High on a Mountain (16 page)

____________

“I haven’t seen Niall anywhere yet. I wonder
where he is,” Aodh said, almost under his breath.

Worry deepened the creases on his face. Both
of his older sons were injured, and he didn’t know the whereabouts
of his youngest.

“You stay here with Coinneach. I’ve got to
find your brother,” Aodh said to Ailean, and he started across the
field on a quest to find his youngest son.

He found Niall wandering aimlessly, sword in
hand, dazed but physically unharmed. Aodh led him to the place he’d
left his older sons.

“You stay here and look after your brothers.
I’ve got to find our clothes and the other things we left on
battlefield.”

____________

Ailean became aware the sun had not risen
far, yet it seemed hours had passed since he drew his sword.

“Da, look at the sun. It is yet morning.”

“Aye, it is.”

“But…it…surely it should be later. Much
later. The battle and then—”

“The battle was probably not much longer than
ten minutes.”

Ten minutes.

Ailean closed his eyes. Just ten minutes, and
now his life would never be the same. The scenes of blood and pain
and horror and death would be in his mind forever.

Fighting in a battle bore no resemblance to
his boyhood dreams of adventure and conquest as a warrior.
Inflicting death and damage on other men no longer seemed glorious
or something in which he should take pride.

____________

By evening, most of the injured English
soldiers, as well as the few Highlanders who had been wounded, were
receiving medical care. A doctor cleaned and bandaged Ailean’s arm,
and Ailean took off his torn, bloody tunic and put on the old work
tunic he’d brought with him.

The sun sank to the western horizon,
disappeared, and a chill night encroached on the darkening
twilight. Niall gathered reeds from the bog and built a small
fire.

Aodh and Niall wrapped a still-unconscious
Coinneach in his
féileadh-mòr
and laid him near the fire.
They stayed by him, watching over him, trying to keep him warm.
Ailean rested on the other side of the fire.

The three of them sat in silence for a long
time, looking into the flames.

At last, Ailean spoke. “Was it like this at
Sheriffmuir, Da? Is it always like this?”

“Aye.” Aodh looked away from the fire, into
the darkness, as if images from the past hung suspended there. “It
was blood and pain and killing men you didn’t know.” His voice
lowered, grew rough and gravelly. “And it was mourning men you did
know.”

Aodh cleared his throat and leaned his head
back, lifted his gaze to the stars.

“Sometimes this is a man’s lot in life. We
have to fight because it is our duty to fight. We can’t question
it, because those who know better than we do have made the decision
that we must fight. And so we must.”

They sat in silence again for a short
while.

Aodh looked across the fire into Ailean’s
eyes and spoke again. “But, son, there are other times, even though
the blood and pain and dying are the same, we fight because we
ourselves decide to, because we know it is the right thing to do,
the honorable thing. At those times, it’s easier to make the fight,
but it’s still hard to bear the…the…”

Aodh’s voice trailed off. He lapsed into
silence again as he regarded his unconscious son, remembering the
past, worrying about the future.

Aodh bowed his head, closed his eyes and
prayed aloud. “Thank you, Heavenly Father, for sparing my sons’
lives and for sparing me. Please watch over us through this night,
bring us safely through it to the morning. And, be with our loved
ones at home. Keep them safe and bring us home to them again. I
ask, too, that You watch over all the men who fought and were
wounded today. If it be Your will, may they all be healed. I make
this petition in the name of Your Son, Jesus. Amen.”

After a moment, Aodh raised his head.
“Ailean, lie down and get some sleep. You, too, Niall. I’ll tend
the fire and make sure your brother stays warm.

____________

Ailean fell into an exhausted sleep. He
wakened as the sun rose, weary and lethargic. In his weakened
condition, it took a long time to get dressed. Niall had to help
him when he stood and pulled the top half of his
féileadh-mòr
over his shoulder and fastened it. He panted,
drained of energy, and sat while he recovered his breath.

Ruairidh stopped on his round through groups
of his men.

“How’s everyone this morning, Aodh?”

“Not good. Ailean is very weak, and
Coinneach, he still hasn’t come to his senses.”

