by Jack Whyte
Shelagh bent her head and began to shift from knee to knee, gathering her skirts from beneath them in both hands, then raising them, slowly and deliberately, to her waist and bringing her hands behind her, stretching the stuff of her skirts tightly across her belly. Liam's were not the only eyes that followed her movements—even the aiming bowmen looked away from their targets in slit-eyed lechery. I watched Donuil, saw him brace himself and grind his jaw at the outrage being perpetrated upon his wife. Surprisingly, however, it was Derek who broke first and bounded to his feet. "Animal!" he roared.
Liam's eyes flickered to the dais and he jerked one hand in a signal to the ready bowman poised on his right, who released his shaft immediately. As the arrow sliced towards Derek's breast, I braced my wrist and thrust the heavy black iron skillet against the king's chest, aware only of the thought that I was grateful not to be defending against a Pendragon longbow. The brutal, clanging concussion of the hard-shot missile against the iron pot ripped the handle from my hand and sent the vessel clattering to the floor. Derek was knocked sprawling backwards, over his chair and off the dais, but alive.
Liam's eyes went wide. He threw out his arms in a crazed shout of laughter just as Shelagh's knife, thrown with blurring speed as her arm whipped up from behind her waist then down again, took him full in the neck. He shuddered spastically, arms and legs jerking like a man in a convulsion, and his chin snapped down against the hilt that suddenly protruded from his throat. The sword fell from his hand and Shelagh dove to snatch it up, stabbing upward with it at the man closest to Liam, a bowman who had not had time to notch another shaft and was now staring in uncomprehending horror at his stricken chief. The man went down, clutching uselessly at the blade that pierced him, but Liam himself refused to die. Stiff- legged, and gurgling loudly through a froth of bloody bubbles, he teetered on his heels, eyes bulging, tongue protruding from his open mouth, his arms waving, fighting for balance as he fought for life. He swung himself around, turning like an automaton to face the crowd behind him, arms spread-eagled and his shoulders swaying almost comically in his struggle to remain erect. And then he fell, face down. His men stood appalled, gaping, stunned and incredulous at the speed with which their chief had been destroyed. Not so us.
Donuil, Connor, Feargus and Logan had all known what was to come when Shelagh walked forward, and they had exploded into violent action before the shock she caused had even registered. Connor whirled to sink his table dagger into the breast of the guard who had abused him- Donuil surged forward to grasp the edge of the heavy dais table and heave it forward and down to the floor, clearing the way for him to leap forward, his fingers spread like talons for the throat of the nearest of Liam's bowmen. I snatched the iron skillet up again from where it lay behind me and swung it to crush the skull of the other dais guard, with whom Blundyl was already grappling.
Logan, Feargus, Dedalus, Rufio and Sean had thrown themselves against the enemy, too, and as they moved, others stirred to life and moved with them, angry and vengeful now, brandishing the knives with which they had earlier fed themselves. Liam's men, their superiority supreme mere moments earlier, now found themselves assailed and overwhelmed from every side, hampered by lack of space, their bows and swords instantly useless. Chaos was the only word to describe the scene, but it was over in a matter of moments, so that when the guards outside threw open the doors to enter, they were hauled in, engulfed and slaughtered as quickly as their fellows, slain by their own weapons.
Derek was sitting up already, breathing hard and rubbing at his chest. Donuil meanwhile was involved with Shelagh, his arms about her, hugging her as if he would crush her to death, and she bent backwards over his encircling arm. It was Connor who reached the main doors first and closed them, calling for order at the top of his voice. By the time I turned around, he was standing on a table, overlooking everyone. Silence fell quickly. He wasted no time making his dispositions. Six of his people were sent running to make sure no more of Liam's kerns remained beyond the door. They were warned to be careful and to allow no one to escape to raise the alarm, but equally to be quiet and attract no attention to themselves. Then, speaking quickly, and telling off his points on the fingers of one hand, Connor outlined our situation to the rest of us.
