Sir Ludar Part 32

"Sir Sorley, in her Majesty's name I accept your dutiful homage. It remains for you to sign this written doc.u.ment of fealty, in return for which I am bidden hand you her Majesty's gracious permission to you and your heirs to enjoy your territories without let or hindrance."

The old man laughed scornfully.

"My lands are my own. Let who dares come and take them. Keep your papers, John Perrott. Come, squire; out into the fresh air."

And he stalked out, followed angrily by the Deputy.

At the Castle gate we found a tumult afoot. For the hot-headed Scots who waited there face to face with their old enemies had not been able to restrain their impatience; and, goaded alike by the jeers of the rabble and the taunts of the Englishmen, had answered threat by threat and gibe by blow. Ludar himself, already exasperated, had said not a word to hold them back; and, as the old chief and I came out the gate, the street was full of war, and dead men lay strewn on either hand.

A shout from Sorley Boy restored order among the redshanks in a moment; and, without waiting for further parley with the Deputy, he stalked to the head of his men, and with the single order "To Dunluce!" turned his back on her Majesty's Castle at Dublin.

But Sir John, fearful, perhaps, of an outbreak in the city, or in pursuit of a still deeper design, mounted his horse and bade his men form again the procession to conduct the Queen's new ally to the city gate. He himself rode forward at a hand's pace beside the old chief, who heeded him no more than if he had been me or Ludar.

We had come to the gate at the bridge, and the English troops were halting to let us go out. The strange ceremony of the day was near ending, and the free country beyond shone in the winter sun, when the Deputy, suddenly bending level with the old man's ear, said:

"Look up. Behold your son's head!"

Sorley Boy, stood, as did we, and looked up. There on a pole, rocking in the breeze, above the city gate, looked down upon us a head, livid and scarred, with eyes set and tawny locks streaming in the wind. 'Twas a terrible ghastly sight! for, battered as it was, even I could recognise the once n.o.ble features of Alexander McDonnell, as I had seen him last, reeling under the cowardly blow of that foul Englishman.

The old chief uttered a cry scarcely less terrible to hear than the head was to see. Then, suddenly commanding himself, he blazed round on the Deputy and hissed through his teeth:

"My son hath many heads!"

I never saw a man change colour as did Sir John Perrott when he met that look and heard those bitter words. Men say he went home that afternoon with that look burned into his breast, and those words dinging in his ears. Nor, go where he would, could he escape the one or the other.

They possessed him waking and sleeping, in council and in war, at home and abroad. And, when at last he died, some say he was found crouched in a corner of his room with his fingers over his eyes and his thumbs on his ears.

Nor, after what I saw, did I find it in my heart to pity him.

As for Sorley Boy, he walked out of Dublin like a man in a dream. None of us durst speak to him, or say so much as a word in his hearing. Nor had we the heart to do it. Ludar with his clenched teeth looked straight before him; and the Scots who followed, only half comprehending what had happened, dropped into sullen silence, and gave no sound but the dull beat of their steps on the road.

About an hour beyond Dublin, Sorley Boy halted and turned to Ludar.

"Ludar McDonnell," said he, sternly, "we part here. I have no son--no son. Farewell."

And he and the soldiers marched on without another word, leaving Ludar and me looking after them, and marvelling if all this were what it seemed or some horrid vision.

Ludar recovered himself sooner than I.

"Come," said he; "why stand you here, Humphrey, when all the world, except Dunluce, is before us? Let us back to the city."

I knew why he wished to go back. He was thinking not of Sorley Boy or Dunluce, but of that cruel trophy above the city gate. And in my heart I pitied the keepers, should they chance to withstand him in his purpose.

'Twas dark when we crossed the bridge and found ourselves once more within the walls. The streets were empty, for the night was bleak, and the troops had long since been called into their quarters. Only a few sentinels stood about the gate, who, to keep away the cold and cheer their stomachs, huddled together in a sheltered nook and discussed the news of the day over ale and sack. Little heeded they the creaking pole with its horrible burden, as it rocked and swung in the winter wind above them!

While we waited the snow began to fall and drove the tipplers further into the shelter of the guard-room, where was a merry fire. Now was our chance. Ludar led me round to where, over some tumbled stones, we were able to scramble on to the wall, and thence back towards the gate. So thick fell the snow that, as we crawled along, we were as white as the ramparts we pa.s.sed over, and not a soul could have heard or seen us had any been there. It was easy to get from the wall on to the gate, and all might have gone well had not a wolf-hound, imprisoned in the tower, or left there to do the watching which the sentinel neglected, sprung out to meet us as we stepped on to the battlement with a mighty howl.

So sudden was his leap that he had Ludar by the throat before we knew what had happened; and ere I had drawn my sword and saved my master from so savage a death there was a noise, with shouting and lights, in the road below.

"Quick!" cried Ludar, springing to his feet and running to the pole.

In a minute he had scaled it and robbed it of its fearful burden.

Already I could tell by the shouts below that we were pursued, but Ludar, as he stood there, panting, with his precious burden held to his breast, heeded nothing.

"Come," said I; "we are followed."

He laughed bitterly.

"Humphrey," said he, "as you love me, cut me this hound's head off and put it there, where my brother's head stood. Quick!"

