Melcorka Of Alba

by Malcolm Archibald

  The instant that Catriona eased onto the beach, the crew sliced open the bonds around the prisoners' ankles and shoved them ashore. 'Keep close to me,' Bradan said, as Melcorka stared at him in evident incomprehension. Pulling her towards him, Bradan gasped as one of the guards swung a long spear against his leg. He contemplated fighting back and realised it would be pointless.

  Pushed, jostled, kicked and shoved, Bradan joined the long line of prisoners. The guards – lithe, brown-skinned men in loin-cloths who carried spears, curved swords and round shields – forced them towards the walled town. Despite his situation, Bradan noted his surroundings. The walls were tall and dark, with ornate, pointed battlements and round stone towers set every two hundred paces. Spear-toting warriors in turbans or steel helmets stared down at them from the battlements, talking and laughing.

  'We're on display,' Bradan said. 'Keep your back straight and hold your head high, Melcorka. Remember who you are.'

  'Who am I?' Melcorka gaped at her surroundings.

  'You are Melcorka of Alba,' Bradan said softly. 'Don't ever forget that. Whatever happens, you are Melcorka of Alba, Melcorka the Swordswoman.'

  'I haven't got a sword,' Melcorka said.

  'I know,' Bradan said, with his heart breaking for her.

  The pirates forced the prisoners through the high gateway and into the city, with narrow streets of flat-roofed houses and more noise, colour and confusion than Bradan had ever seen in his life. Animals mingled amongst the crowd, with cattle roaming free and a score of great beasts with long necks and humped backs that Bradan had never seen before.

  'Truly there are wonders in this world,' Bradan said. 'I wish we were free to enjoy them.'

  Melcorka smiled, her green eyes wide and vacant.

  Even the recently captured slaves stared as Bradan and Melcorka shuffled along, with their fair skin immediately marking them as aliens in this world of dark-skinned people. One or two reached out to touch Melcorka, until Bradan snarled at them and pushed them away, much to the amusement of the guards. The pirates herded their long column of prisoners into a vast square, where tall trees afforded shade for hundreds of spectators. In the centre of the square, a group of men in gold-and-white robes stood on a wooden platform, watching over the arrival of the slaves, pointing out individuals and making comments to one another. One golden-caped man remained slightly apart from the others, distinguished by an ornate head-dress and the long stick he flexed.

  'Slave market!' Bradan edged as close to Melcorka as he could. 'We're going to be sold! Keep close to me, for God's own sake.' He had a sudden moment of panic that they would be separated. In her present mental state, Melcorka was as vulnerable as any child.

  Melcorka looked around her, with her eyes wide. 'This place is pretty,' she said.

  'What's happened to you?' Bradan asked. 'Mel! Come back to me.'

  'Hello, Bradan.' Melcorka gave a wide grin. 'This is a nice place.' She nodded to the huge, highly ornate palace that took up one complete side of the square. 'I'd like to go in there.'

  Bradan looked up at the plumply prosperous people who were enjoying the show from the upper windows of the palace. 'I don't think we'll get much choice of where we're sent, Mel.'

  Even with so many prisoners, there was still space in the square. Spearmen and swordsmen lined the outside, facing the prisoners and talking to each other. One of the caped men on the wooden platform blew on a long brass horn, whose blare echoed from the surrounding buildings and gradually silenced the guards. Numbed and afraid, the prisoners huddled together, looking at the men in the long gold-and-white capes.

  'Now we'll see,' Bradan said. 'Stay with me, Mel.'

  With the square approximately quiet, a group of spearmen hurried into the crowd and grabbed half a dozen of the prisoners. Bradan noticed that all the surrounding buildings had windows facing into the square, and each window had at least one spectator leaning out.

  When the guards shoved the batch of prisoners onto the raised platform, the man with the head-dress leapt up, lifted the arms of the nearest prisoner, prodded his muscles with his stick and began a long monologue.

  'He's the auctioneer giving the selling points,' Bradan said to Melcorka. 'These people at the windows might be the prospective buyers.'

  When one of the spectators at the windows opposite the palace shouted something, the auctioneer pushed the first batch of slaves off the block.

  'That's them bought,' Bradan said. 'Mel, come to the back of the crowd. Hopefully, most buyers will get bored and leave so we might get released.' That hope vanished when somebody in the palace gestured to the men on the platform and pointed directly at Bradan and Melcorka.

