“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 f
our 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, an
d 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.
The H. Bedford-Jones Pulp Fiction Megapack Page 68
