Blood of the Clans Ch. 32

Argus looked at the guests and raised his hands, motioning for them to calm themselves. He could see they were still upset over what he had just told them.

"Okay, okay, ye's can all hang me up and flog me fer telling such a horrid thing as that and breaking my promise, but noo ye's know why things had tae change. Like I said, yer glad they things don'ne happen the noo, aren't ye? Those people felt the same, but it was part of their daily lives and as ye've just heard, it was a day that started like any other. Try tae imagine waking up and getting tae yer breakfast, only tae ha'e three hundred or so men bang on yer door and then slaughter yer family before yer eyes and then ha'e them commit atrocities on yer flesh. And a good morning tae ye, Mrs. Fraser"

Argus' explanation set the reality of sixteenth century Scotland firm in their minds. It was becoming clearer to them that they were hearing of a time that lived by a different set of rules, far different than the ones used today. Laws were made and carried out by the point of a sword and the man who wielded it. If that man was James MacRae, then whatever his vile mind conceived, that became the law that men abided and lived by, whether they wanted to or not.

"Noo, I'd like tae finish off wi' Sloan and his clan and what they did after they took the birlinns. As Stuart pointed oot tae me, ye's need tae know why Braedon came tae Tioram tae find Arabella. If ye's thought things wi' the Fraser's had gotten a wee bit twisted aroond before, it's e'en more noo. Troubles just befall that clan." he spoke out to the guests, preparing them to hear of events that shaped the course of history.

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The four birlinns plied through the choppy waters of the Mull of Linnhe, as they headed south to the Garvellachs. On board each of them, men sat with broken hearts and minds, re-playing the scenes over and over in their heads. There was little they could do in retaliation, only twenty men to face almost a thousand heavily armed men and weapons. Their tiny island of secrecy was now to become their home, no where else being safe from MacRae's vengeance.

They sailed around the small point and into the cove, beaching the birlinns on the small strip of pebbled land. The men disembarked and pulled them up, before milling around aimlessly, lost in a confusion of thoughts. Sloan stayed on his birlinn and stood on the prow, looking at his men, his clan, his blood. Nothing less than the head of James MacRae on a pike pole, would suffice in bringing any sense of justice to their minds. How could he do that, his mind now pondering the realities they faced? Twenty men and seven birlinns, most with swords and blades only. There was no need to bring bows and arrows while they trained in secrecy, so they had left all but a couple behind.

They'd have to wait there, until MacRae and the others marched back to Dunollie and then sailed to Ballachulish, in the last of MacDougall's birlinns. With any luck, there might be some of their weapons still there and they could arm themselves better. One thing Sloan knew they had to do, was honour their dead. One hundred and twelve souls had perished and he knew they hadn't told of where they were. There was no time to dig that many graves without being spotted and attacked, ending up in graves themselves, if they were that lucky. A single tribute was all they could afford them.

"Men, tae me!" Sloan shouted to them.

He waited until they were gathered close around him and told them of what needed to be done.

"We can'ne let this stop us. We may be only twenty, but we're Fraser's and we'll always fight fer that name. We need tae take care of oor dead and see tae their souls. The that

madness that MacRae has wreaked upon oor people must be erased. A massive pyre

must be made and everyone has tae be done t'gether. It'll ha'e tae be done under the co'er of darkness, so we're no seen."

Sloan could see his men coming around and regrouping, their purpose and worth returning.

"Before morning's light, a fire so bright shall burn, it'll drooned oot the sun. Everyone fer miles will see it and know the Fraser's are alive and strong. We'll search for every weapon we can find. Bows and dorlochis (quivers) are needed the most. Targes (shields) and blades if ye can find them. Once we ha'e all we can take from oor village, we sail north. We ha'e tae cross nearly thirty miles of unfriendly waters between here and oor destination and once we're there, I can'ne assure ye's that we'll be all that welcome."

Blain had no idea where Sloan was thinking of going. He thought out the distance in his head and came to only one conclusion, Castle Stalker. Before Blain could voice his thoughts, Sloan had answered them.

