BRIAN MEETS THE BLACK WOMAN.
"The storm is over, master, or will be by this night."
"Too late now, Turlough."
Brian and the old man stood in the courtyard, while the Dark Master was
seeing to horses being made ready for them. Drawing his cloak farther
about his hunched shoulders, the latter turned to Brian with a mocking
sneer.
"Now farewell, Brian Buidh, and forget not to repay that loan, if you
can gather enough men together. When you come again, you will find me
here. A merry riding to you. _Beannacht leath!_"
Brian looked at him grimly.
"Your curse would make better company than your blessing, O'Donnell," he
said, and turned to his horse with no more words.
The Scots who were standing around gave vent to a murmur of approval,
and Brian saw the black looks passing between them and the wild
O'Donnells. The Highlanders had done murdering enough in Ireland since
Hamilton brought them over, but they were outspoken men, who had little
love for poisoners; and as Brian settled into the saddle with his huge
sword slung across his back, he caught more than one word of muttered
approval, which the Dark Master was powerless to check.
So Yellow Brian rode out from the castle he had lost, with Turlough Wolf
at his heels, and his heart was very sore. Once across the filled-in
moat and he saw fifty men at work by the shore, loading the dead into
boats to be buried in the bay, for the ground was hard-frozen.
Parties of Scots troopers and the horseless O'Donnells were scattered
over the farmlands and country ahead, but these offered no menace as the
two horsemen rode slowly through them. For all his bitterness, Brian
noted that the four pirate ships had been brought around into the bay
before the castle, into which the Scots had moved, while a great number
of the O'Donnells had landed and were hastily throwing up brush huts on
the height above the shore, evidently intending to camp there for the
present.
That was a dark leave-taking for Brian, since he had lost so many men
and his castle to boot. Yet more than once he looked back on Bertragh,
and when they came to the last rise of ground before the track wound
into the hills and woods, he drew rein and pointed back with a curt
laugh.
"This night I shall return, Turlough, and I think we shall catch the
Dark Master off his guard at last. If we throw part of our men on that
camp at dawn and the rest upon the castle, the tables may yet be
turned."
"A good rede, Brian O'Neill," nodded the old Wolf approvingly. At thus
hearing his name Brian flung Turlough one lightning-swift glance, then
pulled out his Spanish sword and threw it high, and caught it again with
a great shout.
"Tyr-owen! _Slainte!_"
With that he put spurs to his horse and rode on with better heart,
striving to forget his troubles in thinking of the stroke he would deal
that night. If those three pigeons had won clear to Gorumna, he would
find Nuala and her men waiting at Cathbarr's tower, and before the dawn
they would be back again and over the hills.
So they rode onward, and presently came to a stretch of forest, dark
against the snow. Suddenly Turlough drew up with a frightened glance
around.
"Master--what is that wail? If I ever heard a banshee, that is the cry!
Beware of the Little People, master--"
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Brian, drawing rein also and listening. He heard a
faint, sobbing cry come from ahead, and so mournful was it, so charged
with wild grief, that for an instant his heart stood still, and the
color fled from his face.
"It is some woman wailing her dead, Turlough," he said at length,
although doubtfully. "Yet I have never heard a _caoine_ like it; but
onward, and let us see."
"Wait, master!" implored the old man. "Let us cut over the hills and go
by another path--"
"Go, if you are afraid," returned Brian, and spurred forward. The other
hesitated, but followed unwillingly, and a moment later Brian came upon
the cause of that mournful wailing, as the trees closed about them and
the road wound into a hollow.
The dingle was so sheltered by the brooding pines that there was little
snow, except on the track itself, and no wind. Under the spreading
splay-boughs to the right was what seemed to be a heap of rags and
tatters, though the wailing cry ceased as the two riders clattered down,
with Turlough keeping well behind Brian.
The latter drew rein, seeing that the creature under the pine-boughs was
some old crone whose grief seemed more bitter still than his own.
"What is wrong, mother?" he cried cheerily. "Are you from one of the
Bertragh farms?"
The tattered heap moved slightly, and a wrinkled, withered face peered
up at him.
"Nay, I come from farther than that," and to his surprise there was a
mocking note in her voice, though it was weak. "That is a good horse of
yours, _ma boucal_; he must trot sixteen miles to the hour, eh?"
"All of that, mother," returned Brian, wondering if the old crone was
out of her senses. "Was it you whom I heard wailing a moment ago? Where
is your home?"
The old woman broke into a cackle of hideous laughter.
"My home, is it? Once I had a home, Yellow Brian--and it was in
Dungannon, with Tyr-owen and Cormac and Art and the noblest of the
chiefs of Ulster to do me honor! Have you forgotten me, Brian O'Neill,
since we met at the Dee Water?"
Then Brian gave a great cry, and swung down to earth, for now he
recognized the Black Woman. But as he strode toward her she tried to
rise and failed, and forth from the midst of her rags came a quick gush
of red blood. Brian leaped forward and caught her in his arms, pitying
her.
