“But you are a man who could not be unseen!” I protested. “There are not two like you in the world!”
“ ’Tis a broad place, the world. I doubt not there’s a double for every man, somewhere about. But ’tis true. Not many have my size, and I am a known man. All I can do is keep myself from sight, for there be those who hunt me down.”
He put a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve enemies, you and me, and not a few that seek us. I’ve a place yon on Lews…the Isle of Lewis some do call it, but Lews to me. I’ve a place there, and we will go there and listen to the gulls of a morning, and perhaps a lark in the afternoon, and we’ll work a bit wi’ the blades, you an’ me.”
He looked at me suddenly. “You’ve a face not to be forgotten, lad, so we must do something about showing you how to make it different. Although you’ll find few enemies in Scotland, I’m thinking.”
*
“TATTON CHANTRY! WHAT a name it is! Someday you must tell me how you came by it, but there’s no need now. Although,” he added, “I’d have believed you had enemies enough without adding to them.”
What he meant by that I did not know, but we’d come to the door of the inn, so I asked no question then.
We went down four steps and then took a turn to the right. Down three more he opened a heavy door and we entered.
It was a wide room, long and low-beamed. All was dark except for the fire upon the wide hearth and a low candle burning here and there. A dozen folk were in the place, men mostly but a woman or two also, and they looked around as the wind guttered their candlelight and the fire.
There was an empty table near the fire and I wondered if they had known he was coming, but he crossed and seated himself on the bench by it. A man brought ale for each of us, and then came again with slices of thick meat and bread which we broke in our hands.
Nobody spoke to us although all looked, and then they went on with their eating, drinking, and gambling. It was not a place where men wished to be remembered.
As we ate I looked about. The floor was of stone flags, the walls were of stone also, and there were several doors, all closed but that to the kitchen and taproom. Some pots were on the fire, and there was a good smell of broiling meat, too, as a chunk of beef turned on a spit.
He who brought the bread leaned over and whispered, and I dimly heard. “Tammy is by the boat this hour, Fergus,” he whispered. “He stands ready.”
“We will be there.”
The man put the bread over a bit toward me and took a quick glance at me. “Remember the lad well,” Fergus said. “He is my friend.”
“Aye…there have been some about not your friends, too.”
The door opened again and I looked around, as did the others. It was Angus Fair. He looked not our way but went to a corner away from the fire.
We ate, and I had not known how hungry I was. Fergus looked at my hands. “You’ve good hands, lad. I think we will make a swordsman of you.”
“MacAskill?” I said. “Are you not allied to the MacLeod?”
“That we be! And when the clan goes to battle there’s ever a MacAskill in the forefront. Do you know the clans then?”
“Only a bit. My father knew of them and had some connection…I know not what.”
“Y’ know then the story o’ the Fairy Flag? Many a way has it been told but the one I like the best is that the fourth Lady MacLeod, hearing a sound in her baby son’s room, went in to find a lovely lady in filmy green who was lulling the baby to sleep. The lady in green vanished but left behind the flag. It was said to be a gift from Titania, queen of the fairies, and to be flown but three times, when the MacLeods were in dire need. By flying it they can call the fairies and all the powers of sky and forest to their aid.”
“And have they ever?”
“Twice…at the battle of Glendale in 1490 and Waternish in 1580…just a few years back, that one. Each time the MacLeods needed a victory and each time they won. Some say they have one more time, then the flag will vanish as it came.”
“My father told me the tale, only he said it was to be used when victory was needed in battle, when the heir was in danger, or when the clan faced extinction. But no matter, ’tis a fine tale.”
“Aye…and a true one I am thinking. But it has other attributes, too, for they say that thrown on the marriage bed it brings children, and flown from the tower it will bring the fish up the loch.”
Glancing around, I saw that Angus Fair had vanished. His empty glass was upon his table, but he was nowhere about.
