'Pull aside,' Aharn ordered quietly, 'Prince Loarn is coming.' He led his horse off the road, with the others of the escort following immediately.
'Come along, Melcorka,' Fergus took hold of her reins. 'The elder son takes priority on the king's highway.'
There were six in the royal party, four servants, a prince and a princess, both with eagles sitting on their wrists. The prince rode in front with his dark hair ruffling to his neck and his fine linen leine tucked into trousers of subdued tartan. He glanced at the horsemen, lifted a hand in acknowledgement to Aharn, allowed his gaze to linger on Melcorka, averted his head and rode on. His female companion looked at Melcorka with what could have been supercilious amusement as she swept past in her brilliant blue riding cloak. The servants did not spare them a glance.
'Truly the servants of a royal are more princely than any prince,' Bradan said quietly.
'That was the king's older son and only daughter,' Fergus explained. 'They often go hawking or riding with dogs.'
'I have never heard that people can hawk with golden eagles before,' Melcorka said.
'They are royals,' Fergus glanced at Aharn and lowered his voice. 'They can do what they wish.'
'I notice they carried no weapons. Not even the servants carried a sword,' Bradan said.
'Why should they?' Fergus looked puzzled. 'They are in their own kingdom. Why should they carry a weapon?'
'The Norse have invaded Alba,' Melcorka started, but stopped as Aharn reined up and pointed to a massive fortification that lay ahead. 'Ride to attention, boys,' he shouted, 'the king may be watching!”'
'That is Am Broch.' There was pride in Fergus voice. 'Now you will see the king.'
All the time that they had been travelling north, the land had fallen gradually toward a low coastline backed by the brilliant blue of the sea. Now they had reached a coast of headlands and broad sweeping beaches. As Melcorka examined her surroundings, she saw in the distance, beyond the sea, the high mountains of the far north and beyond that the faint smear of the coast of Cet, the most northerly territory of Alba, now presumably firmly under Norse control. Between them, and dominating the coast, was the royal dun.
Am Broch was nothing like Melcorka had expected. It was larger than Castle Gloom, perhaps larger than Dun Edin, although it was not easy to calculate the size behind Am Broch's triple bank of earthworks. The entrance was decorated with embossed bulls, with a frieze of bulls above a gateway that penetrated through the outer earthwork, then turned sharp right to the second and then right to a third gateway through the final earthwork that lay before the stone walls of the dun itself.
'Am Broch,' Aharn's pride echoed that of Fergus. 'Have you seen anything like it before?'
'I have not,' Melcorka said. 'It is the strongest fortress I have ever seen.'
Aharn nodded his satisfaction. 'You will wish to wash after your journey, and then I will take you to the king.'
The interior of Am Broch was mainly of stone, with boar friezes above arched stone doorways and stone chambers for royalty and nobility.
'Stone does not catch fire,' Aharn explained proudly. 'Now come with me. This may seem strange to you, Melcorka, as a visitor here, but it is our tradition so please honour it.'
'I will not dishonour Fidach or the ways of Fidach,' Melcorka did not admit that she was astonished by the orderliness of everything she had seen.
Aharn led them into a small room, where a black cauldron bubbled over a warm fire in one corner and stone basins occupied two others. Wooden benches stood on a stone-flagged floor strewn with rushes, while a middle aged man and woman sat, talking quietly, on chairs of carved oak. Tapestries of woven wool lined the walls, embellished with the same strange designs Melcorka had seen on the boundary stone.
'These good people are travellers from Alba,' Aharn said. 'Come to see the king. Take care of them.'
The man and woman rose at once. 'You will need washed and brushed before you meet the king.' They spoke in unison, with the man, clean shaven and faintly scented, approaching Bradan and the woman, smiling, plump and matronly, Melcorka.
'What is this?' Melcorka asked.
'This is the guest's wash house,' the woman said. 'I am Marivonik and this is my husband, Egan. We are the washers.' She glanced at Defender. 'I will not wash your sword, but everything else will be cleaned. Egan!' She said sharply, 'close the door. The king's guests need their privacy!'
