And I put the two things together, though not hastily, for I feared nothing so much as to be wrong in this, and guessed that he had lost all hope of her for himself, and was asking himself whether, if so be she loved me, I was in any way worthy of her. But I think the chief care of this very noble gentleman of Spain was not pity for himself, nor my worthiness or unworthiness—which is the truer word, but that this woman whom he loved should have her heart’s desire, on whomsoever that desire might fall, and at whatsoever cost to himself.
I did not perceive this in one day, or for many, and, pursuing the course I had before determined on, abode firm in my resolve not to appear even to come between him and Eva O’Malley.
The winter wore on to the day of the Birth of Christ, and all was quiet and peaceful in Connaught.
Hardly, however, did the new year open—it was that year of grace, 1579—when messengers from various chiefs in the north-west of Ireland began coming to and going away from Carrickahooley.
Sometimes their business was with my mistress, but still more frequently was it with de Vilela, for it had gone abroad that he was with us, and that he was in the confidence of the King of Spain, from whom he had a mission to the Irish. Among these were some of the MacSweenys of Tir-Connall, who spoke for themselves and also for their prince, O’Donnell, whose wife was a Macdonald, and a kinswoman of my own. Many were the plots on foot, my mistress striving to bring about a great confederacy of the north.
Sir Nicholas Malby, after he had repulsed the Burkes of Clanrickarde and driven them back to their mountains, lay at Galway darkly meditating schemes of vengeance. But, for the present, with the land all about him in a ferment, he did nothing but bide his time.
Indeed, by the coming of spring, the whole island was stirring with the fever of war, some looking to Spain, and some to Desmond, so that the commanders of the English, from the Lord Deputy at Dublin to the poorest of his captains, were in sore trouble and disquiet.
So passed the winter away.
“Darkness and blood; then a little light,” had been the saying of Teige O’Toole, the Wise Man. Now was the time of the little light of which he had spoken; it was immediately to be followed by the period of which he had said, “blood and darkness, then again light, but darkness were better.”
It was in April, then, of this year of fate that de Vilela, having perfectly recovered of his wounds, Grace O’Malley bade me get The Cross of Blood in readiness to convey him to Askeaton.