Nor could I readily bring myself in a moment, as it were, into an attitude of hostility to Fitzmaurice, for he represented our cause against the English, and to fight him was, in effect, to help the enemy.
Having told the MacWilliam all that was in my mind, and having won him over to my way of thinking, we considered how we should now proceed. It appeared to me to be best that we should all return to the ships, for the camp of the Burkes, being in the heart of Desmond’s country, was very open to attack from the Geraldines, who could no longer be regarded as friends, and so might easily be surprised and taken.
There was also the strong argument that, if any disaster overtook the galleys in our absence, we should be completely cut off from any way of getting back to Connaught, and our situation would become desperate and well nigh hopeless.
Another reason was that we could, with even greater advantage than from the place where the Burkes were camped, send out from the galleys scouts and spies, with a view to ascertaining where Desmond was.
To that I now bent my whole energy, for I felt sure that so long as Grace O’Malley was not in the gaol of Limerick—if she were, then would she be harder to come at than ever—she would be confined in some castle which the Earl occupied with his forces, and where he would remain until he was convinced that he could neither bend nor break her will. For that, I knew, would be the end.
Having struck our camp, we marched to the westward, so as to avoid Askeaton; then, going to the north, were safely on board the galleys by the evening, having only encountered on our journey several small bands of the Irish on their way to Fitzmaurice, whom we suffered to pass on, having first asked them if they had any information as to where Desmond was. They had been told, it appeared, that the Earl had raised the standard of revolt, and was in camp with Fitzmaurice on the Mulkern. Nor did we undeceive them.
For a week I kept the galleys sailing up and down the Shannon, stopping every mile or two and sending men ashore—sometimes going myself—to speak with the inhabitants; but never a word could we hear of Desmond, though occasionally we heard of Fitzmaurice, who had not moved from the position he had taken up.
Each evening of that terrible week found me less hopeful and more despondent; in truth, I would have despaired had it not been for the constant solace of Eva, who seemed to have changed herself into another person, so brave and steadfast was she.
Hitherto I had kept well away from Limerick, but now I resolved to bring the galleys as close up to the walls of the city as I dared. Limerick was a great and strongly fortified place, and, therefore, to be avoided by us; but it was the centre of all that part of Ireland, and there might be opportunities in its neighbourhood of hearing more fully what was going forward. I was encouraged to do this, also, by the fact that there were singularly few ships in the river—no doubt owing to the presence of the Spaniards in the country.
When we were yet perhaps a league from the walls we saw a small boat with a sail coming towards us. I looked keenly at her, and even as I looked at her she was suddenly put about, and was headed back for the city, for they evidently did not like our appearance.