The door was of light oak with the inside carved with the likeness of a bull. Egan shut it and drew a beam across.
'There: that's better,' Marivonik's smile grew stronger. 'Now, off with all your clothes now! Off with them: quickly!' she clapped her hands.
Melcorka felt herself colour. She suddenly realised that although she had travelled alone with Bradan for weeks, they had never seen each other unclothed. When she glanced at him, he winked.
'I won't look,' he said softly, 'and these two have seen everything before, a hundred times or more.'
Melcorka took a deep breath. 'Don't touch my sword,' she warned, as Marivonik helped undress her.
'Of course not, silly,' Marivonik said. 'Now, you be a good girl and do as you are told. We will soon have you clean and shining bright for the King.'
Melcorka placed Defender against the nearest wall, ensuring it was within easy reach. Marivonik's fingers were busy, sliding her out of her leine and manoeuvring it down past her hips to her ankles, talking all the while. Bradan was already undressed and for a moment her eyes lingered on his long, lean body, from his fine shoulders to his strong back and the swell and bulge of his buttocks. She looked away, suddenly ashamed she had intruded. And then she looked again, just as he turned to face her. For a moment their eyes locked, and then Melcorka saw his gaze slide down her body much as she had done a minute earlier. He looked up again, met her gaze once more, and they both turned away.
Melcorka was aware of Marivonik guiding her to one of the wash-basins. She hardly heard the splash of hot water from the cauldron or felt the firm touch of Marivonik's hands as she scoured her with handfuls of fresh sea-sand. Instead the words of an old song were echoing around her head.
I'll not climb the brae and I'll not walk the moor, my voice is gone, and I'll sing no song. I'll not sleep an hour from Monday to Sunday while the Black-haired Lad comes to my mind.
Melcorka closed her eyes in confusion. Did she still hanker for that devious, treacherous, double-dealing Border rider?
She glanced again at Bradan, catching him at an awkward and less-than-glamorous angle as Egan worked busily on his lower half, and could not help herself from smiling at the sight.
'You can ogle your young man later,' Marivonik scolded, also smiling, 'at present please keep still so I can ensure you are fit to see the king!' She began work on Melcorka's legs. 'If your mother could see the state of you I don't know what she would say!'
'Nor do I,' Melcorka agreed. She tried to control her thoughts and emotions as Marivonik continued her ablutions.
It was an hour before Marivonik and Egan considered their appearance was suitable for royal eyes and they were permitted to leave the bathing room. Melcorka was tingling and scrubbed raw, but felt as clean as she had ever felt in her life or, she suspected, would ever feel again, at least until next visit to Fidach. As they were being washed, unseen hands had whisked away their clothes, which were returned cleaned and pressed, with the stains removed, the rips and tears darned and smelling of rose petals rather than sweat and the dust of the road.
'That was … interesting,' Melcorka could hardly face Bradan.
He looked at her and looked away. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I should not have looked at you.'
'I saw you as well,' Melcorka said. She fought for the right words, acutely aware that the world saw her as a bold warrior and yet here she was tongue-tied in the presence of a man with a staff. 'I am sorry too.' Yet that was a lie. She was not at all sorry that she had seen him as she had.
'All right then, all washed and clean?' Aharn bust
led up, adjusting his already immaculate leine. 'Follow me then.'
A flight of stone steps wound around a central pillar as it led to a great chamber lined with tapestries. Melcorka expected a throne on a raised dais; instead there were a number of beautifully carved oaken chairs and long trestle tables.
'The king will be here shortly,' Aharn glanced at Defender. 'He may not take kindly to you carrying a sword.'
Melcorka looked at Bradan. She wanted to ask if she could trust the Picts, but knew that would only be an insult to Aharn, a man who had shown them nothing but respect and consideration. Ceridwen had told her to trust her instincts, and now was the opportunity to do just that.
'Aharn,' she said. 'Would you take care of my sword when we are in the presence of the king? I would not wish to cause insult to him.'
Aharn gave a little bow. 'I will do that,' he said solemnly. 'Your sword is safe with me.'
