This chapter describes how Drustan (now becoming Drustina,) slips ashore in Carthage on a secret mission to determine the 'Lay of the land' after Mutas's coup.

The Angry Mermaid 17

Or.

Y Morforwyn Dicllon 17

Mabina. The youngest daughter and Twin to
Drustan Her twin brother.
Grandpa Erin the twins grandfather.
Giana The twins grandmother
Caderyn The twins father.
Herenoie The twins wise and beautiful mother.
Morgaran The Twins oldest brother.
Aiofe The twins oldest sister. Famous for her beauty.
Tara The twins second oldest sister. Famous for her grace.
Feidlim Twins aunt (Caderyns’ beautiful sister.)
Mogantu Twins uncle (Married to Feidlim.) Chief of the Gangani tribe.
Brun. Twins 2nd cousin and the Acaman clans’ blacksmith.
Feorin. Twins second brother. Also training to be a blacksmith.
Rhun Feidlims’ son and Feorins’ favourite 1st Cousin. (Both red-heads.)
Arina Child of a Demetae fisherman, (rescued by Aiofe, Drustan and Mabina.)
Penderol Dumnonii Minor chief.
Udris Young Dumnonii warrior.
Dryslwyn High chief of the whole Celtic nation. Dwells in Brithony.
Bronlwyn Dryslwyn’s wife (and queen.)
Magab The moor who taught numbers.
Eric Saxon galley slave rescued from Corsair pirates.
Carl Another Saxon galley slave rescued by Drustan.
Torvel Celtic galley slave rescued from the same captured corsair ship
Arton. Turdetani Chieftain Holder of Gibral Rock.
Carinia Arton’s wife.
Isobel. Arton’s adopted daughter.
Appotel King of the Turdetani Tribe. (Southern Iberia.)
Bramana Queen. (Wife of Appotel)
Pilus King of the Capetani.
Shaleen Pilus’s queen and sister to Bramana.
Pedoro Lord Marshal of the Southern border region.
Lady Shulaar Lord Pedoro’s wife.
Taan. The scullery maid.
Isaar. Pedoro’s oldest son.
Ferdie Pedoro’s 2nd son
Sular Pedoro’s 3rd son
Gontala Pedoro’s youngest son.
Shenoa Pedoro’s only daughter.
Portega. Tyrant King to the west.
Portua. Portega’s grandson.
Jubail. Old Fisherman.
Mutas Magab’s younger brother and usurper.

The Lady Isobel watched the whitecaps with satisfaction as the prevailing westerly wind had returned to push the flotilla swiftly eastwards. In the new ‘Mermaid class’ of ships it was but a four day passage to Carthage. With each sunrise, Drustan sensed his older sister Aiofe getting more excited. He smiled at the lady Isobel and nudged Arina who both smiled back. They stopped briefly at the Island of Malta to pass the good news that the route to the great western sea was now clear. During their trading days before the Corsair predations, both Carl and Eric had met the prince of Malta several times and good relations were seemingly renewed; however the prince had disturbing news about Carthage.

“My brothers, we have had no ships arriving from Carthage this past autumn. Soon the winter winds will be upon us and none but the most foolhardy would venture forth during those storms. Something must have happened in Carthage. Normally there is a constant summer traffic of ships stopping in with grain going north and metals going south. Carthage may not be the great city it once was but it’s still a busy and prosperous place. They have recovered well from the ancient Punic wars. When the Romans sowed their fields with salt it took them hundreds of years to regain fertility. You may have to wait until the spring sailing season is upon us. Will you be overwintering here?”

Eric and Carl thought long and hard. They knew how violent the katabatic winds could be when they roared ferociously out of the northern gulfs of Lyon, Ionia and Adriatica. They discussed the impasse with Drustan and Aiofe. If a strong wind blew them south, their ships could fetch up on the North Nubian shore and be smashed to pieces. Winter was never a good time to sail in the Middle Sea. Circumspection and caution were Carl and Eric’s bywords for they were primarily trading men with a ‘retired’ sense of adventure after serving in the Saxon warships in their youth. Aiofe fretted at the news for come the Winter Solstice her betrothal contract was expired, nevertheless she was influenced by Eric and Carl and this caution irked Drustan.

“Do you not trust me sister? We have good charts and we are all good seamen. Furthermore, the Mermaid is a sound ship and well founded.”

“Could you get a message to him?” Aiofe suggested.

“Who shall I take? The Mermaid needs at least three to sail her on a sea passage just to round the watches. Besides, if it is as the Prince of Malta says, who knows what goes on in Nubia?”

“Take Torvel. I can replace him on Eric’s ship and sail in the spring.”

Drustan frowned. His sister had never doubted him before and he stalked away feeling offended. Fortunately, Torvel was more than glad to accompany a fellow Celt. He had never been comfortable as Eric’s second in command. He had been captured, badly treated by Saxon pirates and then sold on as a slave to the Corsairs after a forced march by slave traders from Belgie to Rome. To Torvel, the Saxons had been little better than the corsairs until he had suffered the same fate as Carl and Eric and found their friendship in mutual adversity. Drustan's reputation was also a factor influencing Torvel. There might be some more action and some more profit to be made.

