Calgaich the Swordsman (12 page)

"Can I safely enter the
dun,
Guidd?” Calgaich asked.

"Does a wolf willingly put his head into a trap?” Guidd asked pointedly.

“What can Bruidge fear from me? One man can't kill him in his own den. He knows the law. If I come to him to offer kinship, he can't wet his hands with my blood."

“Don't rely on that kinship, Calgaich. True, he can't kill you himself, but his personal bodyguard is never far away from him. Bruidge no longer trusts the Novantae. His guards are not of our people. Some of them are 'broken men' from other clans—outlaws who have come here to serve him for pay." Guidd leaned closer to Calgaich. “By the gods of darkness! He even has some Picts and Saxons among his guards!"

“Picts? Saxons? Saxon sea-wolves here in Rioghaine?" Calgaich demanded harshly.

“Aye!" Guidd drank deeply and then hiccupped. “I said he trusted no one. As long as he pays his guards well, they serve him well. Once Bruidge of the Battle-Axe was a man to be reckoned with in battle, but now he is a coward. He fears everything, including his own people, and, mark you, he sees things in the darkness of his own bedchamber and hall
that no one else can see”
Guidd nodded wisely. “Therefore, he is never alone."

“He sees things only in the haze from the whiskey jug." Calgaich spat contemptuously.

“Perhaps. Still, there are things one alone can see—things meant for one alone." Guidd's whiskey-hoarse voice trailed off meaningfully.

The two wolfhounds raised their heads as the faint howlings of other wolves penetrated into the cave. The night wind moaned through the trees.

“There is a cold stone in the fat belly of Bruidge of the Bottle," Guidd said. “He can't be trusted more than
a
spear's length away. His fear of something unknown makes him doubly treacherous and dangerous."

“What gives him this great fear?"

Guidd shrugged. “His own people. You, his nephew. The Romans. He wants to secure himself in the chieftainship. That's why he is playing the weakling's game of putting himself into the hands of one enemy to save himself from another."

“You talk in riddles, old hound.”

Guidd shook his grizzled head. “There have been

Romans here in Rioghaine. For a time they came disguised. Some of them even pretended to be Greek traders. Others came as healers of the eye sickness. But it takes more than a change of name and clothing to conceal a damned Red Crest from
me,
Calgaich!”

"Romans here?” Calgaich stared in disbelief at the woodsman.

Guidd nodded. "There are two of them here now. They promise Bruidge much. They are soldiers, Calgaich. A tribune and a centurion.”

Calgaich emptied his whiskey bowl. He refilled it and then drew Guidd closer by gripping one of his shoulders. "How did my father fall into the hands of the Romans?” he demanded. "Was it really the trickery of Bruidge?” Guidd winced at the pain of Calgaich's grip. "No one is sure. To accuse Bruidge is to die suddenly. Some who spoke openly about the matter were called up to the
dun,
and they were never seen again.” Guidd pried Calgaich’s fingers loose. "My shoulder sleeps,” he protested.

Calgaich released the woodsman. "Paralus, the Greek trader, told me about this treachery. Are there enough warriors to back me up if I have to drive Bruidge from his damned
dun?”

Guidd thoughtfully rubbed his bearded jaw. "I don't know. Times have changed. Your father was old and feeble. There were times when he talked of peace between the Novantae and the Romans.”

Calgaich shook his head. "I can't believe that.”

"It's not a bad thought,” Cairenn said out of the shadows.

Guidd turned slowly to look at her. There was astonishment on his seamed face. "She spoke into the conversation of
men!”
he exclaimed.

Calgaich shrugged and sipped at his whiskey bowl. "She's only a
cumal.
She doesn't know any better.”

"What is wrong with peace with the Romans?” Cairenn persisted, ignoring the stare of Guidd.

Calgaich glanced at Guidd. "It's her way,” he explained, looking back at Cairenn. "There can never be any peace between the Novantae and the Romans.”

"There is peace between the Britons and the Romans,
fian
.”

He nodded. "The Britons had little choice. We do."

"The Red Crests create a desolation and call it peace,” Guidd growled. "Bruidge may need the help of the Romans to hold his kingship. Always they seek to secure the border. They have never conquered the Novantae by war. Now they try to do it by guile.”

"And Bruidge is the means,” Calgaich added.

"For Roman pay some men will do anything. Aye! They'd sell their very souls!”