  Bradan felt nausea rise within him. 'Stay close, Mel. I think we are wanted.'

  When the auctioneer pointed to Bradan, a group of guards detached from the main body and pushed through the crowd.

  'They're coming for us, Mel,' Bradan said. 'Stick by me, and we might get bought by the same person. If we stay together, we can escape together.'

  Melcorka gave a smile of pure idiocy.

  'Snap out of it, Mel. You must get back to yourself again.'

  A body of spearmen grabbed hold of Bradan and Melcorka and shoved them to the platform.

  'Don't you hurt that woman,' Bradan snarled, as the smallest of the guards jabbed his spear into Melcorka's leg. The man did not reply.

  Close to, the auctioneer with the head-dress was older than Bradan had expected, with soft brown eyes that disguised the callousness of his occupation. He touched Bradan's arm and spoke, evidently asking a question.

  'I don't understand,' Bradan said, in Gaelic and then in Latin.

  The auctioneer took a step back and replied, also in Latin. 'You are from the far west.'

  'The very far west.' Bradan struggled to find the words. 'We could not be any further west.'

  You will fetch a reasonable price.' The man stroked a finger down Melcorka's face, examining the tattoo on her cheek. 'What does this symbol mean? Is it your god?

  Bradan thought quickly. 'It is a charm. If anybody hurts her, a bolt will come from the sky and kill them.'

  'I'll keep that quiet then,' the auctioneer said. 'There's no sense in putting a prospective buyer off, is there? We already have one very important party interested in you two.' He laughed. 'Now, strip naked so the buyers can see how white your skins are. That should put the price up. Novelty items are always good for business.' He poked at Melcorka with his stick. 'Do you hear me? I said take your clothes off!'

  'Leave her!' Bradan tried to push the auctioneer away. 'She doesn't understand!'

  'You tell her then,' the auctioneer ordered, as two of the guards stepped closer, spears ready.

  For one desperate moment, Bradan contemplated grabbing Melcorka, forcing her off the platform and running, but there was nowhere to go. They were in the centre of a square surrounded by hundreds of spearmen, with crowds of people watching. If they somehow succeeded in getting out of the square, they would still be within a strange city, where their pale skin and unusual clothing would immediately identify them as strangers. If Melcorka had Defender, even if Melcorka was herself, Bradan might have chanced it. As things were, he knew they would not get ten paces.

  'There's no help for it, Mel. Do what I do.'

  Smiling, Melcorka watched as Bradan took off his clothes. Aware of the hundreds of eyes watching him, he stood erect on the block and helped Melcorka strip. 'Keep your head up,' Bradan said and repeated, 'if we stay together we'll have a better chance of escape.' He did not know if Melcorka understood him.

  'All these people!' Melcorka dropped the last of her clothes and smiled at the crowds. 'They're all looking at us.'

  'That's right.' Bradan felt sick. He wanted to hold Melcorka close, keep her safe from the troubles of the world. 'They are admiring your beauty.'

  'They're at the windows, too.' Melcorka began to wave to the gaping faces. 'Who are they?'

  'I'm not sure,' Bradan said. 'I'm really n
ot sure.'

  'Who are we?' Melcorka gave a little giggle. 'What's your name?'

  'I am Bradan the Wanderer,' Bradan said, 'and you are Melcorka nic Bearnas, of the Cenel Bearnas from Alba.'

  'Oh.' Melcorka looked at him. 'That's a very long name.'

  'Yes.' Bradan rubbed her arm, fighting his emotion. 'Most people just call you Melcorka.'

  'Keep quiet, you two,' the auctioneer snapped. He lowered his voice. 'Is your woman simple?'

  'No,' Bradan said. 'She's just not very well just now.'

  'Good. If your woman lacked anything up here,' the auctioneer tapped his forehead, 'nobody would want her for a slave. We'd have to kill her, which would be a shame.' He ran his hand up Melcorka's leg from ankle to thigh. 'She could be a nice-looking woman.'

  Ignoring the spears of the guards, Bradan shoved the auctioneer's hand away. 'I know she is nice-looking. If you kill her, the gods would be angry. Remember her tattoo.' Bradan grunted as the small guard jabbed at Melcorka with his spear again. 'That's enough of that, you! I'll see you later, son. I'll remember your face.'

