Winter Serpent (28 page)

Llewellyn got to his feet and plunged his spear into the sand in disgust. “What are they doing? They are making for Inverness. It is a long trip back

for us, eh, lord bishop? We have only our feet to carry us, and tired horses, more than half the garrison upon this lonely beach. If I had the second sight I would say that when we finally stumble homeward a sorry and bloody sight will greet us. The Northman has played his trick, drawing us away so that there is little left to stand in his path!”

15

It was just past midsummer, but already the land had the golden, dusty look of autumn. There had still been little rain in the eastern hills; the grass was dry and the tender yellow leaves showered down at the touch of the hot wind in the trees. An empty stillness was on the land. The

fields of stunted grain were deserted of harvesters and as the men and the girl on the pony approached, they roused herds of deer feeding on the ruined crops. Large flocks of ravens perched in the forest trees and on the chimneys of the deserted earth villages and rose reluctantly at the sight of the invading humans.

Flann walked with his chin on his chest, lost in his thoughts, and even Barra’s chattering was joyless as though he, too, had no stomach for the desolate journey. A fearful stealth seemed to greet them at every clearing, the valleys filled with the dry rustling wind of the drought.

Doireann thought with scorn of the Picts who hid in the mountains while their harvest spoiled. No Northman would come to attack them here, so far from the coast. Still, the party was spared the villagers’ endless questions and perhaps even their superstitious violence. She had suggested turning south to the land of the Attacotti, but Flann, who had joined them on
the road after the sack of Inverness, had insisted on the westward track to the Scottish kingdom.

“I cannot return to the land of the macDumhnulls,” Barra had protested. “Surely, princess, you must know that Calum toiseach would hang me from the highest tree for what I have done.”

“It is all right,” Flann said. “The Culdee brothers at Loch Leven sent Picts to me with a secret message long ago. Alpin the Ard-Ri, they said, now orders the affairs in Cumhainn. It was said that he has called a gathering of the brehon judges to hear the case of succession in the macDumhnull’s chieftaincy. If Alpin is now the law in the Coire none of us need fear. When I was at the dun in Cumhainn I met Alpin’s man Comac Neish, the Irish warrior. The Picts say he waits on the far side of Loch Ness for some stroke of luck which will bring Doireann nighean Muireach back to the land of her father. Naturally, no one mentions these things in the land of the Picts where the carrying of Culdee matters means death. Then, too, I could not know the terrible events which were to occur.”

They were silent, thinking of the past few days. Doireann looked at Flann curiously. She could not become accustomed to the change which had taken place in him. The clothing was strange enough with the leather kilt and battered Pictish helmet. But his manner was rough, preoccupied. He seemed to have taken off his sober authority with the brown monk’s habit. The shoulder wound troubled him. He leaned heavily on his spear, using it as a staff.

She had not seen the battles which had taken place at Inverness, but perhaps this was enough to change him. He would not speak to her of Nechtan’s folly, only she sensed a great bitterness in him when she asked of the Saxon fathers. They had all perished.

The child Ian was restless and fretful in the saddle. Barra grimaced at the noise.

“It is all too silent, waiting,” he grumbled. “The child makes a sound and it is like a thunderclap. Cover his fair hair so that it does not show.”

She stared down at him.

“What ails you?” she demanded. “The glen’s whispers travel faster than we. If we are watched, then those that hide from us know our story. I do not think they doubt who we are.”

He frowned and muttered something to the Culdee in an undertone. She was afraid when they did this. Perhaps they were plotting to leave her.

Flann denied it with a distant air.

“We do not talk of leaving you,” he said morosely. “We talk of other things. It is not easy to forget what has been.”

“If only there were not this drought and the blight it brings,” she complained. “But we shall soon be out of it. Dalriada must still be green, for the
rains always fall in the western mountains. You will see. When we have crossed Loch Ness it will be different.”

But Barra would not be consoled. They stole game from the snares in the woods and from the abandoned villages for their food. Occasionally they found traps empty but set, which Barra declared was proof that men were still about. He was impatient with her and the need to stop often to rest the child.

“I do not like what is happening,” he said, swinging his head from side to side. “Something has happened. I have never been in the land of the Picts where I could not hear the whispers even, or the rumors about. I do not know. I do not like it.”

At last they came to the shore of Loch Ness and saw the water stretching out before them.

“Oh, this is a bad place,” Barra said dolefully. “I smell a bad smell in the air. The tribes of the Cruithne here are evil and wicked, and everyone knows of the monster which lives in the Lake Which Has No Bottom.”

Flann seemed to be cheered by the sight of the distant shore.

“I did not think we would come this far,” he admitted. “But perhaps we shall fare better when we pass into the land of the Scots. Look out there.” He pointed to a boat on the lake’s smooth surface. “Fishermen, it would seem.”

They decided to wait until a boat should pass within hailing distance. Doireann dismounted and threw herself on the grass. Flann took the child, and she was soon asleep.

It was late when she woke, but the constant summer sun of the north still hung in the sky. Barra had brought a wary, skin-clad youth up from the shore where a boat was beached.

“This is Reanor,” he told them. The Pict’s eyes were on Doireann’s rumpled finery. “When I told him you had jewels and gold he spoke of a very fine dugout which will take us across the loch. It belongs to his father, but he says he helped in the making of it and so is part owner.”

The Pict nudged Barra. “And the pony.”

“Yes,” Barra agreed. “And the pony also.”

She took the gold armlet and handed it to Barra.

“That is good. But we need only part of it to bargain. These Picts have never had gold in their hands.”

