Grace O'Malley. Machray Robert

“Grace O’Malley a prisoner?”

“That is what she is,” said Richard Burke. “She is not bound, nor is she locked up in a room. Her every movement, however, is watched by Sabina Lynch. While she may think herself a guest, and an honoured guest, the hospitality is a mere pretence.”

“But why, why?”

“There are many reasons, as you well know,” he replied. “The mind of the Governor is set against allowing any of the ancient customs of the land; he is endeavouring quietly and skilfully – for he is not a blustering bully as some others are – to reduce the power of the chiefs and to make them pay tribute to the Queen. Where he does show his hand plainly it is always to strike a deadly blow.”

“Yes, yes,” I said, impatiently. Grace O’Malley a prisoner, and I sitting quietly in my ship! The thing seemed impossible – yet it was true.

“No need for haste,” said he calmly. “Listen to what I have to say, and then you will grasp the matter more surely. Sir Nicholas will offer no violence if he can gain his point without it.”

“What is his point?” I asked.

“Is there any need to ask?” replied Burke. “Grace O’Malley is a powerful princess in Connaught. She has her lands, her galleys, and several hundred well armed men at her back. Is that not enough? Are the English not trying to clip all our wings? But there is far more in the case of your mistress.”

“Go on, go on!” I said.

“This,” said he. “The mind of Sir Nicholas has been wrought upon by the merchants of Galway, who are ever about him, saying this and that, offering him valuable gifts and such things as he loves.”

“To what end?”

“You know as well as I do, that these proud-stomached folk have no great liking for us Irish,” said Burke. “Did you never hear that they have a statute of the town that ’Neither Mac nor O’ shall strut or swagger’ in the streets of Galway? There has always been, however, a friendship between us Burkes of Mayo and one or two of the families here, as, for instance, the Lynches, and I hear through them all that is going on.

“Owen O’Malley plundered the ships of the Galway merchants, making scant distinction between them and Spanish or French or Scottish ships. Grace O’Malley shared in many of her father’s doings before he died, and the people of Galway think that she has inherited her father’s nature and disposition as well as his lands and ships, and that as long as her galleys roam the sea there will be no safety for their vessels.”

The words were nearly the same as those Eva O’Malley had used when she tried to dissuade my mistress from setting out from Clew Bay.

“What would they have Sir Nicholas do?” I asked.

“Break up her ships; scatter her people; hang, kill, burn, destroy them; hold her a prisoner; or – for there is no advantage to be derived from our shutting our eyes – kill her, too, by poison, perhaps, unless she agrees to the terms of the Governor.”

Burke now spoke in great excitement, and with labouring breath; nor could I listen to his words with any degree of composure.

“She will never agree to the Governor’s terms,” said I. “She is being deceived, for she believes that Sir Nicholas is favourable to her suit.”

“Put that hope out of your mind,” replied he. “Sir Nicholas is merely playing with her – with what object you can easily guess. It is for no other reason than to make her ruin the more complete.”

I assented gloomily.

“Now we know what to expect,” I said. “We are forewarned and so forearmed.”

“Your mistress pays no heed to warnings,” said Burke hotly.

I thought of the arrow and its message.

“The arrow!” I said.

“Yes,” he replied. “I could not send you word openly, so I chose that way, getting one of my men, who is a famous archer, to send the shaft into your ship.”

I thanked him warmly, remarking, however, that Grace O’Malley would pay no attention to any warnings whatever, once she was resolved upon any particular course.

“She must be told now of her danger,” he said, “and at once.”

“I suppose,” said I, “I can still see her.”

“That I know not,” he replied; “but news of your fight with Michael Martin is all over the town, and you will have to walk circumspectly. Sir Nicholas spoke of his meeting with you, and declared that all such conflicts must be severely punished. Go not into Galway – unless with a strong guard.”

The counsel was wise, but I was quite determined, if necessary, to disregard it. My mind, however, suddenly went on another tack, and I spoke out what my thought was.

“I must see her, and that without delay,” I said; “but you mentioned that you were friendly with the Lynches. Could not Grace O’Malley be sent a message through them? If the Mayor is not to be trusted, surely Sabina Lynch, his daughter, cannot sympathise greatly with the dark and terrible projects of the Governor. Would she not convey a letter to my mistress?”