The third crew-member was of course Arina. Drustan and Arina had become closely bonded by their shared trials and tribulations.
To avoid any dissuasive argument, the Angry Mermaid slipped out of Valetta Harbour on a cloudy night with a strong easterly wind. The guards had seen her go, but attached little importance to the departure. Drustan had been sailing into, out of and around Malta almost daily and occasionally at night as he familiarised himself with the islands and the conditions.
The winter storms proved to be every bit as violent as Carl and Eric had warned. Drustan learned another hard lesson as the wind backed around to the north. Katabatic winds took control as they flung themselves furiously off the Alps and spat their rage across the Middle Sea. Fortunately the Middle sea has few places with great fetch to a northerly wind but the force of the winds soon sets up a violent, short, steep, angry sea that is deadly for ships of a critical length. Once again, it was Drustan’s good fortune that the Mermaid was built for high seas and heavy breaking tops. The winds tried their best to knock her flat but her inherent stability and high freeboard gave her a seaworthiness second to none. Not for nothing had she survived just about anything the Great Western Sea could throw at her.

For twelve hours, Drustan let the Angry Mermaid run on a broad reach towards Pantalleria while the three took turns to hold their two hour tricks at the tiller. During his tricks, Torvel kept looking nervously at the high, short, foam-lashed waves. Drustan spent a lot of time consulting the newly copied charts and discussing a strategy with Arina.

They studied the charts and decided to lie up under the lee of Pantalleria before continuing their journey. It was another day before the Mistral blew itself out. The wind continued northerly, which suited the Angry Mermaid so the next morning, with the Atlas Mountains clearly visible, they set course for Carthage. By evening they were approaching the coast.

“Don’t seem to be many ships around,” Drustan observed conversationally.

“Must be this northerly wind,” Torvel replied. “That and the winter gales; this ship of yours is some piece of kit isn’t she?”

“Yeah she’s pretty handy.”

Arina snorted at Drustan’s apparent modesty.

“Huh. I’ll say she’s handy. Are we going to stand off for the night or try and make harbour tonight?”

“Try for an arrival. It’s a clear night and the wind is favourable; everybody agreeable?”

They all nodded. A night alongside at a secure berth was always favourable to a night bouncing around keeping station offshore. Drustan altered course to round the headland then spotted the tower that marked the harbour entrance.

“Shouldn’t that have a light on it?” He asked Arina who was already consulting the chart.

She nodded and shrugged. There could be a dozen reasons why the tower was unlit.

Cautiously, they picked their way shoreward as the light began to fail until they were completely enveloped by the night. They took in the mainsail and decided to just work slowly towards the tower feeling their way. Torvel took soundings while Arina worked the foresail and Drustan steered. Eventually, they made the harbour entrance and took all way off the Mermaid as they awaited some sort of reception. Nothing was forthcoming and the town appeared to be dead.

“It looks spooky,” Arina observed, “no sounds, no lights. Something’s not right.”

Even as she spoke, the whoosh of an arrow thunked into the rudder post and Drustan cursed as he felt the wind brush his face.

“Shit! Let’s go!”

They needed no further encouragement and the Mermaid put about to escape. Several more arrows whistled past the boat but thankfully none struck the crew. Thanks to the Mermaid’s speed and agility, they were soon speeding out of the harbour again.

“So now what,” Torvel wondered aloud.

“Stand off until daylight,” Drustan replied. “Whatever’s going on, something’s not right.”

“We’ll have to keep a bloody watch as well,” Arina cursed. “They’re not friendly either.”

They chose lots to share the watches and settled down for the night. Drustan had lowered a small anchor stone to the bottom and if they had to run quickly it could easily be cut loose or recovered by Torvel or Drustan.

Dawn arrived and with it a flotilla of craft emerged from the harbour. Drustan and Torvel cautiously raised the anchor stone and set the Mermaid for flight. Arina took the rudder as Torvel and Drustan nocked arrows into their bows. Having demonstrated their preparedness to fight, they waited as the flotilla approached. Then Drustan hailed across the gap.

“That’s close enough.”

“Who are you?” came drifting across the water.

“We are seafarers, isn’t that obvious?” Drustan shouted again unimpressed by the seemingly aggressive inquiry.

“Why did you sneak into the harbour by night?”

“We didn’t sneak. Our running light was lit,” Arina screeched angrily for the running light was her responsibility.

“You had no permission to enter!” came drifting across the water by reply.

“Since when do we need permission? We are not at war!” Torvel added his voice.

“That is the law in Carthage! You need permission.”

Drustan fell silent. When Prince Magab had offered Aiofe his hand and Aiofe had accepted there had been no intimations of permissions or restrictions to enter his father’s kingdom. Drustan became suspicious as the voice came across the water again.

“You must follow us into harbour now.”

Drustan turned to Arina.

“Make sail cousin. I’m not going in. Something’s wrong. It could be a trap. Quickly now, let’s go!”

Arina needed no second bidding for her suspicions were beginning to grow as well. She and Torvel hauled on the sheets and the
Mermaid sprang to attention. Within seconds she was dancing across the waves leaving astonished Carthaginians floundering in her wake. The three Celts smiled as they watched the frantic activity in the Carthaginian ships as they struggled to respond. It was pointless. With every passing wave, Mermaid was putting distance and safety between them. Once they were free and clear over the horizon, they took stock.

