Chapter Two
Edinburgh Castle
Like a lion perched upon a rise, it waited.
Edinburgh Castle had the look of a predator waiting to spring. There was a strength about it, and also comfort, as the beacon of Scots power and protection in a country of turmoil.
Never more so in turmoil than at this moment.
Uilliam mac Eanric, or William, son of Henry, sometimes known as William the Rough or William the Lion, had been the king of Scots for over forty years.
Forty years of fighting the English, the Northmen, and sometimes fellow Scots had taken its toll on the man, but he was still standing.
He was still strong. There was something to be said for a king who had withstood the pressures of his kingdom for forty years.
One would have thought that by this time in his reign, he would have been weary.
Old and weary, ready for a new king to assume the throne, but that wasn’t the case.
He was a king ready to expand his kingdom.
However, the latest visitor to Edinburgh had news to the contrary.
Even now, as William entered the great hall of Edinburgh Castle, he could already feel his rage building.
He was being escorted by several of his men, courtiers and knights and retainers, men who carried out his wishes and helped him manage his lands.
He’d just been summoned by one of them with news that wasn’t particularly good.
Ye must come, yer grace. Something has happened tae Fountainhall Castle.
Fountainhall Castle was a strategic castle on the borders, very close to English properties. William knew of Fountainhall because the lord, Alpin Canmore, was one of his most loyal subjects. An annoying man and a minor player in the grand scheme of things, but loyal nonetheless.
William didn’t like the thought of a border skirmish with the English at this time.
He needed all of his border lords at full strength for what was to come.
Seated at one of the enormous scrubbed tables in the great hall, surrounded by both men and wandering dogs, sat a man with his right hand bandaged and bloodied. As William and his entourage approached the table, William took a good look at the man but he didn’t recognize him.
He looked as if he’d been through hell.
That brought concern.
“I dunna know ye,” he said as he came upon the table. “Who are ye?”
The man was pale and weak, clearly exhausted, but he tried to stand up. “I’ve come for the king,” he said. “I willna speak tae anyone else. I have a message for him.”
There were so many men crowded around the table and around the man that William had to shove a couple away in order to get at him.
“Do ye no’ know me on sight?” he asked.
The man eyed him before looking at the retinue around him. His gaze returned to the big, strong-looking old man whose hair in his youth had been red and wavy. Now, it was gray and bristly. A little wild, even.
He shook his head.
“Who are ye?”
“I am the one ye seek,” William said simply, planting himself in the chair at the end of the table. “What’s this about Fountainhall? And what message do ye have?”
The man with the bandaged hand realized the king was sitting next to him and, for some reason, that seemed to bring out his fear. He’d been strong enough until the king appeared, and now he simply felt fearful.
He began to tremble.
“Yer grace,” he said. “The message comes from Ajax de Velt.”
That brought a reaction from William and most of his entourage. What had been a mildly concerning situation just turned critical.
The mention of Ajax de Velt, The Dark Lord, made any situation critical.
“De Velt?” he repeated in surprise. Then, he looked at the men around him as if to confirm they’d all heard the same thing before returning his focus to the man. “I know that name.”
“Ye should, yer grace,” the bloodied man said. “Most people know of the Sassenach who burned half the borders and killed entire armies many years ago. ’Tis the same man.”
William blinked in surprise. “He’s still alive?”
The man sighed heavily. “Still alive and still killing, yer grace,” he said. “Fountainhall is gone and everyone is dead because of de Velt. He left me alive because he wanted me tae deliver a message to ye.”
William looked at him in disbelief. “Fountainhall is gone?” he repeated, aghast. “What of Alpin Canmore?”
The man seemed to slump forward at the mere mention of Canmore.
“I dunna know,” he said, running his good hand through his hair wearily.
“The last I saw him, de Velt’s men were cutting my fingers off tae force him tae answer their questions.
Yer grace, de Velt knows about the alliance with the Earls of Orkney and the Northmen.
He says tae tell ye if ye try and bring yer alliance intae England, he’ll do tae ye what he did tae Fountainhall.
He’ll rip yer head off and leave it for the birds tae pick yer eyes out.