Richard Burke looked at me fixedly and searchingly.

“That is doubtful,” said he, at length. Then he added, “I do not think that we can place our confidence in Sabina Lynch in anything that concerns Grace O’Malley.”

“Why?” I asked simply.

He did not answer immediately, but stopped and pondered awhile before he replied —

“I am about to tell you, Ruari, what I never thought to say to you or any other living soul. But the need is urgent, and I must speak. The Lynches and myself are old friends. I have known Sabina Lynch since she was a child, and I have been made aware in many ways – there is no need to go further into that – that I am not displeasing to her now she is a woman. And her father has as much as intimated that he regards me with eyes of favour.”

I saw it all in a minute. Sabina Lynch loved Richard Burke, and Richard Burke did not return her affection. Did Sabina suspect that she had a rival? Did she regard Grace O’Malley as a rival? These questions passed through my mind with the speed of light.

“What has Sabina Lynch to do with Grace O’Malley?” I asked.

“I will not conceal from you,” said Burke, “that I am not in love with Sabina Lynch, but am in love with your mistress. Once I imagined that it was Owen O’Malley’s intention to wed you to his daughter, but neither you nor she has a passion for the other. Is it not so?”

“Yes,” I replied. “She is an elder sister to me – I am no more than a younger brother to her.”

“I love Grace O’Malley,” said he, “with all my soul and with all my strength. I mean to ask her to be my wife – ”

I broke in harshly.

“This is no time, surely, to talk of such a matter,” I cried, “now when she is a prisoner, and helpless in the hands of people who are her bitter enemies. Rather let us cast about for some means of delivering her.”

“I ask nothing better,” said Burke, “than to assist you – only remember it is not well to place any confidence in Sabina Lynch.”

Then we spent the next hour discussing plans, and having formed one which had some promise of success, Burke left the galley as secretly as he came – his boat disappearing into the darkness of the night.

After he had gone, I tried in vain to sleep, and finding my thoughts but dismal company, had myself rowed over to The Winged Horse, where I saw Tibbot, the pilot, whom I informed of the visit of Richard Burke, and of what we had concerted to do for the deliverance of Grace O’Malley. And as we could not foresee what the next step of the Governor might be, it was agreed that Tibbot’s galley should be kept ready for instant action, and to provide against any surprise by keeping her out in the bay, at such a distance that she should be out of the range of the calivers and bombards mounted on the walls of Galway.

CHAPTER VI.

GRACE O’MALLEY DANCES OUT OF GALWAY

As early in the morning as was possible, without causing remark or exciting suspicion, I went into the town, taking with me several of my own men. The same officer who had been in charge of the guard the previous day was at the gate, and I advanced towards him boldly, as if I had no notion in the world that there could be anything amiss, nor, so far as he was concerned, was there.

For he gravely returned my salutation, merely giving me “Good-day” without waste of words, and waved his hand in the direction of the church of St. Nicholas of Myra.

When I had arrived at the mansion of the Mayor, I could see no difference in the manner of the reception I was accorded, except such as there would be owing to my mistress not being present on this occasion.

I sent in my name, with a request that Grace O’Malley might be informed of my arrival, and after a short time – short as far as the actual minutes, but it appeared an age to me, so impatient and anxious was I – I was conducted into a spacious room, where I found my two ladies, Sabina Lynch, and several gentlemen, most of whom were Irish. They were in the midst of a conversation as I entered, and I quickly gathered that they were talking about the entertainment the Mayor was to give in honour of the Governor before many days. They were speaking of corantos and other dances, in which I had but small proficiency, and I could not help saying to myself that Grace O’Malley could have no suspicion how slippery would be the floor for her feet!

On endeavouring to get speech with her privately, I found myself completely baffled, and that so subtly and craftily that I raged and fumed inwardly. For when I attempted to draw her aside we were instantly joined by Sabina Lynch, who smilingly disguised her purpose of preventing us from talking together by ourselves under a mock of empty but pleasant words. Indeed, so skilfully and readily did she speak, and with so much apparently of goodwill, that I had constantly to remind myself of all that Richard Burke had told me only a few hours before.

