The Thirsty Sword: A Story of the Norse Invasion of Scotland (1262-1263) — John Shaqi
The Thirsty Sword: A Story of the Norse Invasion of Scotland (1262-1263)Leighton, Robert
History
The Thirsty Sword: A Story of the Norse Invasion of Scotland (1262-1263)
Leighton, Robert
Haakon IV Haakonsson, King of Norway, 1204-1263 -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 1057-1603 -- Fiction
"Aasta," said Kenric, "I sought not to draw these secrets from your
heart. And if it be that Duncan loves you and would have you to wife,
then, believe me, it is not long that you shall remain in thralldom."
"God give you thanks, my lord the king," said Aasta softly.
And as the morning dewdrop shines upon the harebell, so shone the tears
of gratitude that filled her deep blue eyes.
At that moment as she turned away the cry of the cuckoo was heard from
the woods, and the girl kissed her hand and said in the Danish, "Cuckoo,
cuckoo, when shall I be married?"
But the bird answered not at all, and Aasta grew very sad.
Kenric, leaving her behind, then wended his way back towards Rothesay.
But not far had he gone into the wood when he found that the girl was
following him.
"My lord," said she, coming to his side and walking near him, "when
yesterday I heard that these three strange men had come to Bute, and
Elspeth told me what manner of wicked men they were, now is the time, I
thought, when the mighty sword of king Somerled must be unearthed, for
most surely will that sword be needed. And methought I would send that
sword by the hands of Duncan Graham. But Duncan came not to the tryst.
And now that Earl Alpin is slain -- now that, as it seems, my lord, you
have resolved to bring this false traitor of Gigha to his merited death,
methinks it is you who should bear that sword, that by its aid you may
fulfil your vengeance."
Kenric looked at the maiden in blank surprise, and he thought that
either there was something strange and mysterious in her nature or that
her mind was wandering.
"The name of my great ancestor, king Somerled, God rest him! is indeed
as well known to me as my own," said he; "but of this sword of which you
speak I have heard nothing. Truly, I know not what you mean, Aasta."
They were now passing through the pine forest, where athwart the tall
trunks of the trees slanted the rays of the evening sun, and there was
no sound but the cooing of the wood pigeons and the crackling of the dry
twigs and cones as Kenric and Aasta stepped upon the velvet turf.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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