But sons of Aedh, and the sons of Aedh’s sons, died with harness on their back, with more sons who struggled on, each generation upon another, dying as they did die, until only one of that name survived, Morgund MacAedh. This explained Alexander’s distaste for him, as it explained Alexander’s fear of Morgund and the danger Morgund was in.
One day a man rode beside Morgund and Seward, pulling out a flute he played a tune full of sadness and beauty, after he finished, a mouth full of black teeth greeted them.
“Who are you?” Morgund asked him.
Receiving no reply, Morgund turned away. Sometime later he heard.
“My name is John of Loch Lomand.”
“Why did you not speak earlier, strange one?” Morgund asked.
“I didn’t see the need to. Pardon me if I alarmed you, but as you say, I am strange.”
Seward looked disinterested. “Well strange man, we will say good day to you.” Seward and Morgund rode off, having had enough of strange men, Duibne had cured them of any need to know such. Seward wanted nothing to do with him. But behind them, they heard, “Seward, I will see you again.” It was unnerving, when the voice came low and dark. Both Morgund and Seward moved off, startled. How did he know my name? Seward wondered.
Despite themselves the man intrigued them and they sought to learn more of him, for when he had spoken as they moved off they felt his power. With the coming of night they met a man who professed some knowledge, his name was Terloch.
“What do you know,” from Seward.
“Much.”
“Tell us?” from Morgund.
Both young men overlapped each other. “What is it?” They both said.
“He is a follower of the ancient God Wicca who some say is Satan’s disciple. There are others like minded, even amongst this army,” the man said.
“Who are they?” Seward asked.
“Never mind.” The fire threw an unsettling light onto the his face as he spoke.
“Strange this is, it frightens me, leave it be,” Morgund said.
“Yes, it is strange.” Seward agreed. Thanking the man, they departed.
“I want to speak with him again and I will Morgund. I must have it from him if anything is useful to me.”
“What use could it be?” Morgund queried, wonderingly.
“Because I believe him only to be strange, but interesting, as well.”
“Do not make light of this Seward.”
“I still want to speak with him and I will,” Seward said. He appeared to speak to himself, saying. “This of Satan is often spoken of, by those who have something.”
“What something do you speak of Seward?”
“Power.”
“What power?”
“The second sight. Morgund, I believe I am so gifted.” The story unfolded of the journey to the bridge which had made him aware of his ability. “I must learn how to develop this, and maybe risk some dangers to do so.”
Later that night when Morgund was asleep, Seward slipped away. “I was wanting to speak with you.” Seward said when he approached the soldier he had spoken to earlier, the one so knowledgeable of John of Loch Lomond.
“I thought you would.” Although the hour was late the man was up long after most others were at rest.
“Why did you not sleep,” Seward asked.
“I slept earlier. Thereafter I got up, for I had a feeling you would be back. What would you have done if I had been asleep?” Terloch asked.
“I don’t know. Somehow I knew you’d be up.”
“Feelings, they have mystery.” Terloch smiled at Seward and passed him a hot brew. After speaking for a while about the journey Seward bespoke that which was on his mind. “You are not a Christian?”
“No, I am not.”
“How can you turn away from Christian teachings?”
“I do not. Some of those teachings that improve man, I cherish.”
“How can you justify this? Do you serve two masters?”
“Not so. The church of Rome is about power and personal gain, at odds with us. It is not about knowledge of God.”
“What is your opinion of the Celtic Church.”
“It is more holy, yes, but it is a different way than ours.”
“Explain.”
“Ours is not only a religion. It is a philosophy not about him who suffered on the cross, but about the study of the occult. Learning truths that existed before men became Christians. Knowledge of systems that dwell deep in the heart.” He was emphasising how important this was to him by his expanded irises, drawing Seward deep into them, capturing his full attention.
“What is it that you describe?”
“That which is hidden from the rest.”
“You would be in danger from the Church if this got out. You would be burnt.”
“Yes, but you will keep this secret, that I know.”
And Seward acknowledged with a movement of his head.
“Some men who have this gift, join the priests who use it to fool common folk, using the claim that visions of the future are sent from heaven, or worse still, they have to neglect it to the detriment of themselves. A greater circle you could enhance Seward, men like me who believe in Wicca.
“But why do I have this ability?”
“I know not. Some are chosen, that is all.”
“What of Satan?”
“Before the fall was he not by the Lords side and his foremost and is not one scorned often lied about.”
Seward didn’t speak with John of Loch Lomond again until he met him once more, far away in time and place. Terloch who had given Seward this information had a last message for Seward. “That which you wear, will save you.”
“That which I wear?”
“Yes, that symbol that hangs from your neck.”
“How do you know? You cannot see it.” Lines appeared between Seward’s eyes.
“As I’ve said John is not the only disciple of Wicca in this army. One day you will join us.”
“No, that I will not do, how do you know about the symbol?”
