"I had not thought you loved me so much," and despite his agony Brian forced out a bitter laugh. "Not I! Faith, I had liefer see you nailed--but a service may be paid for." "I have no money," Brian closed his eyes wearily. "No, but you have friends," and Murrough leaned forward. "Promise me a clerkly writing to the Bird Daughter's men, or to your own men, ordering that I be paid ten English pounds, and it is done." "With pleasure," smiled Brian wryly. "Also, if I escape, I will spare your life one day, Red Murrough." "Good. Then play your part." And Murrough departed well pleased with his acumen. And indeed, the man carried out his bargain more than faithfully. One visit assured the Dark Master that this broken, burned, cloth-swathed man was helpless to harm him further, and after that he gave Brian little thought. As Murrough had reckoned Brian's swoop on the convoy had given him some notoriety, and more than once Brian himself remembered Cathbarr's dark presage after he had let the ten Scots go free to Ennis; Colonel Vere was anxious to carry him back to Galway for an example to other freebooters, and he was quite content to bide at Bertragh Castle until his prisoner could travel. For that matter the other officers of his command were quite as content as he himself, since all were men from the south-country who loved good wines, and the Dark Master had better store of these than the empty royalist commissariat. As for the Dark Master, Murrough reported to Brian that he also was well content. Cromwell was sweeping like an avenging flame from Kilkenny to Mallow and Ormond was helpless before him; both king's men and Irish Confederacy men were pouring out of the South in despair, but the two had finally joined forces and the final stand would take place in the West. In fact, it seemed that things were dark for Parliament, despite Cromwell's activity, and the Dark Master was only one of many such who counted strongly on the rumors that the new king, Charles II, was on his way to Ireland with aid from France. And indeed he was at that time; but Charles, then and later, was more apt at starting a thing than at finishing it. Red Murrough lost no time in getting his "clerkly writing," luckily for himself. On the morning after his agreement he brought Brian a quill, and blood for lack of ink, and sheepskin. Brian wrote the order for ten pounds, promising to honor it himself if he escaped. This, however, did not seem likely, and even Murrough frankly stated that it was impossible. But Brian was tended well, and his perfect health was a strong asset. His head had been little more than scorched, and the scalp-wound stayed clean; after the first day there came a festering in his broken hand, but Murrough washed it out with vinegar which ate out the wound and cleansed it, after which he bound it firmly in wooden splints and it promised well.