The Swordswoman - Books 1-3 E-Book

Malcolm Archibald

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

The first three books in Malcolm Archibald's 'The Swordswoman', a series of historical fantasy novels, now in one volume!

The Swordswoman: Melcorka is an ordinary young woman from the Isles. But when her homeland of Alba is attacked by the Viking horde, Melcorka abandons her life of luxury and chooses the path of a warrior. With a ragtag band of companions, she heads south to unite the clans and free the land from the Norsemen's scourge, and claim her destiny.

The Shining One: Melcorka the Swordswoman is unsettled. She wishes revenge on Egil the Norseman, yet knows that Defender, her magic sword, cannot kill without cause. After receiving a dire warning from the seer Fitheach, Melcorka and Bradan head toward the Western Isles in search of knowledge. Facing many dangers on their path, they forge on toward the Standing Stones of Callanish to face the most fearsome foe of all: The Shining One.

Falcon Warrior: Sailing west across the Atlantic, Melcorka the Swordswoman and Bradan the Wanderer encounter a strange woman entombed within an iceberg. On her is a headband decorated with the symbol of a falcon. Heading towards Greenland, Vinland and eventually, the New World, the two face powerful foes. But can they find the ancient pyramid city of Cahokia and learn the mystery of the strange falcon artifact?

Leseprobe

The Swordswoman

BOOKS 1-3

MALCOLM ARCHIBALD

Copyright (C) 2023 Malcolm Archibald

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2023 by Next Chapter

Published 2023 by Next Chapter

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Contents

The Swordswoman

The Shining One

Falcon Warrior

About the Author

The Swordswoman

THE SWORDSWOMAN BOOK 1

For Cathy

Prelude

Silhouetted by the setting sun, the sennachie lifted both arms toward the sky and addressed the gathering.

Long ago when I was younger, and most of you were not yet born, there was a need for great warriors in the world. Warfare burned the land of Alba from south to north and west to east; blood soured the rivers, and broken bones salted the fields. Flames from burning townships glimmered on every horizon while the soot of smoke caught in the throats of those men and women who survived the slaughter.

He looked over his audience, allowing the tension to grow, although he knew that they had heard this story a hundred times before.

It was the dearth of grace with all the sweetness of nature buried in terror's black grave and the wind singing a sad lament for the departed joys of life and hope.

The land screamed for peace.

After years of horror, when crows feasted on the corpses that lay unburied in the glens, kings and lords gathered to seek solace from the constant devastation. There were weeks and months of talk, while the piles of dead rose as high as the length of a spear from end to end of the land, until eventually the kings came to a decision.

Marriage would terminate the fighting between the Northmen and the people of Alba. The daughter of the King of Alba would marry the son of the Queen of the Norse, and the firstborn would rule both lands in perpetual peace. The warriors of the North and those of Alba would lay down their arms and take up the plough and fishing net instead. And the people of both realms agreed through mutual exhaustion. The kings and lords disbanded their forces and burned their battleships. Rather than immense armies fighting on land and fleets of dragon ships ravaging coasts and islands, the people became peace-loving. Olaf, prince of the Norse and Ellen, the princess of Alba met and married and, as is the way with nature, the princess became with child. As people grew used to the strange ways of peace, the princess blossomed and bloomed, and when her time was due, the royals and nobility gathered.

Midwives and wise women were summoned from Alba and the Northlands to attend the birth; lords and councillors met at in the royal palace in the shadow of the great white mountains of the North, and the nations held their breath to await their new ruler.

'It's a boy,' came the news and then: 'No, it's a girl.'

And then: 'It is both a boy and a girl: we have twins!'

And such was the confusion that not even the wisest of the wise women or the most experienced of the midwives could tell which of the two babies was the firstborn. They argued and debated and threw the bones to decide, until nature intervened and sent an eclipse that spread darkness across the world. When it cleared, the problem was solved, for the girl-child lay dead in her cot and the boy-child squalled in health and vitality.

There were some who said that the Daoine Sidhe, the People of Peace, the fairy-folk whose name should only be mentioned in a whisper, if at all, had spirited the real princess away. The people said the Daoine Sidhe had substituted a changeling in her place, but there are always some who blame the People of Peace for everything they wish had not happened.

With no rivals, the prince sat secure on his throne and spread peace around his twin kingdoms of Northland and Alba. He became the High King with Chiefs and Lords beneath him and since he took the throne, there has been no blood spilt in Alba or the Northlands.

The Sennachie lowered his hands exactly as the sun sunk beneath the horizon. Only the surge and suck of surf sweeping the shingle shore of the island known as Dachaigh spoiled the silence.

Sitting at the front of the audience, between her mother and old Oengus, Melcorka listened with her mouth open and her eyes wide.

The Sennachie allowed the peace of the night to settle upon them before he continued.

We must remember our past and respect those who guard the peace we all enjoy. Without that union, a red war would ravage the two kingdoms, dragon ships would reive the coasts, and we would taste blood in the sough of the breeze.

He lowered his hand, his face old and wise in the reflected light from the ochre-tinted horizon. A rising wind dragged darkness from the east as an owl called to its mate, the sound echoing eerily in the darkening bowl of night. The audience rose to return to their comforting hearths beside warm peat-fire-flames. They did not see the sennachie turn to the west or the salt tears that wept from his eyes. They did not hear his muttered words: God save Alba from the times that are to come. And if they had seen, they would not have understood, for they had not known the curse of war.

ChapterOne

There had always been the ocean. It surrounded her, stretching as far as the hazed horizon in three directions: north, west and south. To the east, on a clear day, she could see a faint blue line that Mother had told her was another place called the Mainland of Alba. Someday, she promised herself, she would go to that other land and see what was there. Someday: but not today. Today was an ordinary day, a day for milking the cow, tending the hens and scouring the shore to see what gifts the sea had brought. She looked again, seeing the rough grassland and patches of heather dotted with the lichen-stained rocks that lay scattered all over Dachaigh, her home island.

High above, the blue abyss of the sky was cool with the promise of coming spring, fresh as the ever-mobile sea, decorated with frisky clouds blown by the ever-present breeze.

Melcorka mounted a grassy knoll and her gaze, as so often before, wandered to the east. Over there, on that side of the island, was the Forbidden Cave. It had been a temptation ever since Mother had banned her from even going close, and she had ventured there on three occasions. Each time, her mother had caught her before she got to the entrance.