“So what now?” Torvel wondered. “They didn’t even let us declare our identities.”

“Well actually they did ask who we were but I was already suspicious. Something’s wrong in Carthage,” Drustan replied.

“Yes, but what?” Arina added. “Who is this Prince Magab and why are his people so hostile to strangers? I mean - an uninvited arrow! That’s just not friendly, is it?”

“Exactly.” Drustan agreed. “Magab enjoyed our unfettered hospitality when he visited us and he seemed an urbane and cultured prince. That’s why Aiofe fell so much for him.”

“Well that wasn’t a cultured reception was it?” Torvel growled.

“No. Indeed it wasn’t. That’s why I want to find out what’s going on.” Drustan frowned.

“And how?” Torvel asked.

“I’m going back. Not into the harbour, not into the town, we’ll make a landing and you can put me ashore further west. Where the mountains meet the sea.”

“That would be several days walk back to the city.”

“Time enough perhaps for me to get a feel of the situation, to find out what’s happening.”

“And what do we do while you’re ashore?”

“Go back to Malta. Warn Aiofe, Carl and Eric. Tell the Prince of Malta or those strange knights who live there. Come back for me on the winter solstice then every new moon after that until the Summer solstice next year. If I am not back by then, give up on me and make your own plans.”

Arina and Torvel fell silent. Then Arina spoke.

“Why are you so hell-bent on finding out?”

“For my sister Aiofe. I do not wish to see her hurt. If Magab’s kingdom is as aggressive and abusive as it seems then I would know of it. Aiofe would die like a bird in a cage if this Carthage is as it seemed to us. She is and always was a free spirit.”

“Yeah, like you,” Torvel grinned.

“Exactly, comrade; exactly like me.” Drustan agreed emphatically. “So are you with me in this?”

“Seems there’s no other way,” Arina sighed.

“Good, then let’s make haste and westering before another bloody Mistral is upon us.”

They slackened the sheets and paid off the Mermaid's bow from a north-westerly to a westerly course as the mountains came back under the Mermaid’s port bow. Then they consulted the charts.

“That seems a likely bay. Come within a thousand paces of the headland at night and I will swim my way ashore.”

“Then we’d best change the sails to the leather ones. If we are to use subterfuge this time, the leather sails are darker.” Arina suggested.

The men nodded and promptly set about the task as Arina kept a straight and steady course. By nightfall they were closing the coast under darkness and by the middle hour, Drustan was ashore with bow, sword and dagger just as the moon was rising. Using Norse pyrites and flint, he lit a small signal fire behind some rocks but visible to the sea then watched with satisfaction in the moonlight as the Mermaid recognised the signal that Drustan was safe ashore. Then she turned about and sped rapidly eastwards back to Malta. By morning, Drustan was trekking along the coast road to Carthage.

It took Drustan seven days to get back to Carthage. For four of those days Damara’s curse beset him and he had to rest by a stream until the cramps were subsided and the blood from ‘Blueface’s Wound’ ceased to flow.. Three days later, a footsore and hungry young ‘woman’ plodded wearily through the city gates under the pretence of being a shepherdess from the country. The long bow that would have immediately invited curiosity from the city guards had been carefully hidden. The sword and the dagger were well secreted under the nondescript full-length rags on Drustan’s back. Nobody noticed Drustan’s filthy, yellow hair but already Drustan had garnered much information in the villages and market places that lined the coastal road. Apparently, Magab’s younger brother Mutas had murdered his father to claim the throne while Magab had disappeared.

For several days, Drustan lingered in the cheapest inns gathering information whilst watching brutal executions being performed daily in the square as supporters of the old king were sought out, taken prisoner then despatched without trial. Fortunately, nobody took much notice of a common ‘shepherdess’ in filthy rags. Eventually, he learned that Magab had probably escaped and taken refuge in the mountains where lots of his father’s supporters had also gone to hide. Drustan also learned of the hatred for Prince Mutas and his henchmen. However he also knew there was little he could do alone. It would take a powerful force or some cunning subterfuge to remove this brute. The only things Drustan had going for him was his female anonymity and his sword. Few people bothered to investigate a stupid gangling shepherdess from the country.

Having gathered what information he could, he left the city and its blood-letting then made for the hills.

On the road after a day of trudging, he made shelter behind an old cromlech and prepared to settle for the night. As dusk fell, he killed a couple of rabbits with his bow that he had recovered from its hiding place and he was going to light a fire when a patrol of soldiers appeared marching down the road. At the same time, a couple of girls appeared hurrying up the road and leading a train of donkeys laden with farm produce; mostly fruit and vegetables. They were pretty girls and Drustan stood back into the shadows of the cromlech as they stepped daintily past whilst eyeing the soldiers nervously. Inevitably the soldiers spied the girls and being new recruits to Mutas’s ranks, they immediately presumed that anything was theirs for the taking. They stopped the girls under the pretence of examining their donkey loads for contraband. The search quickly degenerated into an assault as the four soldiers decided they would not only test the vegetables but also the other delights that the girls had to offer. Within minutes the girls were crying to be left alone. Eventually, Drustan could accept the situation no longer. Three of the soldiers were trying to rape one girl whilst the fourth was restraining her companion. He decided as common rapists, they weren’t worthy of a challenge or a warning and he silently nocked his bow. Through a gap in the rocks of the ancient burial stones, Drustan drove an arrow deep into the fourth soldier’s ribs. He let out a groan and fell immediately to the floor. The released girl let out a scream that alerted the three rapists and they span around to stare uncomprehendingly at their fallen comrade. By the time they had gathered their wits and drawn their swords, a second soldier lay gargling in the road with an arrow in his throat.

