On a certain morning in September, Aasta the Fair sat crouched at the
door of the little cot wherein she dwelt. She was grinding oats in a
small stone hand mill. Old Elspeth sat within doors spinning.
Presently Aasta raised her eyes and looked over towards the little isle
of Inch Marnock, where on the green knolls some sheep were grazing. In
the narrow channel that separates Inch Marnock from Bute she saw a tiny
coracle with a man on board. The little boat drew to the beach of St.
Ninian's Bay, where the man stepped out and began to run. Staggering in
his gait, he fell; then rose again and again fell. Aasta, leaving her
work, ran down towards the man, and when she got near him she saw that
his clothes were torn, and his limbs bleeding from many wounds. He was
lying on his back, groaning. She looked into his white face and saw that
it was the face of the man whom Earl Kenric had left in Gigha as his
steward and governor.
"What means all this, William MacAlpin?" asked Aasta, kneeling by his
side; "and wherefore come you back to Bute thus covered with bleeding
wounds?"
The man pointed westward, and with his dying breath said:
"Run you to Castle Rothesay, I beseech you; run and tell my lord Kenric
that the Norsemen with their hosts have landed on Gigha, and have
wrested the island from us. They tried to torture me to death, but I
escaped to tell my master of this calamity --"
Then Aasta questioned him; but her words fell upon the ears of the dead;
so she arose.
The swift-footed hart runs not more swiftly than Aasta ran that day
across Bute. She found Kenric lounging on the little pier and throwing
pebbles one by one into the green water. Near him were some fishermen
unloading their herring boat.
"My lord," said she, scarcely showing by her easy breathing that she had
run the distance of four miles -- "my lord, I have ill news to tell."
Kenric looked round at the tall fair maiden. She was radiant with the
beauty of strength. Her long red hair streamed in the breeze, and her
rosy cheeks glowed with the healthy blood that coursed under her smooth
clear skin. Her eyes were limpid as the summer sky.
"What news may that be, Aasta?" asked the young king.
"It is," said she, "that your isle of Gigha has been invaded and
conquered by the Norsemen, and that your kinsman William MacAlpin has
but now given up his life in telling me the tale."
Kenric stood in troubled thought, a cloud upon his brow.
"Where is Lulach?" he presently asked.
"Over at Inch Marnock," she said, "and ill with his foot that he hurt in
climbing the rocks two days since. He cannot walk but with pain, or I
might have sent him to you."
"That is most unfortunate," said Kenric, "for saving Lulach and myself
there is none in the island who can speak the Norse tongue. I would have
sent him to Gigha to learn the truth of this you tell, and to discover
if there be further danger."
"You forget, my lord, that it was I who taught Lulach the Norse tongue,"
said Aasta. "And cannot I do this mission as well as he? Give me your
bidding, my lord, and though I die in fulfilling it, yet will I deem my
life a small sacrifice if it be that I can serve you."
Then Kenric's eyes lighted up, and he looked admiringly upon the
fearless girl.
"Aasta," said he, "I will take your service, and I will even go with you
to Gigha this very day. Meet me at St. Ninian's two hours before sunset.
Have ready a fishing coracle with some fish, and dress you as a fisher
maid. These are my orders. Go."
At sunset that evening a little boat, paddled by a stalwart young man in
the rough habit of a fisher, was crossing the waters of Loch Fyne.
He was singing a plaintive Gaelic song, and a fair maid, whose deep red
hair was covered by a coarse blue cloak, joined in the wild strain with
notes that were as the sweet song of the night bird of the far south.
The youth was Earl Kenric of Bute; the maiden was Aasta the Fair.
Crossing from Ardlamont Point, they crept up the opposite shores of
Kintyre until they came to a wide bay upon whose banks lies the little
fishing village of Tarbert. In the growing darkness Kenric paddled the
boat inward to the extreme end of this bay. Had he been in less hurry he
might have reached the isle of Gigha by taking a larger craft and
sailing down Kilbrannan Sound and so round the Mull of Kintyre, by the
way he had gone with the galleys. But he now adopted a speedier way and
a much safer one. The great peninsula of Kintyre, which at the north
joins to Knapdale, forms at Tarbert a narrow isthmus of but a mile
broad. Landing at the head of Tarbert Bay, Kenric bade Aasta carry the
paddles and her basket of fish, and himself taking up the little boat in
his two strong arms and raising it upon his back, he thus crossed the
mile of dry land. The boat was but a light one, built of pine ribs and
covered with hide, and his task was less difficult than it might seem.
