Drest stood up. 'Thank you for the warning Melcorka and Bradan. I will discuss the situation with my nobles and come back to you.' He shook his head. 'I will warn you that your mission is unlikely to succeed. We will defend our own borders but do not expect me to send my armies to fight the Norse to win you a kingdom.'
'I do not wish a kingdom,' Melcorka said.
'Those who do, rarely succeed,' the Queen said. 'But fate has a way of providing the unexpected. Rest now and let us consider.'
Their quarters overlooked the sea, with fine wide views that Melcorka devoured. She had not realised how much she missed the sounds and scents of the open ocean until she watched the great grey waves swelling and breaking against the headland on which the fortress was built and receding again to gather strength for a renewed assault, and another and another. It was a constant battle, the forces of the sea against the stubbornness of the land, unending movement against unyielding determination.
'I wish we were invited to their discussions,' Melcorka said. 'I want to hear what they are saying.' They had not spoken since they entered the room. She was not sure what Bradan thought of her after she had peered at him when he was undressed.
'The council chamber is two floors below us,' Bradan told her. 'We have to pass the royal apartments to get there.'
'The royal apartments will be empty,' Melcorka said, 'if the king and queen are in the council chamber. Perhaps we can sneak down?' She took a deep breath, 'or do you think I have done enough sneaking free looks for one day?'
Bradan stiffened. 'We both looked.'
Melcorka held out her hand. 'I am sorry.'
'So am I,' Bradan said.
Melcorka felt something like a shock when their fingers touched. She pressed Bradan's hand, felt him squeeze back and then both abruptly released their hold.
'This way,' Bradan said. 'Leave Defender behind; you won't need it here.'
The interior of the dun was as neat, clean and orderly as everything else in Fidach, with tapestries bringing colour to the grey stone walls and each doorway bearing an embossed bull.
Melcorka heard the murmur of voices from within the royal apartment. 'They are still in there,' she said. 'Where are the guards?'
Bradan shook his head. 'This is their home. No need for guards here.'
'That is always impressive,' Melcorka stopped as she heard a laugh and then the mention of her name. 'Wait now,' she said.
The door to the royal apartments was slightly ajar, with torchlight flickering through the gap. She heard the rumble of Drest's voice, with Athdara's higher tones interrupting from time to time.
'I see the situation like this,' the queen said. 'Alba is leaderless, like a ship without a steering oar. The Norsemen will take it over. Bjorn of the Northlands will not be content with a raid. He will move in his armies and keep them there. He will colonise the country, and then he will move on Fidach.'
'Our army is better organised than Alba's, more compact and better trained.' Drest pointed out.
'We are also smaller,' the queen said. 'Once Bjorn has subdued Alba, he will concentrate his armies on us, attack by land and sea. We will be stretched too thin to defend every frontier.'
'We can hold Am Broch for months,' Drest said.
'I know you will,' the queen said. 'You are as brave as any man in the world and will fight to your last breath. But for every ship we have, they have ten and for every man of Fidach, they have twenty. While we defend here, they will be ravaging the countryside, our people, the men and women who look to us for protection and leadership.'
'I agree,' Drest said. 'You are right.' There was a silence for a moment. Melcorka checked along the stone corridor, fearful of being discovered listening outside the king's door. She heard a sound and glanced at Bradan, who shook his head.
'Only the wind,' he whispered.
'We have to ensure that Alba does not fall,' Drest said. 'That girl, Melcorka, has a presence. She is the best hope they have for fighting back. The Norse will not have killed all the men in Alba, only those who were in the royal army, and those who they caught in the villages. There will be many left, hiding in the glens, waiting for a leader.'
The queen's voice was soft. 'Melcorka may be that leader. She is strong and determined and has already killed Norsemen in battle.'
'If she has a small compact force, she may gather recruits to her cause.' Drest said. 'We could lend her a few hundred soldiers, under an experienced commander. I cannot see her defeating the Norse but she may persuade them that Alba is too expensive for them to hold.'
