Valknut

CHAPTER|5 Glimpse of her Past

“Ye let them escape” roared Sir Fergus McDermott looking at his men, seething with rage. He banged his fists on the table before him, his face dark, shrouded with the fury of emotions flowing within him. “Send word to th' scouts” he barked. “A'm wantin' them brought tae me.” 

As the men began filtering out of the longhall, the dark knight remained seated on his chair. He watched the proceedings quietly. The hall was but a shadow of what it had once been. An eternity ago, the hall had been warm, decorated skillfully by the Lady McDermott. The Lord’s children ran around gleefully, picking food from serving platters and upturning mugs of ale. Rich tapestries hung from the walls, made under the watchful eye of the Lady McDermott. A huge fire roared, basking the hall in its warmth and light. Servant women streamed in and out from the kitchens, feeding all who desired a meal. 

On the eve of Lord McDermott’s return from a raid on the enemy borders of Northumbria, he chanced upon a young lass tied to a tree in the forest. Shivering from the cold, and from the shock of her treatment, the lass couldn’t speak. Her clothes were in tatters and strange markings covered her arms, almost indistinguishable from her numerous bruises. Pitying the lass’s condition, McDermott ordered his men to untie her and bring her to the keep and put under the care of their healer. He wanted answers and he knew he wouldn’t get them till the lass was well enough to speak. 

Lady McDermott had taken an instant liking to the lass. Having had borne only sons, she secretly desired a daughter. She put the girl in a guest chamber across from her own and spent many hours at her side, watching the healer go about her business of mixing herb potions and ointments for the bruises. She fondly began calling the lass, Áine. Almost a month past, the lass recovered enough strength to help around the keep, but she refused to speak still. Soon after Áine’s recovery, tragedy struck the McDermott clan. One by one, a few of the lord’s children and some from the village fell sick. Before the end of the week, the illness had consumed many women and children and a few of Fergus’ strongest warriors. 

The healer, having never come across such an illness, was at a loss for what herb potions to mix. Fearing the worst, Fergus sent for monks from the Roman missionaries settled deep in Northumbria. Before they could travel to his keep, the illness claimed his wife and remaining children. With no other explanation for the tragedy, villagers began muttering ‘witch’ each time Áine walked past. Fearing for her safety, she fled in the middle of the night just as Fergus’ soldiers came for her. 

Lord McDermott sent his scouts and spies to all seven Pictish kingdoms – one for each heir born to Cruithne, Pictland’s eponymous founder. The lass however, was not to be found. 

Many years later, MacShane a simple soldier in Dal Riata was awarded a keep of his own, bordering McDermott’s, for his heroics in battle. Intending to ally his new neighbor, McDermott requested MacShane for a meeting. Lady MacShane, unaware of who was being invited, set about planning the week-long festivities that would give the men time to come to an understanding that benefitted both sides. 

When she stood alongside her husband at the footsteps of their longhall ready to welcome their guests, she recognized Fergus a second after he did. “Áine” he screamed. Unprepared for war in enemy territory the McDermott’s had been vanquished quickly enough. Fergus began plotting his revenge after returning to his keep, barely in one piece. 

Ever since, both sides were sworn enemies. Not a day went past when either a McDermott or MacShane warrior didn’t die at the hands of the other. Villagers on the outskirts of the keep were always reporting of houses being torched in the dead of the night and cattle being stolen. Men of the night watch disappearing mysteriously only to surface atop a pike across the border. Over time, both sides weakened the other considerably. Yet neither chose to launch a full assault on the other. 

“Whit ye got” Fergus barked at the dark knight snapping him out of his reverie. Fergus stared at the blood crusted sack the dark knight flung on the table. Angrily he upturned the sack. A slow menacing smile spread across Fergus’ face as MacShane’s head rolled out. 

“Tis not enough” he said. “I want the lass’ head on a pike decorating my hall.”