"I will not shave today, after all."
III.
The fresh wind filled the sails of the dragonship and the rhythmic clack of many oars answered the deep-chested chant of the rowers. Cormac Mac Art, in full armor, the horse-hair of his helmet floating in the breeze, leaned on the rail of the poop-deck. Wulfhere banged his axe on the deal planking and roared an unnecessary order at the steersman.
"Cormac," said the huge Viking, "who is king of Britain?"
"Who is king of Hades when Pluto is away?" asked the Gael.
"Read me no runes from your knowledge of Roman myths," growled Wulfhere.
"Rome ruled Britain as Pluto rules Hades," answered Cormac. "Now Rome has fallen and the lesser demons are battling among themselves for mastery. Some eighty years ago the legions were withdrawn from Britain when Alaric and his Goths sacked the imperial city. Vortigern, was king of Britain-or rather, made himself so when the Britons had to look to themselves for aid. He let the wolves in, himself, when he hired Hengist and Horsa and their Jutes to fight off the Picts, as you know. The Saxons and Angles poured in after them like a red wave and Vortigern fell. Britain is split into three Celtic kingdoms now, with the pirates holding all the eastern coast and slowly but surely forcing their way westward. The southern kingdom, Damnonia and the country extending to Caer Odun, is ruled over by Uther Pendragon. The middle kingdom, from Uther's lines to the foot of the Cumbrian Mountains, is held by Gerinth. North of his kingdom is the realm known by the Britons as Strath-Clyde-King Garth's domain. His people are the wildest of all the Britons, for many of them are tribes which were never fully conquered by Rome. Also, in the most westwardly tip of Damnonia and among the western mountains of Gerinth's land are barbaric tribes who never acknowledged Rome and do not now acknowledge any one of the three kings. The whole land is prey to robbers and bandits, and the three kings are not always at peace among themselves, owing to Uther's waywardness, which is tinged with madness, and to Garth's innate savagery. Were it not that Gerinth acts as a buffer between them, they would have been at each other's throats long ago.
"As it is they seldom act in concert for long. The Jutes, Angles and Saxons who assail them are forever at war among themselves also, as you know, but a never-ending supply streams across the Narrow Seas in their long, low galleys."
"That too I well know," growled the Dane, "having sent some score of those galleys to Midgaard. Some day my own people will come and take Britain from them."
"It is a land worth fighting for," responded the Gael. "What think you of the men we have shipped aboard?"
"Donal we know of old. He can tear the heart from my breast with his harp when he is so minded, or make me a boy again. And in a pinch we know he can wield a sword. As for the Roman-" so Wulfhere termed Marcus, "he has the look of a seasoned warrior."
"His ancestors were commanders of British legions for three centuries, and before that they trod the battlefields of Gaul and Italy with Caesar. It is but the remnant of Roman strategy lingering in the British knights that has enabled them to beat back the Saxons thus far. But, Wulfhere, what think you of my beard?" The Gael rubbed the bristly stubble that covered his face.
"I never saw you so unkempt before," grunted the Dane, "save when we had fled or fought for days so you could not be hacking at your face with a razor."
"It will hide my scars in a few days," grinned Cormac. "When I told you to head for Ara in Dalriadia, did naught occur to you?"
"Why, I assumed you would ask for news of the princess among the wild Scots there."
"And why did you suppose I would expect them to know?"
Wulfhere shrugged his shoulders. "I am done seeking to reason out your actions."
Cormac drew from his pouch the flint arrowhead. "In all the British Isles there is but one race who makes such points for their arrows. They are the Picts of Caledonia, who ruled these isles before the Celts came, in the age of stone. Even now they tip their arrows often with flint, as I learned when I fought under King Gol of Dalriadia. There was a time, soon after the legions left Britain, when the Picts ranged, like wolves clear to the southern coast. But the Jutes and Angles and Saxons drove them back into the heather country, and for so long has King Garth served as a buffer between them and Gerinth that he and his people have forgotten their ways."
"Then you think Picts stole the princess? But how did they-?"
"That is for me to learn; that's why we are heading for Ara. The Dalriadians and the Picts have been alternately fighting with each other and against each other for over a hundred years. Just now there is peace between them and the Scots are likely to know much of what goes on in the Dark Empire, as the Pictish kingdom is called-and dark it is, and strange. For these Picts come of an old, old race and their ways are beyond our ken."
"And we will capture a Scot and question him?"
Cormac shook his head. "I will go ashore and mingle with them; they are of my race and language."
"And when they recognize you," grunted Wulfhere, "they will hang you to the highest tree. They have no cause to love you. True, you fought under King Gol in your early youth, but since then you have raided Dalriadia's coasts more than once-not only with your Irish reivers, but with me, likewise."
"And that is why I am growing a beard, old sea-dragon," laughed the Gael.
IV.
Night had fallen over the rugged western coast of Caledon. Eastward loomed against the stars the distant mountains; westward, the dark seas stretched away to uncharted gulfs and unknown shores. The Raven rode at anchor on the northern side of a wild and rugged promontory that ran out into the sea, hugging close those beetling cliffs. Under cover of darkness Cormac had steered her inshore, threading the treacherous reefs of that grim shore with a knowledge born of long experience. Cormac Mac Art was Erin-born, but all the isles of the Western Sea had been his stamping ground since the day he had been able to lift his first sword.
"And now," said Cormac, "I go ashore-alone."
"Let me go with you!" cried Marcus, eagerly, but the Gael shook his head.
"Your appearance and accent would betray us both. Nor can you either, Donal, for though I know the kings of the Scots have listened to your harp, you are the only one besides myself who knows this coast, and if I fail to return you must take her out."
The Gael's appearance was vastly altered. A thick, short beard masked his features, concealing his scars. He had laid aside his horse-hair crested helmet and his finely worked mail shirt, and had donned the round helmet and crude scale mail corselet of the Dalriadians. The arms of many nations were part of the Raven's cargo.
"Well, old sea-wolf," said he with a wicked grin, as he prepared to lower himself over the rail, "you have said nothing, but I see a gleam in your eyes; do you also wish to accompany me? Surely the Dalriadians could have nothing but welcome for so kind a friend who has burnt their villages and sunk their hide-bottomed boats."
Wulfhere cursed him heartedly. "We seafarers are so well loved by the Scots that my red beard alone would be enough to hang me. But even so, were I not captain of this ship, and bound by duty to it, I'd chance it rather than see you go into danger alone, and you such an empty-headed fool!"
Cormac laughed deeply. "Wait for me until dawn," he instructed, "and no longer."
Then, dropping from the after rail, he struck out for the shore, swimming strongly in spite of his mail and weapons. He swam along the base of the cliffs and presently found a shelving ledge from which a steep incline led upward. It might have taxed the agility of a mountain goat to have made the ascent there, but Cormac was not inclined to make the long circuit about the promontory. He climbed straight upward and, after a considerable strain of energy and skill, he gained the top of the cliffs and made his way along them to the point where they joined a steep ridge on the mainland. Down the southern slope of this he made his way toward the distant twinkle of fires that marked the Dalriadian town of Ara.