Brian saw that the Dark Master was only playing with the giant, for well he knew that Vere wanted to take him back to Galway whole and sound. But Cathbarr knew nothing of this, and as the whole terrible trickery flashed over his simple mind he lifted a face that was dark with blood and passion. "Do not play with me!" he cried out, his voice deep and angry. "Loose him!" Then O'Donnell leaned back in his chair, laughing with his men, and waved a careless hand toward Vere. "He is not mine," he grinned. "I have given him to the royalists, for hanging at Galway. You, however, are now mine to slay." Whether the Dark Master indeed meant to break his plighted faith, Brian never knew. Cathbarr took a single step forward, his curly beard writhing and standing out, and his whole face so terrible to look on that all laughter was stricken dead in the hall. "You lied to me!" he cried hoarsely. "You lied to me!" O'Donnell laughed. "Aye, Cathbarr. Your master goes back to Galway to be hung--he is out of my hands, but you are in them. However, since I have passed my word on your safe-conduct, I think that I may hold to it." But the giant had not heard him. Throwing back his head, he gave one deep groan of anguish, and his shoulders began to move very slowly as his chest heaved up. All the while his eyes were fixed on the Dark Master, while the whole hall watched him in awe; not even Brian or O'Donnell himself guessed what that slow movement of Cathbarr's body boded. "Best put chains upon him, Murrough," said the Dark Master, his teeth shining under his drooping mustache. Vere cried out in sudden wonder. "'Fore Gad! Look!" Then indeed the Dark Master looked, and sprang to his feet, and one great shout of alarm and fear shrilled up from those watching. For as Cathbarr stood there, the veins had suddenly come out on his face and neck, and with a dull sound the ropes had broken on his arms, and he was free. Murrough rushed forward, and his pistol spat fire. Cathbarr, with his eyes still on the Dark Master, put out a hand and Murrough went whirling away with a dull groan. Then the giant rushed. O'Donnell did not stay for that meeting, but slipped away like a shadow into his surging men, yelling at them to fire. There were few muskets in the hall, however, and an instant later Cathbarr had reached the table where Vere still sat astounded. He brought down a fist on the royalist's steel cap, and Vere coughed horribly and fell out of his chair with his skull crushed. Now a musket roared out, and another. But Cathbarr caught up the oaken table and faced around on the men who were surging forward at him; lifting the ten-foot table as though it were paper, he bellowed something and rushed at them, casting the table in a great heave. It fell squarely on the front rank, and then indeed fear came upon the hall. For Cathbarr's foot had struck against his ax, and he rose with it in his hand.