by George Moore
He had not strayed very far when he began to perceive that every yard of the headland had been built over, except a strip of shore that promised no secure foundation for the masses of stone the Irish masons had piled up with a view to building a castle impregnable though battering-rams were used against it. An easy castle to hold, he said, and a hard one to take by assault or by siege, for boats sailing from Ballinrobe could revictual it from time to time; a huddle of men, eighty-three in all, counting Landrey and myself, the keep given over to me and the best house to him, the soldiers lying down in any shelter they can find, a great number lodging in the cellars of the keep — a castle hardly less savage than a wolf’s or a boar’s den. He picked his way over the hot limestone, and meeting with a warder learnt from him that rain had not fallen for a month; and thinking of the escape the forest proposed from the sweating humanity of a thickly garrisoned castle he crossed the drawbridge and ascended the hillside, turning when he reached the top to watch the blank violet sky and the heat trembling round the shores of the withering lake. But the forest was within easy reach, and he had not gone far before he came upon a great oak. A cool spot, he said, seating himself on a rock with the intention of enjoying the solitude and hush of the forest, but very soon he was thinking of the Durrow convent with a nun standing in her window lighting a taper. How many tapers will she light, he asked himself, before she lights the last one? And his thoughts passing from Soracha to himself, he began to contrast his life with hers, he seeking women always for his pleasure and theirs, Soracha dreaming of love without thought of pleasure. If there be love we cannot fix our thoughts, and pleasure is overawed, annihilated, by the greater emotion. Love lights, guides, and endures, but the lusts of the flesh leave no memory, as I know well, too well. Names and faces rose up in his mind, to be dismissed quickly as unworthy, and he remembered how whilst listening to the legends of the great trouvères he had despaired, feeling that he was not of their company. But he was nearer love to-day than he had ever been before, and he would be nearer still if Roudier had not given him his father’s letter before telling him of Soracha. Thereby putting bonds on me to drive the Scots out of Ireland before releasing Soracha from her vows. But if I am killed in the battle Soracha will live and die in her vows! The thought presented itself so suddenly that he rose to his feet, and meeting with the last rays of the sun setting behind the Partry hills he wandered into a dell and lay down under a canopy of leaves with the intention of giving his whole mind to the consideration of the mystery of destiny through which he was seemingly being led. But Nature does not choose that we should pry too closely, wherefore she diverts our thoughts or casts sleep upon us. His eyes opened, and being cut off from memory of how he had come thither, he uttered a cry and a wild pig searching for acorns looked at him inquisitively and trotted off to another part of the forest in search of other acorns. Inquisitive was he, or knowledgeable, having senses different from ours? Ulick asked as he groped his way through the trees, stopping by the oak of his first inspiration to gaze upon it, for it was there he had learnt that in seeking pleasure he had missed love. The business of every trouvère, he continued, is to love, and to welcome troubles, hardships, miseries great and small, rejoicing in their coming. For it is not in pleasure that we become the humble and obedient servant of our lady.
As he left the forest the castle stood aloft in the sovereign greyness and calm of the evening, and whilst waiting at the drawbridge watching the moon rise it seemed to him that he would prefer Landrey’s spies to return from Sligo with bad news. The worst they could bring back would be of the massing of troops on the border, and that a, battle was imminent at Balia. He would fight in that battle, and were he killed — A cormorant flying very low passed down the still lake to some ruin beyond the long tongue of forest. He had never heard the cormorant spoken of as an ominous bird; all the same, he associated the bird with the failure of the spies to return to Castle Carra at the end of the week, as Landrey had said they would. And feeling that something must happen if he were not to lose his reason, he rode out with an escort and returned from Sligo certain that those the archers had missed killing at Athenry would join Bruce when he came out of the north. The harvest of which Landrey’s scouts spoke, and which I saw being gathered in, will bring him out of the north with the remnant of last year’s army; his brother will send him reinforcements, and with these new levies he will march upon Dublin.