What my feelings were may be guessed, but I did my utmost to conceal them, although not very successfully, as I afterwards was told by Eva O’Malley. I never was one who could play the part of gallant or courtier, and what I knew to be in the wind did not tend to assist me in the efforts I now made to be at my ease and to seem confident that there was not a cloud in the sky.

And it could hardly be that one, who had seen so much of me as Eva had, but would observe my clumsy attempts at gaiety and light-heartedness. What she thus saw in my manner made her very uneasy, but at the time she kept her ideas to herself. It was enough, however, to put her on her guard, and caused her to watch more narrowly whatever was going on.

A couple of hours were spent in this way, and, disturbed beyond measure by reason of my inability even to breathe a word of warning to my mistress – I had resolved to say nothing of their peril to the woman I loved, fearing lest it might prove too hard a trial for her, wherein I misjudged her strength most grievously – I bade them farewell for that day.

As I left I encountered the Governor, who was coming up the street. He reined up his horse, and, after uttering a few courteous words, asked me not to fail to go through the square of the town cross on my way to the quay. He said this with so much curious insistence in his tone that my interest was roused to the quick.

As a man enters this square from the east side the first object which meets the eye is not the town cross, but the town gallows. As soon as I had turned the corner of the street I perceived that from the gibbet there swung in the wind, forward and backward as the breeze rose and fell, the figure of a man. That the Governor had intended me to see this, and that it had some special lesson for me, I did not doubt, so I pressed forward smartly. Yet it was with an amazed horror that I beheld the dead man’s face.

For the victim was none other than Michael Martin, my antagonist of the previous afternoon. The Governor had followed the matter up, and had discovered him whom he had called the aggressor in the interrupted duel. Verily was the Queen’s peace being maintained with a vengeance. I had read the ruthless character of Sir Nicholas aright. Here, what had been a man, had been tried, sentenced, and executed in a few hours; and that Martin had occupied no inconsiderable position in Galway showed that the Governor was afraid of none.

If he would not hesitate to act in this fashion in the case of one of the English of Galway, how much less would he care for the Irish of Connaught? This I perceived plainly enough was what he desired Martin’s death to intimate to me. For myself, notwithstanding what had passed between Martin and me, I was hot and indignant that a man so brave as he should have been put to so foul a death.

It was in a melancholy mood that I bent my steps to the quay, albeit I made a great effort to keep from my face the troubled thoughts of my mind. Not only had I failed in acquainting Grace O’Malley with her real position, but I was also well aware that the hatred with which she inspired the people of Galway would be made all the fiercer by the death of Martin.

Striving to cast aside these sombre reflections as unmanly, and likely only to hamper me in any plan I might make for the freeing of my mistress, I went on board The Cross of Blood. I, at least, was free as yet, and ready to do and dare all. But so far I could not see my way, and had I been left to myself to carry out the device Richard Burke and I had formed, would probably have suffered some such fate as that of Michael Martin.

The next three days passed without any striking event. I had seen my mistress once at the Mayor’s mansion, and the attempts I made to reach her private ear were met and checked as effectively as before. I noticed, however, that while she appeared as gay as ever, there was a something about her that suggested in one way or another she was now conscious that she was not at complete liberty.

She had desired – so I got to know later on – to go down to her galley, but obstacles had been put in her path and objections had been raised. Then she had grasped the situation in which she had been placed, but had both the courage and the wisdom not to let this be evident.

It was the fifth day of our stay in Galway when The Lass of Carrick cast herself off from her moorings by the quay, and, towed out by her two boats into the bay, made ready for sea. I watched the rich prize slip out of our hands with dismay, but it was my only business at present to stay where I was. Yet, as I noticed how deep the Scottish ship lay in the water, I could not but regret that my hands were tied.

The captain made some signs to me which I did not comprehend, but which I interpreted as ironical farewells. I was the more mystified when, as I watched her approach The Winged Horse, I saw a boat put off from her for that galley. But when the night fell I had every reason to bless and not curse The Lass of Garrick. For in the dark Tibbot came on board my ship, bringing a letter from Grace O’Malley, which she had managed through one of her women, who had made love to the Scottish captain, to send thus secretly to me.

