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The king listened quietly, but then asked, “What is gunpowder?”
And Torin’s face went pale.
He said, “Forgive me, Sire. That was a poor word. I meant a kind of wildfire — a dust that takes a spark from flint and makes a great noise, enough tae shake a wall if it is set against the stone. I hae seen it used. I canna make it here. The stuff of it inna in this country.”
Douglas’s mouth tightened.
Torin added, “If I had more of it, ye would already hae it, Sire, I hae none left.”
Torin’s shoulders stayed tight. Every answer that revealed too little only made the king’s interest sharper and Douglas’s irritation clearer. When he gave away too much, it was frightening how intense both the king and Douglas would get.
By the time the path narrowed again and they dropped back, Torin and I were both more determined than ever to find the vessel and get away before the three days the king had given him ran out.
We rode for the morning, crossing the river at a shallow place where rocks had been placed. Torin held my hand while I stepped daintily from boulder to boulder and the horses splashed along beside us.
Dude, however, had other plans. The moment Cathbarr’s hooves hit the water the cat erupted from the saddlebag in a furious orange blur, yowling as if the river itself had wetted him on purpose. He scrambled up onto Cathbarr’s neck, clinging like a small, wet lion while the horse tossed his head in protest.
One of the guards nearly lost his seat laughing.
Torin muttered, “Och, ye dramatic beast,” and somehow managed to shove the soaked, offended cat back into the bag once we reached the far bank.
We rode for another hour until we came into sight of the castle in the distance.
Niall was riding beside us and said, “The king has invited the chiefs from the neighboring clans tae come for a council at the priory. He is making plans for his next campaigns.”
“Which chiefs?”
“The MacDougalls hae been subdued. Alexander of Argyll is beaten; the king will force him tae attend. His son John of Lorne may not come, or he will come in a foul temper. Angus Óg MacDonald will be there. I will be there for Clan Campbell—”
Torin said, “Och, that is too many stags in one glen, I am glad I will be far away.”
“Aye, Laird Torin, I ken ye planned tae leave, but the king wants ye tae sit as well, speakin’ as a Campbell from Clackmannan… But...”
“Ye warned me I ought tae leave.”
Torin shook his head and then met my eyes.
He nodded. “Are there Clackmannanshire Campbells who want ye tae speak for them?”
Niall said, “Tis true, Laird Torin, that yer judgment would be of use. Ye hae the bearing of a man who has commanded men and lived. The king could use yer experience. Ye could swear the oath, name him just, and sit among us. Later, if he learns ye are nae chief of any Clackmannan branch, it may matter less. Ye would already hae been of service. We are close tae beating England for good.”
Torin looked at him for a moment. “Ye are advising me tae lie tae yer king.”
“Ye are not goin’ tae claim he is also yer king?”
“I am speaking on ye, specifically.”
“Well, Laird Torin, I am a devoted and loyal subject. I want a capable commander in his cause. All it would take is an oath of allegiance. Tis not so much.”
Torin was quiet, then said, “A free man makin’ an oath tae a king is a great burden. It is a promise tae raise yer sword for him. Tis not a thing tae take lightly. I hae three days tae decide. I mean tae use those days.”
Niall said simply, “Tis what I thought ye would do.”
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ALEXANDRIA
1308 - WE SEARCH FOR OUR VESSEL
