“Yes. Keep your voice down!” Melcorka hissed. Three young men pushed towards her, with the oldest perhaps 17 years old.
“We've come to fight the Vikings,” the tallest youth said. “I'm Fergus, and these are my brothers.”
“Well, Fergus,” Melcorka pushed the youths down to the ground. “If you don't keep quiet, the Norse will kill you before you see another hour. Can you fight?”
“Yes.” Fergus showed the flail he carried, while one of his brothers held a pointed stick and the other a bow that was far too powerful for him.
“Where did you get that?” Melcorka indicated the bow.
“It was my father's.” The boy looked about 10, an undersized runt with huge eyes and a dirty smudge under his nose.
“Where is he?”
“A man killed him,” Fergus said.
“Which man?”
“That man there,” Fergus pointed to Erik. “Father was ploughing. I want to kill that man.”
“You keep well away from that man,” Melcorka said. “He would kill all three of you without a thought. You should be safe at home with your mother.”
“She's dead.” Fergus spoke without grief or anger. “That man raped her and cut her legs till she died.”
Melcorka nodded. Wars were not about champions making reputations for themselves. They were about simple folk suffering so kings could conquer, while men such as Erik could have their fun.
Most of the Norse ships were in the loch, with their crews disembarked. Melcorka tried to estimate the numbers of men, guessing around two and a half thousand, mostly Danes and Norsemen, but with some Angles and others she did not recognise. “That is a terrible army,” she said.
“Are we going to fight them now?” Fergus lifted his flail. “Everybody knows that you are gathering men to fight.”
“Do they?” Melcorka asked. The Norse were spreading from the anchorage, moving inland, towards where she lay. “Come on lads, it's time we were away.”
“Are we not going to fight?” Fergus revealed his dismay with a frown.
“Not yet,” Melcorka said. “We'll wait until we have more warriors. So far, there are only four of us.” She pulled them away from the beach to the shelter of a patch of woodland. “Now, Fergus, you stay with me. I might need you.”
Fergus nodded. “Yes, Swordswoman.”
“My name is Melcorka. You other two lads, I have an essential job for you.”
The two younger boys nodded, eager to be useful.
“I want you to run inland as far as you can and find a farm. Warn them that the Norse are here and ask them to look after you until the fighting is over. That is very important. Tell them that Melcorka the Swordswoman sent you. Go now.” That should keep them out of harm's way, Melcorka thought, at least for a while. “I'll take the bow – it will slow you down.”
“Yes, Melcorka.” The boy handed it over.
Melcorka waited until they were clear. “Right then, Fergus; do you want to learn to fight?” She expected his fervent nod. “Well, come with me, do as I tell you and don't make a noise.”
Fergus grinned. “Yes, Melcorka.”
“Come on, then.” Holding the bow and its quiver of 10 home-made arrows, Melcorka slid back towards the Norse landing site. Finding a thicket of mixed elm and beech trees, she sheltered behind a beech and strung the bow. “Now you lie there,” she said to Fergus, and tell me if anybody comes up behind us. You are my lookout.”
Fergus nodded and turned obediently around.
Selecting the straightest of the arrows, Melcorka notched it, drew the bow and waited for a suitable target. She wanted a lone man or a small group that she could dispose of without alerting the rest. The Norse were moving around, laughing, boasting of the deeds they would perform. Melcorka nodded when three youths swaggered closer, one swinging a longsword in the air.
“You'll do.” Melcorka breathed, adjusted her aim and loosed. The arrow took the farthest-away youth in the chest, killing him instantly. Before the others had a chance to react, Melcorka had taken a second arrow and fired, piercing the stomach of the next in line, who also fell, too shocked to scream. The third man shouted something, lifted his sword high and ran forward. Melcorka waited until he was close to the thicket, drew Defender and killed him.
Leaving the wounded man to writhe on the ground, Melcorka dragged Fergus away. “Come on, Fergus. Time to go.”
Twice more that day, Melcorka stopped, shot a couple of Norsemen and moved on quickly.
“We're beating them,” Fergus exulted.
“We're not,” Melcorka said. “It's only the fools we are killing, the raw, inexperienced men who won't be much good in battle, but we are thinning them out a little, and they'll know they won't have things all their own way.” She grinned without humour. “We may unsettle them.”
In the evening, Melcorka saw Erik gathering his army on the west side of the bay, in an area known as the Sands of Culbin. Melcorka shuddered as the image returned to her. Once again, she saw herself lying on that sandy ground, with a tall man standing over her and Bradan walking away with another woman. As she looked over the waste of the Sands of Culbin, she knew that this was the place. Closing her eyes, Melcorka shook the image away. Whatever happened, she must fight Erik and the Cu-Saeng.
“Are you all right, Melcorka?” Fergus asked curiously.
“Of course,” Melcorka said. “Come with me.” She led him to the western side of the bay, where Erik mustered his men by their ship's companies, more in groups than in battalions, a seething mass of warriors with Erik in front and the grey man a few steps away.
“I want to kill the man who killed my father,” Fergus said.
“I know.” Melcorka nodded as the idea came to her. If she killed Erik now, the invasion would have no leader and would be easy prey for Mael Coluim's army, provided the king arrived. “Stay here, Fergus,” Melcorka
