'Dava Moor tomorrow,' Bradan said. 'And then on to Fidach'
'Look,' Melcorka leaned forward and picked a crumb of bannock from the front of his tunic. 'You have missed a bit.' Lifting it delicately, she placed it on his lower lip. His tongue flicked out, caught the crumb, and withdrew.
'Thank you,' he said.
'There is no need to thank me,' Melcorka said, 'for I owe you so much I can never pay you back; unless you can think of a way?'
When Bradan held her gaze for what seemed a long moment, Melcorka sensed a great sadness within him. 'You do not owe me anything, Melcorka. There is nothing to pay back.'
Melcorka pulled back. She was not sure what she had hoped for; she was too emotionally immature to recognise the cravings within her. 'Good night, Bradan,' she said.
Chapter Fifteen
They stood on the crest of Dava Moor, looking northward to the great fertile plain of Fidach, with the sea a brilliant blue in the far distance and the land a mixture of fields and lochs. Melcorka narrowed her eyes as she tried to focus on the brightly coloured shapes she could see far in the distance, beyond the edge of the moor and on the farther side of a river.
'What is that?'
'That is the gateway to Fidach,' Bradan said. 'You will see it better when we get there.' He tapped his staff on the ground. 'And once you have seen it you will know what a strange people the Picts are.'
The deer had been with them for some time, picking their way across the moor as they searched for food in an environment not perfect for their kind.
'It is unusual to see deer among moorland,' Bradan said. 'Something, or somebody must have disturbed them.'
'More wolves?' Melcorka instinctively reached for her sword.
'Not at this time of day,' Bradan said. 'Maybe men.'
'Hunters? Or Norsemen?' Melcorka felt a slight prickle of apprehension. It had been many days since they had last seen the Norse that she had nearly forgotten the reason for their journey.
'Maybe one, or both of these,' Bradan said, 'or maybe the Picts of Fidach are out. We are very near their territory. This is the borderland, the north-eastern marches of Alba.'
As they watched, a great golden eagle called from high above. It circled, once, twice and called again, so a second joined it.
'A mating pair,' Melcorka said. 'They are hunting far from the mountains.'
'They may be hunting us,' Bradan said. 'The Picts can tame the great birds and use them in war, or in the chase.'
'They are hunting,' Melcorka agreed, 'but not for us.'
Both eagles were descending in small, tight circles above the deer, and as Melcorka watched, they plummeted down, straight and hard. Each landed on the head of a deer and as their talons enfolded in the antlers, their great gold-brown wings covered the animal's eyes.
'Can they kill?' Melcorka asked.
'I have never seen this before,' Bradan said.
They watched as the deer, panicked beyond reason by the sudden weight on their head and complete and unexpected blindness, broke into a mad run across the moor, side by side as the eagles sat on their heads.
'Where are they going?' Melcorka asked.
'The eagles are guiding them to the men who control them,' Bradan told her. 'The deer are doomed and will now die. It is their destiny.'
Melcorka watched the deer leaping blind across the tawny-brown moorland, north and west until they disappeared. 'It is sad that they must die,' she said.
'Any death is sad,' Bradan agreed. 'Now we must prepare ourselves for whatever the Picts of Fidach bring.' He tapped his staff on the ground. 'I would wish that we were embarked on a different journey, not one of war and blood.'
Melcorka nodded. 'When I was small, I was content in my island kingdom. I knew no more than the coastline within its salt-sea boundaries. I wanted no more for I did not know that it was possible to have more. Then, when I grew a little, I dreamed of seeing Alba and visiting the wonders of the mainland. I dreamed of adventure and romance, of princes in gold and ladies in silks and satins. Now I have seen adventures and the follies of princes, I envy the young child that I was. I was secure in my island.'
'Childhood should be a secure castle with parents providing the ramparts against the adult world of cruelty, oppression and greed.' Bradan agreed. 'It gives the child time to grow and develop, to gather strength for the ordeals that life brings.'
'Did you have such a childhood?' Melcorka probed delicately.
'I have wandered all my life,' Bradan was caught off guard. 'My earliest memories are of walking and that is all I know.'
'You know more than most men I have ever met,' Melcorka reached across to touch his arm. 'And you are kinder than any other.'