It felt strange to unbuckle her belt and hand Defender to a man who she had only met less than a day before. It felt stranger to stand there, alone except for Bradan, in the hall of the king of Fidach, amidst the ferocious Picts about who she had heard so many rumours and very few facts.
The round –headed door in the far wall opened suddenly and two men marched in, both tall and fully armed with square-pointed spear, square shield and with a long sword at their belt. As they took up positions on either side of the door two more men entered, each dressed in tunics of subdued tartan and carrying a short, silver-mounted ram's horn. They moved with dignified speed to the head of the long table and blasted out a chorus of sounds that were more noisy than tuneful but which they, at least, seemed pleased with.
'Very musical,' Bradan said quietly.
'The king loves his music,' Aharn said. Melcorka did not detect any sarcasm in his voice.
Two more men appeared. They wore the same multi coloured tunics as the musicians, with the addition of an apron over their chests, emblazoned with a black bull. They joined the musicians.
'Queen Athdara will now appear!' the two men announced.
She walked in alone, a woman of about forty, with a proud bearing and dark hair lightly tinted with silver. Sitting gracefully on one of the armed chairs, she winked at Aharn, gave a surprisingly friendly smile to Melcorka and Bradan and looked backward to the doorway.
'King Drest will now appear!' the heralds announced in unison. 'All stand for the king!' they began a chant in which the musicians, the guards and Aharn joined.
'The king! The king! The king!'
The guards stood rigidly to attention with their short spears at their sides and their eyes fixed on some neutral point in the far wall as heavy footsteps crunched outside. The man who entered was taller than anybody in the room, with a mane of silver hair and a neatly trimmed beard of the same colour. Melcorka guessed he was about fifty, despite having the broad shoulders, deep chest and trim waist of a man of twenty-five.
He selected the chair beside his queen and sat down with a sigh. He smiled to her openly, reached over and touched her hand. 'Here we are again,' he said.
'Now behave yourself, Drest,' Athdara said.
The king sighed. 'So what do we have today?'
Melcorka glanced at Bradan. She had not expected the King of Fidach to be so normal. He looked and acted like any man in his own house, which he was, of course.
The two heralds responded in unison, shouting out the words as though to an audience of thousands. 'Today we have two visitors to Fidach! We have Melcorka of Alba and Bradan the Wanderer.'
'Ah,' Drest tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair until Athdara put her hand on his.
'Don't do that, Drest.' She smiled to Aharn again. 'Did you escort our guests in, Aharn?'
He bowed before replying. 'I did your grace.'
'I see Bradan has taken to carrying a sword,' Athdara nodded to Defender, still in Aharn's hand.
'No, your grace. The sword belongs to Melcorka. She thought it would be impolite to carry a sword in the presence of the king and yourself.'
Athdara fixed Melcorka with a steady gaze. 'Was that your idea, Melcorka, or did Aharn advise it?'
'Aharn advised it, your grace,' Melcorka said.
The queen nodded. 'So you pay heed to good advice? That is an unusual trait in one so young. Would that my older son was so sensible.'
'I am sure that your son is a fine young man,' Melcorka tried to be diplomatic.
'Are you, now?' The queen raised her eyebrows. 'I wish I had your certainty.' She nodded toward Defender. 'Can you use that thing or is it merely to keep men at arms' length?'
'I can use it,' Melcorka said.
Drest grunted. 'Words can come easy to the tongue Melcorka of Alba. Be careful lest you have to prove your words.'
Melcorka nodded. 'I am careful with my words, your grace.'
Athdara's smile was small and secretive. 'You are known to us, Bradan the Wanderer. Is this woman your travelling companion or something else?'
Melcorka wondered at the pause before Bradan replied. 'She is my travelling companion, your grace, and she is something else. She is her own woman in all things.'
Drest shook his head. 'Are all women not their own in all things?'
Aharn gave a short laugh. 'That is only the truth, your grace!'
'Are you of family?' Athdara addressed Melcorka.
'I am Melcorka Nic Bearnas of the Cenel Bearnas,' Melcorka replied, wondering at the question.
'You are of family,' the queen sounded satisfied. 'That is good.'
