The Highlanders Read online

  The boys had two more attempts at making their way over to the tomb, but they both ended with the same result. The only place they found where they could walk without straying into a campsite was along a pathway at the base of the palisade. A few tracks branched off this and led towards the burial mound, which the friends only now discovered would be impossible to reach. A fifty-yard perimeter around the motte had been cordoned off with rope. Nobody was allowed to wander past it, and the area was patrolled by Stewart guards.

  The boys returned to the gate and decided to find Dougal. Rather than get involved in any more confrontations with irate clansmen and risk being exposed, they thought it would be best if they got assigned a tent, where they could sit back, study the camp and decide on a suitable course of action.

  They found the white-bearded highlander over near the wagons, handing over a sack of food to a group of Gregor warriors. ‘Ye’d better take more care this time. Ah’m only supposed tae give out one bag o’ provisions per clan. It’s supposed tae last ye for a week. Ye’ve only been here two days an’ ye’ve already gone through’t. Ye’d better make sure this one lasts, ’cause if ah find ye back here lookin’ for more all ye’ll find is mah boot up yer backsides. Am ah clear?’

  The highlanders nodded, glanced warily at Dougal’s boot, then, carrying their sack, headed off.

  Dougal turned to face Caspan and his friends. ‘Now, what can ah do for ye?’ He raised one of his beefy hands, cutting Caspan short before he could respond. ‘Let me guess. Ye’ve just arrived an’ need quarterin’? Yes? Och, ah knew it. An’ just when ah was hopin’ tae sit down for the first time today.’ He sighed. ‘Ah know, it’s nae yer fault, lads.’ He jerked his chin at the central longhouse, which towered over the fort atop the burial mound. ‘It’s his fault. Now, donnae get me wrong. Ah hae the greatest respect for Roy Stewart. He’s a great commander – one o’ the best, in fact – an’ ah’ve been quartermaster for his army plenty o’ times before. But that was when it was just the Stewart clan. This –’ he swept his hands through the air ‘– is just ridiculous! How’s one man supposed tae manage all o’ this?’ He took a patient breath. ‘Now that ah’ve had mah wee whinge, what can ah do for ye, lads?’

  Caspan smiled warmly at the man, who reminded him of Gramidge. ‘We’ve been sent here by a guard at the gate. He said ye’d be able tae find us a tent.’

  ‘Och, ah can find ye somewhere to stay all right, but the question is where.’ Dougal’s bushy eyebrows formed a steep arch above his eyes. ‘Yer nae involved in any quarrels with the Wallace or Cameron clans, are ye?’

  Caspan shook his head. ‘Just keep us clear o’ the Glengarry.’

  ‘Ach, the Glengarry.’ Dougal leaned in close, covered his mouth and whispered, ‘Just between us, they’re nae the sort o’ people ye want tae be standin’ downwind o’, are they? They smell like yaks, if ye ask me.’ Caspan smirked, and the quartermaster nudged him playfully in the side. ‘Grab me one o’ them there sacks, lad,’ he said, pointing at Lachlan, then gestured for the boys to follow him.

  ‘Ah’ve never seen such a gatherin’,’ Caspan commented as they made their way through the campsite, determined to learn as much about the highland fort as possible.

  ‘Over twenty o’ the clans hae answered Roy Stewart’s call,’ Dougal replied. ‘Soon there will be over a thousand o’ us here, nae tae mention all the warriors who’ve assembled at the six other marshallin’ sites. When Roy gives the word, we’ll all head south. Let’s see Lochinbar try tae stop us.’ He lifted a tent cord, allowing the boys to pass under it. ‘Until then, it’s mah job tae try tae keep ye all comfortable. Pity help me.’

  ‘When do ye think the order will be given?’ Caspan asked.

  Dougal shrugged. ‘It’s hard tae say. Clans drift in every day. At this rate it might be another week before we move.’

  Caspan gazed around the sea of tents. ‘It’ll be a large force.’

  Dougal’s eyes glistened proudly. ‘Ye should feel honoured tae have been sent here by yer laird. Mark mah word – ye’ll be tellin’ yer grandchildren o’ how ye answered brave Roy Stewart’s call an’ marched tae war with him, that ye will.’

