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Nuala O'Malley

by H. Bedford-Jones · English · Gutenberg #30979 · 392,286 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Nuala O'Malley

Author: H. Bedford-Jones


        
Release date: January 15, 2010 [eBook #30979]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30979

Credits: E-text prepared by Steven desJardins and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team


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E-text prepared by Steven desJardins and the Project Gutenberg Online
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Transcriber's note:

   This novel was originally serialized in four installments in
   _All-Story Weekly_ magazine from December 30, 1916, to January
   20, 1917. The original breaks in the serial have been retained,
   but summaries of previous events preceding the second, third,
   and fourth installments have been moved to the end of this
   e-book. The Table of Contents which follows the introduction
   was created for this electronic edition.





NUALA O'MALLEY

by

H. BEDFORD-JONES



ALL-STORY WEEKLY

VOL. LXVI   NUMBER 2

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 30, 1916


NUALA O'MALLEY

by

H. Bedford-Jones

Author of "Malay Gold," "The Ghost Hill," "John Solomon, Supercargo,"
etc.




This is a stirring, entrancing story of Erin when Cromwell was
campaigning, and when the fighting heritage that is every Irishman's
found vent through sword and ax and fire. You meet Brian Buidh, Brian of
the Yellow Hair, more thrilling than even your favorite movie hero; and
as for Nuala herself--well, just wait till you meet her!--THE EDITOR.




TABLE OF CONTENTS

Part I

I.      THE BLACK WOMAN.                     177
II.     THE BEGINNING OF THE STORM.          179
III.    THE DARK MASTER.                     182
IV.     BRIAN LEANS ON HIS SWORD.            186
V.      YELLOW BRIAN RIDES SOUTH.            191
VI.     BRIAN TAKES CAPTIVES.                196
VII.    THE BIRD DAUGHTER.                   201

Part II

VIII.   HOW BRIAN WAS NETTED.                419
IX.     THE NAILING OF BRIAN.                424
X.      IN BERTRAGH CASTLE.                  429
XI.     THE BAITING OF CATHBARR.             434
XII.    HOW THE DARK MASTER WAS RUINED.      438

Part III

XIII.   BRIAN RIDES TO VENGEANCE.            659
XIV.    HOW THE STORM FARED NORTH.           664
XV.     WHAT HAPPENED AT THE TARN.           670
XVI.    BRIAN GETS HIS SWORD AGAIN.          674
XVII.   BRIAN GOES A CRUISING.               679

Part IV

XVIII.  BRIAN YIELDS BERTRAGH.               137
XIX.    BRIAN MEETS THE BLACK WOMAN.         142
XX.     THE STORM BURSTS.                    147
XXI.    CATHBARR YIELDS UP HIS AX.           151
XXII.   THE STORM OF MEN COMES TO REST.      155




CHAPTER I.

THE BLACK WOMAN.


The horseman reined in as his jaded steed scrambled up the shelving
bank, and for a space sat there motionless, for which the horse gave
mute thanks. The moon was struggling to heave through fleecy clouds, as
it was hard on midnight; in the half obscurity the rider gazed around
suspiciously.

There was nothing in sight to cause any man fear. Behind him rippled the
Dee, and all around was desolation. Ardee itself lay a good two miles in
the rear, burned and laid waste six weeks before, and ten miles to the
south lay Drogheda. Indeed, as the horseman gazed about, he caught
sight of a faint glare on the horizon that drew a bitter word from his
lips.

Dismounting with some difficulty, owing to his cloak and Spanish hat, he
examined a long, raking gash in his horse's flank; then flung off hat
and cloak and calmly proceeded to bind up his own naked shoulder
beneath.

His was a strange figure, indeed, now that he stood revealed. He wore no
clothing save breeches and high riding-boots; an enormous sword without
a sheath was girt about his waist, and the caked blood on his shoulder
and cheek made his fair skin stand out with startling contrast.

About his shoulders fell long hair of ruddy yellow, while his face was
young and yet very bitter, tortured by both physical and mental
anguish, as it seemed. He bound up the deep slash in his shoulder with a
strip of cloth torn from his cloak, felt his wealed cheek tenderly, then
flung the cloak about him again and drew down his broad-brimmed hat as
he turned to his weary horse.

"Well, my friend," and his voice sounded whimsical for all its rich
tone, "you've had a change of masters to-day, eh? I'd like to spare you,
but man's life is first, though Heaven knows it's worth little in
Ireland this day!" With that he reeled and caught at the saddle for
support, put down his head, and sobbed unrestrainedly.

"Oh, my God!" he groaned at length, straightening himself to shake a
clenched and blood-splashed fist at the sky. "Where were You this day?
God! God! The blood of men on Thine altars--"

"Faith, you must be new come to Ireland, then!"

At the shrill, mocking voice the man whirled about and his huge blade
was out like a flash. But only a cackling laugh answered him, as down
from the bank above slipped a perfect hag of a creature, and he drew
back in alarm. At that instant the moon flooded out; his sudden motion
had flung off his wide hat, and he stood staring at the wrinkled
creature whose scanty garments and thin-shredded gray locks were pierced
by a pair of weird brown eyes.

Then he quivered indeed, and even the poor horse took a step backward,
for the old woman had flung up her arms with a shrill cry as she gazed
on the yellow-haired young man.

"The O'Neill!" The words seemed to burst from her involuntarily. She
craned forward, her hands twisting at her ragged shawl, and a flood of
Gaelic poured from her lips as she stared at the awe-struck man.

"Are you, then, the earl, come back from the dead? Ghost of Tyr-owen,
why stand you here idle in the gap of Ulster, where once Cuculain fought
against the host of Meave? Do you also stand here to fight as he
fought--"

"Peace, mad-woman!" exclaimed the young man, stooping after his hat.
"Peace, and be off out of my way, for I have far to ride."

The Gaelic words came roughly and brokenly from him, but the old hag
took no heed. Instead, she advanced swiftly and laid her hand on his
arm, still gazing into his face with a great wonder on her wrinkled
features.

"Who are you?" she whispered. "Tell the Black Woman your name, if you
are no ghost! For even as you stand now, once did these eyes see the
great earl himself."

"I am from Drogheda," answered the man, something very like fear stamped
on his powerful and bitter-touched young face. "My name is Brian Buidh,
and I ride to join Owen Ruadh--"

"Liar!" The old woman spat forth the word with a cackle of laughter.
"Oh, you cannot fool the Black Woman, Yellow Brian! Listen--Brian your
name is, and Yellow Brian your name shall be indeed, since this is your
will. Owen Ruadh O'Neill lies at the O'Reilly stead at Lough Oughter,
but you shall never ride to war behind him, Brian Buidh! No--the Black
Woman tells you, and the Black Woman knows. Instead, you shall ride into
the west, and there shall be a storm of men--a storm of men behind you
and before you--"

"For the love of Heaven, have done!" cried Yellow Brian, shrinking
before her, and yet with anger in his face. "Are you crazed, woman?
Drogheda has fallen; O'Neill must join with the royalists, and never
shall I ride into the west. Be off, for I have no money."

He turned to mount, but again she stopped him. It seemed to him that
there was strange power in that withered hand which rested so lightly on
his arm.

"The Black Woman needs no money, Yellow Brian," she cackled merrily.
"You shall meet me once again, on a black day for you; and when you meet
with Cathbarr of the Ax you shall remember me, Brian Buidh; and when
you ride into the west and meet with the Bird Daughter you shall
remember me.

"So go, Yellow Brian, upon whose heart is stamped the red hand of the
O'Neills! _Beannacht leath!_"

"_Beannacht leath_," repeated the man thickly.

There was a rustle of bushes, and he was alone, wiping the cold sweat
from his face.

"Woman or fiend!" he muttered hoarsely. "How did she know that last?
Yes, she was crazed, no doubt. I suppose that I do look like the
earl--since he was my grandfather!"

And with a bitter laugh he climbed into the saddle and pushed his horse
up the bank. The bushes closed behind him, the night closed over him,
but it was long ere the weird words of the old hag who called herself
the Black Woman were closed from his mind.

For, after all, Yellow Brian was of right not alone an O'Neill, but The
O'Neill.




CHAPTER II.

THE BEGINNING OF THE STORM.


The people of every nation--that is, the tillers of the soil, the people
who form the backbone of their race--are in continual expectancy of a
Man and a Day. Theirs is always the, perhaps, dumb hope, but still the
hope, that in their future lie these two things, a Man and a Day.
Sometimes the Man has come and the Day has failed; sometimes the Day has
come and there has been no Man to use it; but now all Ireland had swept
up in a wild roar, knowing that the Man and the Day had come together.

And so, in truth, they had. Owen, the Ruadh, or red, O'Neill, had fought
a desperate struggle against the royalists. Little by little he had
cemented his own people together, his personal qualities and his
splendid generalship had overborne all else, and the victory of Benburb
had crowned the whole. Then Owen Ruadh was stricken down with sickness,
Cromwell landed and stormed Drogheda, and Yellow Brian had fought clear
and fled away to the kinsman he had never seen.

Now, standing on the castle ramparts overlooking Lough Oughter, Yellow
Brian stared moodily out at the lake. His identity had been revealed to
none, and the name of Brian Buidh had little meaning to any in Ireland.
Years since he who was The O'Neill, the same whom the English called
Earl of Tyr-owen, had fled with his family from the land. His eldest son
John had settled at the Spanish court.

John was a spineless man, unworthy son of a great father, content to
idle away his life in ease and quiet. And it was in the court of Spain
that Brian O'Neill had been born, with only an old Irishwoman to nurse
him and teach him the tongue and tidings of Ireland which his father
cared nothing for.

Yellow Brian had written out these things, sending the letter to the
sick general who lay within the castle. His terrible news of Drogheda
had created consternation, but already O'Neill's forces had been sent to
join the royalists against the common foe. All Ireland was distraught by
war. Royalist, patriot, and Parliament man fought each against the
other, and the only man who could have faced Cromwell lay sick unto
death.

The Day was passing, the Man was passing, and shadow lay upon all the
land.

A man came up and touched Yellow Brian's arm, with word that Owen Ruadh
would see him at once. Brian nodded, following. He was well garbed now,
and a steel jack glittered from beneath his dark-red cloak as he strode
along. Upon his strong-set face brooded bitterness, but his eyes were
young for all their cold blue, and his ruddy hair shone like spun gold
in the sunlight; while his firm mouth and chin, his erect figure, and
his massive shoulders gained him more than one look of appreciation
from the clustered O'Reillys.

He followed the attendant to a large room, whose huge mantel was carven
with the red hand and supporting lions of the clan Reilly, and passed
over to the bed beside the window. He had requested to see O'Neill
alone, and the attendant withdrew silently. Brian approached the bed,
and stood looking down at the man who was passing from Ireland.

Sharp and bright were the eyes as ever, but the red beard was grayed and
the face was waxen; a spark of color came to it, as Owen Ruadh stretched
forth a hand to take that of his visitor.

"Brian O'Neill!" he exclaimed, in a voice singularly like that of Brian
himself. "Welcome, kinsman! But why the silence you enjoined in your
letter?"

"My name is Yellow Brian," answered the younger man somberly. "I have
none other, general. You know the gist of my story, and here is the
rest. I broke with my father, for he would hear nothing of my coming to
Ireland. So I cast off his name and left him to his cursed idleness,
reaching Drogheda barely in time to take part in the siege. I managed to
cut through, as you know, and meant to take service with you--"

He paused, for words did not come easily to him, as with all his race. A
low groan broke from the crippled warrior.

"Too late, kinsman, too late! Cromwell is come, and I will never sit a
horse again--ah, no protests, lad! How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

"By my faith, you look thirty! Lad, my heart is sore for you. I am
wasted and broken. I have no money, and Cromwell will shatter all before
him; I can do naught save give you advice."

"I want naught," broke in Brian quickly, a little glint as of ice in his
blue eyes. "Not for that did I cast off my name and come to--"

"Tut, tut, lad!" O'Neill reproved him gently. "I understand, so say no
more of that matter. You are Brian Buidh, but to me you are my kinsman,
the rightful head of my house. You can do two things, Yellow
Brian--either follow my advice, or go down to ruin with all Ireland. Now
say, which shall it be?"

Brian gazed at him with thoughtful face. What was the meaning of this
dark speech? As he looked into the keen, death-smitten eyes of the man
who might have saved Ireland, he smiled a little.

"I see naught but ruin, Owen Ruadh," he replied slowly. "I care little
for my life, having no ties left on this earth--"

"Oh, nonsense!" broke in the other impatiently. "You are young, lad--the
bitterness will soon pass, trust me. Now see, here is my advice, such
advice as I would give no other man alive. I am dying, Yellow Brian.
Well, I know that Cromwell will break down all I have built up, and I
can see no brightness for my country. But for you I can see much. You
are young, powerful, the last of the old race; you look strangely like
the old earl, Brian!"

The younger man started. For the first time in many days he remembered
that crazed hag he had met by the Dee water the night of Drogheda.

"Now, harken well. I tell you that our house lies in the dust, Brian;
there is no hope for it or for any O'Neill. But for Yellow Brian there
is hope. You must carve out a holding for yourself, for you are a ruler
of men by your face, lad. Go into Galway, and there, where Cromwell's
men will have hardest fighting of all, gather a force and make head. I
have heard strange tales of a man who has done this very thing--they say
he has seized on a castle somewhere near Bertraghboy Bay, in Galway,
and-- But I am getting weak, Brian lad. Hearken well--Ireland is lost;
carve out now for your own hand, for the Red Hand of the old house, lad!
And take this for my sake."

Almost whispering the last words, Owen Ruadh took from his finger a
signet graven deeply with the Red Hand of Tyr-owen. Brian accepted it
gravely, kissed the hand that gave it, and with tears choking his
throat, left the chamber of the man who was passing from Ireland.

He had been there a brief fifteen minutes, yet it seemed that an age had
passed. Both he and the sick man had said much in few words, for they
were both men who spared speech and did much. But Brian had received a
great wrench.

As he had said, he had cast off his father, for the grandfather's blood
ran riot within him, and had kindled to burning rage against the
sluggard who had made his name a thing of reproach in all lands. With
the overstrong bitterness of youth he had meant to die sword in hand,
fighting for Ireland. The few burning words of Owen Ruadh had stripped
all this false heroism from him, however, and had sent a flame of sanity
into his brain.

Brian returned slowly to the round tower, and stood looking out over the
waters, for the castle was built on an island in the lake a mile from
shore. It was nearing sunset, and snow was in the air--the first snow,
for this was the end of September.

"Ruin--the storm of men!" He repeated unconsciously the words of the hag
who had stopped him by the Dee water. "What shall I do? Which is the
part of a man, after all; to fall for Ireland or to hew out new lands
and found a new house in the west? By my hilt! That old hag told me
truly after all!"

At that thought he stood silent, his eyes troubled. What was this fate
which seemed to drive him into the west, instead of leading him to the
flame of swords as he had so long hoped and dreamed? Death meant little
to him; honor meant much. All his life he had lived in Spain, yet it had
been a double life. He had ridden and hunted and learned arms with the
young nobles of the court, but he had talked and sorrowed and dreamed
with the old Irishwoman who had nursed him.

After all, it is often the dreams of the youth which determine the
career of the man, he reflected.

Which path should he take? As he stood there struggling with himself,
his hand went unconsciously to his long, powerful jaw; it was a gesture
habitual with him when in deep thought--which he seldom was, however.
Now the youth in him spoke for death, now the sanity which had flashed
into his brain from that of the sick man spoke for the life of deeds and
renown which lay in the west.

An incident might turn him either way--and the incident came in the
shape of a very tall old man who wore the Irish garb of belted,
long-sleeved tunic and woolen hose, with iron-soled shoes. The old man's
face was cunning, but his eyes were bright and keen and deep gray; his
gray hair hung low to conceal his lopped ears, and there hung about him
an indescribable air of shrewdness faced with apparent openness of
heart.

Brian glanced at him, remembered that he had heard him called Turlough
Wolf, and looked away carelessly, absorbed in his own thought. But the
old man halted abruptly with an exclamation:

"_Corp na diaoul!_ Where got you that face and that gesture, Drogheda
man?"

Brian looked at him, frowning.

"What mean you, Turlough Wolf?"

The other stared, his thin jaw fallen.

"Why--why," he stammered, "I thought it had been The O'Neill come to
life again! When I was a boy I have seen the earl hold his hand to his
chin--often, often! And--and you look like him, Brian Buidh---"

"Nonsense!" Brian forced a laugh, but as he folded his arms again the
glitter of O'Neill's ring on his finger caught the sharp gray eyes.

Turlough Wolf started.

"Listen!" he said, coming forward insinuatingly. "Yellow Brian, no man
knows who you are, nor do I ask. But Turlough Wolf knows a man when he
sees one, a chieftain among men. I owe no man service; but if you will
need a swift brain, a cunning hand, and an eye that can read the hearts
of men, I will serve you."

Brian looked down into the shrewd face in wonder, then waved an
impatient hand.

"No use, Turlough Wolf. I have no money to pay for service, and to-night
I must ride out to seek I know not what--nay, whether I ride west or
east or south, I know not!"

He turned abruptly, wishing to close the matter, but the old man laid a
restraining hand on his shoulder.

"I seek no money, Yellow Brian. I seek only a master such as yourself; a
man who is a master among men, and whom I can set higher still if he
will heed my counsels. I am old, you are young; I know all parts of the
land by heart, from the Mayo shore to Youghal, and I am skilled at many
things. Take my service and you will not regret it."

Brian hesitated. After all, he considered, the thing came close to being
uncanny. The Black Woman by Dee water; Owen Ruadh himself, and now this
Ulysseslike Turlough Wolf--whither was fate driving him? Was he really
to meet such persons as the Bird Daughter and Cathbarr of the Ax, or
were they only the figment of a crazed old woman's brain?

So he hesitated, gazing down into those clear gray eyes. And as he
looked it seemed to him that he found strange things in them, strange
urgings that touched the chords of his soul. After all, adventure lay in
the west, and he was young!

"Good!" he said, gravely extending his hand. "To-night we ride to the
west, you and I. Come; let us see O'Reilly about horses."

And this was the beginning of the storm of men that came upon the west.




CHAPTER III.

THE DARK MASTER.


"There are two things, Yellow Brian, for you to mind. First, you must
have men at your back who know you for their master; second, you must
stand alone, giving and receiving aid from no man or party in the
land."

Brian nodded and stored away the words in his heart, for in their three
weeks of wandering he had learned that Turlough Wolf was better aid than
many men. It was his doing that, when they had chanced on a party of
ravagers beyond Carrick, Yellow Brian had been led into strife with
their leader. The upshot of that matter was that there was a dead rover;
Yellow Brian had a dozen horsemen behind him and money in his purse, and
of the dozen none but feared utterly this silent man who fought like a
fiend.

To the dozen had been added others--four Scotch plunderers strayed from
Hamilton's horse and half a dozen Breffnians from Ormond's army, who had
been driven out of Munster by the rising of the Parliament men there.
They were a sadly mixed score, of all races and creeds, but were
fighting ruffians to a man, and were bound together by Brian's solemn
pledge that he himself would slay any who quarreled. The result was
peace.

So now, with a good score of men behind him, Yellow Brian had ridden
down into Galway, was past Lough Corrib and Iar Connaught, and was hard
upon Connemara.

There was a thin snow upon the hills, and the bleak wind presaged more;
but the score of men sang lustily as they rode. Two days before they had
come upon a dozen strayed Royalist plunderers, and had gained great
store of food and drink--particularly drink. So all were well content
for the time being.

"Turlough," asked Brian suddenly, as they rode side by side, "did you
ever hear of one called the Black Woman?"

The Wolf crossed himself and grimaced.

"That I have, Yellow Brian, but dimly. They say she deals in magic and
sorcery, and no good comes of meeting with her. But stop--there are
horsemen on the road! Scatter the men, and quickly; let us two bide
here."

There was cunning in the advice, for the two had come to a bend in the
road and the men were a hundred yards behind them. Brian drew rein at
sight of a score of men a scant quarter-mile away and riding up the hill
toward them. He knew that they must also have been seen, but his men
would still be out of sight, so he turned with a quick word:

"Off into the rocks, men! If I raise my sword, come and strike. Off!"

As he spoke he bared that same huge cut-or-thrust brand he had borne
from Drogheda and set the point on his boot. Instantly the men scattered
on either side the road, where black rocks thrust up from the snow, and
within two minutes they and their horses had disappeared.

The riders below came steadily forward in a clump, and Brian saw old
Turlough staring with bulging eyes. Then the Wolf half caught at his
bridle, as if minded to fly, and his hands were trembling.

"What ails you, man?" smiled Brian. "Are they magicians and sorcerers,
then?"

"No, _fareer gair_--worse luck!" blurted out the other. "Look at the
little man who rides first, Yellow Brian!"

Brian squinted against the snow-glare, and saw that the leader of the
approaching party seemed indeed to be a little man with hunched
shoulders and head that glinted steel.

"A hunchback!" he exclaimed. "Well, who is he?"

"The Dark Master--O'Donnell More himself! It is in my mind that this is
a black day, Brian Buidh. O'Donnell More is the master of all men at
craft, and the match of most men at weapons. Beware of him, master,
beware! I had thought that he was still under siege at Bertragh Castle,
else I had never taken this road."

"Nonsense!" laughed out Brian joyously, drinking in the clear afternoon
air. "So much the more honor if we slay him, Turlough Wolf! Let him
match me at weapons, or you at wits, if he can!"

