Granny Rowan gave a deep chuckle. 'You look fine, girl. We are the bearers of ill tidings; do you really think the king will care how the youngest of us wears her hair?'
'He might,' Melcorka defended herself. 'I don't want to bring shame on us.'
Others joined in Granny Rowan's loud laughter as Bearnas said 'you will never do that, Melcorka,' took her position at the head of the column and began the last march to Dun Edin.
'Wait until you see the royal castle,' Baetan said, 'silk and satin and gold, with cushioned chairs and tables laden with fruit and the choicest cuts of venison; salmon from the rivers, a bevy of beautiful women …'
'The beautiful women will hardly interest me,' Melcorka said tartly.
'Of course not,' Baetan said with a smile, 'but it certainly interests me! Perhaps the thought of a court of handsome men would be more to your taste?'
'Stop teasing her,' Bearnas shouted over her shoulder. 'She is too young yet for such things.'
'Mother!' Melcorka scolded, to the delight of the Cenel Bearnas.
'You were married at her age,' Granny Rowan said. 'And he was not your first man,' she nudged Bearnas as the others in the column laughed. 'Or your second … or your third!'
'Mother!' Scandalised Melcorka scolded again.
'Oh there is a lot about your mother that you don't know,' Granny Rowan said. 'Most of it you will never know.'
Somebody began to sing, with the others catching the lyrics after the first stanza so they regaled the Lodainn plain with the music of the far west as they passed the quiet little farm steadings and nucleated villages that crouched around thatched churches or the long wooden houses of the landlord.
'There it is!' Granny Rowan pointed to the stone built dun that squatted atop the living rock, 'we're nearly there.'
Beneath the dun and straggling down the long ridge to the lion-shaped hill men named Arthur's Chair, the town of Dun Edin stood silent. Black crows circled through smoke that drifted acrid above the thatched roofs.
'Something's wrong,' Bearnas said. 'Something is very wrong here.' She held up her hand to stop the column. 'Baetan, scout ahead. Take Melcorka with you; she needs the experience. We'll stay in this copse here,' she indicated a small group of oak trees.
Baetan nodded to Melcorka, checked his sword was secure at his side and led the way at a fast, jinking jog-trot.
As they approached the hill known as Arthur's Chair, they found the first body.
'Killed from behind,' Baetan spoke without emotion as they stood over the woman's remains. 'See how she has fallen? Somebody put an axe through the back of her head.'
Melcorka looked down on the crumpled body. She had been about thirty, with a thin, lined face. Her mouth was open in a permanent silent scream. They moved on cautiously.
'Who would have done that?' She asked.
Baetan did not answer. His face was white.
The second body was a few paces further on, with the third just beyond that. Then came an entire family, man, woman and three children, killed as they ran.
'Come on Melcorka,' Baetan did not stop for any more of the bodies that were increasingly abundant as they neared the town. There was no sign of battle or even resistance, only of slaughter and massacre. All the dead were unarmed civilians.
'Careful now,' Baetan sounded tense. They stood at the thin paling that acted as a defensive barrier and looked up the single main street with its numerous alleys that plunged at right angles down both sides of the ridge.
The houses were either destroyed or still smoking from a recent fire, with bodies thick on the streets. Even here, so close to the royal fortress, the vast majority were civilians, with the odd warrior, Alban or Norse as sweetening.
'The Norse have taken the town.' There was no emotion in Baetan's voice. 'The Norse have captured Dun Edin.'
Melcorka pointed to the two Norse bodies she could see. 'At least some of them paid the price.'
'Not enough,' Baetan said, 'not near enough. They must have caught us by surprise.' He shook his head. 'I only hope the dun has held out. Come on, Melcorka.' He slipped through one of the gaps that had been torn in the paling, 'keep close and for the love of God keep your hand on the hilt of your sword.'
They moved cautiously, dodging from house to house as they advanced up the long ridge that comprised the town of Dun Edin. Each building revealed fresh horrors with dead and mutilated bodies, women, men and children, and even dogs and cats stuck to the floors with their own congealed blood.
