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Updated: June 13, 2025
Then men brought him more food and wine and straw, and he managed to sleep a bit during the darkness, in utmost misery. But after the day had come, and more wine had stirred his blood redly, Murrough fetched him to his feet and bade him follow. Brian did it, though walking was agony, for his pride was stronger even than his torture.
So he ordered his ten Scots troopers in from the camp outside the walls, and the Dark Master sent for Brian to be identified. "I'll have you carried down," said Red Murrough on coming for him. "Play the part, ma boucal, and when these royalists get into their cups again they'll forget all that is in their heads. Here's a cup of wine before ye go, and another for myself. Slainte!"
This had been left in charge of a hundred men under Red Murrough, who had not been slain, but only wounded by Cathbarr's fist, that night in the great hall. Having left a party to bring in the wounded in wagons from the farms, they arrived before the castle shortly after noon.
"Shoot him if he speaks." Now, whether through some shred of mercy for he knew well that Brian would cry out or for some other reason, Murrough leaned down swiftly to Brian's ear. "Careful," he whispered as he motioned his men forward. "Play the part, and mind that this thing is not yet finished." The warning came in good time, and cooled Brian's raging impulse.
"Why, that boy we cut up the other side of Clifden had more strength than this fool!" "His strength went out of him with his hair," grinned Red Murrough, and they carried Brian to his prison. The Dark Master had spoken truly, however.
Therefore it was that while Brian made an excellent meal for a man swathed from crown to knees in bandages, Red Murrough poured into his ear the tale of what had chanced in the courtyard, and why it was that he was not at this moment nailed to the castle door. Brian collected his energy with some effort. "Well, what of it?" he asked weakly.
"Promise me a clerkly writing to the Bird Daughter's men, or to your own men, ordering that I be paid ten English pounds, and it is done." "With pleasure," smiled Brian wryly. "Also, if I escape, I will spare your life one day, Red Murrough." "Good. Then play your part." And Murrough departed well pleased with his acumen. And indeed, the man carried out his bargain more than faithfully.
Red Murrough, with an evil grin, pressed his back to the door and held up his left arm against the heavy wood. Brian was half-conscious of another man who bore a heavy mallet and spikes, and whose breath came foul on his face as he pressed something cold against the extended left hand.
"At Rome when last I heard of him, ruffling it up and down the Vatican as Baron Ross, Viscount Murrough, Earl Wexford, Marquis Leinster, and a title or two more, which have cost the Pope little, seeing that they never were his to give; and plotting, they say, some hare-brained expedition against Ireland by the help of the Spanish king, which must end in nothing but his shame and ruin.
Since it seemed agreed that they would know Brian better by his hard blue eyes than by what they could see of his face, the exasperated Vere commanded that he be made open them if he were unconscious. "Run your hand down his body, Murrough," ordered the Dark Master cynically. Red Murrough leaned over Brian, and the latter opened his eyes without waiting for the rough command to be obeyed.
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