Now, the revel which the Mayor was giving for Sir Nicholas was to take place on the next day, and in this letter my mistress, who was now thoroughly awake to her danger and also to the perfidy of Sabina Lynch, set forth her plan of escape. It was at once bold and ingenious, and had a fair prospect of succeeding. That it was not carried out exactly as had been calculated – but this is to anticipate events.

My part was simplicity itself.

My mistress told me to come to the revel, as I had been invited, as if attending revels had been my occupation all my life, and to bring with me as many armed men as I thought could be got safely into Galway. But on no account was I to omit to fetch the two pipers – Phelim of the White Lock (he had an odd-looking tuft of white hair on his forehead) and Cormac, his brother. What they had to do will appear later.

Further, I was commanded to have the galleys ready to put instantly to sea, for the favourable outcome of the matter depended in the end on the swiftness of our movements.

Having received this letter, my breast swelled with joy. The calm was at an end, I said, and now for the storm; and ever in these days loved I storm more than calm. My spirits rose immediately as this week of wearisome waiting drew to an end and the time of action was at hand.

As soon as the day had come I called my chief officers together, and bade them be ready to sail that night, and I gave a similar charge to those of The Grey Wolf. Then I picked out several of the older men, and, for a pretext that they might be admitted into the town the more easily, despatched them with boxes and bales for our mistresses, which they were to carry to the mansion of the Lynches. I also sent a gift to the Governor, in order that he should have no ghost of a suspicion that I knew how matters stood.

In this manner, then, I introduced twenty more of our men into Galway, making up for their absence from the two galleys by causing Tibbot to send me some of his.

To those sent into the town I gave as a common meeting-place at a given hour the tavern that is under the sign of “The Golden Eagle,” bidding them thereafter to assemble in the High Street near the Mayor’s house. There they were to await my coming with my mistresses, if events should fall out according to our wish, and then, if there should be any need, I should tell them what to do.

At the appointed time I presented myself at the Lynch mansion. Here I found a considerable company was gathered together, many of the chiefs having arrived from the surrounding districts, north and south and east. In the streets was a great throng of gallowglasses and kernes, who had come into the place along with their chieftains.

The scene was one of bustle and movement and confusion. Among the crowd, engaged in keeping some sort of rough order, were a few English soldiers, part of the garrison of Galway. I noticed many of our own men, and as I passed through them I succeeded in telling them to take as little part as possible in any sports or quarrels that might be going on, but to hold themselves prepared to rally to me, and to follow when I should call upon them to do so.

When I entered the large room in which the revel was to take place, I saw Sir Nicholas and his officers standing in a group by themselves, receiving the chiefs and their ladies, as well as the principal citizens of Galway and their wives, as they came up.

Near them were the Mayor and his daughter, who was the centre of a number of beautiful maidens and stalwart young men. The instruments of music were already sounding forth their sweetest strains, inviting to the dance; and Sir Nicholas, making a stiff bow to the radiant Sabina, asked her to join him in a coranto.

The dance ended, many compliments were paid to the pair, although to my mind the Governor had disported himself like a clumsy bear, such as the Spaniards and the men of the South have to dance for their amusement.

Sabina Lynch, on the other hand, was, I will confess, a stately figure, and as she had been taught the coranto in Spain, where she had been brought up for some years, and so was vastly proficient in it, met with great and deserved attention. Indeed, I heard one of the English officers declare that he had never seen anyone more graceful or accomplished – no, not even at the Court of Elizabeth.

After a brief rest, Sir Nicholas again appeared, now leading forth Grace O’Malley. Although she thoroughly understood what a mockery all this courtesy on the part of the Governor was, she let no sign of her knowledge escape her. She had too great a soul for that; but had she not been cast in this mould of heroes she might, as a woman, have acted just as she did, so that she should give no triumph to Sabina Lynch.

