The Swordswoman

by Malcolm Archibald

  'Only if you beg,' Baetan pointed to the flagstones in front of him. 'Go on your knees, girl, and beg me to hand back this sword.' He smiled to the ever-swelling crowd. 'Even then I may decide to keep it. This sword is too good for a woman!'

  Some of the younger men laughed out loud at that. Melcorka stretched up again as Baetan shook his head.

  'Kneel I said. Kneel in front of me.'

  Melcorka saw Bradan violently shake his head as she dropped to her knees. There was a ripple of laughter from the crowd, louder than before.

  'Now beg!' Baetan ordered.

  'Like this?' Melcorka raised her arms in a pose of supplication, hands pressed together. 'Or like this?' She suddenly lunged forward, thrusting the straight fingers of both hands hard into Baetan's groin. He gasped and bent double as Melcorka rose, took Defender from his slack grip and swung the flat of it hard against his shoulders.

  'That's how we deal with bullying boys,' Melcorka said, and swung again, landing a very satisfying thwack. 'Come on girls! Show him what we do with bullies!'

  As the men watched, some of the women in the audience joined in, kicking and slapping at the discomfited Baetan, who scurried toward the gateway at the centre of a knot of laughing women. As he reached the door he stopped, pushed one of the women to the ground and grabbed a sword from one of the guards.

  'I'll split you in half!' he roared and lifted his sword high to strike, until Bradan thrust the end of his staff in his throat, lifting his chin higher.

  'There will be no killing,' he did not raise his voice. 'You started the trouble, Melcorka finished it and that's it done with.'

  Anice pushed the women aside. 'You are no warrior,' she said to Baetan. 'You are not even a man.' She plucked the sword from his grasp and returned it to its rightful owner. 'Get out of this castle. Ladies!' her voice was high and clear, 'hold him and bring a stang!'

  'You can't!' Baetan backed away as a score of women grabbed hold of him and held tight. Others brought a fifteen-foot long tree trunk as thick as a man's calf and with the bark still in place. 'Prepare him and on with him!' Anice ordered.

  'No!' Baetan protested as the women stripped him naked and shoved him astride the stang, to bounce him painfully up and down as they paraded around the castle. Melcorka watched as the women and some men crowded around, hooting, jeering, striking at Baetan with sticks, throwing fruit and eggs at him, running alongside the stang to slap at his legs and body as he tried to balance and hold his more tender parts from contact with the rough bark.

  'He'll think twice before he bullies another woman,' Anice said. 'I usually use the stang for men who abuse their wives or wives who cheat on their husbands.'

  After a circuit of the castle, the women carried the stang right down to the river at the castle boundary and tossed Baetan into the Burn of Sorrow. His clothes and sword were thrown after him.

  'Don't come back,' Anice advised as Baetan, battered, bruised and cowed, limped away, still naked and carrying his clothes. A crowd of hooting women watched.

  'I am afraid you have lost your emissary to the Isles, Melcorka,' Anice said.

  Melcorka nodded. 'I don't think he will be any loss.'

  The women were laughing as they returned to the castle, recounting their own parts in the stanging of Baetan.

  'That was some blow you struck him,' one plump blonde said cheerfully. 'He won't be bedding any women for some time after that!'

  'No,' Melcorka agreed. She looked around the room. 'Has anybody seen the Black Douglas? He is not here.'

  Bradan lifted a hand. 'I know where he is.' He left his position against the wall. 'Do you wish to see him?'

  'Of course I do,' Melcorka followed Bradan across the courtyard to a small lean-to building against the far wall.

  'He is not alone,' Bradan warned when they were alone.

  'Oh,' Melcorka fought her immediate stab of disappointment. 'Is he with his Border riders?'

  'No,' Bradan put a hand on her arm. 'He is not with any man,' he said. 'Are you sure you wish to continue?'

  Melcorka felt the slide of dread. 'Yes, I am sure.' She followed Bradan to the lean-to. 'I will go in myself,' she said.

  'As you will,' Bradan stepped back.

  Melcorka pushed open the door. Douglas was face down on a pile of straw, with a red-haired woman moaning underneath him. Unaware he was being observed, Douglas spoke softly in the woman's ear.

