hundred of Lord Burke's pikemen
are on the road from Galway and will be close by within a day or so."
"And what of Cathbarr of the Ax?" queried the Dark Master. Brian's
heart caught at the words, then his head fell again at the response.
"They have scattered in the mountains, it is said, master."
"Murrough, have men sent to meet these royalists with food and wines,
and if they are bound hither we will entreat them softly and send them
home again empty. Now let us enjoy Brian Buidh a while--though he has
stood up but poorly. It is in my mind that we will nail him up
to-morrow."
With that Brian felt the whip stroking across his naked back. His
muscles corded and heaved up in horrible contraction, but no sound broke
from him; again and again the hide whip licked about him until he felt
the warm blood running down his legs, and then with merciful suddenness
all things went black, and he hung limp against the post.
"Take him back," ordered the Dark Master in disgust. "Why, that boy we
cut up the other side of Clifden had more strength than this fool!"
"His strength went out of him with his hair," grinned Red Murrough, and
they carried Brian to his prison.
The Dark Master had spoken truly, however. Brian's strength lay not so
much in brute muscles, though he had enough of them, as in his nervous
energy; and the slow horror of his burning hair and of that iron which
had twice raked the length of his body had come close to destroying his
whole nervous system. Other men might have endured the same thing and
laughed the next day, but Brian was high-strung and tense, and while his
will was still strong, his physical endurance was shattered.
With the next morning, this fact had become quite evident to the general
disgust of all within Bertragh Castle. The Dark Master himself visited
the cell, and upon finding that Brian was lost in a half stupor and
muttering words in Spanish which no one understood, he angrily ordered
that he be revived and finished with that afternoon.
Red Murrough set about the task with savage determination. By dint of
sea water externally and mingled wine and uisquebagh internally he had
Brian wakened to a semblance of himself before midday. Then food, oil,
and bandages about his wounds, and in another hour Brian was feeling
like a new man.
He was under no misapprehension as to the cause of this kindness, but
cared little. So keenly had he suffered that he was glad to reach the
end, and he walked out behind Red Murrough that afternoon with a ghastly
face, but with firm mouth and firmer stride, though he was very weak and
half-drunk with the liquors he had swallowed.
His fetters were unlocked and he was led to the doorway of the great
hall, with the Dark Master and his men watching eagerly. Red Murrough,
with an evil grin, pressed his back to the door and held up his left arm
against the heavy wood. Brian was half-conscious of another man who bore
a heavy mallet and spikes, and whose breath came foul on his face as he
pressed something cold against the extended left hand.
Then Brian saw the mallet swing back, heard a sickening crunch, and with
a terrible pain shooting to his soul, fell asleep.