Dance followed dance in quick succession, and both of my mistresses took their full share of all that went on. Both of them appeared to be devoting themselves without reserve to the pleasure of the occasion, and I could not but admire them. My love for Eva O’Malley was quickened anew, if that were possible, when I saw how unmoved she was, and how brave a carriage she kept, despite the fact that she knew they were but prisoners in the hands of the English, and in grievous peril of their lives.

I felt I could not have danced with a halter round my neck, yet here was this small, delicate woman doing this, and doing it as if she did not see the dangers that threatened her. The body, indeed, was weak, but the heart – how big it was!

Thank God, I say, for the great hearts of women!

I tried to acquit myself also in the course of the entertainment to the best of my ability, but for the most part, being no skilled performer in the matter of corantos and other dances, was perforce compelled to spend much of the time leaning against the wall. Once, as the Governor was passing me by, he stopped and spoke.

“Sir,” said he, “I have to render you my grateful acknowledgments for the handsome gift you have sent me this day.”

“Sir Nicholas,” replied I, “the gift was sent you by command of my mistress.”

The cruel, fierce eyes twinkled, and too late I perceived that my thoughtless words were making him suspect that some communication had passed between Grace O’Malley and myself in spite of his efforts and those of Sabina Lynch to prevent it. Thinking to undo the effect of my heedless speech, I made speed to continue.

“I thought,” said I, “that had my mistress been on her galley she would not have come to this revel in your honour with empty hands.”

“’Tis well spoken, by St. George!” said he. “Yet methinks there be few in Ireland that can afford to be so generous.”

The Governor’s brow relaxed, then clouded over again, for, on reflecting on my speech, he saw there was that in it which suggested I was not unaware that my mistress had been debarred from going down to her ships.

“You must reap rich harvests,” continued he, after a brief hesitation, “on the coast of Clew Bay, yet am I informed that nothing grows there but rocks.”

Howbeit the strains of music, rising and falling like a summer sea, were borne upon the air, and Sir Nicholas moved off to his own place. But his manner made me anxious that what we had planned might not long be postponed.

The hours one by one went by, and the time came.

I saw my mistress, laughter in her eyes and on her lips, approach Sir Nicholas, and enter into a gay conversation with him. I moved up nearer to the top of the room.

“If you have never seen it, Sir Nicholas,” I heard her saying, “sure am I you would like to see it.”

I listened in painful suspense for the answer of the Governor. Everything depended on it. “Who could resist Grace O’Malley, when she chose to be resistless?” I asked myself. Then I remembered what I had heard and seen of Sir Nicholas, and I replied to my beating heart that here was a man who might resist. But he had no suspicion whatever, and he fell into the trap, baited so cunningly by a woman’s wit.

“I have seen it,” said he, “and if you will honour me by dancing it with me – ?”

“The honour, Sir Nicholas,” quoth she, saucily, “is mine.”

The matter did not fall out quite as we had hoped, for it had been part of our plan that I was forthwith to have danced one of our wild Irish measures, which are more a test of endurance than an exhibition of grace, with my mistress.

It was soon spread through the assembly that the Governor and my mistress were to dance the dance of the country people, and on this proof of his affability towards us there were loud shouts of approval. Then there was a cry for the pipers, and, presently, just as we had schemed, in strode Phelim of the White Lock, and Cormac, our men – striding along the hall, with their pipes blowing the quick step to a merry and rollicksome tune.

Forward came Sir Nicholas and Grace O’Malley, while the people stood round about in a wide circle. But the Governor was no match for my mistress, and he soon began to hang out signals of distress, whereupon, greatly to his discomfiture, she wheeled about and beckoned to Sir Murrough O’Flaherty, of Aughanure, her bitter enemy, to take his place – displaying in this selection her wonderful craft; for how could anyone suppose – the Governor certainly least of all – that the O’Flaherty was chosen but to throw dust in his eyes?

My mistress danced with gliding, pit-patting feet that never tired, while the applause which greeted her every motion grew to a wild enthusiasm. Sir Murrough O’Flaherty had to acknowledge himself beaten, and retired. Grace O’Malley now cried aloud to me to come forward, and I stepped from the crowd, my heart beating faster than it had ever done in the day of battle.