The short-term chances favoured us, he said, if we moved quickly and quietly to take advantage of this development. He pointed out that we were probably alone within the fort, save for a few of Liam's other men, like those who held the children and the weapons rooms in the next building. Everyone else in Liam's force was likely to be outside the walls, in the outer town, doing their part to cover up their master's treachery inside, and by Liam's own admission, he reminded us, those men were still unarmed. They were now leaderless, as well, and would remain so until such time as Liam's death had been clearly established. We could and must use that time to our advantage.
The dead men's weapons were collected and distributed among the Mac Athol warriors and the fighting men of Derek's folk, and Connor detailed twenty men, under Donuil and Shelagh, whose sons were being held, to seek the children and take them to safety aboard his galley and to seize Liam's two galleys at the same time. As those chosen left the hall, twenty more, commanded by Tearlach, were selected to make their way quietly and in stealth to secure the room that held our own weapons. These, too, Connor sent out at once, bidding them be quiet and cautious, and emphasizing the importance of alerting the rest of us—the unarmed mass of us—as soon as the way was clear for us to come and collect our weapons.
When these parties had gone, Connor spoke urgently to those of us who remained. Clearly and precisely, drawing upon his knowledge of the outer town from previous visits, he made incisive dispositions of our remaining forces, delegating authority to men whose local knowledge matched his own. Those of us from Camulod, being strangers here, would follow their leadership. As soon as we could reach the weapons store, he told us, each of us must arm himself with at least three swords, one for each hand and another to be sheathed by his side. We would then spread out, in four large groups led by Connor himself, Derek, Blundyl and Owen. We would move throughout the recognized quadrants of the outer town, passing out weapons to our own as we encountered them. Tearlach and his score of guards, soon to be reinforced to fifty, would remain in place in the administrative building, guarding against any new attempt by Liam's men to seize the place and facilitating the distribution of weaponry to our own people.
Connor had barely finished outlining his strategy when a runner arrived from Tearlach with the word that his men had won their skirmish and now held the armoury. They had found fourteen of Liam's men in place there and had lost seven of their own in recapturing the building. Liam's people had fought hard. Moments later, word arrived from Shelagh that the children were safe and had been rescued unharmed.
I attached myself to Derek's group and spent the next period of hours embroiled in the grim struggle to recapture Derek's autonomy in his own town. It was bitter, dirty work, but having seized the initiative, we pursued it grimly, and by the end of the first hour there was no question of our victory. The Sons of Condran showed themselves doughty fighters, despite their awareness that their plot had failed and that their admiral prince had gone down in death at the outset. They fought with die suicidal madness of desperation, refusing to surrender and often grappling barehanded in total darkness with the baleful, outraged men who swung their swords mercilessly, seeking vengeance for treachery.
, Late in the proceedings, we found ourselves on the outskirts of the town, close to the tavern where I had first seen the man in the yellow tunic. Someone had overturned a lamp at some stage of the fighting and the burning oil had set the entire tavern ablaze, so that its hectic glare lit up the night. As we approached, a knot of running men broke from the space between two buildings and came pouring towards us, seeing us only when they were almost upon us, and then veering to attack us immediately. They were five against our four, although others of our group were close behind. O
ne of them came for me directly, his teeth bared in a scream, swinging a heavy-headed axe. Checking my instinctual urge to jump aside, I stood still and waited for him to swing his weapon. Still running, he chopped at me two-handed, aiming to cleave me from left shoulder to breastbone. I avoided his stroke by leaping forward to my left, beneath his axe. Then I thrust my sword point beneath his exposed shoulder, bracing my left knee to check my momentum and throwing my weight backwards, leaning deep into my thrust. The weight of his falling body dragged me around with him, and as I struggled to free my sword, pushing him off the Wade with my foot, I saw Derek rolling on the ground beneath another of the men, clutching the fellow's wrist in both hands as he fought to keep the point of a long, sharp knife away from his throat. I reached them in one long stride and swung my foot, kicking the knife- wielder beneath the chin and knocking him backwards. I finished him with a hacking, overhead slash. And then we were alone in the street, Derek and I, both of us panting for breath as we looked around us.