  Caspan felt his stomach sink. Andalon wouldn’t stand a chance against both the Roon and the forces of Caledon. King Rhys’s armies were already stretched. Six of the eight legions were in Dannenland, the northern duchy, struggling to keep the giants at bay. One was kept in reserve in the far south, wary of a surprise attack from across The Channel by Saxstein. That left only the Eighth Legion, formerly commanded by General Brett, who was still on the run, wanted for treason, to defend Lochinbar. It had always guarded the duchy’s north-eastern border in the past, repelling the packs of Caledonish raiders.

  But the situation was now very different. Roy Stewart had somehow brought the disparate clans under his command. Darrowmere, the most heavily fortified city in Lochinbar, had fallen. The King’s brother, Duke Bran MacDain, had not been seen since the fall of the city. Prince Dale and a small group of soldiers and members of the royal family had been seen fleeing south. King Rhys had sent what men he could spare to aid in the defence of the duchy. They’d do whatever they could to prevent it from falling, but Caspan believed there would be little to stop the highlanders from marching all the way to Briston.

  The boys and the quartermaster continued through the camp until Dougal stopped at an empty tent and drew back its flap. ‘This’ll be yer home for the next few days. Settle in an’ make yerselves comfortable. There’s plenty o’ firewood over near the latrines, so feel free tae take as much as ye like. Ye’ll also find some spare pots over yonder. We’re a bit stretched on food supplies, though, so do yer best tae make sure yer sack lasts. There’s enough flour, salt, pepper, sage an’ dried pork in there tae last a group o’ six men for a week, so ye shouldnae find yerselves goin’ hungry.’ He pointed off to the right, indicating a large tent in the distance with a green and red tartan pendant raised above it. ‘Ah’m sure yer familiar with that plaid. Ah wouldnae advise wanderin’ over that way. There’s only three o’ ye, but over forty Glengarry warriors.’

  Caspan nodded. ‘We’ll give them a wide berth.’

  ‘That’s the spirit, lad. Remember, Roy Stewart made it clear he wants no feuds carryin’ on inside his fort. The last person tae do so is still stuck in the pillory. He’s been there for two days now. Och, an’ make sure ye donnae miss the big competition this afternoon. Roy’s made it clear he wants a representative from every clan tae enter.’ Dougal pointed to the left. ‘It’ll take place near the archery range over yonder, just outside the fort.’

  ‘An’ what type o’ competition is this?’ Caspan asked, not liking the sound of it one bit, fearing it would attract unwanted attention to him and his friends.

  Dougal gave him a baffled look. ‘What do ye think, lad? We’re from different clans, but we’re all highlanders an’ will play our national sport – caber tossing. Well, that should be it for now. Should ye need me for any reason, ah’ll be back by mah wagons.’ The quartermaster bid the boys good luck and headed back through the encampment.

  ‘He seemed nice enough,’ Roland remarked once they were inside their tent.

  Lachlan snorted. ‘Yeah, for one of the enemy.’ He peered through the flap. ‘I don’t know how we’re ever going to reach the tomb.’

  ‘At least we’re inside the fort,’ Caspan said.

  ‘Surrounded by several hundred clansmen who want to clobber anybody who wanders into their section of the camp,’ Lachlan added wryly. ‘Not to mention the forty Glengarry warriors only fifty yards away and who’d like nothing more than to kill us.’

  There was a pile of blankets stored in the corner. Caspan selected one and spread it on the grass. ‘Things could be a lot worse. We might have been caught as impostors at the gate. We knew this was going to be difficult, so let’s just focus on what we need to do and avoid getting into any altercations.’ He joined Lachlan by the entrance and peered outside. ‘Eighty yards �
� it can’t be any further than that to the burial mound. What we need is a valid excuse to get past the sentries guarding that cordoned-off area.’

  Roland inspected the contents of the provisions sack. ‘This isn’t half bad. I can make us a nice stew out of this.’

  Lachlan sat down near the flap and placed his claymore across his thighs. ‘You and your obsession with food. The world could be coming to an end, and all you’d be worried about is if there will be enough time for dinner.’

  Roland gave him an aggrieved look. ‘What? We might be here a little longer than we planned. We may as well make ourselves comfortable.’

  ‘It’s a good idea,’ Caspan agreed. ‘We’ve got access to firewood, a pot and food. It would seem a waste not to use them.’

