Kenric with his squadron, reduced now to four galleys, voyaged to the
isle of Tiree -- a distance of about fifty miles from Colonsay. There,
without drawing arrow from sheath or sword from scabbard, he prevailed
over the lord of that land to give him surety of his adherence to King
Alexander, and a solemn declaration that he would remain true to his
oaths. And then the barks departed for Coll.
Now young Harald of Islay having warned the people of Colonsay of the
approach of the invaders, bade his men take him at once to the isle of
Coll, whither, as it chanced, Earl Sweyn the Silent had gone, and there
the lad told the same tale of how Kenric of Bute was bent upon making
conquest of the isles, yet breathing no word of how King Alexander had
ordered the expedition. The men of Coll, thus warned, would not brook
that the ships of Bute should touch at their island, so ere Kenric had
yet arrived at Tiree they got their many galleys together, and joining
with the forces of Earl Sweyn they stood off behind the little isle of
Gunna, ready to make an onslaught upon the squadron that Kenric was leading.
"It was night," said Duncan, in telling his story to Allan Redmain --
"It was night when we came abreast of the isle of Coll, and we anchored
in the wide bay of Crossapol. When the day's light fell upon the sea my
lord Kenric came to me, and, said he, 'Duncan, launch me the longboat
with a dozen men, and come with me, for I will now land upon this island
and seek for the king's castle.' So thereupon we landed.
"Not long had we been ashore when from the top of a little hill we saw,
above the next bay, the castle that men call Breacacha. And going down
to it, we were near to its gates when behold there came out a full two
score of armed men, and they fell upon us with swords and spears.
Fourteen men we were against forty, and we fought for two long hours,
until of the men of Bute there were left but three alive, John Campbell
of Glen More, my master, and myself. I was sorely wounded in the chest
and like to fall down from the loss of blood. Of the men of Coll five
remained. Twelve of their comrades my lord Kenric had slain with his
mighty sword, and with little hurt to himself, saving only that his
breath had grown weak.
"But one of our foemen, who was the tallest man my eyes have yet beheld,
at last encountered my master. He smote him a sorry cut upon his arm and
bore down upon him so that he fell as dead. Another man picked up the
Thirsty Sword, as I could see, for his own had just been broken. And
knowing what manner of weapon it was, I made a great effort and slew the
man who was pressing upon me. Then I met him who now held my lord's
sword in his hands. Scarce had he raised it against me when I snatched
my dirk from my side and flung it at his throat, caught his hand, and,
slaying him, rescued my lord's weapon.
"By this time John Campbell had fallen under the hands of the other
three men of Coll, and I alone was left, standing over the body of Earl
Kenric, to defend it against the three warriors who now remained. But as
they came to assail me I fell down in a swoon beside my lord, and they
wist that I was dead.
"Now when my wits returned to me I felt something move at my side, and
then I saw that Earl Kenric was yet alive, and that he had but fallen
from want of breath and strength. Two score and nine brave men lay dead
upon the heather. In their midst, with their backs towards us, sat the
three men of Coll, resting their limbs after that morning's battle.
"My lord Kenric looked about him for his sword, not knowing that it was
lying under my own frail body. I could neither move nor give it to him,
nor could I speak for the fear that the men would turn round and finish us.
"Earl Kenric boldly rose and went behind the men. Ere he was two yards
from them they stood up, and seeing him they spoke. I know not what they
said, for I understand not the Norse tongue, Master Allan, but the tall
man went up to him, leaving his sword upon the heather, and took my lord
up in his arms and carried him away. The two others followed. Then was I
in a great agony of despair, thinking they meant to slay him by some
terrible torture. And I had not strength to save him.
"Not far had they gone when in the morning silence I heard the tinkling
of a stream near by. Thither I crept and took a draught of its cool
water. So much was my strength renewed by that blessed beverage, that I
could have gone through that battle once again if so be I might save
Earl Kenric's life.
"I followed the three men to the castle. They had left the bridge down
and the gates open. But scarcely had I got within when by the sounds I
heard I knew that they were lowering my master into one of their
dungeons. I heard him cry aloud. 'Ah, had I but my sword!' he cried in
our own tongue. And then his voice sounded low down in the depths, and
though I knew he was yet alive and strong, yet I knew also that it was
no easy task to rescue him from that place.
"Ere I reached the chamber wherein the dungeon opened out, the three men
met me. They had left their weapons outside. Grasping my lord's sword
and calling upon Saint Columba, I assailed those three men in such wise
that they soon lay dead at my feet; for they could not pass me. 'Kenric,
my lord Kenric!' I cried aloud. And I heard him answer my name.
"But this uproar of fighting and shouting alarmed the people within the
castle, and thinking full surely that a host of the reserve garrison
were coming to avenge the death of their comrades slain, coward that I
am, I retreated without the gates, leaving my dear master within.
"Now it befell, Master Allan, that, as I had slain those three men who
alone knew where my lord had been imprisoned, and as I had not the wit
to speak with any of those Norse folk, it was little that I could do --"
"You have done well, Duncan, in coming for what aid we now can give,"
said Allan Redmain. "But say, how long time is it since my lord was thus
made captive?"
"Five days as I count," said Duncan, "and had it not been for the thing
that I next discovered he had not been there five hours. When I found
myself outside the castle and with the bridge drawn up, I hied me over
the hill towards the ships. Alas! they were no longer there in the bay
where we had left them. They were standing out to sea, with seven great
Norse galleys and as many fishing boats pursuing them."