I heard a commotion in the shadows of a neighbouring passageway and started to head towards it, but I stopped to make sure that Derek, who had regained his feet, was unhurt. He was more winded than I was and bent over, gasping for breath, but he waved me away, indicating that he was well enough. I ran towards the noises and heard him begin to follow me, but we were to fight no more that night. Silence had fallen by the time we reached the end of the passageway, and we found some of our. companions collecting themselves and congratulating each other.
We returned immediately to the burning tavern. Derek was fearful that the flames might spread to other buildings, but there were no other buildings close enough, and as we stood there looking at the flames and counting the bodies visible in the firelight, a heavy rain began to fall. We regrouped and set out to search elsewhere, but the rain, at first refreshing, soon became a curse. We were relieved to find that the fighting was over and order was being restored everywhere. Ours had, apparently, been the last skirmish, and no Sons of Condran remained in Ravenglass.
Next we organized work parties to help with our wounded and to begin collecting corpses, transporting them, in what had become torrential rain, to a designated area close to the bathhouse. While we were doing that, Rufio brought word from Lucanus that he had established a temporary infirmary in the central court of the administrative building, the largest single space he could find that was uninhabited. Derek immediately passed the word to tell our walking wounded to make their way there for assistance, and he sent runners to the other three quadrant commanders, to pass on the information and instruct each of them to appoint litter- bearers to carry their more gravely wounded to the new field hospital. There were no walking wounded among Liam's people. Those few who had survived the conflict were all gravely injured and close to death.
At length, satisfied that everything that might be done was being done, the king and I went looking for Connor. We found him where I had expected to find him: outside the western wall on the wharf, in conference again with his captains, Tearlach, Feargus and Logan. He dismissed them as he saw us approach, resettled his sodden cape about his shoulders and sniffed loudly in disgust at the weather.
"Is there any place in this town that is dry?" he asked as we arrived.
"Aye, there is, and we were just about to go there," Derek answered. "My house. The place should have been cleaned up by this time, but even if it hasn't, there are some rooms where carnage was shut out. Come with us, we have much to talk about."
A short time later, pleased to see that the space beneath the thatch had been cleared of bodies, and the blood cleaned up and covered with fresh straw, Derek led us into a pleasant room in his own living quarters, where a fire burned brightly in an open grate. Once we had shed our soaked outer clothing and settled by the fire, clutching mugs of mead, he wasted no time in coming to the point.
"You will not be leaving in the morning now, I hope?"
Connor, seated in the middle, looked at me and winked surreptitiously before he turned to face the king. "Why not? There's nothing to stop us now, is there?"
Derek had the grace to flush with discomfort. "No, I suppose not ... " Neither Connor nor I made a sound. "But ... I hope you'll stay."
"For at least two days more, you mean, until Liam's fleet arrives?"
"Aye. They are your enemies as much as mine."
"True, but self-serving, Derek." Connor's nod was judicious. "They have been my enemies for years and I know how to deal with them on my own terms. They have only been your enemies, openly, for hours. It's fortunate for you and yours that we were here at all, today, and you'll admit you've given us little encouragement to remain ere this. Besides that, they are a fleet—thirty of them at least, where I have but three galleys. If I leave with the tide tomorrow as you originally suggested, I'll be well clear of the threat of them by the time they arrive."
"Five, if you'll stay."
"What?"
"Five galleys. Liam's two are now mine, by forfeit. I'll give them to you if you'll stay to help us."
Connor nodded again. "That is appealing, I will admit, although in truth it was my men who took them. But still ... five galleys, manned by the crews of only three, against thirty ... " He grimaced and shook his head.
Derek stood up and began to pace. "Look you, it's not your galleys I need, it's your men, up on my walls, to stand them off."