'Why have you come to us?' Although Drest's voice was mild there was no mistaking the shrewdness of his eyes. 'You did not come over the mountains and cross the desolation of the moorland merely to gaze upon my beauty, great thought that may be.' He smiled at his own joke.
'No indeed, your grace,' Melcorka agreed, 'although your beauty is famed throughout Alba,' she ignored Athdara's hoot of laughter. 'We come on far more serious matters.'
'Pull up a seat and tell us,' the queen clapped her hands and two servants appeared at her side. 'Wine and food for our guests.'
Soft-footed servants brought an abundance of both on elaborately carved wooden trays that they placed on the benches and withdrew without a sound.
'Eat and drink,' Athdara showed how by selecting a handful of hazel nuts from a wooden bowl.
Drest sipped quietly at a horn of mead. 'Putting the fact of my beauty aside for the moment,' he said, 'tell me of these more serious matters.'
He listened as Melcorka related all that she had seen in Alba, with the Norse fleet landing in the north and the Norse destruction of Dun Edin and subsequent defeat of the Alban army on the Plain of Lodainn. She tried not to be emotional as she spoke of the loss of the Cenel Bearnas on the waters of the Forth and the gathering at Castle Gloom. She did not mention the People of Peace or Douglas.
'You have had some adventures,' Drest said.
'I am sorry to hear of the loss of your mother,' the queen extended a hand to pat Melcorka's shoulder. 'Losing a parent is a terrible thing.'
Melcorka nodded. 'Thank you.'
'Your tale was interesting,' Drest said. 'I was aware of the Norse presence in Alba and our naval patrols informed me of their fleets. I am surprised that Dun Edin fell so easily and that the Alban army was so easily destroyed. It is a strong fortress and the Albans can be doughty fighters when they are well led.'
'We think it was treachery,' Melcorka said. 'We suspect that a band of Norse nobles were in conference with the king of Alba and turned on them in the king's own hall.'
'So the Northmen were already within the defences,' Drest glanced at his queen. 'That is a clever tactic.'
'I am here for two purposes,' Melcorka said, 'firstly to warn you that the Norse may try the same thing here; and secondly to ask your aid to regain Alba.' She faced him boldly, eye to eye.
'Thank you for the warning,' Drest said. 'However I see no reason why I should aid the king of Alba to regain his kingdom.'
'There is a v
ery good reason,' Bradan spoke unexpectedly. 'Once the Norse conquer Alba they will be looking to your kingdom next. You are smaller than Alba, and will be surrounded by the Norse on three sides, and on the fourth by the sea, which the Norse control.'
'We have fought off the Norse before,' Drest said, 'and the Albans. I do not see them as a threat.'
'Nor did Alba,' Bradan said dryly. 'After all, the king of the Norse is related to the King of Alba. This attack came suddenly.'
Athdara frowned. 'You say that the King of Alba was captured or killed in Dun Edin and his only relative was killed at the Battle of Lodainn Plain. Is that correct?'
'That is correct,' Melcorka agreed.
'So who sent you here? Who is organising the resistance?' Athdara leaned forward. 'Which great lord leads Alba now?'
Melcorka took a deep breath. Now she needed to have faith in herself. This was where she needed the guidance of Bearnas, or anybody else. 'I do not believe there are any great lords left. I saw their banners on the Plain of Lodainn, led by the Blue Boar, and all died before the Raven Banner of the Norse.'
'All?' Drest looked shocked. 'All are dead?'
Melcorka nodded. 'I believe so.'
'Who is organising this fight back, then?' The Queen asked.
Melcorka looked at Bradan and shrugged. 'We are. There is nobody else.'
'And who will lead the armies that gather? Who will be king, or queen, of Alba if you manage to defeat the Norse?' Athdara gripped the arms of her chair so tightly that her knuckles were white.
About to explain about Maelona, Melcorka paused. It was not yet time to reveal all that she knew; best to let things unfold a bit yet and keep that piece of information to herself.
'I am not sure,' she said. 'I know we will work something out.'
The queen glanced at her sword, 'I am sure you will,' she said. 'A daughter of a noble house who carries such a sword will be able to work out what is best.'
The Swordswoman Page 17