'The Norse know no pity,' Baetan said softly. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his face.
Melcorka nodded, unable to speak. The scenes were the same as the village they had discovered in the north, except multiplied a hundredfold or more.
The royal dun overlooked the town, its stone walls seemingly impenetrable, its tall tower glowering over the Lodainn plain and far beyond, its walls thrusting upward from the sheer face of the cliff in every spot save one, where a drawbridge crossed a deep defending ditch.
'It would be a hard job to capture that,' Baetan ran an experienced eye over the dun.
'The king will be inside, waiting his chance to launch a counter-attack,' Melcorka said hopefully.
'Maybe,' Baetan said, 'but the royal standard is not flying. The blue boar of Alba should fly wherever the king resides.'
'Shall we go further?'
Baetan nodded. 'Very careful now. These Norse would not be mere raiders but trained warriors.' Melcorka had never known him sound so nervous.
They moved again, with Melcorka following Baetan's movements, keeping in the shadow of the buildings as they made their way up to the head of the steep ridge. She winced as they passed a church, where two monks had been crucified against the solid wooden door. One was still alive and moaned as they passed.
'We must help him,' Melcorka said as the man twisted against his bonds and turned agonised eyes to them.
'I will,' Baetan said. You had better look away.' He thrust his sword through the monk's chest. 'If we cut him down,' he explained, 'he would linger in pain for many hours and then slowly die.'
Melcorka did not answer. She could not look at the dead man. She felt sick.
The ridge steepened as they neared the dun.
'Look,' Baetan pointed, 'the drawbridge is down.' The sound of his sword clattering against the stone wall of a house seemed to resound like the clash of cymbals. Melcorka unsheathed Defender. The thrill of power surged up her arms. She closed her eyes in relief as new courage chased away her fear.
'Come on Baetan!' Melcorka leaned Defender across her shoulder. 'I'll lead.'
Baetan placed a hand on her arm. 'Stay behind me,' she had never seen him looking so nervous before, 'the Norse could be inside.'
Their footsteps echoed on the wooden planks of the drawbridge, changing to a sharper clicking when they hit the living rock on the other side. The gatehouse rose above them, stark stone and home to three men of the guard. All were dead, sprawled on the stone floor.
'How did the Norse manage that?' Baetan asked. He looked around him. 'What in God's sweet name happened here? How did they manage to get past the guard?'
Melcorka shook her head. 'I do not know,' she said, 'let's hunt for Norsemen.'
'I am more concerned that they may be hunting for us,' Baetan said. 'Keep close and for God's sake don't do anything until I say so!'
The dun followed the contours of the rock, rising to a central basaltic mound on which stood the royal hall. There was a surrounding wall twelve feet high, with an internal defensive step and battlements, and the inside was scattered with buildings, some stone, others timber. Flies rose in ugly clouds, buzzing around a dozen bodies, feasting on blood and torn flesh. A dog slinked past, red-jawed and guilty. They let it go.
'No Northmen.' Melcorka felt the disappointment.
'No anybody,' Baetan said. 'Or nobody alive; only the dead. Look in the buildings.'
They checked the buildings one by one, seeing a warrior dead here, a
woman there, a few oldsters with their heads crushed, 'axe wounds,' Baetan said. 'They were killed because they are of no value.'
'Value for what?'
'Slaves,' Baetan said. 'That's why there are so few dead here; the Norse have taken them as slaves.' He nodded to the royal hall. 'We have only there to visit; come on Melcorka.'
The door was open, swinging loose in the ever-present breeze. Baetan stepped in first, with Melcorka two paces behind.
The interior was all that Melcorka had been promised, with a raised dais on which stood the carved throne of the king and three long tables that ran the full length of the hall. The interior had been decorated with green branches and flowers, now faded and dying, while the remains of food scattered over the tables and floor suggested that there had been a feast prepared.
'That is what happened,' Baetan guessed. 'This was a feast. I wager that the king prepared a feast to welcome a party of Northmen in peace and friendship. The Norse were at the table with the court and turned on them.'
Melcorka shuddered: 'would they do that?'