"I knew you," she gasped out weakly, clutching at his shoulder. "I knew
you, son of Tyr-owen! You had yellow hair, but your face was the face I
once loved, the face of the great Hugh--"
She stopped abruptly, and her words were lost in a choking gasp as blood
came from her mouth. Brian swore.
"_Mile Mollaght!_ What has happened here, woman? Are you wounded?"
"Aye, those dogs of O'Donnells," she moaned feebly. Then new strength
came to her, and she peered up with another cackle. "But did I not tell
wisely, son? Have you not found Cathbarr of the Ax and the Bird Daughter
even as I foretold?"
"Yes, yes," returned Brian impatiently. "Where are you wounded, mother?
We can take you--"
"Peace, avic," she cried. "They came on me last night, and my life is
gone. You shall take vengeance for the old _calliagh_, Brian--but first
I must talk. Do you know who I am, avic--or who I was, rather?"
"How should I know that, mother?" answered Brian. "Old Turlough Wolf,
yonder, swears you are some witch--"
"Turlough!" The hag raised herself on his arm, cackling. "So the old
Wolf is still living! Do _you_ know me, Turlough? Do you remember the
sorrowful day of the earl's flight?"
Old Turlough, who had ridden closer, bent over and looked down, fear in
his face. Suddenly he straightened up again with a wild cry.
"Noreen of Breffny! By my hand, it is the earl's love!"
"Aye, the earl's love!" she gasped out, falling back. "I was his love in
truth, Yellow Brian, and he loved me above all the rest, though
another's hand closed his eyes and laid him to earth in Rome. I knew you
would come, Brian--I saw you at Drogheda, though you saw me not, and I
bade you come here into the West, and I have watched over you--"
She coughed horribly, clutching at Brian's arm. He stared down at her in
amazement, for the incredible story seemed true enough. This old hag had
been that Noreen of Breffny of whom he had heard much--the fairest maid
of the North, whom the great earl had loved to the last, though the
church had not blessed their union.
Brian's old Irish nurse had often told him of the "Breffny lily," and it
was bitter and hard to realize that this ancient hag, withered and
shrunk and done to death by the Dark Master's men, had been the fairest
maid in Ulster. She gasped out a little more of her story, and Brian
found that his wild surmises had been true; after seeing him and
recognizing him for one of the earl's house, she had instantly led his
mind to this part of the country, being aware of the strife between
O'Donnell and Nuala O'Malley. It had been a crazed notion enough, and
since then she had kept as near to him as possible in the half-sane idea
that she might help him.
How she had managed to do it ever remained a mystery to Brian, since his
marches had been none of the slowest, but she had done so.
"Where are--your men?" she exclaimed after a little. Brian told her what
had chanced at the castle, and she broke out in a last wild cackling
laugh.
"Tyr-owen's luck!" she cried. "Betrayed and blasted, betrayed and
blasted--but the root of the tree is still strong, Yellow Brian--give me
your blessing, master--give Noreen your blessing before you go to Rome,
Hugh _mo mhuirnin_--"
Brian's face blanched and his hands trembled, for he saw that her
wandering mind took him for his grandsire.
"_Dhia agus mhuire orth_," he murmured, and with a little sob the Black
Woman died.
Silence fell upon the dingle, as Brian gazed down at the woman his
grandfather had loved, and whose love had been no less. Then Turlough
pushed his horse closer, looking down with a shrewd leer.
"Said she not that it would be a black day when you met her again,
master?" he queried with awe in his voice. "I think--"
"Keep silence!" commanded Brian shortly. "Get down from that horse and
dig a grave."
"But the ground is frozen--" began old Turlough in dismay. Brian gave
him one look, and the old man hastily dismounted, crossing himself and
mumbling.
Brian joined him, and they managed to scoop out a shallow grave with
knife and sword, laid the old woman in it, and covered her up again. It
was a sorry burial for the love of the great earl, but it was the best
they could do.
Shaken more than he cared to admit, Brian mounted and rode on in
silence. As he had thought, there was nothing supernatural about this
weird Black Woman, except, perhaps, the manner in which she had
contrived to keep close to him. She had warned him at the Stone
Mountain, and she must have been keeping close to Bertragh ever since,
unseen by any, with her unhinged mind driving her forward relentlessly.
"Poor woman!" he thought darkly, gazing into the hills ahead. "There has
been little luck to any who ever followed an O'Neill or loved an
O'Neill! And now it seems likely that the same ill luck of all my family
is to dog my heels, bringing me up to the heights, only to cast me down
lower than before. Well, I may fall, but it shall not be until I have
dragged down the Dark Master. If I fall not I may yet best the ill-luck
and conquer Millhaven for my own."
With that his mind leaped ahead again as the plan outlined itself to
him. The O'Donnell pirates must have brought their whole force to the
Dark Master's aid, and if he could but cut off that camp of theirs
between the castle and the shore, Nuala O'Malley might bring her two
ships against the weakened four and take them all.
Then, when the castle had fallen, he could sail north to Millhaven,
reduce the stronghold there, and let fly his own banner at last. It was
a good plan, but it hung on many things.