‘Two more to go’, concluded Drustan as the fools stood back to back to face an unseen foe.

The sheer lunacy of gathering close together when it was abundantly obvious that their foe was an archer could not have better demonstrated their lack of basic military training. The obvious thing to do would have been to separate. Shrugging his shoulders, Drustan sent a third arrow streaking into the third soldier’s chest and his companion wailed in terror for he still had no idea of Drustan’s location. He debated despatching the fourth rookie then suddenly changed his mind.

‘Better to somehow befriend the girls and perhaps elicit some local intelligence,' he thought.

He slipped from behind the rocks and stepped silently into the road. Then speaking very softly, almost in a whisper, he spoke to the petrified rookie.

“Turn and face me, rapist!”

The rookie span around in terror and presented his sword as he encountered what had already been the nemesis of his comrades. Pointing straight at his heart was another arrow. Behind that arrow was a pair of flat expressionless grey eyes. The eyes of certain death. Behind the eyes was a tall rather attractive ‘maid’!

“I yield!”

“To what?”

“To you.”

The arrow shot from the bow and at such close range, it drove through the rookie’s chest and the tip emerged at his back. The girls screamed again but the road was a lonely place now. For dramatic effect, Drustan said nothing and stepped behind the cromlech again to resume cooking his rabbits. For long moments the girls stared at the four corpses then exchanged nervous looks before whispering fearfully.

“Are you alright Sister?”

“My wrists are sore, my body bruised and my dress is torn but they got no further. How are you?”

“My wrists also and my neck where that vermin wrenched it.” She pointed a contemptuous toe towards the soldier who had restrained her then peered at the rock behind which they could now see the glow of Drustan’s little fire.

“Who is she sister? Who is this tall lithesome maid who knows weapons?” one asked the other.

“I know not, but one to whom we owe everything. These are the brutes that killed old mother Esther in the village last week. She was trying to protect her granddaughter.”

The girls held hands and carefully stepped behind the rocks. Drustan heard the light maidenly footfall and knew they were approaching but he deliberately waited, pretending not to hear their approach until the last moment. Then he bounced to his feet, reached over his shoulder and whipped his gleaming Toledo blade from its careworn leather shoulder scabbard as he span to face them. The girls found themselves staring at a shining blade reflecting in the flames of Drustan’s fire. They both squealed in terror as the blade stopped inches from their faces.

“Never sneak up like that sisters. Death hates surprises.”

They stared fearful but uncomprehending, then the older sister found her voice.

“Who is death?”

Drustan flicked his gleaming Toledo sword and it flashed dramatically in the growing flames while he declared himself as female to perpetuate his anonymity.

“This, this is my sword. He is called 'Death' . There is my bow, she is called 'Liberty'. I am Drustan though some know me as Drustina! I am the child of Caderyn, grandchild of Erin. These are my companions, Liberty and Death.”

Drustina knew it sounded cheesy and melodramatic but it was effective. The girls had just seen her despatch four soldiers whilst hardly turning a single strand of her long blond hair. She lowered her sword then smiled easily.

“Will you eat? It is only humble rabbit but at least I took them honestly with my bow. They were wild. I am no thief.”
The girls looked at the fire with two large, fat rabbits slowly roasting and a small copper pot with some boiling water. It was dark now and already, since the coup by Mutas, the rule of law was breaking down. It would be dangerous to continue through the night.

“We could add some vegetables to that pot sister Drustina, and share your meal. We have some bread also.”

Drustan smiled and his belly rumbled in anticipation. He had not yet eaten that day.

“It sounds like a welcome feast sisters. Join me if you will. I will hide the bodies.”

The girls eagerly set about enlarging the meal with assorted produce from their loaded donkeys. Then Drustan unloaded the donkeys and explained.

“The further from the road I dump the bodies, the longer it will be before anybody finds them.”

“Is there anything of value about them?” asked the younger girl.

“Take nothing. Not even coin, then nothing can be traced to you.”

The girls nodded as Drustan loaded the corpses onto the protesting donkeys and bore them off across the fields until he found a ravine with some thick bushes. The bodies were quickly despatched into the dense cover and he returned, covering the hoof and foot tracks. By the time he had swept away all the evidence, the girls had a meal fit for a king or so it seemed to Drustan’s rumbling stomach. The pair grinned as they ate delicately whilst he wolfed by far the larger share. He realised this when the food was almost gone.

“Oh! I’m sorry. That was unforgivable. You finish what’s left.”

“No,” replied the older girl, “we only gave you bread, fruit and roots, you gave us our lives. For that we thank you.”

“Are you sure?” He double checked. “For I have a mighty hunger!”

“No. You eat it. We ate at noon before we left to go to the market.”

“How far is it to that market?”

“An hour with the burdened beasts. We lost time on the road this afternoon avoiding some suspicious looking gangs.”

“And are you going now in the dark, or starting again in the morning?”

