CHAPTER XIII
Conachúr had come to the Red Branch, and a great roar of cheering greeted him. He strode to the captain of his troop.
“Well, my soul?”
“We have begun, majesty.”
“How is it going?”
“Excellently,” said the captain. “We have lost about forty men already.”
Conachúr stared at him.
“How did that happen?”
“It happened because of the king’s royal decision to lodge these men in a fortress.”
“You have five hundred men here!”
“When they are all killed,” said the captain sourly, “we can call out another five hundred.”
“What is the difficulty?” his master growled.
“A fortress with six doors. They leapin and out of these doors the way frogs leap in a pool. While we are using the ram on this door they make a sally by another door, this door, any door—and they are the devil’s own fighters! We don’t know where to expect them, and any one of those within is the equal of ten of our men in fighting, and the superior of them all in tricks. I am to have them out before morning—it is the king’s orders, but I don’t know how it is to be done.”
“Ram all the doors,” said Conachúr.
“I have but one ram. I can get others to-morrow.”
“To-morrow will be too late,” said the king furiously. “We shall have half Ulster on our backs to-morrow.”
“I want scaling ladders, grapnels,” said the officer angrily. “This work has been thrown on us at a moment’s notice, and we are not prepared for it. I can get them out in a day, but not in a night.”
“Attack a door with your ram,” snarled Conachúr, “and guard your other doors.”
“I am doing that,” said the captain, “and my men, I fear, are beginning to love the work.”
He returned to his place, and in a few minutes the thud and batter of the ram was heard again. Conachúr strode there and watched the work with savage impatience. The captain returned and stood by him.
“You put good doors in the Red Branch, majesty,” he said cheerfully; “an hour of that ramming will begin to make them quiver.”
A shout arose, but it was multiplied from every side by the roaring soldiery, and one could not tell from which direction danger came.
“They have popped out somewhere,” said the captain. “In about two minutes they will pop in again, somewhere—they know but we don’t,—and in those two minutes we will lose five men or twenty.”
“Stick to the ram!” Conachúr roared. “Keep at that door, my men!”
A wild yelling came from the side and a burst of men came pell-mell round the corner. Weapons were striking everywhere and anywhere.
“Which are our men and which are theirs?” said the captain. “Ours don’t know in this light which is friend and whichis enemy.Theyknow,” he said bitterly; “but we are killing one another.”
Two figures detached themselves in the moonlight. They were bounding like great cats, and wherever there was a mass they bounded into it, burst through it, and leaped on.
“Ho, Conachúr!” a voice called. “Do you remember Naoise?”
“Ho, traitor king!” another boomed. “Do you remember Fergus?”
“It is Naoise and Buinne this time,” said the captain.
The two figures leaped at the ramsmen. The ram was dropped and the unarmed crew fled yelling. The door that was being battered opened and shut, and the two figures were gone.
“That’s how it’s done!” said the captain.
“Get to the ram!” Conachúr roared.