  'Don't damage my goods!' The auctioneer pushed the guard away with his stick. Men and women were shouting as the auctioneer lifted Bradan's arm and demonstrated his strength. Months of rowing Catriona had given Bradan muscles of whipcord, while his previous life of walking day after day had strengthened his legs.

  Men – and and now women, too – leaned out of the windows or stood on top of the flat roofs of the houses, shouting and waving their arms. One woman shoved forward from the crowd and gestured to the auctioneer.

  At the auctioneer's word, the prospective buyer stepped up to the platform and examined Bradan with great interest, speaking to the auctioneer in low tones. She ran her hands across Bradan's chest, smiling as the crowd roared their approval.

  'You are attracting interest,' the auctioneer said. 'You're a curiosity. Nobody has seen a man of your paleness before. You and the woman – what's her name?'

  'Melcorka.'

  'You and the woman Melcorka will fetch a fine price, either together or singly.' The auctioneer ran a practised eye over Melcorka again. 'I would buy her myself if I had the money, just to show her off.'

  Bradan could see the avarice in the auctioneer's eyes as he responded to the shouts and waves from the windows.

  'You're fetching a rare price,' the auctioneer said. 'Oh, Shiva save us all.' He salaamed, suddenly obsequious as a man in ornate clothes climbed onto the platform. The yellow beast's head that roared from his flowing top was the mirror of the flag the pirate ships had worn. A file of female warriors followed, each woman with a pointed steel helmet on her head and a small, round shield on her left arm.

  The auctioneer stopped the auction at once. 'That's it,' he said to Bradan. 'You have new owners. You're sold.'

  'Who to?' Bradan looked around the crowd. The faces were wide-eyed, curious and without even a trace of sympathy for the plight of the slaves.

  'You'll soon see. Get your clothes on and go with these soldiers.' He lowered his voice. 'And for the sake of Shiva, do as you're told.'

  The squad of warriors formed around Bradan and Melcorka and marched them from the platform, with thousands of eyes following these exotic strangers. The warriors hurried to the palace and filed through a broad, pointed doorway. Two spearmen stood on guard at the door, faces immobile.

  'Where are we going?' Melcorka asked.

  'I don't know, Mel,' Bradan said. 'But I know that on the first opportunity, we're going to escape.'

  'Are they taking us to my sword?' Melcorka gave an unnervingly high-pitched giggle.

  'No,' Bradan said. 'They're not taking us to your sword.'

  The warriors hustled them through a walled garden, where fountains splashed amidst close-cropped lawns and trees hung heavy with fruit. The atmosphere was of decadence and luxury, as brightly coloured birds hopped and chirped on the trees and a bevy of servants waited for orders. Two more female warriors stood in a corner, hands on the hilts of long, curved swords.

  In the centre of the garden was an open, circular building with a pointed roof and walls of delicately carved stonework. Within this arbour, a man and a woman sat on cushioned swings. Both wore identical blue robes, with the man wearing a yellow turban set with a large pearl and the woman wearing an ornate headdress of smaller pearls.

  The warriors stepped back, fingering their swords.

  For a long moment, the man and woman within the arbour stared at Melcorka and Bradan, with their swings swishing slowly back and forth. The woman spoke first.

  'I understand you speak Latin.' Her voice was clear and low as her dark eyes swept over them from head to foot and back.

  'I do,' Bradan said.

  'How strange to find education in a man who travels in rags.' The woman left her swing and stepped forward to run her finger down Bradan's face. 'You are very pale, and your skin is rough, like leather.'

  'It is the colour of all the people where we come from,' Bradan said. 'And I have been outdoors in all sorts of weather.'

  'I've never seen anybody your colour before.' The woman turned her face sideways. 'Are you pale all the way?' She arched her eyebrows and ran her gaze down Bradan's lean body. 'I could not see properly when you were on the slave block.'

  'Yes,' Bradan said. 'I am pale all the way.'

  'We shall see. Do you have names where you come from? I am Dhraji.' The woman opened up Bradan's travel-stained and much-patched leine and examined his chest. 'Dhraji means whirlwind.' She looked up and smiled. 'So I am a whirlwind. What are you?'

