Freedom's Sword, a Historical Novel of Scotland

by JR Tomlin

  "They won't see us in here," Donnchadh said, "but they might hear us. It's noisy pushing our way through."

  "If we tried to stay in the brambles, it would take a long time, too." She listened. The horns, whatever they had meant, had stopped. "I think we have to take the risk."

  They neared the top of the next rise and crouched to listen, keeping a nervous eye out for searchers. The English could come very close before they saw them in the dark. The night was silent so they kept going, pushing their way through the dense thicket, arms and legs stinging with welts from the thorns.

  Caitrina stopped. A lighter area opened ahead in the moonlight--the road. She pointed, and Donnchadh motioned for them to lie down. Caitrina pointed again at a dense clump of gorse, thick enough to hide her. "Stay here," she whispered.

  He grabbed for her hand but she was already creeping forward. From flat on the ground, she could see very little, just the dark night and a ground in front of her. After a few damp, tiring yards of crawling, she glanced back to see how far she'd come. Donnchadh's eyes gleamed in the moonlight. She went on.

  She was sure she was near the road when she heard the beat of horses coming at a fast walk. She trembled, wanting to jump up and run. But if she did, of a certainty, they would see her. Don't move. Don't move. Donnchadh's eyes had shined in the dark, so she forced herself to stare at the layers of leaves on the ground. The horses came from her left. They were so close they almost seemed to ride right over her; the ground shook. Her whole body shuddered with terror, but they kept going. Once the pounding hoofbeats had passed, she dared a quick glance. They disappeared before she could count the dark shapes--at least ten or twelve of them. The hoofbeats died away. She took a deep breath and crept into the spicy-smelling clump of gorse. She parted the spiky leaves and even in the moonlight, the road was scarred with hoof marks. Why were they riding east? Away from Edirdovar Castle? It wasn't enough to attack Avoch, surely. Were they looking for her?

  She strained through to see along the road as far as she could without getting out in the open. Nothing. She jumped at a touch on her arm and gave a faint squeak.

  "They're ahead of us now," she whispered and her stomach rumbled loudly.

  Donnchadh gave her a weak grin. "Glad it didn't do that before."

  Together, they crept away from the road and made their way through the firs. She had gotten blisters on the bottoms of both of her feet so she took off her shoes. The dirt and damp needles made a soft cushion underfoot. She needed to piss, but didn't want to tell Donnchadh. She couldn't make water while he watched. Finally, though she couldn't hold it any more and her belly ached from it, so he turned his back while she squatted.

  The horizon was hidden by the fir trees, but slowly the sky turned from gray to blue. Caitrina stumbled over a root she hadn't seen and grabbed a trunk, the bark rough under her hand. "I don't think I can walk much more."

  "We'll look for a place when it gets light. No way we'll make it to Avoch today, I don't think."

  Caitrina nodded and kept her eyes on her feet trying not to stumble, putting one bare foot in front of another. Her stomach ached with emptiness. It had been a long time since the berries. Once she stumbled over a rock and landed hard on her knees.

  Donnchadh gave her a hand to boost her erect. "Not much longer. We'll rest during the day and go on when it gets dark." They found a tumbled cairn grown over with brambles. He made a tunnel into it and pulled the bushes close so they were hidden. Caitrina was sure she wouldn’t sleep but the last thing she remembered was cradling her head in her arms and then Donnchadh gave her shoulder a shake.

  The light was already waning in the clear spring sky and the world was turning gray. The brambles ended at the edge of a fir wood. Donnchadh grumbled that it would be hard to find their way under branches that hid the stars, but there wasn't a choice so they kept to the fragrant firs and climbed up a long brae. He led them down the other side and up the next gentle rise.

  Caitrina sniffed. "I smell wood smoke."

  Donnchadh pointed towards flickering light off to the right. Her stomach was so empty she felt sick and Donnchadh looked longingly towards the light.

  "Maybe it's a croft," he said. "I don't have no siller to buy anything. Do you?"

  "No." She worried at her lip with her teeth. "They could tell us how far to Avoch though and if they've seen riders. And maybe they'd spare an oat bannock if we ask."