Turlough muttered something and drew back behind Brian's steed with
pallid face. Yellow Brian, however, having a sure trust in his own right
arm and his hidden men, scanned the approaching O'Donnell curiously,
seeking what had inspired such unwonted fear in the old gray Wolf.

He could find nothing ominous in that hunched figure, save its mail-coat
and steel helm. Yet the face was peculiar. Over a drooping mustache of
black flared forth two intense black eyes. Brian noted this, and the
thin, curved nose and prominent chin, and laughed again.

"Who is this Dark Master, Turlough?"

The other shivered slightly. "He is an O'Donnell from the north, come
here some ten years since--he seized on Bertragh even as we intend
seizing on a stead, and has since done evil things in the land. Now
hush, for they say the wind bears him idle talk."

Brian's thin lips curved a trifle scornfully, but he kept silence,
watching the approaching men. At fifty yards' distance they halted.
Their leader eyed the motionless pair for a moment and then slowly rode
on alone, waving back his followers. And Yellow Brian made a strange
figure, with his ruddy hair streaming from beneath his steel cap and the
bright, naked sword rising up from toe to head beside him.

"Well?" O'Donnell More's voice was deep and harsh, though Brian
afterward found that it could be changed to suit its owner's mood. "Who
are you thus disputing my passage?"

"I am Brian Buidh," came Brian's curt reply. "As for dispute, that is as
you will."

"Yellow Brian?" The black brows shot up in surprise. "A strange name.
Whence come you, and seeking what?"

"I seek men, O'Donnell More." Brian swiftly determined that this was a
man who might give him aid, a man after his own heart. "Whence I come is
my affair. Give me men, and I will repay with gold."

"What need have you of men, Yellow Brian," came the sardonic answer,
"when your own lie hidden among the rocks?"

Now indeed Brian started, whereat the other smiled grimly.

"How knew you that?"

"If you recognized me from afar, you had not stayed to meet me unless
you had men," stated O'Donnell shrewdly enough.

"True," said Brian, and laughed out. "Well said, O'Donnell. I have a
score, and want another score. I will match mine against yours, or make
a pact, as you desire."

The Dark Master sat fingering his sword-hilt and considered. With the
black brows down and the black eyes fixed on him, Brian suddenly began
to like the man less.

"I will give you service," returned O'Donnell at last.

Brian smiled. "Men serve me, not I them."

At this curt answer O'Donnell looked black, then fell into thought, his
shoulders hunched up and his head drawn in like the head of a turtle.
Brian wished now that he had struck first and talked afterward.

Finally the Dark Master looked up with a slow smile.

"Welcome to you, Brian of the hard eyes and hollow cheeks," he said.
"_Slaintahut!_ I will not give you men, but I will give you the loan of
men if you will do me one of two favors. Ten miles to the south of here
there is an old tower on a cliff, and in the tower dwells a man with
certain companions who sets me at naught. On an island out near Golam
Head is a castle where a woman rules, who has also set me at naught. Go,
reduce either of these twain, and I will lend you twoscore men for three
months."

Brian sat his great horse and looked at the Dark Master. He would have
sought advice from Turlough Wolf, save that he did not like to turn his
back on those burning eyes. After all, the pact was not a bad one.

"These enemies of yours--who are they, and what force have they?"

The Dark Master chuckled, and his head shot out from between his
shoulders.

"The man is called Cathbarr of the Ax, and he is a hard man to fight,
for he has ten men like himself, axmen all. The woman cannot fight, but
she has a swift mind, many men, and her name is Nuala O'Malley, of the
O'Malleys of Erris."

"I had sooner fight a man than a woman," returned Brian slowly. "Also,
this Cathbarr of the Ax has fewer men. I will do you this favor,
O'Donnell Dubh."

He gave no sign of the wonder that had shot into his mind at the name of
Cathbarr, except that his blue eyes seemed changed suddenly to cold ice.
The Dark Master saw the change, and his smile withered. Brian, watching
him, reflected that this malformed freebooter could be venomous-looking
at times.

"I have passed my word," O'Donnell the Black made curt answer. "Fetch
either of the twain to Bertragh, dead or alive, and you have the loan of
twoscore men for three months, free. Is it a pact?"

"It is a pact," answered Brian, and at that the other galloped back to
his men.

Brian swung his sword and flung it high into the air; before it had
flashed down to nestle in his palm again, his men were scrambling into
the road. He sheathed the sword, smiling a little, and turned to
Turlough.

"Well? To your mind or not, Wolf?"

"My father saw the Brown Geraldine at Dublin," responded that worthy,
scratching the gray beard which had begun to sprout. "They broke his
bones with the back of an ax and swung him out in a cage until he died,
and after. He made pacts too easily."

"Well?" asked Brian again, but a dull flush crossed his cheeks.

"I gave you my rede," said Turlough sullenly. "I said to stand alone,
receiving aid from neither man nor faction. Now there is mischief to be
repaired."

"Then my sword shall repair it," said Brian, and ordered the men to
swing in after him. "Guide us to this tower of Cathbarr's, for my honor
is in my own keeping."

They swung about and headed to the south and the sea.

The hill-paths, which Turlough Wolf seemed to know perfectly, were
cruelly hard on the horses; none were as yet trodden down, for the snow
was fresh, and all the west coast lay desolate. The plague had stricken
Galway and Mayo heavily that year, smiting the mountains with death.
Some few parties of Roundhead horse had come through, because they
feared God and Ireton more than the plague, and some Royalists had fled
up from the south for much the same reason.

In any case, Yellow Brian found all the land desolate, and liked it. The
more wasted the land, he reflected, the more chance for that sword of
his to find swinging-room. As he had ridden, news had come from the
east--news of the Wexford killing and the curse that was come upon the
land. Owen Ruadh O'Neill was not yet dead, but Brian knew that he had
prophesied truly. Ireland's day was gloaming fast.

Despite the dismal tone of Turlough Wolf, Brian told himself that he had
done a good day's work. O'Donnell Dubh would keep his word beyond any
question. As for the man he was to slay, the only part of it which
troubled Brian was the prediction of the Black Woman at the Dee water.
She had known him, and had prophesied O'Neill's death, and had spoken of
the west and this Cathbarr of the Ax. After all, however, she might have
shot a chance shaft which had gone true. Brian had no faith in magic.

All that afternoon he rode on, Turlough Wolf ahead of him, the men
behind. They feared and hated the old Wolf as much as they feared and
loved Brian.

Progress was slow, owing to the bad paths, the snow, and sundry changes
of direction, so that when night fell they had covered but eight miles
of the ten. Turlough suggested that they push on and finish their
business at a stroke, but Brian curtly refused. So the men made camp in
lee of a cliff and proceeded to feast away the last of their provisions
and wine, in confidence that on the morrow they would have more, or else
would need none.

Brian and Turlough built a fire apart, and after their repast Brian
broke silence with a request for information about Cathbarr. It was his
first speech since the parting with the Dark Master.

"I never heard of him," responded Turlough. "No doubt he is some outlaw
who has become a thorn in the Dark Master's flesh. With the woman it is
different."

"Tell me of her," said Brian, gazing into the fire.

"She is an O'Malley, and, like all the clan, makes much of ships and
seamen and little of horses and riders. When the Dark Master came, ten
years ago, he slew her father and mother by treachery, and would have
slain her but that her men carried her off. She was a child then. Now
she is a woman, very bitter against O'Donnell Dubh, and is allied with
the Parliament so that her ships may have the run of the seas, it is
said. O'Donnell takes sides with no faction, but caters to all. He lays
nets and snares, and men fall into them, and he laughs."

"Why is Nuala O'Malley called the Bird Daughter?" asked Brian quietly.

At this question old Turlough rose on his elbow, and in his wide, gray
eyes was set mingled fear and wonder.

"_M'anam an diaoul!_" he spat out. "Who are you to know this thing?"

"Answer my question," returned Brian, hiding his own surprise.

"Seven years ago, master, I was at Sligo Bay with O'Dowda when Hamilton
cut us to pieces. Nuala O'Malley had brought us some powder--she was but
a slip of a girl then. In the evening I was down at the ship when I saw
her come from below, a hooded pigeon in her hands. She whispered in the
bird's ear, set off the hood, and the bird flew into the night. I named
her Bird Daughter, but no other man knew the name."

"Then a woman did," chuckled Brian dryly. "It was but a carrier pigeon,
Turlough; I have seen them used in Spain. Now listen to me."

With that he told him of the Black Woman and his weird meeting at Dee
water. Old Turlough listened in no little amazement, for he was full of
superstitious fancies, but Brian said nothing of his own name. The
uncanny prophecies, however, which now seemed on the road to fulfilment
were enough to give any man pause.

When he had finished, a very subdued Turlough Wolf stated that the Black
Woman was an old hag who wandered all over the land, that some called
her crazy and others thought her inspired, and that his own belief was
that she was a banshee, no less.

At this Brian saw the thing in a more rational light. The old woman knew
of this nook in the west, and, attracted to him by his resemblance to
the long-dead earl, she had endeavored to steer him thither. After all,
it was quite simple.

Of course, old Turlough swore that he had never breathed his name of
Bird Daughter to a living soul, and that it was but a name he had used
in his own mind for the slim girl who had fetched powder from the south.
Brian chuckled, guessing that Turlough was not the only one who had seen
carrier pigeons used, and who had ascribed the thing to higher powers.

The incident served the purpose of establishing a firmer intimacy
between Brian and the old man, however, and convinced Turlough that his
master was destined to fly high. Nor through all the storm of men that
befell after did Turlough again breathe reproof as he had dared that
day.

"I begin to see that your advice was good, Turlough Wolf," said Brian
the next morning, as he rode shivering from camp. "As to making my men
know me for their master, that troubles me little; but I think it will
be a hard matter to avoid making pacts, and to stand alone."

"Lean on your sword," grunted old Turlough. "To my notion, such
friendship as that huge blade of yours can give is better than good.
Order men ahead."

Brian nodded and sent two of the men ahead as scouts, with the Wolf
himself. For the better part of an hour they made slow headway among the
rocks, and then emerged suddenly on the slope leading down to the cliffs
and sea. Turlough pointed to the left.

"There lies the tower, if I mistake not."

Drawing rein, Brian saw at once why he had been sent on this errand.
Cathbarr's tower was an old ruin at the end of a long and narrow
headland--indeed, at high tide most of the headland would be covered,
for it was low and yet beyond shot of the cliffs. Except from the water,
it was almost impregnable; cannon might have reached it from shore, but
two axmen could have held the narrow way against an army.

Brian laughed softly and ordered the men to remain where they were.

"What are you going to do, master?" queried old Turlough anxiously.

"I am going to lean on my sword, as you advised me," chuckled Brian, and
rode on alone.




CHAPTER IV.

BRIAN LEANS ON HIS SWORD.


As he had foreseen, Brian was allowed to ride across the narrow neck of
land where his men would have had to battle for progress. It was from no
mere bravado that he had gone forward alone to the tower, but because
men were worth saving, and he believed that his own sword was a match
for any ax. If this ruffian Cathbarr was a freebooting outlaw, he would
be willing enough to stake his ten men on his prowess, and Yellow Brian
was very anxious to have those ten axmen behind him.

At the top of the tower men watched and steel glistened, and as Brian
rode up to the low gateway, it was flung open and a man strode out.
This man hardly came up to Brian's conception of an outlaw, except as to
stature.

He was a good six feet four, reflected Brian as he drew rein and waited,
and was built in proportion--or, rather, out of proportion. His
shoulders and chest seemed tremendous, and a long mail-shirt reached to
his knees; his hair was short-clipped and brown, and beneath his curly
brown beard Brian made out a massive face, wide-set brown eyes, and an
air not so much ruffianly as of cheerful good-humor.

Brian had no need to ask his name, however, for in one hand he carried a
weapon such as had seldom seen the light since powder had come to
Ireland. It was an ax, some five feet from haft to helve; double-bladed,
each blade eight inches long, curved back slightly, and two inches thick
by twice as much wide. The edges, which came down sharply from the
thickness, were not overkeen, and were not meant to be so. When the
thing struck, that was the end of what stood before it.

"_Cead mile failte!_" cried Cathbarr of the Ax in a deep, rumbling
voice, his white teeth flashing through his beard in a smile. "A hundred
thousand welcomes to you, swordsman! Are you come to capture my lordly
castle?"

"No; your men," laughed Brian, liking this huge, merry giant on the
instant. "I am come from O'Donnell Dubh to reduce you and fetch you to
him."

The smile froze on the giant's face.

"I am sorry for that, yellow one! I like your face and your thews, and
to find that you serve the black traitor of Bertragh is an ill thing."

"I serve no man," answered Brian easily. "I need men. If I conquer you,
O'Donnell lends me twoscore men for three months; also, by conquering
you I win your men to me, which makes fifty. With my seventy men, I
shall fall to work."

"By my faith, a ready reckoner!" and Cathbarr grinned again. "Get down
and fight."

Brian swung out of the saddle and led his horse to one side. They were
not so badly matched, he reflected. Cathbarr's head was bared, while he
had steel cap and jack; but for some reason he felt hesitant at thought
of killing this merry giant.

"Not so bad," he said, baring his five-foot blade and holding it up
against the huge ax. "Not so bad, eh?"

Cathbarr burst into a laugh.

"It will grieve me to crush your skull, dear man," he rumbled. "What a
pair we would make, matched against that Dark Master! But enough.
Ready?"

Brian nodded slightly, and the long ax flashed up.

Now, Brian O'Neill had served a stiff apprenticeship at weapons, and had
faced many men whose eyes boded him death, but here, for the first time
in all his life, he felt the self-confidence stricken out of him.

As Cathbarr heaved up his ax, he became a different man. All the good
cheer fled out of his face; his curly brown beard seemed to stand out
about his head like snakes, and the massiveness of his body was
reflected in the battle-fury of his face. He needed no blows to rouse
him into madness; but with the ax swinging like a reed about him, he
came rushing at Brian, a giant come to earth from of old time. His men
on the tower set up a wild yell of encouragement.

Brian leaped swiftly aside and, thinking to end the fight at a blow,
brought down his sword against the descending ax-haft. Sparks flew--the
haft was bound with iron; Brian only saved himself from falling by a
miracle.

Then began a strange battle of feet against brawn, for Cathbarr rushed
and rushed again, but ever Brian slipped away from the falling ax, nor
was he able to strike back. The play of that ax was a marvel to behold;
it was shield and weapon in one, and it seemed no heavier than a thing
of wood as it whirled. Twice Brian got in his point against the
mail-coat without effect, and twice the ax brushed his shoulder, so that
he gave over thrusting. He knew that he was fighting for his life
indeed.

An instant later he discovered that fact anew as a glancing touch of the
ax drove off his steel cap and sent him staggering back a dozen paces,
reeling and clutching at the air. To his amazement Cathbarr did not
follow him, but stood waiting for him to recover; he had not looked for
such courtesy on the west coast.

He sprang back into his defense, desperate now. Again the ax whirled,
seeming a part of the giant himself, and Brian knew that he was lost if
he waited for it. So, instead of waiting, he leaped under the blow,
dropped his sword, and drove up his fist into the bearded chin, now
flecked with foam.

It was a cruel blow. Cathbarr grunted, his head rocked back, and he
swayed on his feet. Before he could recover, Brian had set his thigh
against him, caught his arm, and sent him whirling to the ground, ax and
all. Then he picked up his sword and stood leaning on it, panting.

Cathbarr sat up and gazed around blankly, until his gaze fell on the
waiting figure. Brian looked at him, smiling slightly, and the eyes of
the two men met and clinched. As if he had been a child caught doing
wrong, the giant grinned and wiped the foam from his beard.

"Was that fair fighting, yellow man?" he asked.

"No," laughed Brian. "It was unfair, Cathbarr; but I think my fists can
best your ax yet."

Slowly the giant got to his feet. To Brian's surprise he left his ax
where it lay and came forward with extended hand.

"Had you claimed that blow as fair," he rumbled, "I would have slain
you. Now I love you, yellow man. Let us make a pact together. What is
your name?"

They struck hands, and Brian felt a great thrill of admiration for this
man whose terrible strength enclosed the simple heart of a child. But
he shook his head.

"I make no pacts, Cathbarr. My name is Brian Buidh. I made pact with the
Dark Master, and now I am sorry for it; yet it must be held to, for I
see no way out of it. But wait--I have a cunning man whose wit may help
us here."

He turned and flung up his sword in the air. His men rode down to the
narrow causeway, while from the tower came shouts warning Cathbarr
against treachery. But the giant only grinned again, and Brian shouted
to Turlough Wolf to come on alone.

Old Turlough obeyed in no little wonder. When he came up Brian told him
what had chanced--that out of enmity had arisen friendship.

"But," he concluded, trouble in his heart, "you must find me a way out,
Turlough. I have passed my word to O'Donness to reduce Cathbarr; to do
that I must slay him, or he me. I see little honor either way."

"Few men find honor in their dealings with the Dark Master," grumbled
Turlough, looking from Cathbarr to Brian. "Yet, if you want a way out,
it is an easy matter. Cathbarr of the Ax, give service to my master.
Thus, Brian Buidh, you shall reduce Cathbarr; yet the Dark Master said
naught of giving up this man to him."

"Good!" cried Brian, eagerness in his blue eyes, and swung on the giant.
"Will you give me your service, friend, and follow me? There shall be a
storm of men--" He paused abruptly as the words fell from his lips, but
he had said enough.

"I give you service, Yellow Brian," rumbled Cathbarr, taking his hand
again, and his strong, white teeth flashed through his beard. "I will
follow you, and my men, and there shall be firm friendship between us.
Is it good?"

"It is good!" exclaimed Brian, his heart singing. But Turlough laughed
harshly.

"So you have again broken my rede, Brian Buidh, for this man knows you
not as his master, but names you his friend. I bade you take, not give."

"It was your own advice," retorted Brian, laughing.

"Aye, since you asked it, I found the way out. But you have not
conquered him."

"He conquered me by not telling a lie," said Cathbarr simply. "I serve
him."

Turlough eyed them keenly, heard how the fight had gone, and then
suddenly comprehended what manner of man this huge, bearded fellow was.
His face cleared, and without a word he clasped Cathbarr's hand, and
asked Brian for orders.

"How far from here is Bertragh Castle?" questioned Brian.

"It overlooks Bertraghboy Bay," answered the giant. "Bide here till
noon, while my men bring in their horses from the hills, and with the
night we can arrive there."

To this Brian assented, well pleased that Cathbarr had horses. Turlough
went back to bring up his men, and Brian entered the tower that served
Cathbarr for castle. It was a small place, but strong; the ten men who
took his hand and gave him service were cut after the pattern of their
master--huge fellows all, O'Flahertys from the mountains who had
followed Cathbarr down to loot the coast, with no ill success.

It was a strange tale that he heard, while he and his men ate and drank
with their new comrades. For some months Cathbarr had maintained himself
here, raiding O'Donnell's lands chiefly and making his ax feared through
all the coast. In fact, the giant had attempted his own errand--to set
himself up in power; but he had gone about it like a child.

The Dark Master had come against him with a hundred men, and after
losing a score and more at the causeway, had tried to starve him out. At
that Cathbarr had calmly stolen away by boat, raided O'Donnell's
choicest farms overnight, and was back with his plunder before the Dark
Master guessed his absence. After this O'Donnell had kept watch and ward
upon his lands, with better results; Cathbarr occupied himself with
raiding against the scattered parties of plunderers in the hills, and
had won some booty.

Brian discovered many things during the hour or two he waited for the
horses to be fetched in. Chief of these was that he had set himself a
difficult nut to crack. The Dark Master held a strong castle, with rich
farms around it, and could summon at need some three hundred men to his
standard. In short, Brian found that O'Donnell held the very position he
himself wanted to hold--and was like to keep it.

"Of course," he thought soberly, reflecting on his future course, "if I
come off clear to-night I can ride with my seventy men to a better
place. And yet--I don't know! What better place than this? It will be no
long time before hoofs are in the land, for Royalist and Roundhead and
Ulsterman will be storming through the hills; Galway will be the last to
give in to Cromwell, of a certainty. When the hurricane falls, I want a
roof to shelter me--and whom could I turn out better than this
O'Donnell?"

Cathbarr's tower was too small to serve him as a fortalice, for it was
barely large enough to shelter the eleven axmen. Suddenly an idea
flashed across Brian's mind. Why not a union with this O'Malley woman
against the Dark Master?

Upon the thought, he rose and went out to the ice-rimmed shore below the
tower, where he paced up and down, considering the matter. After all, it
would do no harm, and there were great possibilities in it. He returned
to the tower at sound of shouts and clattering hoofs, and took Turlough
aside.

"Turlough Wolf, in your advice you spoke against making pacts with men,
but you said nothing of women. It is my purpose to send you to this
O'Malley castle, to propose a pact with Nuala O'Malley against the Dark
Master. You can tell her that I have a hundred horsemen behind me--for
I will have them. Will you do this, bearing her word back to me?"

Turlough plucked moodily at his ragged beard.

"I see no harm in such a pact, master," he replied thoughtfully. "As to
reaching the Bird Daughter, that is another matter. I think that I can
do it, however. When shall I start, and where shall I find you again?"

Brian reflected a moment.

"Start now, Turlough. Cathbarr and I will have no need of advice this
night, for we shall either fight our way clear, or else the Dark Master
will keep to his word. When you return, you will find me here; if I am
not here, I will leave a man here to give you word of me."

"I am to say that you have a hundred horsemen behind you?" Turlough's
sharp eyes swept to Brian's half-questioningly.

