by Julianne Lee
“Twas the ears. I saw one of the riders had ears that poked through his hair.”
“Black hair?”
The villager shook his head. “Fair, my lord.”
It wasn’t Nemed, then, and Alex’s gut untied some. He said, “Continue. Did you see a woman?”
The villager blinked. “How do you know of her?”
“Just tell me; was she there?”
“Aye. I thought her a vision, or a ghost perhaps, but since you tell me you know of such a creature then I expect she could be real. She was tall and thin, with hair longer than the men, spilling from below her helm and over her shoulders.”
“What color hair?”
“Black. And she was as cold a killer as the rest. She fought like a madman, with a sword as keen and merciless as anyone might see on a battlefield. And her shouts were not those of a man. They were a high trilling, as have been reported by those returning from the crusades. They say the women of Islam sound thus. Mayhaps she was a warrior from southern realms. Them and their strange ways.”
Alex knew the noise he was talking about, having been to the Middle East, but couldn’t associate it with Lindsay. If this warrior was his wife, she’d changed in ways he didn’t understand. Ways he wasn’t sure he wanted to understand. He asked, “She killed unarmed villagers?”
The man shook his head, and Alex was again relieved. “We were all too frightened to let her near. Nor any of the other rogues, neither. I can’t say as we were eager to die for our livestock, and most ran away rather than face such a harridan.”
Alex glanced around at the surrounding forest. “Which direction did they take in their retreat?”
Readily the man pointed upriver. “Thataway. You can see their tracks along the bank, though I expect they’ll find a rocky place to confound those who would follow.”
No doubt. It was a standard tactic when trying to shake pursuers, even when the victims of a raid were unlikely to give chase.
He was done here. He waved away the villager and said, “You may go.”
The detainee dropped to one knee again and said in a hurry but in a voice thick with sincerity, “Thank you, my lord.” Then he spun as he rose and ran away to rejoin his family.
Alex told Henry to reassemble the column of knights, and they moved on up the river in the direction indicated by the villager.
He’d told the truth. There was plenty of sign the raiders had passed this way, and this deep in the forest there were no alternate routes for several dozen horsemen and a herd of sheep and goats. But as the track rose the trees thinned and the river narrowed. Alex pressed on in the long midsummer twilight when they ordinarily would have stopped to eat and sleep. The trace would disappear as soon as the terrain became rocky, and he wanted to find which way the raiders had gone.
He found it while there was still good light. On a wide expanse of granite the trail seemed to disappear, and Alex halted the column. While his men set up camp within the forest, he dismounted and set out on foot alone in search of the trace that would indicate what route the raiders had taken. The shoeless livestock left no prints, but the horses left plenty of marks on the rock. When those disappeared, Alex knew the group had put socks over their horses’ hooves. He stopped and cast around in various directions, for this was where they would have changed direction if they were going to. It wasn’t long before he found a place where spoor had been picked up and some left behind. In a crack there was a small bit of sheep dung he took up on his gauntlet and smeared on the rock. Still damp. His pulse quickened; they were close. He looked out over the area and made a guess which way the raiders had taken. They couldn’t be far, but to race after them tonight would be too risky. He would set out again at first light and possibly catch up to them within the day.
Alex looked to it with a trepidation he hated to admit to himself and would never let on to anyone else. Did he really want to see Lindsay with this bunch? If it really was her, she’d certainly changed, and he couldn’t guess how much. He was afraid to know how much. He wondered if Trefor hadn’t been right, that he might not want her back. And the thought tore his heart.
He made his way back to camp, and as he entered it he found Trefor and Mike approaching his tent. To Alex’s astonishment, Mike’s hands were tied behind his back with a hobble rope, and Trefor was shoving him every few steps, making him stumble and complain. They were arguing, and it was plain Mike was Trefor’s prisoner. Alex asked. “What’s going on?”
“Tell him,” said Trefor. His anger spilled from his voice and his eyes, and his face was flushed red with it. Whatever Mike had done, he’d obviously screwed up in a way he never had before.
