The H. Bedford-Jones Pulp Fiction Megapack

by H. Bedford-Jones

  Suddenly a yell of dismay went up from the O’Donnell ranks, and they broke in wild confusion. Leaning on his sword and panting for breath, Brian looked around and saw what had shattered them so swiftly.

  While the stubborn fight had raged, the eastern sky had been streaming and bursting into flame. Now, sharply outlined against the crimson water, appeared Nuala’s four ships close on those of the pirates. Even as he looked, Brian saw their cannon spit out white smoke, while from behind came a deeper thunder as the castle’s guns sent their heavy balls over the pirate ships.

  These were anchored a hundred yards from shore, and Brian saw the danger that betided as the stream of fugitives swept down toward the boats. Nuala’s ships were undermanned, for he had counted on cutting off most of the pirates in the camp; should the Dark Master get to the ships with his men, things were like to go hard.

  “To the boats!” cried Brian to Cathbarr, and leaping over the dead, the two joined their men and poured down on the shore.

  The Dark Master himself stood by one of the boats, and others were filling fast with men as they were shoved down. Brian tried to cut his way to O’Donnell, but before he could do so the Dark Master had leaped aboard and oars were out. Fully aware of their danger, those of the pirates who could do so got into their boats and lay off the shore, while others splashed aboard; Brian led his men down with a rush, cutting down man after man, splashing out into the swirling water and hacking at those in the boats, but all in vain. Some half-dozen of the boats got off, crowded with men, while the remnant of the pirates held off Brian’s force that their master might escape.

  Drawing out of the fight, Brian pulled forth his pistols and emptied them both at the figure of O’Donnell. He saw the Dark Master reel, and the rower next him plunged forward over the bows, but the next moment O’Donnell had taken up the oar himself and was at work in mad haste. Brian groaned and flung away his pistols.

  Those aboard the pirate ships had already cut the cables and were striving to make sail, for there was a light off-shore breeze in their favor, with an ebbing tide. The O’Malley ships were close on them, however, and as the cannon crashed out anew the masts of one O’Donnell ship crashed over. But the Dark Master’s boat was alongside another of the ships, whose sails were streaming up, and now his cannon began to answer those of Nuala.

  But Brian stood in bitterness, unmindful of the wild yells of his men, for once more the Dark Master had escaped his hand at the last moment. Shaun the Little had been correct in his “croakings.”

  CHAPTER XXI

  CATHBARR YIELDS UP HIS AX

  Brian gazed out at the scene before him in dull despair. So close were the ships that he could clearly make out Nuala’s figure, with its shimmering mail and red cloak, on the poop of the foremost.

  Her second carack had fallen behind, a shot having sent its foremast overside, but the other two ships were driving in. All three were lowering sail, for the Dark Master’s craft were unable to get out of the bay and were giving over the attempt; his disabled ship was sending over its men to reinforce him, and Brian saw all his own efforts gone for nothing.

  There came a new burst of cannon, and through the veil of smoke he perceived that Nuala was laying her carack alongside one of the pirate ships. But it was not that on which stood the Dark Master; his was the ship closest to the castle, and Lame Art was bearing down on him, while Shaun the Little stood for the third, spitting out a final broadside as he came about and lowered sail.

  The crowding men on the shore had fallen silent as they watched the impending conflict, but now Brian felt Cathbarr touch his arm, and turned.

  “Why so doleful, brother?” grinned the giant; though blood dripped into his beard from a light slash over the brow, his eyes were as clear and childlike as ever, and the rage of battle had gone from him. “Let us join in that fight, you and I?”

  “Eh?” Brian started, staring at him. “How may that be?”

  “Ho, here is our captain given way to despair!” bellowed Cathbarr, and his fist smote down on Brian’s back. “Wake up, brother! We have three boats here, and we can still strike a blow or two!”

  Now Brian wakened to life indeed. He saw the three boats on the shore, with dead men hanging over them, and leaped instantly into action.

  “Push out those boats—get the oars, there!” he shouted, leaping down to help shove them out. The men saw his intent, and sprang to work with a howl of delight.