  'Dear Eilidh, I think I am falling in love with you.'

  Melcorka closed the door quietly. Bradan was waiting, ten paces away. 'It's time we were off to Fidach,' Melcorka said, 'and after that I will go to the Isles.'

  'I will collect my gear,' Bradan said quietly.

  Chapter Ten

  'Be wary of the Picts,' the Constable warned as they stood at the bridge over the river, 'they are a fickle people. Drest can be charming, or cunning, depending on what day it is, or how the wind blows.' He looked upward. 'Be careful because the weather is about to change so the rivers will be swollen north of the highland line.' He lowered his voice. 'And be careful of the People of Peace; your route takes you very close to Schiehallion.' He held out his hand, 'I wish you both all the luck there is. When you come south again, be sure to visit.'

  As Melcorka and Bradan headed downhill, the Constable shouted after them, 'and watch out for Brude's druid; his name is Broichan. He will put you through the tests.'

  Broichan: the name seemed imbued with evil; its echo followed Melcorka down that wooded hill and joined her last image of Douglas to haunt her dreams on their long journey north.

  'I have heard of druids,' Melcorka said two days later as they huddled in a snow hole on the central Highlands. 'They were the priests of the old times.'

  'They were, and still are, the priests of Fidach,' Bradan tended the tiny fire that was all that kept them from a freezing death on this east facing ridge.

  'I heard they practice human sacrifice and eat the babies of their enemies,' Melcorka nibbled delicately on the leg of a mountain hare they had killed earlier that day.

  'They have great wisdom and knowledge of nature and the way of birds, plants and animals,' Bradan sipped on an infusion of herbs and vegetation he had picked when they were beneath the snowline.

  'They used to put their prisoners of war into huge wicker men and burn them alive,' Melcorka remembered.

  'Or so their enemies said,' Bradan smiled across the smoke of their camp fire. 'Only a fool listens to the words of an enemy, and you are no fool.'

  'It might be true,' Melcorka ignored the implied compliment. 'It's better to be prepared to meet these things, don't you think?'

  'You are right to be prepared,' Bradan told her solemnly. He looked outside, where horizontal wind blasted snow past the entrance to their lair. 'The druids are also known as magi, the same as the wise men of the Bible. I do not think the magi were bad people, although they were not Christian.'

  'I heard that druids practice black magic and can summon demons from rivers and lochs.' Liquid fat dribbled down Melcorka's chin when she looked up. 'St Columba had to fight a river monster in the Ness when he came up here.'

  'We will watch out for monsters,' Bradan promised solemnly, 'although I can honestly say that I have walked the length and breadth of Alba and Erin and have never met any.'

  Melcorka wiped her chin on the hem of the travelling cloak that had been a gift from Anice. 'You are a very wise man, Bradan. Where are you from?'

  Bradan shrugged. 'I don't know if I am wise or not; I don't feel wise so I will allow others to be the judge of that.' He finished his meal and cleaned the dish with fresh snow.

  'And where are you from?'

  He was silent for what seemed a long time. 'I am from wherever I am at the time.' His smile was twisted when he looked at her. 'I have been a wanderer as long as I can remember, but please do not ask me to tally that in months and years because I can't.'

  Melcorka washed down the hare with melted snow. 'You are a man of mystery, Bradan.'

 
; 'I am not,' he told her. 'I am only myself, with very little to be mysterious about. I am exactly what I seem,' he lifted his staff from the ground, 'a man wandering the land with a staff.'

  'You are an honest man,' Melcorka said. 'That counts for much.'

  Bradan leaned back and tapped his staff on the ground. 'You are hinting at your thoughts,' he said. 'Tell me what troubles you.'

  'Not what but who,' Melcorka said. The words burst from her, un-considered and bitter as sleet in spring, near poetic in their intensity. 'The love of men is a false love and woe to the woman who does their will! Though their fine talk is sweet, their hearts are hidden deep within. I no longer believe their secret whisper, I no longer believe the close squeeze of their hands, I no longer believe their sweet-tasting kiss …'

  'Do you mean all men or are you referring to one man,' Bradan tapped his staff on the ground.

