The Thirsty Sword | Page 5

strange tall figure standing in the moonlight. It was the figure of a woman,
wondrously fair and beautiful. Her long hair, that fell over her shoulders, was as the
colour of blood, and her white bare arm, that shone like marble in the pale light, seemed
to be pointing the way to Rothesay Castle. In her other hand she held a long bright-bladed
sword.
Now whether this figure appearing so mysteriously before him was indeed that of a
woman of human flesh, or, as he feared, the vision of some ghostly dweller in the pine
forest, Kenric could not at that moment have told. Even as he stepped farther into the
glade a dark cloud again obscured the moon and all was black night around him, and no
sound could he hear but the beating of his own heart and the whispering of the wind
among the trees.

CHAPTER III.
HOW EARL RODERIC SPILLED THE SALT.
On that same June evening, in the year 1262, whilst Kenric was at the stream side with
Ailsa Redmain, the three strangers who had landed earlier in the day on the shores of
Bute were feasting in the great banqueting hall of the castle of Rothesay. For although to
the tired lad Lulach and to Ailsa they had appeared in the guise of enemies, yet each of
the three was known to the Earl Hamish. Their leader was, in truth, none other than his
own brother, the Earl Roderic of the Isle of Gigha. The other two were Erland the Old of
Jura, and Sweyn the Silent of Colonsay.
What their unexpected mission to the lord of Bute might be had yet to be learnt. But
when, betimes, they came to the gate of Rothesay Castle they found Earl Hamish and his
steward, Sir Oscar Redmain, on the point of setting out on a hunting expedition into the
wilds of Glen More. And of the band of hunters were Kenric's elder brother Alpin and
young Allan Redmain.
So when the strangers entered the castle and had broken bread and refreshed their deep
throats with wine, they left their swords and dirks in the armoury and took bows and
hunting spears. Thus equipped, they set off with Earl Hamish and his merry men and
long-limbed hounds. And they had great sport that day, coming back at sunset with a wild
boar that Earl Roderic had slain, and three antlered stags and other spoil.
In their absence Kenric's mother, the Lady Adela, had made prepare a feast for them all,
with much venison and roasted beef and stewed black cock, with cakes of bread, both
white and brown, and many measures of red wine and well-spiced liquors. A silver
drinking bowl was set down for each of the kingly guests, and a goblet of beaten gold for
the king of Bute.
The hall was lighted with many cruse lamps that hung suspended from the oaken joists,
and, lest the evening should be chill, there was a fire of fragrant pine logs blazing on the
open hearth. Round the walls of the hall, that were panelled with black oak boards, there
were many glittering shields and corselets, with hunting horns and various trophies of the
chase.
At the fireside there sat an aged minstrel, whose duty it was to fill in the intervals of the
feast with the music of his harp, or, if need were, to recite to the company the saga of
King Somerled and other great ancestors of the kings of Bute.
Earl Hamish -- a tall, courtly Highlander, with sad eyes and a long brown beard -- sat at
the head of the board, that with his own strong hands he might carve the steaming
venison. At his right hand sat the earl of Jura, Erland the Old, and at his left Earl Sweyn
the Silent. His beautiful wife, the Lady Adela -- attired in a rich gown inwoven with
many devices of silk, and spun by the Sudureyans -- sat facing him at the far end of the
board. At her right hand sat Earl Roderic of Gigha; and at her left Alpin, her son.

So the feast began, with much merry discourse of how the men had fared that day at the
hunting in Glen More.
Now Erland and Sweyn, kinglings of Jura and Colonsay, though owing yearly tribute to
their overlord, Alexander the Third of Scotland, were both men of the North, and they
spoke with Earl Hamish in the Norse tongue. Their discourse, which has no bearing upon
the story, was mainly of cattle and sheep, and of the old breast laws of the Western Isles.
But Roderic of Gigha spoke in the Gaelic, which the Lady Adela, though an
Englishwoman born, could well understand.
"Ah, but," said he, addressing young