“The morning. The roads get more dangerous with every week. Will you accompany us?”

“In the morning, yes. For now I sleep.”

The sisters produced a blanket each and settled around the fire garnering what little comfort it offered. Drustan chose a hollow at the foot of the rock that gathered the fire’s rays and simply curled up in his shepherdess’s rags. Both sisters decided there was no threat and smiled at each other in the firelight as they studied the huddled bundle that blocked any approach from the road. It looked for the entire world like a bundle of rags but the sisters knew better.

At dawn, they were pleased to find the fire rekindled and a small deer already skinned and dressed. Obviously this strange warrior vagabond had already been ‘a-hunting’. As they moved away from the camp to do their toilet beyond a small stream they espied Drustan about the same duty. He had just finished undressing then, as he slipped silently into the shallow pool, they glimpsed the notorious scar on his arse and all the other lesser marks. The sisters gasped at the numerous scars as the older girl realised the significance.

“My God! Those are not scars of rite sister, those are real wounds. Who is this maid?”

They continued watching for a few minutes then, as the younger sister craned forward for a better look, the branch she balanced on gave way with a loud crack. She ended up on the edge of the pool at the naked Drustan’s feet. He looked down at her and wagged his head smiling.

“The pool is all yours, I’m finished here.”

Then without a backward look, he gathered up his rags and returned to the camp.

As he passed them stark naked, both sisters got a full unrestricted view of his manhood and his bare breasts in addition to the huge scar down the cheek of his arse. They were shocked into silence for several seconds before the older sister found her voice.

“Did you just see what I just saw? A maid with a man’s parts.”

The younger sister nodded nervously as they debated stripping to wash.

“D’you think we are safe?”

“Well he left us safe last night and he did not approach us. He must be some sort of god or something.”

The girls crept back to the campfire and crouched behind some bushes trying to decide what to do. They saw the flames from his fire increase as he added some more wood. It was clear that he had no interest in them as he addressed the cooking deer on the spit. They decided to continue their toilet so they indulged themselves in the clear fresh pool. When they returned, they were pleased to see that he had prepared a breakfast with venison and some of their farm produce; clear evidence that the stranger had not bothered to leave the fire to spy on them washing. Here indeed was a strange but real gentleman even if a dangerous one.

As they ate, the sisters wondered if to ask the stranger of her strange form.

“Are you a man or a woman?” The older sister finally ventured.

Drustan looked at her and shrugged then added to the riddle.

“In this country, I travel as a maid. People are less interested in maids except when they are alone.”

“But you are alone. What if those soldiers had met you on the road?”

“If they had tried to do to me what they tried to do to you, they would have died by my sword just as surely and just as quickly as they did by my bow. Death and Liberty take few prisoners.”

“You mean your sword and your bow.” The younger girl confirmed un-necessarily.

Drustan nodded then got easily to his feet and declared he was resuming his journey.

“If you want my protection girls then we must be away soon.”

The girls realised they could truly trust the stranger for at no time had they sensed a single threat. They finished the meal and set off along the road until they came to the market town. There, the sisters were pleased to offload their produce while Drustan bid them farewell and visited a tavern. Despite telling the girls not to rob the soldier’s corpses of coin, he had not followed his own advice. Necessity had driven him to take their money before he tossed their bodies into the ravine. With the money, he purchased some beer and sat silent in a corner listening for any snippet of information that might lead to finding Magab’s whereabouts in the mountains. Several men debated approaching the strange shepherdess until they noticed the handle of a sword discreetly appear from under her rags. In these days of increasing lawlessness, everybody had taken to carrying a weapon, even women.

In the taverns nothing much was forthcoming and by noon he was back on the road out of the town and leading up into the mountains. What he didn’t know was that the sisters had been previous victims of Prince Mutas’s oppression when their brother had been murdered by soldiers acting to enforce his dictate. Since the death of their brother, they were supporters of Magab and that same evening they were telling their experiences to one of Magab’s sixth column scouts. They described the stranger as a maid for that was how she chose to present herself. Magab’s scout thanked them for the information.

“Well whoever she is, she would be a useful soldier for Prince Magab to have on his side. We need every sword and bow we can muster. A foreigner you say and you left her at the market place,” the scout pressed.

“Yes while we were trading our produce to one of the stall holders, she left us and we never saw her again. All I can say is that she has cruel grey eyes, striking yellow hair and more scars than a gladiator. She carries a bow that everybody can see for it is longer than the usual bow, but she also carries a remarkable sword. She hides it behind her back in a shoulder scabbard hidden under her rags.”

“And she has a dagger.” The younger sister added. “This is under her breasts beneath the same rags and invisible. Also she kills without compunction, all in all a deadly foe.”

“But a good friend it seems, if she saved your lives and fed you meat,” the scout offered.

“Yes, and she respected our modesty when we bathed. Under that deadly countenance there is an honourable soul who will see justice done.”

“Well with a strange bow and yellow hair, she should not be hard to find. Thank you sisters, I will seek her out. Magab desperately needs warriors.”

And so the scout set about tracing the stranger, who despite her unusual attributes actually proved impossible to find.

