something I do not know. What I do know is that about twelve moons ago she disappeared. I’ve always thought the Romans grabbed her – a legion passed by Cirig that very day, but Alpin tells me that you discovered her in a Celtic village.”
“Yes, we did.” Sharn frowned – it looked like he would never find out who cut her tongue out.
Bredan had come to a halt outside the most imposing dwelling in the village. “I think it’ll be better if you go in by yourself.” Sharn thanked the old man for his help, squared his shoulders and stepped inside.
Fritha sat grinding corn under the watchful eye of a bat-faced woman. This must be Vola, the headman’s wife, Sharn concluded because of the richness of her dress. The small millstone was making so much noise Fritha did not hear Sharn’s first call.
“Fritha!” Sharn called again.
Fritha’s eyes flew to the doorway where Sharn stood diffidently. She spilled the corn all over the floor, as she leapt to her feet. She ran to Sharn and hurled herself into his arms.
“Alpin! Alpin!” Vola raised the alarm.
Fritha was covering Sharn’s face with joyful kisses when Alpin burst in to see what all the fuss was about.
“What do you want?” Alpin barked at Sharn, as he dragged Fritha away from him.
“I have come to take Fritha back.”
“Oh, really. I didn’t see your army out there,” Alpin scoffed.
Sharn had rehearsed what he wanted to say on his long walk. “I want to ask your tribe for permission to marry Fritha. I will pay a fair bride price for her.”
Fritha strained towards Sharn nodding her approval of the plan. Alpin scowled, “I’ll see what my father has to say about this.”
Alpin led the way to the village meetinghouse and spoke to his father, Malcolm. “The Celt wants to take Deadra to wife,” he said with one hand firmly on Fritha.
Malcolm, a short, self-important man, grinned. He was delighted with the proposition. It would be a relief to get rid of the crazy, tempestuous girl, permanently this time.
“Do you have any objection to the marriage, Alpin?”
In fact Alpin had grown tired of Fritha’s headstrong behaviour and constant moodiness, but he caught sight of Sharn beginning to smile, and another man delighting in what used to be his, changed his mind.
“If this boy wants my woman, he will have to win her in a fight to the death,” Alpin declared.
Fritha shrieked in protest, as she tried to pull away from Alpin.
Malcolm was bemused. “Are you sure? It hardly seems worth the risk.”
“There won’t be any risk to me,” Alpin bragged.
And to look at Alpin and Sharn standing next to each other, he was right.
CHAPTER 17
FIGHT TO THE DEATH
A s sundown cluttered the yard with shadows, Alpin showed Sharn an array of weapons – a dirk, a dagger, a Roman sword and the heftier Celtic sword – and asked him to make his choice. Sharn realised the bigger the weapon the more tiring it would be to wield, so he chose a dirk and a small shield. Alpin nodded. His choice was a dagger and a larger shield. He waved Sharn out into the centre of the yard. Fritha tried to reach out to Sharn to wish him luck, but Nectan, a friend of Alpin with very long black hair, shoved her roughly aside.
Sharn stepped out into the arena formed by twenty or thirty Picts sitting around in a large circle, gesticulating in the direction of the two fighters, arguing and making bets.
Fritha was made to stand behind the ring of spectators so she could not interfere. She filled with dread as Alpin and Sharn shaped up to each other. She knew the strength of both fighters and this made her fear for Sharn.
At a signal from Malcolm, the bout began. Sharn moved around in a wide arc figuring his best chance was to keep moving – he did not have the body mass to withstand a charge from his bulkier opponent if he was standing still. Alpin kept his eyes riveted on Sharn, searching for weaknesses.
Sharn thought he saw an opening and lunged forward with his dirk but
“Yes, we did.” Sharn frowned – it looked like he would never find out who cut her tongue out.
Bredan had come to a halt outside the most imposing dwelling in the village. “I think it’ll be better if you go in by yourself.” Sharn thanked the old man for his help, squared his shoulders and stepped inside.
Fritha sat grinding corn under the watchful eye of a bat-faced woman. This must be Vola, the headman’s wife, Sharn concluded because of the richness of her dress. The small millstone was making so much noise Fritha did not hear Sharn’s first call.
“Fritha!” Sharn called again.
Fritha’s eyes flew to the doorway where Sharn stood diffidently. She spilled the corn all over the floor, as she leapt to her feet. She ran to Sharn and hurled herself into his arms.
“Alpin! Alpin!” Vola raised the alarm.
Fritha was covering Sharn’s face with joyful kisses when Alpin burst in to see what all the fuss was about.
“What do you want?” Alpin barked at Sharn, as he dragged Fritha away from him.
“I have come to take Fritha back.”
“Oh, really. I didn’t see your army out there,” Alpin scoffed.
Sharn had rehearsed what he wanted to say on his long walk. “I want to ask your tribe for permission to marry Fritha. I will pay a fair bride price for her.”
Fritha strained towards Sharn nodding her approval of the plan. Alpin scowled, “I’ll see what my father has to say about this.”
Alpin led the way to the village meetinghouse and spoke to his father, Malcolm. “The Celt wants to take Deadra to wife,” he said with one hand firmly on Fritha.
Malcolm, a short, self-important man, grinned. He was delighted with the proposition. It would be a relief to get rid of the crazy, tempestuous girl, permanently this time.
“Do you have any objection to the marriage, Alpin?”
In fact Alpin had grown tired of Fritha’s headstrong behaviour and constant moodiness, but he caught sight of Sharn beginning to smile, and another man delighting in what used to be his, changed his mind.
“If this boy wants my woman, he will have to win her in a fight to the death,” Alpin declared.
Fritha shrieked in protest, as she tried to pull away from Alpin.
Malcolm was bemused. “Are you sure? It hardly seems worth the risk.”
“There won’t be any risk to me,” Alpin bragged.
And to look at Alpin and Sharn standing next to each other, he was right.
CHAPTER 17
FIGHT TO THE DEATH
A s sundown cluttered the yard with shadows, Alpin showed Sharn an array of weapons – a dirk, a dagger, a Roman sword and the heftier Celtic sword – and asked him to make his choice. Sharn realised the bigger the weapon the more tiring it would be to wield, so he chose a dirk and a small shield. Alpin nodded. His choice was a dagger and a larger shield. He waved Sharn out into the centre of the yard. Fritha tried to reach out to Sharn to wish him luck, but Nectan, a friend of Alpin with very long black hair, shoved her roughly aside.
Sharn stepped out into the arena formed by twenty or thirty Picts sitting around in a large circle, gesticulating in the direction of the two fighters, arguing and making bets.
Fritha was made to stand behind the ring of spectators so she could not interfere. She filled with dread as Alpin and Sharn shaped up to each other. She knew the strength of both fighters and this made her fear for Sharn.
At a signal from Malcolm, the bout began. Sharn moved around in a wide arc figuring his best chance was to keep moving – he did not have the body mass to withstand a charge from his bulkier opponent if he was standing still. Alpin kept his eyes riveted on Sharn, searching for weaknesses.
Sharn thought he saw an opening and lunged forward with his dirk but
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