“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?
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.
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sp; “Do 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 gray-lag 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 wouldbe 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, Tart. 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.
“We MacAskills are the descendants of Vikings, who raided down from the north, as I have said, and we wedded women of the isles: the Gaels they were. Much did I talk in the dark hours with men of wisdom and warriors met from other lands, and everywhere it was the same.
“The men of the north wanted warmer, richer lands, the men of poor cities wanted the wealth of the rich, and so they came raiding and looting, then finally settling down to be raided in their turn. So it will be in the new lands beyond the sea, and so it has been in those lands long before any white man came upon them.
“Long ago when I was but a lad we took a Spanish vessel on the high seas, and brought her a prize to Skye. Aboard that vessel was a great Spanish lord and my father held him for ransom, as is the custom.
“We waited months for the ransom to come, and I spent many hours with the prisoner, for he lived as one of our own family. He told me of Cortez and his conquering of the Aztec peoples. He said Cortez could never have done it had it not been for Indian allies, tribes recently conquered by the Aztecs, who hated them.
“The Aztecs lived in great cities of stone, but those cities were built or begun by other peoples who came before. The Toltecs, for example, and others even before them.
“So you see, Tatt, we hold this land only for a time. Whether we win it in peace or war, we hold it only in trust for other peoples, and other generations.
“When I was a wild lad I thought only of the sword and of fighting. I loved the wild raids, the fierce attacks, the crossing of blades. It mattered little who it was I fought; the fight itself was the thing.
“Yet with time I have grown wiser. I still like the battle—it is in my blood—but I also question myself, and try to learn from others. A soldier in a lifetime meets many kinds of people, and so it has been with me.”
I had listened in silence, but now I had a question for him.
“But if the MacDonalds hold Trotternish, how does it happen that you can be here, when you are of the MacLeods?”
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“Oh, they let me be! Perhaps they think me not worth the trouble, for I am seldom here. They know when I am here, and they know when I come and go, but they walk a wide circle.
“Afraid? Not the MacDonalds. I know them too well to think they fear. I have shed MacDonald blood, and this they know, yet I believe they like me a little and think perhaps I am better left alone.
“Someday … ah, someday one of them may come seeking me. One or many. It is to be expected.”
We fenced and fought with this weapon and that, and I could feel my skill growing, and my confidence. He was a great master. Whenever I seemed ready to equal him he uncovered a new trick, a new stratagem, a new device. His eyes would twinkle a little, and he would look at me slyly, enjoying the moment.
There came a night when we sat by the fire. Food was eaten, the dishes put aside, and there was rain upon the roof. Occasionally a gust of wind whined under the eaves. Firelight played on MacAskill’s cheekbones, his shaggy brows, and the old scar.
“Aye,” he said, “there have been bloody times. D’you ken the Isle of Eigg? ‘Tis yonder.” He gestured toward the south. “A few years back some MacLeod lads, denied the hospitality of the MacDonalds, butchered a beef upon the shore, but before they could flee they were come upon by the MacDonalds, who whipped them brutally.
“Norman, he who was the eleventh chief of the MacLeods, sent out his fleet. The MacDonalds, seeing themselves outnumbered, took their whole population into a cave and hid themselves. This was in 1577, if I recall. The MacLeods searched but could not find them and were sailing away when one of the MacDonalds, impatient to see had they gone, came from the cave and was seen.
“They tracked him by new-fallen snow, and when the MacDonalds would not come out, the MacLeods gathered brush and seaweed from shore and hill and placed it before the opening and set fire to it. All inside were smothered and killed. Not a one of the nearly four hundred survived.”
Fair Blows the Wind (1978) Page 12
