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 provision
ing 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.
The H. Bedford-Jones Pulp Fiction Megapack Page 69