"Men we're going tae Castle Stalker and see Laird Braedon Stewart. I can'ne see any other way tae strike back at MacRae, than tae join wi' a clan that does'ne know they're going tae be under attack. Once I tell his Lairdship of MacRae's plans tae take o'er Donan, Tioram, Camus and Stalker and who's involved, he'll let us side wi' him. I'll tell it in such a way as tae leave oot certain things that ha'e happened and change the way others did aroond, so we ne'er look like the ones who started anything."

Blain understood instantly what Sloan was trying to accomplish. Where scant hours ago, they had been sailing in birlinns, enacting mock battles against the Stewart's, Sloan was now preparing to side with them and ally with the other clans. He understood Sloan's reasoning that pledging one's allegiance to a stronger clan served no other purpose, than to secure safety for the men and a chance to continue their clan. He looked among the men, seeing the understanding being shared and accepted by them all. Blain looked up at Sloan and saw the pride in his face, shining in his eyes and the set of his stance. For all of his lack of years for experience, Sloan made up for it with his understanding of people.

Blain missed his brother dearly, but he thought more of his nephew as a leader. McCauley was always a brash and head-strong person, ever since they were boys. He wasn't all that bright and had a tendency to lead with his fists, instead of thinking things through. Sloan had the foresight to see things well in his head, planning out details of where things could go wrong and how to avoid them. This was another show of that quick mind at work. Blain knew he would follow whatever Sloan asked of him, believing in his abilities to think only of the good of the clan first.

"We'll ha'e tae side wi' them and hope they'll take us on. I'll tell them MacRae had come tae us and asked us tae join his alliance wi' the others. I'll say McCauley refused and they killed him ootright. That's almost the truth there. I'll explain that we were oot hunting and when we got back, oor people were slaughtered. We're coming tae warn them of what MacRae is planning tae do and wish tae join wi' them, so we can ha'e oor revenge. We'll appear tae be innocent of any wrongdoing and my hopes are that he let's us join wi' them."

Sloan could see the reasoning being understood in the men and went on.

"If we show a true allegiance tae the Stewart's, it's my hopes they'll help us tae take Dunollie and gi' us some more land. Wi' all the crofters that farm the lands aroond there, we'll be able tae find women and start oor clan o'er again. This time, we'll be starting wi' a castle and a seat of power fer the Fraser's. One we'll build on and make the name Fraser, one that clans will respect and fear tae challenge."

The strength in Sloan's words fuelled the spirit of the men the way he hoped they would. They looked amongst themselves and an assurance of their clan as a whole, would be

carried on through them. Sloan jumped down and gathered the men around him. He began outlining the steps now needed to be taken to make his plan a success. Three birlinns needed to be sailed back north to Eilean Musdile at the end of Lismore. They would wait there until they saw the birlinn with MacRae heading north. Once they saw he was a safe distance away, they would make their way across and up Loch Etive, to where their horses were still tied.

Some of the men would get the horses, while the rest sailed in and gathered the dead, laying them in the birlinns. Once all were on board, they would sail back to Eilean Musdile and build their pyre on the bluff. There was plenty of dead wood and pines to make for a brilliant display to light the night sky and send the souls of their loved ones to Heaven and be with the Great Father. Once they'd paid their homage, they would sail around the far side of Lismore and across to Stalker. If all went well, the Fraser's would have a castle and a place in history. If all went well.

The one birlinn was hauled up beside the other four, already covered with branches. There were more birlinns than they could hide, with the lack of brush and trees on the small island to provide a proper screen. Sloan had five men row over to the other island nearest them and retrieve as much brush and branches as they could get, to not only cover the boat, but not look like the area was cleared. They rowed back and soon the limbs and brush were placed around the birlinn, camouflaging it and keeping it hidden from passing fishermen.

They divided the men into three groups and pushed the three birlinns back into the water, before raising the sails and making their way north to the southern tip of Lismore. Fifteen miles were sailed in dread and fear, worrying if MacRae was looking for his birlinns and of course, them. Sloan knew if MacRae was out for vengeance for what he had done to the Douglas boys, then stealing two of his and one of the other's birlinns would have him screaming bloody, blue murder for their souls.