“We have been watching you.”
“Then I must discard it.”
“However, you will not.” And Seward did continue to wear the symbol of Wicca.
Morgund wanted to know where Seward had gone and Seward told him. He related some of the conversation he had with Terloch.
“My dull head does not grasp this,” Morgund’s face was bleak. “Have you become a Satanist?”
“No.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Nor do I,” Seward replied, “But I will have that which is hidden from me, I will find it out.”
Morgund could see nothing good in Seward’s preoccupation but knew any argument would be forcefully attacked and so was silent.
THE DAY AT Runnymead was long forgettable as far as Morgund was concerned, listening to tedious harangues whilst waiting for king John to appear and once he did, nothing but more of the same. During the course of proceedings John deemed it necessary to meet his fellow monarch. Immediately thereafter, John’s supporters were presented to Alexander, as in turn, the Scottish nobles were presented to King John. By a lucky chance some Scot commented on Morgund’s background to an Englishman who took to those words thoughtfully, which, in fact, would save Morgund’s life.
When the day broke up, departing leisurely homewards, a holiday atmosphere prevailed. Alexander planned to visit one of his English estates and requested that Morgund accompany him which delighted Morgund. Alexander’s residence was rustic, more of a hunting lodge than a stronghold. Morgund had a room to himself and appeared to be in held high favour as many great ones held no similar lodgings. Seward and William camped outside the castle walls, where strict military guidelines were adhered to.
Even though king John appeared a spent force, they were deep inside England and should be on guard, Athol was responsible. If nothing else, he was a fine soldier who did his best to look out for Morgund but it was getting eve
r more difficult. He didn’t trust Alexander nor many of his confederates.
Alexander said to his follower one day whilst out in the forest, near his estate, “The travelling lantern of the sky, shall be strangled by wet airborne tonight.”
“Aye, Sire”
Alexander suddenly looked at him as if to make him privy to some secret. “MacAedh, what do you make of him?”
The man hesitated.
“Do not be faint, speak to me of Morgund MacAedh.”
“Morgund seems likely to win your Lord’s reprieve for his family’s traitorous misbehaviour of years gone by, maybe he is different, he seems a stable fellow.”
Alexander was angered, “Blood will be upon his head that does appear so white. He will wear the garment of war against me when he decides.”
“Is your Grace aware of something that I am not?”
“I will not remonstrate further. Let us go.” Alexander didn’t want to make his inner thoughts known to the man.
However on the way to the castle, from his lips did escape, “A curse be on him.”
When his companion looked at Alexander, wonderingly, he said, “My dull brain has been wrought with things I wish forgotten - leave this unspoken.”
“Yes, Sire.”
A steady unpleasant downpour. Riding through the storm, not a drop, did Alexander feel so full of hate was he for Morgund MacAedh. Inside the castle, Alexander’s anger caused many nervous glances from those around him, he decided to mask it, returning to that aspect which made Morgund the most relaxed. He did not want Morgund to discover his design and perhaps take some preventative action.
Returning from a successful hunt the next day, the conversation turned to a favoured subject of the king’s, the management of plants. “Plants when watered by hand grow haphazardly, or they do not grow. They need to be nurtured by the rain, rain is a better water than that gathered from a well or river.”
No one interrupted or offered to interject on the king. When concerning himself with his pet subjects, gardening, the stars or nature Alexander did not need any responses, he merely shared his thoughts. He often did this, and they were good to listen to, for the king had an entertaining turn of phrase, and was knowledgeable in his favoured fields. He was an intelligent man. The conversation turned to Runnymead. Morgund was taken unawares when he was included in the conversation.
“What did you make of Runnymead, Morgund?”
“A dull exercise.”
“But nevertheless important.”
“Not to one such as myself, your Grace.”
“That, I’ll not deny.” Morgund’s statement appeared to amuse Alexander and he said, “Tonight, you shall sup with me Morgund, you entertain greatly.”
“Dine with you sire, as a favoured guest?” Morgund was honoured, excited at the prospect of winning favour.
“It is my royal command,” Alexander answered charmingly.
An event occurred which altered the course of events so that Morgund avoided eating with the king. Feigning illness he stated he did not wish to put the king at risk of catching whatever it was he had. A meal was brought to his room, which he did not touch. He had bumped into one of Buchan’s men, a drunken fellow. The man’s mottled face showed the effects of too much strong spirit.
Glistening eyes were cast out from dark brows that showed resentment. “So, you are to visit with the king, he loves you not highlander. You dine with him and you’ll lead a short life.” Then he had laughed. His laugh echoing down the passageway that was narrow and dark, lit by torches giving a faint touch of light.
“What do you mean?” Morgund had asked him.
Raucously taunting him, he replied, “You know what I mean,” and then he disappeared.
