The H. Bedford-Jones Pulp Fiction Megapack

by H. Bedford-Jones

  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 toyour 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.

  Cath
barr 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.