Everybody remembered about the stranger for it was a small town and the tavern keeper could readily recall that the yellow-haired maid had purchased some beer, cheese and bread then left without saying much else. However, after leaving the tavern, she had seemingly disappeared. Obviously, the maid knew how to make herself ‘invisible’. It took the scout a day of discreet enquiries before he learned from one sharp eyed old woman that a scruffy, yellow-haired, ‘vagabond’ in rags had apparently taken the steep, winding road westwards into the wild mountains.

‘She looked and smelt like a shepherdess,’ the old woman continued, ‘but she carried a bow, probably to drive off lions in the high Atlas Mountains.’

The scout smiled with satisfaction after finally having located one sharp-eyed villager who could vaguely remember such a character. He set off on his horse at a steady trot. The horse betrayed the scout’s approach and Drustan was well hidden as the man trotted past bent upon his mission. To Drustan, it seemed strange for a rider to be taking a road that was growing progressively steeper, narrower and rougher; less and less a road for a horse and more and more a narrow, rocky path. He set off behind the man carefully keeping out of sight.

Wherever the man was bound, he had little further to ride for a steep escarpment lay across the path and Drustan could see little of a road that would accommodate a horse. The path however could be seen as a clear narrow testing climb for a man prepared to scramble over rocks and actually climb the rocks hand over hand. To a boy born amongst the mountains of Lleyn and Yr Wyddfa, this presented no problems. To Drustan’s surprise however, the horse and rider suddenly disappeared seemingly straight into the rock.

He had looked away to the north and distant blue haze of the Middle Sea for a moment and when he returned to study the rider he had gone.

‘There must be a fissure or crack in the rock face,’ he concluded. ‘And if wherever the scout was bound was that cleverly concealed, then it was a safe bet that it was well guarded.’ A direct approach up the road would reveal him to any guards or lookouts and Drustan did not want to be revealed - just yet.

He stepped off the path and made his way to the base of the escarpment through a tangle of scrub and small trees. After resting briefly and finishing off the last of his cheese, he scouted the rock-face for a route and eventually decided on a narrow cleft that not only had ledges and shelves to rest but it also hid him from any watchers viewing the escarpment face from the road.

With climbing skills long ago home-grown in Cymru, he was soon high up the cliff.

To his joy, about two thirds up the cleft he found a shelf with an overhang that enabled him to look down on the road without being seen from above. He was pleased to learn that his fears had been correct. From his vantage point, he could look down on the road to see several guards hidden behind rocks and he also had a clear view of the fissure where the road became a narrow path and the horse and rider would have had to squeeze through. No man could ever have fought through the crack. Whoever was hiding amongst the mountains had chosen their lair well. It was impregnable from conventional attack.

Convention however was Drustan’s weak point.

The last pitch of the climb proved to be much more difficult. It was a ‘chimney’ of rock and Drustan decided to take a longer rest before tackling it. He was to be thankful he did. As he ‘chimney-walked’ his slow way up the narrow tube of rock he felt his scarred buttock start to weaken. It was the first time he had even been incapacitated by the deep wound and he cursed as the sweat started to break out. His growing ‘breasts’ didn’t help either for the band around his back had to be removed as he pushed his back up the cleft. The breast support he had fashioned had to be removed and his breasts bounced free. As he pushed and levered himself up the chimney, his breasts started to bounce and wobble annoyingly. His arse began to ache alarmingly for Blueface’s sword cut must have sliced through some muscle mass and it still hadn’t healed properly after nearly three years. Drustan cursed and grunted as he was forced to ‘limp’ up the last twenty paces of the chimney to the top of the cliff. He collapsed exhausted on the hot sun-bleached rock and swore as he burnt his back. Shattered by his efforts, he lurched drunkenly to his feet and stumbled to some shade to rest again. To his relief, the shady hollow also proved to have a small seep of water and he drank greedily of the crystal clear pool. He knew there was water nearby for he had heard the water drips echoing amongst the rocks as he climbed up the chimney. Once refreshed and rested, he fingered the myriad of bleeding scratches on his back where he had pressed bare-back against the faces of the chimney. He did his best to wash them then settled down to wait for the cool of the evening before venturing forth. On the ridge of the escarpment, he found scrub and he quickly shot another rabbit with his bow. He knew he could survive on rabbit for a few days but no longer. It caused diarrhoea. Fortunately, he hoped to be in better circumstances by then. With dead scrub wood, he lit a fire and ate the rabbit with a few wild roots he had found. That and the water nourished him, so he set about finding what the hidden men were doing in the lair in the rocks.

Moving quietly amongst the early evening shadows, he eventually found a lookout post where three men were talking softly. Drustan settled silently into a comfortable cleft and listened. They seemed disenchanted with their lot and were discussing ways to better their circumstances.

“I tell you he moved too slowly. He should have fought back there and then whilst they were still disorganised. Now they tighten their grip every day. It’ll take an army to shift them.”

“Who’s army? The king’s men all but betrayed him but for a few loyal troops and now there is virtually nobody. How many of us hide up in these mountains?”

“About a thousand or so but most of them are just farmers and peasants.”

“Who are growing hungrier by the day! We cannot stay bottled up in these hills much longer. We’ll starve.”

“Yes, already there’s talk of mutiny in the camp. If this Prince Magab does not move soon, the support will drift away.”