He stopped in his walk up and down the hall so that he might better remember the answers he had received from the peasants on the Sligo border. Calling them from their work in the fields he had interviewed them over the high hedges from his saddle, and they had answered him: We lost all our young men at Athenry; you will find only old men and children in our fields and by our firesides. So there will be no battle at Balia. Not this year, your honour.... So I am now free to ride to Soracha’s help! And his thoughts reverting to her of whom he had thought but little since he came to Castle Carra, he tried to recall her features, but could recall only the wistful eyes and the broad forehead with the hair growing low upon it; and vowing that he belonged to Soracha and none other, he began to compose poems in Irish, and for every poem he sought a tune upon his harp. But with each poem and song his memory seemed insufficient, and so he fell to thinking how he might look into the box again. If he were to ask Tadhg for the box, saying that he wished to see his father’s portrait, Tadhg would not suspect that a woman was in the box as well as a man — not at once, perhaps. But Tadhg sniffed like a hound and was soon on the trail, so he must hold Soracha’s face forbidden to him until they started for the convent of Durrow. But I must see her! And that night whilst lying on his back thinking of Soracha, the temptation to rise and look into the box became so pressing that he was afraid he would not be able to resist it. Tadhg kept the box in his tunic; he knew where he laid it, on one of the chests; and Tadhg being now deep in sleep he could rise from his bed and light the lantern. And at the thought of seeing Soracha’s face again his will passed from him, and so completely that he struck flint and steel together clumsily and the tinder failed to catch. After two or three attempts he dropped the tinder box, and Tadhg turning in his bed asked what the master was seeking. Nothing that concerns thee, Tadhg, he answered. At last the tinder caught and he was able to light the lantern, and finding the box as he expected he would in Tadhg’s tunic, he broke the seal.... The portrait of the Earl is quite safe in the box, master? said Tadhg from the bed. Quite safe, Tadhg, quite safe. Thou’rt a faithful servant. I gave thee the box to keep and thou hast kept it; my thanks to thee. But before thou returnest to thy slumbers, which is my order that thou do and quickly, remember to have three horses ready at the bridge-head. At what hour, master? At eight, Ulick answered. Do we ride to the Sligo border? Tadhg asked. No, Tadhg; return to thy sleep in the hope that all things shall be revealed to thee in their proper time. Three horses, said Tadhg to himself; but who will ride the third. And hearing his master breathing peacefully, he drew the blanket over his chin, muttering: He is back in France in his dreams, his head in a lady’s lap. We all have our faults, every one of us!
IV
THE WATCHMAN CRYING the hour awoke Ulick. The seventh hour, he muttered, and called upon Tadhg to give him his leather breeches; and Tadhg stood lost in admiration of the beauty of the spreading shoulders, the ripple of the spine, the lank hips and the small, trim rump, the thin legs and the slender feet. No wonder they’re after him, he said to himself. Who wouldn’t be, if she were a woman! I had thought to have a dip in the lake, Tadhg, before we started. But an Irish lake is full of cold water in September. My cloak, Tadhg! Which of them? Tadhg asked. The warmest; and my spurs. As he descended the steps of the keep the rowels of his spurs caught in the stonework and Tadhg was bidden to unbuckle them for him. I never spur the mare, but a horseman is hardly a horseman without spurs, said Ulick, and Tadhg, remembering France, muttered to himself: What’s in France is the same on this side! But on whom will the spurs put the comether? In which
castle of the many does she live? The portcullis was raised, and as they passed underneath it a tall, restive mare whinnied, laid her ears back, reared, and tried to break away from the exasperated ostler, who refused to let her head go till Ulick called: Let her come! Let her come! And being loosed, she quieted at once and walked to him, mayhap with a memory in her handsome brown head of the morsel of honeycomb which she had often licked from his hand. He had brought her carrots that morning, and she followed him about, coaxing him for another and still another whilst he walked to and fro, Tadhg viewing the long-plumed hat with suspicion, saying to himself: If Bruce was out in the north the master would wear his helmet. There’s a chill wind blowing and your honour would do well to draw your cloak about you. Ulick put his arms through the sleeves without answering and walked aside with Landrey. Now, what plan can the two of them be hatching? Tadhg asked himself, and began to stamp his feet, hoping thereby to remind Sir Ulick that the horses were catching cold. But as if he didn’t hear him Ulick continued to talk to Landrey, though his thoughts were not on what he was saying but on the mare. As they returned to the drawbridge the mare stood at attention, as if eager to feel his weight in the stirrup. He sprang into the saddle. She will outpace the roadsters, he said, turning to an ostler. The grey that Tadhg rides, the ostler answered, is a fast one, and won’t be far behind the mare if you match them.