He says tae tell ye that only death awaits ye if ye come tae England. ”
The silence in the hall was abrupt and deafening as Ajax de Velt’s threat settled upon those in the hall like a fog. It was all around them, weighing upon them, filling their eyes, their ears, their noses.
It was everywhere.
Fear was everywhere.
William could feel it, but he wasn’t one to show his fear in any case, not even from Ajax de Velt. But he could see that his men were edgy and the man with his hand bandaged was positively ashen. He sat forward, leaning on the table and focusing on the man bearing the message.
“What’s yer name, lad?” he asked, not unkindly.
“Baloch, yer grace,” he replied.
“Baloch,” William repeated. He looked to the man’s hand. “How many fingers did ye lose?”
Baloch lifted the bloodied, bandaged appendage.
“Two,” he said. “Two before Alpin began tae speak of the Earls of Orkney,” he said.
“Alpin’s wife was spared and she was brought tae him, so he answered their questions tae save her life, too.
I was taken away once he started tae speak so I dunna know what became of him. ”
William nodded, pondering the situation, what he’d been told. “Ye dinna see him again?”
“Nay,” he said. “But there’s something else. The man ye knew as MacEacharn? He was with de Velt. I dunna know why, but he was there. I’ve seen that man at yer side more than once, but he was with the English.”
William stared at him for a moment before suddenly looking around, realizing the enormous man with the unusual eyes was nowhere to be found among his retainers. He hadn’t noticed until that moment because he had so many of them, but he realized quickly that something was amiss. Very amiss.
William was many things, but a fool was not among them.
“MacEacharn,” he muttered. Then, he snorted as if amused, but there was no such humor in his expression. “MacEacharn a spy? I dinna anticipate that.”
Baloch and the others were watching William closely. The revelation of a spy so close to the king was not lost on any of them. William scratched his chin, sighing heavily, before returning his attention to Baloch.
“Fountainhall is really gone?” he asked.
Tears began to form in Baloch’s eyes. “Burned until it’s nothing but a shell,” he said.
“And Alpin’s men… good men… were all put on poles tae die.
They are lining the road as far as I could see.
Some were already dead, some weren’t. I can still hear them calling tae me, begging me tae put them out of their misery. ”
William frowned. “On poles? Tied tae the poles?”
Tears spilled down Baloch’s face. “Nay,” he said.
“Do ye no’ know how de Velt kills armies, yer grace?
His men went intae the forest and cut down young trees, making one end very sharp.
They take the end of it and ram it intae a man’s body through his buttocks, all the way through his body until the sharp point comes out of his chest or neck or belly.
Those who dunna die right away are left tae a slow and terrible death.
That is what de Velt promises ye and yer men should ye try tae cross intae England. ”
William already knew about de Velt, but through Baloch’s eyes, he got a clearer picture.
So did his men. He didn’t dare look at them, knowing the fear and rage and disgust he would see in their eyes.
In fact, it was a rather brilliant move on de Velt’s part – he knew what kind of effect that level of brutality would have on the Scots.
He also knew it would do one of two things – it would either be a deterrent for them to forget their plans or it would turn their anger against him and away from the rebellion that was forming.
It would be distracting, in any case.
Brilliant, indeed.
“So the Sassenach knows of our plans,” he muttered. “But how much does he know? That is the real question.”
Baloch shook his head. “This, I wouldna know,” he said. “But the attack against Fountainhall wasna only tae destroy it. They left Alpin alive tae tell them what they wanted tae know.”
William lifted an eyebrow. “Ah,” he said. “They wanted a prisoner, someone tae interrogate. But how did they know that Alpin Canmore would be that man?”
No one had an answer until the man standing next to William spoke softly.
“They have their spies in our court, yer grace,” he said.
The man was the young Earl of Fife, the Justiciar of Scotia, a powerful hereditary title.
Alexander MacDuff was a trusted, and reasonable, man.
“Just as we have spies in theirs. There is enough spying tae go around these days. Someone told de Velt tae go tae Fountainhall and capture Alpin because he is a man who was known tae gather in yer court.”
“Then ye’re saying he was targeted.”
“Indeed.”
“And the man lives near the border, so de Velt dinna have tae go far tae find his target,” William finished. “De Velt’s fortress is near Alnwick, is it no’?”