With a short laugh at his own fancies he turned in the saddle as the
voice of Turlough broke into his musings.
"I mind the last time I saw the poor woman back yonder, master. It was
just before the great flight, and I mind now that she was not so
ill-looking even then, though she was well past her youth, and that was
forty years ago. Tyr-connall's bag-pipe men were blowing as we marched
to Lough Swilly, and two earls rode in front when the poor _caillin_
rushed out and flung herself under Tyr-owen's horse--oh, _Mhuire as
truagh, Mhuire as truagh_ for the old days! And when the earl died, her
name was on his lips, and I came home again to find her disappeared. Oh,
what sorrow for the old days! Would that I had died in Rome with the
princes--"
"Stop that wailing," interrupted Brian sternly, for the old man was
lashing himself into a frenzy of grief. "Put spurs to that horse of
yours, Turlough, for we must reach Cathbarr's tower by noon if possible
in order to start the men off over the hills. It'll be a long night's
march, and I've no time to be idling here on the road."
Upon which he dug in his spurs and urged his steed into a gallop, and in
order to keep up, Turlough Wolf had to give over his laments and do
likewise. Brian forced himself to bend all his energies toward carrying
out his final desperate plan, but he silently vowed that the old woman
who had so foully been cut down by the O'Donnells should not die
unavenged.
On they galloped without pause, gained the head of Bertraghboy Bay, and
swung to the east on the last stretch of the trip. The storm which had
arisen so inopportunely was now dying away, and the sun was breaking
through the gray clouds; when they turned out from the main track into
the hill-paths that led to Cathbarr's tower, the rough ground made them
slow their pace. When they were still three miles from the tower,
however, Brian gave a shout.
"Men, Turlough! Cathbarr has sent out men to meet us!"
So, indeed, it proved, and five minutes later a dozen men met them with
yells of delighted welcome. From these overjoyed fellows Brian quickly
learned that Cathbarr was at the tower and that Nuala O'Malley had just
arrived there.
So, leaving them to follow, he and Turlough went on at their best speed,
and twenty minutes later they topped that same long rise from which
Brian had first gazed down on the little promontory where stood
Cathbarr's tower. But now, as he saw what lay beneath, he drew up with a
shout of amazement.
For around the tower and at the base at the neck of land were camped a
goodly force of men, while at anchor near the tower lay--not Nuala's two
ships alone, but also those other two of her kinsmen!
"Those two O'Malleys have returned from the south," exclaimed Turlough
in wild delight. "That means more men and ships, master--we will cut off
those Millhaven pirates to a man!"
Brian sent out a long shout, but his arrival had already been noted. As
he rode down the slope, men poured from the camp and tower, and ahead of
them all came Cathbarr of the Ax, with Nuala and Lame Art and Shaun the
Little behind him.
"Welcome!" bellowed the giant with a huge laugh, pulling Brian from his
horse with a great hug of delight. "Welcome, brother!"
Brian escaped from his grip and bowed over the Bird Daughter's hand. As
he rose, he saw that her face had lost its ruddy hue, and that her eyes
were ringed with darkness. Before he could speak she smiled and gripped
his hand.
"The birds came safe, and we know all. Yesterday arrived these kinsmen
of mine, and their force is joined to our own, Yellow Brian--"
Brian held up his hand, halting her suddenly, and silence fell on the
men who had crowded around. For a moment he gazed into her deep eyes,
then flung up his head and his voice rang clear and stern in the
stillness.
"Lady Nuala," he said quietly, "I promised you that when I slew the Dark
Master I would tell you my name. Before another day has passed I shall
have slain him; and now I tell you and your kinsmen that I renounce all
fealty to you."
At this the Bird Daughter started, staring in amazement, while an abrupt
oath burst from Lame Art. Brian went on calmly.
"This I do because it is not meet that The O'Neill should give fealty to
any, Lady Nuala. I am Brian O'Neill, of right The O'Neill and Earl of
Tyr-owen, though these are empty titles. And this night you and I shall
fall on Bertragh together, Bird Daughter, and when we have won it again
it shall be yours as of old."
And amid a great roar of shouts welling up around him Brian bowed to
Nuala.
"Then, Brian O'Neill," she said, quieting the tumult a little, "am I to
understand that you wish to make pact with me, and to receive no
reward?"
For a moment he gazed openly and frankly into her eyes, and under his
look the red crept into her cheeks again; yet her own eyes did not
flinch.
Brian laughed out.
"Yes, lady! It may be that I shall have a reward to ask of you, but that
may not be until I have won back what I have lost for you."
"And what if the reward be too great?"
"Why, that shall be for you to say!" and Brian laughed again. "Is it
agreed, Bird Daughter?"
For an instant he thought she meant to refuse, as she drew herself up
and met his level eyes; the men around held their breaths, and the
O'Malley chiefs glanced at each other in puzzled wonder. Then her quick
laugh rippled out and she gave him her hand.
"Agreed, Brian--and I hope that you can shave that yellow beard of yours
by to-morrow!"
And the great yell that went up from the men drowned all else in Brian's
ears.