Celtic Blood

by James John Loftus

  The fighting entered a new phase Dolfin almost unseated Seward with forceful blows. He thought Seward was beaten, any moment he expected to end it. Just then Dolfin’s mount stumbled, allowing Seward to break contact, but rivers of sweat fell down his brow, his strength was almost gone. At this point Seward was more concerned with remaining in the saddle. No amount of practice could have accustomed him to the reality of this, this was overpowering. Seward saw his death in Dolfin’s eyes, allowing Dolfin to dictate the course of the fight he couldn’t see how he could change Dolfin’s ascendancy. Needing all his senses just to survive he felt outmatched. The effect on him, was grievous, it made a sluggard of him. But he managed to maintain the pace long enough for change.

  To Seward’s relief his slowness was now match by Dolfin’s own. For the first time since the fight began Seward saw himself surviving. Feeling old and tired Dolfin was surprised he had not downed Seward earlier. Beginning to feel exhausted, nagging doubts crept on Dolfin. “If I don’t strike the killing blow soon Seward will kill me.”

  Feeling Dolfin waning Seward found renewed strength. When Dolfin swung, over committed in the process he almost toppled out of his saddle. Seward latched onto him, with one hand. Held by the shoulder, immobilised was Dolfin, his back was facing Seward. Seward plunged his dagger into Dolfin’s ribs. Blood flowed onto the grass, glistening along with the dew of the late afternoon. From the ground, dead eyes looked up at Seward, or seemingly. Seward wasn’t sure if Dolfin was dead, or not. Life persisted in Dolfin. Breathing causing shudders. The brain struggling to solve how things had come to this Dolfin thought he should have tested his persuasive powers, which after all, had resulted in Kenneth’s death.

  When younger his prowess at arms and his pride in display had prevented debating. As he aged he took more pleasure in the power of his mind than he had, his middle years were his best, he had power of mind and body then. Lately weary bones brought a distemper to his disposition, lack of patience was his downfall. Engaging Seward in another ten minute of speech would have enabled MacCainstacairt’s men to arrive. Dolfin expected to be obeyed instantly and lost patience when he wasn’t. With that, his brain closed down and he stopped thinking …

  Exulting in his victory, Seward was eager to test himself further, who better than on Dolfin’s surviving supporter, who, on foot, dealt a last fatal stab to his downed opponent, a man loyal for Morgund. At least Seward could kill the killer of his confederate, Seward thought galloping forward.

  Dolfin’s swordsman turned. Attempting to remount, realising his mistake in dismounting, his face opposite to Seward’s, his eyes resigned. The greatest fear was upon him death, and over, blinding pain entered, torment of a kind a man should not live to tell, was felt. That if known, soldiering would not seem so worthy a profession. Regret on his face, regret at the many things he’d meant to say to his beloved and hadn’t.

  He entered a state where pain did not exist. A flight of geese slowly making their way across the sky. “Such a peaceful flight they are.” Enjoying these last moments of life until finally his head slumped and his eyes closed, by then, Seward had gone, following paths in the grass left by Morgund and his pursuer.

  PRESSURE POUNDING INSIDE Morgund’s head, swamping his senses into disorientation. Panic tearing at his insides Morgund played out his worst worries. Not strong enough to control a large powerful horse, not going as fast as they, the pursuit would not be long in catching up. Dismounting at a stream. A place to hide? There wasn’t one. He scanned the surrounds. Heather growing on a ridge nearby. They wouldn’t find him there. Morgund, by picking his way towards it left no twigs broken. Come dark he would get as far away as possible. After a time Morgund got up on his haunches. Peering through the undergrowth, he couldn’t see anyone. Running quickly splashing across a stream chastening himself, “Why didn’t I scare my horse off further?” Too late he had realised that having his mount close by would draw them. Fighting his way through heather and bracken bushes soon blood was streaming down his legs. “I must get further away.” Barrelling his way forward, glancing over his shoulder. His face ashen, looking ahead, stumbling, landing in a bed of reeds, breathing deeply attempting to gain clarity.