In half-an-hour's time the two had arrived at another sheet of water
which is called Loch Tarbert, and here launching the coracle again, they
seated themselves and sailed down the narrow loch. It was now well upon
midnight, and there was no moon; but there was little danger to be
feared, unless, indeed, some of the Norse outposts might surprise them.
Kenric spoke little, for, in truth, he was yet doubtful of his
companion, who might, he imagined, at any moment turn herself into the
form of a wolf. But Aasta was very calm, and there was small need to
doubt her, for Earl Kenric had done her a great service in setting her
free from her thralldom, and she would have given her life for him at
any moment.
When at last they emerged from the loch where it enters the open sea
they paused a while by the shore to eat their bread cakes and drink the
milk that Aasta had brought. They sat face to face. Once Kenric thought
he saw the maid's eyes sparkle with a green flash of light and he drew
back, though in sooth it was but the reflection of the planet Venus,
shining in the clear mirror of her eyes.
The gentle rippling of the water against the boat alone disturbed the
stillness. In that stillness Kenric looked fixedly at Aasta through the
dim light. Aasta sank upon her knees, and obeying an impulse that was
upon her she took his hands in her own and touched them with her warm lips.
Kenric felt a strange thrill of pity for this beautiful girl, so lonely
was she, and so much despised of men, and in that moment he bent down
and kissed her head. And at that the maid began to weep, and her hot
tears fell upon his hands.
Neither spoke, but each felt that a new bond of sympathy had been formed
between them. Presently Aasta rose to her seat, and Kenric took his
paddle and drove the boat along into the deeper water.
Down the west coast of Kintyre they sailed until, out across the sea,
they saw the light of a beacon fire shoot up upon the heights of Gigha.
Outward then they steered until they came nigh upon the rocky shores of
that island; and passing many little islets, they sailed between Gigha
and the brownie-haunted island of Cara, just as the day was breaking in
the east.
Here Aasta looked about her with strange bewilderment as though she were
awaking from a dream. Kenric brought the boat inshore and took it
through the long rock tunnel that he had seen many months before from
the deck of his galley. The water was calm now and the tide high.
Aasta looked down into the clear depths where the long tangle of marine
plants swayed with the motion of the light current. Upon the rocky bed
below she saw many ruby-coloured sea anemones, with emerald mosses, and
pearly shells, and silver-scaled fish. From the water she looked to the
vaulted roof. Her eyes were restless with strange wonderment.
"My lord," she said at last, "what place is this that you have brought
me to? And why seem these rocks so familiar to mine eyes? This clear
green water -- the lofty vault of this cave, where the voice echoes in
merry laughter! 'Tis passing strange! Methinks I must have seen them in
some childish dream!"
But Kenric at that moment felt the boat grinding upon a sunken rock, and
Aasta's question passed his notice.
Beyond the tunnel they searched for a safe landing place in one of the
little bays. Aasta pointed to a high cliff that had many caverns
hollowed out in its steep front, and she bade him steer into one of
those caves. Kenric laughed and asked how she thought they could ever
arrive upon the heights by that way. But when she suddenly put her
finger to her lips, in token that she had heard voices upon the cliff,
Kenric obeyed her and took the boat into the yawning cavern.
When they were far within Aasta said: "Heard you not voices up above us,
my lord -- the voices of many men?"
"Even so," said Kenric. "But methinks it will go ill with us here if we
be discovered by some passing boat. We should then be entrapped."
"Not so," said she. "Follow me and you shall see that we have chosen a
better point of landing than you could have hoped for."
And stepping upon the rocks at the far end of the cave she led him up a
flight of rocky steps until suddenly they saw the light of day. At once
they emerged into a wide ravine that clove the cliffs and led upward to
the grassy heights of the island. Then Aasta drew back and held Kenric
so that he might go no farther, and she pointed across the ravine where
a dip in the opposite headland revealed a wide and sheltered bay.