'Some day,' she promised herself, 'someday I will see what is inside the cave and find out why it is forbidden.' But not today; today, other more urgent matters demanded her attention.

Lifting her skirt, Melcorka ran across the belt of sweet Machar grass that bordered the beach. There was usually some treasure to pick up: a strangely shaped shell or a length of driftwood that was invaluable on this nearly treeless island, or perhaps a strange fruit with a husky skin. As usual, she ran fast, enjoying the sensation of the wind in her hair and the shifting crunch of the shingle beneath her bare feet when she reached the beach. A shower of cool rain washed her face, seabirds swooped and screamed overhead, and the long sea-breakers exploded in a rhythmic frenzy around her. Life was good; life was as it had always been and always would be.

Melcorka stopped and frowned: that mound was new. It was on the high tide mark, with waves breaking silver around the oval lump of dark-green seaweed. It was no seal, no strayed animal of any sort; it was long and dark, with a drag mark where something had hauled itself out of the sea and up to the edge of the shingle. Now it lay there unmoving on her beach. For a second, Melcorka hesitated; she knew, somehow, that whatever this was, it would change her life. Then she stepped forward, slowly, lifted a stone to use as a weapon and approached the mound.

'Hello?' Melcorka heard the nervousness in her voice. She tried again. 'Hello?' A gust of wind whipped her words away. She took one step forward and then another. The mound was longer than her, the length of a fully grown man. She bent toward it and dragged away one of the trailing strands of seaweed. There was more underneath, and then more again. Melcorka worked on, uncoiling the seaweed until what lay beneath was visible.

It's only a man, Melcorka thought, as she stepped back. It's a naked man, lying on his face. She had a second look to ascertain if the man was fully naked, looked again out of interest's sake and came cautiously closer. 'Are you still alive?'

When the man did not answer, Melcorka reached down and shook his shoulder. There was no response, so she tried again with more force. 'You crawled from the sea, naked man, so you were alive when you arrived here.'

A sudden thought struck her, and she checked his feet and hands. They were all equipped with fingers and toes. 'So you're not a merman,' she told the silent body, 'so what are you? Who are you?' She ran her eyes over him. 'You're well-made, whoever you are, and scarred.' She noticed the long, healed wound that ran across the side of his ribs. 'Mother will know what to do with you.'

Lifting her skirt above her knees, Melcorka ran back home across the shingle and Machar, glancing over her shoulder to ensure that her discovery had not risen and run away. She ran through the open door. Her mother, Bearnas, was busy at the table.

'Mother! There's a man on the beach. He might be dead, but he may be alive. Come and see him.' She widened her eyes and lowered her voice. 'He's naked, Mother. He's all naked.'

Bearnas looked up from the cheese she had been making. 'Take me,' she said, touching the broken pewter cross that swung on its leather thong around her neck. Although her voice was soft as always, there was no disguising the disquiet in her eyes.

A couple of small crabs scuttled sideways as Bearnas approached the body. She looked down and pursed her lips at his scar. 'Help me take him to the house,' she said.

'He's all naked,' Melcorka pointed out. 'All of him.'

Her mother gave a small smile. 'So are you, under your clothes,' she reminded her daughter. 'The sight of a naked man will not hurt you. Now, take one of his arms.'

'He's heavy,' Melcorka said.

'We'll manage,' Bearnas told her. 'Now, lift!'

Melcorka glanced down at the man as they lifted him, felt the colour rush to her face and quickly looked away. The man's trailing feet left a drag-mark in the sand and rattled the shingle as they hauled him home. 'Who do you think he is, Mother?' she asked, when at last they lurched across the cottage threshold.

'He is a man,' Bearnas said, 'and a warrior by the look of him.' She glanced down at his body. 'He is well-muscled, but not muscle-bound like a stone mason or a farmer. He is lean and smooth and supple.' When she looked again, Melcorka thought she saw a gleam of interest in her eyes. 'That scar is too straight to be an accident. That is a sword slash, sure as death.'

'How do you know that, Mother? Have you seen a sword slash before?' Melcorka helped her mother place the warrior onto her bed. He lay there, face-up, unconscious, salt-stained and with sand embedded in various parts of his body. 'He's quite handsome, I suppose.' Melcorka could not control the direction of her gaze. What she saw was less embarrassing this time, and just as interesting.

'Do you think him handsome, Melcorka?' There was a smile in her mother's eyes. 'Well, just you keep your mind on other things. Have you no chores to do?'

'Yes, Mother.' Melcorka did not leave the room.

'Be off with you then,' Bearnas said.

'But I want to watch and see who he is…' Melcorka's protest ended abruptly as her mother swung a well- practised hand. 'I'm going, Mother, I'm going!'

It was two days before the castaway awoke. Two days during which Melcorka checked on him every hour and most of the population of the island just chanced to be passing and casually enquired about the naked man Melcorka had found. For those two days, Melcorka's household was the talk of Dachaigh. After the man had awakened, Melcorka's household became the centrepiece of the community.

'We've seen nothing like this since the old days,' Granny Rowan told Melcorka, as she perched on the three-legged stool beside the fire. 'Not since the days when your mother was a young woman, not much older than you are now.'

'What happened then?' Melcorka folded her skirt and balanced on the edge of the wooden bench that was already occupied by two men. 'Mother never tells me anything about the old days.'

'Best wait and ask her then.' Granny Rowan nodded her head, so her grey hair bounced. 'It's not my place to tell you anything that your mother doesn't want to share.' She lowered her voice. 'I heard you found him first.'

'Yes, Granny Rowan,' Melcorka agreed in a hushed whisper.

Granny Rowan glanced over to Bearnas. Her wink highlighted the wrinkles that Melcorka thought looked like the rings of a newly cut tree. 'What did you think? A naked man all to yourself… What did you do? Where did you look? What did you see?' Her cackle followed Melcorka as she fled to the other room in the house, where a crowd was gathered around the stranger, all discussing his provenance.

'Definitely a warrior.' Oengus waggled his grey beard. 'Look at the muscles on him, all toned to perfection.' He poked at the man's stomach with a stubby finger.

'I was looking at them,' Aele, his wife said with a smile and a sidelong look at Fino, her friend. They exchanged glances and laughed together at some secret memory.

