Sir Ludar Part 31

"You shall not go," said he. And there was naught left to say after that.

"I obey you, sire," said I. "There is, by your leave, a maiden in this castle, a prisoner, and daughter to the O'Neill. She craves your permission to return to her father; and hath bidden me ask it of you."

He nodded his head, as if the pet.i.tion were too trifling to be heeded; and, having got what I was in need of, I withdrew, thankful.

Next day, at daybreak, the maiden, white as a sheet, and with lips close-pressed to hinder their trembling, walked slowly across the bridge to the castle gate. I had got her two horses, one for her and one for the old nurse; and a trusty escort of six McDonnells and the English soldier to conduct her to Toome.

At parting she held out her hand.

"Humphrey," said she, "tell him of this; and may she who loves you never lose you as I have lost him."

"All is not lost," said I, "we shall meet again, and all will be happy yet." And I lifted her to her horse.

"Now, sirrah," said the old nurse, as I did the like service for her, "be happy for a year and a day! You have broken a sweet heart among you, and what matters it to you, so you be rid of us? Mark my word; some heads shall ache for this! What is to become of us, do you suppose, in this O'Neill's house? Little trouble to you to send us from one cruel fate to a worse! Be proud that you, a soldier, forsooth, and calling yourself an honest man, thus betray my poor maiden to her step- dame and your English Captain."

"He is dead by now," said I.

"Not he," said she. "What is to become of us, dost thou hear? Who is to help us now?"

"Dame," said I, "is there no G.o.d in heaven that you chide thus?

Farewell, we shall meet again, I think, in a happier season."

Then I stepped once more to the maiden and said:

"Lady, that maiden's name we spoke of is young Mistress Walgrave, the printer's daughter in London. Should chance bring you thither, she will be your friend for my sake. If it be possible, pray send us word presently of your welfare by this English fellow."

Thus that maiden left Dunluce; and still the days pa.s.sed and no tidings of Ludar.

But one evening, as I watched at the gate, a haggard figure crossed the bridge, scarce dragging one foot after another for weariness.

"Ludar!" said I, as I admitted him. "What news?"

"No news!" said he between his teeth, and he flung his sword with what little strength was left him to the earth. Then he himself fell beside it; and, when we carried him within, he was in a fever and raving.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

HOW A DOG'S HEAD WAS SET ON DUBLIN GATE.

Three months after, as the February snow lay deep on roof and road, Ludar and I walked in a strange procession through the streets of Dublin. In front went three trumpeters on horseback, with the pennon of England drooping from their trumpets. Behind them rode a picked troop of English horse, gaily caparisoned and very brave with ribbons and trappings. Then, alone, went Sir John Perrott, the Lord Deputy, a smirking man who seemed to doubt the whole business. He was mounted too, and at his tail rode three officers of his house, and after them more trumpeters and troopers. Then came the strange part of the procession, for at the heels of these English cavaliers stalked fifty huge redshanks with the McDonnell's heather in their bonnets, and their hands on their sword-hilts.

Yet still stranger was what came next. For, unarmed, with long, slow strides, walked a n.o.ble figure of commanding stature, whose eyes flashed now and again on the shouting rabble, and whose white hair, escaped from his cap, waved tempestuously in the winter wind. There walked Sorley Boy, upright, sullen, disdainful; and behind him came Ludar, with tight- pressed lips and thunderous brow, his fingers twitching nervously on his belt, and his feet at every step kicking the snow impatiently from his path. I followed my master as in duty bound, and behind us stalked fifty more silent Scots.

Such was the procession which conducted Sorley Boy McDonnell at the end of his stormy career to do homage to the English Queen. How it all came to pa.s.s I know not. But once possessed of Dunluce, with his favourite son gone from his side, the old man broke down, and sighed for peace.

'Twas said the English paid a good price for his alliance, in territory for himself, and lands and t.i.tle for his elder sons. Be that as it may.

He sheathed his sword, and called in his fighting men all round. He heeded not Ludar's demand for vengeance on his brother's murderers; and, indeed, forbade any man to mention Sir Alexander's name in his hearing.

Yet day by day the empty chair stood beside his in the castle hall; and day by day, at the muster call, the young chief's riderless horse fell into its place betwixt that of the father and the second son, Sir Randal.

