I had now come to the tavern that is under the sign of the Golden Eagle, and from inside proceeded the sound of eating and of drinking, of festivity and of mirth. Entering in, I was about to beg for alms, when I saw among the company a man whom I recognised as one of the Mayo Burkes, a gallowglass of the MacWilliam’s. Him I at once addressed, incautiously enough, asking if his master were well, and where I would find him, as I had a message for his private ear.
“Richard the Iron,” said he, “is lodged in the North Street; and who are you, father, that know not that?”
“I have been there,” said I, lying boldly, “but he is away from the house.”
“If he be not at the mansion of the Joyces,” said he, “then I know not where he is.”
So Richard Burke was at the mansion of the Joyces in the North Street. Here was good news indeed, and, having said some fair words to the man, I went out of the tavern; but when I reached the North Street I found that my falsehood had this much of truth in it—that Richard Burke was not there. I sat down on a bench in the courtyard of the mansion, and waited impatiently for his return. Tiring of this, I walked up the street towards the Little Gate, and whom should I meet on the way but Richard Burke riding with Sabina Lynch.
Well did I recall what Richard Burke had said to me some weeks before, when he had come secretly to The Cross of Blood. He had declared that Sabina Lynch loved him, but that he only cared for Grace O’Malley. Yet, as I looked at them, it seemed to me as if he were paying Mistress Lynch no little court, and they appeared to take pleasure in each other’s society.
But when I thought of the messenger he had sent to Carrickahooley, and of his service, though unavailing, to us before, I conceived that he was playing a double part, holding that love and war, perhaps, justified any means so long as the end were gained. And, for that matter, I, the false friar, was no better than a cheat myself.
I was determined to get speech with him without further delay—the feeling of impatience was so strong upon me—and, as I was casting about in what way I should accomplish this, Sabina Lynch tossed me a piece of silver as an alms, while I was yet three ells’ length from the horses.
“Take that for the poor, father,” cried she merrily.
It happened that the coin after it had struck the ground, rolled in front of Richard Burke’s horse, and I rushed forward to pick it up before it was trampled into the dust. I also trusted that under cover of this action I should be able to say a few words which would make me known to him, without being perceived by his companion.