Fergus MacAskill noticed my glance. “Gone,” he said, “and well may he be, for there be spies here sometimes, too.” He studied me, swallowed a gulp of ale, and put his glass down. “You’re tall, lad, and strong. I’d have judged you two years older. We’ll go to the shore soon and have a word with Tammy. If it is safe to go to Lews, we’ll go, and if not, to Skye…there are MacAskills in both places, and on the Isle of Man they be some.
“We be Vikings long since…hundreds of years ago when Leod the son of Olav the Black came down and made a home in the Western Isles. Since then there’s been much of marriage with the Celts, and with the Picts, too, if all be told.”
The door opened and three men came in. I saw them come and felt something within me turn icy cold. For one of them I knew.
“Fergus…?” I whispered.
“I see them, lad. D’ you know them, then?”
“The tall one…the one with the white-blond hair…he was among them who killed my father.”
“Did he see you then?”
“A glimpse only, I think. I’m a good inch taller now, maybe two, and thicker and stronger, and a good deal more brown from walking the highroads.”
They were coming toward us, weaving a way past the others. Fergus MacAskill held up his glass in his left hand. “Ale!” he said loudly.
Several men who sat about lifted their glasses, each with his glass in his left hand. Each called out, “Ale!”
The man with the blond hair almost missed a step. He looked about quickly as if he sensed something awry, something amiss. Then he came on.
“Fergus MacAskill?” he asked, but he looked at me.
“Aye, that be the name.”
“Are you coming or going?”
MacAskill smiled. “Why, now. That depends on where a man stands, does it not? If a man is here I might be going, and if a man be on Lews, he might say I am coming.”
“Is this your son?”
“My son? Ah, I wish he were! A fine lad. They raise them well in Scotland these days, and they keep the Scotch well to them even when schooled abroad as is the lad here. I be taking him home to the clan.”
“He’s a MacLeod?”
“A MacLeod? Ah, no! Ken y’ not the face of him? ’Tis no MacLeod. He’s a MacCrimmon! He’s come back to learn the pipe, for are not the greatest pipers of all the MacCrimmons?”
“The lad does look familiar.” The blond man stared at me. “I have seen him before.”
“Why not? Y’ve seen MacCrimmons before, and he has the look of them. Aye, if y’ve seen one MacCrimmon y’ve seen them all…all, I say! But he’s a good lad.”
“I am not yet sure, but I think—”
“A MacCrimmon, I say! The favorite pipers o’ the MacLeods, and right now there be a hundred MacLeods i’ the town, and a dozen i’ the place, and never a one but would shed blood to protect a MacCrimmon!”
*
“YOU!” THE BLOND man pointed a finger at me. “I have questions for you. Come!”
“Too bad it is,” MacAskill spoke cheerfully, “y’ didna come sooner, but we’ve no’ the time.” He arose to his full height, and I got up, too. The blond man was tall and strong but not so much as Fergus MacAskill. “We’ve just been having a bite while waiting, and now’s the time.”
“Stay!” The blond man put up a hand. “I am an officer of the Queen. I do not believe this lad is a MacCrimmon.”
Fergus dropped a hand to his sword. “Do y
’ doubt what I say, then?”
The blond man stood very still. I had no doubt he was a brave man, but to fight Fergus MacAskill was certain death. He knew it, and he hesitated. MacAskill was of no mind to push the matter.
“Very well, then.” Fergus took a step back. “Let us not make much of a small thing.”
The blond man looked around him, suddenly aware that a dozen men were on their feet, staring at him, each with a hand on a blade.
He looked hard at me. “We shall see each other again,” he said, bowing slightly. “I look forward to the meeting!”
“And I,” I replied, bowing also. I jerked my thumb to indicate MacAskill. “When my guardian is not here to protect you!”
He had taken a step away; now he turned sharply around, his hand on his sword. I made as if to draw mine from its sheath, but Fergus MacAskill put up a hand. “No, lad, he must wait his turn. You have others to deal with first!”