'You are thinking too small,' Athdara said. 'She is an Alban noblewoman, seemingly one of the few who have survived, and by that sword she is a warrior. She could be the next ruler of Alba.' There was a few moments' silence during which Melcorka moved slightly away from the door in case Athdara sensed her presence. 'And don't forget that we have a son who desperately needs a wife.'
Melcorka felt the sudden hammering of her heart. Bradan's sudden pressure on her arm was reassuring. Did that woman intend to marry her off to Loarn? Did Athdara, Queen of Fidach think that she could be the queen of Alba? The ideas whirled through her head in a succession of confused images that made her feel dizzy and slightly sick.
'Leave me,' she whispered to Bradan. 'I need to think about all this.'
He touched her arm. 'You are your own woman,' he reminded. 'You don't have to do anything that anybody else wants.'
Suddenly Ceridwen's small face came to Melcorka, with her advice to trust her instinct. 'Thank you.' She moved away, looking for a space she could call her own so she could get her mind in order.
It seemed as though Drest was willing to lend some of his army. That was a very positive step, but the price of marriage to the prince of Fidach was not one that Melcorka was willing to pay. She had no intention of ending up married to some unknown man, however distinguished his lineage. She remembered the pampered face of the prince as he had passed her on the road. What sort of husband would a man like that make?
For one twisted moment Melcorka pictured herself as queen of a united Alba and Fidach, with power and authority, sitting on a royal throne giving orders and ensuring that they were carried out. There was something so heady and exciting about the prospect that she smiled, imagining the orders she would give and the adulation she would inspire as the best queen that Alba had ever known.
What would the prince be like? Melcorka thought of the Picts she had met. Fergus was all good natured fun and helpfulness, Drest was obviously close to the queen, and Aharn was an honest straightforward soldier, humane and professional. They were a decent enough bunch of men, really. Could she marry one? Why? She had no intention of settling down with any man, yet alone marrying to help Drest of Fidach attain his territorial integrity. Although, Melcorka thought, that hunting prince must have some good in him, despite his arrogant appearance.
But what a prospect for a simple island girl!
An endless procession of ideas and thoughts rattled through Melcorka's mind as she walked through the dun, around the tower, along the walls and criss-crossed the central courtyard, heading nowhere and seeking solitude in a place where that was a very rare commodity.
'Oh here's fun!' The voice was not familiar. Melcorka looked up to see two men coming toward her. She was not sure where she was; her wanderings had brought her to a dark section of the dun, with a number of small stone chambers leading off a dark corridor. Spluttering light from a reed torch threw shadows that hid the faces of both men.
Melcorka lifted a hand. 'Well met. I am Melcorka of Alba, come to visit your king.'
The two men laughed. When one moved into the circle of light Melcorka recognised him as Loarn, the young prince. His hair curled below his ears while his leine was of the finest linen, elaborately embroidered and clean. The second man could have been a mirror image, lithe, dapper, handsome as sin and wearing a smile that a hunting cat would have envied.
'It's the Alban woman' Loarn said. 'I saw her on the f
rontier, riding in her rags.' He laughed again. 'Now she is wearing clean rags.'
'I wonder if she is as clean within as without, Loarn.' The second man said.
'Oh she will have been scrubbed clean of the Alba filth, Bryan' Loarn said. 'We will soon see.'
'We'll have to make sure she is clean enough for Fidach,' Bryan said. Their combined laughter was brittle.
Melcorka looked for help but there was none. She was alone in a strange part of a Pictish dun, with no sword, trapped by two predatory men.
'King Drest will not approve of his guests being so insulted.' She backed against the wall as the men stopped on either side of her. Without Defender she had no skills; she was only an island girl alone in a dark place. Suddenly all Melcorka's hard-earned confidence drained away. She was no mighty warrior, no emissary to gather men to fight the Norse, no proto-queen of Alba. She wanted only to return to her island and not think of affairs of state, or slaughter and armies.
