Celtic Blood

by James John Loftus

  Along the ledge William noticed a small opening in the cliff wall. He cautiously edged towards it, spread-eagled, gripping the cliff. Gaining entry, it was cave as he had imagined, but much larger than expected. Water dripping down from the moss covered surroundings. The rain swept in upon him as he crouched lower creeping further into the hollow. The gap opened up larger and led downward, he realized. The place would bear investigation in daylight.

  Protected from the weather he sat and watched the now fierce descent of moisture from above. The wind often changed course. Howling gusts punctuated by lightning, illuminating William’s face as he stared into the night sky. William, wondering if he would see his friends and family again? Furthermore, if he attempted the climb and didn’t make it, his body might never be found. The cave could have an exit. He would look for it in the morning.

  Thinking back to the battle, he remembered Kenneth’s last words. “I curse those who’ve betrayed me. Alas my poor house.”

  William brows knitted together as he remembered Kenneth’s attacker. The man had said, “Feel my blades length.”

  The attacker then plunged his dagger in, killing Kenneth. William shed a tear for his master and his friend.

  “Rest in peace Good Lord Kenneth,” he said, as much to himself as the ghosts of the night air.

  MARY’S SHUTTERS SWUNG open, and rain and hail rode in on the wind. Down below, the courtyard was a sea of mud. Hailstones then steady rain. It was an hour when none stirred. She dreamt of Kenneth and what was happening with him - not easy speed. A white face piercing the dark. She gasped! Mary went to look outside, hands shaking.

  The weathers course took the wetness aslant and away. Earlier fears, she felt were groundless. As is often the case, when untouched by a storm it is then you decide that the world is a better place. It rained heavier, wetting Mary. She closed the shutters. Her last thought before sleep was that Kenneth should be far by now, or dead.

  A fly, in a web, above her bed attempting to free itself became more entangled. A spider meanwhile crept closer but was slowing. The cold from the wind sapped its energy and it stopped, was dead, and so was the fly. Mary dreamt of Kenneth, of his face on the mountainside. He was tilted up to the wet and his eyes were open and staring and dead. His look said he realised what a fool he was to have trusted the men he had and perhaps he was.

  Rain fell on the roof, heavier, then lighter, dripping, gone. Although it was an hour when few stirred, Seward was awake. Normally he slept soundly. But this night, whilst staring at the ceiling he felt a craving for an activity, and not just any activity, an overwhelming urge to ride to a particular location, the bridge in the mountains. Dressing and went to Malcolm who surprisingly agreed to go with him.

  Together they rode out. Beyond the gates into the unknown. Their horses hooves pounding driving them on. Engulfed by forest, the moon casting its glow sending the forest branches like claws down to grab them. Leaving the forest they started climbing. Before long, they detected an eerie presence which seemed to be following them. Seward and Malcolm exchanged glances and looked back. The horses were skittish and shying, like there was something here that the men could not see. Seward shouted to be heard over the sound of galloping.

  “Malcolm do you feel like we are being followed?”

  “Yes, I can feel it and I don’t like it.”

  Further into the mountains this presence became stronger and stronger until it felt like they could reach out and touch it, so powerful, the air seemed to crackle with unnatural energy. Ahead was the bridge between cliffs where Kenneth met his misfortune. Swirls of mist twisted and turned to form fantastic shapes. Moon glow filtered through. The wind blew a gap in the shroud revealing parts of the landscape, Seward pointed, his face deathly white, “Over there!”

  Figures were strewn across the field, the remains of Kenneth and his men. Their imagination spilt forth, giving life to the dead, and Seward and Malcolm heard screaming men, horses galloping in terror and the clash of arms. They rode closer as wispy condensation created the perception of movement. The moving mist seemed filled with horsemen. A sense of panic grew on both Seward and Malcolm. They turned their horses and rode off believing themselves pursued by the souls of the slain. Seward and Malcolm re-entered the gates just before dawn. They were sworn to secrecy. A party was sent to ascertain the truth of the matter. As luck would have it, Mary still slept. If, Kenneth was alive would remain a matter of uncertainty for hours.