With that he put a firm hand on my shoulder and thrust me toward the door, and I went. As we left, several men closed in behind us, not as if doing anything but talking or holding their glasses for drinks; nonetheless, the way was effectually blocked. Not one could be said to have offered resistance; they simply got in the way.
Outside in the dark, MacAskill spoke quietly but firmly. “That was a foolish thing to do! We were safely out of it, and then you had to challenge the man. You must learn, lad, that while such a man can evade some issues he will never avoid a direct challenge.
“That man was Dett Kober, and as he said, he is an officer of the Queen. He is also, I might add, a superb swordsman.”
“But he was afraid of you!” I said.
“No, lad, not afraid. Simply wise. He saw the number of those who stood about him, and the issue was not great enough. Had he been absolutely sure you were whom he believed you to be, he would have fought. Now he will simply wait…and watch. As he said, there will be another time.”
We walked along through dark lanes to the shore. The boat lay waiting. When we were aboard, the sail was unloosed and soon we were well out upon the water.
“He saw you,” Fergus commented, thoughtfully, “but he was not in search of you. It was some other he searched for.”
Angus, I thought. He was looking for Angus Fair, but Angus had gone before he entered. Or at least I believed he had. And well away, I hoped.
Wrapped in a cloak Fergus handed me, I was soon asleep, liking the smell and taste of the wind, and the salt water that occasionally spattered over the bow. Where was it we were going? To Lews or to Skye?
When next I opened my eyes the sea was rolling heavily and it had grown colder. The wind blew strong, and MacAskill huddled near me, wrapped in his sheepskin. After a while I fell again to sleep, tired from my long walking and much worry.
When I opened my eyes at last the dawn was in the sky. Dark and shadowed were the waters where we lay, silent but for the lap of waves against the hull, and against the rocks not far off. The shore was only a little way over there, but the water between us was cold…cold.
I looked toward the shore, and could see only the darkness and the bold outline of a cliff.
How could I guess that it would be a year before I left this place?
CHAPTER 15
THE DWELLING TO which we came was a crofter’s hut on Loch Langaig, and a comfortable place it was, seeming as old as the Isle of Skye itself. I had believed it was Lews we were bound for, but MacAskill made a change of direction. We arrived in the cold gray of a rain-filled morning.
Weary from our voyage, we slept until the sun was high. Then no longer to be denied the sense of where I was, I went outside to look around.
It was a place of foxglove and bracken where black rushes lined the water of the loch and birds flew low over the rocky shores.
A good place it was, a quiet place and a hidden place, for no other crofts were near, only wild lands, unbroken by the plow. The cottage itself was built in a hollow of the land so that only the thatch of the roof could be seen from a short distance off.
“D’ you like it, lad?” Fergus MacAskill had come from the hut behind me.
“Aye, a lovely place it is. This is your home, then?”
“From time to time. A man with enemies should not abide too long in one place.”
“Are the MacAskills of Skye?”
“Some live over on Lews, as well. It is said that long ago we lived on Man, and were of Viking blood, coming from the north to raid this coast, then settling here. We are restless folk, born to the sea and wild lands. Often of a night, lying awake, I think I shall go off to America and find a home there.”
“There are savages in America, they say.”
“Aye, and no doubt they are no worse than we, lad. In my time I have seen a sight of fighting and killing, and not a little of murder, although I’ve fought no man unfairly, m’self. No part of the world, I’m thinking, has a sole claim on savagery. There’s a bit of it in us all, given the time and place and circumstance.”
“It is said some of our people did go, long since.”
“Aye…Brendan from your island and Sinclair from ours.”
An old woman appeared from the bracken as though rising from it, and I saw for the first time a path there. She spoke to Fergus and her Gaelic held a wild, strange sound unlike any I’d heard, but pleasant to the ear. It set me to thinking of the bagpipes sounding across the moors.
She went within and I stood watching the greylag geese flying low across the marshes. It was a wild place, a lonely place but marvelously green and secret.
