Kitabı oku: «Grace O'Malley. Machray Robert», sayfa 17
All this I saw with perfect clearness, and when I spoke to Eva of it, she was at first inclined to fly out at me, and to reproach me for my apathy. Yet, God wot, it was not apathy; I simply could not see any way out for us, or, rather, for our mistress, no matter in what direction I looked. All that I could think of was that I should get into Limerick under some disguise, and then endeavour to find the means of effecting her escape.
When I mentioned this to Eva, she replied that to carry out such a plan would, or might, involve too long a delay, for our mistress, being already condemned, might be executed at any moment. This was true; but, as I could not conceive of any other scheme, I resolved to set about undertaking it, and that no later than next day.
That night my sleep was troubled and uneasy, and I tossed restlessly about, so that when the first light of day was seen I sprang from my couch. As I did so I heard Calvagh O’Halloran call my name loudly, and at the same instant there was the sound of oars; then Calvagh, as I stepped on deck, came running towards me, crying something I could not quite distinguish, and pointing to The Grey Wolf, which had slipped her anchor, and was now being rowed away from us in the direction of Limerick.
All this came upon me so suddenly that I could scarcely grasp the meaning of it, until I noticed Eva O’Malley standing on the poop of The Grey Wolf, and waving her hand to me in farewell.
“Stop! stop!” I cried; but on went the galley at racing speed. “Stop! stop!” I cried again; but received no other response than that given by those waving hands. I was on the point of ordering Calvagh to get The Cross of Blood under weigh, when I observed that Eva had sent Art O’Malley by one of the small boats of The Grey Wolf to my galley with a message for me.
“What is this? What is this?” I asked of him.
“Eva O’Malley bids me tell you,” replied he, “that she is going in to Limerick to see Sir Nicholas Malby.”
“What?” I cried. “Has she gone crazed! To see Nicholas Malby! What frenzy is this?”
“’Tis no frenzy, Ruari Macdonald,” said Art O’Malley, “but her settled will. And she bade me say that you must wait here, and she will return to-night, or else, if she come not, that we must all go to Limerick to-morrow.”
“What is her intention?”
“That I know not. It was not till I was in the boat that she gave me these words for you, and none of us imagined, when the galley set out, that you were not aware of what she was about.”
I looked at the man in wonder.
“Have you no suspicion at all of what she would be at?”
“To see Sir Nicholas Malby – as she said; I know no more.”
In the circumstances there was nothing left me to do but to wait and wonder, to wonder and to wait.
What interpretation was I to put on this extraordinary, this rash act of Eva’s? Did she think she would be able to bribe Sir Nicholas? Was that her idea? Or did she have some other plan?
But all these surmises were powerless to console me; and it was with a gladness of heart to which I had long been a stranger that I saw The Grey Wolf come up alongside of us in the afternoon.
And who was that who stood by the side of my dear on the poop-deck? Richard Burke was with me, and I cried to him to look.
“Who is that?” asked I, astounded, doubting if my eyes did not juggle with me.
“You may well ask,” said he. “Some miracle must have come to pass!”
“Then ’tis he!” I cried.
“Sir Nicholas Malby himself,” said Burke, and his face was instantly lighted up with a new hope rising in his breast.
“Ay, ’tis Sir Nicholas!” cried I. “By God’s wounds, this is a strange thing!”
There they stood together – the Colonel of Connaught and Eva O’Malley. Like Burke, my heart grew light, as if a great weight had been taken from me, for I knew that Malby must have some proposal to make us which must be to our advantage, otherwise he would never thus have ventured to come.
If he was not exactly alone, he had apparently but few of his soldiers with him; and evidently, therefore, he was determined to show us that whatever it was he was to offer us was offered to men in whom he had implicit faith.
And what had Eva said, what promised, what undertaken for us? How had she managed to bring him? What had this little weak woman, who could yet be so great and strong, done?
And I still glow with a pride in her that is too deep and too high for words when I think of it all. Surely, it was nothing but a miracle, as Burke had said. One thing, at least, was now certain, and that was that Grace O’Malley was alive, or Malby would not have come to us.
The Grey Wolf having dropped her anchor, Eva and Sir Nicholas immediately made signs to Richard Burke and me to go over to them, and we hastened to comply with their wish. As we approached, Sir Nicholas saluted us both very courteously, and we bowed low in return. Eva was the first to speak.
“I went this morning to Sir Nicholas,” said Eva; “I was detained at the water gate, but – ”
“You are a brave as well as a beautiful woman,” said he, interrupting her, “and I regret that there was any delay at the gate.”