  Donnchadh frowned and shook his head. "But what if the riders stopped there?"

  "I hadn't thought of that." She twisted her fingers together. "We better be careful."

  They kept going in the dimming light that turned into twilight. Where the trees thinned, they slipped from bush to bush. Every few steps they stopped to listen. The light ahead was bright when she heard a horse snort and a man's voice. The smoky smell got stronger.

  Donnchadh put his mouth against her ear. "You wait here."

  She wanted to protest against being left but was afraid to with the English so near, so she sat down next to some thick brambles as he crept on his belly. Her stomach ached with hunger, but it couldn't be that far to Avoch. The once she had been there, it hadn't been a long a ride by road. She clasped her arms around her bent knees, shivering a little in the cooling night air. They could get there without food, she was sure, even walking. Then Donnchadh was creeping toward her. He shook his head and his lips were pressed so tight they were pale.

  "What is it?"

  "The riders that passed--they're there." His voice was choked sounding. "They've--they've killed the crofter--his family. The bodies..." He heaved and bent as he coughed up a string of bile. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and she waited, heart pounding. "They're just lying there in the dirt. Like--like old rags or--" His voice broke, and he stopped, choking back a sob. She had a sudden vision of Edirdovar Castle--her sister and mother and all the people she knew...

  She pressed her hand to her mouth as Donnchadh sucked in gusty breaths through clinched teeth. He looked up, cheeks wet. "They didn't have a chance."

  "The people at the castle," said Caitrina. "What about our people? If they'd kill crofters and a knight, what will they do to everyone at the castle and the village?"

  She could feel Donnchadh shaking as he took both her hands. "Don't think about it. All we can do is get to Avoch and let them know. Can they get word to the king? To Lord de Moray and your father?"

  She pulled her hands loose and pressed them hands to her mouth, rocking back and forth, afraid if she let out a noise she would scream. Finally, she managed to suck the scream down to her belly. "If the English are here, then... then I think that means our army lost." She rocked again a few times. She took a shaky breath and then another. "Can we get past them?"

  "I think so. They--they were cooking. One of the cattle, I think. They're all around the fire. I think we can slip past in the dark, probably, and we'd better..." He broke off as hooves rattled on the road.

  "One horse," said Caitrina. "A messenger?"

  "Let me look." Donnchadh started to crawl away.

  "No!"

  "I'll be careful. We'd better know what they're doing."

  Her heard was pounding but she couldn't argue with enemies so close. "All right. I'll stay here." She put a hand on his arm and squeezed it. "Don't get caught."

  "No." Donnchadh turned away, toward the road, and disappeared. She waited, clasping her knees hard against her chest. A shout came from the distance. Another shout. Caitrina's heart jumped like a shot deer.

  "Donnchadh..." she whispered, terrified for him. Holy Mary, keep him safe. If it had been a messenger, mayhaps they were shouting at each other.

  She listened. No more shouts. She pictured Donnchadh with a crossbow bolt in his chest. She shuddered and tried to force her thoughts elsewhere. To the road to Avoch. To what they would say when they reached there.

  Again, the hammer of hooves, louder this time--many of them, on the road, fading into the distance. Was the whole troop leaving?
She waited in a silence broken by a rustle of leaves in the brambles.

  She gave up watching where Donnchadh had gone, and stared at the ground. She jumped when she heard a footfall. He was coming towards her, hurrying, hunched over.

  A rush of relief made her dizzy as she rose. "I thought they'd..."

  "I know," he said. "When they yelled it scared me so bad I nearly pissed myself, but I could see what was happening. They're gone! They rode towards Edirdovar Castle. And they left a whole cow on the fire. The messenger I guess it was, that one horse, talked to them and one of them started shouting orders then they rode away. I think I can get some of the food that they left."

  At once, Caitrina's stomach grumbled and her mouth watered.

  "What about sentries?" she asked. "Surely..."

  "All the horses are gone. There is no one left. I made sure."

  She rubbed her forehead, lightheaded but not sure if it was hunger or weariness. "Let's go past the croft and find a place to rest. Then you or I can come back if it's clear. What do you think?"

