Orphan of Destiny

assortment of colors. One of them did not brandish a weapon and nudged his horse forward.

“Guid evenin’ tae yoo,” he said.

“What did he say?” Robard whispered to me.

“I’m not sure. I think he said he was going to eat us,” I answered back.

“What?” Robard cried.

“I think he said ‘good evening,’” Maryam offered.

“I thought he said ‘good eating,’” I replied.

The man on horseback watched us talk amongst ourselves for a moment.

“Yur oan McCullen land,” he said.

“What did he say now?” Robard asked.

“Something about someone named McCullen and his hand,” I said.

“No, he said he’s with McCullen’s band. They look like they’re just back from a fight or about to leave for one,” Maryam said.

“Tristan, you better see if you can talk us out of this,” Robard said.

“Me? Why me?”

“You chose this campsite-this is your fault,” he said. “Besides, you gave me specific instructions not to talk to any Scots.”

“What? No, it was Maryam who found it, not me,” I said.

The man, who I assumed was their leader since he did the talking, nudged his horse a little closer to us. With the firelight, I could see him more clearly, and immediately wished I could not. Scars lined his face like a brush pile, and he had them everywhere. Over both eyes, along his chin and one in particular that started by his left ear, traveled down his cheek and disappeared into the collar of his cloak.

“Wha’ brings ye oot haur?” he asked.

“Hello, my name is Tristan. May I ask your name?”

The man tilted his head back and looked at me as if he were trying to focus. I gripped the hilt of my sword tightly. I wondered if I had violated some ancient Scottish custom by requesting his name. Knowing my luck I had just challenged him to a duel.

The man grunted, “A’am th’ Earl a’ McCullen. Yur oan mah lain.” He was an Earl with a hand in the air? Something about his hand?

Looking up at the man and his nine mounted companions, I decided diplomacy was our only option. Slowly and with great deliberation, I retuned my sword to its scabbard and held my hands up in front of me.

“Tristan!” Robard said through gritted teeth. “What are you doing? Have you gone mad?”

“We’re not going to fight our way out of this one, Robard. I’m wondering if we aren’t on his land and he’s asking me for an explanation of why we’re trespassing,” I said.

“If we have trespassed here, we are sorry and we will quickly be on our way,” I said.

He looked down on me from his horse and then dismounted slowly, never taking his eyes off the three of us. Slowly he strode toward me until he was an arm’s length away. He was taller than I was, by a half foot at least, and he looked even more frightening close up.

“That’s a braw lookin’ sword thaur,” he said. He pointed to Sir Thomas’ battle sword on my back. It was impossible for me to divine his meaning. Did he want the sword? Was he going to steal it from me?

I held up my left hand and very slowly, using just the tips of my fingers, pulled the sword free of the scabbard. It was so heavy I nearly dropped it, but I held on to it, grasped the blade with my right hand and held it out for him. He took it from me and inspected it closely.

“Urr ye Crusaders?” Then it came to me: he wanted to know if I was back from the war.

“Yes, yes!” I said, nodding vigorously. “We’re back from Outremer.” The word got his attention.

“Ootremer? Urr ye a Templar?”

“Yes, sir, I am of the Order but not a knight,” I said, and then wondered if I had made a mistake. What if he considered the Knights Templar to be his enemies?

“Beautiful blade,” he said, returning the sword to me. “Urr ye hungry?”

I didn’t know what to do or say. Without understanding him, I was afraid my next words could be my last if I said the wrong thing. To my immense relief he repeated himself and made a motion of spooning food into his mouth. Aha!

“Are we hungry? Yes, we are,” I said, which was true, as we had not eaten yet.

The man gave a command and his men dismounted. From out of the shadows they emerged with several sacks and jugs that had been tied to their horses. I gave a nod to Robard and Maryam, and they lowered their weapons.

“I think they’re going to feed us,” I said.

“Are you sure they aren’t going eat us?” Robard cracked.

“I’m reasonably certain they won’t,” I answered.

He knelt by the fire and watched as his men prepared the meal. In short order a flank of venison was roasting over the fire and they passed around a bag of bread. We each took a small piece.

“My name is Tristan,” I said again, holding out my hand. The man took it and nearly crushed every bone in it with his grip.

“The Earl a’ McCullen,” he said. I finally figured out that he was the Earl of someplace called McCullen, which I assumed was a nearby estate or manor. Or maybe his name was McCullen. I couldn’t be sure.

He broke off a small piece of bread and held it out to Angel, who still maintained her position between us. Her resolve melted on seeing the scrap of food in his hand. She inched forward and gulped down the bread. Then she allowed the man to scratch behind her ears.

“Whaur ye headin’?” the Earl asked. The more he talked, the better I could understand his thick Scottish brogue.

“We are traveling to Rosslyn,” I said. His eyes went wide, and before I could speak, a small ax appeared out of his cloak, and he tossed it so quickly and effortlessly, I almost did not see it until it thudded into a tree ten feet away.

Apparently, I had said the wrong thing.

29

No one moved. The entire camp was silent. Maryam and Robard stood stock-still, afraid to reach for their weapons, their eyes wide. The Earl glared at me.

“Why urr ye ridin’ tae Rosslyn?” he asked, the fingers of his right hand tickling the hilt of his sword, which hung at his side.

“Well. . you see. . we are going there to meet someone,” I said.

“Who will ye meit thaur?”

Now I was truly unsure of what to do or say. I couldn’t be sure, but it appeared that the Earl and his men had been raiding or fighting someone, maybe in northern England or perhaps another clan. When he understood we were Crusaders, he made some internal judgment and perhaps accepted us as kindred spirits. He was certainly no one to be trifled with, and I could not reveal my true mission, but a lie very close to the truth might work.

“I need to deliver a letter to Father William at a church there,” I said.

“Faither William?” he asked.

I nodded yes and smiled, wanting to make sure the angry Scotsman knew I was his friend.

“Why urr ye seekin’ Faither William?” he asked.

“I served with his brother in Outremer. I’m sorry to say, he was killed in battle. I’m taking his last words to Father William.” It was all I could think of on the spot, and as soon as the words left my mouth, I realized he could easily discover my deception. What if he knew Father William didn’t have a brother? Or he wanted to see the letter? Knowing my luck, he was Father William’s brother.

“Oh, puir Faither William,” he said. He bowed his head and closed his eyes and prayed silently for a moment, then crossed himself.