“By God’s wounds!” swore I.
And we clasped hands again, and so parted.
The day which followed that night of stir was one of quiet at the castle, and its very peacefulness seemed to me well-nigh intolerable. But we learned from our spies, and could to some extent see for ourselves, that there was a great commotion in the English camp, indicating the arrival of fresh troops.
By the evening, Sir Nicholas had so disposed his forces that we were completely hemmed in on the land side, and our spies had to be withdrawn within the walls. The sea was still open to us, and much I wondered that the Governor did not take this more into his account, for so long as we could get to our galleys and procure food by way of Clew Bay, we could laugh at him and bid him defiance.
But I might have been sure that Sir Nicholas was too experienced a soldier not to know well what he was about.
Another night and another day dragged themselves slowly away, and the Governor moved not from the positions he had taken up. There he lay all round us, just out of reach of our ordnance, of which we gave him a taste from time to time, so that he should keep his distance; there he lay, inactive, waiting, expectant—but of what, or, of whom?
These were the questions Grace O’Malley discussed with de Vilela and myself, and the answers to them did not present themselves at once.
“Can it be,” asked my mistress—and her words showed the direction in which her thoughts were turning “that Sir Nicholas has heard Richard Burke is coming with all the men of Mayo behind him to our aid, and that he has decided to engage him before attacking us?”
“He is perhaps making some engines with which he hopes to batter down your walls,” said de Vilela.