Culann and Fergus were about to move out with the two Pictish girls from the neighbouring village when the two girls from Gairloch indicated they wanted to join them. Apparently they were afraid to stay in this place of death. So Culann and Fergus moved inland with now four women. Bryan and the six sailors together with the four local Pict males began the grim task of locating and burying the bodies dotting the surrounding plain.
* * * * *
The youngest of the Pictish women walked ahead guiding the group. They moved due west into the tree line alone a faint path that could be a deer trail. It was early mid-morning was when they passed a tree lined loch the local girls called ‘Loch Tollaidh’. Everyone paused to refresh themselves from the clear cold water. Shortly after they mounted a rock strewn ridge. Before them to the right stretched a long narrow loch (Loch Maree). To their left lay a larger loch (Lock Ewe). Their guide pointed to the small stream that ran between both lochs. That appeared to be the location of the women’s village.
After taking a few minutes to admire the view, Culann indicated they should continue now downhill following the deer trail. As the little group brushed past and ducked under low hanging branches Culann noticed it had not snowed on this side of the ridge, or if it had the snow had melted. The ground was rocky but slick. The women, now nearing their home, happily chattered and occasionally gave a little cry as one accidentally slipped.
It seemed only a short time until they entered a small clearing. As they moved across it toward the deer trail disappearing into the bushes on the far side an imposing figure of a man materialized in front of them. He stood silently with his arms crossed over his chest. A huge sword hung from his waist. His long hair and full beard was silver.
Culann and his group abruptly stopped. The dim shadows of armed warriors now emerged into the forest clearing. Culann and Fergus were surrounded and greatly outnumbered.
Back to top
Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω
Chapter 5 - Two Moons Earlier
Gart - Picti fisherman from Poolewe
Sunrise on Loch Ewe found thirteen men readying their fishing nets in preparation to launch four small coracles. (Light oval boats, wooden framed and covered in animal hide - smaller than a curach) The rain and heavy winds of the past two weeks had subsided and the men were anxious to row out toward the mouth of the Loch where traditionally the best catches were to be had. The inclement weather had curtailed their fishing activities and many of the five families that made up their little community were short of food.
This was caused in no small measure because earlier that month they were visited by warriors from Skye. The Loch Ewe Clan had to pay their winter tribute to the men from the Isle of Mist. This comprised three containers of milk, three tubs of butter, a slaughtered cow from their diminishing herd and three large containers of salted fish. The farming and fishing families on the mainland lived in awe of the fierce fighting warriors from Skye and were obliged to pay tribute every spring, summer, autumn and winter.
The chieftain of the Clan was a tall wiry silver bearded man called Alpin. He directed the other twelve and waved them off. The boats each with three occupants paddled north toward the mouth of the loch, barely discernible in the distance. Alpin, although a hard man was considered too old to endure the rigors of the sometime wild ocean in those small boats. Plus he had now to supervise the lads herding the cows back up the valley.
Alpin trudged back over the muddy ground toward a cluster of small round thatched wooden buildings. A group of women and young girls waved to him as they carried water in cow skin containers from the swiftly flowing stream that linked the long narrow landlocked Loch Maree to the seaward Loch Ewe. Their village was built near to a deep pool fed by that stream running into Loch Ewe. It was no surprise then that they called their hamlet Poolewe.
“Is your daughter Sinead and her friends back yet Nia?” asked Alpin to one of the women.
“No not yet Alpin.” replied the woman.
“It’s been what, four days now. Aren’t you worried?”
“Oh Sinead will be all right. She has her brother with her to take care of the girls. They visit their friends from time to time, but I must admit they normally only stay overnight. They probably have more food in Gairloch. If she is not back this evening I will ask my husband to go and check.”