'Even Douglas of the passion?' Bradan's mouth was twisted into something that Melcorka did not recognise.
'Far better than Douglas of the passion,' Melcorka coloured as she spoke. The memories were suddenly vivid and the passage of time and experience ensured that not all were unpleasant.
Bradan opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it and closed it with an audible snap.
'I wish I had not bedded him,' Melcorka guessed the direction of Bradan's thoughts.
'He bedded you, my lady,' Bradan said. 'You were too inexperienced to recognise him for what he is. There are many men of his type.'
'I will know to avoid that type in future,' Melcorka said, 'unless I need a man.' She laughed at the expression on Bradan's face. 'Come on Bradan, you must have the same needs as others. Don't you ever want a woman?'
When Bradan looked away, Melcorka knew she had once more said the wrong thing. 'We have company,' Bradan said. 'Don't look now but there are horsemen on either side of us.'
Melcorka nodded; it was time to change the direction of her thoughts. A few minutes later she glanced surreptitiously around and saw five riders on either side, long haired men with long cloaks and short spears. 'Are they hostile?'
'They will be hostile if they think we are,' Bradan said. 'Keep your hands well away from your sword hilt.'
'Maybe they are the hunters with the eagles,' Melcorka said.
'I see no eagles and no deer,' Bradan told her. 'This is a Pictish border patrol ensuring we are no threat to their lands.'
The horsemen rode easily, leaning back in the saddle and with their feet extended into long stirrups. They rode in single file and very casually as if at home on this moor of brown heather where the wind carried the lonely call of the curlew and the hills were rounded and quiet.
'The Norse have not been here yet,' Melcorka nodded to a small clachan that slept peacefully beneath a pall of purple smoke.
'This is the frontier of Fidach,' Bradan reminded. 'If the Norse disturbed the quiet here the Picts would wake again.'
Melcorka glanced at the Picts on either side. 'They don't look particularly ferocious,' she said.
'These are the guardians of the moor.' Bradan reminded. 'Not a war patrol. They are merely watching us.'
Melcorka gestured to the hilt of her sword. 'They would not be much good against a raiding party of Norse.'
Bradan smiled and tapped his staff on the ground. 'How many men can you see?'
'Ten,' Melcorka said. 'Five on either side.'
'I would wager that there are another twenty within five minutes ride,' Bradan spoke quietly, 'and there are the two who are within ten paces of us at the minute.' He stopped to adjust the laces on his brogues, so that Melcorka halted at his side. 'If you look carefully at that heather bush five paces to your right, you may see that the colouring is not quite correct, while the rock on the opposite side is not as solid as it seems.'
'Picts?' Melcorka felt the sudden increase of her heart.
'Picts,' Bradan confirmed. 'They can disguise themselves as anything in nature with just a cloak and a few twigs or shreds of grass.'
Melcorka looked around again, no longer seeing the moor as a nearly empty wilderness but as a place of menace and deception.
'What you see in Fi
dach may not be what it appears,' Bradan said. 'The Picts understand the nature of this land better than anybody, perhaps even better than the People of Peace. Remember it was the Picts who defeated the Angles at Dunnichen fight.' He glanced at Defender. 'Your man Bridei carried that sword that day, and the bodies of the Angles were piled as high as a spear length as far as the eye could see.'
'For a man who carries no weapon you are knowledgeable about warfare.'
Bradan smiled. 'A man with a staff has to know who to avoid,' he said.
The horsemen moved closer when they left the moor and descended toward the frontier of Fidach. The land ahead was fertile, blue-smeared with smoke from thatch-roofed clachans and chequered with well-tended fields. Copses of trees shielded small farms from the wind while the welcome lowing of cattle drifted on soft air.
'This river is the actual boundary,' Bradan stopped at the edge of a fast flowing river, with a slender double- rope tied around a post connecting to a prominent rock on the Fidach side. A boat sat under the rope attached by a more slender line. 'And that is the ferry.' He raised his voice. 'Ferryman! We wish to cross!'
A bald headed man shambled from a thatched cottage ten yards upstream. Melcorka noticed that there was a rowan tree planted at each gable end of the cottage, and another where the boat landed on the Fidach shore. 'They are making sure the People of Peace do not appear,' she said.
