As he was on his way back from Limerick he had fallen in with a great gathering of armed men, moving on eastward, some three or four miles to the south of the city. These were Spaniards, he declared, and other foreigners, as well as a large number of the Irish. And there were priests with them, and in the midst of them a banner, all blue and gold, with the figure of the Lord upon it.
This could be nothing other than the army of Fitzmaurice, accompanied by Sanders and the standard blessed by the Pope.
I questioned the man narrowly as to the place where he had seen them, and if he had heard where they were going. He replied that one had told him that they were to camp that night on the banks of the river Mulkern, not far from the Slieve Phelim Mountains, and that when he met them they could not have been above two leagues’ distance from the ground which had been chosen. Feeling fairly certain that Fitzmaurice would be with them, and, perhaps, de Vilela also, I resolved to set out at once for their camp.
If I saw Fitzmaurice, I would try to find out from him where Grace O’Malley was, and, further, I was determined to appeal to him to endeavour to prevent Desmond from carrying out his plans. As my mistress had not been taken into Limerick, the probability was that the Earl had not finally broken with Fitzmaurice, and that negotiations were still going on between them. There was, therefore, a chance that Fitzmaurice might prevail upon him to set her at liberty.
“Tell Fitzmaurice,” said Richard Burke, when I had informed him of what I proposed, “that unless Grace O’Malley is released immediately, the Burkes of Mayo will take neither part nor lot with the Geraldines in this affair.”
This suggested to me a possibility I had not yet contemplated, but I thrust it away from me, telling myself that Burke was too much distraught to know what he was saying. But it kept coming back to my mind, as I rode that night along with a guard of the Burkes towards the Mulkern.
When we were within a few paces of the camp, which we found without any difficulty, we were challenged by a Spanish sentinel. I could not give him password or countersign, and he had raised his piece to his shoulder to fire, when he suddenly dropped it again, saying he remembered my face, having seen me at Limerick and also at Tralee. Having asked him if Sir James Fitzmaurice was here, he replied that he was, as were also the other leaders. When I told him that I had business with Sir James, and when he saw how small was the guard with me, he said he would take it upon himself to allow me to pass within the lines, although it was contrary to his orders. He therefore directed me, pointing through the camp fires, to the spot where Fitzmaurice’s tent had been pitched.
And now I must put on record, as carefully as I can, what passed between Fitzmaurice and myself, so that all men can judge whether Richard Burke, Grace O’Malley’s lover, and I, Ruari Macdonald, her servant, were justified in what we afterwards did, or not.
When Fitzmaurice saw me he was unmistakably surprised, for he started violently as I entered his tent. Perhaps he had thought I was still immured at Askeaton, and so out of the way; but that I know not. Besides, when we had last parted it had been in no very friendly fashion. Whatever his feelings now were, he put on a garb of welcome as soon as his first surprise was past.
“Greeting—a thousand greetings!” said he. “You have come to join us? How many men have you brought with you?”