  'I am Bradan the Wanderer,' Bradan said.

  'A wandering man. How strange. Were you a warrior before you became my slave?' Sunlight caught the pearls on Dhraji's headdress, reflecting in a hundred different colours. The man remained on his swing, watching dispassionately.

  'I was never a warrior,' Bradan said. And I won't be a slave for long, he thought, as Dhraji pulled open his leine and examined him minutely, making small noises that might have been approval or disapproval.

  'You are not built any differently to the men here,' Dhraji said. 'You have the same appendages, yet you are taller and paler.' Raising her voice, Dhraji snapped an order. Two muscular servants immediately ran from the corner of the garden. 'Don't get alarmed, slave Bradan. These men are going to wash the slave-stink from your body and make you presentable.'

  'Presentable for what?' Bradan asked.

  'For me, of course,' Dhraji said. 'You are my slave, while this woman,' she jerked a thumb at Melcorka, 'belongs to Bhim, if he ever gets off his lazy, fat backside to even look at her.'

  Bhim and Dhraji, the two people the Chola shipmaster warned us to avoid. We have fallen among thieves indeed. Pretend ignorance.

  'Her name is Melcorka.' Bradan spoke rapidly, trying to protect Melcorka before Bhim got his hands on her. 'She is not herself at present.'

  'Oh?' Dhraji looked supremely disinterested as she snapped instructions to the two servants.

  'Just be careful, Mel!' Bradan shouted to Melcorka, as the servants led him away. He looked over his shoulder to see Bhim lift his considerable bulk from the swing and saunter across to Melcorka. 'Don't you hurt her, Bhim!'

  The servants hurried Bradan out of the garden and into an airy chamber with a stone floor and two large urns of clear water. All the time, the men were talking, with Bradan unable to understand a word. They removed his leine and while one held him, the other emptied one of the urns over him. Unsmiling, they scrubbed him from head to feet with handfuls of dry white sand that made his skin tingle.

  'Careful down there,' he snarled, as the men began to work on his groin.

  'Oh, let them carry on.' Bradan had not known that Dhraji was present until she spoke. 'If they damage you, I will have them kissing an elephant's foot.'

  What in the name of God does that mean?

  The two servants salaamed, pressing their hands together as they backed away from Dhraji. When Dhraji snapped something, the servants
returned to work, now using an oily substance to wash Bradan's hair and down the length of his body.

  'Stand still.' Dhraji watched, smiling. 'They know what they are doing. You people from the west have never experienced soap before. We have much to teach you.'

  'Is Melcorka all right?' Bradan asked.

  'That woman is no longer your concern,' Dhraji said. 'From this day onward, you will think only of me.' Although she was smiling, something in Dhraji's tone warned Bradan that she was a very dangerous woman. Stay alive, he told himself. I am no good to Melcorka if I am dead!

  'It is hard not to think of you.' Bradan forced a smile.

  'Do you find me attractive?' Dhraji emphasised the swing of her hips as she stalked around Bradan.

  'You are a wonderful-looking woman.' Bradan spoke only the truth, for, with her long black hair, small, smiling face and shapely figure, Dhraji could be the epitome of all that a man could lust for in a woman.

  'Then why do you not look at me, Bradan the Wanderer? I order you to.'

  'I did not think it was fitting.' Bradan allowed his gaze to roam the length of her, from foot to head, before resting on her face.

  'I desire you to look at me always.' Again, there was steel behind the silk in Dhraji's tones.

  'In that case, I shall comply with pleasure.' Bradan smiled.

  The two washers finished, salaamed and withdrew, walking backwards. 'Oh, that is much better now.' Dhraji slid her hand across Bradan's body, lingering where she pleased. 'You have underlying strength, Bradan the Wanderer. We will soon see if you also have the stamina to match.'

  'How is Melcorka?' Bradan could not resist asking the question, despite the angry shadow that crossed Dhraji's face.

  'The tattooed woman is with my husband,' Dhraji said softly. 'And I advise you not to interrupt me again, slave Bradan. I am not a woman it is wise to cross. I own you now, body and soul, and you are mine to do with as I please.' She took hold of him. 'I can make your life full of pleasure,' she squeezed gently, 'or full of more pain than you can imagine.' Dhraji increased the pressure of her fingers, watching his reaction. 'You see?'