Now, your honour, I’d make bold to ask — We are going to Donogh OBrien to buy a harp, Tadhg. Donogh OBrien? He is at Ballinrobe — don’t I know it well — And I have heard, said Ulick, heedless of his servant’s interruption, that by keeping close to the lake we shall shorten our road by three miles at least. Michael Fogarty, the ostler, Tadhg answered, he that comes from Muchloon, the green hill over against the Ballinrobe road (didn’t we pass it by on our way from Cong?) told me no later than this morning not to try the short cut if we were riding to Ballinrobe, for it is choked with blackthorn and hazel and we’d be hard set to get the horses through. But we aren’t thinking of riding abreast, Tadhg. Even one by one, your honour, we might fail to get through; and coming home in the evening the harp might be scratched off my back, for I’d be loth to trust one of Donogh’s harps to a pack-horse. The harper that can’t carry a harp on his own back is — We shall go round by Carnacun, Ulick answered drily. If I say another word, said Tadhg to himself, he’ll tell me to go home. But he wouldn’t be able to manage the horses by himself. Faith, I don’t see why he should mistrust me after the years we’ve been through together. Did I ever fail him? And not a word did Tadhg speak till they came to Carnacun, where the lake ended in muddy pools, sometimes drying into a marsh, out of which snipe rose in hundreds, and went away zig-zagging over the pine trees. A heron rose and flopped after them up the sky, his long legs trailing behind him, his spearlike beak in the air, recalling to Ulick’s mind a great falconry on the banks of the Loire. Dost remember, he asked Tadhg, how the heron dodged the hawks again and again, till at last, tired out, he dropped into some reeds? Tadhg answered that he did, and they spoke of the dog they had sent after the heron, till they came to Lough Carra, a green-watered lough curving amid low shores, beset with island castles whose stories Ulick had never been able to find out, though he had questioned all the old people in Ballinrobe. Of this ancient Ireland Tadhg must know something, he said to himself, but he asked for no story, riding on in silence till they came to a piece of green turf that promised so well for a canter that he cried back: Do as well with the greys as thou canst, for the mare won’t settle down till she’s had a gallop.
Off with him and away! said Tadhg to himself, and thinking that he’d catch Sir Ulick up in the bit of woodland in front of them, he laid the whip sharply across the pack-horse and put spurs to his own. But he had not got very far before he began to see that he was outpaced and would never catch the mare, so he cried to the master with all his lungs to stop; and thinking that there must be some good reason for Tadhg to shout as he did, Ulick reined in the mare. Did you hear the wolf howl, your honour? No, Tadhg, I heard no wolf. I did then; sure enough a wolf it was, and a wolf on the trail of something. So long as he’s not on our trail! said Ulick, and the words were barely out of his mouth when a stag galloped across the track with six grey wolves after him, every one having in mind the business of the hunt, working together, forcing the stag towards the lake. He’ll swim to that bit of an island, said Tadhg, and then they’ll be at him all round. You see that bushy fellow breaking away from the pack? There be some rocks away yonder that the stag might get his back against. But he’s too late; the wolf is before him! And the horsemen from the brow of the hill watched the stag take to the water, a brave beast, making as Tadhg had foreseen for a small islet two hundred yards from the shore. Will the grey skulkers dare it? Ulick asked. Troth and faith, they will! and he’ll be no better off on the island than on the shore. Unless his thought is to pick them off as they come drenched from the lake. Every one of them, Tadhg answered, will pick a place for himself to scramble up. Thou art learned in wolves, Tadhg. Haven’t I been hearing of them all my life? and he was about to begin a story, but the six wolves were climbing up the rocks of the islet. And after shaking the water from their rough coats they squatted on their haunches. Waiting, said Tadhg, till they get their wind, which won’t be long, for they’re powerful, them bushy fellows. A hundred mile gallop is but a trot to a wolf. You see how warily they skulk, just as if they knew that one or two would get a tossing before the others pulled down the dinner. There goes one of them, right over the rocks into the lake, out of which he’ll never come, not alive. But the others are at him. Ten stone of meat for five wolves!