'Come here,' Loarn reached for her. His hand grasped her sleeve. 'Don't be shy!' His high-pitched giggle was echoed by Bryan, who came close and slid an arm around her neck.
'You should be honoured, Alban girl, to be serviced by a lord and a prince of Fidach!' Bryan's hands were hot and clammy on her neck.
'Into the room!' Loarn's breath was sweet. 'We'll take her there. Come on, stranger-girl!'
Melcorka looked up and down the stairs, suddenly desperately afraid and very lonely. Pride forbade her from screaming for help, and anyway she doubted if anybody would come to her aid against Prince Loarn and his no-doubt-noble companion. She was all alone in this very dark place.
For all his foppish appearance, Loarn was experienced in the chase and strong enough to drag her inside the room. Bryan followed, still with that high-pitched giggle of excitement.
'You hold her,' Loarn ordered. 'Hold her tight.' Producing a scrap of flint, he scraped a spark and set light to a torch that hung in a bracket on the wall. The resulting flame cast uneven light around what was a bare stone chamber, with a handful of wooden boxes against one wall. The single window was small and square, overlooking a patch of black sky in which a lone star glittered. 'Now we can relax, eh, Alban girl?' He laughed again. 'Hold her, Bryan, and we'll see what she is like underneath her rags.'
Melcorka felt Bryan's arms slip down her shoulders to pinion her arms. She knew that once she was held firm she would not be able to fight off two men. She had to act very quickly.
She heard the soft patter of something at the window and saw the black and white form of an oystercatcher as it landed on the sill. For a fraction of time, too brief to be called a second, she looked into its eyes and then the words formed inside her mind.
'Use your instinct!'
Melcorka felt Bryan's hands slide further down her arms. If they reached her elbows she would be trapped, unable to move as the much stronger man held her so Loarn could strip off her clothes. The thought nearly paralysed her, until the oystercatcher gave its short piping notes.
Without conscious thought, Melcorka jerked her head back, catching Bryan on the bridge of his nose. She heard his startled yell and his grip on her slackened. She slid downward and threw her arms out to the side, breaking his hold.
For one frantic second she saw the leer on Loarn's face alter to an expression of amazement, and then she clenched her right fist and punched upward as hard as she could between his legs.
Loarn screamed loudly and folded up with both hands cupping his groin. He lay on the ground, gasping and crying as Bryan dropped his hands from his face and started forward.
'Loarn …'
Without hesitation, Melcorka straightened her hand and stabbed her fingers into his windpipe. Bryan's gasp was hoarse as he clamped both hands to his throat. He tried to talk, failed and Melcorka slapped him backhanded, then kicked him to the ground. He writhed there with his leine rucked up to his waist.
Melcorka was busily kicking at both men when the door burst open and Drest and Athdara stormed in.
'What has happened here?' The queen took in the two men wriggling on the floor and Melcorka standing over them, feet busy.
'They tried to rape me,' Melcorka said, too angry to heed the danger she was in. She guessed that it was probably against Pictish custom to punch the king's son in the groin so kicked Bryan's exposed backside instead.
'I don't think they will try that again.' The queen looked at Drest. 'I believe we have found a suitable match for our prince,' she said.
Drest nodded. 'I believe we have.'
'It all depends on Broichan now,' the queen put a single hand on Melcorka's shoulder. 'He will examine you, girl.'
Chapter Sixteen
Melcorka had never met a druid before. She stood on the grassy mound in the centre of the circle of standing stones, thankful for Defender and the supportive presence of Bradan, who sat with his back to a stone, tapping his staff on the ground. Each stone was nine feet tall, of grey-white granite and carved with these strange Pictish symbols. Together they created an arena unlike any she had seen before.
'Maybe he's not coming,' Melcorka said hopefully.
'He's only a few moments late,' Bradan said quietly.
'Maybe he heard about your prowess with Loarn and decided it was not safe,' Bradan tapped his staff again. 'I'm sorry I was not there.'
'It wasn't your fault,' Melcorka knew that he blamed himself.
'I should not have let you go off alone in this strange place.'