"Look, my lord," she whispered.
Kenric saw an unexpected sight, for in the waters of that bay there lay
at anchor a hundred and fifty ships of war with the falcon flag of King
Hakon flying at each masthead.
The sight of so vast an armament appalled him. How it happened that
these foreign ships were riding at anchor off his own island was a thing
that passed his comprehension.
Aasta was the first to break the silence of wonderment.
"My lord," said she, "there is more in this than the dying words of your
kinsman William foretold. And right wise were you to bid me put on this
fisher maid's disguise. Give me your dirk, Earl Kenric, lest I meet
misfortune, and I will take my creel of fish and offer it for sale among
the people. It may be that in speaking with the islanders I shall hear
that which the mere sight of these ships cannot explain."
Then Kenric returned to the boat, bringing back the basket of fish,
which he gave to Aasta together with his dirk.
"You will trust me, my lord?" she asked.
Kenric smiled. "To the end," said he. "But what is your plan, Aasta?"
"That you remain with the boat, my lord, while I journey to the village,
wherever it may be found. Not long shall I be, and I beg you not to
leave the cave till I return."
Taking the fish creel over her back she went away. Passing up the ravine
and mounting to the heights, she had not gone far when she saw a party
of warriors sitting round a camp fire. She went boldly towards them.
"So please you, my masters," she began in the Norse tongue, "I have
brought you some good fresh fish if so be you would buy them from a poor
body."
"Show us your fish, girl," said one of the men, rising. Then looking
into the basket he added, "What want you for them?"
"Four cakes of bread," said she.
"Good," said the warrior. "Let us have them; for with so many mouths to
fill all food is welcome."
Slowly Aasta took out the fish and laid them on the grass. Yet no man
spoke. She touched the nearest man on the elbow.
"Lend me your knife, my master, that I may gut the fish," said she boldly.
The man took out his knife, and as he handed it to her she saw his face
and recognized Earl Sweyn of Colonsay.
One by one she took up the fish and slowly trimmed them on a flat stone,
waiting in the hope of hearing the warriors speak.
"When holds King Hakon his council?" one presently asked of another.
"Tonight -- on Rudri's return," was the reply.
"And where?"
"Why, here on the heath, after sundown," said another. "'Tis no time for
delay. Bute and Arran have yet to be conquered ere we assail the
mainland of Scotland."
"Ay," said the first speaker, "methinks there will be few Scots left in
Bute for the next moon to smile upon. Bairns, women, and men, they all
are doomed!"
Aasta now began to work quicker -- so quickly that in a very few minutes
the fish were all ready for cooking. Then taking her four bread cakes
she slung the basket over her head and sauntered away.
Suddenly she was conscious that someone was following her. Raising her
wicker basket higher she half turned her head. Through the crevices of
the basket she saw a youth with long flaxen hair. It was Harald of
Islay. But soon he turned back, thinking no doubt that he had been
mistaken in his recognition of the girl who had helped Allan Redmain to
recapture him.
After an absence of less than two hours Aasta rejoined Kenric and told
him all she had heard; and for the rest of that day the two remained in
hiding, waiting until night should fall.
At last the dark night came. Kenric and Aasta, the one armed with his
great sword, the other with her dirk, crept from their place of hiding
and stole across the heath towards the campfire, round which a score of
island kings were already gathered, awaiting the coming of King Hakon of
Norway.
Within a hundred yards of the fire Kenric stopped and beckoned Aasta to
go round the northern side, while he went the opposite way. This they
did that they might discover by which approach they could best reach
within hearing distance of the warriors. And they had arranged that the
one who found a likely place should give signal to the other by means of
the lapwing's cry.
Aasta had not well made the half circle when through the night air she
heard faintly, as it were half a mile away, the cry, "Pee-wit! pee-weet!"
Quickly she returned and followed the way Kenric had gone. Soon she
found herself under a high piece of ground that obscured the firelight.
Then nearer to the fire she heard the cry repeated, and she replied with
the same call. She went towards the fire until she saw Kenric standing
on the top of a high rock, outlined against the glow of light. She knew
him by his fisher's cloak. She saw him lie down flat and creep nearer
and nearer to the edge of the rock.