  If someone picked up his trail no matter how fast he ran they would catch up. Wade out into the stream and walk out on stones downstream, leave no trace, this might save him, it seemed logical. Entering the water Morgund felt the shock of the cold water, deeper and more biting than he had imagined. He swam, then, waded. Leaving the stream, walking through shadows of the forest. Then came again to the stream. Splashing downstream, until water became deeper again, up to his neck.

  Morgund’s assailant killed the clansman sent by Seward to protect Morgund and suffered a cut to his shoulder in the doing. The shoulder ached yet there was excited at the prospect that he would take Morgund’s head to MacCainstacairt, it went some way to alleviating his pain. Earning a reward. No doubt, gaining much respect. A dark smile lingering. Trailing Morgund’s horse to near to where he had first hidden, from where at a trot Dolfin’s man easily followed Morgund to the stream. Galloping on a high bank looking down at Morgund walking slowly, soon he would be a lot slower, he would be dead, this thought parted his lips in an expression of evil.

  Morgund came to the end of the stream, a waterfall falling twenty feet over a sheer cliff - impossible to climb down. Morgund set off again, one foot in front of another. Not thinking clearly, tiredness having sapped him, he thought he should have attempted to make a descent beside the falls. Unbeknownst to him, his pursuer gaining on him rapidly. Dolfin’s supporter took in Morgund in stumbling gait. On foot there was less chance of Morgund seeing him, he could not risk that, the sun had set, light was fading fast, escape was possible. With his horse tied to a bush, MacCainstacairt’s supporter sprinted to Morgund.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw a horseman galloping down, someone attempting to steal his reward, no doubt. He was angry, the fool could scare Morgund off. Thankfully Morgund did see either of them and he would get to Morgund first. Then Morgund saw his assailant. Sinking down, exhausted, burying his head in his arms, he cried, “Sir make my death quick,”

  The pursuer smiled as he said, “What have we here? A pretty lass indeed with such a pretty neck indeed.” He then placed his sword to Morgund’s throat. Stepping back he laughed. “A sorry spectacle you are MacAedh. Laughing more until recovering himself to say, “Your head will be an ornament hanging off MacCainstacairt’s wall. Morgund sadly waited, remembering all his bad luck and ruing it. Waiting for the deathblow.

  Laying waste to the boy’s emotions, was a pleasant a thing as the attacker had ever done. The clean lean face so ready to depart this life, so utterly defenceless. Closer, so as to strike the killing blow, but nevertheless, delaying, letting his rival approach. Stealing Morgund’s head at the last moment would thwart his opponent, there was another motivation, these frightened eyes he loved watching. The reason, the one, for delaying Morgund’s death, the most pressing one, wanting the fear to last, not wanting to extinguish the flame just yet. He turned to gloat at the latecomer, the one whose reward he was about to take .... it wasn’t a MacCainstacairt clansmen … it was Seward wielding his sword. Morgund’s assailant commenced an upward parry, which came too late. With a whirl of steel, his head went toppling. The day had been long, at last it had ended, Morgund thought of his own death. Almost he had died, he himself, had almost died moments ago.

  Seward who felt he had grown ten years during the course of this day, said, “It’s over Morgund.” Seward meaning the day as much as anything else, placed a reassuring hand to Morgund’s shoulder and Morgund looked up at him through a face shattered by tears. “Are you injured?” from Seward.

  “Thank you Seward, I am unhurt.” Morgund sobbed anew. His emotions he couldn’t contain.

  “Get up quickly Morgund, MacCainstacairt is nearby. The fallen man’s horse is close. We must put as much distance between them and us as we can.”

&nbs
p; With Morgund not responding, Seward half-pushed-half carried Morgund as far as he could, then lay Morgund down. Morgund somewhat recovered, Seward led the way, looking about anxiously lest observed by the enemy, sword at the ready. They set off, to the meadow, then back the way they came, risking meeting MacCainstacairt’s men in the dark, they had no choice, for by morning the whole area would be crawling with MacCainstacairt supporters.