  IN THE GREY light of early dawn William slid between a rocky crevice and into the cave proper. The cave a short way on led to an opening, a large roomy vault with connecting chambers, burdening him with a decision.

  Sounds of water came from one. As he pressed on into it, the light faded. Then, closer to the underground stream visibility increased again. Somewhere above was an opening admitting light. Reaching the stream, he drank long and delightedly. Such a splendid place! William wondered whether it was known? If these caves were known to men surely the wonder of them would be spoken of widely. The clan would certainly be aware of them.

  A narrow beam of sunlight granting Wiliam a view encompassing more of the chamber. Head up, he turned to the opening in the overhanging rock. Deciding he could be lowered down through it. Blurred shapes, caught the light and his eye. Approaching them, he saw they were large leather chests. A closer inspection revealing they contained vast amounts of gold coins. “What wonder. What amazing good fortune,” he said to himself, dumbfounded.

  Clansmen like William seldom saw such wealth. Wealth was alien to the highlanders, as foxes to hounds, bar the nobility, the exception. William savoured the coins, digging deep enjoying the caress of the coins as they trickled through his fingers. He had no way of knowing that the likeness stamped on the coins represented the Roman Emperor Caligula. Once long ago, a Governor of one of Caligula’s northern provinces who fell into Caligula’s disfavour was ordered to Rome. The call to Rome was dreaded by any who received it. Even Caligula’s friends were in danger and the Governor was no friend of the Emperor. He decided to sail away from Roman boundaries and on taking his vast hoard of wealth with him. His plan did not go unnoticed. Barely did he escape harbour. Although his vessel was quick one pursuer had him in sight long after all the others disappeared over the horizon.

  As the winds freshened the distance separating the two crafts gradually narrowed. The ex-governor decided to land. Pulling into shore the chests were off-loaded and taken inland. Someone stumbled into the cave, where the gold was laid. The governor’s men melted further into the hills to avoid pursuit. All of them were caught by tribesmen and killed.

  The indigenents judged them as invaders. Romans venturing into foreign lands were seen as such. William staring at the coins, had no way of knowing this, he concentrated on the task at hand, how to get off this mountain. He decided against exploring further, for away from the light he might become lost. Determined to take some of the gold along with him, he undressed thereafter tied as many coins as would fit into a bundle made from his clothing. William retraced his steps to the entrance. He thought of shouting out so that a member of his clan might hear. It was tempting, but would expose knowledge of his cave should the enemy still be close. An unworthy risk.

  Nothing for it, but to climb. Up until lately he had faith his escape was a sign from God that he would survive, now he was not so sure. Before he commenced, he dropped the bundle of coins away down over the side. Watching the slow steady descent this height was alarming. The bundle landed heavily on a bank next to the stream. It had taken so very long to land. For a moment he stared down at the waters of the mountain stream that crested boulders and surged downwards.

  “Straight up or ahead,” he cautioned himself, “Don’t look down.” Bile rose to his throat at the magnitude of how far up he was.

  Dark clouds gripped the mountain, he prayed they wouldn’t open. Time for action, he thought, for nothing would get done by thought alone. He took his belt off. Tying his dirk to his belt, throwing it
forward, when it held, he dragged himself higher. Not accustomed to using his muscles in this way, he discovered he was tiring quickly.

  Higher now, and the weather remained thankfully calm. Clumps of growth provided footholds as he scrambled from one to the other, aware that down an expanse of grass and rock, and to his back, nothing, only open sky. It was as if he was climbing a stairway to heaven. A single slip meant an end. Indeed this climb could lead to heaven if such an favoured outcome was destined. A step away from heaven, here, so far up. Such a beautiful moment to be embraced by death. Contemplating a longing to release his fingers, which came and went. The death, of close comrades, the terror, he had seen befall them all, had that dispelled natural calm? A tremor went all the way up his arm, for he had nearly let go. Perhaps a flaw in his make-up made him think of letting go. All sorts of dangerous thoughts had to be contended with, to live, he realised.

