“The ships of the King of Spain have arrived?” I asked, as my mistress paused.
“One ship has come,” said she, “that of which Don Juan is the commander, and others are on the way. They set out at the same time, but a storm separated them; he has reached Ireland first, but the rest cannot be far off.”
“’Tis the best of good news,” cried I. “Would to God they were all beside our galleys on the Shannon!”
“Don de Ricaldo’s ship lies off Dingle, on the coast of Kerry,” said my mistress, smiling at my sally, “and the others must be guided to the same harbour. They may have already cast anchor elsewhere, or they may still be at sea. But I wish you to take The Cross of Blood and search for them. Both of these gentlemen,” she nodded to the two Spaniards, “will accompany you.”
“And then?” inquired I.
“You will then render them,” said she, “any help they may require, as, for instance, choosing the most suitable place for making a landing, or whatever it may be.”
“And then?” asked I again.
“Return here,” said she.
“May I ask,” said I, “if any plans have been formed.”
“They will depend,” said Desmond, quickly “on the number of the Spanish soldiers—and on other things,” he added, more slowly.