  In no long time the dead were flung out, and the boats pushed down until they were afloat. Brian leaped into one, Cathbarr into another, and men piled in after them until the craft were almost awash.

  An eddy in the veil of smoke that hung over the bay showed Brian that Lame Art’s ship had grappled with that of O’Donnell, and with renewed confidence thrilling in him, he shouted to his men to get aboard the O’Malley ship. The Bertragh cannon had ceased to thunder as the ships came together, but from the ships balls were hailing, musketry was crackling, and the water was tearing into spurting jets around the boats.

  Brian’s men fell to their oars in sorry fashion enough, but they made up in energy what they lacked in skill. Driving past Nuala’s ship, Briansaw that she had also grappled and that the battle was raging over her bulwarks, but sorely tempted to turn aside though he was, he waved his men on.

  They rowed close under the ship to which she was fastened, and as they sped past the O’Donnells saw them, and gave them a scattering volley. One or two of Brian’s men went down, and a cry broke from him as he saw a round shot heaved over into his third boat, sinking her; then they were past, and bearing down on Art Bocagh’s ship.

  “Tyr-owen for O’Malley!”

  Cathbarr’s bellow rose over the tumult, and his boat crashed into the waist of the ship just as Brian leaped up into the mizzen-chains. His feet gained hold on a triced-up port, and as he looked down he saw a swell heave up the two boats, then bring them down together with a splintering smash.

  The result was dire confusion. None of the men were seamen, but some of them gained the side of Brian, others scrambled in through the ports, and more than one of them fell short and went down. Standing in the sinking boat with the water swirling about his ankles, Cathbarr caught up his ax and leaped; a moment later Brian was over the bulwarks with the giant at his side, and the O’Malleys welcomed them with a yell of joy.

  They were badly needed, indeed. The Dark Master had led his men in furious onslaught across the waist of the ship, and Art Bocagh was being beaten back to the poop despite his stubborn resistance. Brian saw that the Dark Master’s men far outnumbered Art’s, while from the rigging of each ship musketeers were sending down bullets into the mêlée. With a shout, Brian and Cathbarr led their men on the O’Donnell flank, and the tide of battle turned.

  At the first instant the rush of men bore Brian against the Dark Master, who was fighting like a demon. Brian caught the snarl on the other’s pallid face, and struck savagely; O’Donnell parried the blow with his skean and returned it, but Brian warded with his left arm and swept down his blade. The Dark Master flung himself back, but not far enough, and Brian saw the point rip open the pallid cheek. Even as he pressed his advantage, however, another surge of men separated them.

  Now Brian gave over every thought save that of reaching his enemy again, and fell on the O’Donnells with stark madness in his face. A pistol roared into his stubbly beard and the ball carried off his steel cap, but he cut down the man and pressed into the midst of the pirates, cutting and thrusting in terrible rage.

  At sight of him men bore back; the icy flame in his eyes took the heart from those who faced him, and behind rose Cathbarr’s wild bellows as the giant hewed through after Brian. Back went the pirates, and farther back. Brian found that he had cut his way to Lame Art, and with a yell the forces joined and swept on the Dark Master’s men.

  O’Donnell had vanished, and now his men were swept back to the bulwarks and over to their own deck. Here they made a brief stand; then Cathbarr leaped ove
r into the midst and his ax crushed down two men at once; Brian followed him, and for an instant it seemed that they would sweep all before them.

  Just then, however, Lame Art toppled from the bulwarks with a bullet through him from above, and the Dark Master’s disappearance was explained by a rain of grenades that whirled among the O’Malleys. They gave back in dismay, Brian and Cathbarr were forced after them, and the Dark Master himself led his men in a mad stream over the bulwarks once more.

  There was no stopping them now. The death of Art Bocagh had disheartened his men, and amid flashing steel and spurting fire Brian and Cathbarr retreated to the quarterdeck. Here they had a brief breathing space until the pirates came at them anew, and with such fury that three of them gained a footing to one side. Brian went at them with a shout, thrust one man through the body, sent a second back with his bare fist, and as the third man struck down at him a pikeman transfixed the man before the blow could fall.

  The boarders drew back, but as they did so a great heave of the grinding ships broke the hastily flung grapplings. The ships were borne apart, and the Dark Master with most of his men remained in the waist of the O’Malley ship.

