Of Costello the Proud

OF COSTELLO THE PROUD, OF OONA THE DAUGHTER OF DERMOTT, AND OF THE
BITTER TONGUE.

Costello had come up from the fields and lay upon the ground before
the door of his square tower, resting his head upon his hands and
looking at the sunset, and considering the chances of the weather.
Though the customs of Elizabeth and James, now going out of fashion
in England, had begun to prevail among the gentry, he still wore the
great cloak of the native Irish; and the sensitive outlines of his
face and the greatness of his indolent body had a commingling of
pride and strength which belonged to a simpler age. His eyes wandered
from the sunset to where the long white road lost itself over the
south-western horizon and to a horseman who toiled slowly up the
hill. A few more minutes and the horseman was near enough for his
little and shapeless body, his long Irish cloak, and the dilapidated
bagpipes hanging from his shoulders, and the rough-haired garron
under him, to be seen distinctly in the grey dusk. So soon as he had
come within earshot, he began crying: 'Is it sleeping you are, Tumaus
Costello, when better men break their hearts on the great white
roads? Get up out of that, proud Tumaus, for I have news! Get up out
of that, you great omadhaun! Shake yourself out of the earth, you
great weed of a man!'

Costello had risen to his feet, and as the piper came up to him
seized him by the neck of his jacket, and lifting him out of his
saddle threw him on to the ground.

'Let me alone, let me alone,' said the other, but Costello still
shook him.

'I have news from Dermott's daughter, Winny,' The great fingers were
loosened, and the piper rose gasping.

'Why did you not tell me,' said Costello, that you came from her? You
might have railed your fill.'

'I have come from her, but I will not speak unless I am paid for my
shaking.'

Costello fumbled at the bag in which he carried his money, and it was
some time before it would open, for the hand that had overcome many
men shook with fear and hope. 'Here is all the money in my bag,' he
said, dropping a stream of French and Spanish money into the hand of
the piper, who bit the coins before he would answer.

'That is right, that is a fair price, but I will not speak till I
have good protection, for if the Dermotts lay their hands upon me in
any boreen after sundown, or in Cool-a-vin by day, I will be left to
rot among the nettles of a ditch, or hung on the great sycamore,
where they hung the horse-thieves last Beltaine four years.' And
while he spoke he tied the reins of his garron to a bar of rusty iron
that was mortared into the wall.

'I will make you my piper and my bodyservant,' said Costello, 'and no
man dare