“Tref — “
“Tell him!”
Mike cringed, and looked at Alex with pleading eyes. Alex was unmoved. Trefor gave Mike a good poke on the shoulder. Finally Mike said, “I’m the one who shot the arrow.”
Alex was surprised to hear this, but only because he’d not expected a confession. He’d figured Mike had done it, and was content to keep an eye on him to catch him at it if he tried anything like it again. Alex’s eyebrows went up, and he looked to Trefor for details. Trefor obliged.
“He says he thought I wanted it. He didn’t like the way we were being treated, and figured I wanted you dead for it. This brain trust here,” he gave Mike another hard shove for good measure, “thought I would be the next Earl of Cruachan if you died.”
“How could I know you wouldn’t get the title?” Mike whined and cringed, and it turned Alex’s stomach.
“And then,” continued Trefor, outraged, “he came to me to let me know what a loyal friend he is.” Another shove, and Mike nearly stumbled to the ground. “Bragging about how close he came to killing my father.”
“Tref — “
“Stop it,” said Alex. This was very bad, and neither Trefor nor Mike could have an inkling of how bad. Trefor should have kept this to himself and never made public what Mike had told him. Knights were gathering, muttering amongst themselves about it, Hector among them, explaining in Middle English what was being said by the modern Americans. Alex wished Hector had been elsewhere, for he was boggled to know what he was about to have to do, and knew Trefor would hate him all the more for it.
Alex’s voice was level. Firm. He reached down to the soles of his feet for all the authority he could muster. “You have no clue what a terrible mistake you’ve made. Both of you.” He looked to Trefor, then back at Mike. “First in shooting the bolt, and then confessing to it. What you’ve done is treason against your liege and that can’t be taken lightly.”
Mike’s face was still blank, puzzled at the uproar and annoyed at the treatment he was getting from Trefor, but a glimmer of realization crossed Trefor’s eyes. He knew what treason truly meant. He let go of Mike and took a step back.
Alex said to Mike, “What that means, you moron, is that I now have to hang you.”
Mike let go a laugh. “Right.” But when neither Alex nor Trefor laughed with him his face went white. “Huh?”
“I can’t let you live, knowing that you took a potshot at me, and everyone knowing that I know. Even though you missed, I can’t let anyone here think I would let an assassin live.”
“Do what?” Mike looked to Trefor for a denial, but Trefor said nothing and only pursed his lower lip in his tension.
Alex said, “I told you guys you don’t know what you’re into. I told you that things were different here, and that you needed to listen to me to survive.” He tilted his face toward Mike’s and stressed, “Never mind that I want to hang you, I have to and there’s nothing any one of us can do about it.”
“He’s one of mine. I’ll have it done.”
“Trefor!” Mike’s voice went high. Panicky.
“You dumb bastard!” Trefor looked like he might cry. but held it in. “Nobody told you to shoot him.”
“I missed.”
“Which only means you’re a bad shot. He’s right; he can’t let you live, or someone el
se might get the idea they can get away with an attempt like that. That’s the way they think around here. You brought this on yourself.”
“But I didn’t kill him! You can’t hang me for just shooting at him!”
Alex said, “People get hung here for stealing chickens. They get burned at the stake for stuff that’s perfectly legal in the States. And you didn’t just shoot a crossbow bolt in the direction of your friend’s father. What you did was commit treason against your liege, a member of the peerage. Lee Harvey Oswald’s got nothing on you. Except, maybe, he was a better aim.”
“Trefor, don’t let him do this.” Mike began gasping, heaving for air that wasn’t going to help.
“Shut up, Mike.” Trefor was going nearly as pale as Mike, and his voice was cracking. He lowered his voice to Alex. “Is there a possibility of letting him, you know, escape?”
Alex glanced around at the curious knights watching to see what Alex would do. It was far too late to fool anyone. “No.”
Mike continued to gasp, and turned circles as if in search of a way out of this mess.