  'It is Douglas. I allowed him to …'

  'You shared your body with him, thinking it was exclusive, and you were hurt to find he thought differently,' Bradan said.

  Melcorka looked away, nodding.

  'Was that your first time with a man?' Bradan's voice was gentle.

  Again Melcorka nodded.

  'It will not be your last,' Bradan told her. 'The memory will last longer than the pain.' He paused for a moment. 'Douglas would not have meant to hurt you.'

  Melcorka did not understand the conflicting emotions that assailed her. She only knew that Douglas's actions had added to the deep agony she felt at the loss of her mother. She could not answer.

  'Talk me through your feelings,' Bradan invited.

  'I cannot voice them,' Melcorka said.

  Bradan was silent for a moment. 'When you can, I have ears to hear them.'

  Melcorka said nothing.

  'Sleep now,' Bradan advised, 'we still have a journey ahead of us.'

  'I cannot sleep,' Melcorka said.

  'Then rest all that you can.' Bradan came close. Melcorka huddled next to the fire and three times during the night, when she awoke, Bradan had not moved. His eyes were on her always.

  Chapter Eleven

  Stark against a brilliant sky, snow tipped the conical mountain that dominated the surrounding hills, with a hint of mist drifting across the lower slopes.

  'Schiehallion,' Bradan said quietly, 'the sacred mountain. We avoid that like death and the deepest pit of hell.'

  'I have heard of it,' Melcorka said. She looked across the intervening hills, a saw-toothed range that extended for scores of miles to the sacred peak. 'Have you been there?'

  'Never,' Bradan said. 'It is not a place to visit. The Daoine Sidh, the People of Peace, are not people you wish to visit.' He pulled her away. 'They ask you to stay one night and you are there for an eternity.'

  'Are they so hospitable?' Melcorka asked with a wry smile.

  'Have you heard the tale of the two pipers?' Bradan continued before Melcorka replied. 'There were two pipers travelling to the north from a wedding in Dun Edin and they met a beautiful young woman, a bit like yourself.'

  'I'm not beautiful,' Melcorka denied.

  'Oh yes you are. Don't interrupt my story please.'

  Melcorka looked away without smiling.

  'Oh she was beautiful, fresh as grass on midsummer's day, with a neck like a swan, eyes the colour of a spring morning, with skin as clear and soft as a week-old baby and hair like ripe corn cascading to her shoulders.' Bradan tapped his staff on the ground, 'a bit like yourself.'

  'I have black hair,' Melcorka said.

  'You have indeed,' Bradan agreed. 'I was just making sure you were still listening.'

  'I'm still listening,' Melcorka forced a little smile.

  'This beautiful woman, much like yourself save for the colour of her hair, gave a smile that would charm the birds from the trees or the sun from the sky and told the two pipers that she was going to her sister's wedding but they had no music to complement the mead and ale. The pipers sympathised of course, and offered their services.'

  'Pipers have a way of offering their services when there is mead and ale,' Melcorka said, and held up her hand in apology for interrupting again.

  Bradan continued: “'There is ale” repeated the woman, for she knew the way to the hearts and minds of a piper, “and there is mead and whisky.”

  The pipers were even more keen than before and they accompanied her to the wedding, smiling at her jokes, admiring the way she walked and falling in love with her at every turn of phrase and every smile of her lips.'

  'Men are like that,' Melcorka said, 'in the beginning.'

  'Some men are like that in the beginning, and stay like that until the end,' Bradan said quietly.

  'So they say,' Melcorka said, 'I have not met a man like that.'

  'Maybe you have not and maybe you have,' Bradan said. 'Shall I continue with my story?'

  'Yes please, Bradan. Tell me about this beautiful corn-haired woman who looked nothing like me and these two men who fell in love with her, but who will not remain faithful.'

  'She took them to a grassy mound in the centre of a circular clearing. In the middle of the mound there was a door of the finest wood, which she opened without touching, and she led them downstairs to a huge underground chamber where the bride and the groom were waiting and a hundred guests and a hundred more. They guests all cheered when the pipers came, for what is a wedding without a piper? And they lauded the pipers with mead and strong drink and all the food they could eat. There was music and dancing and feasting sufficient to make Castle Gloom's feast a snack for a pauper, and the pipers played the dark hours of the night away. In the morning their smiling host gave them a golden coin for their trouble and set them loose on the world.