Adeon, the potter, grinned and sipped at his horn of mead. 'Look at me, if you wish,' he said and posed to show his sagging physique at its unimpressive best.

'Maybe twenty years ago.' Fino laughed again. 'Or thirty!'

'More like forty,' Aele said, and everybody laughed.

Melcorka was first to hear the groan. 'Listen,' she said, but adults who are talking do not heed the words of a girl of twenty. The man moaned again. 'Listen!' Melcorka spoke louder than before. 'He's waking up!' She took hold of Bearnas' arm. 'Mother!'

The castaway groaned again and jerked upright in the bed. He looked around at the assembled, staring people. 'Where am I?' he asked. 'Where is this place?' His voice was hoarse.

As every adult began to babble an answer, Bearnas clapped her hands. 'Silence!' she commanded. 'This is my house, and I alone will speak!'

There was instant silence save for the stranger. He looked directly at Bearnas. 'Are you the queen here?'

'No, I am no queen. I am only the woman of the house.' Bearnas knelt beside the bed. 'My daughter found you on the beach two days past. We do not know who you are or how you came to be here.' She gestured to Melcorka. 'Bring water for our guest.'

'I am Baetan.' The man swallowed from the beaker Melcorka held to his lips. Pushing her away, Baetan tried to rise, winced, and bobbed his head in greeting. 'Well met, woman of the house. Please bring me the head of this place.'

'There is no head of this place. We do not need such things.'

'What is your name, woman of the house?' Baetan sat up higher. His light blue eyes darted from face to face in that crowded room.

'I am Bearnas,' Melcorka's mother said.

'Bearnas. That means bringer of victory. It is not a name for a farmer, or a woman.' Baetan slid out of bed, swayed and grabbed hold of the wall for support.

'It is the name I have,' Bearnas told him calmly, 'and you bring shame to my house by standing naked in front of my guests.'

Melcorka suddenly realised that she was not the only female in the room who stared at Baetan's body. She felt the colour rush to her face as she looked away.

The man paid no heed to Bearnas' strictures as he straightened up and faced her. 'I have heard that name. I know that name.' He took a deep breath. 'Are you related to the Bearnas? The Bearnas of the Cenel Bearnas?' Baetan's voice was now strong.

Bearnas glanced at Melcorka before she replied, 'I am that woman.'

'You are not how I imagined,' Baetan said.

'I am how I am and who I am.' Bearnas' reply was cryptic.

'Then it is you I have come to see.' The man pushed himself away from the wall. 'I have a message for you.'

'Speak your message,' Bearnas said.

'They are back,' the man said simply.

The change in the atmosphere was sudden, passing from interest and slight amusement, to tension and, Melcorka thought, fear. 'Who is back?' she asked.

'Leave, Melcorka.' Bearnas seemed to realise that Melcorka was examining the man's nakedness with undisguised curiosity. 'You are too young yet.'

'I am twenty years old,' Melcorka reminded her.

'Oh, let the girl look.' Granny Rowan laughed. 'It will do her no harm to see what a man looks like.'

'It is not what she sees,' Bearnas said, 'it is what she might hear.'

Granny Rowan's cackle followed Melcorka through to the other room. 'You will remember the views,' she said.

Melcorka stood as close to the door as she could as the adults spoke. She heard the murmur of voices and a sudden hush, followed by her mother's raised voice. 'Melcorka! Move away from the door and pack your things. We are leaving Dachaigh.'

It was as quick as that. One minute Melcorka was settled in the home she had known all her life, and the next, her mother had decided they would leave.

'Where are we going?' Melcorka asked. 'Why are we going?'

'Don't ask, don't argue, just do as I tell you.' Bearnas opened the door and touched Melcorka's shoulder. 'All your young life you have wanted to travel, to see what lies beyond the confines of our small island. Well, my dear, now you are going to do just that.' Her smile lacked humour as her hazel eyes seemed to drive into Melcorka's soul. 'It is your destiny, Melcorka. It is your birthright.'

'What do you mean?' But Bearnas said no more and the day passed in a frenzy of packing and preparing.

'Bearnas!' Granny Rowan gestured to the window. 'Your friend is back.'

Melcorka heard the harsh call and then saw the sea-eagle land on the stunted, gnarled apple tree that stood outside the house. The bird sat still, with its head swivelling until it stared right inside the cottage window.

'Open the window, Melcorka.' Although Bearnas spoke quietly, there was complete authority in her voice.

The sea-eagle hopped inside, perched on the top of the bed, looked around the room and jumped on to Bearnas' outstretched arm.

'Welcome back, Bright- Eyes.' Bearnas tickled the bird's throat.

Melcorka shook her head. 'It's not a welcome back, Mother. We have never seen that eagle before.'

'The sea-eagle is my totem bird.' Bearnas seemed to be musing, so quiet were her words. 'Your bird is the oystercatcher, Melcorka. Watch for the oystercatcher, and follow where she leads. The oystercatcher will guide you to do what is best.'

'Mother…' Melcorka started, but Bearnas had left the room, taking the sea-eagle with her.

Granny Rowan watched her go. 'There will be a time when you are grateful for the flight of an eagle, Melcorka.' Her eyes were opaque. 'That time is not today.'

Somebody had found clothes for Baetan, so he stood in the far corner of the house wearing a linen leine, the ubiquitous shirt that everybody, male and female, wore. Baetan's leine strained to reach around his chest, while his loose tartan trousers barely extended past his knees.

'We need a boat,' Baetan said.

'Of course,' Bearnas agreed.

'We don't have a boat,' Melcorka started, until Granny Rowan put a hand on her shoulder.

'There are many things you don't yet know,' Granny Rowan said quietly. 'It's best if you hold your tongue and let the world reveal its wonders.'

'Where are we going?' Melcorka asked again. 'Are we going to Mainland Alba?'

'Better than that. We're going to see the king,' Bearnas told her, 'and that is as much as I know myself.'

'The king? Do you mean the Lord of the Isles?'

'No!' Bearnas' tone could have cracked granite. 'Not the Lord of the Isles. We are going to see the king himself!'

'We will need a boat,' Baetan persisted.

'We have a boat.' Bearnas ignored Melcorka's repeated headshake. 'Come this way.'

Seabirds screamed harsh greetings as Bearnas left the cottage where Melcorka had spent all her life and walked in a straight line, eastward over the rising moorland, toward the mid-morning sun. Melcorka followed, wondering. 'Mother…?'