  This gave a new turn to the conflict. O’Donnell had to master the ship to win free, and when Brian saw this he gave a great laugh and rejoined Cathbarr. A quick glance around showed him that Nuala was slowly winning her grappled decks, while Shaun the Little was hanging off and sending his cannon crashing into the third pirate ship. The two disabled craft were slowly drawing together with the tide, which was forcing all eight into the bay, and were pounding away with their guns as they came.

  Now the combat resolved itself into a desperate struggle for possession of the quarterdeck, which Brian and Cathbarr held. The Dark Master’s men swarmed up at them bravely enough, but the ax and sword flashed up and down, and time after time the Millhaven men fell back, unable to win a footing. Twice the Dark Master himself led them, snarling with baffled rage, but the first time a pikeman thrust him down and the second time Cathbarr’s ax glanced from his helm.

  O’Donnell reeled back and was lost to sight for a time.

  “That was a poor blow,” grunted the giant in disgust. “’Ware, brother! Stand aside!”

  Brian leaped away as the men behind him ran out a falcon and sent its blast into the crowd below in the waist. A dozen men went down under that storm of death, but almost at the same moment a grenade burst behind the falcon, and with that Brian was driven back as a keg of powder tore out half the quarterdeck in a bursting wall of flame and smoke.

  Barely had the shattering roar died out when Brian’s reeling senses caught a wild yell of dismay from his men.

  “Fire! The ship is afire forward!”

  Brian saw that the grenades had indeed fired the ship forward, while the explosion had sent the quarterdeck into a burst of fire also, and the lowered but unfurled sails were roaring up in flame.

  Up poured the O’Malleys, and Brian staggered back to the poop. He had a vision of the great form of Cathbarr heaving up through the smoke, blackened and bleeding, but with the ax whirling like a leaf and smiting down men; then Brian gained the poop, helped the giant up, and with the few men left they turned to drive down the pirates, who were striving desperately to win the ship before it was too late.

  As he stood with Cathbarr at the narrow break of the poop, beating down man after man, Brian knew that it was only a question of time now, for the whole ship was breaking into flame forward. Suddenly he felt a tug at his buff coat, and looked down to see his belt fall away, sundered at his side by a bullet. He thought little of it, for he had half a dozen slight wounds, and turned to smite down at a man who had leaped for the poop; as his sword sheared through helm and skull, there came another tug, and Brian felt a bullet scrape along his ribs.

  The O’Donnells drew back momentarily, and in the brief pause Brian saw the figure of the Dark Master by the starboard rail in the waist, aiming up at him with a pistol, while two men behind him were hastily charging others. Cathbarr saw the action also, and hastily flung Brian aside, but too late. A burst of smoke flooded over the waist, and Brian caught the pistol-flash through it, as the ball ripped his left arm from shoulder to elbow. Then the pirates were at the poop again, and the waist was shut out by the flooding smoke as the wind drove it down from forward.

  With a scant dozen men behind them, Brian and Cathbarr once more beat the enemy back; the giant swung his ax less lightly now, and seemed to be covered with wounds, though most of them were slight. Brian still eyed the waist for another glimpse of the Dark Master, but the smoke was thick and he could see nothing. In the lull he flung a wan smile at Cathbarr, who stood leaning on his ax, his mail-shirt shredded and bloody.

  “Are you getting your fill of battle, brother?”

  “Aye,” grinned the giant, “and we had best swim for it in another minute or the ship—look! M’anam an diaoul! Look!”

  At his excited yell Brian turned, as a ball whistled between them. There below, in a boat half full of dead, but with two men at the oars, stood the Dark Master, just lowering his pistol. He flung the empty weapon up at Brian with a hoarse yell of anger, and passed from sight beneath the ship’s counter, toward the stern.

  Realizing only that his enemy was escaping, Brian whirled and darted for the poop-cabins. He was dimly conscious of a mass of figures behind, amid whom stood Cathbarr with the ax heaving up and down, then he was in the cabins. Jerking open the door to the stern-walk, he saw the Dark Master’s boat directly underneath, hardly six feet from him.