Ruairidh leaned over and peered at Coinneach.
“Hmm. Well. I’ve come to tell you that the army’s returning to
Edinburgh. Although,” he shook his head, “I don’t know how we’ll be
able to take this one along.”

Aodh stroked his beard. “Maybe we’ll have to
stay here with him until he wakes up.”

“Not a good idea, Aodh. You shouldn’t be
separated from the rest of us.” Ruairidh turned to Ailean. “I have
to talk with you, Ailean. About what you did yesterday.”

“What was that?”

“You broke ranks. You didn’t follow
orders.”

“But, I fought and—”

“Battle is not a game. It’s not about showing
how well you can wield your sword,” Ruairidh said, his voice cold
and stern. “It’s about following the orders of your commanders,
about fighting as one unit with the other men. It’s about carrying
out the battle plans those in charge of the army have formulated.
The success of your regiment can depend on how well you follow
orders, how well you do what you’re told.”

“I thought—”

“You thought you could bring yourself some
glory.”

“I—”

“Next time, forget about yourself and follow
orders. Then maybe you will bring yourself the glory and honor you
seek as a warrior.”

Coinneach roused into consciousness while
they were talking. He opened his eyes and tried to sit up but
groaned and lay back again.

“Are you all right, son?” Aodh asked.

“My head hurts,” Coinneach mumbled.

“Does anything else hurt?”

“No, just my head.”

“Ruairidh, what are we to do if we can’t stay
here and can’t go with you?” Aodh asked.

Ruairidh scratched his head. “I don’t know.
Let me think about it.” He started toward the next group of men,
hesitated and turned to Aodh.

“I think you and Niall will have to take
Ailean and Coinneach home to recover. Neither of them is in any
condition to go home by themselves, and I think it’ll probably take
both of you to help them along.” He reached into his
sporan
,
pulled out some coins and handed them to Aodh. “Take this. I don’t
know how long it will take you to get home, but maybe this will buy
enough food.”

“Thank you.”

“You’d better get started as soon as you can
get Coinneach on his feet.” He glanced at Ailean. “And you. Think
about what I said.”

Ailean kept his head lowered after Ruairidh
walked away. He didn’t want to face his father after the
humiliating words Ruairidh said. He’d not only lost the respect of
his commander, but his father knew about his disgrace.

The next morning, Coinneach was able to
stand, and they left for home, with Aodh supporting Coinneach as
they walked. Ailean did not look back.

Aodh had carried a few coins with him when
they left home. With the additional money from Ruairidh, he had
enough to buy food from crofts along the way to sustain them at
first.

Ailean began to recover during the first days
of the homeward trek. But the long days of walking over rough
terrain with little food to eat drained the small bit of strength
he’d regained. Then his wound became infected.

TWENTY

The journey home took longer than it should
have because neither Ailean nor Coinneach could walk far at one
time nor at a normal pace. Aodh and Niall became tired and worn,
since each of them carried an extra targe and sword slung on his
back in addition to his own weapons, and at times, they had to help
support the two wounded men as they struggled along.

“I’m sorry, Da,” Ailean gasped as he sat on
the ground where he had collapsed, his head hanging. “Just let me
rest a little, please…and…I…” His voice, weak and tremulous, faded
as if he had neither the strength nor breath to continue
speaking.

“We’ll stop for a while,” Aodh said. “We need
to rest anyway. Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you lie down.
You’ll get more rest that way.”

Ailean lay back on the grass and closed his
eyes, still panting. Coinneach and Niall sat beside Aodh, all of
them watching Ailean, exchanging brief, worried looks.

“Da, what are we going to do if—” Niall
began, but his father’s frown and shake of the head silenced
him.

When Ailean’s labored breathing became
easier, he opened his eyes. “I think I can go a little further
now.”

Aodh and Niall helped him to his feet, and
the father and his sons continued their homeward journey.

____________

The sun climbed to its zenith as the men
ascended to the top of the ridge east of their croft. Ailean
faltered when he got his first sight of home. So much had happened
since the evening they left, the ordinary days of his existence
before the battle seemed like a lifetime ago.