  As all this was ongoing MacRuari entered the meadow from the other side, his horse’s ready ears pinned back, listening, as did its owner. Horses galloping, men shouting. MacCainstacairt’s ambush, William thought. MacRuarie turning his horse to reclaim his wealth, to go south to live a life of ease, thought an era gone no MacAedh’s for the north. Pondering whether to risk spending any time in the village seeking help to recover the gold. He decided not to. For now the gold could wait. With luck thus far, he’d just take what he had thrown near the stream, in the future return for the remainder. The next day William would place his coins in his saddlebag starting for Edinburgh. Travelling mostly at night and keeping to trails not used by the main populace, he would pass south without hindrance.

  As William left the meadow Seward was pulling Morgund’s horse along beside his, leaving the meadow going in the opposite direction, to William. By morning, both were exhausted. Seward made a camp amongst large pines, the horses picketed nearby, well hidden.

  When Seward awoke darkness had already fallen. It was time to be going. With a full moon to guide their way yet darkness to disguise them, night was the best time to travel. Saddling his horse whereafter rousing his companion. Too sore to travel fast they meandered.

  It was important to keep moving but equally important that Morgund be restored for he might need speed and strength to escape danger again. A certainty, more like. These dangerous times required constant vigilance and Morgund was of unlucky folk, danger plagued, as was being made only too apparent. Seward had chosen a great companion, he reflected. In this kind of environment he would become a great swordsman, or die. Night begat day. Travelling across a series of mountains as it rained steadily, getting colder the higher up they were. At the end of long afternoon, a grassy well-watered meadow, met them.

  “We will camp for a couple of days and rest and eat whilst there is still good forage for the horses. It is better to stop now, further up it will be barer and we do not want the horses to lose too much condition.”

  ACROSS THE MOUNTAINS

  SEWARD WAS CONFIDENT they were travelling correctly. Many times he had listened to tales of travel and read maps. He chose a route which avoided the great loch, which they could not cross without assistance and where parties of men could be out searching for them. Seward, returning to the present, concentrating on the most pressing task at hand, had Morgund assist him in building a shelter. It was safe to so and they built a large fire. Deeming it good to be near flame again, sitting round it devouring it, sharing it’s embrace. During the past two days they had gone without it. The warmth was reassuring.

  The day next Seward scouted ahead. With an explorer’s heart, this was much to his taste. Walking across high mountain meadows he enjoyed the views and stillness. To be so far from the world of men was peaceful. The highlands were remote and scarcely populated and here he found no sign of humans or domesticated animals. Upon his return, Seward proceeded to tell Morgund that this area seemed to be uninhabited, further to that, reported that in all his travels and he did see for many miles, the way ahead was high and he hoped traversable but he had some doubt on it.

  The base of these mountains grew dense vegetation. Together with unfavourable weather it could make it hard to find their way. The prospect of starving in the mountains was entirely real. The good news, that they seemed to have left any pursuit, far behind, or lost it entirely. Seward had gathered herbs and now set to make a drink which tasted pleasant, containing an ingredient that Seward knew would help them both relax.

  At calm repose in this isolated place was Seward. “Why hurry back to the world of men with intrigue and violence.” Seward remarked giving voice to what was on his mind.

  Staring into the fire they spoke little of their bloody encounter or of Kenneth’s death they spoke things of little consequence, for they had endured too much in the recent past to seek topics of such gravity.

  “It’s good to be alive Seward,” Morgund finally said after being engulfed in the fire’s calmness.

  “I have not been dead so I am not qualified to judge whether life or death is the better state,” Seward replied wittily, attempting to make Morgund laugh.

  Morgund ignored the statement and made one of his own. “Seward, teach me to be a swordsman as good as you.”

  “Like me?” Seward replied, attempting to look questioning, attempting to solicit praise.

  “Yes.” Both smiled, Seward’s fishing for compliment so obvious, it was humorous. Morgund’s eyes turned serious. “I don’t want to be that weak coward that I was when that man stood above me about to strike me dead. Next time I will fight and if need be die honourably defending myself.”