Trefor grabbed him by the scruff of his tunic, hauled him back around to face Alex, and said, “All right, then. I’ll have one of my men find a tree.”
“No!” Mike began to cry.
“I said shut up!”
“I’ll do it,” Alex said quietly. Mike sobbed, and Alex continued as Trefor stared at the ground. “I’ll have Henry assign one of the servants to string a rope.” Mike collapsed to his knees, weeping, and Trefor let him stay there.
“Sir Henry!” Alex shouted. “Front and center! We have a situation!”
Henry hurried to present himself, and stared at the weeping prisoner as he listened to Alex’s orders. He didn’t appear particularly surprised at those orders, and when the earl was done he hauled Mike to his feet and shoved him away to arrange for the execution.
Alex watched Henry take Trefor’s friend to his horse, and two of Alex’s men helped him lift Mike onto the animal’s bare back. The condemned made a sudden move to leap from the horse and escape, but several swords zinged from their scabbards and kept him in place. Henry led the horse by its halter toward the tree where the rope was being strung. Mike continued to weep and plead for his life at full voice, calling for Trefor to make them stop.
Alex and Trefor brought up the rear of those gathering to observe, and stopped just short of joining them at the tree. Once the rope was around Mike’s neck, snug against his jaw, Alex called for the attention of all present. Taking responsibility for the execution, he made a speech that detailed the crime and outlined the reasons for punishment. He stressed that this would be the fate of anyone else who might harbor thoughts of treason, against himself or any liege, for breaking one’s oath of loyalty was the worst sort of betrayal and a mortal sin before God.
He glanced over at Trefor once as he spoke, and saw his expression had gone blank. Though his face was bloodless, stark white in his horror, his features were arranged carefully and without expression, even as his friend cried out that he should not let them do this. Alex found himself respecting Trefor’s resolve. The guy had guts, was carrying through with what they both knew had to be done, and in that moment Alex had a surge of pride that he was a MacNeil.
Alex concluded his speech with a request that God have mercy on Mike’s soul, then nodded toward the appointed executioner. The servant whacked the horse across the backside with a teamster’s whip, and the animal bolted. Mike, in his terror, held on with his knees so his neck snapped, and then it was all over. The body dangled and swung until the executioner put out a hand to steady it, and all gazed in silence.
Then the quiet was broken by the voice of one of Alex’s knights. “Long live the Earl of Cruachan.” It was repeated by the rest of Alex’s men, then they dispersed.
Trefor remained, staring at the ground as a urine stain spread across the trews of the dangling body. Alex watched him for a moment, then turned to go to his tent. Ellot would deal with the body. Trefor would deal with the loss of his friend.
***
The next day Alex took his men over the rocky slopes in the direction their quarry had taken, and found the spot where the raiders had reentered the forest. Sign reappeared, and the trail was even more fresh than Alex had hoped. They were able to go faster now, and Alex sent scouts ahead to bring back reports of the terrain. He needed to know the area in which they would meet up with An Reubair.
At midday, the sun high overhead and shining down in dappled patterns through the forest trees, a scout came galloping back with breathless announcement. “My lord! My lord, I’ve found them!”
Alex halted his column to listen to the report. The scout reined in to a halt, his mount prancing and turning as the knight spoke excitedly to the earl.
“They’ve stopped ahead. Not far. And they gear themselves for battle.”
“They’re going to fight us?”
“Nae.” The scout nearly giggled with the glee this brought him. “‘Tis another village beyond they seek. Just as the one we’ve recently left, they intend to attack and reive the livestock. They haven’t any knowledge we are here.”
Alex nodded. “Good. How far is the village from them?” The scout shrugged. His excitement waned as he realized the earl wasn’t as pleased as anticipated by the news. “I cannae say. I know aught but what I overheard from my place of hiding. They’ve secured their train and are even now donning their armor and weapons.”
