I am bidden hand you her Majesty's gracious permission to you and
your heirs to enjoy your territories without let or hindrance."

The old man laughed scornfully.

"My lands are my own. Let who dares come and take them. Keep your
papers, John Perrott. Come, squire; out into the fresh air."

And he stalked out, followed angrily by the Deputy.

At the Castle gate we found a tumult afoot. For the hot-headed Scots
who waited there face to face with their old enemies had not been able
to restrain their impatience; and, goaded alike by the jeers of the
rabble and the taunts of the Englishmen, had answered threat by threat
and gibe by blow. Ludar himself, already exasperated, had said not a
word to hold them back; and, as the old chief and I came out the gate,
the street was full of war, and dead men lay strewn on either hand.

A shout from Sorley Boy restored order among the redshanks in a moment;
and, without waiting for further parley with the Deputy, he stalked to
the head of his men, and with the single order "To Dunluce!" turned his
back on her Majesty's Castle at Dublin.

But Sir John, fearful, perhaps, of an outbreak in the city, or in
pursuit of a still deeper design, mounted his horse and bade his men
form again the procession to conduct the Queen's new ally to the city
gate. He himself rode forward at a hand's pace beside the old chief,
who heeded him no more than if he had been me or Ludar.

We had come to the gate at the bridge, and the English troops were
halting to let us go out. The strange ceremony of the day was near
ending, and the free country beyond shone in the winter sun, when the
Deputy, suddenly bending level with the old man's ear, said:

"Look up. Behold your son's head!"

Sorley Boy, stood, as did we, and looked up. There on a pole, rocking
in the breeze, above the city gate, looked down upon us a head, livid
and scarred, with eyes set and tawny locks streaming in the wind. 'Twas
a terrible ghastly sight! for, battered as it was, even I could
recognise the once noble features of Alexander McDonnell, as I had seen
him last, reeling under the cowardly blow of that foul Englishman.

The old chief uttered a cry scarcely less terrible to hear than the head
was to see. Then, suddenly commanding himself, he blazed round on the
Deputy and hissed through his teeth:

"My son hath many heads!"

I never saw a man change colour as did Sir John Perrott when he met that
look and heard thos