"Say a hundred and a half," laughed out Brian, "and trust your silver
tongue for the rest, old Wolf! Never fear, I will have the men. But mind
this, Turlough. I will make no other pact with her than this, against
the Dark Master. It may be that when I have driven him forth I may fly
after other game."

"Men have sought to drive the Dark Master forth," quoth Turlough, "and
their heads have rotted above his gate. Take heed lest there be an empty
spike there this night, Yellow Brian!"

But Brian only laughed shortly, and bade the old man affectionate
farewell, for he knew that Turlough loved him. And when Turlough had
ridden somberly away, Brian felt a strange sense of desertion, of loss,
that was no whit inspired by Turlough's gloomy last words. He shook it
off, however, at gripping hands again with Cathbarr. The axmen had
gathered most of their loot and buried what was of value, for Brian had
determined to return here from Bertragh and make use of the tower until
he had heard from Turlough's errand.

So now, at the head of thirty men, he rode across the narrow causeway
with Cathbarr of the Ax at his side for friend and guide. The giant did
not yet quite comprehend exactly what plan had flashed across the brain
of old Turlough, so as they rode Brian made the thing clearer to him.
When the simple and straightforward Cathbarr grasped the matter, he
smote his horse's neck with a bellow of laughter.

"Ho! So you bring me before the Dark Master ax in hand, reduced to
_your_ service instead of his, my men added to yours--oh, it is a jest,
brother, a jest! I think that O'Donnell will slay us both on the spot!"

"Not if your axmen are true," retorted Brian.

Cathbarr laughed again. "They fear me and they love me, brother," he
cried, gazing back at the file of horsemen. "Your own men fear you and
love you also. Therefore we are men alike."

Brian began to love the man for his utter simplicity, save where there
was killing in hand. Cathbarr seemed in reality to have the heart of a
child, impulsive and passionate to an extreme, and there was always a
certain rugged power in his bearing which bespoke him a true Flaherty of
the mountains. His men were like himself in this respect, and after they
had fraternized with Brian's men they began to feel the same unbounded
surety in Yellow Brian as Cathbarr expressed. Their axes were the usual
splay-bladed affairs that their grandfathers had used under Red Hugh at
the Yellow Ford, nor indeed in all his life had Brian ever seen another
ax like to that of Cathbarr's.

They rode through the afternoon while a light snow fell and a keen east
wind cut down from the peaks of the Twelve Pins, until the shaggy horses
slithered along with tails tucked tight beneath them. But there was good
cheer in the company, for the news had spread of how Yellow Brian would
have seventy men behind him that night. When the darkness began to fall,
Bertragh Castle came in sight far below--a gray crag jutting up from
the plain, scarped and embattled, the sea behind it and the watch-fires
of men twinkling from its keep. All about lay farms and steads, and the
lowing of byred cattle rose on the evening air when the snow ceased.

"Be careful not to drink or eat in that hall," warned Cathbarr blackly.
"Ill comes of it to all who accept hospitality there."

Brian nodded and rode on in silence, for there were parties of horsemen
and pikemen down below and the blare of horns shrilled up. Evidently the
riders on the hills had been seen from afar.

As they reached the lower ground Brian was aware of a band of men riding
to meet them, and halted. Through the dusk came a score of armed
horsemen, and their leader inquired their business, shouting from a safe
distance. Brian returned the shout.

"I am Yellow Brian, and I seek O'Donnell Dubh according to a pact made
with him yesterday. I have reduced Cathbarr of the Ax, and am come in
peace."

"You are expected," called the other, riding up with his men. "The Dark
Master is waiting for you."

And Brian rode on to Bertragh, not without some forebodings.




CHAPTER V.

YELLOW BRIAN RIDES SOUTH.


Outside the castle gates, where cressets flared over the snow, an old
seneschal appeared and ordered Brian to leave his men outside. To this
the men made some objection, but Brian laughed softly.

"Bide where you are," he said. "You shall not be slain unless I am slain
inside."

The O'Donnells watched him and Cathbarr with no little wonder, and the
two men made a fine pair as they marched across the creaking drawbridge.
Though Cathbarr topped Brian by half a head, there was no doubt as to
which was the nobler man; the giant gazed around him with amazed eyes,
but Brian held his head high and strode in with a smile flickering on
his lips. But his blue eyes were very sharp that night.

He saw the crowded men in the courtyard, many of them armed with
muskets, their matches burning, and noted also that the Dark Master
possessed some half-dozen bastards--immense, nine-foot pieces mounted on
huge carriages, with their eight-pound balls piled beside them. In those
days it was no small thing to own such cannon in the west of Ireland,
and Brian eyed them approvingly as he passed through the courtyard. He
was beginning to count them as his own.

Cathbarr had told him that the Dark Master had brought many O'Donnells
down from the north to settle the farms and lands beyond the castle, but
Brian saw that these were not all. The garrison was a riffraff of all
the armies that had wasted Ireland, and they were fighting men fit for
their work.

Brian entered the hall, with Cathbarr muttering oaths a pace behind him.
The hall was high, lit with cressets, and beside a huge fireplace sat
the Dark Master in a carved chair of black wood, an old harper sitting
opposite. Behind Brian and Cathbarr flocked in men until the hall was
well filled.

Brian found the penetrating eyes fixed on him as he advanced, but in
them was no surprise or fear, and O'Donnell calmly stroked his drooping
mustache as he watched. Cathbarr still followed behind, bearing that
great ax of his, and Brian stopped a few paces from the hearth as the
Dark Master spoke.

"Welcome to Bertragh, Yellow Brian. I had not looked for you so soon."

"No." Brian's voice rang out richly in the stillness. "But I am here,
O'Donnell Dubh, to claim my two-score men. I have reduced Cathbarr of
the Ax."

For the first time the hunched O'Donnell seemed to notice Cathbarr. His
black eyes flickered curiously to the giant, then he smiled sourly.

"If he is reduced, why does he not kneel, Brian of the hard eyes?"

"Kneel," ordered Brian.

Cathbarr flushed and his beard began to stand out, but he obeyed. There
was no great love in his face as he knelt, holding to his ax, and gazed
at O'Donnell.

"Throw your ax into the fire," said the Dark Master, his voice smooth as
silk.

"Do not," exclaimed Brian, and his eyes grew bitterly cold as they
clinched with those of the Dark Master. Over the latter's pallid face
crept a slow red fire, and his head drew back between his shoulders. Men
held their breaths.

"O'Donnell," went on Brian slowly, "I have fulfilled my pact. I have
reduced Cathbarr of the Ax--but he serves me and not you. Since I have
conquered him as you bade, I call on you to carry out the pact and lend
me two-score men for three months, scat-free."

If Brian had wanted any testimony as to O'Donnell's iron hand, he had
it. His words, with all they implied, would have drawn a howl of rage
from the retainers of any other chief in the land, but the men behind
and around him only grew more silent.

As for the Dark Master, the red hue died slowly from his face, though
his head remained drawn in, and still his eyes held those of Brian. When
he spoke, it was as if he were musing aloud.

"So, Brian of the hard eyes, you have some courage, eh? _Duar na
Criosd!_ Little did I ever think that a man would come to me and borrow
my own men that he might make war upon me! Is this your thought, Yellow
Brian?"

"You have sharp ears, Dark Master," said Brian dryly, and a chuckle
passed through the crowd. "In time I might take this castle, it is true.
Just now I have other things in mind, however, and I shall not fall upon
you until there has passed gage of battle between us."

"Thanks for so much," smiled the other slowly, though the red crept up
to his cheek-bones faintly. Brian seemed perfectly at his ease, as
indeed he was. "And what if I fell upon you first?"

"I am liker to offer battle than accept it, O'Donnell."

"Now, that is a good answer," said the Dark Master, while a whisper
floated around the hall. "I would be glad to have you at my back, Yellow
Brian, for men who ride behind me are like to win much."

Brian laughed a little.

"Some day I may be at your back, O'Donnell Dubh, and in that day I may
win all that you have, from life to goods."

To his blank amazement, O'Donnell only threw out his head and chuckled;
but it was an evil chuckle, and there was venom gleaming in his black
eyes.

"I think that it were best for me to slay you here, Brian of the hard
eyes, to slay you and this Cathbarr of the Ax. It seems to my mind that
it is anything but good to turn you loose upon the land, for I hear a
storm of hoofs in the air, and dead men are riding on the wind, and
there is a whisper--"

He paused, drew his cloak about him, and gazed down at his foot. That
pause was more dreadful than speech, for the crowded men moved not a
finger, so that Brian all but thought that he and the Dark Master were
alone. Then his face blanched a trifle. For, whether it were some
uncanny play of mind or very truth, it seemed to him that from the wide
fireplace there did indeed come a faint ring of hoofs and clash of
steel; the long cressets over them suddenly flickered smokingly, though
no draft crossed their faces.

Then indeed Brian knew that his fate hung upon the Dark Master's
thoughts, and he drew himself up a little straighter, and his blue eyes
glinted colder than any ice as his hand closed upon his sword-hilt. But
at the slight motion O'Donnell looked up keenly.

"You have ridden hard, Brian. Pause and sup with me--"

"I did not come to eat or drink," said Brian sternly. "Also, I am weary
of this talking. Now fulfil your pact, Dark Master, or be shamed before
all your men."

"Are you for Royalist or Parliament?" asked O'Donnell, as if he had not
heard.

"I am for Brian Buidh."

"Take two-score men and begone," and the other rose. To his surprise,
Brian found that, despite the hunched back, O'Donnell was as tall as
himself. The black eyes flamed out at him for an instant. "I will keep
my honor, though I regret it later, Yellow Brian. Go, with your men.
When next we meet your head shall grin over my gates."

"Thanks for so much," retorted Brian mockingly, though he drew a swift
breath of relief. "My head serves me too well to render it easily. _Slan
leat_, O'Donnell!"

"_Slan leat_," repeated the Dark Master and turned his back, gazing down
at the fire.

Brian turned and strode down the hall, Cathbarr at his heels. When they
reached the courtyard he found men saddling in haste, and an officer
saluted him gravely.

"Two-score men are at your orders, Yellow Brian."

"Let them follow me," said Brian curtly. "And who quarrels with my men,
dies."

To that there was no dispute. The drawbridge clanked down once more,
Brian and Cathbarr mounted and rode out to where the thirty waited
grimly, and after them came the forty men from the garrison. Cathbarr,
who trusted the Dark Master little, set his ten axmen in the van,
followed with Brian, and the sixty followed them into the night.

"I think we came out of that well, brother," said the giant softly.
"Where do we ride?"

"To your tower, for the night. After that, in search of more men."

"Toward Galway or Slyne Head?"

"Wherever there are men."

After that they rode on in silence, while the men behind fraternized
freely. All were of the same stamp, and indeed the two-score already
were as willing to serve Brian as O'Donnell, since they had witnessed
that scene in the castle hall.

Brian wondered dully what the outcome of all this was to be. The strain
of facing O'Donnell and bearding him in his own den had been no light
one, but he knew that Cathbarr had spoken truth in saying that they were
well out of it. The Dark Master, he thought, was a man well worth
fighting. To take his castle was not like turning out a chieftain of
some ancient family, with his clan about him for miles around; O'Donnell
had seized upon the place himself, his men were reavers and outlaws, and
the castle was a strong one.

Then there was the O'Malley alliance. Brian had it in mind to beset the
Dark Master by sea and land at once, for all the O'Malley clan had been
seamen and rovers from time immemorial, while he himself preferred men
and horses at his back. In calmer mood now, he reflected that Turlough
might not return for a week, and there was food and fodder for seventy
men and horses to be obtained.

If he rode toward Galway he would have to plunder the patriots, which
went against the grain. But in lower Galway and Clare things were
different. That winter no army held to winter quarters save that of
Cromwell, and between Limerick and Galway there was a wild rout of men
out of half a dozen armies, the plague had swept off all but the
seafaring folk, and men held only what their swords could guard.

So Brian determined that he would ride toward the south.

He realized well that his men must be drawn together by fighting, that
they must learn a perfect confidence in him, and that they must earn
their sustenance for the time being. Cathbarr already knew of old
Turlough's mission, and of course approved, since in his eyes Brian
could do no wrong. What was more, reflected Brian, he could not make
this alliance empty-handed. He must get men and spare horses, stores and
powder, and some muskets or pistols if possible, for few of his men
carried more than sword or perhaps a sorry pistolet or ancient
bombardule out of date a generation since.

"A storm of men!" he muttered as he gazed at the stars. "A storm of men!
Did that Black Woman speak truly, I wonder? And what dark magic was that
which passed to-night?"

But no answer came to his questions save that the cold stars chilled him
to the bone. Since they had no better place to seek, they returned to
Cathbarr's tower, but it was long past midnight when they reached it,
and the men were nodding in their saddles. As barely a dozen could crowd
into the place, the rest were forced to camp outside in the snow, but
roaring fires and some little food put them in good humor and it was no
hardship to any of them.

"It has been a strange two days for us twain," said Brian as he and
Cathbarr divided a scorched bannock one of the Scots had hastily turned
out over the coals.

"Yes," smiled the giant into his beard, his deep-throated bull's voice
rumbling through their tiny room. "But it is in my mind that there are
stranger days ahead of us, Brian Buidh. A witch-woman once told me that
I would meet my death from water and fire together, brother, in a cause
not mine own."

"You are not bound to my service," replied Brian.

"But I am bound to you, for I like you," answered Cathbarr, and his hand
crushed down on Brian's. That night they slept together beneath the same
blanket, and though after that they spoke few words of love or
friendship, the two men drew ever closer each to the other in all
things.

It had indeed been a strange two days for him, thought Brian as he
roused up the camp late the next morning and set out sentries in the
hills. He had met the Dark Master on the first, and on the second he had
met Cathbarr, then had forced the Dark Master into lending him men
against his will. Now, after a scant three days beyond Lough Corrib, he
had twined his fate with that of other men, had set his heart upon
winning Bertragh Castle, and had won both a stout friend and a stout
enemy.

For he counted O'Donnell as a foe, in which he was not far wrong.

However, there was no time to be wasted, for fodder was exceeding
scanty, and Brian himself had no heart for idleness. As he had resolved
on his course during that return ride the night before, he gathered his
men together and briefly ordered them to be ready to ride at noon, and
to Cathbarr alone he outlined his plan. Then he picked two of the axmen
who knew the country roundabout, and ten from among those O'Donnell had
loaned him, and took them aside and told them of Turlough Wolf, who
would come before long.

"You will bide here," he concluded, "and bid him wait for me. I shall
return this side of ten days. And mind you, if there is feud or
treachery among you so that one man's blood is let, then I will exact a
tenfold vengeance from both men."

The twelve, who were sturdy ruffians and well able to hold the place
against any sudden attack by the Dark Master, looked into the ice-blue
eyes for an instant, and straightway vowed that there would be neither
treachery nor quarreling among them. And Brian guessed shrewdly that he
had inspired some little fear in their hearts.

So that at high noon they rode away to the east, threescore strong, with
Brian and Cathbarr and the remaining eight axmen in the van. Brian did
not spare either man or horse that day, for there was little food left
them; when midnight came they had slipped past Galway and were ready to
ride south, though they all went to rest supperless.

With the morning Brian found that two of the men had slipped off and
were busy plundering a hill-farm a mile away, where an old woman lived
alone. He promptly had them brought before him, and bade them take up
their weapons.

"I am no executioner," he said as he bared his huge sword. "I am a
teacher of lessons, and my lessons must be learned."

When they rode away from that place, leaving the two men buried under
cairns, Brian was well assured that there would be no more ravaging by
his men, though they died of hunger.

However, it proved that there was no great chance of this, for Brian
drove such a storm past Slieve Aughty as had not been heard of in
generations. Of all that chanced in those seven days ere he set his face
to the north again, not much has survived, for there were greater storms
to come afterward, and more talked-of fighting. But certain things were
done which had a sequel.

By the fifth day Brian had swept past Gort toward Lough Graney, and
turned west by Crusheen, which he passed through with a hundred horsemen
at his heels. Two days before he had struck upon fifty Ulstermen who
were working north from Munster, and what were left of them after the
meeting took service with him. From them he learned that O'Neill was
dying or dead, and that the Royalists and Confederacy men were paralyzed
through the south.

They had left Crusheen ten miles behind them on the fifth day, when
Cathbarr laid his hand on Brian's knee and pointed to the left, where a
hill rose against the sky.

"Look there, _boucal_--when the birds fly from the _ceanabhan_, seek for
snakes!"

Brian drew rein. Gazing at the long slopes of moor-grass that rose
across the hill, he saw a sudden flight of blackbirds from over the
crest; they flew toward him, then swerved swiftly and darted to the
right. Brian called up two of his men who knew the country, and asked
them what lay over the hill.

"The Ennis road to Mal Bay," they replied, and he sent them ahead to
scout.

Before he reached the hill-crest they were back with word that an
"army" was on the road, and Brian pushed forward with Cathbarr to see
for himself. Slipping from their horses, they gained the hilltop and
looked over on the winding road beyond. Neither of them spoke, but
Brian's eyes glinted suddenly, for he beheld a train of four wagons
convoyed by some two hundred troopers. He touched Cathbarr and they
returned.

"A party of Ormond's Scottish troopers," he said quietly when they had
rejoined the men. "Cathbarr, take thirty men and work around them. When
you strike, I will lead over the hill and flank them."

The giant nodded, picked his men, and rode away. Brian led his seventy
closer to the rise of ground, and as they waited they could hear the
creaking of wagons and the snap of whips. It was a Royalist convoy, and
since there was no love between the Scots and the Irish of any party,
Brian's men were hungry for the fight.

They got their fill that day.

A rippling shout, a scattering of shots, and Brian spurred forward. The
road wound a hundred yards below, and Cathbarr had already fallen on the
vanguard. The Scots were riding forward to whelm him when Brian's men
drove down with a wild yell and smote the length of their flank.

Brian hewed his way to the side of Cathbarr, and then the sword and ax
flashed side by side. The captain in command of the troopers pistoled
Cathbarr's horse, but the huge ax met his steel cap and Cathbarr was
mounted again. Meanwhile, Brian was engaged with a cornet who had great
skill at fencing, and his huge Spanish blade touched the young officer
lightly until the Scot pulled forth a pistol, and at that Brian smote
with the edge.

The muskets and pistols of the troopers worked sad havoc among Brian's
men at first, but there was no chance to reload, and when the officers
had gone down the Scots lost heart. They would have trusted to no Gaelic
oaths, for men got no quarter in the west, but when Brian shouted at
them in English they listened to him right willingly. A score broke away
and galloped breakneck for the south again, and perhaps fifty had gone
down; the rest gathered about the wagons stared at Brian and Cathbarr in
superstitious awe as the two lowered bloody ax and sword and offered
terms.

"I offer service to you," said Brian. "I am Brian Buidh, and if you will
ride with me you shall find war. Those who wish may return to Ennis."

Now, at the most Brian had some seventy-five men left, and those
clustered at the wagons were over a hundred and a score, with muskets.
But their officers were down, they had received no pay for a year and
more, and they were for the most part Macdonalds of the Isles, who loved
freebooting better than army work. So out of them all only ten men chose
to ride to Ennis again, and Cathbarr shook his head as they departed.

"It seems to me that ill shall come of this," he said, and wiped his ax
clean.

Brian laughed shortly and dismounted. He found that the wagons contained
powder, stores, and muskets; so after placing the wounded in them, he
rode north to Corrofin that day with close to two hundred men at his
back. Staying that night at Corrofin, he hanged ten of the Scots for
plundering, rested his horses for two days, and set his face homeward
with the surety that his men knew him for master.

The storm of men was gathering fast.




CHAPTER VI.

BRIAN TAKES CAPTIVES.


"_Failte abhaile!_ Welcome, Yellow Brian!"

"So you won back before me, eh?" Brian swung down from his horse and
gripped hands with old Turlough Wolf. "Get the men camped, Cathbarr,
then join us."

Turlough's cunning eyes rested on the wagons and weary horsemen, and he
nodded approvingly as Brian told him of what had chanced.

"Said I not that you were a master of men?" he chuckled quietly, as he
turned to follow into Cathbarr's tower. "But it is easier to master men
than women, Brian. I bear you a bitter rede from the Bird Daughter,
master."

"Hard words fare ill on empty stomachs," quoth Brian. "Keep it till I
have eaten."

When Cathbarr had joined them and they had dined well on Royalist stores
and wine, Turlough made report on his mission. It seemed that he had met
with a party of the O'Malleys at the head of Kilkieran Bay at the close
of his first day's ride, and after hearing his errand they had taken him
in their ship out to Gorumna Isle, where stood the hold of Nuala, the
Bird Daughter. And somewhat to his own amazement, Turlough had found
that by this same name she was known along the whole coast.

He reported that it was a strong place, for the castle had been built by
her father; that she had two large ships and five small ones, and that
both ships and castle were defended by all manner of "shot"--meaning
cannon. She had just returned from Kinsale, where she had been aiding
Blake hold Prince Rupert's fleet in the bay. Now Rupert had slipped
away, and after plundering a French ship with wines, she had come home
again.

"She seems a woman of heart," smiled Brian. "What of her looks?"

"I did not see her." Turlough shook his head. "She ordered my message
written out, so she has some clerkly learning. She took an hour to
ponder it, master, then set me ashore with this message.

"'Tell Yellow Brian,' she ordered, 'that I claim tribute from Golam Head
to Slyne. I will make no pact with him until he pay me tribute; and if I
find him on my land I will set him in chains above my water-gate.'"

Brian felt no little dismay at this, for he had counted strongly on
alliance with this Bird Daughter.

