Again the prior fixed his eyes on a fissure in the rock, adding, "I had appointed to meet one in this place before your message was communicated to me—and in good time; for, methinks, the object of your visit may be furthered by the intelligence I hope soon to receive. Your highness must have heard at Cork of the war carried on by the great earl of Desmond and a native sept of this region. Macarthy, their chief, fell during the struggle, but his successor and Tanist mustered his broken forces to avenge him. The earl is impatient of this resistance, for his presence is necessary in Thomond to drive the O'Carrols from that district. At his invitation he and Macarthy meet this day to parley but a few miles hence. I was to have made one among them, but a boding raven told me that danger was abroad."
The tidings of the near presence of the earl of Desmond were unexpected, and most welcome to the duke. He immediately resolved not to lose the golden hour. He eagerly asked where the meeting was to be, and how speedily he might reach the spot.
As he was thus earnestly expressing his desire, a slight rustling caught the prior's ear: he looked up; a human form hovered as in mid-air, scarcely, as it were, alighting on the precipitous rock; quickly, but cautiously, it threaded its steep and tortuous path. A large mantle was wrapt round the mountaineer, a large white kerchief enveloped the head in the manner of a turban, yet the prince caught the outline of a female figure, which soon descended to the little plain on which they stood, and advanced towards them; she was evidently very young, but weather-worn even in youth: her wild, picturesque dress concealed the proportions of her form; her large white sleeves hid her arm, but the emaciated appearance of her face and hands, and bare feet, struck Richard with pity. She seemed astonished at seeing him, and spoke to his companion in the language of the country, which he did not understand: the prior's face darkened as she spoke: there dwelt on it a mixture of disappointment and ferocity, of which it could hardly have been deemed capable by one who had hitherto seen it only bland and smiling; swiftly, however, he dismissed these indications of passion, and addressed the prince calmly. "I cannot go," he said; "my time is still to be deferred, though it shall not be for ever lost. How does your courage hold? if you are not afraid of going alone with a guide whose very dialect is a mystery to you, through a country torn by opposing factions; if you do not fear presenting yourself friendless to a haughty noble, who deems himself sovereign in this domain, I will contrive that, ere four hours elapse, you shall find yourself in Desmond's presence."
"Fear!" the prince repeated. His eyes glanced with some contempt on the priest's cowl, which alone could suggest pardon for such a thought; yet he checked himself from any angry disclaiming of the accusation, as he said, "Whatever in my presumption I may hope, sage forethought tells me that I walk a road strewn with a thousand dangers, leading, it may be, to an early death. Not for that will I deviate one furlong from my path. Sir Prior, where is the guide you promise?"
Keating, after a few minutes' reflection, instead of replying, conversed again with the girl, and then addressed the duke: "This hapless child is a victim of the wars; she was born far hence, and is the last surviving of my foster-sister's once blooming family. Her mother saved my life. This child, barefoot as she is, guided me hither. Is not a Keating fallen, when he cannot give succour to an offspring of his fosterer's house? And she, poor girl! she has walked far for me to-day; but she will not slacken in her toil when I bid her proceed. She shall be your guide, and your grace may rely upon her; the dog you fed from its birth were less faithful. Now, at the hour of noon, Desmond meets Macarthy of Muskerry, on Ballahourah. But for the bogs and streams that cross your path, it is not far; at the worst, you can reach Mallow, where the earl will lie to-night. It is best not to delay; for, if there is peace in Munster, very speedily Desmond will be on his way to Thomond."
This was a fresh spur to Richard. He accepted the proffered guide, who listened attentively to Keating's instructions given in her native tongue. He followed the girl but a short distance ere he looked back; the prior was gone; the solitude of the wild crags and shrubs alone met his eye. Meanwhile his companion stepped forward, motioning him to follow. They plunged into the brake; the sun rose high; the birds winged their glad flight among the trees. Now toiling up a steep, now wading a stream, now entangled in a thicket, now stepping lightly over boggy earth: now meditating on Andalusia, and now wondering at his present position, Richard followed his swift and silent guide through the wild country between Buttevant and Mallow.
Already the meeting between the earl of Desmond and Macarthy, the chief of Muskerry, was at an end. They parted with fair words and exasperated thoughts. The native lord could ill brook the settler's haughty assumptions; nor Geraldine endure the obstinate pride of the conquered native. Still their relative positions enforced a peace.
They had separated, and after a hasty repast, spread on the heathy side of Ballahourah, the earl proceeded towards Mallow. He was surrounded by warriors, who all claimed the Geraldine name, and who variously distinguished themselves as the White Knight, the Knight of Kerry, and the Knight of the Glen. There was Lord Fermoy, his father-in-law, and others of the Roches. Nor did all the native chiefs absent themselves. One sister of the earl had married Macarthy Reagh; another, an O'Brien, whose daughter had intermarried with an O'Carrol—all this in defiance of the English law, which forbade such alliances, through which, the father of the present earl was beheaded in the year 1467. Their antique costume, tight truise, saffron tunics, and flowing robes, distinguished them from the Saxons; yet these had not followed the fashions of the times, but dressed in the garb used by the courtiers of Edward the Third.
Maurice, tenth earl of Desmond, was brave even to a proverb. He loved war, and deemed himself rather king of Desmond, than a chief of English descent. To extend and secure his possessions, rendering them at once independent of his sovereign and of the native chieftains, was the aim of his life. He now meditated the invasion of Thomond; but Macarthy's angry demeanour showed that he must not be left unchecked in his rear. "Where is my cousin Barry—where the lord of Buttevant—the chief of the Barrymores? Flying before a slip of parchment indited in far London, as if my sword held not better sway in these regions than a Parliament attainder! Were he here, the O'Carrolls should hear the thunder of my arms ere this moon waned. Muskerry could make no gathering in the vales, while Barry sat on his perch at Buttevant."
The earl had time to waste in thought, as he was borne along—at the age of fifteen, pushing rashly forward in an assault, he received a wound in his leg, which lamed him for life, so that he was carried about in a litter, and went by the name of Claudus; yet he was not deemed the less an experienced and gallant warrior. With the virtues of a chieftain he possessed the defects: Munster was his world; his universe was peopled by the Geraldines, the Macarthys, the Barrys, Donegans, Barrets, Roches, O'Briens, O'Carrolls, and the rest; he disdained his noble brethren of the pale. He considered it a mark of distinction to be exempted by a law from attendance of Parliament and the government of the land; he saw in the king of England, not his monarch, but the partizan of Ormond, and therefore an enemy. This, and an ancient alliance, linked him to the cause of the English outcast prince, who solicited his aid; he had replied favourably to his request; but his interests and the conquest of a kingdom must be delayed, while he subdued the half-naked septs who insulted his power.