The following days which were taken up with hunting and ale drinking. Morgund noticed that Buchan and the king were exceedingly close. On more than one occasion both looked at him in a disturbing way, Buchan with a sardonic smile. Morgund no longer felt safe, even when choosing his own food and confining himself to his quarters. He contacted Seward and William and had them come to him. If ill was planned, he would have his friend’s assistance.
With at least two witnesses it might be enough to dissuade any action towards him here and now, and if so it would give him time to find out more about a plot, if there was one. The first night passed uneventfully, so if anything was to occur it would happen this very night, for in the morning they were leaving for Scotland. Should any assassination occur in England and Alexander would find a way to blame it on the English. And a better location to commit it might not occur.
Morgund woke badly from a nightmare. A sword was poised above his head and had commenced descending. He opened his eyes, heart pounding. By awakening he had avoided the sword strike, which if landed, was said to be unlucky. He saw Seward with his head up, eyes alert for he to had sensed danger. But William slept soundly, rhythmic snores escaping him.
“What hour is it?” Seward whispered to Morgund.
Morgund looked at a candle, marked at intervals along its length. As the candle burned down, the time was indicated.
“Just after one,” Morgund answered.
“Perhaps I am being foolish, but I feel we must prepare Morgund.”
Morgund eased himself up, slowly, he got out of bed, so as not to make a sound. A dog barked. Someone was up. Seward shook William awake. Thereafter, quickly they dressed and armed themselves. Waiting, with ears sensitive to the slightest sound. All quiet. Perhaps the dogs barking had made any assailants cautious. Allow an interval to elapse, then, when deep sleep returned, they would continue, assassins would act so. Seward realised what seemed to be occurring conformed to that design.
Seward whispered to Morgund, “Let us go outside, that will not be expected.” He pointed in case his whisper did not carry.
Morgund balked at moving, not wanting to make the danger real but it was, so he eased the door open so as not to make a sound and slipped outside. It was dark and deathly quiet.
Morgund spoke to William. “Stay here. We will go and prepare the horses and find some food to take with us in case things do go wrong. Keep watch to see if anyone comes. At least, I will find out, if they would harm me. We will be back. Stay in the dark of the corridor so they can’t see you.”
William watched the shadows as time stood still. His heart and breath sounding loud, drowning out all else. The sounds emanating within his own body slowed. Eventually calmer, his eyes drooped … then … the unmistakable sound of men moving quietly towards their room very slowly like cats stalking mice. Should he withdraw now whilst there was still time, no, he’d stay to identify them.
In the future, the opportunity might arise to make known their crime and bring to justice, these murdering swine. William could hear several men. Belatedly, he realised Morgund must be warned. Others might be stationed to prevent his escape, they would be on guard upon any disturbance, so he turned and stepped away cautiously. This body of men who stealthily crept were unarmoured for there was no sound of clinking mail.
Nearing the end of the passage, the sound of metal. Armed men blocked his exit. Seward and Morgund must have got by them before they had positioned themselves. He would have to fight his way through. Must act immediately, entering the room soon they would discover Morgund’s absence and then there would be uproar. Needing the element of surprise, he quickened his pace but at the same time attempted to move silently so that his presence would remain undetected. Three figures lounging complacently ahead.
They spoke quietly. That they spoke masked his approach and told him he was unexpected. The odds were not so great and he had surprise to aid him. When he was almost upon them a pale head turn towards him, a shocked look, as the man was impaled on William’s sword. Crashing over him, he swept right and left, both slashes met by the soft resistance of flesh, anguished cries emitted thereby. Aiming for the white unarmoured, flesh, doing ruinous work. They obviously were only semi-mailed. Shouting started behind him. He was unarm
oured so could outrun them. He ran shouting, “To arms, to arms, the castle is overrun!”
The call was taken up by others. Half dressed men ran into passageways. If the gate were closed he would melt into the crowd. The gate was open. Only a select few must be in on this, for the stables were unattended and Morgund and Seward were mounted. His horse was beside theirs. William mounted and they rode out the gates. Galloping forth towards a line of trees, where they stopped briefly.
“What happened?” asked Morgund.
“To the road south and fast, for they will follow.” Seward balked William, knowing what had occurred.
Morgund would not be deterred. “Did they come William?”
“Yes Morgund they did,” William replied.
“Away Morgund,” Seward said. “Later we’ll hear all.”
They bent low over horses, following the road, this was the best option in the dark. When the first light came they entered a large forest. Camping near water, food was passed between them.
“What shall we do now?” Morgund asked his two companions.
“There is nothing for us in Scotland,” Seward said looking at Morgund. “It’s far too dangerous for you to go back.”
“For me, it is too dangerous, yes, but for you two, Scotland is where you should go. It is your home.”
“Morgund, you know my place is with you,” Seward said.
“And William?” Morgund asked.
“So is mine own place with thee, Morgund,” Morgund replied.
Celtic Blood Page 9