At the mention of Magab’s name, Drustan had heard enough but he continued listening until he had established that these were definitely Magab’s men and that they were still loyal - but only just. Morale in the camp was low. As the guards went on to discuss other issues, Drustan listened until he had garnered enough information and the night had fallen. Silently, he rose from his hiding point and appeared in front of the men like some ghostly wraith. All three cursed as one and sprang apart like well trained troops as they snatched their swords. Drustan spoke very softly.

“Put your swords down gentlemen, if I had wanted to kill you I would have done so during the daylight.”

“Who the hell are you girl?” Cursed the older man, obviously the senior.

“Drustina, ferch Caderyn ap Erin.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough, I would talk with your leader Prince Magab.”

“How did you get here? We guard the path and there is no other way.”

Drustan shrugged, he was not about to reveal his skills or secrets.

“Your leader please, Prince Magab, I will speak with him.”

“Surrender your weapons.”

Drustan handed his bow and his precious sword to the older man who examined it enviously.

“Who made this?”

“His name is stamped on the guard. My name is on the hilt.”

“It’s a Toledo blade!”

“It is indeed and it’s a good one. Guard it well for if it is gone when I return, you’ll pay with your life.”

The older man glanced up and sensed the resolve in the maid’s eyes. In the firelight, he could not make out the cold, grey, emotionless hardness. He motioned to the younger watchman.

“You’d better take her down to Magab.”

“But what if there are more of them? They might be more hiding out there even as we speak.”

The older man hesitated, his companion was right. He would be a fool to separate his meagre force of three men.

“We will wait until the changing of the guard.”

“We won’t.” Drustan argued. “I have little time. If I must, I will send a message.”

“How?”

“Pass me my bow.”

The old soldier eyed him curiously but returned the bow to the stranger. Drustan took a piece of bright green leaf from a bush and pinned it to a tree some hundreds of paces away. Then he returned to the watchmen and nocked an arrow into his bow. Moving steadily, he took aim and fired. The three lookouts were stupefied by the range and the accuracy and gasped as one. In daylight it would have been a superb shot, in the dim firelight it was almost superhuman. Drustan turned to them and repeated his earlier statement.

“As I said, if I’d wanted - you’d have been dead long ago. Now, please gentlemen have you some skin or strong leaf.”

They looked at him askance so he reluctantly produced the rabbit skin from his own rags, cut off a small square then took some ash from the fire. With a sharp stick he wrote ‘Drustan and Aiofe!’

The illiterate guards now realised that they were dealing with somebody of substance - a female warrior who could write letters but was dressed in rags. This was a rare beast indeed. Drustan secured it as tightly as he could to the shaft of the arrow and crept down the path to reduce the range. Once confident, he aimed the arrow towards a tree by the main campfire and fired. It ended with a satisfying ‘THUNK’ and several startled soldiers sprang to protect their prince. One of them had the sense to see the rabbit skin around the shaft so he recovered the arrow and presented it to Magab.

Magab read it and frowned fearfully as he organised his men.

“Find out who bloody fired this arrow, it must have come from up there.”

Immediately, a party dashed out to the lookout post and found the three lookouts guarding their precious responsibility. The sergeant demanded to know what was afoot and the senior guard explained. The sergeant stared hard into Drustan’s impassive face and commanded her to follow them down to the camp. Drustan turned to the old watchman.

“I’ll have my sword back please.”

The watchman handed it to him and gasped as Drustan flipped it back into its shoulder scabbard with practised ease. The sergeant also noticed the move and realised he was in the presence of a well practiced and skilful swordsman.

“I think I’d better take care of that.”

“You’ll not,” Drustan cautioned, “you’ll send a verbal message to Prince Magab that Drustan son of Caderyn son of Erin is come and requests an immediate audience.”

“But you are a maid!”

“Am I? Take me to Prince Magab and that will be made clear to you.”

“Where have you come from?”

“Just tell him that Drustan is here. Prince Magab will know.”

“You’re a cheeky young bitch for one so young.”

“Are we going to stand here all night. Let’s just follow your messenger down the trail.”

Drustan’s confidence began to impress the sergeant so he despatched the messenger then pointed with his sword down the path.

“You lead and I’ll follow. No sudden moves now, my sword is right at your back.”

Drustan shrugged and stepped easily down the path. The sergeant in his coat of mail had difficulty keeping up with the nimble footed, mountain bred ‘maid’. All eyes turned in the camp as the filthy ‘beggar girl’ emerged from the rocks followed by a panting, cursing sergeant.

Magab stared disbelievingly at the ragged apparition.

“Who are you?” He demanded.

“Did you not get my note?”

“The arrow! With the rabbit skin! That was some risk.”

“It was fast and got an immediate response. I am Drustan. My sister Aiofe awaits your pleasure in Malta. She fears that the betrothal contract is expired.”

Magab’s eyes widened and softened as he slowly reached the conclusion that this vagabond was truly the Gangani child from faraway Cymru. His eyes widened as the ‘child’ stepped into the brighter firelight. He gasped disbelievingly.

“But, - but you’re a maid! Drustan is a boy!”

For an answer Drustan, took out his manhood and peed onto the campfire. As the steam and stink erupted, Magab let out a yelp of surprised delight.

“Oh by the gods, it is you!”

As a final test, Prince Magab asked Drustan his sister’s full name in Welsh.