As for Ludar, when after many weeks the fever left him and he rose from his bed, his father and he met rarely, and spoke less. For the old man (sad to tell), from the day that he came into his own, had changed towards his youngest son, and, blaming him for the ill that had befallen the house, ceased not to reproach and scorn him for his brother's fate.

Never did I see Ludar so n.o.ble a man as during those gloomy months.

Never once did he waver in his loyalty to his father; never once did he suffer a word to be said to rebuke the old man's harshness; never once did he complain if more than a common soldier's hardships, with a common soldier's fare, fell to his lot; never once would he allow the men, who were ready to die for him, raise a shout when he came among them, or even salute him in his father's presence. He took his punishment as beseemed a hero; and it was the hard work and stern discipline of those few months, I think, which braced him up once again into his former manhood and brought back the glow into his cheeks and the fire into his eyes.

Concerning the maiden he spake not a word; nor would he suffer me to speak of her. Only when the English fellow returned who had escorted her to her father did Ludar order him back, charging him to look to her safety as he valued his own life; which charge the faithful fellow cheerfully accepted, and departed.

Of all his trials, this journey of submission to Dublin was the bitterest to Ludar; and I, as I walked at his heels that day in Dublin city, could see that every step was a pang. The old man chose to bring Ludar and not his elder brothers for this very reason; and never a duty taxed the lad's courage and loyalty more.

So to me the pleasure of marching once again under the royal flag of my Queen was tempered by the concern I felt for my master.

A vast rabble lined the roads to see the doughty Sorley Boy--the hero of the North, against whose arms England had fought in vain--march thus, to the tune of English trumpets, to her Majesty's Castle. But if any looked to see a hanging head or a meek demeanour they were sore mistaken. For, as the procession moved on and the shouts grew louder, the spirit seemed to come back into the old warrior, and he walked rather as one who marches to war than to peace. Perhaps, had the way been a mile longer, or had the smirking Lord Deputy looked round oftener, this notable treaty would never have come about; for, by the time Sorley Boy reached the Castle gate, he was glaring round him defiantly, and the hilt of his sword was an inch out of the scabbard.

At the gate the Deputy stood and bade him enter. The old fox gave a suspicious look round, like one that suspects a trap, and then beckoned to Ludar.

"Stay here with the men. Let your squire follow me."

So Ludar stayed with the McDonnells at the gate, while I followed Sorley Boy, amid shouts and flourish of trumpets, into the Castle. All was prepared to do the old Chief honour. Attendants bowed, guards saluted, and my Lord Deputy's womenkind waved handkerchiefs from the windows.

Sir John Perrott himself, all smiles, chatted affably. But never a word spake Sorley Boy.

He stalked on at a pace which made the Deputy trot at his side, and, heedless of lackeys, guards, ladies and all else, flung into the great hall.

I followed as in duty bound; and beside me no man but Sir John and Sir John's secretary.

Then followed a strange scene.

"Sir Sorley Boy," began the Deputy, motioning his guest to a high chair on the dais, "this is a happy occasion; and I would her Majesty had a Deputy more--"

"Enough of this," said the Chieftain impatiently. "I came not from Dunluce to make speeches or bandy words with you. I owe _you_ naught-- or if I do, 'tis a debt you had rather I paid not."

"I," said Sir John, pulling himself up, "as representing her gracious Majesty--"

Here Sorley Boy stalked off to where a miniature picture of her Majesty hung on the wall.

"Is this Elizabeth?" demanded he.

"That is a presentment, far short in splendour, of her Majesty's admirable presence," said the Deputy.

Sorley Boy took the picture in his hand and mused on it in silence. At length:

"Pray heaven she be no worse favoured in the flesh! Yet, being a woman, I do her homage."

And, like an old gallant, he doffed his hat, and raised the picture to his lips.

Thus it was the McDonnell made his peace with the Sa.s.senach. He handed the picture to me gloomily to replace; which I did after humbly doing it obeisance on bended knee. Then he summoned me to follow him from the hall.

Sir John witnessed this strange scene in bewilderment and displeasure.

He had reckoned on the satisfaction of hearing his old foe renounce his enmity and sue for terms; and it vexed him to find the ceremony thus taken out of his hands and curtly disposed of by the proud old Scot.

Yet he knew enough of Sorley Boy to take what he could get, and must needs pocket his pride. Only he made one effort to save his own dignity.