  He nodded so they stole on through the trees past the croft. At the base of the slope, Caitrina spotted a big pine, its heavy branches drooping almost to the ground. "There."

  They dropped to the ground within the shelter of the thick cover. The earth was damp and cold but it was the best chair she'd ever known.

  Donnchadh made a sound in his throat. "Caitrina, I've seen the worst already. You don't need to, so I'll go." His face was composed and his blue eyes steady as she studied him. It wasn't fair to make him go back, but she didn't want to see the bodies if she didn't have to. After a minute, she nodded. "Be careful. Hurry. Please." A little sob caught in her throat. "Don't let them catch you."

  After a long look both ways, Donnchadh darted into the trees. He disappeared into the night. After a long wait, he came, darting from tree to tree with a bundle slung over one shoulder. He ducked under the low branches and sat down.

  She unrolled the bundle, a cloak wrapped around a number of things: a round loaf of oat bannock, half a small cheese, and strips of half-roasted beef.

  "I couldn't carry more, and I wanted to hurry. It must have been baking day. Oak bannocks were rolling all over floor." He gave her a guilty look. "I couldn't just--just leave the people there." His voice broke. "I couldn't. So I dragged them inside."

  "I'm glad you did. And I'm sorry I made you go alone."

  He reached for the bannock and broke it in two. "You didn't make me." He managed a shaky smile. "Let's see. We'll share some bread and one of those strips of meat." From his belt, he took out a knife he must have gotten at the croft and cut meat for her.

  Once her stomach was full, she felt much stronger. She rubbed her face. It would feel good to sleep, so good, but... "I think we should keep going, Donnchadh."

  "You're right." He sighed. "We're mostly going downslope now. And the wind is starting to smell of the sea."

  "I wish we could take the road." She rubbed her aching calves and feet before she stood up. "But we should get as far as we can. And as far away from them."

  The ground was gently rolling, each low ridge less steep than the one before it, as the land subsided toward the firth. Light flowed over the hills. She had no idea how far they had come. She was thinking of nothing in particular except putting one foot in front of another when she realized that the firth was stretching turquoise in the distance, cots of a village dotting its rocky edge and masts of fishing boats thrusting into the sky. Past it, on a hill rose Avoch Castle.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Daybreak colored the sky rose and gold as the English rode to the gates of Avoch Castle; Caitrina watched from the dark shelter of the pinewoods. The chains of the portcullis squalled as the gate was raised. A wet wind off the firth blew into her face, but it didn't keep her stomach from heaving. She threw up into the soft brown needles that made a carpet on the ground. Hew mac Farquhar, his wrinkled face grim, grasped her arm and pulled her into the dark woods. She followed him a little way to the clearing where the others waited.

  He gave shoulder a pat. "We'd best start. It's a long day's walk to the cave, lass, but at the end of it, you will have shelter and a hot supper in your belly."

  Caitrina would have rather waited for Donnchadh to return on the fishing boat with news from Edirdovar Castle, but it was too much risk to have women and children in the village. It was indeed a long day's walk with the score of women and girls and as many children. A big woman with a knobby chin thrust a child into her arms, a dark-haired bairn who just sucked her thumb and wouldn't speak.

  "She's a lord's lass," Hew protested.

  The woman put her hands on her hips, glaring. "She'll still be one carrying the wean."

  "I don't mind," Caitrina said. "I like weans." Well, as long as they aren't crying, but she thought she might not mention that part. The woman had a big basket on each arm and so did the other women who weren't carrying their little ones so it seemed fair enough. Pug-nosed Eoin, Hew's son, had a heavy pack on his back.

  "After dark, when Donnchadh returns they will bring fish as well," Hew said as pushed his way through thorny brush.

  As gloaming settled, they forded a brook and came to the mouth of a cave all surrounded by tumbled, moss-covered gray rocks. "Here we are," he said. The gray-haired village elder and Eoin pulled away a fallen tree to let the little troop through. The wash of the waves far below and the cry of plovers made a soothing concert.

  The entrance was low and even Caitrina had to duck to get in but inside the roof was a rocky vault. A firepit had been dug in the middle of the earthen floor. The ceiling was smoke blackened so it must have been used many times. The walls were rough stone.