Calgaich looked into the embers of the fire as though he could foresee the future in its strange flickering shapes. "If my father is still alive, he is still the chief of the clan. Nothing but his death can take that right away from him.”

Guidd spat into the embers. "An old man, almost blind, who is imprisoned in a Roman fort is less of a chief, even by right, than a brother of his seated in the chief's own
dun,
well protected by a personal bodyguard of Picts and Saxons and with the friendship of the Romans to boot.”

"You've forgotten that I am still alive and back in Caledonia.”

"I have not forgotten,” Guidd replied.

Calgaich placed an arm about the shoulders of the woodsman and drew him close. "I know that, old hound. There are times when I forget myself.”

Calgaich stood up and began to pace back and forth. "How is Morar?” he asked.

"As beautiful as ever, maybe more so.” Cairenn heard the question and answer with sadness.

"Where is she now?”

Guidd reached for the jug and began to fill his bowl.

"Guidd?” Calgaich asked.

"She and her younger sister Bronwyn have gone to Luguvalium,” Guidd answered softly, not looking at Calgaich.

Calgaich stopped his pacing. His face seemed to harden. "What's that you say? Luguvalium? A Roman stronghold? Why?”

Guidd shrugged. "Bruidge got permission from the Romans so that they might go there. You know how Morar likes bright things and the shops they have in the city. She has always wanted to live south of the Great Wall. She has no family except Bronwyn. Bruidge is their guardian.”

“Perhaps she went to take care of my father?” Calgaich said, standing before Guidd.

Guidd closed his one eye and looked away from Calgaich before he opened it again. “Perhaps,” he agreed.

“But you don’t believe that?”

Guidd emptied his whiskey bowl and reached again for the jug.

“Guidd! Damn you!” Calgaich snapped. “There isn’t anything going on here that you don’t know about! Do you believe that Morar went there to take care of my father?”

“Damn you, Calgaich!
No!”

Calgaich sat down again. “I had thought she might be here when I returned.” He did not notice the great eyes of Cairenn studying him from the shadows. He looked sideways at Guidd. “Are you holding something back from me?”

Guidd held out his hands, palms upwards, and shrugged. “Why should I do that?” he asked guilelessly.

“Look at me, Guidd.”

The woodsman reluctantly turned his head. They sat there, a few feet apart, studying each other, eye to eye, and then Guidd slowly looked away.

“Tell me the truth, old hound.”

“I will if you keep your hand from your dirk.”

“I promise.”

“I told you that Quaestor Lucius Sextillius, acting governor of the province, is at Luguvalium, supposedly on an inspection tour of the Great Wall, but the rumors have been that he is trying to make some kind of deal with Bruidge. It is also rumored that if he succeeds in making this deal with Bruidge, he will be recalled to Rome to report firsthand to the Senate and the emperor. So Sextillius, the Perfumed Pig, as even some of his own men call him, wanted hostages to take with him to Rome as proof of the good will of Bruidge.”

It was very quiet in the cave. The night wind moaned faintly through the trees outside it. Guidd nervously cleared his throat.

"Morar and Bronwyn?” Calgaich asked incredulously. "Morar and Bronwyn?” He jumped to his feet.
“Morar and Bronwyn?”
he shouted.

Guidd leaned over backwards and scuttled away from Calgaich on his hands and knees. He looked back over a shoulder. "Keep your damned hands off that dirk!” he yelled. "I had nothing to do with it!”

The dirk shone softly in the light of the oil lamp as Calgaich drew it. His eyes were wide in his head. His breathing came fast and shallow. He raised the dirk as though to strike, and stood there transfixed, so great was his cold rage.

"There's a way out the back, woman,” Guidd hissed as he passed Cairenn.

Cairenn stood up to meet Calgaich as he followed Guidd. "Calgaich,” she said quietly.

He looked at her for a long moment, as if he did not recognize her. Then he slowly lowered his dirk. He looked about at the entrance of the cave and the wall, as if he were in a strange place. Guidd watched him warily from the hidden back entrance. "Come back, Guidd. My rage was not for you,” Calgaich said at last.

The woodsman came back into the light but stood a few paces behind Cairenn. "Sheath the dirk,” he requested nervously. "There is more to tell.”

Calgaich thrust the dirk into its sheath. "Go on,” he said coldly.

Guidd swallowed hard. "Some say Morar is to be betrothed to Lucius Sextillius. There! I've said it! The gods know I would have been the last to tell you, Calgaich.”