'Sensible people, the Picts,' Bradan said.
Lifting a hand in acknowledgement, the ferryman stepped into the boat and sculled himself across, grinding the keel onto the shingle bank beside Bradan. 'In you get then.' He eyed Melcorka's sword, 'you'd better be careful with that knife, miss, lest you cut yourself.' He laughed at his own joke.
He pushed off the second they stepped on board, and although the river ran faster in midstream than Melcorka had expected, he eased the boat across without any apparent effort. She saw pieces of stick hurtle past, with one branch as long as the boat knocking against the hull.
'This is a dangerous river,' Melcorka said.
'It acts as our moat,' the boatman said cheerfully.
The Fidach horsemen followed them at quarter of a mile's distance. Melcorka expected them to halt at the water's edge but instead they plunged right in, five on either side of the boat, and swam the horses across. She watched with more respect for the horsemanship and courage of the Picts.
The horsemen landed between two rowans and Melcorka realised there were rowans every few yards along the bank of the river. Her appreciation of the defences of Fidach increased again.
'These are brave men to ford that river,' she said quietly.
'These are Pictish warriors,' Bradan said simply.
As the horsemen passed the grove of rowans they saluted another body of ten riders that filed out of Fidach and headed for the moor.
'The patrols are regular?' Melcorka asked.
'It would seem so,' Bradan said.
'What do we owe you?' Melcorka suddenly realised she had nothing with which to pay the ferryman.
'Not a penny,' the ferryman shook his head. 'There is free passage across Fidach.'
'Thank you.' Melcorka said. 'That is very unusual.'
'Don't thank me,' the ferryman said cheerfully, 'thank Drest. He makes the law.' He tapped Melcorka's sword. 'This must be your first time in Fidach so you'll have to see the king. He likes to talk to all our guests.'
'We will do that,' Bradan promised.
'There is your route.' The ferryman pointed to a well-made road that led to the brightly coloured object that Melcorka had seen from far off in the Dava moor. 'It passes between the stones.'
'It's like a gateway,' Melcorka put her hands on one of a pair of nine foot tall standing stones, carved into representations of strange beasts and painted in bright colours. A standing bull adorned both stones, so well carved that it looked ready to walk free. 'A stone gateway.'
'That is exactly what it is.' Bradan touched the stone. 'This is set up where the disputed lands end and the Pictish nation of Fidach begins. These are the personal symbols of the king and his family, so there is no disputing exactly who is in charge here.'
Melcorka traced the markings of one strange creature.' They are beautiful,' she decided, 'but I don't recognise them. Are they real? Are these animals like these in Fidach?'
'I have not come across any like them,' Bradan said. 'Not even in Fidach. I have never met a dragon or any of the other mythical creatures with which mothers terrify their children.' He looked northward, across the well-tended lands of Fidach. 'If there were any, I don't doubt that the Picts would have hunted them down many years ago. They are notable hunters.'
As they entered Fidach, the Pictish horsemen moved closer, escorting Melcorka and Bradan across their territory.
'They are very wary of two people, and one armed only with a staff,' Melcorka said.
'The Picts are very wary of everybody who is not a Pict,' Bradan told her.
They walked on through lands that were increasingly fertile and increasingly populated, with small fields of already sown barley and oats on the lower ground, and dun cattle, goats and sheep on the higher. Pigs and hens seemed to roam wherever they willed, sometimes accompanied by a young child, often unattended by anybody.
'It's hard to believe that just a few day's walk away the Norse are burning and raping and pillaging,' Melcorka said. 'It all seems so very peaceful here.'
'That is the way of the Picts,' Bradan agreed. 'Their men are so ferocious that nobody dares fight them, so they have peace in their lands.'
'It is a good system,' Melcorka approved. 'The people look happy.'
'Easy enough to check,' Bradan said. 'Let's talk to somebody.' He pointed to a woman who was collecting eggs around her farm.
'You are strangers,' the woman said as they stopped on the field-fringe of her farm.
'We are,' Bradan agreed. 'I am Bradan the wanderer and this is Melcorka the Swordswoman of the Cenel Bearnas in Alba.'