Anchoring on the far side, the men started to gather logs and branches and stacked them in piles. Kenneth climbed to the top of the bluff and kept his eyes peeled for a sail coming out of Dunollie. The men started to take the stacked wood, dry branches and pine boughs up to where Kenneth was keeping watch, the slope causing many to slide and lose their loads. They would complete the pyre once the men's bodies were laid on the first level and then build above them. They hoped they had enough wood and could make it big enough to hold all the bodies.

Trip after trip up the steep slope gave the men enough large wood to construct the base. They laid out an area as square as they could make, estimating how many bodies would fit inside it. Piles of kindling wood were laid out and long limbs laid across them. More were interwoven, creating a base to lay the bodies on. Pine boughs were placed on top to give a semblance of comfort for the dead to lay upon, but also to use the flammable needles to help make enough heat to cremate the bodies to ashes.

Kenneth was tiring of looking endlessly at the far coast and let his eyes drift away to something else of interest. He watched the gulls circling and soaring on the air currents, marvelling at their ability to glide through the air without a flap of their wings. He watched them for a while, until one of the men looked across the waters and raised the alarm. He gave Kenneth a smack on his head and pointed towards the sail, chastising him for his lack of attention. They now had their opportunity to sail. Men dropped what they were doing and hurried to the birlinns, raising anchors and setting sails.

In no time, they were around the point and wending their way across open waters to Loch Etive. The seven miles passed in silence, each man aware of what awaited them once they entered the channel. The weak sun gave little hope of brightness to the dull day, as clouds and haze filled the skies above them. Once the entrance to the loch came up, an uneasiness came over the men, as they tried to mentally prepare for the sight and do what they had to do.

When they passed the hills, the clearing came into view and the scene was upon them. Over sixty women and children were standing still in formation, lined up in rows. From where they were, nothing looked wrong to them. As they sailed a little further, the sight of the forty plus men, still hanging with their ribs and lungs pulled out, caught their line of sight. Birds had already made their start at devouring the flesh and organs exposed to them. The sight had the men turn in horror and sicken themselves, as the first two birlinns scraped up the shore.

Tears were seen on every man's face, as none could hold back the pain of seeing their family and clan like that. The others sailed another five more miles to their hiding spot and five men disembarked and pushed off the birlinn. They made their way to the horses and untied them, taking four each and rode back within minutes to their encampment. The birlinns were beached and men were waiting to board the horses as they came up. The horses were loaded and rowed across the narrow channel to the other side. The five men took the horses up the embankment and stood with them, as the birlinns were sailed back and pulled up on shore.

Sloan had looked at the closeness of their pass to Dunollie, as they came across and

wanted to keep farther away on the way back and then again when he brought the horses over to Lismore. The hardships of this were weighing heavy on him, trying to keep the remnants of the clan together and still safeguard their lives. He watched as men tried to lift the bodies of their loved ones off the stakes, the wet, sucking sounds tearing at their souls to hear it.

The agony of trying to get them down with some decency, posed a tortured hardship that the men were in torment to deal with. Sloan looked at the situation and knew he had to make a decision to speed up the process. In as much as they wanted to pay respects to them, time was not in their favour. Sloan came to Kileana and her two children. He looked at them for a moment, remembering her, how she had played with him as young children and later sitting and talking of days to come. He looked at her children, how he held them as babies, games he played with them, things he taught them. With growing turmoil in his veins, he drew his sword and cut the spear off at ground level. His sister's body fell to the ground like a tree, the spear keeping her straight and stiff. In two more equal blows, his niece and nephew were released from their grotesque display.

"Pick her up." was all Sloan said weakly to the closest man, Brent, as he choked on his fractured emotions.

Brent picked her up and carried her under her arms, while Sloan picked up the end of the spear, Kileana's legs dangling loosely. As they saw how to carry the women, more men drew their swords and were felling the bodies as quickly as they could. The spears made the bodies morbidly easier to carry and stack in the boat, laying them carefully atop one another. They loaded up the first birlinn and started on the second, as the rows of women and children were taken down.