The clan Chieftain nodded and continued up the valley to where the cattle were grazing under the watchful eyes of some young boys. He gathered them together and advised them to herd the brown shaggy animals early into the special cow shelters, in case the weather turned bad again that evening. Suddenly one of the boys called out and pointed to the trail leading over the mountains to the south. “Look there’s someone coming. He’s running and falling over.” Everyone looked and Alpin commanded “Look lively lads. Whoever it is, he’s in trouble. Go quickly and help him.” The boys ran off with Alpin jogging behind.
When the leading boys reached the stranger, he was stumbling and holding his left arm. It was bleeding. Just as Alpin reached him the wounded man called out “Attack, attack!” then collapsed
He was quickly carried to Alpin’s house where his wounded arm was wrapped in cloth to stop the bleeding. After Alpin’s wife raised his head slightly and dribbled some water into his mouth the man’s eyes fluttered open and he mumbled “They attacked us. They killed everyone.”
“Who attacked you?” asked Alpin “The Eilean a' Cheò mob?”
“No, no.” now whispered the man. “Big boats, Celts, many warriors. They killed our men and took some women.” He lapsed back into unconsciousness.
A crowd had now gathered in the small one room dwelling. “I recognize him.” said one of the boys “He’s from Gairloch.”
“Oh no,” cried Nia her hand going to her mouth “they have my Sinead!”
“Don’t worry lassie.” said Alpin in a comforting tone. “We’ll send some people over to check.”
“But who?” cried one of the women “The men are all out fishing. If they attacked Gairloch from boats they may come here next.”
“It will be all right.” said Alpin, calmly. He was not Chieftain for nothing. “I’ll send a couple of the lads to check. They can run over to the next glen and scout the area from the tree line without being seen. Everyone here will move up yonder hill and hide until the men return tonight. You’ll all be safe.”
Two of the eldest boys were sent up over the hill to check on Gairloch. Alpin arranged for the remaining women and children to gather some belongings and climb up a nearby hill. There they remained hidden from potential predators but could observe any vessels coming down the loch.
It was late afternoon when the two boys sent to scout returned and breathlessly told their story. “Most of the buildings at Gairloch have been burnt. There were many bodies. We could not find anyone alive even though we call out for a long time. It was terrible.”
“Did you see my Sinead?” asked Nia fearfully.
“No she was not there. Neither was her brother, Sreng. All the dead seemed to be men although there were some older women. Many were all together. It looked like the raiders herded them together and killed them. The wolves had not arrived so we think it must have happened yesterday, probably early morning because the fishing coracles were still on the beach. They had been slashed and broken.”
“Curse them.” uttered Alpin “It looks like they only took the young men and girls. They were after slaves. There is nothing of value in our villages.” He shook his head in sorrow.
The men returned in their coracles just before sundown. Their elation at obtaining a good catch was instantly tempered by the news of what befell their neighbouring clan. Alpin began organizing makeshift living quarters for everyone. It was considered too dangerous to return to their houses. Lookouts were also posted high on the hills to watch for anything coming down Loch Ewe. Canny Alpin had lookouts rotated every day to watch if anyone returned to neighbouring Gairloch.
In the days that followed only
two coracles were sent out at one time for fishing. The rest of the men remained to guard the clan now located high on the hill. The men also fashioned additional weapons, mainly spears and clubs as they could not make metal swords.
* * * * *
Days went by. One woman gave birth, but the baby died. The wounded man from Gairloch became delirious as his wounded arm festered. He passed away without regaining consciousness. The new living arrangements became routine. Food was desperately scarce. Apart from fishing some of the men and boys were sent inland hunting. They caught the occasional squirrel, some small birds and one small red deer. Winter was not a good time for hunting.
On a day blessed with sunshine one of the Gairloch lookouts raced breathless into the camp. “A large ship with many people just sailed into where the village used to be.”
“Is it an Eilean a' Cheò boat?” asked Alpin.
“No, no, it is different. It has a sail.”
“How many warriors?” queried Alpin as the others gathered round.