'Don't ask, Melcorka.' Bearnas glanced to her right, where the sea-eagle circled.

A westerly wind whispered through the damp heather, a friendly hand on their back that pressed them onward. 'Mother, we are heading toward the Forbidden Cave.'

'Thank you, Melcorka.' Bearnas did not try and hide her sarcasm. Bright-Eyes landed on her shoulder as if it had never perched anywhere else.

A dip in the moor cracked into a gulley that deepened with every step, until they were descending along a narrow cut with walls of rock on both sides. A cave loomed ahead, ten feet high, black and cold. All her life, Melcorka had been warned not to enter this place, but now her mother strode in without looking to left or right.

'Mother…' After wanting desperately to explore the Forbidden Cave, now Melcorka hesitated. She took a deep breath and stepped forward.

A cloak of darkness wrapped around her, crisp, fresh and scented with salt. She peered ahead, listened to the confident padding of her mother's feet and the heavy tread of Baetan. She could identify each just by the sound of their footsteps, although she did not know how, or why.

'Here we are.' Even in the dark, Bearnas seemed to know exactly where she was. She stopped beside a niche in the wall and lifted out three rush torches. Striking a spark with two pieces of flint, she allowed the rushes to catch fire. Yellow light pooled around them. 'Hold that.' She handed one to Baetan. 'It's not far now.'

Melcorka heard the surge of water, and then the light from the torch was reflected from their left, and she realised they were walking along a rocky ledge with water gurgling beneath them. The sound of surf grew louder until it echoed around the cave. 'Where are we?'

'This cave extends from the side of the hill to a sea exit in the Eastern Cliffs,' Bearnas explained. 'Now, stand still and don't get in the way.' Bending down, she rolled back what Melcorka had thought was the wall of the cave. 'It's not magic, Melcorka, don't look so surprised! It's only a leather screen.'

There had been an occasional visit from storm-tossed fishing boats to Dachaigh, but the vessel that Bearnas revealed behind the screen was different to anything Melcorka had seen before. Both the stem and stern rose sharply, while the hull was narrow and made of shaped wooden planks, overlapping in clinker fashion. There were holes for six oars on each side and space amidships to fit a mast. At the bow, rising in an open-mouthed scream, a carved sea-eagle's head glared forward.

'What do you think, Melcorka?' Bearnas stepped back.

'It's huge!' Melcorka did not hide her surprise. 'But where did it come from?'

'We put it here before you were born,' Bearnas said. 'I did not want you to know about it until it was time.'

'Time for what, Mother?'

'Until it was time for you to leave the island… until it was time for you to meet the king… until it was time for you to become who you really are.' Bearnas slapped the hull of the boat. 'You like her?'

'Yes, indeed,' Melcorka said. 'But I know who I am. I am Melcorka, your daughter. Are we really going to meet the king?'

'She's a beauty, isn't she?' Bearnas ran her hand along the smooth line of the hull. 'We call her Wave Skimmer because that is exactly what she does.' When she looked at Melcorka, her eyes were level and calm. 'Yes, we are going to meet the king.'

'Why?' Melcorka asked.

'Baetan gave me some information that we have to pass on,' Bearnas said quietly. 'After that…' she shrugged, 'we'll see what happens.'

'What information did Baetan give you?' Melcorka asked.

'That was for me,' Bearnas said. 'If the king wishes you to know, he will tell you. Or if our situation alters, then you will know.'

'We might be better going to the Lord of the Isles,' old Oengus suggested.

'You know full well that we will not approach that man,' Bearnas snapped, 'and I will not hear his name again.' Her voice was as grim as Melcorka had ever heard it.

Multiple gleams of light reflecting on the water warned Melcorka that they were not alone. When she looked back, it seemed that most of the population of the island had followed them into the Forbidden Cave. Torchlight highlighted cheekbones and dark eye sockets, weather-tanned foreheads and the determined chins of men and women she had known all her life. Some carried bundles and casks, which they placed on the rocky shelf beside the boat.

'Mother – should we not see Donald of the Isles before we see the king?' Melcorka tried again.

'You should do what I tell you.' Bearnas emphasised her words with a stinging slap to Melcorka's rump.

Oengus shook his head and touched Melcorka on the shoulder. 'Best keep your tongue still, little girl,' he said.

'But why?'

'There is history there,' Oengus said quietly, 'old history.'

'But Mother…' Melcorka began.

'Enough!' When Bearnas lifted a single finger, Melcorka clamped her mouth shut.

'Let's get her launched,' Oengus said, and within minutes everybody had crowded round. 'Come on, Melcorka. You too!'

There were log rollers stacked between the boat and the wall of the cave, but even with them, Wave Skimmer was heavier that Melcorka had expected. It took them an hour to manoeuvre her onto the water, where she took on her true appearance, long and low and sleek. Something surged within Melcorka, so she wanted desperately to board that boat and sail her to… she did not know where, exactly. She only knew that something deep within her was calling.

Despite his grey beard and the pink scalp that shone through his thinning hair, Oengus leapt on board like a teenager, tied a cable to her stern post and attached it to a stone bollard on the shelf. 'All secure, Bearnas.'

Bright-Eyes fluttered to the figurehead and perched on top, a flesh and blood eagle on top of a carved wooden one and Melcorka was unsure which looked the fiercer. Bearnas stepped on Wave Skimmer and balanced in the bow. 'Are we all here?' Although she did not raise her voice, her words penetrated even to the back of the cave.

'We are all here.' The reply came in a unified chorus from everybody except Baetan and Melcorka.

'Who are we?' Bearnas nearly sang the words.

'We are the Cenel Bearnas.' The words echoed around the cave.

Bearnas cupped a hand to her right ear. 'Who are we?'

The reply came, louder than before. 'We are the Cenel Bearnas!'

'Who are we?' Bearnas shouted the question this time and the reply came in a full-throated roar that made Melcorka wonder that these people who she had known all her life could make so much noise. She looked around at her friends and neighbours, the smiling farmers and grumpy potter, the peat-cutters and dreamers, the sennachie and the ditch-digger. She knew them all, yet here, they were unfamiliar. Who were they?

'We are the Cenel Bearnas!' The words echoed around the cave and re-echoed again.