'Melcorka!' the voice boomed from outside the stone circle. 'Melcorka of the Cenel Bearnas!'
'I am here!' Melcorka straightened her shoulders. 'Who is calling me?'
'Broichan!' the name sounded like a curse from the distant past. 'Chief druid of Drest of Fidach!'
'Come and meet me, Broichan the druid!' Melcorka touched the hilt of Defender for luck, and then lifted her chin. She did not know what sort of questions or ordeals the druid would put her through. She only knew that if she was to succeed in gaining a Pictish army to help her free Alba from the Norse, she had to impress him in his own territory. Her threatened liaison with Loarn was a matter that would have to wait. Despite herself she managed a wry smile: at least he would be a trifle wary of her in future.
Broichan stepped inside the stone circle and faced her. He was no taller than an average man, with neat grey hair and a small, well-groomed beard. His white robes descended to sandaled feet and the crystal at the head of his long staff of twisted wood glowed with some internal light. He did not come alone, for there was a young female on either side of him, both dark haired and unsmiling.
It was only when Broichan looked directly at Melcorka that she realised the sheer force of this man. His gaze was more powerful than any she had encountered before.
'Well met, Broichan of Fidach,' Melcorka refused to be intimidated by any pagan priest, however exalted his station.
'Well met, Melcorka of Alba,' he replied at once. His two companions said nothing as they stared at her. Melcorka guessed their ages at around eighteen at most.
Broichan stepped closer, cupped both hands over the crystal on top of his staff and leaned over Melcorka. 'You have the power,' he said after a short pause.
'I have no power,' Melcorka countered.
'We will see,' Broichan said. His two companions did not speak. They stood a few paces apart from Broichan and stared at Melcorka.
'You beg a favour from the king and offer nothing in return,' Broichan said.
'I offer nothing,' she agreed, 'but if he grants me the favour he may help the security of his kingdom from the Norse.'
'I see no Norse!” Broichan said. 'There have been no Norse in Fidach this generation. Those who came here in the last generation left minus their heads.'
That was the first mention Melcorka had heard of head taking by the Picts. She remembered the tales she had heard of such things and wondered at their truth. 'A hard thing it is to return home without eyes to see the road and ears to hear directions.'
'Or
a tongue to give heed of the dangers,' Broichan completed the litany.
'The Norse are in Alba,' Melcorka said, 'and Fidach will be next.'
'Did they tell you that?' Broichan asked.
'They did not,' Melcorka said.
'Then you are guessing,' Broichan told her. He slid his hands away from the crystal at the top of his staff. 'You are in a fog of uncertainty, Melcorka of Alba. What do you do when you are in a fog?' He emphasised his final word, and his two assistants repeated it, chanting 'fog, fog, fog,' in a low monotone as they held Melcorka's gaze. They wavered before her as a mist crept around the outside of the stone circle, becoming denser by the second.
'What do you do when you are in a fog, Melcorka?' Broichan's voice sounded through the thickening mist. 'What do you do?'
'I get out,' Melcorka shouted back.
The mist was all around her, whirling, circling; making her dizzy with its constant movement. She was the centre of a vortex with grey tendrils coiling around her, closer and closer.
'Are you there, Bradan?' Melcorka shouted.
There was no reply. She was alone in the whirling cloud, unable to see anything except the mist, unable to think straight because of the constant movement around her and that insistent chanting that disturbed the pattern of her mind.
Melcorka closed her eyes, blocking out the sensation of moving. At once the confusion began to lift from her head. She remembered the old stories about the druids being able to control the weather and wondered if Broichan had called down the clouds.
That was unlikely, she decided. It was more likely that he had entered her mind and told her to think he had done that; in which case all this was in her imagination. She opened her eyes; there, among the whirling clouds, she saw two pairs of eyes, staring at her, dominating the faces and bodies to which they belonged. Broichan's assistants were still there, holding her gaze even through the tornado of mist. Melcorka shouted out:
'Bradan! If you can hear me, give the nearest young woman a good whack with your staff!'
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