Grace O'Malley. Machray Robert

“Grace O’Malley,” said one of them, “was brought into Limerick yesterday, and delivered up to Sir Nicholas Malby.”

“Grace O’Malley in Limerick,” I cried, “and Sir Nicholas Malby there also!”

The fatality of the thing completely broke down my control, and I could not speak for some minutes. I had somehow felt all along that my mistress would be given up to the English by Desmond, but to be told that this had actually come to pass was none the less a crushing blow. And to Sir Nicholas Malby, the Colonel of Connaught, our implacable foe!

The two men gazed at me curiously, seeing how overcome I was.

“How comes Sir Nicholas Malby to be in Limerick?” I asked, pulling myself together. “Connaught is his government, not Munster; how does he happen to be here?”

“You surely must know,” said the man who had spoken before, “that Sir James Fitzmaurice, one of the Desmonds, has arrived in the country at the head of a large army from Spain, and that the Irish people are flocking in to him from all quarters?”

“Yes,” said I, shortly, “I know all that.”

“Sir Nicholas Malby was summoned by the President of Munster,” said the soldier, “in hot haste to the defence of Limerick. We were in garrison at the time at Athlone, several hundred of us, and Sir Nicholas, having marshalled us in our companies, immediately set off in response down the Shannon, and two days ago we arrived here. The President is terror-stricken, and the whole city trembles with fear.”

“How came you to be without the walls?” I asked. “And at such a time?”

“We were trying to escape,” said the man, “for we heard that the city would soon be taken by the Spaniards, of whom there are thousands, and that everyone of us would be tortured and slain by them.”

“Is the Earl of Desmond in Limerick?” I next inquired – noting, however, how the number of Fitzmaurice’s men had been exaggerated.

“No,” replied the man. “He sent Grace O’Malley bound in chains into the city to Sir Nicholas Malby, but he came not himself. ’Tis said that he will neither join the Spaniards, nor yet assist us, but holds himself aloof from both until he sees on whose side fortune will declare itself.”

And this reed of rottenness, this catspaw of the wind, was the man whom my mistress, led on by the memories of the past greatness of the house of Desmond, and by the hope that under him the Irish might unite, had called our natural leader!

It had been the noble dream of a noble soul, that vision of hers; but, like many another noble dream, it was woven around a man incapable of filling the part he was called upon to play, and so was nothing but a dream.

The folly and wickedness of Desmond seemed to me to be almost inconceivable. Baulked by the firmness of my mistress, he had wreaked his wrath upon her by handing her over to the one man in all Ireland who might be supposed to regard her capture with the utmost joy, and who would take a fiendish delight in torturing her.

Having gratified his hatred of her – for such his love no doubt had become – the Earl sought to stand in with both sides in the approaching struggle by coming out openly on behalf of neither. It needed not that one should be a prophet to forecast that Desmond would fall and be crushed between the two.

While such thoughts passed rapidly through my mind, the chief thing which I had just been told – that Grace O’Malley was immured in the gaol of Limerick – threw everything else into the shade. In the hope that the men might have heard what had occurred to her after her arrival in Limerick, I asked them:

“Do you know, or did you hear, what Sir Nicholas Malby did in respect of Grace O’Malley, after she had been delivered up to him?”

“I was one of his guard,” said the man who acted as spokesman for the twain, “when she was brought before him. Sir Nicholas eyed her with great sternness; albeit it was easy to see that he was well-pleased to have her in his power, for she had wrought the English terrible injuries in Galway, and had set him at defiance. However, she did not quail nor humble herself, but bore herself like a princess, as, they say, she is.”

“What said Sir Nicholas?” asked I.

“He demanded of her many things,” replied the man, “but she would answer him not at all. Whereupon he was enraged against her, and gave orders that the city gallows should be got ready forthwith, and that she should be hanged immediately.”

“Did she not speak even then?”

“No. She looked at him very calmly and tranquilly, like one, indeed, who had already tasted of the bitterness of death and had no fear of it. A strange woman, and a brave! But ’tis said she is a witch.”

“What happened after that?”

“We were leading her away to the square in which the gibbet stands, when Sir Nicholas called to us to come back, for he had changed his mind, as it now appeared. Said he to her, ’You will not dance in the air to-day, mistress, but I shall take good care that you dance not out of Limerick as you did out of Galway!’ But to what he alluded when he said that I know not. Thereafter she was cast into one of the dungeons of the place.”

“One of the dungeons?” asked I.

“Yes – there are several deep, dark dungeons below the gaol of Limerick, and she was thrust into one of these.”

I had heard enough, and having sent the two soldiers away in charge of some of my men, I went and told Richard Burke the evil tidings. Up to this moment he must have cherished the hope that Grace O’Malley would in some way or other escape, for he was utterly unmanned on hearing where and in whose hands she was, and abandoned himself to the wildest grief. The very colour of his face showed that he already regarded her as one dead. As for myself, there had grown upon me a kind of coldness, and an icy numbness, as it were, which seemed to have killed all feeling within me for the time.

And perhaps it was well that this was the case, else I should never have been able to carry the news to Eva. Yet she must be told, and tell her I did.

“So long as she is alive,” exclaimed Eva, when I had come to the end of my tale, “there is hope. I will not believe that it is her destiny to perish in this manner!”

What had become of the timid, shrinking girl? For my dear was transformed altogether, being now full of courage, and of purpose and determination.

“Remember,” said she, “what Sir Nicholas is; how greedy of money he is, how avaricious! Think you he would not sell Grace O’Malley for gold? Only offer him enough, and he will set her free.”

I thought of the immense treasure which lay in the Caves of Silence under the Hill of Sorrow, and for a minute I considered that Eva’s suggestion might avail us. But the caves were far away from Limerick, and to go thither was out of the question.

Besides, the English rule was too seriously threatened to permit Sir Nicholas to be moved at this time by bribes, however rich they were. If he opened his hands, liberating Grace O’Malley with his right, and taking her gold with his left, it would not be now: the situation of the English was far too perilous for that.

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.