  Roland clicked his fingers at him. ‘My thoughts exactly. Besides, you can’t think straight on an empty stomach. I might get us a pot and some wood so we can get started.’

  Lachlan rose. ‘Not on your own, you’re not. Who knows what mischief you’ll get up to out there.’

  ‘Whatever you say.’ Roland patted him on the shoulder and grinned. ‘It’s nice having my own, private chaperone. And you’d better start warming up for the caber toss competition. Ye donnae want tae let our clan down.’

  Lachlan mumbled something under his breath as he followed Roland out the tent.

  Caspan smirked as he slipped his baldric from his shoulder and placed his broadsword over near the blankets. ‘Just make sure you don’t talk to anybody,’ he called after them.

  Roland glanced back through the flap and winked at him. ‘Ach, ye can trust me, ye wee Jimmy.’

  An hour later the boys sat outside their tent, warming their hands before the small fire they had created. Their stew boiled in a pot, hanging from a stick supported above the fire on two piles of rocks. Roland added another sprinkle of seasoning and took an experimental sip. He licked his lips and filled three bowls.

  ‘Be careful, it’s hot,’ he said, distributing the food. He kept his voice low, wary of his Andalonian accent being heard by the Caledonish warriors at the neighbouring campsites.

  Caspan rubbed his belly and sniffed the contents of his bowl. ‘I’m starving.’

  Roland chuckled. ‘Let’s just hope Kilt can see every mouthful of this.’ He turned to face the distant bluff and raised his spoon tauntingly to his mouth. He slurped a mouthful slowly and closed his eyes. ‘Ach, that hit the spoot, ye wee Jimmy.’

  ‘Why do you add “wee Jimmy” to everything you say?’ Lachlan asked.

  ‘Isn’t that how clansmen talk?’

  Caspan smirked. ‘Not that I’ve heard.’ He surveyed the fort’s layout, searching for a means of reaching the burial mound that didn’t involve passing through one of the guard posts or moving through another clan’s territory. But no such luck.

  Lachlan saw what he was doing. ‘Unless we can come up with some great excuse, I can’t see how we’re ever going to get over there.’

  ‘Why don’t we just say we have a message for Roy Stewart?’ Roland suggested, blowing on a spoonful of stew. ‘His keep’s on top of the mound. We could make a quick detour past the tomb entrance.’

  ‘Delivering messages to lords isn’t as easy as you think,’ Caspan commented, recalling how difficult it had been to inform Duke MacDain of the Roon invasion force. It had ended with him and Lachlan being imprisoned for several hours by General Brett. He very much doubted being caught by the clansmen would end as favourably. ‘Lachlan’s right. What we need is a good …’ He rose quickly and beckoned his friends to enter the tent.

  ‘What about the stew?’ Roland complained.

  Lachlan groaned irritably and, grabbing Roland by his shawl, pulled him inside. ‘What’s on your mind?’ he asked Caspan.

  Caspan retrieved his sword and held it before his friends.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re planning on charging the mound?’ Roland remarked. ‘Call me pessimistic, but I don’t think it will turn out well for us.’

  ‘Remember the blacksmith’s forge near the tomb’s entrance?’ Caspan asked excitedly, laying his sword on the ground, then propping up the pommel with a blanket. He kicked hard with the heel of his boot against the flat of the blade, snapping the sword in half. His eyes narrowed conspiratorially. ‘Here’s our excuse. They can hardly expect us to go to war with a broken weapon.’

  A horn sounded somewhere off to the left, followed by bagpipes. The boys exchanged a curious look then peered outside. Clansmen sitting around nearby campfires jumped to their feet and made their way towards the main gate.

  ‘I wonder what all the fuss is about?’ Roland asked.

  Lachlan stepped outside the tent and moaned. ‘I think the caber toss competition is about to start.’

  Roland followed eagerly after him. ‘Ah, I’d forgotten about that.’ He massaged Lachlan’s shoulders. ‘We better get you ready.’

  ‘And what makes you think I’ll be entering?’ Lachlan shrugged him aside.

  ‘Remember what Dougal said? Every clan must have one representative.’

  ‘If you’re that keen, you can do it!’

  Roland clicked his tongue. ‘My dear, muscle-bound friend, it’s a caber toss competition. Caspan and I would be lucky if we could even lift one of the logs, let alone throw it.’