'Treachery is second nature to the Norsemen,' Baetan stirred a discarded apple with his foot. 'There is only one way to tell that a Norseman is not lying.'
'What is that?' Melcorka asked.
'He is not talking,' Baetan did not smile at his own joke. 'You have no experience of them at all Melcorka, but remember always that they value deceit to an enemy as highly as they value courage. The more they smile and make promises, the more they are planning to kill.'
Melcorka looked around the hall with its scattered tables and the remnants of festivities, the trampled food and broken hopes. There was one corpse under the table, a child who could not have been more than eighteen months old. 'I will remember.'
'Best get back to Bearnas,' Baetan said. 'I hope she knows what to do next.'
Bearnas listened to their account. 'They sacked Dun Edin but left the plain of Lodainn untouched, so far. They captured the king and his court and landed an army in the north.' She sighed. 'This was a well-planned operation. Capture the king and all the leading nobles while the main army ravages its way south.'
'But why leave the Plain of Lodainn untouched?'
'It is one of the most fertile and docile parts of Alba,' Bearnas said. 'Why despoil an area that you will soon own?'
'That is what I thought,' Granny Rowan said. 'This is not a raid or a war. This is conquest. The Norse wish to take over Alba.'
'I think they have,' Baetan said. 'With the king dead or a slave, and his court and high officials all gone, there is nobody left to organise resistance.'
'Except us,' Melcorka said.
Bearnas and Baetan glanced at her as Granny Rowan looked away to hide her smile.
'You are very young,' Baetan said. 'It would be better to leave Alba now, head for Erin or even the lands of the Saxons, barbarians though they are.'
'You are very easily defeated,' Melcorka said, tartly.
'Bearnas.' White bearded Lachlan raised his hand, 'we have company.' He pointed to the west.
'How many?' Bearnas asked without haste.
'I would say two hundred Norse on horseback and a thousand on foot, marching this way.'
Bearnas stood up. 'It is time we left,' she said.
'We can fight them!' Melcorka touched the hilt of Defender, 'we can't keep running.'
'We can't fight them all,' Bearnas said. 'There are fifteen of us and only Baetan is a warrior in his prime.' She stilled Melcorka's protests with a frown. 'Don't argue with me, girl! Now, I know a dun where we can decide what best to do.'
Baetan looked his puzzlement.
'Castle Gloom,' Bearnas said. 'The boldest Norseman in creation could not find that stronghold, and if he did, he would never take it from the Constable.'
'The name is not welcoming,' Melcorka said.
'Nor is Lodainn, it seems,' Bearnas told her.
'The Norse are coming fast,' Lachlan warned.
'Follow me,' Bearnas said quietly, stood up and began a fast jog trot north, toward the coast of the Scotsea, the inlet of the sea known as the Firth of Forth. The others followed, with Baetan taking up his customary position as rearguard, a dozen paces behind Melcorka.
'Keep a steady pace,' Bearnas said over her shoulder, 'and don't stop.'
The ground sloped steeply to the north, dotted with copses of trees and isolated settlements so far untouched by the Norse. Men and women watched them pass, stoic, uncaring, intent only on their own small part in the world, the straightness of a plough furrow, the weight of an ear of grain, the yield of milk from a cow. Unless the outside affected them, they ignored it in the hope that it passed them by.
Beyond the plain of Lodainn, the Firth of Forth stretched blue and bright from the wastes of the Flanders Moss to the chill Eastern Sea. The most fertile area in all of Alba, it was a patchwork of fields and woodland, home to nests of neat housing and snug thatch-roofed churches.
'It is hard to imagine war coming here,' Melcorka said. 'This Lodainn is so different from the cliffs and hills of our island.' Yet even as she spoke she felt the vibration of thousands of marching feet and heard the blare of martial music.
'Is that the Norse?' She nudged Baetan, 'is that another Norse army?'
He looked at her in obvious confusion.
'Listen,' Melcorka raised her voice. 'Listen everybody! There is another army here.'
Bearnas raised her hand and the column stopped.
The vibration increased and the sound strengthened.