“I only saw one with a sword. The sailors manning the oars wore leather. The others were all dressed strangely, like Magas (pagan priests),” said the boy.
“Druids,” said a worried Alpin. “Go back lad and see what they are doing. Let us know if they leave again. They may be planning to sail to our loch next.” The lad nodded and after eating a hurried meal left. Alpin began organizing the men and the older boys with weapons. They would have to defend the clan.
Early next morning the scout returned even more breathless. “They are coming,” he cried.
“Where?” cried Alpin “In the loch?”
“No” breathing heavily “they are coming over the hill. Many of them. They wear white – like ghosts”
“Damn.” muttered Alpin. “Alright men, follow me. We will move up the trail and ambush them on their way over. They won’t be familiar with this territory. You women go hide in the trees until we return. Don’t let any babies cry.”
Alpin and two other men had swords. All the others were only armed with wooden spears and clubs. The men moved out.
Back to top
Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω
Chapter 6 - To Poolewe
“Keep still. Don’t move,” commanded Culann as he held high his right hand as a sign of peace to the silver haired warrior ahead of him. Fergus repeated this to the Picts, but drew his sword anyway.
Brother Bryan watched the small group led by Culann move out and disappear into the tree line. He stood silently watching even after they were no longer in view, thinking hard. Then, as the six sailors and four young Picts from Gairloch waited, he turned and issued his instructions. “We need food men. You sailors can help me collect these poor souls and we will bury them in a mass grave, just up from the beach.” Luckily one of the young Picts called Emcat, understood a smattering of Gaelic, and was able, with the assistance of some sign language, to translate what Bryan said to his companion. “You Gairloch boys, please check what’s left of the buildings in your village and find any barley that may be hidden under the floor or in one of the sheds.”
“What about any weapons we find? We should bury those with the dead. It is our custom,” asked Emcat.
“Bryan thought for a moment before replying.”Yes, I am aware of your custom, but I think it is best if we keep any weapons for the time being. Although none of your comrades are Christians, I will offer special prayers over them and ask your Gods’ permission to use the weapons not just to protect you and any of the women, but we will need to hunt some animals here for food. I can see by the bones that the wolves have stripped them clean since they were killed. At least there should be wolves available somewhere close.”
The Picts looked at each other and nodded. They were only too aware that without these men in white with their strange religion, they would be still be slaves back in Dunadd. “It is agreed,” said Emcat.
The sailors were a big help to Bryan as they set about the grisly task of gathering the remains of the slain Picts and laying them gently in the shallow grave that Bryan scooped out of the sand above the high water line. He initially used the only tool they had available, one of the wooden oars. This was supplemented after a short while with a bronze bowl used for cooking found in one of the burnt out houses. Bryan then asked the Picts to bring him any other metal objects they found as well.
By day’s end they had gathered the remains and placed them in the makeshift grave. Brother Bryan said a solemn prayer in Gaelic Irish, offering the souls of the departed to the care of the Heavenly Father in the Kingdom of Heaven. After he finished his short homily, the Picts were still looking at him expectantly, so he repeated what he had just said in Latin. The Picts, now satisfied, smiled happily.
Bryan then took stock of what they had found; two small bags of oats; an earthenware bowel of what appeared to be vegetables, but had now turned to inedible mush – Bryan kept the bowl; a wooden container with probably twenty dried fish covered in dirt, but they could be washed and eaten; a small torn bag of white substance which turned out to be sea salt; two metal dishes they could use for cooking the oats; three swords, two badly bent and one broken; six spears with metal blades which had been left imbedded in the Picts bodies and nine small knives probable used for cutting food.
By nightfall, neither Culann nor Fergus had returned so Bryan arranged for some of the oatmeal to be cooked in one of the metal dishes using water from a nearby stream. He decreed that they should keep the fish for when Culann and Fergus returned and then everyone could feast upon them.
Luckily the snow did not return that night and they slept again under the upturned curach, close to the dying fire’s embers.