'Then let us BE the Cenel Bearnas!' Bearnas shouted, and the islanders gave a triple cheer that raised the hairs on the back of Melcorka's neck. She joined in with the rest, raising her fist in the air and stamping her feet on the deck, even though she had no idea what or why she was cheering.

The noise faded to a whisper that slid away, leaving only the surge and suck of the waves and the slightly ragged breathing of the islanders.

'The Cenel Bearnas.' Melcorka repeated the words. 'That means the people of Bearnas, but you are not the head of the island, Mother.'

'You have much to learn, Melcorka,' Granny Rowan said. 'It would be best if you kept your tongue under control, watched, listened and did as your mother tells you.'

'I see you brought supplies. How much?' Bearnas asked.

'Enough for a five-day trip,' Oengus answered at once.

'That should see us to where we have to go,' Bearnas said quietly. 'It is time to become ourselves again.'

The islanders spread out inside the boat, each sitting on one of the wooden thwarts that ran from starboard to larboard, with Bearnas retaining her place in the bow and Oengus sitting at the long steering oar in the stern.

There was silence, as if everybody was waiting for a signal. Bearnas gave it.

'Dress,' she said.

The islanders opened chests that sat beneath the wooden thwarts, and each extracted a package. They changed slowly and with care, so it took them a full fifteen minutes to affect a transformation from quiet-living islanders who tended cattle and grew barley, to a boatload of warriors in chain mail. Melcorka stared at these people she had grown up with yet did not know at all.

Standing in the stern, Oengus looked formidable with an iron helmet close to his head and a shirt of chain mail taut over his belly. Granny Rowan was amidships, holding her oar with as much aplomb as she had ever tended bees in her apiary. Lachlan, who spent his life cutting and stacking peat, was near the bow, smiling as his rough hands ran the length of his oar. Yet their presence faded to nothing when compared to her mother, Bearnas, who wore a chain shirt that descended to her calves, and a helmet decorated with two golden wings.

Bearnas looked over the boat. 'Weapons,' she said, and her crew delved into the chests or groped on the bottom of the boat. They emerged with a variety of swords and spears, which they laid beside them on the rowing benches.

Melcorka could only stare as her mother lifted a silver-handled sword.

'Are you ready, Cenel Bearnas?'

'We are ready,' the crew responded at once.

'Mother?' Melcorka felt the tremor in her voice.

'Cast off!' Bearnas' voice was like a farm gate grinding over gravel. When she met Melcorka's eyes, there was humour mingled with the steel, force with the compassion, but authority above all. 'Push off!'

The rowers closer to the shelf pushed themselves into the water, so Wave Skimmer eased sideways.

'Row!'

The rowers took a single short stroke, then another and Wave Skimmer eased toward the semicircle of light that marked the outside world.

'In oars!'

The rowers withdrew the slim, bladeless oars and Wave Skimmer burst out of the cave and hit the swell of the Western Ocean. The sea eagle figurehead rose, so it pointed to the sky, and then plunged down until Melcorka felt her stomach slide, and then it rose again. Bright-Eyes balanced on top, gave one harsh call and began to preen its feathers. A seagull swooped close, had a look at the sea-eagle and decided not to investigate further.

'Raise the mast!' Bearnas ordered and, with no apparent effort, the crew positioned a thirty-foot tall length of straight pine upright in the centre of the boat. Oengus gave gruff orders, and stays were fastened to keep it secure, a cross-spar was hoisted and secured near the top and a great red canvas sail hoisted and dropped, to swell in the breeze.

'Out oars,' Bearnas ordered, 'in time now, just like the old days.'

Granny Rowan began a chant that was quickly taken up by the others, so they rowed in unison, hauling at the oars with small gasps of effort, with Oengus proud at the steering oar and Bearnas standing in the bow, looking forward.

Wind blowing, seas rising

And a man shouting wildly

My land is rich hiuraibh ho ro

Melcorka swallowed hard and watched as Wave Skimmer rose higher and higher. She looked behind her as her home diminished with distance.

'That is your past, Melcorka,' Oengus said softly. 'Say goodbye. Your future is coming.'

Melcorka was not sure how she felt. There was sadness there, and uncertainty at the suddenness of it all, but mingled with the doubt was a surge of excitement and wonder at all the new things she knew she would see.

Sea spume and surging weather

And an elemental storm wearying them

My land is rich hiuraibh ho ro

She looked at the crew of Wave Skimmer. She had known these people all her life; now, they sat hauling on the long oars as the ship rose and fell, dashing aside the waves from its sharp prow. The youngest was middle-aged, the oldest in her dotage, yet here they were, pulling lustily at the oars and singing as if all the fires of youth burned in their collective belly.

Rushing wind lashing

And the white-headed waves grating

My land is rich hiuraibh ho ro

The chants continued, verse after verse, with Granny Rowan starting the opening words and the crew joining in as they leaned forward and hauled back. A shaft of sunlight probed from the east, reflecting from the waves in a myriad diamonds of light and highlighting the faces of the rowers.

Never would their courage shrink

The stout-hearted crew

My land is rich hiuraibh ho ro

Suddenly, they did not look like farmers and peat-cutters. The sun cast shadows from high cheekbones and strong jaws so, for the first time, Melcorka saw the hidden strength of these people. She saw the deep eyes and set mouths and wondered how these men and women would have looked twenty or thirty years or so back, when they were in their prime.

At last, they saw the land

And they found a safe haven

My land is rich hiuraibh ho ro

'Over there.' Bearnas' voice broke into Melcorka's train of thought. 'That's where you are heading, Melcorka.' She leaned closer to her daughter. 'There, you will find your destiny.'

ChapterTwo

They rose sheer from the sea, a group of small islets surrounded by waves that leapt up the cliffs and splintered into a curtain of spray and spindrift before the constant westerly wind blasted them clear, until the waves gathered strength for the next onslaught, and the next and the one after that.

Wave Skimmer dipped her prow to a rogue wave so that scores of gallons of sea water surged on board, ran the full length of the vessel, soaked every one of the crew, and gushed out through the scuppers.

'Mother,' Melcorka stretched her neck backwards as far as she could to view the cliffs, 'why are we here?'

Bearnas gripped the sea-eagle of the figurehead until her knuckles were white. 'We are here so you can find your destiny, Melcorka.'

Melcorka heard Oengus' rough laugh stop abruptly. 'What do I have to do, Mother?'