And the interest of the hunt being over, the horsemen pressed on, riding through a pleasant woodland, the outskirts of a forest, till they came upon a herd of scared bullocks that kept on in front of them, running sidlingly like fat women, at last facing the horsemen, their loose hides heaving and their damp muzzles breathing white vapour into the still air. The next herd was kept to the road by the shouts and the sticks of the herdsmen, little men in wooden brogues and grey stockings, kilts and snoods, true children of the soil, Tadhg’s kith and kin. Now who would guess from the fine food going to Ballinrobe this day, your honour, that in other parts of Ireland men are living on cress from the springs and berries from the woods. Connaught would be famine-stricken like Meath, Ulick answered, if the Earl had joined the Scots. Ireland, said Tadhg, asked King Bruce to help her, and when he came in he found more than half the country against him. Am I saying more than the truth, Pat? he asked, leaning over so as to catch the ear of a peasant driving three pigs to the fair of Ballinrobe. Is it of King Bruce you are talking? Pat inquired, and on being told that it was none other, he answered: You see the pig forninst me? He keeps pulling at me, though the cord round his hind-leg hurts him, without ever asking himself what good it will do him if he does get to the market an hour earlier or an hour later; but he keeps on pulling, tiring me out for nothing. And it’s that way with Ireland; we are tiring each other out, all pulling different ways. So your honour is going to Ballinrobe, but not to buy a bullock or a bull, a pig or a sheep, but to see the grand town that Earl de Burgo has built for us. And maybe after the balconies you’ll be calling at Donogh OBrien’s workshop to buy a harp? Pat looked inquiringly at Tadhg, but before Tadhg could answer one of Pat’s pigs broke loose, and turning in their saddles the horsemen watched the hunt till the unruly pig was at last driven back to the road from which he had tried to escape.
We can’t be far now from Ballinrobe, said Ulick, speaking at the end of a long silence, for I am beginning to recall the road, the end of my walks with mother. She often brought a lute, and I remember her singing to me little French ditties in the fields yonder. The road is becoming more and more familiar; I have seen these fields full of corn; and we shall soon come upon a triangular piece of grass, the village green — where I saw a woman jump through hoops from a bare-backed horse, and a bear dance. Five minutes later he said: Look! we are now in full view
of Ballinrobe. In old days there was no bridge; my father rode through the ford up the high street. But look at the limes! Father and mother and I used to walk there in the days when I sailed my boat in the Robe. My father told me I’d barely recognise the high street, rebuilt to the image of Courancy in memory of my mother. Courancy in Ballinrobe! Ulick cried as they rode past peaked gables, impending storeys, and red-tiled roofs with dormer windows; and his eyes falling on some French shutters, he added: My father has omitted nothing. We turn to the right at the top of the hill, and a hundred yards will bring us to Donogh OBrien’s — a stone house with mortared walls and a handsome thatch, standing some dozen or fifteen yards behind the main street. Now, Tadhg, call, and as loudly as you can, for the house is as industrious as a hive, everybody intent on his job. And in answer to Tadhg’s repeated calls a lad came. An apprentice, Ulick said, and dressed for the part — a leathern apron from his neck to his knees, and clogs on his feet. Is the master in? he asked, and canst thou manage the three horses? He is in, your honour; but the mare is too game for me. Go to her head, Tadhg; she guesses a stable and the oats are in her mind. On these words Ulick opened a small wooden gate, and he was about half-way down the paved path when the door of the house opened.