“It would have been singular,” replied she, smiling, “if there had not been some opposition. However, having stated who I was, I prevailed after some time upon the captain of the watch to send me to Sir Nicholas. I wished to see if Sir Nicholas utterly refused to accept a ransom for our mistress.”
“Yes,” said I, eagerly. “We will pay it gladly.”
“He refused to receive a ransom, however,” said Eva.
“Then – ” asked I.
“He had better tell you himself what he proposes,” said she. “He asked me if I thought you would agree, and knowing how you and the MacWilliam now feel with respect to Sir James Fitzmaurice, I answered that I deemed it probable enough. He next wished to know how he was to convince you of his sincerity, and I suggested his coming with me as a proof it. But that I have passed my word to him, pledging you and Richard Burke also to his safety, he is in our hands.”
“I will be frank with you,” said Sir Nicholas, bluntly, “and not waste words. You wish to free your mistress, and you have a quarrel with Sir James Fitzmaurice so that you no longer can fight by his side against us. If you and the MacWilliam will join your men to mine, I will not only set Grace O’Malley at liberty, but will confirm her in possession of her estates in the Queen’s name, and also grant what I know she desires in respect of her ships.” Sir Nicholas paused, eyeing us narrowly.
“The MacWilliam and I are proclaimed rebels,” said I.
“Come to the aid of her Highness,” said he, “and you will be rebels no longer.” Then, as he saw that we both were silent, he said – and here he touched us to the quick – ”Have you no desire to be avenged on Fitzmaurice and the Desmonds?”
“Ay, by the Mass, yes,” cried Burke.
“What say you, Ruari Macdonald?” asked Sir Nicholas.
“Tell me first,” said I, “how stands Desmond in this matter?”
“He has gone to Askeaton again,” said he, “and as he will not declare himself for the Queen, he must be judged to be against her.”
“Did you say anything to Grace O’Malley of this errand of yours to us? Does she know of it?” asked I.
“Yes,” said he.
“And what is her word to us?”
“’Bid these men of mine avenge me, and that right speedily.’ That was what she said.”
“Well spoken!” cried Richard Burke.
“I have never disobeyed her yet,” said I, “and I shall not do so now.”
CHAPTER XXIV.
BARRINGTON BRIDGE
As we four stood facing each other on the poop of The Grey Wolf, there was the sound of a door opened and closed, and then the pit-pat of steps on the deck, and well did I know who it was.
“Grace O’Malley!” cried I joyously, turning towards her.
“Grace O’Malley!” said Richard Burke, and could not say more for very gladness.
My mistress smiled upon us, as she gave one hand to the MacWilliam and the other to me; but as I gazed upon her I saw that those great eyes of hers were deep-shadowed with sadness. And well could I understand how the failure and defeat of her most cherished hopes, brought about by the perfidy of Desmond, and acquiesced in by Fitzmaurice, preyed upon her mind and filled her with gloom. What she now said to me showed how her thoughts ran.
“So you are become a Queen’s man, Ruari!”
“I am your servant, Grace O’Malley,” said I. “What care I whose man I am, so long as I am yours! If you say be a Queen’s man, then Queen’s man am I.”
“And you, Richard Burke?” she asked.
“You well know what I would say!” answered he.
“It is well,” said she; but if she had said, “It is ill,” her accents could hardly have been more sober or less exultant. And for myself, when I recalled the image of de Vilela, who must henceforth be our foe, and all that I owed him, I could not but share in and sympathise with her feelings.
Sir Nicholas Malby, perhaps guessing something of what we were thinking, and anxious to reap the fullest benefit as soon as possible from our alliance with him, brought the conversation sharply round to Fitzmaurice and the Geraldines.
He was enough of a tactician to say very little of the past or of the Spaniards; only he harped incessantly on the baseness with which our mistress had been treated by her own countrymen, and so wrought upon our desire for revenge.
“Here and now is your opportunity! There is no time to be thrown away. Each day sees Fitzmaurice in a stronger position, as men pour into his camp from all directions. Desmond, meanwhile, like the weakling he is, still hesitates. If we are to succeed, the blow must be struck at once – should he join Fitzmaurice, I may have to wait till soldiers come from England; if we move at once, however, though the enemy is more numerous than our combined forces, we are, I believe, a match for them.”
“Tell us your plans,” said Richard Burke, and thereupon Sir Nicholas began to discuss with us what course was to be pursued.
He appeared to be well-informed of all that was going on in the camp of Fitzmaurice, and was determined to offer him battle at once. With this end in view, we agreed to move up the galleys that very afternoon to Limerick, and anchor them in the harbour within its walls.
