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Then he caught the Dark Master's figure running across the snow toward that camp amid the trees, where fighting was still forward and men were shouting and firing. Brian rushed off, with Turlough staggering after him; but with a sob of despairing anger he saw the Dark Master flit into the trees, and heard his voice ringing at his men.
As he had ridden, news had come from the east news of the Wexford killing and the curse that was come upon the land. Owen Ruadh O'Neill was not yet dead, but Brian knew that he had prophesied truly. Ireland's day was gloaming fast. Despite the dismal tone of Turlough Wolf, Brian told himself that he had done a good day's work. O'Donnell Dubh would keep his word beyond any question.
The old man shivered a little, and sanity came back into his eyes as they met the icy blue of Brian's. "What daftness is upon you, man?" "I know not, master," whimpered old Turlough feebly. "Do as you will."
The Dark Master looked along the walls for a moment, then signed to his men, and they rode off through the driving snow again. Turlough looked at Brian and Brian at him, and the same thought was in the minds of both.
Brian's face blanched and his hands trembled, for he saw that her wandering mind took him for his grandsire. "Dhia agus mhuire orth," he murmured, and with a little sob the Black Woman died. Silence fell upon the dingle, as Brian gazed down at the woman his grandfather had loved, and whose love had been no less. Then Turlough pushed his horse closer, looking down with a shrewd leer.
"Those are good wines," said Turlough when they sat at meat that evening, the men eating below in the courtyard around fires. "But I do not like that ship-master." So far Brian had said nothing of how the galley had been taken, save that they had chanced on it at sea and had heard from Teague that the Dark Master might be on them in another day.
Before they went to rest Turlough pointed out that if the hills were watched he and his hundred would be noted, so Brian bade him hit back toward Lough Corrib and then to come straight down upon the main road. It might be that he could overcome the Dark Master's men of himself, and if not, he would hold them until Turlough came up.
When another day breaks, I shall have won my Spanish blade again and then ho! for the Red Hand of Tyr-owen!" So Brian laughed and donned his jack and back-piece, while Turlough drew plans in the snow and showed the leaders of the hundred how to sweep around without discovery so that they might fall on the northern horsemen at eve.
Then, when the castle had fallen, he could sail north to Millhaven, reduce the stronghold there, and let fly his own banner at last. It was a good plan, but it hung on many things. With a short laugh at his own fancies he turned in the saddle as the voice of Turlough broke into his musings. "I mind the last time I saw the poor woman back yonder, master.
It may be as you think, and that she was but trying to lead you into the west; yet, for my part, I call it sorcery," and the old man crossed himself, for, like better men than himself, Turlough ascribed all he could not fathom to magic. "It seems to me that she is some witch who is hanging on your tracks, and that when " "Oh, nonsense!" laughed Brian, flinging the matter from his mind.
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