  “Tyr-owen!” yelled Brian, and dropping his sword, but holding his skean firmly, he hurdled the stern-walk railing and leaped.

  At that wild shout the Dark Master looked up, but he was too late. Brian hurtled down, his body striking O’Donnell full in the chest and driving him over on top of the two rowers, so that all four men sprawled out over the dead. For an instant the shock drove the breath out of Brian, then he felt a hand close on his throat, and struck out with his skean.

  One of the rowers gurgled and fell back, and Brian rolled over just as steel sank into his side. Giddy and still breathless, he gained his knees to find the Dark Master thrusting at him from the stern, while at his side the other rower was rising. Brian brought up his fist, caught the man full on the chin, and drove him backward over the gunwale. The lurch of the boat flung the Dark Master forward, Brian felt a sickening wrench of pain as the sword pierced his shoulder and tore loose from O’Donnell’s hand, then he had clutched his enemy’s throat, and his skean went home.

  Spent though both men were, the sting of the steel woke the Dark Master to a burst of energy. As the two fell over the thwarts, he twisted above and bore Brian down and tried to break the grip on his throat, but could not. For the second time in his life Brian felt that he had a wild animal in his grasp; the sight of the snarling face, the venomous black eyes, and the consciousness that his own strength was slowly ebbing, all roused him to a last great effort.

  The smoke-pall had shut out everything but that wolfish face, and as he writhed up even that seemed to dim and blur before his eyes, so that in desperate fear he struck out again and again, blindly. The blows fell harmless enough, for all his strength was going into that right hand of his; he did not know that his fingers were crushing out the Dark Master’s life, that O’Donnell’s face was purple and his hands feebly beating the air.

  Brian knew only that the terrible face was hidden from him by some loss of vision, some horrible failure of sight due to his weakness. Suddenly there was a great crash at his side, and he thought that a huge ax with iron twisted around its haft had fallen from the sky and sheared away half the gunnel of the boat. He struck out again with his skean, and felt the blow go home—and with that there came a terrific, blinding roar. The smoke-veil was rent apart by a sheet of flame, Brian realized that the burning ship must have blown up, and then a blast of hot wind drove down against him and smote his senses from him.

  CHAPTER XXII
/>   THE STORM OF MEN COMES TO REST

  “Very well, Turlough. Tell Captain Peyton that I will give him an answer to his message to-night, then bid my kinsman Shaun entertain him in the hall, with the other officers. Send some food up here, and I may come down later.”

  “And, mistress—you will tell me if—”

  “Surely. Now go.”

  Brian tried to open his eyes, but could not. He tried to move, but could not; and realized at length that he was lying on a bed, and that a bandage was on his head and others on his limbs.

  Suddenly a hand fell on his cheek, and a thrill shot through him; his beard had been shaved away, for he could feel the softness of the hand against his chin. He felt the hand passed over his mouth—and he kissed it.

  There was a startled gasp, then the soft hand returned to his cheek.

  “Brian! Are you awake at last?”

  “I seem to be,” he said, though his voice sounded more like a whisper. “Is that you, Nuala? Where are we?”

  “Yes, it is I,” came her voice softly, and something warm splashed on his cheek. “Oh, Brian! I so feared that—that you were dead!”

  The hand moved away, and he moved uneasily, to feel pain through his body.

  “Nay, put back your hand!” he said. He tried to smile. “There, that’s better. Where are we, Nuala? On your ship?”

  “No, Brian—at Gorumna. But I forgot. Turlough said you must not talk—”

  “Oh, curse Turlough,” he cried in irritation. “Gorumna? What has happened? Where is the Dark Master?”

  “Lie still or I must leave you!” she cried sharply, and he obeyed. “The Dark Master’s head is over the gate, Brian. It is two days since the fight.”

  “Take that bandage from my eyes, Nuala,” he said. After a minute her hands went to his head, and as he felt the bandage removed, light dazzled him, and he shut his eyes with a groan. Then he opened them again, and gradually he made out the figure of Nuala leaning over him, while a cresset shed light from above.

  “Tell me what has happened,” said Brian quietly, as he tried again to move and failed. “Why am I helpless here?”