The children were outside playing and were
the first to see the men as they descended the slope. Coinneach-òg
recognized his father and ran toward them, shouting,
“Daidein!
Daidein!”
His commotion caught the attention of the women.

Mùirne shaded her eyes and looked to see who
was coming down the hill. Suddenly, she threw her drop spindle to
the ground and raced toward them, followed by Una and the other
women.

Aodh, on whom Ailean leaned, relinquished his
son to the arms of his wife. Worry pinched furrows into Mùirne’s
forehead when she saw Ailean’s sunken eyes and pale face. She
pulled his right arm across her shoulder to help support him and
stared at him in alarm. She placed her hand on his forehead.

“You have a fever! You’re sick!” she
said.

Ailean said nothing. He gazed at his son’s
blonde curls, at his guiltless face. The realization of how he’d
changed since he last saw his son shook Ailean. A great gulf had
formed between himself and his former life, and he couldn’t reach
across it to touch the innocence of the days before he had wielded
his sword in battle.

Coinneach-òg lifted his arms to his father,
asking to be picked up, but Ailean couldn’t lift his son. He
reached down and caressed the curly head, while he struggled to
keep his emotions under control.

The little procession reached the cottages,
and Aodh swung the weapons from his back and lowered them to the
ground. He groaned and bent over, placed his hands on his knees and
propped himself for a moment’s rest .

“You boys pick up those swords and targes and
bring them in the house,” Brìghde instructed the children.

“Brìghde,” Aodh said. “Ailean’s very sick.
You need to help Mùirne.”

Brìghde’s lips compressed and worry puckered
the skin around her eyes. She hurried after Mùirne and Ailean. The
other women crowded around Aodh, all of them clamoring to know
where their own husbands and sons were.

“They’ve gone with Prionnsa Teàrlach to
Edinburgh. They are all in fine health, none wounded, none killed,”
Aodh said.

“None wounded?”

“Prionnsa Teàrlach?”

“What happened?”

All the women spoke at once.

He shook his head and put up his hand to
quiet them. “Let me sit and rest a bit. Then I’ll answer all your
questions as best I can.”

Aodh led the way to his cottage, entered and
sat on his chair by the fire. The women gathered around him.

“Prionnsa Teàrlach Stiùbhart has come to
Scotland to take back his father’s rightful throne. The chief
pledged our clan would help him. We fought a battle at Gladsmuir
with—”

“A battle!” one of the women interrupted.

“Yes. Please, let me finish.”

As he told them what had happened since the
night of the fiery summons, Brìghde came in the open door. Aodh
looked at his wife. “Brìghde, do you have some food? We haven’t had
much to eat, and I’m hungry.”

Brìghde shooed the women out of the cottage
with the promise Aodh would tell them more after he had eaten and
rested.

____________

During the hard days that followed the
homecoming, Mùirne and Brìghde doctored Ailean’s swollen, infected
arm as best they could with herbs and poultices. But the infection
spread through his body.

In desperation, Brìghde resorted to magic
charms and chants she’d learned from her grandmother, but Ailean
grew weaker and sicker. At times, he shouted and thrashed about in
a state of delirium. His fever broke one evening two weeks after he
returned home, but it left him feeble and unable to get out of
bed.

The next morning, Mùirne helped him sit up in
bed and brought a bowl of porridge for him. When he saw it, he
shook his head.

“But you have to eat something. You can’t get
well if you don’t eat. Here, please, take just a few bites.
Please,” Mùirne pleaded, holding out the bowl.

He regarded the oatmeal porridge and nausea
billowed at the sight of it. He closed his eyes and turned his
head, pushing the bowl away. “I can’t.” He slid down in the bed and
turned his back to her.

She hurried to Brìghde’s cottage, wringing
her hands. “It is I, Mùirne,” she called when she reached the
door.

“Come in.”

“He won’t eat. What can I do?”

Brìghde looked at her daughter-in-law’s
worried face for a moment.

“Go kill another hen and make more broth for
him. But thicken it a little with oat flour. He’ll be able to drink
that and it’ll give him strength.”