Brian FitzGerald was not a good man. It would have made little difference if his standing had been different in life, for if he had been a member of Ireland's new aristocracy, he still would have been just as evil-hearted as he was now. He was also an extremely disproportionate man when the mood struck him and it often did. This was one such time. Hanging a playwright simply because the fellow had written a play in a language that FitzGerald did not speak was perfectly normal and he had hanged people for similar reasons, though most commonly he hanged people for not liking the colour of their clothes or for looking at him the wrong way.
Standing on a barrel with his hands bound and a noose around his neck, Colman stared at the mindless mob before him. Panhandlers, robbers, unfrocked priests, wastrels all, but the Walking People would dare not call for the barrel to be pushed out from under the Young Poet.
Slightly terrified, Colman hoped that Ruby would appear or that the leader of Dublin's Walking People would intervene. Who was the leader of Dublin's Walking People? How was he to know? He wasn't a member of the mindless, bloodthirsty mob, he that much!
Praying to Lorcan Ua Tuathail, the Patron Saint of Dublin, Colman's mismatched eyes fell upon cruel old FitzGerald, tapping his fingers with a grin so sinister than it would have frightened the Devil himself. Was this to be the last thing his eyes would behold? The evil-hearted old beggar who fancied himself the King, Pope and God of Dublin? There must have been worst things to see before dying, but at the moment Colman had little to no idea what could possibly be worse than Brian FitzGerald.
When FitzGerald gave the signal for the barrel to be kicked out from under Colman, the Young Poet closed his eyes. If he was to expire, then it would be with more dignity than this bloodthirsty rabble had.
Thankfully, prayers were answered. The moment the barrel was kicked from beneath Colman, the rope came loose, resulting in the Young Poet falling to the ground.
Opening his eyes, Colman did indeed seem something worse. FitzGerald was no longer smiling a smile so sinister that it would have frightened the Devil. He was now fuming with rage.
Drawing a dagger, FitzGerald stood and growled like the beast he was: "I will kill you even if I have to do it myself?"
Colman had no doubt that FitzGerald would have, for at that very moment a gentleman stepped in. From the fact that Ruby was by his side, Colman presumed the man was the leader of Dublin's Walking People.
Wrenching the dagger from FitzGerald's hand, the Chief of the Walking People uttered: "FitzGerald, that is enough! This boy has done no wrong! You may have been able to get away with this under my predecessor, but not with me. You are only the leader of this community as long as all leaders under you recognize you as our superior! This is my only warning! Anymore of this and I will personally strip you of your rank!"
FitzGerald could do naught but glare. The panhandlers, robbers, unfrocked priests and wastrels were all sufficiently cowed, but their High King was not only cowed, but now wrathful. From the neighbourhood did he storm and none knew when he would return.
While all this had happened, Ruby had untied Colman's hands. He had defended her from Hugh and now she had untied his bonds. Removing the noose from his neck, Colman smiled at Ruby and said: "I've been looking for you."