  After ascending for some time William believed he felt the peak’s life-force. The mountain accepted him. Favoured in that one sense a deep pleasant feeling came. A complete reversal to his previous mindset. Earlier, believing that this terrain was painful and dominating. Now the mountains were Gods commanding the air, Lords of all they surveyed, dominating the landscape full of power. The elation, uplifted his spirit, invigorated him, as again, he concentrated on where to put his feet.

  When they were firmly placed, he moved. A mild tempered swallow tarried near him causing him to protest the injustice that wings were affixed to it. “Swallow lend me thy wings,” he said. But the swallow had urgent business and had trifled long enough. It wondered why the man was there. This was no place for a man. Even the swallow knew that.

  Continuing on, ever more carefully yet still making steady progress, until suddenly he realised that he had blundered, missing a ledge with his foot, having moved when not sufficiently on. Spraying out his feet on the slippery surface, he felt for a ripple to hold onto, only one foot secure, the other clawing at a smoothly vertical wall. Slightly along, a hole the size of a bucket. Pushing off from his one secure foothold he gained purchase in the bucket sized hole and safety.

  A sudden intense fear greater than anything he had ever felt. Seeing himself falling, imagining, himself torn to pieces on the rocks below. He didn’t think of how different these thoughts were to what had gone before. Once, he’d felt communion with this towering feature and felt embraced by it, now he thought of falling to his death and how horrific it would be. He managed to decrease his panic, by closing his eyes and slowing his breathing, numbing his mind to the immensity of his predicament.

  WHEN WILLIAM EDGED his legs to another foothold, thereafter, he moved his hands higher, and then when a grip above held his weight, again, moved his foot position higher, repeating the process, thereby, ascending. A short time later, he stopped, forced to, what stopped him was a geological design, an inconsistency where a tongue of rock protruded from the cliff face. Surveying further to his left a reasonably shallow incline consisting of odd stones having fallen from higher to form a shallower slope. These stones were the link to higher parts, a deep chasm between him and there, but he could jump over, and did.

  Continuing past the bridge of stones, to a narrow shelf threading up. Finding purchase in clefts between rocks, grabbing a bush above. Larger boughs, reaching up grabbing the branches and climbing still more. Above these large branches he cut himself a sharp stake, using it to push himself and for balance. Almost at the summit, the mountain confounded him, as high as he could go, for the last part of the mountainside protruded at an impossible angle.

  William sat pondering his options. Climbing down may prove much more dangerous than ascending. Consoled by the thought that this position offered good shelter he decided to wait for someone to come, then call for help. The sun came out. Laying back enjoying the sun on his body when a small bird alighted on a tree opposite him. It stilled. He wished the bird would not fly away. But it did. Cheeps and tweeks filled the air, and William’s eyes followed the feathered movements, as they hopped onto the branches of a large tree on the opposite bank.

  He longed for that other bank. Though steep, the opposite side was much more gradual in its gradient but between him and there, the ground descended in a shadowy waste. If he could cross the chasm, he could scale the rest of the mountainside easily, but the bird had wings and he did not. The bird hopped and fluttered from branch to branch in the bough of that nearby tree whose limbs reached out tauntingly close to William. If birds could fly why couldn’t he? Well, he would find out if the birds alone could rule the sky.

  Running as fast as he could, until … at the cliff’s edge jumping with arms and legs flailing, attempting to gain distance. Falling down, wondering if the branches on the other side would hold him. They gave, and held. He kicked his way through the smaller boughs. One last limb gave way and he fell onto ground which he had never felt happier to touch. William solving his problem in an instant and in doing so conquered his fears and pleased at that. Legs trembling, he sank down on his haunches, but an experienced fighting man he did not feel concerned, he just waited for the trembling to subside, and when it did, kept going. The jump had offered some exhilarating moments, he even wished there was some valid reason for doing it again. This was foolish, he realised, and that like everything else once the trauma was over only the good was remembered. He had experienced similar thoughts after a battle won.