The woman was bold and dark haired, with steady eyes. 'You are in Fidach now,' she said. 'We don't get many visitors from Alba,' her gaze strayed to Melcorka's sword, 'and still fewer who carry swords. In fact,' she said, 'you are the first Alban woman I have ever seen.'
'We come to seek audience with your king, Drest,' Bradan told her.
The woman smiled. 'Wait you here.' She retired to her cottage and returned a minute later with a jug of milk and fresh-baked bannocks. 'Eat for the road, but you would have that audience whether you sought it or not,' she nodded to the horsemen who had reined up a hundred yards away.
'So I see.' Melcorka tasted the bannocks. 'God bless your house and all inside it,' she said.
'And may God bless the journey and bring success to the outcome,' the woman replied. 'Follow the road and you will come to Am Broch of the king.'
'All roads lead to the king in Fidach, it seems,' Bradan murmured. He tapped his staff on the road. 'Well made and well maintained. The Picts are well organised.'
'And watchful,' Melcorka gestured to their escort. The ten silent riders had formed up close around them.
'We seek your king,' Bradan announced.
'We will take you to him,' the speaker did not sound unfriendly. He rode a tall white horse and did not unsheathe his sword as he leaned downward from the saddle. 'What are your names?'
'I am Bradan and this is Melcorka.'
'I am Ahern, Lord of the horsemen of the march.' His red hair shone in the northern sun while the saffron cloak he wore descended to legs that were bare and muscular. 'Wait there.'
Bradan lifted a hand in acknowledgement as Aharn blew a blast on a small bronze horn. A further dozen riders appeared from behind trees and buildings, some leading spare horses.
'Mount with us,' Aharn ordered cheerfully, 'and we will see Drest the king before nightfall.'
'Thank you,' Melcorka accepted the help of a grinning, freckle-faced Pict with some relief, slapped away his hand when it strayed too high up her thigh, joined in the
resulting laughter and swung her leg astride the saddle. 'You'll have to go slowly,' she pleaded, 'I've never ridden a horse in my life.'
Aharn smiled. 'You'll soon pick it up,' he said. 'Or we'll soon be picking you up if you fall. Hold on tight and let the horse do all the work.'
Melcorka held the reins as tightly as she could until Bradan leaned across and loosened her grip. 'The horse knows you are scared,' he said. 'Relax and he will behave for you.'
The freckle faced man joined them. 'Come on Melcorka; I will hold him.'
Melcorka allowed herself to be helped as they trotted through the green countryside of Fidach.
'You are from Alba?' The freckle-faced man asked. 'I am Fergus.'
'I am from Alba and I am Melcorka; this is Bradan the Wanderer.' Melcorka removed his hand a second time.
Fergus grinned. 'Is Bradan your man? Will I have to kill him to know you better?'
'No, he is not my man; we are only travelling the road together,' Melcorka said. 'And I would be most displeased if you tried to kill him.'
'Then I will not do that,' Fergus said, 'for I have no desire to displease you.' His smile included Bradan. 'You are safe from me, man with a staff.'
Melcorka glanced at Bradan, who murmured 'I am glad to hear that,' looked away and said nothing. She was not sure why, but she knew that he was unhappy.
Passing well-tended fields and neat farm steadings, with the occasional empty but well maintained hill-top dun or brightly painted and carved standing stone, Melcorka wondered how orderly and peaceful Fidach was. The stories she had heard about the Picts depicted them as savage painted warriors, killers to a man who ate their enemies and responded to attack with extreme violence. She had expected villages decorated with human sacrifices, a land of death and horror and hordes of men and women who fought each other at the slightest provocation. Instead Fidach was quiet, with cheerful farmers who greeted them with open salutes and friendly waves.
She looked sideways at her escort. Apart from his wandering hands, Fergus could not be friendlier, while Aharn led his men with quiet orders and no outward show of force. They did not appear to be formidable warriors, while the Norse she had seen were taller, broader and altogether more aggressive than these slim, wiry, well made men. She remembered her mission and wondered if she had made the wrong choice; perhaps she should have travelled to the Lord of the Isles first and left these demure Picts to their own devices. She could not see them presenting much of a challenge to the Norse shield ring.
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