* * * * *
“Keep still. Don’t move.” commanded Culann as he held up his right hand as a sign of peace to the silver haired warrior ahead of him. Fergus repeated this to the Picts but drew his sword anyway. Everyone was aware of more warriors bearing spears and clubs emerging from the surrounding forest.
“Papa, Papa!” cried the Pict girl
Suddenly the silence was shattered as one of the Pict girls ran forward to a Pict warrior holding a spear menacingly in both hands crying “Papa, Papa!” The girl threw herself at the warrior, embracing him. This unexpected event released the tension between the two groups. Many warriors warily lowered their weapons as two more girls ran to relatives they now recognized.
The silver haired leader of the warriors suddenly smiled and held his hand out to Fergus, whom he took to be the leader because he spoke their language. Fergus clasped hands and tried to explain that Culann was in fact their leader. The silver haired man then turned to Culann and introduced himself as Alpin, Chieftain of the clan. The two groups intermingled as they found relatives and friends that none had expected to see ever again.
After a few hectic minutes Alpin clapped his hands for attention and said everyone should return to their village, Poolewe. The now larger group moved off down the narrow trail, still talking animatedly. The former prisoners related how they had been captured, roughly bound and stowed on large boats by the Scotti, then taken along with other prisoners to the Scotti stronghold of Dunadd. There, while fearful for their lives, they were miraculously rescued by these marvelous monks, whose God had burnt down the hill fort and killed many Scotti.
Fergus, listening to this, decided to say nothing to correct the record at this stage. Mainly because it sounded much better than the factual events. By midday they emerged from the undergrowth and looked out onto the peaceful scene that was Loch Maree and Loch Ewe.
“Where is everybody?” asked Culann noting the empty fields and buildings. Alpin explained that the women and children were hiding on the nearby hill. He sent one of the warriors off to tell them to come down to the village. There would be a great feast to-night to celebrate the return of their lost children.
“What will we feast upon?” asked one of the warriors. “We have little or no food.”
Alpin said “We will kill one of the
cows. This is a special occasion.”
Culann requested that one of the Poolewe warriors make haste back over the hill to advise Brother Bryan and his little band to sail their curach into the next loch, Loch Ewe, and join them at the their new benefactors' village. Alpin readily agreed and sent off one of their fastest runners.
A short time later they reached Poolewe and were soon joyously joined by the women and children who ran down from their hiding place.
“Where is my Sinead?” cried a suddenly frantic Nia. “Where are my daughter and son?” Fergus explained to Alpin that Sinead had decided to stay at the infirmary on Lios mór to help care for her brother Sreng, who had been wounded trying to protect his little sister. On hearing this Nia collapsed and burst into tears. As she was comforted by some of the other women she suddenly stood and wiping her eyes asked. “Did someone say there were two girls from Gairloch here who had lost their parents?” People nodded and pointed to the two Gairloch girls who were standing by themselves on the edge of the group.
Nia walked over to the girls and holding out her arms embraced them both. “I may have lost two of my children, but I have gained two more. You girls will be my new daughters if you care to stay with me.” The girls in turn hugged Nia, their new mother.
The rest of the day was taken up preparing for the feast. The Clan at Poolewe had no great feasting hall, so they all gathered in the largest dwelling of the village, a house owned by the fisherman, Gart.
Brother Bryan and his band of sailors and Picts rowed into Loch Ewe late in the afternoon and were equally warmly greeted by the people of Poolewe.
Culann noticed the Clan had very few metal objects, no metal spears, a couple of small axes and only three swords. When he queried Alpin, through Fergus, he discovered the clan had little knowledge of metalworking. They had no access to iron ore and had never seen a ‘smithy’ (a forge, which by use of a bellows was used to superheat metals). If any of the few metal objects they did possess broke, they were unable to mend it.
The Culann Chronicles, Book 2, Picts' Plight Page 6