Suddenly, between her and Kenric, she saw another figure appear and
stealthily follow behind the young king with drawn sword.
Now Aasta had the faculty of being able to see in the darkness almost as
well as in the daylight, and it took but a hurried glance to prove that
he who followed Earl Kenric was none other than the fair-haired Harald.
Like the bird whose cry she had but lately imitated she ran along the
ground, drawing her dirk as she ran, and just at the moment when Harald
of Islay was preparing to smite Kenric a blow that would have killed
him, Aasta threw her hand over the young viking's mouth, dragged him
over, and then plunged her dagger into his heart.
So quickly did this happen that Kenric, intent upon seeing what was
passing around the fire, was quite unconscious that Aasta had saved his
life. And Aasta never afterwards told a living being of the thing that
she had done.
Leaving the body of Harald where it had fallen she followed Kenric yet
nearer to the brink of the rock, until together they lay so near to the
band of Norsemen that they could see their white teeth glisten in the
firelight as they spoke. The fire was built against the rock. The
warriors sat about it in a half circle.
Presently the men all rose to their feet to greet the arrival of the
Norwegian monarch. Kenric could now see faces that had been hidden
before, and amongst them were those of Sweyn of Colonsay, Erland of
Jura, and, to his surprise, even the renegade John of Islay. None of the
others did he know; but there were Magnus king of Man, Sigurd king of
Lewis, John of Kintyre, and Henry the bishop of Orkney, with many more
of the most trusted of King Hakon's vassals.
Then came King Hakon himself, the tall, grim-visaged, despotic old
monarch of the North, who, having reigned for six-and-forty years, had
now determined to win for himself and his descendants the complete
dominion over Scotland.
"And now, oh, noble lords and faithful friends," said he when they were
all seated, "now that we are assured of the adherence of all these outer
isles of Scotland, it remains for us to arrange by what means our
further conquests are to be made. Our right trusty and noble Rudri is
yet away. But on his great help we may confidently rely in whatsoever
course we pursue. This alone does he ask, that the invasion of the isle
of Bute shall be left entirely in his hands. We do therefore order that
Rudri, with five stout ships, shall sail hence in two days' time and
invade that island. Thence, with my lord Magnus of Man, he shall sail up
the Clyde and lay waste whatever lands or castles may come in his path.
Meanwhile Earl Margad shall invade Arran with five other ships. As to
the rest, we shall remain in this isle of Gigha and complete our
preparations for the final conquest of the mainland of Scotland. Say,
now, my noble lords, does our plan meet with your favour?"
"It does, your Majesty!" they all replied.
Then Earl Sweyn the Silent opened his lips and spoke.
"Methinks," said he, "that as to the expedition against Bute, those who
have most suffered by the atrocities committed by the young stripling
lord of that isle should have the power to fulfil their own vengeance
upon him. And I for one, your Majesty, will not rest content unless I be
of those who are to invade his lands. With his own hand young Kenric of
Bute slew a full score of the children of Colonsay, and in just revenge
would I massacre with my own hands the children of Bute. No child shall
escape our swords. We will slay every one, ay, even to the babe at the
breast. We will raze every dwelling to the ground. And even their
churches and their holy men shall not escape!"
On hearing these words Kenric waited not to learn more. He already knew
enough, and his heart beat furiously in dread alarm. For a moment he
felt impelled to take his sword and strike down the man who had last
spoken; but the danger of revealing himself to those warriors was too
great, and touching Aasta on the arm he drew her away.
Together they crept back to the ravine, found their difficult way into
the cave, and regaining their boat returned to Bute by the same way that
they had left it.
At daybreak on the following morning the fiery cross -- the Highlanders'
summons to arms -- was sent round to every dwelling in Bute. Allan
Redmain was despatched to Arran to warn Sir Piers de Currie. Other
boatmen were sent on a like errand to Toward, Dunoon, Largs, and all
other villages and castles upon the banks of the Clyde, while a special
messenger was sent into Scotland to warn King Alexander.
For three days and nights there was not a man in Bute who was not
occupied in some fashion in preparing to meet the expected enemy.