Cairenn watched from the shadows as Calgaich shook his head. At last he seemed to understand. "It's better that you did.” He reached for his cloak and threw it about his shoulders. He stabbed home the pin of the
fibula
to hold the cloak about his throat. He reached for his war spear and then shook his head. It would be of little use in close combat within the
dun
if Bruidge betrayed traditional hospitality by setting his mercenaries on Calgaich. Instead, he picked up his sheathed sword and attached the scabbard to his belt.

Guidd narrowed his one eye. "The
sword
, my brother.”

Calgaich drew the splendid weapon from its sheath and handed it to Guidd. Guidd held the blade so that the light shone on it. The reflection of the light glistened like rippling water on the fine blade. Guidd peered closely at the mark of the master metalsmith and then whistled softly. He looked at Calgaich. "Is it really so?” he asked softly.

Calgaich nodded. "It is so.”

"The lost Sword of Evicatos,” Guidd murmured in awe. "How did you come by it?”

Calgaich reached for the sword and sheathed it. "I prayed to Lugh of the Shining Spear,” he replied simply. "Will you guide me to the shore?”

"The wolves haunt the night along this loch, as you well know. It would be better if you took my curragh to the other end of the loch and then walked to the
dun
from there. Even so, the wolves may greet you at the shore. Better still, stay here tonight and well go together tomorrow. You may need someone to guard your back.”

Calgaich shook his head. "You have no blood ties with Bruidge. His hospitality won’t extend to you. You know they would kill you on sight.”

"I could take a few of them with me, Calgaich!” Guidd boasted.

Calgaich extended a hand and gripped Guidd by the shoulder. "I can’t afford to lose you now, Guidd. You may be the only friend I have left among the Novantae. Not much, of course, but still a friend.” Calgaich grinned.

Guidd led the way past the woman. She looked up into Calgaich’s face as he passed her but there was no sign of recognition on it. "The woman is yours if I do not return, Guidd,” Calgaich said.

There was a sharp, stifled cry from Cairenn.

Calgaich turned to silence her. "It is the only way, woman. Or would you rather be given over to Bruidge and his hired killers?” He disappeared into the darkness of the cave.

Guidd removed loose brush from the opening at the end of the natural tunnel. They both stood up among the trees. The moon was rising. Guidd dragged a small wicker-and-hide boat from under the bracken. He slid the
curragh
into the water.

Calgaich got into the small craft. He paddled it out beyond the shore. He looked back. “I'll return,” he promised.

There was no reply from Guidd. He watched Calgaich for a little while. He shook his head. Then he returned inside the tunnel and pulled the brush back about the opening.

Guidd walked catlike back into the cave where the woman was feeding the fire. He reached for the jug. She jumped a little at his appearance. She warmed her hands at the fire and watched the woodsman sideways.

“If he does not return, little hare,” Guidd said slowly with a slanted grin, “what shall become of you, eh?”

She held out a small foot to warm it at the fire.

Guidd eyed her up and down. He liked what he saw. “Perhaps I have let him walk into a trap,” he suggested slyly.

She glanced at him quickly. He was startled at the look on her lovely face, for it had turned into a mask of hate. She dropped her hand to her dirk. “If you have, old wolf,” she grated between fixed teeth, “you have opened the door to your own sudden death.”

Guidd stared unbelievingly at her and then he began to laugh. He rocked his gray poll from side to side while tears streamed from his lone eye. He slapped his hands on his thighs. “By the gods!” he exploded. “I believe you mean it, little hare!”

She walked to the great war spear of Calgaich and passed a hand down the smoothly worn shaft. “Try me, just try me, Guidd One-Eye,” she suggested in a broken voice.

The fire crackled lower and lower. Now and then Guidd nipped at the jug. Cairenn huddled under a skin on the low, filthy bed, unable to sleep. She could not drive from her mind Calgaich’s cold, harsh words as he had left her behind with no farewell or caress, just the statement that if he did not return, she became Guidd’s property, his
cumal.
Thoughts of her love for Calgaich intertwined with her fear of Guidd and the night beyond. She cried silently so Guidd would not hear.

The wind moaned hollowly about the cave. Once the faint howling of a wolf came to them on the wind, but it seemed far away, from the other end of the loch. There seemed to be evil afoot, both of wolf and of man, that moonlit night in the country of the Novantae.