However, Turlough proceeded to set forth the reasons for such a message,
as he had conceived them within his shrewd mind. First, it seemed that
the pestilence had visited Gorumna in the absence of its mistress, and
that the Dark Master had caught a score of the O'Malleys who had been
wrecked in Bertraghboy Bay, promptly hanging them all. Between the
plague and the hanging Nuala had a bare fourscore men left within the
castle, and she counted Brian's offer as a ruse on the part of
O'Donnell, for she was strongly afraid of treachery.

"There is more pride than power in that message," commented Cathbarr
easily. "The Dark Master has stripped away all her lands along the
coast, and save for Kilkieran Bay she has little left. Let us fall on
her, brother, and take what _is_ left."

Brian laughed at this naive counsel, looking at Turlough. But the old
Wolf said nothing, brooding over the fire, and Brian reflected within
himself.

He had come into a merciless feud, that he knew well. If he was to enter
upon it he must banish all pity from his heart, which was no easy thing
for him; but Turlough related things he had heard which speedily changed
his mind. There were tales of O'Donnell's ridings through the land, of
men slaughtered and women carried off to people his castle; of
treachery, and worse.

It was also whispered that the Dark Master had made alliance with
certain pirates from the north coast.

However, Brian knew that he must reach some decision regarding his own
men, and that speedily. The three talked long that night, setting aside
the question of the O'Malley alliance for the time being. Brian had some
two hundred men to house and horses to feed; he had good store of
provision and powder, but Cathbarr's little tower was utterly useless to
house the tenth of them all, while the stores would have to be
sheltered. Then O'Donnell might fling his men on them at any moment,
which would mean disaster in their present position.

Cathbarr suggested an attack on Bertragh castle, but Turlough dissented.

"When we strike, we must strike to win," he said shrewdly. "The Dark
Master has more men than we, and the sea is at his back, and they say he
is a warlock to boot."

The giant stared and crossed himself at talk of warlocks, but Brian
laughed out.

"I have a plan," he said, fingering his sword. "O'Donnell watches all
the hill-paths like a hawk, even now in winter. Those wagons are of no
great use to us, and we can store the goods here in the tower for the
present. Get it done to-night, Cathbarr, and get the accouterments from
two of those largest Scots for yourself and me."

Turlough Wolf chuckled suddenly, and Brian knew that the old man had
pierced to something of his plan. But not all.

"Turlough," he went on as the scheme came to him more clearly, "at dawn
ride out with a hundred men to that hill-road where first we met the
Dark Master. Hide the men in the hills, and be ready to ride hard when
the time comes. Cathbarr, before the dawn breaks have the wagons start
out with twenty of the Scots troopers as escort. Bid as many more as can
lie down in the wagons and cover up close with their muskets. Send a man
or two with them to guide to that hill-road of which I spoke. We will
ride after and catch them up shortly after sunrise."

"Good!" roared out the giant, whose brains lay all in his ax. "And the
Dark Master will swoop down to the feast, eh?"

"He will not," returned Brian dryly. "He will send two or threescore men
upon us, and it is my purpose to take as many of these prisoner as may
be."

Cathbarr stared, and Turlough's gray eyes squinted up at Brian.

"How is this, master?" he asked inquiringly. "It is too good a trap to
waste on prisoners--"

"My plan is my plan," said Brian briefly. "I am not making war on
O'Donnell, but I intend to pay tribute to the Bird Daughter, and that
right soon. While we are gone have a score of men remain here and build
huts on the cliffs, Cathbarr."

Turlough fell to staring into the fire, divining the plan at length, and
Cathbarr went out to fulfil his orders. Brian knew well that there was
danger in the scheme, but he determined to deal with one thing at a
time, and thoroughly. Just at present he was intent on forming an
alliance with Nuala O'Malley, for ships and cannon were needful before
he could nip the Dark Master in his hold. It was going to cost the lives
of men, and he made up his mind not to pause for that. If he was to live
and make head it must be by the strong hand alone--the Red Hand of
Tyr-owen; and he looked down at the ring of Owen Ruadh and took it for a
symbol, as his ancestors had taken it.

Before they went to rest Turlough pointed out that if the hills were
watched he and his hundred would be noted, so Brian bade him hit back
toward Lough Corrib and then to come straight down upon the main road.
It might be that he could overcome the Dark Master's men of himself, and
if not, he would hold them until Turlough came up.

With this plan arranged, then, the four wagons set forth under the cold
stars, with thirty Scots lying hidden and twenty riding before and
behind. With the first gleam of dawn Turlough and his hundred cantered
off to the northeast, and an hour later Brian and Cathbarr put on the
buff coats and steel jacks of the troopers, with the wide morions; took
a pair of loaded pistols, and galloped after the slow-moving wagons.
Brian wore his Spanish blade, but Cathbarr had sent his ax ahead with
the troopers.

They caught up with the wagons when the latter were entering upon the
road proper out of the hill-track they had followed. The first snows had
vanished for the most part, leaving bleak, gaunt hills and rugged crags
that twisted with soft fog. The sun struck the fog away, however, and as
Brian rode on he gazed up at the purple mountains on his right, and down
at the purple bog to his left, and caught the gleam of the Bertraghboy
water out beyond. He laughed as he drank in the keen air of morning.

"Best get your edge ready, Cathbarr of the Ax!"

Cathbarr grunted, and slung the heavy hammer-ax at his saddlebow. One of
the guides, who were from the Dark Master's twoscore men, pointed to a
twisted peak on their right, whence an almost invisible spiral of gray
smoke wound up.

"The signal, Yellow Brian," he grinned, cheerfully giving away his
secrets. In fact, all those twoscore men rather hoped that their old
master would be crushed by Brian, for so long as there was booty in
sight they cared not whom they served.

Half an hour later Brian saw ahead of him that same bend of road where
first he and Turlough had met O'Donnell Dubh. But there was no sign of
Turlough, and he cantered ahead to see if the O'Donnell men were below.
As he did so a bullet sang past his ear, and he whirled to see half a
dozen of his men go down beneath a storm of lead from the hillsides; at
the same instant some three-score men came scrambling down from among
the rocks--those same rocks where he had first laid ambush for the Dark
Master.

And riders were coming up on the road below!

He was caught very neatly, and caught by more men than he had looked
for. The remainder of the twenty gathered behind him and Cathbarr, and
the thirty rose among the wagons and for a moment stopped the assault
with their musketry; but before the smoke had cleared away two-score
horsemen came thundering up the road from behind the curve, and struck.

"Albanach! Albanach!"

The wild yells shrilled up, and the Scots troopers knew that they were
fighting without quarter in sight, for the "Albanach," as they were
termed in Gaelic, gave and got little mercy in Ireland. The saddles of
the fallen were filled from the men in the wagons, and leaving the
musketeers to hold off the unmounted men, Brian plunged into the swirl
of fighting horsemen and joined Cathbarr.

The odds were heavy, but the big claymores of the Scots were heavier
still. Side by side, Brian and Cathbarr plunged through the ranks, sword
biting and ax smiting, until they stood almost alone among the
O'Donnells, for their men had been borne back. Then the giant bellowed
and his ax crushed down a man stabbing at Brian's horse; Brian pistoled
one who struck at Cathbarr's back, and pressing their horses head to
tail they faced the circle of men, while behind them roared the battle.

For a moment the O'Donnells held off, recognizing the pair, then one of
them spurred forward with a howl of delight.

"_Dhar mo lamh_, Yellow Brian--your head to our gates!"

Brian thrust unexpectedly, and the man went over his horse's tail as the
ring closed in. So far Cathbarr had forgotten his pistols, but now he
used them, and took a bullet-crease across his neck in return; then the
ax and sword heaved up together, and the ring surged back. A skean went
home in Cathbarr's horse, however, and the giant plunged down, but with
that Brian spurred and went at the O'Donnells with the point of his
blade. This sort of fighting was new to them, and when Brian had spitted
three of them he heard Cathbarr's ax crunch down once more.

They were still cut off from the wagons, but there came a wild drumming
of hoofs, and wilder yells from the men on the hillside. Like a
thunder-burst, Turlough and his hundred broke on the battle. The
O'Donnells were swallowed up, stamped flat; the unmounted men fled among
the rocks, Turlough's men after them, and a dozen horsemen went
streaming down the road.

It was hard to make the maddened Scots take prisoners, but Brian did it,
and when Turlough's men came back he found that they had in all thirty
captives. Some forty of the attackers had fallen and the rest had fled.

Since all his captives expected no less than a quick death, Brian
ordered ten of them bound on spare horses, of which there were plenty.
He himself had lost twenty-three of his Scots, and the remaining score
of captives cheerfully took service under him. Then, picking out one of
them, he gave the man a horse and told him to ride home.

"Tell your master, O'Donnell Dubh," he said, "that his men made this
attack on me, and therefore there is war between us."

The man grinned and departed at a gallop, and word passed through the
men that the Dark Master had found his match at last. As to this,
however, they were fated to change their opinion later.

"Now," said Brian to old Turlough, as between them they bound up a slash
in Cathbarr's thigh, "do you put the wounded in the wagons and begone
home again. Set out sentries against an attack from O'Donnell, and
scatter a score of men out along the roads to watch for other parties.
You might pick up another score of recruits, Turlough Wolf."

Turlough shook his head and tugged at his beard.

"Best take me with you, master, instead of this overgrown ox. You may
need brains in dealing with the Bird Daughter, and he has no more brains
than strew his ax-edge. Also he is wounded."

Brian pondered this, while Cathbarr furtively shook a fist at Turlough.
There was wisdom in the advice, but on the other hand Brian did not like
to leave his precious two hundred men in care of Cathbarr. If the Dark
Master attacked suddenly, as he was like to do, brains would be more
needed than brawn.

On the other hand, he counted on Cathbarr's open face removing the
evident suspicion that the smooth-tongued Turlough had raised in Gorumna
Isle. It had been a mistake, he saw plainly, to send such an emissary on
his mission. Picturing this woman who led her own ships to war, he
limned her in his mind as a large-boned, flat-breasted, wide-hipped
creature--and with good reason. He had seen women fighting at Drogheda
and he had seen them in other places as he rode to the rest, for in
those days many a woman took her slain lord's _skean fada_ and drew
blood for Ireland before she was cut down. And when women rode to battle
there was no mercy asked or given, from Royalist or Confederate or
Parliament man.

Nuala O'Malley was a woman of blood, said Brian to himself, and he would
give her blood for her help.

So he curtly refused Turlough's advice, saw that the ten bridles of his
bound and mounted captives were lined together, and beckoned to
Cathbarr. Before they rode off, however, they doffed their Scot
accouterments and took back their own garments, after which Cathbarr led
the way over the hills to Kilkieran Bay, and Turlough took command of
the force in sullen ill-humor.

The morning was still young, for the attack had taken place a short two
hours after sunrise and had soon been quelled. Beyond a slashed thigh
and a red-creased neck, Cathbarr of the Ax was unhurt, and Brian had
received no scratch. If the ten captives wondered why they were bound
and their comrades freed, they said nothing of it.

Even after seeing what he had of the merciless war in Ireland, Brian had
much ado in making up his mind to hold to the plan he had formed on the
previous evening. These ten ruffians were scoundrels enough, to judge by
looks, and yet they were men; and he had been raised in no such school
of war as this, where surrender meant slaughter without pity. However,
he determined to do what he could for them, and he would have held to
this determination had it not been for what chanced when they rode down
to the little fishing village where Turlough had met the O'Malley men.

They arrived just as the evening was darkling, after a hard day's ride.

As they came within sight of the place, which lay at the head of
Kilkieran water, Brian made out that a small galley was pulled up on
shore, and there were a number of men about the huts. Upon the approach
of the two chiefs with their file of captives there was an instant
scurry of figures; women ran to the huts, and a dozen or more roughly
clad men appeared with pikes and muskets. Brian held up his hand in sign
of peace and rode slowly onward, Cathbarr at his side, to within a dozen
paces of the huts.

"Who are you?" cried out one of the musketeers. "Be off!"

"Bark less, dog," said Brian, scorn in his eye. "We seek Nuala O'Malley.
Take us out to Gorumna Isle in your boat."

"What seek ye with the Bird Daughter?" queried the other suspiciously.

"Her business, not yours."

The seamen gazed at them doubtfully, then a number of other men came
from the huts, well-armed. One of these set up a cry, pointing at the
captives, and a burst of yells answered him from the rest. Next instant
Brian and Cathbarr had their weapons out and were facing an excited
crowd of men.

"Be silent, dogs!" bellowed Cathbarr, and his voice quelled the uproar.
"What means this attack? Would you have the Bird Daughter strip you with
whips, fools?"

The spokesman stood out, his dark face quivering with fury as he
pointed.

"That is as it may be, axman, but first those bound men shall die. One
is the man who slew my brother, nailing him to his own door till he
died; another is he who burned Lame Art's wife and child last
Whit-Sunday--"

"There is he who lopped my husband's hands and nose! Slay him!" shrieked
out a hag as she burst forward. Brian held out his sword and she drew
back, but instantly others had taken up the cry.

"And the devil who hung Blind Ulick!"

"There is he who--"

In that brief moment Brian heard things too horrible for speech. The ten
bound men had grouped together, some pale as death, others laughing
defiantly. But as the crowd surged forward Brian held up his sword, and
they paused to listen; he knew now that there was no more pity in his
heart for these black ruffians of O'Donnell's.

"Let the Bird Daughter render judgment upon them," he shouted. "Friends,
take us to the Bird Daughter and let her do as she will, for I bear
these men to her alone."

At that the crowd fell silent, but their leader gave a rapid order, and
half a dozen men ran down to the strand. Another order, and the maddened
villagers gave back as the seamen closed about Brian and Cathbarr and
their captives.

"Come," said the leader roughly. "You shall go to Gorumna Isle with us,
strange men, but I do not think that you shall ever come back again."

"Nor do I," grinned Cathbarr in the ear of Brian, as they left their
horses to the fishermen, unbound the prisoners from their steeds, and
made their way down to the galley. Brian looked at his friend, and they
both smiled grimly.




CHAPTER VII.

THE BIRD DAUGHTER.


"Now, _there_ is a castle worth the taking, Yellow Brian!" said
Cathbarr.

Brian nodded, his eyes shining in the starlight. After a pull of a long
seven miles down the bay, the galley had rounded into the northern end
of Gorumna Isle, guided by a high beacon set among the stars. As they
drew nearer Brian made out that this beacon was set on the tower of a
high pile of masonry black against the sky, lit here and there by
cressets, and it was plain that the Bird Daughter kept good watch since
they had more than once been hailed in passing the islands.

Once turned into the harbor, Brian found suddenly that they were among
ships, many of them small galleys, but two of good size which bore
riding-lights. Again they responded to hails, and without warning a few
torches blazed out ahead of them. Then it was seen that the castle was
built with its lower part close on the water, and its upper part rising
on the crag. In reality, as he found later, it was two castles in one,
as of necessity it had to be. Were the opposite isles held by an enemy,
and hostile ships in the little harbor, the higher towers running up the
crag could dominate all, and the lower castle could be abandoned without
danger.

Even in the starlight Brian's trained soldier's eye made out something
of this. Then the leader of the seamen came and stood beside them, for
during the two-hours' trip he had talked somewhat with Cathbarr and had
come to look with more respect on Brian himself. That was only natural,
for seamen ever like those men who talk least.

"Strangers," he said with rough courtesy, "a word in your ear. If you
would gain speech with the Lady Nuala, deal not with her as with me.
Send in your names and your business, and you may perchance get to see
her in the morning, or a week hence, as she may choose."

"Thanks," answered Brian. "But my will is not like to hang upon hers."

The seaman shrugged his shoulders, the oars were put in, and they
floated up to where the torches flared. Here there was a landing-place
of hewn stone, with a gate lying open beyond it, and armed men waiting.
One of these, from his bunch of huge keys and air of authority, Brian
knew for the seneschal.

"_M'anam go'n Dhia!_" he growled, peering down into the boat as it
ground on the stone, "what fish have you there?"

"Two salmon and ten herring, Muiertach," laughed one of the men. Brian
and his friend stepped out while the ten prisoners were prodded after
them, and Brian found the seneschal looking him over with some wonder,
hands on hips.

"Well! A giant with a devil's ax, and Cuculain, the Royal Hound, come to
life again! Who are you, yellow man, and who is this axman, and who are
these ten bound men?"

Brian was minded to answer curtly enough, but he looked at the seneschal
and remembered the seaman's kindly warning. Under his eye the laugh
withered suddenly on the seneschal's lips.

"These ten men belong to me, Muiertach. Go, tell the Bird Daughter that
Brian Buidh and Cathbarr of the Ax have come to her, bringing tribute as
she demanded."

Now it was that Cathbarr, who had asked no questions all that day,
perceived for the first time the reason of their fighting and hard
riding, and what the manner of that tribute was. He broke into a great
bellow of laughter so that the rough-clad seamen stared at him in
wonder, but at a word from Brian he quieted instantly.

"In the morning the message shall be delivered, Brian Buidh," returned
burly Muiertach with a glimmer of respect in his voice. "And now render
up your weapons, so that we may treat you as guests--"

"So you sea-rovers are afraid of two men, lest they capture your hold?"

Brian's biting words brought a deep flush to Muiertach's face.

"No weapons do we render," he went on, his voice cold as his eyes. "We
come as guests, seneschal, and our business is not with you. Take these
ten men to your dungeons, take us to guest chambers and give us to eat,
and see that we have speech with the Bird Daughter before to-morrow's
sun is high."

At this Muiertach growled something into his beard, but turned with a
gesture of assent. His men closed around the captives, while Brian and
Cathbarr followed him into the castle, the giant still chuckling to
himself with great rumbles of laughter.

"Let strict watch be kept over these two," said Muiertach in English to
one of the torchmen who accompanied them, thinking he would not be
understood.

"You may yet get a touch of the whip for that order," said Brian in the
same tongue.

Stricken with amazement, Muiertach turned and stared at him, jaw
dropping, while Cathbarr glanced from one to the other in perplexity.
Brian smiled.

"Lead on, and talk less."

With tenfold respect, the seneschal obeyed. Now Brian saw that this
castle was indeed a stronghold, and might easily be defended by fewer
men than it had. The inner walls of the lower castle were well lined
with falcons and falconets, while on the towers above peered out heavier
cannon, which he took for culverins from their length of nose. Crossing
the courtyard, they entered the building itself, and Muiertach led them
through upward-winding corridors, studded with cressets and with here
and there a recessed _prie-dieu_ in the wall.

From the snatches of talk behind the doors they passed, Brian guessed
that this lower castle was occupied by the garrison. In this he was
right, for with torchmen before and behind them they emerged into the
cold night air again and climbed upward, coming to a gate in the wall of
the upper castle. This stood open, but it clanged shut behind them, and
after crossing a steep courtyard they entered a second and broader
corridor.

Muiertach led them up a long flight of stairs, then another, and finally
flung open a heavy door. It was evident that they were lodged in one of
the towers.

"Rest sound and fear not to eat our food," said the seneschal.
"_Beannacht leath!_"

"Blessing on you," responded Brian and Cathbarr together, and entered.

For a wonder, Brian found that the chamber was lighted with candles,
which Cathbarr examined with no little awe. Also, it contained a very
good bed, on which the giant looked with suspicion. The hard stone walls
were hung with tattered tapestries, and before they had settled well
into their chairs two men entered with food and wine of the best.

"Not so bad," smiled Brian as they ate. "How come your wounds, brother?"

"Those scratches? Bah!" And the giant gurgled down half a quart of
Canary at a stretch. "You are not going to sleep on that bed of cloths?"

"That I am," laughed Brian, "and soon, for I am overweary with riding.
Try it, Cathbarr, and you will be glad of it."

"Not I! Since there is no bracken here the floor is good enough for me.
Eh, but this sea-woman will have a thought in her mind over your
message, brother!"

Brian chuckled, but he was too weary with that day's work to talk or
think, and when the remnants of their meal had been removed and their
door shut, he gratefully sought the first bed he had known for weeks.
After some laughing persuasion he prevailed on the suspicious Cathbarr
to blow out the candles, and upon that he fell asleep.

When he wakened it was broad daylight, and Cathbarr was still snoring
with his ax looped about his wrist as usual. Brian, feeling like a new
man, went to the open casement and looked out.

He found himself gazing through a three-foot stone wall, and as he was
doubtless in one of the towers, this argued that the lower walls were
twelve feet thick or more. The lower castle was hid from him, but his
view was toward the upper bay and included the harbor. The two larger
ships, which were small caracks, but large for the west coast in that
day, bore six guns on a side, and Brian saw that they were being
scrubbed and made shipshape. The Bird Daughter must be a woman of some
scrupulousness, he reflected. Beyond the brown sails of two
fishing-boats, and low, storm-boding clouds over the farther hills,
there was nothing more in sight.

As Cathbarr still wore his long mail-shirt, Brian kicked him awake, and
after his first bellowing yawn their door opened and men brought in jars
of water. When the giant's wounds had been dressed, under protest, and
they had broken their fast, the seneschal appeared.

"Chieftains," he said respectfully, "the Lady Nuala has received your
message and will have speech with you this afternoon. Until then she
wishes that you keep your chamber, since she knows not your mind in this
visit."

"That is but fair," assented Brian.

Cathbarr grumbled, but there was no help for it, since they were
virtually prisoners. The day passed slowly, and toward noon storm drew
down on the harbor and snow eddied in their casement. With that, they
fell to polishing their weapons; Brian procured a razor and a
much-needed shave, and Cathbarr furbished up his huge ax until it glowed
like silver.