  “I’ll do my best to make you formidable Morgund.”

  “Therefore, again, I thank you. I am lucky to have your friendship Seward. You’ll stay with me always.” Morgund looked like a hunted animal. “I admit I am weak I have never been as strong as others. I despise my weakness. I will give everything I have to become strong. If I give my all, can I become strong?”

  “You can,” Seward answered solemnly.

  “I can.” Morgund said to himself, earnestly, surprised. “Perhaps I can. Seward, you must teach me and also help me to be brave. I don’t want to be a coward again.”

  “You will need skills to stay alive, and with hard work you will attain them.”

  “Is fighting about courage more than anything else?”

  “It is.” Tossing it about in his mind then confirming it, “Putting your life on the line bravely is its essence. We all know how to fight but some must look harder inside themselves to find the spark.” Morgund looked baffled, prompting Seward to say, “It’s a tortuous path alike to assembling a puzzle.”

  “Tell me what I have to do.”

  Seward who did not allow him to explore further, said, “It is better always to keep things simple. Don’t go into specifics, it is too early. I’ll tell you when you’re ready. Don’t worry Morgund, I will train you well. As well as I can …” Seward laughed. “I will have to, I might need you to save me one day. That would be one of the strangest things? Your father God bless his soul, saved me, I saved you and one day you may save me. Surely it would be one for the balladeers if it occurred.”

  “Yes, I suppose so Seward but truthfully train me well and I may assist for there will be many dangers ahead.”

  “Yes,” Seward replied, feeling angered at the prospect. He had picked very dangerous companion. He had no choice Kenneth had saved his life.

  Morgund kept on not having noticed Seward’s discomfort. “There are great numbers of men out to kill us.”

  “Enough, enough! One day the pattern will change Morgund and we shall become the hunters.”

  “Do you think so Seward? With so many dangerous enemies.”

  “Not really.” Seward was forced to admit. “Can we not talk about our limited prospects of survival.”

  They remained silent. A little later Morgund broke the spirit of contemplation by saying, “You know what I feel like?”

  “What?”

  “Cooked lamb.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, I just feel like it. This is my longest without eating meat. One or two hands full of oats.”

  That left Seward speechless. The noise of creatures of the night lulled them to sleep.

  The next morning well rested and well nourished they continued. It became a pleasant ride. Whilst browsing along, they noticed forest trees were becoming scarce and stunted the higher they climbed into the majestic mountain heights, cloaked in purple and white heather, sights a
ppreciated more when the clouds parted and sun shone, which was mostly. In the afternoon, showers, forced them to shelter, whereupon they made camp for the night.

  The next day travelling on the roof of the world the sun was bright and pleasant and now much higher there was little of woodland to speak of, the majority of the trees they had left far behind. Suddenly, it was colder. The pattern of the country changed. As they rode, the mountains closed in around them. Abruptly, edging into a valley the explosive of sound of a waterfall. Looking up through the crags to get a view of waters hurling over and downward. When the wind become gusty a trillion tiny petals swept down upon them, these, the waterfall’s cast-offs, searching for places to cling to, and Seward and Morgund they found.

  Morgund held up his hands, “Come on let us find shelter away from this.”

  Gazing enthralled upon the swirling galaxies that were descending. A drop hit Seward squarely in the eye, after which, one of Seward’s eyebrow went up and then a few teeth showed through. “Aye,” he said, “Lead away Morgund.”

  Riding across a burn, the horse’s hooves were crunching on small round pebbles. Slightly further on, an overhang abutting waterfall. Winds howled hauntingly, sounding faintly like voices, but no matter how hard they listened, it was impossible to hear them clearly.

  The words contained most sacred knowledge, of what they couldn’t say, they remained hidden, but feel them, they did. Above the muffled roar of the water, in that dank hole, dark with moisture, a host of breathless souls whispered soothing messages. Dwarf trees poked out of crevices in the rock. They almost expected to see a gnome duck below a stone, or jump up and run away from a place of concealment, such an enchanting place it was.