'Find your destiny,' Bearnas repeated.

'But how do I do that?' Melcorka asked.

'It's your destiny to find,' Bearnas told her, 'not mine to give you. You must decide what to do.'

A sea sea-swell lifted the ship, so she surged up, closer to the cliffs. The voice came from on high, faint, feminine and familiar; only the words escaped Melcorka although she strained to listen.

'What was that?' Melcorka asked.

Bearnas held her gaze but said nothing.

'Did you hear that?' Melcorka tried again.

Nobody else in Wave Skimmer spoke. They avoided Melcorka's eyes as the voice came again, ethereal, drifting around her mind without the luxury of words. 'I am going onto the island,' Melcorka decided.

'Steer us closer, Oengus,' Bearnas ordered quietly.

The ship eased even closer to the island, until Melcorka saw a tiny ledge a few feet above sea level, ascending the cliff in a steep diagonal. She followed it upward with her eyes until it vanished, and then she plotted a route upwards to the dizzying heights above.

'Stop here, Oengus, please.' Melcorka poised on the gunwale, swaying on her bare feet as Wave Skimmer bounced and rolled to the rhythm of the sea. She glanced over her shoulder, but the stranger who had been her mother said nothing. The voice sounded again, tantalising, eerie on that place of splintering waves and roaring wind.

It was a short leap from the boat to the island, and Melcorka landed lightly. She balanced easily and looked up. What had seemed like a definite ledge from the boat was only a minuscule crack, with barely sufficient space to lodge her toes.

Melcorka looked over her shoulder, but Wave Skimmer had backed away. She was twenty yards offshore now, with Oengus holding the steering oar and all other eyes fixed on her. The seventh wave in the sequence rose, soaking Melcorka to the waist and splattering spray high above her head.

The words came into her head, as clear as if somebody stood at her shoulder on that precarious ledge. 'You are on your own, Melcorka: decide.'

'Decide what?' the wind took hold of Melcorka's words and flicked them to the scudding clouds above.

She began to climb, searching for finger and toe holds with the unconscious skill she had honed on a hundred expeditions hunting birds' eggs on the cliffs of Dachaigh. Twice she looked back over her shoulder, to see Wave Skimmer further away; the wind was whipping spindrift from the surface of the lunging sea. There was nowhere to go except up.

As she climbed, the cliff seemed to rise before her, so the distance to the top never diminished; only the clouds seemed closer. The voice had gone, and now the only sounds were the howl of the wind and the crash and thunder of the waves against the rock.

The ledge stopped. One step there was a finger-wide ridge on which to balance, and then there was nothing except wind-smoothed granite stretching upward as far as she could see.

'What do I do now?' she asked of nobody and started when the voice came again.

'Follow your destiny.'

'Well,' Melcorka heard the tartness in her voice, 'my immediate destiny is a long drop into the ocean, it seems.'

She looked up again, blinked as water dripped from an overhang and saw a dark smudge in the face of the cliff fifteen feet above her head. 'That's a cave,' she said, 'but how do I get up there?'

There was no answer; the cliff above was sheer rock except for a sliver of trailing bramble, thorn-laden, that the wind swung this way and that.

'Stay here until my muscles fail, or chance that strand?' Melcorka asked herself. She took a deep breath. 'There is no choice.'

She looked up, saw the slender, barbed branch, tensed her muscles and lunged. For a moment, she seemed to hang, suspended in the air with that frightening drop sucking at her, and then her right hand clutched around the bramble. Thorns ripped into her palm, drawing blood and making her gasp. She hung on, scrabbled with her feet for purchase and shrieked as the wind blew her back and then slammed her against the face of the rock.

The barbs dug into her hand, painful but bearable. She took another deep breath and began to climb the rock face, inch by inch, trusting that the strand would hold her weight as she slowly ascended the cliff, gasping with effort, sweating with fear.

At last, she slipped over the lip of the cave entrance, lay there for a moment until she controlled her breathing and then rose, yelping as she cracked her head on the rock above, and looked around. The cave stretched ahead as far as the light penetrated, its ceiling an inch below head height and gradually lowering.

Melcorka glanced behind her. Wave Skimmer lay a mile offshore, half hidden in a welter of spray. They've left me alone here, she said to herself. Suddenly lonely, she stooped, took a deep breath and stepped on, slowly, until her eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom and she could see where she was going.

The voice sounded again, echoing around the stone cave. Melcorka heard her name called, heard it again and walked on. 'Who is that?' Her words bounced around the cave.

The ceiling was even lower now, forcing her to walk round-shouldered, and the walls were green-streaked with constant streams of damp. Within five minutes, she was crouching, and then she dropped to her hands and knees, still moving forward, hoping for guidance from that mysterious voice.

She had heard the sound from the second she entered the cave, but had paid it no heed. Now, it increased from a background murmur to a full-blooded roar. Melcorka eased around a dog-leg bend and came to a sudden halt. The waterfall descended suddenly before her, a liquid barrier that poured through the roof and thundered down through a hole in the cave floor. There was no way around; she had to either return, or try and penetrate the fall.

So this is my destiny. Melcorka sat cross-legged before the surging water, trying to stare through to see what lay on the other side. To sit here and watch the water. She leaned against the rock wall. Somehow, I don't think this is the end.

She took a deep breath.

There is a light source here, something behind the water, or I could not see anything. That means the waterfall has an exit; there is something on the other side, she observed. She stood up. I can try, or I can wait for a miracle. Better to try and fail, than to fail through fear of the unknown.

The piping call was new, sharp and distinct. Melcorka saw the brief blur of black and white as the bird flitted past her and straight into the water.

'That's an oystercatcher,' Melcorka said aloud, 'the black and white bird of the shore!' She remembered her mother telling her to follow where the oystercatcher led.

'Oh well, here goes my destiny.' Melcorka leaned into the waterfall and bent forward, hoping to find something onto which she could hold. As she stretched, her feet slipped and she fell forward, clutched uselessly at the water for a hand-hold and yelled as she toppled. But only for a few yards, for then she landed on unyielding rock. The waterfall was behind her, and the cave extended massively in front, broadening into an airy cavern.

Controlling the nerves that made her hands shake and legs tremble, Melcorka took a deep breath and walked on, stumbling on the uneven ground until she reached the furthest end, where the cavern opened up to the outside world.