  Lachlan shook his head. ‘I can’t believe you’re considering doing this. We should use this opportunity to sneak inside the tomb.’

  Caspan stood atop the spare pile of firewood they’d collected and peered over the tops of the tents at the restricted area around the burial mound. ‘I was thinking exactly the same thing,’ he said. ‘But whilst everybody else is heading off to watch the game, the guards haven’t moved.’

  ‘Then we should wait to see what happens,’ Lachlan pressed. ‘Who knows – they might head over once the game starts.’

  Caspan frowned. ‘I don’t know about that. I’ve been thinking about the competition since Dougal first mentioned it. I’d hoped it might have provided us with an opportunity to get past the guards, but I don’t think that’s going to happen now.’

  ‘Then we’ll hide inside our tent and wait for it to finish,’ Lachlan suggested. ‘Or we can head over with your broken sword.’

  Caspan shook his head. ‘Roy Stewart wants all the clans to attend. We’d draw far more attention to ourselves if the competition starts and they pause the game to find out why nobody from the Strathboogie Clan has come forward. It would be worse it they sent people to find out where we are.’

  Lachlan sighed. ‘Can’t we just tell them we’ve got headaches, or that we’re tired from walking all the way to the fort?’

  Caspan rubbed his chin in thought. ‘I don’t think we can risk it. The safest option is for us to attend the game.’ He regarded Lachlan sympathetically. ‘You don’t have to put in a serious effort. Just keep your mouth closed, have your turn and get eliminated.’

  ‘Come on.’ Roland nudged him. ‘What a sad excuse for a member of the Strathboogie clan you turned out to be.’

  ‘But I’ve never tossed a caber in my life!’

  ‘And there’s no better time to learn,’ Roland pressed. ‘How hard can it be?’

  ‘Have you seen the size of the logs? I once saw a competition during Winterfest in Greenborn. Half of the men could barely even lift the logs off the ground. They were the size of felled oak trees!’

  Roland frowned. ‘What were? The logs or the men?’

  ‘The logs, you great big fool!’ Lachlan moaned. ‘I think this is a bad idea.’ He pointed a finger in warning at his friends. ‘And I’m telling you now, if there’s any sabre dancing, one of you can hitch up your kilt and do that.’

  Roland pouted his bottom lip in mock disappointment. ‘Oh, I was looking forward to seeing your highland jig.’

  ‘I’ll highland jig your head with my fists if you keep going!’ Lachlan threatened, then looked at Caspan plaintively. ‘So we’re seriously going to do this?’

  ‘I don’t think we h
ave any other option.’

  Lachlan’s shoulders slumped as he entered the tent. ‘Just give me a minute to get ready.’

  Roland rubbed his hands excitedly and winked at Caspan. ‘This is going to be something we’ll remember for a long time.’

  CHAPTER 16

  CABER TOSS

  The highlanders gathered outside the fort, around an area cordoned off with rope for the competition. Caspan and Roland were lucky to secure a position at the front of the crowd and had an unspoilt view of the competitors as they marshalled in the game area.

  Roland leaned in close to whisper in Caspan’s ear, ‘I’m sure Lachlan will do the Strathboogie proud.’

  Caspan silenced him with a stern look, worried that one of highlanders pressed up against them might overhear his Andalonian accent. He watched Dougal call out the names of clans and mark them off on a piece of parchment. Once this was done, the quartermaster drew a line on the ground with his broadsword and made the competitors form up behind it.

  ‘Welcome tae the inaugural Highland Caber Toss Competition,’ he announced to the crowd.

  There was a roar of applause and a flurry of bagpipe music. It was some time before things settled down and the quartermaster could continue. ‘This will be a game like no other. For the first time ever, twenty-six o’ the highland clans will compete in the one game. Will victory go tae the Wallace, or will it be the Stewart, MacDonell, Glengarry or Cameron?’

  ‘It’ll be the Wallace!’ the clansman behind Caspan yelled. ‘The rest o’ ye might as well give up now! Ye won’t stand a chance against our champion, Angus.’

  A brutish highlander wearing the plaid of the Wallace Clan emerged from the other competitors and thrust his arms triumphantly in the air to the roar of the masses.

  ‘Now, listen carefully tae the rules,’ Dougal said once things had quietened down. ‘Each clan has nominated its competitor. They’ll each get one toss.’