As men began lowering the slain men from their bindings, painful sorrow filled each and every one of them. In an effort to give them decency, they put the lungs back in and tried to close the rib cages, the sounds of bones and sinew cracking, as well as the sucking, fluid sounds of bloodied flesh being moved, made the effort incredibly tortuous. Their lifeless bodies were heavy with dead-weight, as they carried them and filled the second birlinn and started on the third.

Sloan came up to Colin Fraser, his eyes still wide in horror, even during death. Sloan

looked at his manhood stuffed down his throat and knew he had suffered horribly. He hesitantly reached in his mouth and pulled the severed organ out, before quickly dropping it. Sloan closed Colin's shock-filled eyes and cut him down, letting him land over his shoulder. He carried the young boy down to the boat, his eyes fixed on Brennan, Colin's father.

Brennan saw Sloan looking at him and then recognized the body slung over his shoulder. His eyes showed the awareness of understanding and the wrought emotion grew on his face.

"Colin, it's him, isn't it, Sloan? My boy's dead." his mouth quivering with the words.

"Aye, Brennan, it's him." Sloan choked out, knowing how Brennan loved his only son.

Brennan reached out and took hold of his son's body and juggled it so it lay cradled in his arms. He craned his head, so he could look at Colin's face, as it hung down. He knew what had been done to him, just by looking at the blood on his legs and around his mouth and chin. Brennan laid Colin atop Gregory Fraser's body, folding his hands over his chest and laid his own atop his son's fair haired head. Sloan knew Brennan wouldn't leave his son's side now and laid his hand on Brennan's shoulder and squeezed tightly several times, before leaving to go back.

The site was cleared of everyone and the men were looking for weapons. All their caches of spears and dorlichis were still hidden and were shortly rounded up and stowed along side the bodies. Eight bows were found that hadn't been broken during the massacre, giving them some distance in their ability to fight. A cache of targes was found, but all the swords and other blades were gone.

They gathered what was left of the food, as well as skins of water, looking around one last time for anything else. As the eyes searched for things, their hearts played memories of moments past before them, flooding them with sorrow once more. Sloan finally called his men together and they all stood silent with heads bowed, hands crossed over their hearts, remembering the slain and vowing their vengeance to them. They looked at the piled bodies in the birlinns and resolved their hearts to commit to that oath.

It took every man to push the heavily laden birlinns into the deeper water, before they could board and sit at the oars. They placed their feet on the bodies and had to use them as leverage to row. They turned and faced out towards the mouth of Loch Etive, before raising the sails and making for Eilean Musdile. The men on the opposite shore raised their hands high and then crossed their hearts, as they saw their clan pass before them. Brave faces were worn by all as they looked at each other, then the men mounted their horses and headed north to the point at Tralee Bay.

Both groups of men were silent through their journeys, as they made their way to their destinations. Minds were filled with every extreme of emotion, battling with the thoughts that filled them. Sloan turned away from the approaching land and looked back at where he had been, remembering event after event of clan life. Deep in his heart, he was glad his own mother had passed away two years earlier and spared the gruesome end the other women in his life had been subjected to.

The men looked back too as they rowed, knowing what was their life, was now becoming just a memory, a moment in each of their lives. Sloan turned back again and looked at Eilean Musdile approaching, keeping an eye out for rock formations lying just under the surface of the dark waters. They rounded the point of the low, flat land and Sloan knew where he wanted the pyre to be erected. The end of the land, signified the end of his clan in his mind, as he kept looking at the area from all angles sailing around it.

The high point of land at the end of the island made all the sense to him, as he pictured the massive pyre burning and where it could be seen from. Five miles away on the

mainland, Sloan knew that the MacDougall's would see the fire clearly, wanting with all his heart for them to know it was his tribute to his clan they were witnessing. Two miles away on Mull, another clan would be witnessing the spectacle, the Campbell's in Duart Castle.

The birlinns made their way along the coast, until they were out of view and secluded in a small inlet. They tied off to stumpy bushes growing near the shoreline and were soon unloading the bodies and carrying them up the steep incline to the top of the point, two hundred and twenty feet above them.