I have crossed the island, she realised, and I am looking over the other side.

A single column of rock split the entrance, rising from the cave floor to the roof. On either side was a bridge of rock, extending to twin sea-stacks that stood above the dizzying drop to the ocean below.

The voice returned. 'Destiny, Melcorka. You must choose your future.'

It was impossible to see the top of both sea-stacks simultaneously. Melcorka had to step from side to side to view first one and then the other. She could see an object at the furthest end of each stack, shaded by mist that seemed to cling to the cliff.

'I can't see clearly,' she said. 'What have I to choose?'

The mist dissipated, shredding even as Melcorka looked, so that one minute the stacks were shrouded and the next they were clear. On the flat summit of the left stack sat a harp, golden-strung on a silken cushion, with a flagon of wine and a basket of ripe apples at the side. Wind teased the strings of the harp, so it tantalised her with a soft melody, enticing her to step forward and taste the fruit. Melcorka smiled and reached out, to see the rock-bridge widen to become a highway, beautifully paved in golden blocks, and with a handrail of polished oak.

She looked at the right-hand rock stack. This one was narrower, with no basket of fruit on top; no silk cushion, only a rusted sword thrust into a block of granite, while the bridge was as narrow as the length of her foot, rough-hewn and running with damp.

'So there is my choice. A harp playing some of the most delightful music I have ever heard, or a battered old sword.'

Melcorka looked again. She had no experience of swords, but that one was very much the worse for wear, with a rusted blade and a hilt in need of repair.

'My destiny awaits.' Melcorka adopted a semi-mocking tone. She looked again at the stack on which stood the harp. She saw a man there, naked as a new-born baby, handsome as sin and built like a god, with smooth-flowing muscles and a smile that would melt a heart of flint. He beckoned to her, waving her into the paradise of music and luxury over which he presided, and Melcorka gasped in sudden salacity. The god-man sat on the silk cushions and strummed the golden strings of the harp so that music wrapped around Melcorka like liquid passion, enveloping her in thoughts and feelings so strange, yet so delightful that she opened her mouth and eyes wide in astonishment.

The sharp piping of the oystercatcher penetrated her mind, and she struggled through the golden mist. The second stack remained as it was, stark, bleak, cold, with the battered sword thrust into that block of rough-hewn granite.

Melcorka took a deep breath. Which was her destiny? What should she choose? She looked past the sea-stacks to where the ocean met the sky in the hard line of a horizon unbroken by land or sail.

The oystercatcher fluttered around the cavern and landed at her feet.

'Well, black and white bird,' Melcorka said, 'I thought you were going to guide me?'

The oystercatcher gave its high-pitched, piping call and did not move. The music from the harp grew louder, enticing her to look once more at that platform. The god-man lay on the shimmering couch, sipping from a golden goblet while his left hand idly strummed the harp. He looked at her, smiled and motioned her close.

For a moment, Melcorka allowed her eyes to wander over his body, lingering where they wished, and then she stepped back.

'No,' she said. 'I was not brought up in idleness and dissipation.' She stepped away and headed for the right-hand stack, where the sword remained in place, unadorned, uninviting: ugly.

Melcorka took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and marched along the foot-wide bridge to the platform. As she moved, a rising wind plucked at her, flaring her leine so it ballooned around her waist and tossing her hair into a mad black frenzy around her face.

Melcorka straightened her leine, flicked the hair from her face, stubbornly held it in place with her left hand and strode on. She had made her decision; there was no going back. As she stumbled, the ground crumbled beneath her feet, with pieces of rock breaking from the edges of the bridge to fall, end over end, down to the sea. Melcorka watched one fist-sized boulder slide away and unconsciously counted the seconds until it vanished. She did not see the splash.

This bridge is disappearing, Melcorka said to herself. She lengthened her stride and nearly ran to the sea-stack.

The sword remained where it was, uncompromising, static in its granite bed, with the sharkskin grip on the hilt part unravelling and flapping in the gusting wind.

'Here I am!' Melcorka shouted. 'What happens now?'

There was no answer.

'So where is my destiny?' Melcorka looked around. 'Is this it?'

Nothing appeared to have changed. The rock stack still thrust upward from the sea, connected to the island by that slender bridge of crumbling rock. The wind still blew… Melcorka suddenly realised that something had changed. She looked to the second stack where the god-man had sat on silken cushions and strummed his harp. Mist coiled round and round the stack, rising from the sea like a grey snake that opened its mouth to envelop the column of rock. As Melcorka watched, it covered the god-man, who aged before Melcorka's eyes.

The young man thickened around the waist; his hair thinned and greyed. His shoulders stooped, his belly bulged, and then he was middle-aged with pouchy eyes, and suddenly he was old, while the gold flaked from the harp and the silk faded to a lifeless grey.

'So what now?' Melcorka asked, as the other stack disappeared behind the screen of mist.

'It's your destiny if you grasp it.' The voice was clear in her head.

Melcorka took hold of the hilt of the sword. There was nothing else to grasp. Immediately she did so, the granite in which it was embedded began to move. Melcorka stepped back as the rock split, with the top opening up and the lower section remaining fast to the stack. The sword was merely a lever; reality lay inside the rock it had opened.

Melcorka stepped closer. Within the solid granite sat her destiny. It lay on a bed of chain mail, five foot in length with a blade of burnished steel, a hilt of ornate bronze with upturned quillons and a grip of polished sharkskin. She lifted it, marvelling at the balance. Her hand fitted around the grip as if she were born for it.

'I am Melcorka.' She spoke her name softly, and then repeated it, louder. 'I am Melcorka of the Cenel Bearnas.' She lifted the sword high, testing it for weight as the blade sang a song that seemed familiar, yet thrilled her with a new sensation. The surge of power that ran up her arm infused her entire body, so she smiled, and then laughed with this new feeling.

'I name you Defender,' Melcorka said, as she swung and thrust as if she had done so all her life.

She looked back into the granite box, lifted the mail shirt and immediately slipped it on; it was as light as a second skin. She twisted left and right, surprised at her ease of movement. There was also a helmet of plain steel that fitted close to her head and a long-bladed dirk that she secreted under her left arm.

Now I look like a warrior, Melcorka said to herself. All I lack is the skill. She looked around. But how am I to get off this island?