It was not without misgivings that I consented to this, for then we should be indeed at the mercy of Sir Nicholas; but he was so fair and open with us, and had so placed himself, without reserve, as it were, in our hands, that I gave way; nor, as the event showed, was our trust misplaced.
I returned to The Cross of Blood, and in a very few minutes, the three galleys were on their way to Limerick, where their appearance shortly afterwards created no small stir among its inhabitants.
Thinking that Grace O’Malley and Eva would prefer being left together, I had taken Sir Nicholas on board of my ship; and he and Burke and I considered the situation of affairs, and resolved that next morning we should all march out from Limerick and engage Fitzmaurice. Sir Nicholas estimated our whole force at a thousand men, most of whom were hardened soldiers and veterans of war, nor did he anticipate that we should meet with any strenuous resistance, save from the Spanish troops, who would be certain to fight desperately.
One favour I asked of Sir Nicholas, and only one. I told him that there was amongst the Spaniards a gentleman – a certain de Vilela – to whom I was beholden by the greatest of obligations, and I begged of him this boon – if it should be the fortune of war that Don Francisco were taken alive, then that he should be given up to me upon my paying such a ransom as would satisfy the captors. And to this Sir Nicholas very willingly consented.
After we had come into port, and the galleys were made fast to the quay, Sir Nicholas went on into the city to give orders with respect to his soldiers and to prepare for the morrow. But, ere he left us, he said he would either come himself to see me late that night to give us his final commands, or would send one of his chief captains in his place.
As I watched that sturdy figure of his, I recalled that when I had last talked with him it was on the night of the revel in Galway, and could not but marvel at the strange dance both he and I had been led by fate since that time.
Also I did not fail to reflect that, while Sir Nicholas had spoken confidently of our ability to cope with the enemy, he must have deemed his position to be critical in the extreme, or he never would have made terms with us. Nothing but the stern compulsion of necessity could have forced him to act as he had done – nothing else, indeed, could have justified him.
I was sure, being acquainted with the nature of the man, that it would have been more congenial to him to have fought us, as well as Fitzmaurice. Being placed, however, as he was, he had seen, with the quickness and shrewdness of a man well versed in affairs, how he could make use of the division between us and Fitzmaurice, and turn it to his profit and the service of the Queen.
His need of us must have been very great for him not only to have to relinquish the vengeance he had vowed against my mistress and myself, but also to ask for our aid. But would our assistance suffice?
My heart beat fast and quickly as I thought that the morrow’s battle might have a very different result from that which he expected. To say the least, our victory was very uncertain, seeing that our combined forces were probably far outnumbered by those of Fitzmaurice.
After I had spent an hour or two musing in this fashion, I saw Eva appear on the deck of The Grey Wolf. All my doubt of the issue of the morrow vanished immediately, and a swelling tide of love and tenderness swept over me as I beheld my dear. In truth, I had loved her all my life; but there was now mingled with my love a feeling that was close akin to worship, for what had not she dared?
Thank God, I say again, for the great hearts of women!
She did not at once perceive me, and I observed from the pensive droop of her head and of her body that she was weary. There was now nought between us – but a few feet of water; and I quickly made my way to her side. She greeted me with a radiant smile, and love’s own light was shining in her soft eyes.
“Ruari!”
And love, too, was in her voice.
Long did we hold sweet converse together, saying such fond things to each other as lovers say; but it is not for me to set them forth.
When I asked her what had put it into her mind to go to Sir Nicholas Malby, she replied that after the conversation we had had, in which she had suggested offering a large sum to him as a ransom for Grace O’Malley – a notion which I had scouted – she had pondered the matter, and had resolved, without informing me of her intention, to endeavour to gain admittance to Sir Nicholas, and to tell him that he had only to name what amount of treasure he required to purchase our mistress’s liberty, and it would be given.
“I felt an irresistible impulse,” said Eva, “and it was so strong upon me that I could get no rest until I had seen Sir Nicholas.”
“Did Sir Nicholas receive you well?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Eva. “He was disposed to regard my appearance as most fortunate, for he had already been casting about for some means of communicating with you and the MacWilliam.”
And here our talk was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the hoofs of horses upon the stones of the quay, the clank of arms, and shouted words of command.
“Sir Nicholas again!” cried I, and we went forward to meet him.
“All is well,” said he briefly, but briskly. “I wish you to disembark your men – ” and here he stopped; “but where is Richard Burke?”
“He is with Grace O’Malley,” said Eva.
Sir Nicholas stood for an instant lost in thought.