  Yet when they emerged the world had changed. They walked back to their own clachan to find it vanished with all the houses mere mounds on the heather and only the wind for company. The graveyard was filled with stones bearing the names of the people they had known as young men and women and people they spoke to looked at them strangely. Eventually they found a priest and related their tale, but the gold coins they produced had turned to acorns and as soon as the priest mentioned Jesus Christ the pipers both crumbled into dust. Only one thing gave a clue and that was when they mentioned the date. Both pipers had known Saint Columba in person.'

  Bradan stopped and looked at Melcorka. 'Saint Columba died four hundred years ago and I was told this tale by that very same priest in the flicker of a peat-fire flame in the spring of last year.'

  'So what happened?' Melcorka asked.

  'The woman who was nearly as beautiful as you was a princess of the People of Peace. She had beguiled the pipers with her charm – as you can do – and lured them into Elfhame, the realm of Faery – which you will never do.'

  Melcorka no longer objected to the compliments. 'How long were they in Elfhame? You said just one night.'

  'And that is the power of the People of Peace,' Bradan told her seriously. 'They can alter time and shape so what the pipers experienced as a single night was centuries in the world of men.' He looked out to the west. 'So I avoid the People of Peace and the lands around Schiehallion. It is best not to meddle with that which you do not understand.'

  Melcorka nodded. 'I will remember that,' she said solemnly, although in her heart she had no great love for the world of men or anything to do with men.

  Yet when they walked on with the wind dragging dark clouds pregnant with snow, Melcorka remembered that Bradan had complimented her throughout the telling of his tale, and she hid her smile. The hurt of Douglas was easing, but it still tore at her and she was not yet ready to forget.

  The whispering was in the wind and in the rustle of the heather. It was there and not there, heard and not heard. Melcorka looked around her, trying to place from where the sound came, but saw nothing that should not be there. Yet she knew that somebody was near them, talking without speech. There was a memory within her of a voice without a source, and she listened with a prickle of excit
ement that was laced with apprehension.

  'You are tense,' Bradan read her mood.

  'It is nothing,' she said, and welcomed his slight touch on her arm.

  They moved on, down from the snow line and on into a sparse forest with trees spaced far apart, stunted by the chill, twisted by the ever-present wind of the hills until they resembled a thousand different shapes of devils and monsters and angels. Northward, stride after stride they moved, hour after hour until that strange time in the gloaming when light merges with coming dark and the tangible cannot be distinguished from the intangible. Shapes were vague in the distance, trees softened by the pinking sky of dusk and the calls of bird sweetened the easing of the day.

  The movement was sudden and swift before them, a blur of grey-brown and the gleam of light on teeth.

  'By St Bride!' Bradan said softly, 'wolves!'

  'Only one,' Melcorka grasped her sword.

  'Only one and his friends,' Bradan said. 'Look! They are chasing someone.'

  Melcorka saw the long lean and hungry shapes that flitted between the trees. She saw one, then another and finally a score of them, racing each other in their haste to feast. In front, gasping, ran an old man dressed in brown rags, with bare feet and a grey beard. He carried a badger-skin bag in both arms.

  'They have him,' Bradan said. 'He will never get away.'

  'We can help,' Melcorka frowned as Bradan put a restraining hand on her arm. 'Let me be, Bradan.'

  'There are a score of wolves at least,' Bradan said, 'if we leave them, they will eat the grey-beard and we will escape. If we interfere, they will eat the grey-beard and us as well and we will not escape. I do not wish us to end up in the belly of twenty wolves.'

  The leader of the pack was fifteen paces behind the old man. Its jaws were wide, with a pink tongue protruding from the side and a thread of saliva drooling to the ground and smearing its matted fur. It was huge, two-thirds the size of a full grown man, grey and cunning with age, backed by young pretenders to its position and a host of female followers desperate to rend the helpless human they hunted.