He no doubt justified himself in his own sight by believing he had committed his brother, the Earl, irrevocably to the cause, and that now all his hesitation must cease. But would it? I asked myself.
Carter and Davell had declared that Desmond was in communication with the President of Munster; no sooner had I heard this than I felt it must be true. So, too, had said Fitzmaurice. And if it were, in what position, then, was Grace O’Malley?
After all, was it true?
Sir John had denied it; but had it not been the very fear that it was true, which had driven him as by a sort of frenzy into this dark and dreadful act of slaying his defenceless guests?
And if Desmond were a traitor, where and in what case was my mistress?
And what of Eva?
One thing was clear, and that was that Tralee was no place for me. I now regretted deeply that I had not returned to Askeaton at once after the harbour of Smerwick had been chosen by the Spaniards, and determined to get back to The Cross of Blood and to set out for the stronghold of Desmond immediately, for it was there that I should be.
With the first blush of day I roused up my own men, and bade them be ready to march. As I was standing among them in the yard, both Fitzmaurice and de Vilela approached, and beckoned to me to join them. As I came up, a dozen horsemen or more swept past us, and fled across the bridge.
“There goes the rising of Munster,” cried Fitzmaurice joyfully, nodding towards the horsemen. “They have been charged with messages to all the chiefs of the province, and before night has fallen the battle-cry of the Desmonds will have been sounded forth throughout the whole territories of the Geraldines.”
“You have heard, then, from Desmond?” asked I, greatly relieved by his words.