I did as he bade me, though it cost us precious moments. Nor would he budge till the grim exchange was made. Then suddenly he descended on the far side of the gateway. It was well he did so, for there being no regular way on to the wall that side, our pursuers had mounted by the other, leaving only a couple of stupid sentinels to watch below.

Happily for us, the snow lay thick and soft; for more than once we fell as we scaled the ramparts, and might have broken our limbs. Our pursuers behind, having come to the gate top and finding no one there, liked not to follow us the way we had gone, and contented themselves with discharging their pieces into the darkness our way. But we were out of their reach. For, once on the wall, 'twas easy going, and instead of descending we made a quarter of the way round the city, till, somewhere near the north-eastern tower, we slid down by a drift of snow into the deserted street.

Then, Ludar leading, we returned some distance along by the foot of the very wall on whose top we had lately crept, to where stood a church, with a graveyard verging on the wall. Here my comrade halted, and reverently set down his burden, and between us, as we knelt in the snow, we digged a grave to shelter it. Our swords served us for spades, nor, alack! did it need many inches of kind mother earth to hold all that remained of Alexander McDonnell. With a prayer each, Ludar in his way, I in mine, we buried that dear relic. Then, beside the place, Ludar drove his sword deep into the earth, till the hilt stood up like an iron cross to mark the spot. We stood in silence while the pure snow fell and laid its white shroud upon the grave. Then, when all was done, he took my arm, and we walked sadly away.

As we pa.s.sed down a street not far off, the glow of a tavern fire and the sound of voices within brought us to a halt. For we were cold and famished and weary, and the good cheer of the place tempted us. Within was mine host, a merry Irishman, who loved every man that drank his ale.

Round his great fire sat half-a-dozen guests, two wayfarers like ourselves, a soldier, a merchant, a sailor, and one who seemed by his look a private gentleman.

They gave us little enough heed as we entered. Even when mine host, catching sight of us, came to take our orders, they went on with their carouse and pulled their benches closer round the fire, with scarcely a blink our way.

As we sat apart, thawing our frozen limbs in the warmth of the room, and reviving our inner man with food and drink--we had staked nearly all we had on this meal--we could not forbear hearing some of the talk that went on at the fireside.

"By my valour," said the soldier, "I was there and saw it with my own eyes. The old dotard turned the colour of my teeth when he looked up and spied it."

"Ay, ay," said the merchant, "I know it was he. I saw the lad in Cantire once, and a fine lad he was."

"They tell me," said mine host, "a woman was at the bottom of it, as usual. This Captain Merriman (who oweth me a pretty score for entertainment in this house), and this lad had a quarrel over a wench, and 'twas for that he pursued him as he did. Why, sirs, for six weeks the lad lay hidden in a cave, and for a week more lay quick in a grave, before Sir Captain, who had never ceased to hunt him, caught him, and sent up his head to the Deputy here. And now, they say, the wench, who is particular, not fancying a headless trunk, hath struck her colours and said yea to the next best man. Poor la.s.s! who's to blame her?"

"Not I," said the soldier, "albeit you are all wrong, mine host, about this quarrel, for I heard of it from Tom Price, the Captain's man. It was this headless chief's brother the la.s.s doated on. But it's like enough she thinks the head was her sweetheart's."

"There was a son of old Sorley's in the pageant to-day; a plaguey ill- favoured hound, who walked with his father," said the landlord, "with a face sour enough to curdle all the milk in Dublin."

"That was Sir Ludar," said one of the strangers. "I had it from one of the redshanks."

"Ludar?" said the soldier; "the very man. 'Tis his wench the Captain hath run away with. She thinketh him gibbeted, and--"

Here the door was flung open suddenly, and in rushed another soldier.

"Have you heard the news?" he cried.

"News?" cried the others, turning round to look at him.

"Why, yes. Her Majesty hath been robbed of a jewel. The traitor's head that grinned on the gate hath been stolen, I tell you, and there sticketh a dog's head in its place. 'Tis true."

"Who has done it?"

"That's the point," said the messenger, who was plainly proud to have so much news to tell. "That's the point. For we were all on guard, I tell you. Not a soul pa.s.sed us. 'Tis said 'twas some spirit." Here he doffed his cap. "We stood below, I tell you, when there came a blast of wind in our faces with a smell of brimstone in it. I smelt it. Then something curled up past us, like a white shroud, and shrieked as it went up. And, before we could look in one another's faces, a great howl of devilish laughter broke over our heads, and drops of blood! Yes. I felt them. Here's one on my sleeve--it burns like fire, I tell you.

That was all. We fetched lights and went aloft (who is to be afraid of a spirit or two?) but we saw naught. Not a footstep in the snow, or a sign of man or fiend either--except only a headless dog. Ay, you may stare, but I saw it--it smoked brimstone, neighbours, and the snow all around it was red-hot! And what was most horrible of all, when we cast up our lights, I tell you, the Scot's head had changed to the head of a dog, which grinned and leered at us, with eyes like coals and tongue all ablaze, till we could scarce stay where we were. That's all. And ere I go back to that gate, neighbours, may I turn Pope and Spaniard! Give me a drink, host, for, by my soul, I know not which end of me is uppermost."