Finally Muiertach appeared. Brian slung the great sword across his back,
and they followed the seneschal down to the courtyard. Here they were
joined by the captive O'Donnells and the seamen who had brought them to
the castle, and Muiertach led them to the great hall.

The father of this O'Malley woman must have been a man of parts, thought
Brian as he gazed around. The hall was scantily filled with, perhaps,
three-score men ranged along the walls, and at the farther end was a low
dais where a huge log fire roared high. The beams were hung with a few
pennons and ship-ensigns, and on the dais were placed a half-dozen
chairs. Behind one of these stood two women, and in the chair, calmly
facing the hall, sat the Bird Daughter.

Brian caught his breath sharply, and his blue eyes flickered flame as he
saw her. Never in his life had his gaze met such a woman--not in all the
land of Spain or elsewhere in Ireland.

At this time Nuala O'Malley was twenty years old, and ten of those years
had been passed either on shipboard or here in Gorumna Isle. As one
chronicler describes her, "She was not tall, but neither was she small
of stature, and when she stood on a ship's deck there was no tossing
could cause her to stumble. Her hair was not blue, but neither was it
black, and her eyes were very deep and bright, violet in color, and set
wide in her head. Her nose was neither small nor large, her cheeks were
ever red with the wind off the sea, her mouth was finely curved, but
tight-set withal, and she had more chin than women are wont to have. She
was very lissom in body, but her head never drooped."

And that is a most excellent description of the Bird Daughter, in fewer
words than most men might use to-day.

But of all this Brian noted at the moment only that before him sat a
girl-woman whose calm poise and confident power struck out at him like a
vibrant presence. Like himself, she wore a cloak of dark red, but no
steel jack glittered beneath it; there was a torque of ancient gold
about her neck, and her hair was caught up and hidden beneath a small
cap of red.

Brian thought of the woman he had painted in his mind, then laughed
softly. She caught the laugh on his face, and comprehended it, and was
pleased; then as she watched him very calmly, it seemed to Brian that
her sheer beauty was a thing of deception. It must be, for she was
surely a woman of blood. He had known enough of beautiful women, who
played the parts of men, to know that on the far side of their beauty
was neither mercy nor love nor compassion, that their lovers were many
steps to ambition, and that they were venomous. So his smile died away,
and his blue eyes glittered cold and dark, and this the Bird Daughter
saw also.

Now, there was no man on the dais save Muiertach, who mounted the two
steps with his keys jangling. As Brian would have gone after him, two
pikemen stepped forward to intervene. Brian looked into their eyes and
they drew back again. He and Cathbarr mounted to the dais, and he bowed
a low, courtly, Spanish bow, of which the Bird Daughter took no note.
Instead he heard her voice, very low and penetrating, and she was
speaking to the two pikemen.

"Go out into the courtyard," she said, "and give each other five lashes.
This is because you dared insult a guest, and because you drew back
after insulting him. Go!"

The two pikemen, rather pale under their beards, handed over their pikes
to comrades and strode out of the hall. She turned to Brian, speaking
still in Gaelic:

"Welcome, Brian Buidh. You have come to bring me tribute?"

"Yes, Lady Nuala, and the tribute is these ten men of the Dark
Master's."

She looked at Cathbarr; her eyes swept over his ax. Then she looked
again at Brian, and spoke to Muiertach in English.

"Truly, I have seldom seen such a man as this--"

A swift look of warning flashed over the seneschal's face, and Brian
laughed.

"Lady," he said in the same tongue, "he is Cathbarr of the Ax, and he
will be a good man to stand with us against the Dark Master."

She betrayed no surprise, except that a little tinge of red crept to her
temples.

"I did not know you spoke English, Brian Buidh. Still, it was not to
Cathbarr that I referred."

At that it was Brian's turn to redden, and mentally he cursed himself.
There was no evil in this woman's heart, he saw at once. For an instant
he was confused and taken aback. Then she smiled, slowly rose, and
tendered him her hand. Going to one knee, he put her fingers to his
lips.

"Now sit, Yellow Brian," she said, "and let us talk. First, these
captives of yours. Do you in truth bring them as a tribute? How do I
know they are O'Donnell's men?"

"Ask these seamen of yours," laughed Brian, seating himself beside her.
Cathbarr remained standing and leaning on his ax, looking like some
giant of the old times.

She took him at his word, and when she had heard from the seamen certain
tales of what cruelties the ten prisoners had done, her violet eyes
suddenly turned black and an angry pallor drove across her face.

"That is enough," she interrupted curtly. "Take them out and hang them."

The men were led away, and Brian saw that her hands were tightly
clenched, but whether in fury or in fear of herself he could not tell.
Then she turned to him, looking straightly into his face, and on the
instant Brian knew that if this girl-woman bade him go to his death, he
would go, laughing.

"Tell me of yourself, Brian Buidh. Of what family are you? By the ring
on your finger you are an O'Neill; yet I have heard nothing of such a
man as yourself leading that sept. When your messenger came to me, I
read cunning in his face, and took it for a trap set by the Dark Master;
but now that I have seen you and Cathbarr of the Ax, I will take fealty
from you if you wish to serve me."

Brian smiled a little.

"Serve you I would, lady, but not in fealty. I take fealty and do not
give it. My name is indeed Brian Buidh, and as for that ring, it was a
gift from Owen Ruadh."

"Owen Ruadh died two days since," she said softly, watching his face. "I
had word of it this morning."

At that he started, and Cathbarr's eyes widened in fear of magic. Owen
Ruadh had lain on the other side of Ireland, and three months would have
been fast for such news to travel. But Brian nodded sadly.

"Carrier pigeons, eh?" he said in English and paused. He knew not why,
but his loneliness seemed stricken into his heart on a sudden; he who
neither explained nor asked for explanation from any man, felt impelled
to open his life to this girl-woman. He crushed down the impulse, yet
not entirely.

"Perhaps, Lady Nuala, there shall be greater confidence between us in
time, and so I truly desire. But know this much--I am better born than
any man in Ireland--aye, than Clanrickard himself; and I am here in the
west to seek a new name and a new power. It is in my mind to take
O'Donnell's castle from him, lady. I have some two hundred men, of whom
the Dark Master himself lent me twoscore, and in alliance with your
ships we could reduce him."

"How is this, Brian? You say he _lent_ you twoscore men?"

He laughed and explained the fashion of that loan; and when he had
finished a great laugh ran down the hall, and the Bird Daughter herself
was chuckling. Then he waited for her answer, and it was not long in
coming.

"There is some reason in your plan, Brian Buidh, but more reason against
it. The castle that O'Donnell holds was formerly my father's. If you
held it, there would be no peace between us, unless you gave fealty to
me, which I see plainly you will not do. I claim that castle, and shall
always claim it."

"Then it seems that I am held in a cleft stick," smiled Brian easily,
"since I will give fealty to none save the king, or Parliament. You are
allied with the Roundheads, I understand?"

She nodded, watching him gravely.

"Yes. Cromwell is master of the country, and I am not minded to butt my
head against a wall, Brian Buidh. If I am to hold to the little that is
left me, I shall need all my strength."

"And that is not much, lady. Your coasts are plague-smitten, your men
reduced, and Cromwell has not yet won all the country. Galway will be
the last to fall, indeed. But as to Bertragh Castle, why should you not
sell your rights in it to me?"

At his first words a helpless anger flashed into her face, succeeded by
a still more helpless pride.

"No, I will not sell what I have been unable to conquer back, Brian
Buidh. If there were any way out of this difficulty with honor, I would
take it; for I tell you frankly that I would make alliance with you if I
could."

Brian gazed at her, reading her heart, and fighting vainly against the
impulse that rose within him. Twice he tried to speak and could not,
while she watched the conflict in his face and wondered. He wished
vainly that he had Turlough's cunning brain to aid him now.

"Lady," he said at last, biting his lips, "I will do this. I will give
you fealty for the holding of Bertragh Castle, keeping it ever at your
service, but for this alone. When we have taken it, it may be that I
shall render it back after I have won a better for myself; yet, because
I would sit at your side and have equal honor with you, and because we
have need of each other, I will give you the service that I would grant
to no man alive. Is it good?"

For an instant he thought that she was about to break forth in eager
assent, then she sank back in her chair, while breathless silence filled
the hall. She gazed down at the floor, her face flushing deeply, and
finally looked up again, sadly.

"I do not desire pity or compassion, Brian Buidh," she said simply, and
her eyes held tears of helpless anger.

Then Brian saw that she had pierced his mind, for which he was both
sorry and glad. He knew well there were other castles to be had for the
taking, and there was nothing to prevent his riding on past Slyne Head
and winning them--except for his meeting with this girl-woman. Therefore
he lied, and if she knew it, she gave no sign.

"You mistake me, lady," he said earnestly, his blue eyes softening
darkly.

"I propose this only as a stepping-stone to my own ambition. Soon there
will be a sweep of war through the coasts, and I would have a roof over
my head. Is it good?"

She rose and held out her hands to him.

"It is good, Brian Buidh. Give me fealty-oath, for Bertragh Castle
alone."

And he gave it, and his words were drowned in a roar of cheers that
stormed down the hall, for the O'Malleys had heard all that passed.

An hour later Cathbarr of the Ax was despatched in a swift galley to
bear the tidings to Turlough, and bid him make ready for a swift and
sharp campaign.

Through the remainder of that afternoon and evening Brian sat beside the
Bird Daughter, and he found his tongue loosened most astonishingly, for
him. He told her some part of his story, though not his name, while in
turn he learned of her life, and of how her father and mother had been
slain by O'Donnell through blackest treachery.

The more he saw of her, the more clearly he read her heart and the more
he gave her deeper fealty than had passed his lips in the oath of
service. As for her, she had met Blake and others of the Roundhead
captains on her cruises, deadly earnest men all; but in the earnestness
of Brian she found somewhat more besides, though she said nothing of it
then. It was arranged between them that in three days they would meet
before Bertragh Castle, by sea and land, and the Dark Master would be
speedily wiped out.

With the morning Brian set forth to join his men in the largest sailing
galley, for a wild gale was sweeping down from Iar Connaught. But the
O'Malleys were skilled seamen who laughed at wind and waves, and Brian
kissed the hand of the Bird Daughter as he stepped aboard, with never a
thought of the storm of men that was coming down upon them both, and of
the blacker storm which the Dark Master was brewing in his heart.


TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK. Don't forget this magazine is issued weekly,
and that you will get the continuation of this story without waiting a
month.




Nuala O'Malley

by H. Bedford-Jones

Author of "Malay Gold," "The Ghost Hill," "John Solomon, Supercargo,"
etc.


This story began in the All-Story Weekly for December 30.




CHAPTER VIII.

HOW BRIAN WAS NETTED.


The Dark Master sat in his dark hall, brooding.

It was a bad morning, for there was a sweep of wind and black cloud
mingled with snow bearing out of the north; and since the great hall,
with its huge fireplace, was the warmest part of the castle, as many of
the men as could do so had drifted thither, but without making any undue
disturbance over it.

For that matter, they might have passed unseen, since the hall was black
as night save for a single cresset above the fireplace. Here sat the
Dark Master, a little oaken table before him on which his breakfast had
rested, and at his side crouched a long, lean wolfhound that nuzzled him
unheeded. On the other side the table sat the old _seanachie_, who was
blind, and who fingered the strings of his harp with odd twangings and
mutterings, but without coherence, for O'Donnell had bade him keep
silence.

"Go and see what the weather is," commanded the Dark Master. A man rose
and ran outside, while other men came in with wood. Their master
motioned them away, although the fire had sunk down into embers.

"A gale from the north, which is turning to the eastward, with snow,
master."

"Remain outside, and bring me word what changes hap, and of all that you
see or hear. Waste no time about it."

The Dark Master drew his cloak about his humped shoulders, and in the
flickering dim light from overhead his face stood out in all its ghastly
pallor, accentuated by the dead black hair and mustache. But his eyes
were burning strangely, and when they saw it the men drew back, and more
than one sought the outer chill in preference to staying.

Now O'Donnell Dubh stared into the embers and muttered below his breath,
while, as if in response, a little flickering whirlwind of gray ash rose
up and fell back again, so that it blew over the embers and deadened
them. The muscles of the Dark Master's face contracted until his teeth
flashed out in a silent snarl.

"I could have slain, and I did not," he whispered as if to himself. "But
there is still time, and I will not be a fool again!"

The watching men shivered, for it seemed that the wind scurried down the
wide chimney and again blew up the gray ash until the embers glowed
through a white coating. But the wind wrought more than this, for it
brought down from the gray clouds a whispering murmur that drifted
through the hall, and in that murmur were mingled the sounds of beating
hoofs and ringing steel and shrieking men.

"Are watchers posted over the hills and the paths and the Galway roads?"
spoke out the Dark Master as he gazed into the ashes.

"They are watching, master," answered a deep voice from the darkness.

Suddenly the wolfhound raised its head and stared into the ashes also,
as if it saw something there that no man saw, for the bristles lifted on
its neck, and it whined a little. O'Donnell dropped his hand to the thin
muzzle, and the dog was quiet again. But after that the men stared at
the fireplace with frightened eyes.

"There is still time, though one has escaped me," said the Dark Master,
looking up suddenly at his sightless harper, who seemed to fall
atrembling beneath the look. "The one who has escaped matters not, for
his bane comes not at my hands. It is the other whom I shall slay--Brian
Buidh of the hard eyes. Then the Bird Daughter. But it seems to me that
one stands in my path of whom I do not know."

He brooded over the ashes as his head sank between his shoulders like a
turtle's head. Then once again the wind swooped down on the castle, and
whistled down the chimney, and filled the great hall with a thin noise
like the death-rattle of men. The cresset wavered and fell to smoking
overhead.

The Dark Master reached his hand across the table and caught the hand of
the blind harper and spread it out on the oak. A little shudder shook
the old man, and as if against his will he spread out his other hand
likewise, his two hands lying between those of the Dark Master. Then
there fell a terrible and awestruck silence on the hall.

The stillness was perfect, and continued for a long while. Slowly
occurred a weird and strange thing, for, although no blast whimpered
down the chimney, the ashes fell away from the embers, which began to
glow more redly and set out the forms of the Dark Master and the blind
harper in a ruddy light. Suddenly a man pointed to the feet of the Dark
Master, and would have cried out but that another man struck him back.

For the ashes had drifted out from the fireplace, flake after flake, and
were settling about the feet of the Dark Master beneath the table. They
rose slowly into a little gray pile; then one of the men shrieked in
horror at the sight, and the Dark Master threw out his head.

"Slay him," he said quietly and drew in his head once more, staring at
the table.

There was a thudding blow and a groan, then the stillness of death. The
ashes were quiet; the fire glowed ruddily. After a little there came a
soft whirl of soot down the chimney, blackening the embers. The soot
rose and fell, rose and fell, again and again; it was as if an eddying
draft of wind were trying to raise it. Finally it was lifted, but it
only whirled about and about over the embers, like a shape drawn
together by some uncanny force.

The Dark Master raised his head as a clash of steel and the voice of the
watcher came from the outer doorway.

"Master, the blast thickens with black fog!"

"Remain on watch," said O'Donnell, and his head fell.

But through the hall men's hands went out to one another in the
darkness. For storm-driven fog was not a thing that many men had seen
even on the west coast, and when it did happen men said that a warlock
was at work. There was not far to seek for the warlock in this case,
muttered the O'Donnells.

Now the Dark Master looked into the fireplace and that whirling figure
of soot raised itself anew and began its unearthly dance over the
embers. After no long time men saw that the pile of gray ashes under the
table was lifting also, lifting and whirling as though the wind spun it;
but there was no wind.

"There is a man to be blinded," said the Dark Master. "Let him be
blinded with fog and snow, and the men with him, and let the wind come
out of the east and drive him to this place."

Slowly, so slowly that no man could afterward say where there was
beginning or end, the whirling figure of soot dissipated; and little by
little the dancing stream of gray ashes drifted back into the fireplace;
then it also dissipated, seeming to pass up the chimney, so that the
embers glowed red and naked.

"_Seanachie_," said the Dark Master in a terribly piercing voice, "who
is this standing in my way, standing between me and Brian of the hard
eyes?"

The blind harper began to tremble, but again came the clash and the
watcher's voice from the doorway.

"Master, there is snow mingled with the fog, and the wind is shifting to
the eastward."

"Light the beacon and remain on watch," said the Dark Master. But at the
watcher's word new terror seized on the men in the hall.

"_Seanachie_, who stands in my way? Speak!"

The beard of the blind harper quivered and rose as if the wind lifted
it, but men felt no wind through the hall. Then the old man began to
writhe in his chair, and twisted to take his hands from the table, but
he could not, although only he alone held them there. Suddenly his
mouth opened, and a voice that was not his voice made answer:

"Master, two people stand in your way."

"Describe them," said the Dark Master, and those near by saw that sweat
was running down his face, despite the coldness of the hall. After a
moment's silence the old harper spoke again; he had lost his eyes twenty
years since, yet he spoke of seeing.

"Master, I see two people but dimly. One is a man, huge of stature and
standing like Laeg the hero, the friend of the hero Cuculain, leaning
upon an ax--"

"That is Cathbarr of the Ax," broke in the Dark Master. "His bane comes
not at my hands. Who is the other?"

Again the old harper seemed to struggle, and his voice came more
faintly:

"I cannot see, master. I think it is a woman--"

"That is the Bird Daughter," quoth the Dark Master.

"Nay, it is an old woman, but she blinds me--"

And the harper fell silent, writhing, until horror gripped those who
looked on. O'Donnell leaned forward, his head sticking straight out and
his eyes blazing.

"What do you see, _seanachie_? Speak!"

"I see men," and the old harper's voice rose in a great shriek. "A storm
of men and of hoofs, and red snow on the ground, and fire over the snow,
and the man of the ax laughing terribly. And I see other men riding
hard; men with long hair and the flag of England in their midst--and
Cuculain smites them--Cuculain of the yellow hair--the Royal Hound of
Ulster smites them and scatters them--"

"_Liar!_"

With the hoarse word the Dark Master leaned forward and smote the blind
harper with his fist, so that the old man slid from his chair senseless.
Upon that the Dark Master swung around with his teeth bared and his head
drawn in like the head of a snake about to strike.

"Lights!" he roared. "Lights! Bear the _seanachie_ to his chamber, and
send men to ring in the harbor and build beacons on the headlands.
Hasten, you dogs, or I'll strip the flesh from you with whips!"

Under his voice and his flaming eyes the hall sprang into life, while
the men carried out the blind harper and one of their own number who had
been stricken with madness at what he had seen. Then the hall blazed up
with cressets, logs were flung on the fire, and parties of men set out
to build beacons and guard the bay as the Dark Master had given command.
And when word was spread abroad among the others of what had chanced in
the hall that morning, Red Murrough, the Dark Master's lieutenant, swore
a great oath.

"If that Cuculain of whom the _seanachie_ spoke be not the man Brian
Buidh, then may I go down to hell alive!"

And the men, who feared Red Murrough's heavy hand and hated him,
muttered that he would be like to travel that same road whether living
or dead, in which there was some truth.

While these things took place in the hall at Bertragh--and they were
told later to Brian by many who had seen them and heard them, all
telling the same tale--Brian and his sailing galley was making hard
weather of it. Six of the O'Malleys had been sent with him to manage the
galley, for he was no seaman and had placed himself in their hands; and
after rounding into Kilkieran Bay from the castle harbor and reaching
out across the mouth of the bay toward Carna, intending to reach
Cathbarr's tower direct, the blast came down on them, and even the
O'Malleys looked stern.

Sterner yet they looked when Brian cried that Golam Head was veiling in
fog behind them, and with that the wind swerved almost in a moment and
swept down out of the east, bearing fog and snow with it. Nor was this
all, for the shift of wind bore against the seas and swept down
currents and whirlpools out of the bay, and after the snow and black fog
shrieked down upon them, the seamen straightway fell to praying.

"Get up and bail!" shouted Brian, kicking them to their feet, for the
seas were sweeping over the counter. The helmsman groaned and bade him
desist, and almost at the same instant their mast crashed over the bow,
breaking the back of one seaman, and the galley broached to.

With that the O'Malleys ceased praying and fell to work with a will,
getting out the sweeps and bailing. The mingling of snow, shrieking
wind, and black fog had been too much for their superstitious natures,
but made no impression on Brian, for the simple reason that he did not
see why fog and wind should not come together. After he understood their
fears better he shamed them into savage energy by his laughter, and
since the broken-backed man had gone overboard, took his sweep and set
his muscles to work.

They made shift to keep the craft before the wind, but presently Brian
found that half the men's fear sprang from the fact that the fog and
snow blinded them, shutting out the land, and that the shifting wind had
completely bewildered them. When he asked for their compass, their
leader grunted:

"No need have we for a compass on this boat, Brian Buidh, save when
warlocks turn the fog and wind upon us. I warrant that were it not for
the fog, we would be safe in port ere now. As it is, the Virgin alone
knows where we are or whither going."

"This is some of the Dark Master's wizardry," growled out another.
"Before we hung those men of his last night, they said that the winds
would bear word of it to the dark one, _cead mile mollaght_ on him!"

"Add another thousand curses for me," ordered Brian, "but keep to the
bailing, or I'll give you a taste of my foot! And no more talk of
warlocks."

The five men fell silent, and indeed they needed all their breath, for
the struggle was a desperate one. Instead of lessening, the fog only
increased with time, and even Brian began to perceive the marvel in it
as swirl after swirl of darkness swept over them. Yet, since the wind
was from the east, he reasoned, it would naturally blow out the fog from
the bogs and low lands. But this explanation was received in dour
silence by the men, so he said no more.