For reply, Drustan stated, in Welsh, that he had three sisters Aiofe, Tara, and his twin Mabina.

“So of which of my sisters d’you ask my prince?”

Drustan didn’t wait for an answer for he knew of which maid Magab was asking. It was his ‘double check’. Drustan smiled and grinned knowingly.

“Don’t worry my lord, I know which of my sisters is your concern. She is only concerned about the contract of betrothal expiring.”

“It would never expire my boy; I would wait until the ends of the earth for her to come. Sadly, I am without my kingdom. But come, we will speak alone.”

“I am no longer a boy Magab,” Drustan countered. “I hold ranks through all of Southern Iberia and Lusitania.”

“So the stories from Rome and Gaul, the scar-arse, was that truly you?”

For answer, Drustan tugged aside his tattered rags to reveal the spectacular scar. His buttocks were still weeping from the scratches and cuts whilst climbing the rocky chimney, but the huge, angry scar was clearly visible. Drustan flung the ragged tails back around his body and swore.

“Once and only once do I show it! Even to kings! I’m bloody tired of the mythology. Now to business.”

“What business?” Magab replied.

“The business of recovering your rightful inheritance.”

Magab sighed.

“That is a doubtful business. My brother Mutas gets stronger by the day.”

“Aye; and crueller by the hour. I saw four of his soldier’s attempted handiwork but a few days ago.”

“What! The four corpses on the coast road by the ancient cromlech of Hamran? What do you know of that?”

Drustan frowned thoughtfully.

“What! Have they been discovered already? They must have been searching hard to find the corpses then. I left them well secreted in the ravine.”

“That’s not surprising Drustan, one of those soldiers was my cousin. He was the son of my uncle who murdered my father and helped Mustas steal the throne. Half the army were searching for him.”

“By the gods,” Drustan grinned. “It gets deeper and dirtier.”

“So it was you who killed them!”

“They deserved it, they were trying to rape two maids. By the way, are the maids alright?”

“To know that, I know then it must have been you. Yes the maids are safe. Nobody in this camp but my trusty scout and I knew about the maids. They spoke to him of the ragged vagabond with her bow.”

Drustan spread his hands and opened his rags like a maid curtseying as he smiled. “Your servant sir, the ragged, maidenly vagabond.”

“Oh get up you fool. Still I’m impressed. Was that a dagger I saw under your rags?”

“Yes and a sword if you wish it.”

To demonstrate, Drustan’s arm flashed back over his shoulder and the sword appeared miraculously fast in his hand. Magab’s eyes widened with surprise.

“Are you as good with that as the bow.”

“Some might say better. Blueface for one, were he alive to say it; though it was not this sword that killed him. I was but a boy then. This was a ‘thank-you’ from King Pilus.”

Drustan flexed the sword skilfully in his hand before Magab reached out to examine the blade and he smiled approvingly.

“A Toledo blade, those Iberians must think highly of you if they forged this for you. I only ever received a ceremonial sword as an ambassadorial gift, this is truly a weapon of war.”

“Yes. Both Pilus and Appotel agreed it would have been an insult to offer me a ceremonial toy. This was tailor-made and I hold it dear. Now enough of chit-chat. To business. How are we to win back your kingdom?”

Magab’s shoulders slumped as he confessed.

“In truth, I don’t know. What strategies and tactics can a disenfranchised Prince employ?”

Drustan sighed. He had only ever been involved in short decisive battles. He could see this would be a protracted campaign.

“How long have we got?”

“The rest of my life,” Magab conceded, “I have nothing else to live and fight for.”

“I don’t know how we’ll fight this war either, but I know a girl who will.”

Magab’s eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“A girl? Who? You?”

“Uuhhm no. Another girl. A girl of rare wit and cunning, a girl who understands strategy , a girl who one day is determined to become your wife.”

“But what would that girl know of war and battles?”

Drustan smiled, almost indulgently.

“It’s been a long time since you parted from my sister. She and Mabina and I have travelled a long journey together. Now, when is the next new moon?”

“Is this some sort of soothsayer magic?” Magab frowned.

“Not at all. When it’s as dark as Stygia is when I make my secret moves. The night is my best friend. So how many days to the new moon?”

Magab consulted an almanac and smiled.

“Ten days from now.”

“Good. I must be on the coast that night. A speedy boat will return me to Malta. You may join me if you wish. Aiofe awaits you there.”

Magab’s eyes teared up as a light illuminated his smile.

“Yes. Yes, I will sail with you to the ends of the earth to cast eyes upon her again.”

Magab and Drustan talked long into the night as Drustan related his and his sister’s adventures while Magab described the disasters that had befallen him. As dawn arrived, both of them fell asleep. When the servant came to rouse them for a very late breakfast, Drustan was dishevelled and the servant noticed the vicious scar on Drustan’s bare arse, not to mention Drustan’s male parts. Within minutes the news was flashing around the camp.

It was true! The beggar girl was indeed a boy and was indeed Drustan Scar-arse. Morale in the camp rose appreciably as men took hope.

Four days later, Drustan and Magab disappeared from the secret camp. Six days later in pitch darkness, a small boat swept into a remote bay and embarked two unknown passengers. Seven days later, Magab’s chief scout reassured the gathered fighters that their leader had not deserted them.