“Rumours have reached us,” said he, at length, “that the MacWilliam is greatly desirous of allying himself with Grace O’Malley more nearly than as a mere comrade and friend in war.”
His words were a question, and I could almost have sworn there was a twinkle in those fierce eyes of his.
“Yes, that is true,” I answered, seeing no need for any equivocation or denial.
“It would be no bad thing,” said he, “for after what has passed they will surely be loyal to her Highness.”
“Yes,” said I, somewhat drily, “but that will also depend upon her Highness.”
“Her Highness,” cried he, “can mean nothing but good to this her realm of Ireland. Peace and quiet are essential to its prosperity, and these she will have, and so, by God, shall I.”
“Let us go and see them,” said I; for what he had said seemed to me very like halloaing before we were out of the wood, as it were.
When we entered the cabin, I saw at once that my mistress had recovered something of her usual spirits, while Richard Burke’s honest face was bright with happiness. It needed no voice to tell me that he had again made suit to her, and that she had not repulsed him.
And so best, thought I.
But there was a stern business before us, for we must win our way to the hands of our brides across a field of blood.
Sir Nicholas began at once to tell us what he had arranged with respect to us and his English troops. At dawn we were all to cross the Shannon, and, plunging into the forest, march upon the camp of Fitzmaurice. He trusted that he might come upon Sir James unawares, or, at any rate, before he had had time to make the best disposition of his men.
When all these matters had been settled between us, we bade Grace O’Malley and Eva farewell.
“Wear this,” said Grace O’Malley, on parting, to Richard Burke, taking a ring from her finger and putting it into his hand, “and wear it for my sake.”
As for myself, I had secretly possessed myself of a silken riband of Eva’s, and twined it about the guard of my sword. That was guerdon enough for me until I should return to claim her.
“Victory!” cried my mistress to me.
“Amen and amen to that!” said Sir Nicholas and we all, in a breath.
Then we went, each one to his place, and the darkness covered us all till morning came.
In the twilight of the dawn we assembled to the sound of trumpets, and then were rapidly carried across the river to its south side, landing about two miles east of Limerick.
The troops of Sir Nicholas were composed of Englishmen and of Irishmen too, though these were chiefly from the Pale; all men who had taken part in many a fight, and gloried in nothing so much as in the red riot of war. Two hundred of them were mounted, and a hundred, or perhaps more, bore arquebuses upon their shoulders. But the major portion of them were armed with long pikes, and nearly all had swords or daggers. The Burkes and the O’Malleys had the Irish sword and the stabbing poniard and the still more terrible battle-axe.
The men on horseback went first; then the MacWilliam and I with our men, followed by the soldiers with arquebuses; last of all, Sir Nicholas and his pike-men.
Such was the order of our march until we were within half a mile of the outposts of Fitzmaurice’s camp. But already his spies had warned him of our approach, and we could hear, even at that distance, the noise of the commotion among his forces as they prepared to receive us.
We now advanced more slowly, throwing out single soldiers here and there among the trees, while the mounted men were halted.
The main body was massed together as closely as the nature of the ground would permit, Sir Nicholas himself directing all our movements with the utmost coolness and unconcern.
As we pressed onward there was a sharp crack of an arquebus, then another and another, until the air was full of the sounds of firing; and then the men who had been sent forward fell back, crying that the Spaniards were drawn up in battle array, and were waiting to fall upon us so soon as we came near. Before we emerged from the forest into the open Sir Nicholas brought up his arquebusiers, bidding Burke and myself to support them. At the same time he ordered his mounted men to the front.
When we burst out from among the trees we were met by a hail of bullets from the pieces of the Spaniards, and a cloud of whirring arrows seemed to form and break over our heads. For a time we were thrown back, but returning, like a wave flinging itself upon the shore, rushed furiously on the enemy, the arquebusiers of Sir Nicholas meanwhile pouring a deadly fire in upon the ranks of Fitzmaurice.
There was the sudden hoarse blare of a trumpet, the strident voice of Sir Nicholas crying on us to charge, and our horsemen threw themselves madly upon the foe, who sullenly gave way before them, but only to form up quickly again. The men opposed to them were neither cowards nor strangers to the art of war; they were rallied speedily by their captains, and soon presented a new front to our attack.
The air was so darkened by smoke, and there was such a tumult from the shoutings of the soldiers and the clang and clamour of their weapons and all the wild work of war, that it was some time before I could make out de Vilela among the Spaniards. But there he was, his long sword gleaming in his hand, his lips moving, and, though I could not hear what he was saying, I could well imagine that he was exhorting his men to remember Spain, and to acquit themselves as became her sons. Then, as the battle raged, now here, now there, he passed out of my sight.
