wrought upon by the merchants of Galway, who are ever about him, saying this and that, offering him valuable gifts and such things as he loves.”
“To what end?”
“You know as well as I do, that these proud-stomached folk have no great liking for us Irish,” said Burke. “Did you never hear that they have a statute of the town that ’Neither Mac nor O’ shall strut or swagger’ in the streets of Galway? There has always been, however, a friendship between us Burkes of Mayo and one or two of the families here, as, for instance, the Lynches, and I hear through them all that is going on.
“Owen O’Malley plundered the ships of the Galway merchants, making scant distinction between them and Spanish or French or Scottish ships. Grace O’Malley shared in many of her father’s doings before he died, and the people of Galway think that she has inherited her father’s nature and disposition as well as his lands and ships, and that as long as her galleys roam the sea there will be no safety for their vessels.”
The words were nearly the same as those Eva O’Malley had used when she tried to dissuade my mistress from setting out from Clew Bay.
“What would they have Sir Nicholas do?” I asked.
“Break up her ships; scatter her people; hang, kill, burn, destroy them; hold her a prisoner; or – for there is no advantage to be derived from our shutting our eyes – kill her, too, by poison, perhaps, unless she agrees to the terms of the Governor.”
Burke now spoke in great excitement, and with labouring breath; nor could I listen to his words with any degree of composure.
“She will never agree to the Governor’s terms,” said I. “She is being deceived, for she believes that Sir Nicholas is favourable to her suit.”
“Put that hope out of your mind,” replied he. “Sir Nicholas is merely playing with her – with what object you can easily guess. It is for no other reason than to make her ruin the more complete.”
I assented gloomily.
“Now we know what to expect,” I said. “We are forewarned and so forearmed.”
“Your mistress pays no heed to warnings,” said Burke hotly.
I thought of the arrow and its message.
“The arrow!” I said.
“Yes,” he replied. “I could not send you word openly, so I chose that way, getting one of my men, who is a famous archer, to send the shaft into your ship.”
I thanked him warmly, remarking, however, that Grace O’Malley would pay no attention to any warnings whatever, once she was resolved upon any particular course.
“She must be told now of her danger,” he said, “and at once.”
“I suppose,” said I, “I can still see her.”
“That I know not,” he replied; “but news of your fight with Michael Martin is all over the town, and you will have to walk circumspectly. Sir Nicholas spoke of his meeting with you, and declared that all such conflicts must be severely punished. Go not into Galway – unless with a strong guard.”
The counsel was wise, but I was quite determined, if necessary, to disregard it. My mind, however, suddenly went on another tack, and I spoke out what my thought was.
“I must see her, and that without delay,” I said; “but you mentioned that you were friendly with the Lynches. Could not Grace O’Malley be sent a message through them? If the Mayor is not to be trusted, surely Sabina Lynch, his daughter, cannot sympathise greatly with the dark and terrible projects of the Governor. Would she not convey a letter to my mistress?”
Richard Burke looked at me fixedly and searchingly.
“That is doubtful,” said he, at length. Then he added, “I do not think that we can place our confidence in Sabina Lynch in anything that concerns Grace O’Malley.”
“Why?” I asked simply.
He did not answer immediately, but stopped and pondered awhile before he replied —
“I am about to tell you, Ruari, what I never thought to say to you or any other living soul. But the need is urgent, and I must speak. The Lynches and myself are old friends. I have known Sabina Lynch since she was a child, and I have been made aware in many ways – there is no need to go further into that – that I am not displeasing to her now she is a woman. And her father has as much as intimated that he regards me with eyes of favour.”
I saw it all in a minute. Sabina Lynch loved Richard Burke, and Richard Burke did not return her affection. Did Sabina suspect that she had a rival? Did she regard Grace O’Malley as a rival? These questions passed through my mind with the speed of light.
“What has Sabina Lynch to do with Grace O’Malley?” I asked.
“I will not conceal from you,” said Burke, “that I am not in love with Sabina Lynch, but am in love with your mistress. Once I imagined that it was Owen O’Malley’s intention to wed you to his daughter, but neither you nor she has a passion for the other. Is it not so?”
“Yes,” I replied. “She is an elder sister to me – I am no more than a younger brother to her.”
“I love Grace O’Malley,” said he, “with all my soul and with all my strength. I mean to ask her to be my wife – ”
I broke in harshly.
“This is no time, surely, to talk of such a matter,” I cried, “now when she is a prisoner, and helpless in the hands of people who are her bitter enemies. Rather let us cast about for some means of delivering her.”
“I ask nothing better,” said Burke, “than to assist you – only remember it is not well to place any confidence in Sabina Lynch.”
Then we spent the next hour discussing plans, and having formed one which had some promise of success, Burke left the galley as secretly as he came – his boat disappearing into the darkness of the night.
After he had gone, I tried in vain to sleep, and finding my thoughts but dismal company, had myself rowed over to The Winged Horse, where I saw Tibbot, the pilot, whom I informed of the visit of Richard Burke, and of what we had concerted to do for the deliverance of Grace O’Malley. And as we could not foresee what the next step of the Governor might be, it was agreed that Tibbot’s galley should be kept ready for instant action, and to provide against any surprise by keeping her out in the bay, at such a distance that she should be out of the range of the calivers and bombards mounted on the walls of Galway.
CHAPTER VI.
GRACE O’MALLEY DANCES OUT OF GALWAY
As early in the morning as was possible, without causing remark or exciting suspicion, I went into the town, taking with me several of my own men. The same officer who had been in charge of the guard the previous day was at the gate, and I advanced towards him boldly, as if I had no notion in the world that there could be anything amiss, nor, so far as he was concerned, was there.
For he gravely returned my salutation, merely giving me “Good-day” without waste of words, and waved his hand in the direction of the church of St. Nicholas of Myra.
When I had arrived at the mansion of the Mayor, I could see no difference in the manner of the reception I was accorded, except such as there would be owing to my mistress not being present on this occasion.
I sent in my name, with a request that Grace O’Malley might be informed of my arrival, and after a short time – short as far as the actual minutes, but it appeared an age to me, so impatient and anxious was I – I was conducted into a spacious room, where I found my two ladies, Sabina Lynch, and several gentlemen, most of whom were Irish. They were in the midst of a conversation as I entered, and I quickly gathered that they were talking about the entertainment the Mayor was to give in honour of the Governor before many days. They were speaking of corantos and other dances, in which I had but small proficiency, and I could not help saying to myself that Grace O’Malley could have no suspicion how slippery would be the floor for her feet!
On