There was no doubt that Cathbarr had reached home safely, since the
night had been fair enough for the winter season. An hour passed, and
then another, still without a lessening of the eery storm; and the nerve
of the seamen was beginning to give way under the strain, when the
helmsman let out a wild yell:

"A light ahead! A beacon!"

The rowers twisted about with shouts of joy, and Brian perceived a
faint, ruddy light against the sky. Also, the fog began to lessen
somewhat; and upon making out that the beacon undoubtedly came from a
high tower or crag, the shout passed around that they had headed back to
Gorumna with the shifting wind.

This heartened them all greatly, the more so since the gale drove them
straight onward toward the beacon. The fog closed down again, but the
ruddy glare pierced through it; and of a sudden there was no more fog
about them--only a blinding thick snow, which made all things grotesque.
Then two more beacons were made out, lower than the first, and the men
yelled joyously that fires had been lighted on either side the harbor to
guide them in. And so they had been, but otherwise than the men thought.

Half frozen with the cold, they drove on through the snow and spray
until at length they swept in between the guiding fires and scanned the
shores for landing. Then the snow ceased, though the hurricane howled
down behind them with redoubled fury; and as they floated in against a
low, rocky shore, silence of wild consternation fell on them all. For
they had come to Bertragh Castle, and fifty feet away a score of men
were waiting, while others were running down with torches.

Even in that moment of terrible dismay, Brian noted their muskets, and
how the lighted matches flared like fireflies in the wind.

"Trapped!" groaned one of the men, and they would have rowed out again
into the teeth of the storm had not Brian stayed them.

"No use, comrades. They have muskets, and there are cannon up above. Row
in, and if we must die, then let us die like men and not cowards."

Seeing no help for it, the men growled assent, and they drifted slowly
in, all standing ready with drawn swords, while Brian's Spanish blade
flared in the prow. Then in the midst of the gathered men he saw a dark
figure with hunched shoulders, sword in hand. As he turned to the seamen
behind him, there was a glitter in his blue eyes colder than the icy
blast behind them.

"There is the Dark Master, comrades! Let him be first to fall."

They drove up on the shore, and Brian leaped out, with the men behind
him. Still the group above stood silent until the voice of O'Donnell
sheared through the gale. "Fire, and drop Yellow Brian first."

So there was to be no word of quarter! As the thought shot like fire
through Brian's mind, he leaped forward with a shout. A ragged stream of
musketry broke out from the men gathered on the higher rocks, and he
heard the bullets whistle. He paid no heed to the seamen who followed
him, however. His eyes were fixed on the Dark Master's figure, and with
only one thought in his mind he plunged ahead.

More and more muskets spattered out; a bullet splashed against his jack,
and another; something caught his steel cap and tore it away, and a hot
stab shot through his neck. But the group of men was only a dozen paces
from him now, and a wild yell broke from his lips as he saw O'Donnell
step forward to meet him.

Then only did he remember Turlough's speech on the day of that first
meeting with the Dark Master--"The master of all men at craft and the
match of most men at weapons"--and he knew that, despite the hunched
shoulders, this O'Donnell must be no mean fighter. But the next instant
he was gazing into the evil eyes, and their blades had crossed.

Flaming with his anger, Brian forced the attack savagely; then a sharp
thrust against his jack showed him that O'Donnell was armed with a
rapier, and he fell to the point with some caution. With the first
moment of play, he knew that he faced a master of fence; yet almost upon
the thought his blade ripped into the Dark Master's arm.

Involuntarily he drew back, but O'Donnell caught the falling sword in
his left hand and lunged forward viciously. Just as the blades met
again, Brian saw a match go to a musket barely six paces away. He
whirled aside, but too late, for the musket roared out, and a drift of
stars poured into his brain. Then he fell.

Like a flash the Dark Master leaped at the man who had fired and spitted
him through the throat; the others drew back in swift terror, for
O'Donnell was frothing at the mouth, and his face was the face of a
madman. With a bitter laugh he turned and rolled Brian over with his
foot. The five seamen had gone down under the bullets.

"He is only stunned," said Red Murrough. "Shall I finish it?"

"If you want to die with him, yes. Carry him in, and we will nail him up
to the gates to-morrow."

And the clouds fell asunder, and the stars came out, cold and beautiful.




CHAPTER IX.

THE NAILING OF BRIAN.


Brian woke in darkness, with pain tearing at his head and heaviness upon
his hands and feet. When he tried to put his hand to his head, that
heaviness was explained; for he could not, and thick iron struck dull
against stone.

He lay there, and thought leaped into his brain, and he felt very bitter
of spirit, but chiefly for those men who had come with him, and because
he had failed before the Dark Master's hand.

It was cold, bitterly cold, and thin snow lay around him, so that he
knew that he was in some tower or prison that faced to the east. It was
from that direction that the snow had driven, as he had sore cause to
know, and he wondered if the Dark Master had had any hand in that
driving. But this he was not to know for many days.

It was the cold which had awakened him from his unconsciousness, he
guessed. By dint of shifting his position somewhat, he managed to get
his back against a wall, and so got his hands to his head. In such
fashion he made out that his hair was matted and frozen with blood, and
his neck also, where a bullet had plowed through the muscles on the
right side. His head-wound was no more than a jagged tear which had
split half his scalp, but had not hurt the bone, as he found after some
feeling. Then he dropped his hands again, for the chains that bound him
to the wall were very heavy. It must be night, for light would come
where snow had come, and there was no light.

Now, having found that he was not like to die, at least from his wounds,
he set about stretching to lie down again, and found some straw on the
floor. He drew it up with his feet and gathered it about him; it was
dank and smelled vilely, but at the least it gave his frozen body some
warmth, so that he fell asleep after a time.

When he wakened again, it was to find men around him and a narrow strip
of cold sunlight coming through a high slit in the wall of his prison.
From the sound of breakers that seemed to roar from below him, he
conjectured that he was in a sea-facing tower of the castle, in which he
was right.

The men, who were led by Red Murrough, gave him bread and meat and
wine, but they offered no word and would answer no questions. So he ate
and drank, and felt life and strength creeping back into his bones. He
concluded that it must be the day after his arrival.

Now Red Murrough beckoned to the hoary old seneschal, whose red-rimmed
eyes glittered evilly. The old man shook his keys and stooped over
Brian, unlocking the hasp which bound him to the wall-ring. The
oppressive silence of these men struck a chill through Brian, but he
came to his feet readily enough as Murrough jerked his shoulder.

He followed out into a corridor, and the men closed around him, going
with him down-stairs and along other passageways. Brian wondered as to
his fate and what manner of death he was going to die; yet it seemed to
him that death was an impossible and far-off thing where he was
concerned.

He expected no less than death from the Dark Master, but at the same
time it was very hard to believe that he was going to that fate. He was
by no means afraid to die, but he felt that he would like to see the
Bird Daughter once more. Also, he had always thought of fate as coming
to him suddenly and swiftly in battle or foray; and to be deliberately
done to death in cold blood by hanging or otherwise was not as he would
have wished.

"At least," he thought without any great comfort, "Cathbarr and Turlough
will avenge me on the Dark Master--though I had liefer be living when
that was done!"

In one of the larger and lower corridors they came on two men bearing a
body, sewed for burial. Murrough stopped his party and growled out
something.

"It is the _seanachie_," answered one of the bearers. "Since the Dark
Master struck him yester-morn he has not spoken, and he died last
night."

Upon this Red Murrough crossed himself, as did the rest, muttered into
his tangle of red beard, and motioned Brian forward.

This wider passage gave through a doorway upon the great hall. There was
no dais, but the Dark Master was seated before the huge fireplace, his
wolf-hound crouched down at his side. The hall was pierced near the roof
with openings, and lower down with loopholes, so that when the sun shone
outside it was bright enough.

Red Murrough led Brian forward, the clank of the heavy chain-links
echoing hollowly through the place, but O'Donnell Dubh did not look up
until the two men stood a scant four paces from him. Then his head came
out from between his rounded shoulders and his eyes spat fire at Brian.

"A poor ending to proud talk, Brian Buidh!"

Brian tried to smile, but with ill success, for he was chilled to the
bone and there was blood on his face.

"I am not yet dead, O'Donnell."

"You will be soon enough," the Dark Master chuckled, and the hall
thrilled with evil laughter. In the eyes of all Brian had proven himself
the weaker man and therefore deserved his fate. "What of this O'Malley
journey of yours, eh?"

Brian made no answer, save that his strong lips clamped shut, and his
blue eyes narrowed a little. O'Donnell laughed and began to stroke his
wolf-hound.

"I have many messengers and many servants, Yellow Brian, and there is
little my enemies do which is not told me. Even now men are riding hard
and fast to trap Cathbarr of the Ax and your following."

At that Brian laughed, remembering Turlough Wolf and his cunning.

"I think this trapping will prove a hard matter, Dark Master."

"That is as it may be. Now, Brian Buidh, death is hard upon you, and
neither an easy nor a swift one. Before you die there are two things
which I would know from your lips."

Brian looked at him, but without speaking. The Dark Master had thrust
out his head, his hand still lingering on the wolfhound's neck, and his
pallid face, drooping mustache, and high brow were very evil to gaze
upon. Brian, eying that thin-nostriled, cruel nose, and the undershot
jaw of the man, read no mercy there.

"First, who _are_ you, Brian Buidh? Are you an O'Neill, as that ring of
yours would testify, or are you an O'Malley come down from the western
isles?"

At that Brian laughed out harshly. "Ask those servants of which you
boast, Dark Master. Poor they must be if they cannot tell you even the
names of your enemies!"

"Well answered!" grinned the other, and chuckled again to himself as
though the reply had indeed pleased him hugely. "I would that you served
me, Brian of the hard eyes; I suppose that you are some left-hand scion
of the Tyr-owens by some woman overseas, and the O'Neill bastards were
ever as strong in arm as the true sons. Yet you might have made pact
with me, whereas now your head shall sit on my gates, after your bones
are broken and you have been nailed to a door."

"Fools talk over-much of killing, but wise men smite first and talk
after," Brian said contemptuously. He saw that the Dark Master was
somewhat in doubt over slaying him, since if he were indeed an O'Neill
there might be bitter vengeance looked for, or if he belonged to any
other of the great families.

"Quite true," countered the Dark Master mockingly, and with much relish.
"Therein you were a fool, not to slay when first we met, instead of
making pacts. Who will repay me my two-score men, Brian of the hollow
cheeks?"

"The Bird Daughter, perhaps," smiled Brian, "since two days ago she hung
ten of those men I took in my ambuscade."

This stung O'Donnell, and his men with him. One low, deep growl swirled
down the hall, and the Dark Master snarled as his lips bared back from
his teeth. Brian laughed out again, standing very tall and straight, and
his chains clanked a little and stilled the murmur. He saw that
O'Donnell wore his own Spanish blade, and the sight angered him.

"There is another thing I would know," said the Dark Master slowly.
"Tell me this thing, Brian Buidh, and I will turn you out of my gates a
free man."

Brian looked keenly at him and saw that the promise was given in
earnest. He wondered what the thing might be, and was not long in
learning.

"You came hither from Gorumna Castle," went on O'Donnell, fixing him
with his black flaming eyes. "Tell me what force of men is in that
place, Brian of the hard eyes, and for this service you shall be set
free."

"Now I know that you are a fool, O'Donnell Dubh," and Brian's voice rang
out merrily. "I have heard many tales of your wizardry and your servants
and your watchers, but when an unknown man comes to you, his name is
hidden from you; and all your black art cannot so much as tell you the
number of your enemies! Now slay me and have done, for you have wasted
much breath this day, and so have I, and it goes ill in my mind to waste
speech on fools."

"You refuse then?" O'Donnell peered up at him, but Brian set his face
hard and made no reply. With a little sigh the Dark Master leaned back
in his chair and motioned to Red Murrough to come forward.

"Strip him," he said evenly, and at the word a great howl rang out from
all the watching men, like the howl of wolves when they scent blood in
the air.

Murrough in turn signed to two of his men. These came forward and
stripped off what clothes had been left to Brian, so that he stood naked
before them. In that moment he was minded to spring on the Dark Master
and crush him with his chains, but he saw that Red Murrough held a
flint-lock pistolet cocked, and knew it would be useless. Also, if he
had to die, he was minded to do it like a man and not to shame the blood
of Tyr-owen, either by seeking death or by shrinking at its face.

Now there passed a murmur through the hall, and even the Dark Master's
evil features glowed a little; for Brian's body was very fair and slim
and white, yet these judges of men saw that he was like a thing of
steel, and that beneath the satin skin his body was all rippling sinew.
Red Murrough drew out a hasp, brought his chained hands together, and
caught the chain close to his wrists, so that his hands were bound
close.

"Now," said the Dark Master, settling back and stroking his wolfhound as
if he were watching some curious spectacle, "do with him as we did with
Con O'More last Candlemas. But let us work slowly, for there is no
haste, and we must break his will. In the end we will nail him to the
door, and finish by breaking all his bones. It will be very interesting,
eh?"

A fierce howl and clash of steel answered him from the men. At another
sign from Red Murrough, Brian felt himself jerked to the floor suddenly,
and his hands were drawn up over his head. His wrist-chains were
fastened to an iron ring set in the floor, and his ankles to another,
and he stared up at the ceiling-rafters of the hall, watching the motes
drift past overhead in the reaching sunbeams. It all seemed very unreal
to him.

"First that long hair of his," said the Dark Master quietly.

Murrough went to the fire and returned with a blazing stick. Brian's
gold-red hair had flung back from his head, along the floor, and
presently he felt it burning, until his head was scorched and his brain
began to roast and there was the smell of burnt hair rising from him.
Then Murrough's rough hand brushed over his torn scalp, quelling the
fire, but it did not quell the agony that wrenched Brian.

"Paint him," ordered O'Donnell.

Again Murrough went to the fireplace, and returned with a long white-hot
iron which had lain among the embers. This he touched to Brian's right
shoulder, so that the stench of scorched flesh sizzled up in a thin
stream, and followed the iron down across the white breast and thigh,
until it stopped at the knee, and there was a swath of red and blackened
flesh down Brian's body. Yet he had not moved or flinched.

Then Murrough touched the iron to his left shoulder and drew it very
slowly down his left side. One of the watching men went sick with the
smell and went out vomiting. A second swath of red and black rose on the
white flesh, and beneath it all Brian felt his senses swirling. Try as
he would he could not repress one long shudder, at which a wild yell of
delight shrilled up--and then he fainted.

"Take him away," said the Dark Master, smiling a little, as he leaned
forward and saw that Brian had indeed swooned with the pain. "To-morrow
we will paint his back with the whip."

So they loosened him from the iron rings, and four men lifted him and
carried him out. As they passed across the courtyard another came by
with a pail of sea-water, which they flung over him; the salt entered
into his wounds, washing away the blackness from his scalp, and slowly
the life came back to him after he had been chained again in his
tower-room and left alone.

He was sorry for this, because he thought that he had died under the
iron. He found a pitcher of water beside him, and after drinking a
little he spent the rest in washing out the salt from his flesh, though
every motion was terrible in its torture. So great was the pain that
gasping sobs shook him, though he stared up dry-eyed at the stones, and
a great desire for death came upon him.

"Slay me, oh God!" he groaned, shuddering again in his anguish. "Slay
me, for I am helpless and cannot slay myself!"

As if in answer, there came a soft laugh from somewhere overhead, and
the voice of the Dark Master.

"There is no God in Bertragh Castle save O'Donnell, Brian Buidh!"

The blasphemy shocked him into his senses, which had wandered. Now he
knew that from some hidden place the Dark Master was watching him and
listening for his ravings, and upon that Brian sternly caught his lips
together and said no more, though he prayed hard within himself. A cloak
had been laid near-by him, and when he had covered himself somewhat
against the cold, though with great pain in the doing, he lay quiet.

The cold crept into him and for a space he was seized with chills that
sent new thrills of pain through his burned body, for he could not
repress them. After a time he relapsed slowly into numbed
unconsciousness, waking from time to time, and so the hours dragged away
until the night came.

Then men brought him more food and wine and straw, and he managed to
sleep a bit during the darkness, in utmost misery. But after the day had
come, and more wine had stirred his blood redly, Murrough fetched him to
his feet and bade him follow. Brian did it, though walking was agony,
for his pride was stronger even than his torture.

He was halted in the courtyard, found the Dark Master and his men
gathered there, and knew that more torture was to come upon him. After a
single scornful glance the Dark Master ordered him triced up to a post,
which was done. Brian saw a man standing by with a long whip, but gained
a brief respite as the drawbridge was lowered to admit a messenger
mounted on a shaggy hill-pony. O'Donnell bade him make haste with his
errand.

"The word has come, master, that five hundred of Lord Burke's pikemen
are on the road from Galway and will be close by within a day or so."

"And what of Cathbarr of the Ax?" queried the Dark Master. Brian's
heart caught at the words, then his head fell again at the response.

"They have scattered in the mountains, it is said, master."

"Murrough, have men sent to meet these royalists with food and wines,
and if they are bound hither we will entreat them softly and send them
home again empty. Now let us enjoy Brian Buidh a while--though he has
stood up but poorly. It is in my mind that we will nail him up
to-morrow."

With that Brian felt the whip stroking across his naked back. His
muscles corded and heaved up in horrible contraction, but no sound broke
from him; again and again the hide whip licked about him until he felt
the warm blood running down his legs, and then with merciful suddenness
all things went black, and he hung limp against the post.

"Take him back," ordered the Dark Master in disgust. "Why, that boy we
cut up the other side of Clifden had more strength than this fool!"

"His strength went out of him with his hair," grinned Red Murrough, and
they carried Brian to his prison.

The Dark Master had spoken truly, however. Brian's strength lay not so
much in brute muscles, though he had enough of them, as in his nervous
energy; and the slow horror of his burning hair and of that iron which
had twice raked the length of his body had come close to destroying his
whole nervous system. Other men might have endured the same thing and
laughed the next day, but Brian was high-strung and tense, and while his
will was still strong, his physical endurance was shattered.

With the next morning, this fact had become quite evident to the general
disgust of all within Bertragh Castle. The Dark Master himself visited
the cell, and upon finding that Brian was lost in a half stupor and
muttering words in Spanish which no one understood, he angrily ordered
that he be revived and finished with that afternoon.

Red Murrough set about the task with savage determination. By dint of
sea water externally and mingled wine and uisquebagh internally he had
Brian wakened to a semblance of himself before midday. Then food, oil,
and bandages about his wounds, and in another hour Brian was feeling
like a new man.

He was under no misapprehension as to the cause of this kindness, but
cared little. So keenly had he suffered that he was glad to reach the
end, and he walked out behind Red Murrough that afternoon with a ghastly
face, but with firm mouth and firmer stride, though he was very weak and
half-drunk with the liquors he had swallowed.

His fetters were unlocked and he was led to the doorway of the great
hall, with the Dark Master and his men watching eagerly. Red Murrough,
with an evil grin, pressed his back to the door and held up his left arm
against the heavy wood. Brian was half-conscious of another man who bore
a heavy mallet and spikes, and whose breath came foul on his face as he
pressed something cold against the extended left hand.

Then Brian saw the mallet swing back, heard a sickening crunch, and with
a terrible pain shooting to his soul, fell asleep.




CHAPTER X.

IN BERTRAGH CASTLE.


Now, of what befell after that nail had been driven through his hand,
Brian learned afterward; though at the time he was unconscious and
seemed like to remain so. Hardly had he sagged forward limply when two
men came riding up to the gates demanding instant admittance. One of
these was of the Dark Master's band, the other was a certain Colonel
James Vere, of the garrison which held Galway for the king.

O'Donnell, who suddenly found himself with greater things on hand than
the nailing of a prisoner, ordered Brian left where he lay for the
present, and had the drawbridge lowered in all haste. Colonel Vere, who
had late been in rebellion against his gracious majesty, was now joined
with Ormond's men against the common enemy, and was in command of that
force of five hundred pikemen which had been marching to the west.

Knowing this, the Dark Master made ready to set his house in order,
since it was known that Vere's men were only a few hours away. Hardly
had the garrison gone to their posts, leaving Brian in the center of a
little group about the hall doorway, when Colonel Vere rode in and was
received in as stately fashion as possible by the Dark Master. It was
not for nothing that O'Donnell had trimmed his sails to the blast, since
he was on very good terms with all in Galway.

"Welcome," he exclaimed with a low bow as Vere swung down from his
saddle. "Your men received the provision I sent off yesterday?"

"Aye, and thankful we were!" cried the other cheerily, for he was a
red-faced man of forty, a Munsterman and half-English, and loved his
bottle. "Hearing certain news from one of your men I made bold to ride
ahead in all haste, O'Donnell."

"News?" repeated the Dark Master softly. "And of what nature, Colonel
Vere?"

"Why, of one Brian Buidh, or Yellow Brian." At this the Dark Master
began to finger the Spanish blade he had taken from Brian, and for a
second Vere was very near to death, had he known it.

"What of him, Colonel Vere?"

"Why, the rogue had the impudence to come down on a convoy of powder and
stores, last week, going from the Archbishop at Ennis to Malbay, for our
use. Not only this, but a hundred of our rascally Scots deserted to him,
he slipped past us at Galway, and I was in hopes you could give me word
of him when I hit over this way. You're something of a ravager yourself,
sink me if you aren't!" and he dug the Dark Master jovially in the
ribs.

"Yes," murmured O'Donnell thoughtfully, "so they say, Colonel Vere. But
only when Parliament men come past, you understand. So you heard that
this Yellow Brian was here?"