  "Who lives here?" she asked.

  "No one," Hew replied. "It's an old place. A refuge when the foreigner comes killing, but not for a long time since King Alexander brought peace but who knew when we would need it again."

  We need it now. Her skin prickled and she shivered. But soon deadwood was piled in the firepit and flames leapt and crackled. Two of the wee lasses sat in a cranny playing with their rag dolls while one of the boys dug a hole near the entrance, but most of the children sat near their mothers, wide-eyed, too frightened to cry. It had been many and many a year since war had come to Moray, since the king had come to bring it into the kingdom of Scotland. The wean she had carried clung to her skirt, but after a while, her mother took her away and pulled out a breast to nurse her to sleep.

  The big woman got out her knife. Iain had brought an iron pot so soon it bubbled over the fire, filled with a cut up rabbit, carrots, neeps, and cabbage. One rabbit wouldn't do much more than flavor the vegetables but it sent up a meaty scent that made Caitrina's mouth water.

  When she helped to hand of bowls of the steaming stew, she realized that Eoin had disappeared. Perhaps he had started back for Avoch castleton but it seemed strange he would leave in the dark. Then she heard voices coming from the steep path down to the beach.

  The brambles rustled and crunched as someone made their way through. Two women's shapes appeared in the entrance, the fire casting a red light over them. Caitrina stood up. Her mother's arm was around Isobail. Her heart hammered as she started towards them. Her sister looked up. One side of her face was puffed and purpled. She pulled away from their mother and walked past, not even meeting Caitrina's eyes. When Caitrina touched her shoulder, Isobail flinched away.

  Their mother grabbed Caitrina's arm. "Cressingham they called him..." Her mother's voice was cold as winter. "He led them. Took his pick, priest that he is."

  "Holy Mary," Caitrina said. "Mother, did they..." She pressed her hand to her mouth and remembered what the mounted soldier had said about the women of the village. Isobail sat hunched against the wall of the cave, forehead pressed to her bent knees.

  Donnchadh came in with a big basket smelling of fish on his shoulder and put it down. "He left with a score of his men and rode hard for the south. Perhaps they're losing."

  "No," her
mother said. "They threw us out of the castle last trash on the midden, but I heard them say that the English king sent for him. To finish something they'd started."

  Caitrina's belly went cold. Anything the English had started could only be bad. Where was her father? The other men? Dear God, were they still alive?

  CHAPTER SIX

  The morning dawned with a muggy heaviness. Sweat gathered under the iron bracelets on Andrew's wrists, stinging in the open sores they'd rubbed. A length of chain no more than two feet in length ran between the irons on his ankles. His hair, dank and matted, hung in his eyes. At full daylight, with fifty other prisoners, he was herded towards the rutted dirt road by a handful of mounted men-at-arms. His hands got clammy and cold as he wondered where they were being taken through the shadowy pinewoods. He pictured the piles of bodies after the battle and someone dragging Brian by the feet leaving a crimson track in the dirt. His stomach turned and he gagged.

  This was the first time he and his father had been moved since they were taken prisoner. His father... the earls of Atholl and Buchan... and two hundred or so of their men... the ones who hadn't died in the fighting.

  Back bruised black and stiff from the blow he'd taken, stripped of his armor, clad in a penitent's rough brown sackcloth, Andrew awaited the will of the conquering English king. Until now, the only change had been when Sir William Douglas, taken prisoner after the slaughter of the city of Berwick-upon-Tweed, had been added to their number.

  A grassy hill opened before them and in the center stood Strachthro Church. Prodded by the pikes, he tramped toward the gray stone building, exchanging puzzled glances with the other men. Manacles rattling, he climbed the steps. His father stumbled over the chains on his ankles, and Andrew grabbed his arm.

  Inside, a man-at-arms used the butt of his pike to jostle Andrew against the cold stone of the wall. As his father was pushed back, he gave Andrew a dazed look. His father had not been clear-headed since the blow that had split open his scalp in the battle. Blackened blood matted his streaky blond hair. None of the prisoners made a sound as they were shoved against the walls.