'That is a second army,' Bearnas confirmed. 'And it is coming from the west.' She pointed to a bare knoll that raised a couple of hundred feet above the plain. 'Melcorka, run up there and see what is happening; quickly girl!'
Melcorka sped up the slippery grass to the summit of the knoll. She looked south first, where the Norse Army had altered direction. Rather than following the Cenel Bearnas, they were moving toward the west and had been reinforced by hundreds more infantry. They marched purposefully with the cavalry in the van and flanks and every third footman carrying a bow. The other footmen sported spears, axes or long swords. At the head rode a small group of men under the banner of a black raven with drooping wings. She tried to count them, batching them in tens and then in hundreds, stopping only when she reached thirty.
'Thirty times a hundred; that makes three thousand infantry; as well as the cavalry.' Melcorka shook her head. 'I had no idea there were that many people in the world.' She shook her head and turned to face west, where the second army was approaching.
There were many more, hundreds after hundreds of men marching in groups and clumps, each under a different banner, colourful, brave and defiant. At the head, surrounded by an entourage of dancers and musicians, rode a group of three men under the undifferentiated banner of a blue boar against a yellow background. The middle man was tall with a slight beard, while his companions were older, broader and carried large axes.
'That is Urien, uncle to the king,' Baetan joined Melcorka on the knoll. 'And this,' he swept a hand around the huge mass of men, 'must be the royal army of Alba.' He smiled for the first time that day. 'Now the Northmen will see that Alba is not only soft courtiers, women, defenceless villagers and town-dwellers!'
The army seethed across the fertile fields in its myriad groups, singing and chanting defiance as the men brandished a variety of arms.
'There are plenty of them,' Melcorka said.
'There are,' Baetan agreed.
'Will they fight?' Melcorka asked.
'They will fight for the blue boar of Alba,' Baetan said, 'and they will die for the blue boar of Alba.'
'We will not join in when battle is joined,' Bearnas decided when she saw both armies. 'Our small numbers will not matter in armies of thousands.'
'I want to fight!' Melcorka touched the hilt of Defender.
'There may be other opportunities,' Bearnas said quietly.
'But this battle may end the war,' Melcorka protested.
'Pray t
o God that it does, Melcorka, although I can't see that happening,' Bearnas removed Melcorka's hand from her sword. 'Watch and learn, little one.'
'I am no longer little,' Melcorka's protest was cut short when Granny Rowan chuckled and placed two fingers over her lips.
'You will be less little after today,' she said.
The Norse sent a force fifty strong cantering ahead of the main body toward the advancing Alban army while the remainder continued their steady, remorseless march.
The Albans cheered at sight of the Norse cavalry, waved their weapons and raising a great yell of defiance. They spread over the plain, each group behind its own banner, most with long spears or weapons that Melcorka guessed had been fashioned from agricultural implements; or long swords that looked dull and rusty from disuse. Melcorka's eye was drawn to one tall raven haired man who rode a white horse in the midst of a hundred or so mounted men. Dressed in a quilted green jacket and carrying a short lance and a sword that might have seen service in the days of his grandfather, the dark haired man rode with a confidence that was obvious even from a distance. And then Melcorka's gaze shifted to the front of the army, where small numbers of men stood in front with drawn swords or brandished axes.
'They are the champions,' Baetan explained, 'the best fighting men of the clans. They will lead by example and expect to die and be remembered by the glory of their deeds.'
Melcorka nodded; when she touched Defender she understood the way of the hero. It was a good way to be remembered.
The Cenel Bearnas watched as the Norse advance party scouted around the Alban army, keeping just out of range of the hail of slingshots and thrown spears that thrummed into the ground around them. They rode quickly with short lances bouncing at their saddle-bows and long swords loose in their scabbards, taunted the Albans with their presence and withdrew, remaining a watchful shadow a hundred paces from the Alban army.
More and more Albans emerged as the sun entered the last quarter of its life and began the slow descent to the west.
'I had no idea there were so many people in the world,' Melcorka said.
'A large army,' Granny Rowan spoke quietly, 'is hard to command.'
The Swordswoman Page 7