It is a soldier’s duty to do what his general bids him; but I was glad when Sir Nicholas called upon Burke and myself to lead our people against that part of Fitzmaurice’s army which was chiefly made up of the Geraldines, and which was commanded by Sir James himself. Sir Nicholas rightly judged that our animosity would burn more fiercely against them than against the Spaniards, and we sprang upon them with a fury they could not long withstand.
At the first onset they met us bravely, and for awhile there was much fierce and terrible fighting. Above their hosts there rose the Pope’s banner of blue and gold, and around it and Sanders, who held it, and his priests, they made a stubborn resistance. But they were forced back, and ever back.
I strove to come at Fitzmaurice, but could not for the press. We had a score to settle, and settled it was, but not by me, for it was Burke who dealt him the fatal blow. I had just parried the cunning thrust of a sword, as I was trying to reach Fitzmaurice, when I saw the flash of a pistol in Burke’s hand, and then Sir James swayed and fell forward from his horse. When the Geraldines knew what had taken place, they turned and fled, bearing Sanders and his banner along with them, into the thicknesses of the forest.
Having witnessed the defeat and flight of their Irish allies, the Spaniards could not but be aware that they had small chance of retrieving the fortunes of the day, and they now began to retreat. Attacked on the flanks as well as in the front, they were thrown into disorder, and their retreat became a rout, each man striving to save himself. A few, however, stood their ground to the last, and among them was de Vilela.
“Take him alive!” I shouted; but the words came too late.
I was almost beside him, for I had hoped that he would surrender to me if I asked him to do so, and with that purpose had fought my way even through the English to get near him; but before I reached him he had fallen, his armour all stained with blood, and his sword broken in his hand.
With a great, wild cry of grief, the sharpness of which was like the sundering of my spirit from my body, I threw my sword upon the ground, and, kneeling beside him, called to him to speak to me if he were yet alive. His hand feebly pressed mine, while I wept and sobbed like a little child. The lips trembled and opened; the half-shut eyelids faintly quivered; but he could not speak. Again, however, my hand was feebly pressed. And so he passed – still with his hand in mine – this noble gentleman of Spain.
Nor does there go by a day when I do not think of de Vilela, the man to whom I owed so much – so much that I can never repay.
It was the custom in these wars of ours to cut off the heads of the principal men among our fallen enemies; this the body of Sir James Fitzmaurice suffered, the head being sent to Dublin, where it was tarred, and put on a spike above the Castle gate.
But no such indignity befell the body of de Vilela, for, having obtained permission from Sir Nicholas, I took my men, made a solemn mourning for him, and buried him on the field of battle, where the waters of the Mulkern go murmuring past; and there he lies, that true and noble gentleman, in a grave without a name.
And thus ended the battle of Barrington Bridge, as it is called, entailing with it the overthrow and collapse of the rising, for the death of Fitzmaurice – although the war lingered on for long afterwards – was the death of any chance of success it had.
Desmond, who had been hanging about in the vicinity during the battle, but had taken no part in it, later met with an inglorious end, and with him perished his house.
As for Richard Burke and myself, we accompanied Sir Nicholas Malby and his army in various expeditions, until the beginning of the winter, when he set out overland to Galway, and we sailed from Limerick the same day in our ships for that city also. Heaven sent us fair and gentle gales – perhaps, to make up for all the storms through which we had passed – and we came safely into the port of Galway where we lay several days waiting for Sir Nicholas; for, at his particular request, we – Grace O’Malley and the MacWilliam, and Eva and I – were to be married in the church of St. Nicholas of Myra.
And I had heard that when these events came to pass, there were among the spectators many who loved us and wished us well, and many who did not; but to which of these classes Sir Nicholas really belonged I know not, for, in the years that came after, he and Grace O’Malley and her husband, Richard Burke, had many disputes, and the “Queen’s peace” was often broken.
As for myself and Eva, we sailed away from Ireland to my old home in Isla, where I was chosen chief in the room of my uncle, who had succeeded my father, and who was now dead. It was in The Cross of Blood– Grace O’Malley’s last gift to me – that we made our journey, and that I returned to these isles of Scotland.
Many years have passed since, and in our life there has been winter as well as summer; but still there is the same light in Eva’s eyes, and the same love in her voice. It has been our happy lot to grow old together – to grow old in our love for each other, though that love itself is as fresh and new as the flowers of the first mornings of summer.
And so we await the inevitable end.