She saw the grapnel land a few steps from her feet. The hooks scrabbled on the surface and then held. A hand appeared, and Oengus' head bobbed over the edge. 'Here you are then, Melcorka.' A grin spread across his grizzled face. 'Bearnas said you would choose the sword.'

'You knew about all this?' Melcorka indicated the twin stacks with their contrasting contents.

'All Cenel Bearnas has been through it,' Oengus looked her up and down. 'You look good in chain.'

'What would have happened if I had chosen the harp?'

'Oh, you'd be dead by now,' Oengus said cheerfully. 'Are you coming down, or do you prefer to remain here and play with your new toy?'

ChapterThree

Melcorka stood in the bows of Wave Skimmer and stared wonderingly ahead. The mainland of Alba was far larger than she had expected. After a lifetime bounded by the confines of an island that she could walk round in a few hours, it was awe-inspiring to witness the never-ending shore of the mainland with its headland after headland and cove after cove, interspersed with semicircles of sandy beaches. Behind the coast, slow green hills rose, ridge after ridge, to the serrated peaks of purple-blue mountains.

'Alba,' Bearnas said quietly. 'Now we will sail as close as possible to the capital and give our message to the king.'

Melcorka touched the hilt of her sword. 'I chose the sword,' she said, 'but I cannot use it and I still do not know what is happening.'

Bearnas smiled. 'You do know. You were born with the way of the sword. Let Defender guide you.'

'I named it that! How do you know its name?'

'Defender is only one name people have called her. She was named long before your great-great-grandmother was born and she will exist long after you have taken the warrior's path.'

Melcorka laughed. 'I am no warrior.'

'What do you think you are, if not a warrior?' Bearnas raised her eyebrows. 'It is in you.'

'But what do I do? How do I fight?'

'That is a simple question to answer.' Bearnas put her hands on Melcorka's shoulders. 'Look at me, girl!'

'Yes, Mother.' Melcorka fixed her gaze on her mother's eyes. They were steady and bright, wise with years.

'You must never draw blade unless in righteousness. You must defend the weak and the righteous. You must never kill or wound for sport or fun. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Mother. I understand.'

'Good,' Bearnas said. 'You must never take pleasure in killing, or kill for revenge or cruelty. Fate has granted you a gift, and you must use it responsibly, or the power will drain and turn against you. Do you understand?'

'I understand,' Melcorka said.

'Good again.' Although Bearnas did not smile, there was a world of compassion in her face. 'You had a choice between a life of sloth and luxury or a life of duty and devotion. You chose the latter. Your name will be known, Melcorka. Sennachies will tell tales of your endeavours and bards will sing of your deeds, or you will die in a ditch and the wind will play tunes through your bones. That is the way of the warrior.'

'It is a hard choice I have made.'

'It was your choice,' Bearnas said. 'If you draw your blade for the right, defend the weak and oppose tyranny, Defender will fight for you. She will not fight for injustice, or for the wrong. Remember that, Melcorka.'

'I will,' Melcorka said.

'Then this is to help you remember,' Bearnas said and, with all the crew of Wave Skimmer as witnesses, she leaned forward and kissed her daughter on the nose. The resulting cheers did nothing to ease Melcorka's blushes.

'Bearnas! Over there!' The shout came from the masthead. 'Sail, ho! Sail on the larboard bow!'

'Keep an eye on it,' Bearnas ordered.

'I will need more than one eye,' the reply came down immediately. 'There is more than one sail. There are two… three… four… There is a whole fleet, Bearnas.'

'I'm coming up.' Although Bearnas would never see fifty again, she scrambled up the rigging like a teenager to join Oengus at the mast head. 'Melcorka,' she called down, 'up you come.'

Oengus slid down the backstay to make room for Melcorka. 'The deck looks tiny from up here.' Melcorka balanced at the masthead without any fear of the height.

'Don't look straight down,' Bearnas advised, 'until you get used to it. You'll be dizzy and might lose your balance.' She pointed north. 'Look over there instead and tell me what you can see.'

Melcorka tore her gaze from the thumbnail-sized deck of Wave Skimmer and looked north. From up here, the mainland was clearer, the mountains larger, sharper, starker than she had expected and the coast stretched forever to the south. Offshore, in a crescent formation, was rank after rank of ships.

'Who are they?' Melcorka asked.

'The enemy,' Bearnas said quietly, 'the men of the North. They are back.'

'Is that who Baetan spoke of?'

'That is who Baetan warned of,' Bearnas said quietly. 'By rights, the king should be first to know. By rights, he should make the decision. But now you have seen them, you must know. They are the enemies of your blood, Melcorka.'

'Have we fought them before?' Melcorka tossed the hair from her eyes. She found it easy to balance on the cross-trees with her legs wrapped around the cool pole of the mast. 'I have heard the Sennachie, but I thought that was just a story. I know I have not fought them, but, Mother, you are all geared up like a warrior woman, and all the islanders treat you with respect. And what is this Cenel Bearnas anyway, Mother? Are you the leader here?'

When Bearnas looked at her, Melcorka saw the worry behind her humour. 'So many questions from one young woman! By now, you will be aware that we are not simple islanders, Melcorka.'

'What are we, Mother?'

'We are what we are. We are called upon when needed.'

'Are we needed now?' Melcorka looked at the fleet that was creeping noticeably closer. 'Are we going to attack them?'

'You can count, Melcorka. How many are there?'

Melcorka ran her eyes over the fleet. 'Thirty – no, there are more behind that headland.'

'That is Cape Wrath – the Cape of Turning,' Bearnas told her. 'The coast alters direction there and rather than south to north, it runs east to west.'

'More ships are coming from behind the headland of Cape Wrath,' Melcorka said, 'many more ships.'

'Now, count how many ships we have.'

'One,' Melcorka said at once.

'Do you still think we should attack them?'

The wind fluctuated, sending the sail flapping against the single mast. Melcorka shook her head. 'No,' she said. 'No, we should not.'

'But you want to?' Bearnas eyes were sharp.

'I want to,' Melcorka agreed.

'Warrior woman,' Bearnas said. She raised her voice. 'Back oars! Oengus, steer for the south. Baetan, beat the time for the oarsmen.'

Baetan thumped the hilt of his sword on the hull, quickening the pace, so Wave Skimmer proved true to her name and surged across the water. The crew responded with a will but, after half an hour, age began to tell and a rasping gasp accompanied each stroke of the oars.