He cut the armlet in two with his spear.

“We will go across the water now,” he told the other man, laying the gold in his palm.

“No one travels the loch in the darkness!” the Pict protested. But he closed his fist on the gold. “I cannot take you now. The whole journey is dangerous,
for it is not hard to tell who this woman is, or that it is a Culdee who follows her. The next king will have his revenge upon those that help them.”

“The next king?” Flann cried. The other man looked sullen.

“Have you spoken to no one? Do you not know that Nechtan fell among the ruins of his fortress with a spear in his back which Tulic of Beth cast at him? It is said that Brude his son has fled to Northumbria and that the seven chieftains are warring up and down the land among themselves to determine which of them shall next be king of the Picts.”

Barra whistled softly.

“So that is what has occurred. Nechtan has been destroyed.” He looked almost frightened. “Come, we shall cross Loch Ness now, in the hour.”

The other man started to protest, but Barra cut him short. “Now,” he ordered.

“But there are parts of the lake,” Reanor stammered, “where it is dangerous to pass in the dark. And I am not so skilled as I first told you. There is much danger from the monster which drags boats under the water.”

“You will come and I will handle the craft,” Barra said, “for I am more skilled than I first told you. The Culdee will take care of any demons we might encounter.”

The little Pict looked at Flann doubtfully.

“But he is not a proper priest, only a Culdee. And strangely dressed.”

“All the better,” Barra assured him, “for it is known that the Culdees are descendants of the Old Ones, the druids, and have the ancient powers as well as the strength of Christ in them, They can accomplish such things as no Saxon from York or Inverness ever could.”

Doireann looked at Flann with her mouth open, but he did not contradict Barra. Instead, he glowered at the young Pict and leaned heavily on his spear. He passed his hand along his forehead to point up the old-style tonsure which the Culdees had taken from the Druids.

“I will do it,” Reanor said hastily.

Doireann put the ragged cloak of the fisherman about her and bound up her hair, hoping that at a distance she might be taken for a woman of the earth villages.

The faint, hot wind died at twilight and when their boat crossed the loch its surface was like polished copper. Their voices seemed unduly loud on the water and they were struck with the loneliness of the little boat in the smooth expanse. Even here the air was dry and oppressive.

They could not avoid passing two of the Pictish fishing boats which were putting to shoreward. There was, after all, no place to hide upon the great
lake. The Picts in the boats regarded them unblinkingly. One of them shouted to the man in their craft. He did not answer, but he frowned and bit his lip.

A few moments later he burst out at Barra, complaining that the others knew he was giving aid to the woman with a curse on her and the Northman’s child. All had heard she was the cause of the burning of Inverness and the death of the old king, and responsible for the warring which had taken place.

Now, he raged, he would be an outcast from his own tribe and stained with the same evil that was on all who had anything to do with this woman. He would certainly have to leave Loch Ness and perhaps even the land of the Picts, and go away and live among strangers. How would he manage this, being a poor man?

His passengers listened to the tirade unmoved. “You are not so poor,” Barra commented.

The man held up the piece of gold.

“This will not pay me for this night’s work” he cried.

“It is never enough!” Barra shouted. He jabbed his paddle at Reanor menacingly. “Whenever did the tribes of Ir who eat snakes and grub in the woods for bark ever have enough gold? I know you well!”

The young Pict sprang to his feet in a rage and began to rock the dugout from side to side so that it seemed they would capsize.

“Nevertheless, you will not get to the far shore until I have my due! If the curse which hangs over all of you is to be upon me also, then at least I will be well paid for it. Shall I overturn you now and let the monster of the deep eat you?”

Barra drew back the paddle as if to hit him, but Flann, who was sitting facing the little man, reached up and grabbed him about the throat.

“You will not dump us into the water. If any of us makes a meal for the

Loch Ness dragon it will be you!”

Doireann clutched the child. She could not see Flann’s face from her seat in the stern but she saw his neck, crimson and rigid, and the bunched muscles of the arms which held the Pict.

“Give me the gold!” the youth shouted, still defiant.

With something like a snarl the Culdee hurled him over the side of the boat and into the water. He disappeared from sight. Doireann gave a little scream.

“Flann! In God’s name! I do not think he can swim!”

The Irishman stared into the water with indifference. The man’s head broke the surface and he began to flounder about. Flann tossed him the bow paddle and he clutched it, paddling alongside cursing and spluttering.

Flann smiled grimly.

“He will not drown when he has the wind to curse us.” Doireann stared at him.

“I did not think you could do such a thing,” she cried. His face was full of a curious bitterness.

“Why not? In his greed he would have destroyed us. Besides, I have done many things in these past few days that I thought I would never have to do again. I have killed men and seen them die before me. Why not this?”

She bit her lips. She could not answer him.

They put the boat ashore on the far side of Loch Ness in the disputed ground of Scots and Picts. It was now gray northern night, the sky gleaming overhead, but they could tell little of the land. The men agreed they must leave the shore for fear of attack by the fishermen. The Pict was left dripping and malevolent beside his boat.

Doireann was on foot now, and struggled without complaint through the dark with the heavy child in her arms. At least the child slept and did not worry them with his incessant squirming.

After a while Barra took him, but despite his help she was soon exhausted and found it difficult to stumble after the men in the trackless underbrush. Nor did Barra seem sure of his direction. The dusty moon rose at last and they saw that they were well away from Loch Ness in a narrow valley.

They stopped, and she threw herself to the ground. She could not stay awake long enough to find out whether the men were able to stand guard.