“We will have some’at to eat soon, Tatt, and then we will get to it.”
“Why do you trouble yourself with me?” I asked. “Grateful it is that I am, but why?”
He stared out across the loch, then kicked a small pebble at his feet. “You can ask, lad, and well you should, but the reasons are more than one and I’ll not trouble you with them all.
“I like a fighter, let it be that at first. I have fought beside the Irish and found them strong men and willing, and once, too, a man took time with me when I knew nothing and was but a lonely lad, not unlike you. There’s another reason, stronger than all else, but I’ll not tell you now—only this.
“I know who you are, Tatton Chantry, and know that is none of your name. What your true name is I shall not say but that I know it, and there’s a blood link between us, long ago though it be.
“There’s still another thing. I am a lonely man with neither chick nor child, and no wife to my bed, nor proper home. I am a man feared and respected, yet a man with nothing. Once I wished I might have a son like you, with your fine shoulders and fine way of standing, with your clear eyes and the decency in you…but that was in another land, and the one who might have been…well, I’ll say no more.”
“My father is dead. I would be honored to be your son, Fergus MacAskill.”
He put a rough hand on my shoulder. “Lad, lad, I’ve tears in my eyes! You’ll make a woman of Fergus MacAskill, with tears and all. My adopted son then, Tatt. Let us get our blades now and have at it.”
With his great hands and the strength of him I’d not have believed he could handle a foil as he did, but it took me but a moment to sense that here was a master. My skill, which I had thought great, and which Kory had thought great as well, was as nothing here. He had the reach of me, and the height, too, but it was the skill that made the difference.
For an hour we fenced, and he tried me in all ways, saying little at first, feeling me out, testing my responses, leading me into attack and defense with consummate skill. Then we put up our blades and went inside for a draught of ale and the gruel and meat the old woman had put on for us. There was thick cream, too, from those wild Highland cattle, all red they were, and maned like lions, with a fine breadth of horn upon them.
“You do well,” Fergus said, “and you have been well taught…to a point. You have a strong wrist for your size and you are cool. We’ll work with the rapier for
a bit, and then with the claymore.
“For that we’ll need stronger hands than you have. Although you’ve fine shoulders, we can make them better.” He took a bite of the coarse black bread and looked up from under his brows. “Can you use a longbow? A weapon of bygone times now, but a good one still, and one easily provided for yourself.”
“A little, I’ve used them,” I said, “and a sling and quarterstaff as well.”
“Good! We shall have a time, we two.”
And so it was.
A month passed, then two and three. We fenced, boxed, and walked upon the shores and the mountains. Together we climbed the Storr and walked the high ridges and went down into the black gorges. Sometimes we walked in sunlight and sometimes in the deepest fog. At times MacAskill would leave me to my own devices and be gone a day or two, then he’d come back.
One morning when we drank our ale, he indicated the glass. “Be sparing with that, lad. I drink, but unlike many of those about, I am never drunken. When I have my wits about me I feel I can handle any man, or any circumstance, but when a man’s wits are foggy he will do foolish things. I saw one of the greatest swordsmen killed by a mere lad because he had indulged too much, drinking wine until the small hours. He was unsteady, unsure, and his skill was off, although he’d not believe it when we warned him. He died when he need not.”
There were days when we stayed quiet about the cottage, for there was a feud raging between the MacDonalds and the MacLeods, and much blood was lost. “When the time comes, Tatt,” he said, “I shall fight. Until then let them be at it and leave me alone. There has been enough of killing.
“All about us, in this place called Trotternish, which is a northern arm of Skye, the MacLeods once held the land, then the MacDonalds took it from them by force of arms.
“It has ever been so. The strong move in and occupy land as they will. All across the world it has been thus. It is the way of the world, Tatt. When I was a lad I thought little of such things, but as I grew older the why of things worried my thoughts like a dog worries a bone.
Fair Blows the Wind (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures) Page 12