  Walking to the bridge he saw dead horses with equipment scattered about and the spoiling flesh of his comrades, each one of whom was headless. He stayed distant not wishing to stray near them, their entrails made him feel their moment of torment. Walking a little further he saw a line of horsemen approaching him. They were members of his clan. While waiting for them he grabbed a patch of clothing and covered his lower parts.

  They warily approached him and did not initially recognise him. Upon reaching him, William learned that the clan was in uproar. They had heard of the battle these men had been sent to look for survivors. Seward Gunn and Malcolm the Black had ridden upon the site in the early hours of the morning.

  William thought this was strange. It was surprising on two counts, firstly, that there were no other survivors and that anyone should ride here so soon. No explanation was forthcoming. William who was hurriedly given a horse was told that the clan needed him. A gathering was to be held to decide on a future course of action. William could provide useful information regarding the identity of the murderers.

  “And what of Morgund?” he asked.

  “He is now in danger and cannot stay in Ross for someone who had Kenneth’s trust has betrayed him. Any time now Morgund may receive a dagger.”

  MARY’S WOE

  MARY SAT BEFORE her mirror a blankly expressionless face staring back at her. Though a multitude of thoughts captivated her she was unable to seize and identify a single one. Crowded thoughts that didn’t sit right on her, of her son, of Kenneth. He was good man in so many ways and foolish. He should never have gone. The thought of Kenneth’s tragic death caused lines of worry. A worm was inside her head eating the apple that was her brain. The terrible premonition she felt before Kenneth had departed was simply a woman’s fancy she told herself. Or indeed something may have happened. She could not decide. The terrible sense of impending doom at, and before Kenneth’s departure was too real. Her brow and cheeks white contrasting with her eye sockets, grey. She felt worse when she looked upon her son Morgund who was slight and not martial. His father despaired of him becoming a man worthy in warrior skills and had seen him as perhaps a priest in the making. To be a MacAedh was to be in danger. No priest could he be.

  He was far too young to fend for himself with Kenneth gone. Kenneth’s death had been in her dreams. She knew he was dead yet she didn’t know how, but she knew, or thought she did, for one moment of decision was reversed the next. She wished she had an answer for what to do, or knew whom to trust for a sour atmosphere of distrust was shadowing her. To be a woman was to be in a prison for she was limite
d in how well she could protect her son, men didn’t give weight to her decisions nor did she have the strength to fight the enemies that surrounded them. They used cold steel something she could not.

  A man with a sinister eye looked at her, a truer servant she thought did not exist until now. Waving him away, she couldn’t fathom if it was him or whether inside her head was the true source of her discontent. She felt unwell, but real enemies existed, as she only too well, knew.

  Eionghall entered. “Don’t be afraid ma’am I am sure Kenneth’s journey will be a safe one.”

  Mary glared at Eionghall as if she were mad, her words of comfort were insincere. The woman’s eyes were as wide as puddings. Eionghall had never seen Mary like this. It was deeply disturbing. Mary stared at her with distrust. Eionghall looked into the eyes of a stranger.

  “Madam lay yourself down. I will wipe your brow with a warmed cloth.”

  Mary took a step away. Mary’s view of everything was black. She felt a treacherous deed had been done. It quickened her heart, logic fled.

  “I see something …”

  “What is it you see Mary?”

  “A field. Upon it dead men, and there too is Kenneth.”

  Eionghall, forgetting the correct term of address, gasped, “Mary God no.” Eionghall dropped the basin spilling the water.

  The look she saw on Mary’s face stilled Eionghall’s breath. The air was evil. She wanted to run, expected to hear footsteps of approaching assassins. Death was near. It danced alone but looked for a partner. Someone was dead, or soon would be. Not herself, she prayed, nor her kind mistress, nor Kenneth, nor Morgund.

  Why did men indulge in blood letting. The act availed nothing, save that it wrought sadness and the undoing of a mothers work. Women bore children and that was where their relevance ended. It would be a different world if they ruled it, a woman could not be so cruel. Hardihood not compassion was the precondition for success. Feminine skill, was not valued.