Alex grunted and looked off down the track. He didn’t like this. Though he had surprise on his side, it was of little value since the raiders were gearing up for a fight with someone else and wouldn’t be caught as flat-footed as he would want. He considered hanging back, waiting until they’d exhausted themselves on the village before them. A valid tactic on the surface, for it would save lives among his own men, but his men weren’t the only lives at stake here. In the back of his mind he heard Lindsay condemning the deliberate sacrifice of noncombatants. He and his men were in a position to keep An Reubair from destroying another village that had no garrison, occupied by simple farmers and their families armed with pitchforks and sickles. By his own standards, taught to him by his father and the United States Naval Academy, he was required to attack before the raiders made their assault if he could, to save the unprotected village.
Trefor, beside him, said, “You said no John Wayne.”
Alex, too deep in thought, had forgotten his son was there. The voice startled him out of his pondering and he wondered if the wee folk had perhaps taught Trefor a bit of mind reading. The magical had always made Alex nervous, for not much good had ever come of it, and he wished he could know what was going on in Trefor’s mind. He said, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you should let them attack the village and then catch them while they’re busy. Ride down on them once they’ve exhausted themselves going after a bunch of sheep and cows.”
“And the people of the village?”
“Collateral. And, if you think about it, English collateral. You’re so hot to align yourself with all that is Scottish, maybe you should take advantage of the opportunity to stick it to King Edward. Those villagers are his lookout, aren’t they?” He shrugged. “Not yours, in any case.”
There was a time when Alex might have made that same argument, but he was no longer so sure. Lindsay had often chastised him for fitting into the medieval mindset too easily, and these days he was beginning to wonder if she hadn’t been right. Using unarmed noncombatants as bait or targets was sometimes unavoidable, but this did not qualify so clearly as necessary, nor would it be accidental if Alex held off attacking for the sake of softening up the enemy.
Then he imagined the scene if An Reubair were allowed to attack first. An undefended village wouldn’t be much of a resistance force and probably wouldn’t do so well at softening anyone. He then decided. “You heard the guy in that other village. He said his people ran, rather than fight. This village might not resist, and that would make
waiting pointless.”
“But they might. And at the very least we could catch the enemy while they’re busy rounding up the livestock and torching houses.”
“No. You don’t understand these guys. They’re armed and headed for a fight. If they don’t get one, they’ll be frustrated. Even more ready than they are now. Waiting is pointless. We’ll go now. Attack before they get there.”
Trefor shrugged. “Suit yourself. Just trying to be helpful.”
“Your counsel is appreciated, but I’ve decided otherwise. Now order your men to follow us.” He watched Trefor move off to comply, then passed the same order to Henry for his own men. They spurred off down the track at a gallop, in twos.
As it turned out, the MacNeil force reached the attacking raiders at the same time they all reached the village. Alex looked ahead to find the first house going up in flames, and villagers running this way and that, children screaming, women shouting and wailing. They were familiar sounds. There were thuds of sword against pitchfork or spade, but resistance was weak and wouldn’t last. Alex searched the melee for Lindsay, looking to the raiders for any sign of a woman. He feared finding her as much as he hoped for it, and a sense of relief came as his gaze went from one to another and he saw no wild hair or painted face. He shouted to his men to charge, drew his sword, and the column of knights swept down on the raiders.
Committed to his task, he plunged into the midst of the fray with little thought but to put away as many of the enemy as possible. He lay about himself with his sword, wheeling his mount in the nearly constant shift of the fight.
Then he heard the ululating noise described by the villager. High-pitched, eerie among the shouts and cries of men. It froze his heart. He abandoned the opponent before him, wheeled, and spurred away toward the sound, straining his ears and eyes to find the source, his pulse thudding in his veins.
Then Alex saw her. Lindsay, without a doubt. Black, wavy hair below her helm, circling around to swing her sword at a villager on foot, it was his wife. His heart leapt to his throat to choke him, but he spurred onward to intercept. He thundered in to put his horse between her and her quarry, and they clanged swords as he rode past.