"I don't follow you." Connor was frowning. "You want me to place my men on your walls, and leave my galleys floating empty in the harbour to be burned?"
'They won't be burned!"
"How so?" Connor's tone became scornful. "They are made of wood, dry and well seasoned. Have you never seen what burning, pitch-wrapped arrows, shot from afar, can do to a floating hulk? No, Derek, that's too much to ask. I'll not desert my ships. Mine is a naval force, it functions well only at sea."
"We'll hide them! We have all day tomorrow to conceal them, and I know a perfect place, an inlet, completely hidden from the sea and sheltered from the winds, with a shelving beach and a high tide. Your galleys will lie safe there for as long as must be and none will know they're there."
"Hmm ... " Connor thought for a long moment, considering that, then sucked a tiny breath between his teeth. It was a gesture he shared with his father, Athol, one that both men used when they were thinking deeply. "How close is this place? Can I go there tomorrow, to see it for myself? I take no man's word at face value where my galleys are concerned."
"Aye, you can go and look. It is close by. Less than two miles along the coast to the south, but cunningly disguised and invisible from offshore. I know, for I have tried to see it for myself, and I would never have found it had I not known where to look."
Connor was still unsure. "That's as may be, Derek, but I mislike the thought of simply going off and leaving my craft lying there untended. It takes long years to build a galley, but only moments to burn one." He stopped, evidently having come to a decision. "If I agree, how would my men get back from there to here?"
"We'll ferry them, in our fishing boats."
Connor turned to me. "Merlyn, what do you think?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "One thought came to me immediately. Suppose we drive these Ersemen off, convinced they cannot take this place from the sea. What might they do then? Sail straight for home? The probability is that they would, knowing their leader Liam to be dead. But would they know that?" Both men were staring at me, their faces blank. 'Think of it! Liam is dead. You know that and .so does everyone here. But you are discussing the removal of Liam's galleys, the only sign his fleet will have that he is here. By removing them, you are also removing the proof of his presence, and of his failure. The men in his fleet, believing him—as he himself believed—to be immortal, will merely guess, when they arrive to find his galleys absent, that he has changed his plans for some reason and postponed his attack. They're bound to have at least one able captain among them, someone clever enough to see that, since his plans involve treachery, the postponement of
them must entail continued amity between themselves and Ravenglass. They'll have no reason to approach us at all, and every reason not to. So they will sail off again to look for him elsewhere, believing him to be close by, and they'll search the coastline to the north and south carefully, seeking a hiding place such as you describe. They'll find your galleys."
"Aye, they will." Connor was gazing at me narrow- eyed. "You have a subtle way of thinking, Yellow Head. I'm glad you're not my enemy. I can't argue with your logic, so that means Liam's galleys must stay here and take their chances of being destroyed or recaptured. They are the bait to draw the animals in close. Hmm ... " He scratched his chin. "I'm glad I asked, but that wasn't the reason for my asking what you think. You have your own responsibilities, and my sworn duty to my father commits me to your needs before all else. That is why we're here, when all is said and done." He raised his hand now from his chin to scratch his temple gently with a middle fingertip, winking at me again from behind its shelter. "I think this whole affair of Liam's fleet too dangerous and certainly not your concern. What say you?"
"Wait!" Both of us turned to Derek, who was red-faced and looking ill at ease. "Before you respond, Merlyn, hear what I have to say."
I looked back at Connor, raising my eyebrow, and then nodded, gesturing to Derek to continue. He cleared his throat, his thoughts evidently racing with each other as he sought the words to sway me.
"I was at pains to explain my reasons for refusing your request today, and I believed you understood them, at the time."
"I did."
"Aye, well they have all changed, thanks to this treachery of Condranson." I waited. He flexed his shoulders, glancing again at Connor. "You spoke of duty to your father and its binding you to Merlyn, here. I was unaware of that. How is Athol Mac Iain beholden to Camulod?"
Connor looked blank, and I answered for him. "He is not. He has ... an interest in the welfare of the boy who is in my care."