"Alas!" said Allan; "and whose ships were those?"
"They were three galleys of Coll and four of Colonsay," said Duncan, "as
I learned three days past when they returned to Breacacha. Our own four
ships of Bute came not within sight again, and I fear they have gone
back to Rothesay."
"Not so," said Allan confidently. "Our men would never return without
truthfully knowing how it had fared with Earl Kenric. But what of the
four galleys of Colonsay?"
"They left for the north two days ago, and the men of Coll went some
into the castle and some to their homes, leaving their ships at anchor
in the shelter of the isle of Gunna."
"And say you that those in the castle know not that our lord is in the
dungeon?"
"Even so, for who could tell them? Five days have passed since our fight
in Coll. Like a beast of the field have I lived since then, feeding upon
the wild roots and berries, and waiting that our ships might come back.
But by good fortune I came across the poor fisherman who brought me over
in his boat. He could speak the Gaelic, and with promise of reward I
bade him bring me to the place where Earl Kenric had told me we were to
rejoin Sir Piers de Currie. Had the man refused me I would have slain
him; but now that he has kept his word, I beg you to give him the reward
that is his due."
"That will I do," said Allan, "for well does he deserve it. A good boat
with oars and sails shall be his reward."
By the time that Duncan had told his tale, Allan Redmain's two strong
galleys were abreast of the isle of Coll, and steering into a beauteous
bay that Duncan had told of, they were rowed far in until they stood
under the strong-built fortress of Breacacha.
The garrison had been reinforced by many men from the ships of Coll. But
the men of Bute were desperate, and they said that though they gave
their lives, and though they pulled down every stone and timber of which
that castle was built, they would save their young king. So with their
friends of Arran they landed in a great body with their machines and
battering engines. Some attacked the raised drawbridge with great
missile weapons, while their companions picked off with their arrows the
archers who were on the battlements.
After a two-hours' storming of the gates the men of Bute forced an
entrance and rushed within the castle, led by Allan Redmain. The
defenders took timely refuge in the donjon keep. But Allan sought not to
follow them. With lighted torches he led his men into the dark chambers
that were in the heart of the castle, till at last he found a chamber
whose floor was stained with blood.
"Methinks," said he, "that this should be the place wherein Duncan slew
his three foes with the Earl Kenric's sword;" and then he called loudly
upon Kenric.
Many times he cried out, but no answer came. Then he bade one of his men
uncoil a rope that he had brought, and Allan, fastening a lighted torch
in his helmet, let himself be lowered into the dungeon whose mouth gaped
in the centre of the floor.
Deep down he went until his feet touched solid ground and he found
himself in a large cavernous chamber. It was a dismal place. The rocky
walls were damp and mouldy; the floor was of hewn stone. There was an
odour as of death in the heavy air.
Holding his torch aloft he peered into the recesses of the dungeon. At
last his eye rested upon what looked like a human form. He started back
in horror as the light fell fuller upon it. Against the wall, crouched
down with his head between his knees, and a few rags of mouldy plaid
about his shoulders, was the grim skeleton of what had once been a
living man.
Allan drew back the tattered plaid and saw the bare ribs and fleshless
arms. And could it be that the young hope of Bute, Kenric the good, the
brave, the true, had come to this?
Allan bent down. He was about to touch the ghastly thing. Then the awful
silence of that black tomb was broken by the sound of a low moan. Allan
listened again, but he heard only the drip, drip of water. Then again
came the moaning sound. He turned round and bounded forward. By the
light of his torch, that pierced the darkness, he saw a pale wan face,
with hollow cheeks and round, staring, brown eyes. The lips moved.
"Allan? Allan?" they faintly said.
And then Kenric raised himself on his elbow.
"The great God be thanked!" gasped Allan, and he fell upon his knees at
Kenric's side.
Kenric spoke not again: he was faint and sore of limb. Allan took off
his plaid and spread it upon the damp, rocky floor. Then he raised
Kenric in his arms, and wrapping him in the plaid carried him to the
bottom of the shaft where hung the rope. Making a sling of his plaid and
securing it to the rope he called to his men to draw up the line, and in
a few minutes Earl Kenric lay in the upper chamber breathing the fresher
air.
Not long was Allan Redmain in following, and in the space of another
hour they had carried Kenric on board the /Kraken/ of Bute.
For six long days and nights no food had passed his lips, and had it not
been that his frame was of uncommon strength he must have died in that
noisome cell. For many days afterwards his mind wandered, his eyes
stared blankly, his voice failed him, and not until two weeks after his
rescue, when he was back again in the castle of Rothesay, did he
recognize anyone.
Allan Redmain's two galleys were but a few miles outward from the coast
of Coll when they fell in with the four galleys of Bute that Kenric and
Duncan had left. They had been pursued about the seas by the ships of
Sweyn of Colonsay, but having outdistanced him they were now returning
to the island to search for their lost leader. Either alive or dead, he
must, they said, be found. Had it not been for Duncan Graham, who alone,
of all men, knew where Kenric was imprisoned, all search for him must
have been fruitless. On some day long after he might have been
discovered, as Allan had found the starved and forgotten prisoner in
that dungeon, a grim and unrecognizable skeleton.