"Aye, and that you were doing him to death," coolly responded Vere, and
his eyes flickered to the white form on the stones. "Zounds! What's
this?"

"Yellow Brian," responded the Dark Master dryly. "What do you want with
him?"

"Eh? Why, I'll take him back to Galway and hang him! I've a dozen of the
Scots he was fool enough to let loose, and when my men come up they'll
identify him readily enough."

"Unless he's dead," chuckled O'Donnell. "Well, if you want him you may
have him and welcome. So now come in and sample some prime sack I took
from the O'Malleys last year."

"With all the honors," responded Vere gallantly, and as they strode past
Brian the Dark Master hastily directed that he be washed and tended and
brought back to his right mind as soon as might be.

This order, and the conversation preceding it, gave Red Murrough some
cause for thought. So it was that when Brian wakened once more in his
cell, as evening was falling, he found the fetters on him indeed, but
Red Murrough had bound up his wounds, dressed his sundered hand-bones,
and was sitting watching him reflectively. It had occurred to the Dark
Master's lieutenant that there might be something made out of this man,
who seemed wanted in several places at once.

Therefore it was that while Brian made an excellent meal for a man
swathed from crown to knees in bandages, Red Murrough poured into his
ear the tale of what had chanced in the courtyard, and why it was that
he was not at this moment nailed to the castle door. Brian collected his
energy with some effort.

"Well, what of it?" he asked weakly.

"Just this, Yellow Brian," and Murrough stroked his matted red beard
easily. "O'Donnell will make a good thing out of handing you over to the
royalists, who mean to hang you in style, it seems. Now, it is in my
mind that it might advantage you somewhat if you were not moved thence
for a few days--indeed, you might even escape, for I think you are not
without friends."

"Eh?" Brian stared up at him wonderingly. "What does it matter to you?"

"Nothing, whether you live or die. But you are in my care, and if I
report that you are in too bad shape to be moved--which you are
not--then this Colonel Vere will camp outside our castle until you are
handed over to him. You will gain a few days in which to get your wits
back, and the rest is in your hands."

"I had not thought you loved me so much," and despite his agony Brian
forced out a bitter laugh.

"Not I! Faith, I had liefer see you nailed--but a service may be paid
for."

"I have no money," Brian closed his eyes wearily.

"No, but you have friends," and Murrough leaned forward. "Promise me a
clerkly writing to the Bird Daughter's men, or to your own men, ordering
that I be paid ten English pounds, and it is done."

"With pleasure," smiled Brian wryly. "Also, if I escape, I will spare
your life one day, Red Murrough."

"Good. Then play your part." And Murrough departed well pleased with his
acumen.

And indeed, the man carried out his bargain more than faithfully. One
visit assured the Dark Master that this broken, burned, cloth-swathed
man was helpless to harm him further, and after that he gave Brian
little thought.

As Murrough had reckoned Brian's swoop on the convoy had given him some
notoriety, and more than once Brian himself remembered Cathbarr's dark
presage after he had let the ten Scots go free to Ennis; Colonel Vere
was anxious to carry him back to Galway for an example to other
freebooters, and he was quite content to bide at Bertragh Castle until
his prisoner could travel.

For that matter the other officers of his command were quite as content
as he himself, since all were men from the south-country who loved good
wines, and the Dark Master had better store of these than the empty
royalist commissariat.

As for the Dark Master, Murrough reported to Brian that he also was well
content. Cromwell was sweeping like an avenging flame from Kilkenny to
Mallow and Ormond was helpless before him; both king's men and Irish
Confederacy men were pouring out of the South in despair, but the two
had finally joined forces and the final stand would take place in the
West. In fact, it seemed that things were dark for Parliament, despite
Cromwell's activity, and the Dark Master was only one of many such who
counted strongly on the rumors that the new king, Charles II, was on his
way to Ireland with aid from France.

And indeed he was at that time; but Charles, then and later, was more
apt at starting a thing than at finishing it.

Red Murrough lost no time in getting his "clerkly writing," luckily for
himself. On the morning after his agreement he brought Brian a quill,
and blood for lack of ink, and sheepskin. Brian wrote the order for ten
pounds, promising to honor it himself if he escaped.

This, however, did not seem likely, and even Murrough frankly stated
that it was impossible. But Brian was tended well, and his perfect
health was a strong asset. His head had been little more than scorched,
and the scalp-wound stayed clean; after the first day there came a
festering in his broken hand, but Murrough washed it out with vinegar
which ate out the wound and cleansed it, after which he bound it firmly
in wooden splints and it promised well.

More than once Brian laughed grimly at the care he was getting, to the
simple end that he should hang over Galway gates as a warning to the
City of the Tribes and to all who entered the ancient Connacian town.
For in that day Galway was a second Venice, and its commerce made rich
plundering for the O'Malley's both of Gorumna and of Erris in the North,
though the war had somewhat dimmed the glory of the fourteen great
merchant families.

Brian wondered often what had become of Cathbarr and his two hundred
men, and Murrough could give him little satisfaction. It was known that
the force had slipped away from Cathbarr's tower and had vanished; Brian
guessed that Turlough had either led them north, or else into the
western mountains where the O'Flahertys held savage rule. However, it
was certain that neither the Dark Master nor the royalists had scattered
them as yet.

So Brian lay in his tower four days and might have lain there four-score
more by dint of Red Murrough's lies, had it not been that on the fourth
evening Colonel Vere managed to stay unexpectedly sober. Being thus
sober, it occurred to him that he had best make sure he had the right
man by the heels. So he ordered his ten Scots troopers in from the camp
outside the walls, and the Dark Master sent for Brian to be identified.

"I'll have you carried down," said Red Murrough on coming for him. "Play
the part, _ma boucal_, and when these royalists get into their cups
again they'll forget all that is in their heads. Here's a cup of wine
before ye go, and another for myself. _Slainte!_"

"_Slainte_," repeated Brian, and went forth to play his part.

When the four men, with Red Murrough at their head, carried him down
into the great hall, Brian found it no little changed. Tables were set
along the walls, each of them being some ten feet in length by two wide,
of massive oak, and in the center was another at which sat O'Donnell,
Colonel Vere, and one or two other officers. Besides these there were a
score more of the royalist officers mingled with the Dark Master's men,
and it seemed that there would be few sober men in that hall by
midnight, from the appearance of things. Only the ten Scots stood calm
and dour before the fireplace.

After that first quick glance around, Brian lay with his head back and
his eyes closed, careful not to excite O'Donnell's suspicion that he was
stronger than he seemed. He was set down in front of the ten Scots, and
there was an eager craning forward of men to look at him, for his name
was better known than himself.

"Zounds!" swore Vere thickly. "The man has a strong and clean-cut face,
O'Donnell! Strike me dead if he does not look like that painting of
O'Neill, the Tyrone Earl, that hangs in the castle at Dublin! Though for
that matter there is little enough of his face to be seen. You must have
borne hardly on him with your cursed tortures."

"I fancy he is an O'Neill bastard," returned the Dark Master lightly.
Brian felt the red creep into his face, but he knew that he was helpless
in his chains, and he lay quiet. "Is he your man, Vere?"

"How the devil should I know?" Vere turned to the troopers and spoke in
English. "Well, boys, is this the fellow we're after? Speak up now!"

"It's no' sae easy tae ken," returned one cautiously. "Yon man has the
look o' Brian Buidh, aye."

"Devil take you!" cried Vere irritably. "Do you mean to say yes or no?
Speak out, one of you!"

"Weel, Colonel," answered another cannily, "Jock here has the right of
it. I wouldna swear tae the pawky carl, but I'd ken the een o' him full
weel. An I had a peep in his een, sir. I'm thinkin' I'd ken their
de'il's look. Eh, lads?"

Since it seemed agreed that they would know Brian better by his hard
blue eyes than by what they could see of his face, the exasperated Vere
commanded that he be made open them if he were unconscious.

"Run your hand down his body, Murrough," ordered the Dark Master
cynically.

Red Murrough leaned over Brian, and the latter opened his eyes without
waiting for the rough command to be obeyed. Instantly the Scots broke
into a chorus of recognition as Brian's gaze fell on them. Vere looked
at him with an admiring laugh.

"Sink me, but the man has eyes! Well, so much the better for the ladies,
eh? Now that this is over, give the lad a rouse and send him back to his
cell."

He waved the Scots to begone, and rose cup in hand. Smiling evilly, the
Dark Master joined him in the toast to Brian, and a yell of delight
broke from the crowd as they caught the jest and joined in. O'Donnell
was just motioning Murrough to have Brian taken away, when there came a
sudden interruption, as a man hastened up the hall. It was one of Vere's
pikemen.

"There is a party of four horsemen just outside our camp, colonel. One
of them bade us get safe-conduct for him from O'Donnell Dubh, upon his
honor."

"Eh?" the Dark Master snarled suddenly. "What was his name, fool?"

"Cathbarr of the Ax, lord."

A thrill shot through Brian, and he tried feebly to sit up. The Dark
Master flashed him a glance. The hall had fallen silent.

"His business?"

"He bears word from one called the Bird Daughter, he said."

While the royalists stared, wondering what all this boded, O'Donnell bit
his lips in thought. Finally he nodded.

"Let the man enter, and tell him that he has my honor for his
safe-conduct."

Vere nodded, and the pikeman departed. Instantly the hall broke into
uproar, but leaving the table, the Dark Master crossed swiftly to
Brian, and bent over him.

"Either swear to keep silence, or I have you gagged."

"I promise," mumbled Brian as if he were very weak. The Dark Master
ordered him carried behind one of the tables close by, and a cloak flung
over him. When it had been done, Brian found that he could see without
being seen, which was the intent of O'Donnell.

Meanwhile the Dark Master was telling Vere and the other officers of
Cathbarr, it seemed, and Vere hastily collected his wine-stricken
senses.

"Nuala O'Malley, eh?" he exclaimed when the Dark Master had finished.
"She is the one who has held Gorumna Castle and would make no treaty
with us, though she has more than once sent us powder, I understand."

"I will talk with you later concerning her," returned O'Donnell. "She is
allied with Parliament, they say, and it might be well for all of us if
ships were sent against her place from Galway, and she were reduced."

Brian saw that things were going badly. The Dark Master seemed to be
playing his cards well, and was doubtless thinking of throwing off the
cloak and openly allying himself with the royalist cause. In this way he
could secure help against Gorumna in the shape of Galway ships and men,
and it was like to go hard with the Bird Daughter in such case.

However, Vere had no power to treat of such things, as Brian well knew.
Also, Nuala had told him herself that her ships had not preyed on the
commerce of Galway's merchants, but only on certain foreign caracks
which free-traded along the coast. Therefore the Galwegians were not apt
to make a troublesome enemy in haste, even if she were proved to be in
alliance with Cromwell.

None the less, the Dark Master was plainly thinking of making an effort
in this direction, and Brian knew that the Bird Daughter was in no shape
to carry things with a high hand in Galway town.

He saw Vere and the Dark Master talking earnestly together across the
table, but could not hear their words--and it was well, indeed, for him
that he could not. As he was to find shortly, O'Donnell's quick brain
had already grasped at what lay behind Cathbarr's coming, or something
of it, and he had formed the devilish scheme on the instant--that scheme
which was to result in many things then undreamed of.

"If I had followed Turlough's rede, there when I first met this devil,"
thought Brian bitterly, "I had slain him upon the road, and that would
have been an end of it. Well, I think that I shall heed Turlough Wolf
next time--if there is a next time."

Brian looked out from his shelter with troubled eyes, for there was
something in the wind of which he had no inkling. He saw Vere break into
a sudden coarse laugh, and a great light of evil triumph shot across
O'Donnell's face. Then the Dark Master gained his feet, gathered his
cloak about his hunched shoulders, and sent Murrough to stand guard over
Brian with a pistol and to shoot if he spoke out.

"Surely he cannot be going back on his word, passed before so many men?"
thought Brian bitterly. "No, that would shame him before all Galway, and
he is proud in his way. But what the devil can be forward?"

To that he obtained no answer. The Dark Master shoved his table back
toward the fireplace, and placed his chair in front of it beside that of
Colonel Vere. It seemed to Brian that the stage was being set for some
grim scene, and a great fear seized on him lest harm was in truth meant
toward Cathbarr.

No doubt the giant had been in communication with the Bird Daughter, and
it had been ascertained that the galley had come to grief at Bertragh
Castle. A sudden thrill of hope darted through Brian. Was it possible
that Cathbarr had led down his men and placed them in readiness to
attack? Yet such a thing would have been madness--to set a scant two
hundred against Vere's pikemen and the Dark Master's force combined!

But Brian knew that Turlough Wolf was at large, and Turlough's brain was
more cunning than most.

If he could only get free, he thought, he might still be able to do
something. He could ride, though it would mean bitter pain, and his
sword-arm was still good--but he had got no farther than this when there
came a tramping of feet, and in the doorway appeared Cathbarr, his
mighty ax in hand, with the O'Donnells around him as jackals surround a
lion.




CHAPTER XI.

THE BAITING OF CATHBARR.


The bearded giant still wore the long mail-shirt that reached to his
knees, and he paused at the doorway with his eyes roving about the hall.
Well did Brian know whom he sought, but it was vain, for Cathbarr could
not see him where he lay.

Then Brian saw that the ax had been changed, and wondered at it. One of
the long, back-curving blades had been rubbed down with files, so that
it was very tapering and thin like an ordinary ax-blade, while the other
was still the blunt, heavy thing it had always been. Brian read the
cunning of Turlough Wolf in that handiwork, and in fact the great ax was
thus rendered tenfold more deadly.

The Dark Master waited quietly until Cathbarr began a slow advance up
the hall, all eyes fixed on him in no little wonder. Then O'Donnell
raised a hand, stopping him.

"Let us have your message, Cathbarr."

The giant halted and dropped the ax-head, leaning on the haft of the
weapon. He took his time about replying, however, and his eyes still
roved about the hall ceaselessly and uneasily. Then of a sudden he gave
over the search, and gazed straight at the Dark Master with a swift
word:

"Have you slain him?"

"Slain who, Cathbarr?" queried O'Donnell, with a thin smile.

"_Duar na Criosd!_" bellowed Cathbarr with sudden fury. "Who but my
friend Brian?"

"Oh!" The Dark Master laughed and eased back in his chair. "No, he's
still alive, Cathbarr? Is your message from the Bird Daughter in his
regard?"

"Yes." Cathbarr fought for self-control, the breast of his mail shirt
rising and falling, his bloodshot eyes beginning to circle about the
place once more in a helpless and angry wonder.

"O'Donnell Dubh," he went on at last, "Nuala O'Malley sends you this
word. Give Brian Buidh over to her, and she will pay you what ransom you
demand."

"What alliance is there between Brian and her?" asked O'Donnell softly.

"Brian has given her service, and I have," Cathbarr flung up his head.
"Our men lie in Gorumna Castle, there are ships coming from Erris and
the isles, and if Brian be slain we shall bear on this hold and give no
quarter. We have four hundred men now, and five ships are coming from
the North."

The Dark Master gazed quietly at the giant, Vere taking no part in the
talk. But Brian, watching also, saw that which brought a mocking smile
to O'Donnell's pallid face. Cathbarr had no fear of any man, and lies
did not come easily to his lips; when he spoke of the force lying in
Gorumna, and of help from Erris, his face gave him away. Brian saw
Turlough behind that tale, but Cathbarr was no man to carry it off with
success.

"Well," laughed the Dark Master, "none the less shall Brian be slain.
Carry back that word to Nuala O'Malley."

Cathbarr's mighty chest heaved like a barrel near to bursting. Brian was
minded to break his promise, but Murrough's pistol was at his head, and
he could but lie quietly and watch. The giant's face flushed somewhat.

"I have not finished," said he. "My business for the Bird Daughter is
done in truth, but now I have to speak a word of my own."

"Let us hear it," returned O'Donnell.

"It is this." Cathbarr drew himself up. "I am more your enemy than is
Brian. Let him go, O'Donnell Dubh, and take me in his place, for I love
him."

A sudden amazed silence fell on every man there, and but for Murrough's
warning hand Brian would have sat up. O'Donnell's jaw fell for an
instant, then his head drew in between his shoulders, he put a hand to
Vere's arm, and whispered something. The royalist nodded, a grin on his
coarse face, and the Dark Master settled back easily. Cathbarr still
stood waiting, the ax held out before him, and a glory in his wide eyes.

"I would sooner hold you than Brian," and O'Donnell spoke softly. "If
you will to take his place and die in his stead, Cathbarr, then loose
that ax of yours."

Brian saw that Cathbarr was lost indeed, for the Dark Master was not
likely to give over his pact with the royalists so easily. Cathbarr
heaved up his ax with a great laugh, like a child; he brought it down on
the stones, but if he had meant to break it the effort was vain. The
huge weapon clanged down and bounded high out of his two hands, so that
men drew back in awe; but the ax whirled twice in the cresset-light,
then fell and slithered over the flagging beneath a table, and no man
touched it.

"Take me," said Cathbarr simply.

"Nay," answered the Dark Master calmly, though his eyes flamed, "kneel
down."

Cathbarr stood breathing heavily for an instant, then slowly obeyed.
Brian saw that his curly beard was beginning to stand out from his face,
but no word came from him as he went to his knees.

"Now," went on the Dark Master, "pray me for Brian's life, mighty one."

The giant struggled with himself, for humiliation came hard to him. Then
his voice fell curiously low, terrible in its self-restraint.

"I pray you for the life of Yellow Brian, O'Donnell."

Brian forced himself up, thinking to cry out a warning before it was too
late; but Murrough's hand closed over his mouth and forced him back
relentlessly.

"Bring ropes," said the Dark Master, and ordered Cathbarr to his feet.

Men hastened out, and returned with a length of rope, binding the
giant's arms behind his back, from elbow to wrist. Then the Dark Master
laughed harshly, but Vere leaned toward him, his face troubled.

"Do not carry this thing farther, O'Donnell," said the royalist
hoarsely. "This man is a fool, but he has a great heart. Let be."

For answer the Dark Master whirled on him with such fury in his snarl
that Vere drew back hastily, and no more words passed between them at
that time. O'Donnell rose and walked down the hall toward Cathbarr, in
his hand a little switch that he used upon that wolfhound of his.

"Now," he said softly, yet his voice pierced hard through the dead
stillness, "in token that your humility in this affair is without guile,
Cathbarr of the Ax, bow your head to me."

The giant obeyed, closing his eyes. The Dark Master lifted his hand and
cut him twice across the head with his switch, while Brian gasped in
amazement and looked for Cathbarr to strike out with his foot. But
although the giant shuddered, he made no move, and the Dark Master
strode back to his seat with a laugh. Then Cathbarr raised his face, and
Brian saw that it was terribly convulsed.

"Do with me as you wish," he said, still in that low voice. "But now let
Brian be freed in my presence."

The Dark Master flung back his head in a laugh, and when the men saw his
jest, a great howl of derision rang up to the rafters. Only Vere's
officers looked on with black faces, for it was plain that this affair
was none of their liking. A look of simple wonder came into Cathbarr's
wide-set eyes.

"Why do you not loose him?" he asked quietly.

"Fetch the man out, Murrough," ordered the Dark Master. "Shoot him if he
speaks."

Now, whether through some shred of mercy--for he knew well that Brian
would cry out--or for some other reason, Murrough leaned down swiftly to
Brian's ear.

"Careful," he whispered as he motioned his men forward. "Play the part,
and mind that this thing is not yet finished."

The warning came in good time, and cooled Brian's raging impulse. He was
lifted from behind the table, his chains clanking, and laid upon it;
Cathbarr gave a great start and bellowed out one furious word:

"Dead!"

"Nay," smiled the Dark Master. "His eyes are open, and he is but weak
with his wounds, Cathbarr. Now say--would you sooner that we cut off
that right hand of his, or blinded him? One of these things I shall do
before I loose him, for I said only that I would take your life for
his."

Brian saw that the Dark Master was only playing with the giant, for well
he knew that Vere wanted to take him back to Galway whole and sound. But
Cathbarr knew nothing of this, and as the whole terrible trickery
flashed over his simple mind he lifted a face that was dark with blood
and passion.

"Do not play with me!" he cried out, his voice deep and angry. "Loose
him!"

Then O'Donnell leaned back in his chair, laughing with his men, and
waved a careless hand toward Vere.

"He is not mine," he grinned. "I have given him to the royalists, for
hanging at Galway. You, however, are now mine to slay."

Whether the Dark Master indeed meant to break his plighted faith, Brian
never knew. Cathbarr took a single step forward, his curly beard
writhing and standing out, and his whole face so terrible to look on
that all laughter was stricken dead in the hall.

"You lied to me!" he cried hoarsely. "You lied to me!"

O'Donnell laughed.

"Aye, Cathbarr. Your master goes back to Galway to be hung--he is out of
my hands, but you are in them. However, since I have passed my word on
your safe-conduct, I think that I may hold to it."

But the giant had not heard him. Throwing back his head, he gave one
deep groan of anguish, and his shoulders began to move very slowly as
his chest heaved up. All the while his eyes were fixed on the Dark
Master, while the whole hall watched him in awe; not even Brian or
O'Donnell himself guessed what that slow movement of Cathbarr's body
boded.

"Best put chains upon him, Murrough," said the Dark Master, his teeth
shining under his drooping mustache.

Vere cried out in sudden wonder.

"'Fore Gad! Look!"

Then indeed the Dark Master looked, and sprang to his feet, and one
great shout of alarm and fear shrilled up from those watching. For as
Cathbarr stood there, the veins had suddenly come out on his face and
neck, and with a dull sound the ropes had broken on his arms, and he was
free.

Murrough rushed forward, and his pistol spat fire. Cathbarr, with his
eyes still on the Dark Master, put out a hand and Murrough went whirling
away with a dull groan. Then the giant rushed.

O'Donnell did not stay for that meeting, but slipped away like a shadow
into his surging men, yelling at them to fire. There were few muskets in
the hall, however, and an instant later Cathbarr had reached the table
where Vere still sat astounded. He brought down a fist on the royalist's
steel cap, and Vere coughed horribly and fell out of his chair with his
skull crushed.

Now a musket roared out, and another. But Cathbarr caught up the oaken
table and faced around on the men who were surging forward at him;
lifting the ten-foot table as though it were paper, he bellowed
something and rushed at them, casting the table in a great heave. It
fell squarely on the front rank, and then indeed fear came upon the
hall. For Cathbarr's foot had struck against his ax, and he rose with it
in his hand.

There was a din of screams and shouts, for half the men were struggling
to get out of the hall and the rest were rushing to get at Cathbarr.
Another musket crashed, and in the smoke Brian saw the giant stagger,
recover, and go bellowing into the crowd.

Brian struggled from the table, groaned with pain, and then stood
watching. He could walk, but his weakness and the chains on his wrists
and ankles hindered him from being of any advantage to Cathbarr, though
he lifted his voice in a shout of encouragement.

Cathbarr heard the shout, and roared out with delight. A musket-ball had
cut across his forehead, and with the blood dripping from his beard he
looked more like a demon than a man. The huge ax flashed in the smoky
light, and before it men groaned and shrieked and gave back; it cleaved
steel and flesh, or smashed helms and heads together, and the Dark
Master had slipped from the place, so that his men had no leader.

Over the roar of fear-mad men, over the storm of shrieks and shouts,
over the dust and smoke, rose the mighty bellow of Cathbarr and the
thudding blows of his ax. The royalist officers were fighting around the
doorway, while O'Donnell's men were trying to make head against the
giant, but he swept through them like a whirlwind, awing them more by
his ferocious aspect and his mad rage than by the half-seen effect of
his terrific strength.

Little by little they eddied out from the door. Men lay all about,
tables were overturned, and through the crowd swirled the terrible ax,
leaving a path of dead in its wake. Brian staggered to the motionless
form of Colonel Vere, and reaching down drew a pistol from the dead
man's belt. His strength was flooding back to him, and in spite of the
agony caused by every movement, he clanked slowly down toward the door.
At sight of his chained and bandage-swathed figure a wild shriek welled
up, and when he laughed and fired into the midst of them all opposition
ceased.

Cathbarr still sought the Dark Master, raging back and forth, smiting
and smiting with never a pause in the flaillike sweep of his long arms.
He saw Brian standing there, and emitted a wild bellow of joy, but never
ceased from his smiting. Out through the door poured a stream of
maddened figures, for blind panic had come on every man there, and
Cathbarr's was not the only weapon that drew blood as the men fought for
exit.

Brian laughed again, for now he knew that he would die in no long time,
but it would not be under the torturers. Cathbarr cleared the hall, sent
the last man flying out with an arm lopped from him, and swung to the
huge doors after kicking two or three bodies from his way. When the beam
had dropped into place and they were alone with the dead and dying, he
turned to Brian and flung out his arms.

"Careful!" exclaimed Brian, seizing his hand. "None of your bear-hugs,
old friend," and he swiftly told of his tortures. Tears ran down the
giant's blood-strewn face as he listened, and with the tenderness of a
woman he picked up Brian and carried him back to a table, setting him on
it.

"First for these chains, brother," he cried, going back for his ax. "We
may yet win out against these devils."

"Small chance," smiled Brian grimly. "I cannot swing a blade, and we
cannot hold this hall for long. Besides, you have some wounds."

Cathbarr roared out a laugh, exuberantly as a boy, and carefully spread
Brian's legs open on the table.

"Hold quiet!" he cautioned, and swung up the ax. Down it flashed, the
thinner blade sheared through the chain an inch from Brian's ankle and
split the oak beneath, and Cathbarr drew back for a second blow.

Four times he struck, and the blows smote off the chains from each wrist
and ankle, although the locked rings still remained. But Brian was free,
and when he gained his feet he found the exercise had somewhat loosened
his muscles, and he picked up a sword.

"We can at least die fighting, Cathbarr," he said, and looked into the
giant's eyes. "And, brother, I thank you."

"Nonsense!" blurted out Cathbarr, wiping the blood from his eyes and
grinning through his beard. "Turlough Wolf has our men hidden around
this royalist camp, and the Bird Daughter has a boat outside the castle.
We cannot get through the royalists, but there is a chance that we can
get to the shore. Besides, she has ships and men coming from her kinsmen
in the North. Now, how shall we get away?"

Brian shook his head. "I can hardly walk, Cathbarr, to say nothing of
swimming or fighting. There is a rear door out of the hall, yonder, but
no use trying it."

"Perchance I have still some strength," grinned Cathbarr, picking up his
ax. "Let us have a look at that rear door, before they come at us with
muskets."




CHAPTER XII.

HOW THE DARK MASTER WAS RUINED.


The fear that had come upon the O'Donnells was so great that not until
pikemen entered the castle from the camp could the Dark Master get men
at the doors of the hall. And this proved the salvation of Brian and
Cathbarr, for when they left the hall by the rear door and slipped
through the corridors, they came out upon the rear or seaward
battlements of the castle.

These they found denuded of men, while from the courtyard and front of
the keep were rising shouts and batterings, whereat Cathbarr chuckled.

"They are all drawn around to the front, brother. Now, how to get down
from here?"

Brian looked around in the starlight, but saw that there was no gate or
other opening in the walls. He began to lose hope again; once the Dark
Master had burst into the great hall he would scatter men over the whole
castle, and their shrift would be short. At this point the walls were
some thirty feet high, and pointing out to the sea stood four of the
bastards, with balls piled beside them.

"Now if we had a rope," he said, "the matter would not be hard. Is that
boat near the shore?"

"Not so far that I cannot make them hear," grinned Cathbarr, opening his
mouth to shout, but Brian stopped him.

"Be careful--do you want to draw down the O'Donnells likewise? Now, cut
the ropes from these cannon, and if we have time we shall yet get down
safe."

Cathbarr rushed off in delight, and began hewing at the recoil-ropes
which bound the bastards and their carriages to their places. Brian
followed him, seizing the ropes and trying to knot the strands hastily
and with no little pain to himself; but now the hope of escape began to
thrill through him, and for the first time since sighting the Dark
Master's stronghold he began to think that he might yet get away.
However, he could do little knotting with one hand, and not until
Cathbarr impatiently took over the task was it finished. At the same
instant a great burst of yells rose over the castle.

"Hasten!" cried Brian, as the other began fastening the line to a
cannon. "I can use one hand--"

"Save your strength," grunted Cathbarr, lifting him after swinging the
loop of his ax around his neck. "Catch me about the neck with your good
arm, and trust me for the rest, brother."

Brian did as he was ordered, since there was no time for lowering him
down. The giant scrambled over the edge, gripping the twisting rope, and
Brian tightened his lips to keep down his groans, for the agony was
cruel to him. He was forced against the body of Cathbarr, and swirl
after swirl of pain went over him at each touch on his burns.

The giant grunted once or twice, for he had many slight wounds also, but
with the rope gripped in hands and feet, he lowered away steadily. At
length they reached the ground, and the scattered rocks along the shore
were but a few yards away.

Cathbarr sent his bull-like voice roaring out at the stars, while Brian
clung weakly to him and searched the waters. He could see nothing, but
suddenly there drifted in a faint shout, and Cathbarr bellowed once
more.

"Swim for it," said Brian, as torches began to move along the walls
above. "If those cannon are not loaded, we're safe."

Cathbarr nodded, and caught up the body of Brian tenderly enough in one
arm, as he splashed out. The icy water shocked Brian's brain awake and
drove the pain out of him momentarily, and before Cathbarr was
waist-deep he heard a hail and saw the dark shape of a galley
approaching.

Muskets flashed out from the walls, and their bullets whistled overhead,
but five minutes later Brian was on the galley, Cathbarr was clambering
over the side, and the light boat was being rowed out again.

Brian thought his senses were slipping away when he found Nuala O'Malley
herself holding his head as he lay in the stern, while men flung cloaks
around him; but warm tears dripped on his face, and she patted his arm
soothingly.

"Lie quiet," she said, but Brian would not, for already his brain was
leaping ahead, and he knew that there was work to be done.

"Tell me," he asked eagerly, "are my men camped around the royalists?
Is help indeed coming to you from the North?"

"Yes," she replied, trying to quiet him. "A pigeon came in from Erris
to-day, with word that two ships with men were on the way to help me.
When I returned from the South and found that the plague had been at
Gorumna, I sent off asking for help, and now it is coming."

"Then send word to Turlough!" cried Brian eagerly. "Tell him to throw my
men on the royalist camp _to-night_ and drive the pikemen into the
castle! Colonel Vere is dead, and there is such confusion that all will
think we have more than two hundred men. If we can leaguer them there
until your ships come, we may win all at a blow!"

Nuala found instantly that there was meat in the plan, and as they were
rowing out to meet one of her caracks, promised to send in the galley
with word to Turlough when they got aboard the larger ship.

This they were no great while in doing. Brian knew nothing of it, for
upon the Bird Daughter's word he had dropped away into a faint once
more. With this Nuala O'Malley was quite content, so that when Brian
wakened he was greatly refreshed and found himself lying bandaged on a
bunk with the sunlight coming through a stern-port beside him, and the
Bird Daughter watching him with food and drink ready.

"Take of this first," she smiled; "then we will talk."

Brian obeyed, being very thirsty and ravenously hungered. He had little
pain except when he tried to move, and so he ate as he lay, propped up
with folded garments, and watched the Bird Daughter. She refused to
speak until he had eaten the meat and cakes she had fetched, but when he
smiled and asked for a razor her grave face rippled with frank laughter,
and her deep violet eyes danced as they looked into his.

"I am sorry I have none," she said mockingly. "So you must wait till we
come to port again. Just at present we are off Slyne Head and bearing
northward."

"What!" Brian stared at her. "Are you in jest?"

It appeared that she was not, for she was sailing north to meet those
ships of her kinsmen, and to hasten them back with her. Meantime
Cathbarr had been sent ashore to meet Turlough and hold the Dark Master
and his royalists in check. Nuala had sent fifty of her men to join
Turlough, left twenty to hold her castle, and had ten with her upon the
carack. It seemed likely that Turlough and Cathbarr could hold the Dark
Master penned up for a few days at least, even with fewer men; if they
could not, said Nuala shortly, they had best sit at spinning-wheels for
the rest of their lives.

"You are a wonderful girl!" said Brian, and fell asleep again.

He remembered little of that voyage, for they met two caracks crowded
with men off Innishark that afternoon, found they were the expected
O'Malleys from the North, and turned back with them at once. Brian
wakened again that same evening, but Nuala refused to let him go on deck
until the following morning, when they sighted Bertraghboy Bay. Then
Brian discarded most of his bandages, dressed, and, with his left arm in
a sling, joined the Bird Daughter on the quarterdeck. He found that his
burns were well on toward healing, for he could walk slowly without
great pain, and had every confidence that he could sit a horse if need
be.

Sailing past Bertragh Castle, the three ships went on up the bay and
cast anchor. It was not hard to see that Turlough and Cathbarr had done
their work well, for in passing the castle they had made out that the
royalist pikemen had been driven inside, and there was some musketry to
be heard at times. No sooner had the anchor-cables roared out, indeed,
than a band of men came riding toward the shore, and Nuala sent off a
boat for them. She had known nothing of Cathbarr's deeds at the castle
until Brian had told her of them, and on seeing that the giant was among
those coming off, she smiled at Brian.

"Now you shall see how a girl can conquer a giant, Yellow Brian!"

Brian laughed and waved a hand to Turlough, who was beside Cathbarr in
the boat. As the men came over the rail, Nuala quietly pushed him aside
and faced the giant, sharply bidding him kneel. Cathbarr had been all
for rushing forward to Brian, and obeyed with an ill grace, when Nuala
quickly leaned forward and kissed him on the brow.

"That is for bravery and faith," she said. "Truly, I would that you
served me!"

Poor Cathbarr grew redder than the Bird Daughter's cloak. He started to
his feet, gazed around sheepishly, found all men laughing at him--and
did the best thing he could have done, which was to go to his knees
again and put Nuala's hand to his lips.

"While my master serves you, I serve you," he blurted out, and this
answer must have pleased Nuala mightily, for she flushed, laughed, and
bade all down into the cabin.

Brian greeted Turlough with no little joy, but beyond assurances that
all went well, gained no knowledge of what had happened. Nuala had sent
for the O'Malley chieftains, and proposed to hold a conference at once.

The O'Malleys arrived from the other ships in a scant five
minutes--dark, silent men who spoke little, but spoke to the point. Art
Bocagh, or the Lame, had had one leg hamstrung in his youth, but Brian
took him for a dangerous man in battle; while his cousin Shaun the
Little was a very short man with tremendous shoulders.

Nuala took her seat at the head of the stern-cabin table, and the
position of affairs was gone over carefully.

It seemed that no sooner had Turlough learned from Cathbarr of what had
taken place in the castle, and that Brian was safe on shipboard, than
he drove his men down pell-mell on the camp, just before dawn. Any other
man would have been exhausted by the events of that night, but Cathbarr
had led them in the assault. The result had been that, with hardly any
resistance, they had slain some four-score of the pikemen, and would
have captured or slain them all had it not been for the Dark Master's
cannon which drove them back.

The better part of the royalist officers had fallen, either then or
under the ax of Cathbarr in the hall of the castle. In fact, after
learning that he had slain some nineteen persons on that occasion,
Cathbarr had taken no few airs upon himself. Vanity was to him as
natural as to a child, and Brian hugely enjoyed watching the giant
strut. However, what remained of Vere's five hundred pikemen were in the
castle, joined to the Dark Master's men; and Turlough's advice was that
since there must be some seven hundred mouths to feed, the safest plan
was to bide close and force the fight to come to them, rather than to
take it to O'Donnell.

"There is reason against that, Turlough Wolf," said Brian quickly. "The
Dark Master has men on the hills, and if news is borne to Galway of what
has happened, we are like to have a larger army on our heels than we can
cope with."

"I have attended to O'Donnell's watchers," said Turlough grimly. "When
Cathbarr bore word of the pact from Gorumna Castle, I sent out horsemen
and we swept the hills bare of men. O'Donnell has no more than are in
the castle, and a score of our own men are on the roads, watching for
any ill."

"How many men have we in all?" spoke up Lame Art O'Malley. "In our ships
there are sixty men we can spare for land battle."

"That gives us three hundred in all," replied Turlough to Nuala's
questioning glance. "If we take a strong position we should sweep most
of O'Donnell's men away at the first charge."

"There you are wrong," said Brian, shaking his head. "Those pikemen are
bad foes for cavalry, and our two hundred horsemen would shatter on them
if they stood firm."

"Not if we choose our ground," said the Bird Daughter, her eyes
flashing. "Nay, _I_ am master here, my friends! Now this is my rede. We
shall not waste men by attacking the castle, unless forced to it by an
army from Galway. Instead, we will wait until the Dark Master is driven
out by hunger; then we will fall on him and destroy him utterly.

"Yellow Brian, you have some knowledge of war, and you shall take this
matter in charge. Cathbarr, do you command fifty horse, with the men
from our ships here, and keep the Dark Master in play. With the
remainder, we shall wait in whatever spot Brian shall choose, and before
many days are sped I think that Bertragh will be mine again."

The Bird Daughter had her way, since none could find much against her
plan; and that afternoon Brian went ashore with her and the O'Malleys,
leaving the three ships at anchor under a small guard. Turlough had made
camp a short mile from the castle, on a little hill among the farms;
both Nuala and the O'Malley men were somewhat surprised at finding the
O'Donnell women and children safe and untouched in their own steads.

"I saw to that," laughed Turlough, slanting his crafty eyes at Brian. "I
had but to threaten them in Brian's name, and the men only were slain."

"I think that you are a hard master," laughed Nuala, but Brian smiled
and pointed to his men, who were pouring out to meet him with shouts of
joy.

"All men do not rule by fear alone, Bird Daughter," he said quietly. She
gave him a quick glance. "I found these men riffraff of the wars, and
while they have no such love for me as Cathbarr here, I think they had
liefer follow me than any other leader."

After that Nuala said little concerning Brian's discipline.

That night Nuala and Brian took up headquarters at one of the larger
farms, and while Cathbarr went before the castle to keep the Dark Master
in check and allow none to leave the place, they called in a number of
those men O'Donnell had loaned to Brian, and questioned them about the
provisioning of the castle.

From these they found that there was good store of all things for the
usual garrison, but with seven hundred men to feed the Dark Master would
be forced out speedily. So with the dawn Brian and Turlough rode forth
to select a battleground, and while Brian was very sore and riding
caused him great pain at first, he soon found himself in better shape.

Turlough picked a hollow in the road a mile farther from the castle,
flanked on either hand by woods and hillsides where men might lie
hidden. Brian found it good, and that afternoon a part of their horsemen
were shifted thither in readiness.

       *       *       *       *       *

For the next three days there was little done. Twice the Dark Master
attempted sallies with what few horsemen he had left, but on each
occasion Cathbarr's horse smote his men and drove them back. To be sure,
O'Donnell thundered with his bastards, but the guns only burned up good
powder, for Brian would allow no assault made.

By Turlough's advice, however, they brought about the Dark Master's fall
through certain prisoners made in the two sallies.

These captives were led through the depleted central camp, though they
knew nothing of that picked place farther back. Having been allowed to
see what men Brian had here, Turlough slyly drove Cathbarr into parading
his vanity before them; and in all innocence the giant told how he could
put the Dark Master's men to flight single-handed, and of his anxiety
lest the O'Donnells should fear to fight in the open. What was more,
Brian affected to be utterly shattered by his wounds, and with that the
prisoners were sent back with a message offering quarter to all within
the castle save the Dark Master himself.

Early the next morning a horseman came riding fast from Cathbarr with
word that the garrison was stirring. Without delay, Brian donned a
mail-shirt, bound his useless left arm to his side, and mounted. The
Bird Daughter insisted on accompanying him, and stilled his dismayed
protests by asserting her feudal superiority; in the end she had her
way.

Leaving her kinsmen and a hundred more men to dispute O'Donnell's
passage and give back slowly before him with Cathbarr, she and Brian
rode to their men among the trees on the hillsides over the hollow in
the road. Here they had a hundred and fifty men, composed of the Scots
troopers and the pick of the others, and Nuala took one side of the road
while Brian took the other. Then, being well hidden, they waited.

Brian was savagely determined to slay the Dark Master that day, and came
near to doing it. Presently a man galloped up to say that O'Donnell and
six hundred men were on the road, having left the rest to hold the
castle. A little later Cathbarr's retreating force came in sight, and
after them marched O'Donnell. He had deployed his muskets in front and
rear, and rode in the midst of his pikemen, whose banner of England blew
out bravely in the morning wind.

At the edge of the dip in the road Cathbarr led his men in full flight
down the hollow and up the farther rise, where he halted as if to
dispute the Dark Master further. There were barely a dozen mounted men
with O'Donnell, and he made no pursuit, but marched steadily along with
his muskets pecking at Cathbarr's men. When he had come between the
wooded hillsides, however, Cathbarr came charging down the road; the
pikemen settled their pikes three deep to receive him, and with that
Brian led out his men among the trees and swooped down with an ax
swinging in his right hand.

Alive to his danger, the Dark Master tried to receive his charge, but
at that instant Nuala's men burst down on the other flank. Brian headed
his men, and at sight of him a yell of dismay went up from the
O'Donnells. A moment later the pikemen's array was broken and the fight
disintegrated into a wild affray wherein the horsemen had much the
better of it.

Brian tried to cut his way to the Dark Master, but when O'Donnell saw
the pikemen shattered he knew that the day was lost. He gathered his
dozen horsemen and went at Cathbarr viciously; Brian saw the two meet,
saw O'Donnell's blade slip under the ax and Cathbarr go from the saddle,
then the Dark Master had broken through the ring and was riding hard for
the North.

Brian wheeled his horse instantly, found the Bird Daughter at his side,
and with a score of men behind them they rode out of the battle in
pursuit. It proved useless, however, for the Dark Master had the better
horseflesh; after half an hour he was gaining rapidly, and with a bitter
groan Brian drew rein at last.

"No use, Nuala," he said. "I must wait until my strength has come back
to me, for I have done too much and can go no farther."

The girl reined in beside him, and her hand went out to his, and he
found himself gazing deep into her eyes.

"For what you have done, Brian," she said simply, "thanks. Now let us
ride back, for I think there is work before us, and we shall see the
Dark Master soon enough."

"I am not minded to wait his coming," quoth Yellow Brian darkly, and
they returned.


TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK. Don't forget this magazine is issued weekly,
and that you will get the continuation of this story without waiting a
month.




Nuala O'Malley

by H. Bedford-Jones

Author of "Malay Gold," "The Ghost Hill," "John Solomon, Supercargo,"
etc.


This story began in the All-Story Weekly for December 30.




CHAPTER XIII.

BRIAN RIDES TO VENGEANCE.


"Then you are intent on this vengeance, master?" asked Turlough
thoughtfully.

"Yes," answered Brian. "I here take oath that I will never cut hair nor
beard again until I have seen the Dark Master dead."

"You are not like to have a chance at your hair very soon," lau

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